"Hear, hear!" said several voices from the crowd.
Dinadan strummed the lyre once, then, improvising as quickly as he had ever done, sang,
"The finest singer isn't he
Who has the greatest skill,
But he who has the wit to see
The time he should be still."
Dinadan strummed the lyre once more, then bowed to the crowd, who hesitated, then applauded lustily.
"Hear, hear!"
"Beautiful! Beautiful!"
"Brought tears to my eyes!"
"He's the winner, all right!"
"Encore!...I mean no encore!"
"Hear, hear!"
It was unanimous. King Mark looked over the courtiers, then nodded to Dinadan to signify that the lyre was his. Dinadan bowed again, then turned and made his way back out of the throne room, followed by the grateful cheers of all assembled. He went directly to the stables, intending to leave at once, but he wasn't quick enough. As he led his horses out the stable door, Tristram ran up, his eyes wide and beseeching.
"Please, my friend, you must let me keep the lyre."
"No. It means much to me, as a gift."
"A gift from a peasant!"
"A gift from a man of skill and honor."
"But without it, I cannot woo my love! Surely you know that my heart belongs to her! Did you not hear the song of love I sang?"
"I heard it."
"And it had no effect on you?"
"Of course it did," Dinadan said, mounting his horse. "It made me feel dashed queasy." He booted his horse and trotted past Tristram, who stood alone and forlorn in the courtyard. Dinadan had one more obstacle to pass, though: at the front gate, clearly waiting for him, was Iseult. Dinadan reined in. "Good day, your highness."
Iseult didn't waste time. "You are the one who knew where the Lady Brangienne was."
Dinadan nodded slowly. "And you remember what I said, that if you harm her, I will sing stories of your infidelity across England."
Iseult nodded, and her eyes seemed to soften. "I know that. I no longer wish her harm. Please, I only want to tell her that she is safe from me now. I know that she would never feel comfortable serving me again, and so I do not offer her her old place, but I do wish to tell her that I was wrong and to ask her forgiveness."
Iseult's voice was heavy with emotion, and once she had to stop and wipe away tears. Watching her, Dinadan could see no sign that she was not sincere. Still, he was silent.
Iseult laid one hand on Dinadan's knee. "Could you not tell me where she is?"
Slowly, Dinadan shook his head. "No, Your Highness."
Iseult's eyes dropped. "I understand, and I do not blame you. But if you will not let me tell her myself, will you tell her for me?"
Dinadan took a deep breath. It was time to check on Brangienne anyway. "Very well, my lady." Then he rode through the gates and pointed his horses north, toward Brangienne's convent.
XI Love Songs
Dinadan took his time on the way to Brangienne's convent. Though he missed Palomides, it was also pleasant to ride alone again. He played his rebec almost constantly, and everywhere he stopped, his playing drew an audience. In towns and alehouses, he attracted people. In the woods, he drew birds and small creatures. Sometimes when he was alone with the beasts he would put down the rebec and practice on Thomas's lyre, but judging from the way that the animals would then scatter, he needed a bit of work with his new instrument.
But by the end of the second day, Dinadan knew he was not really alone. Several times he had heard faint voices behind him, but although Dinadan rode slowly and stopped often, no one ever passed him. On the third day, Dinadan decided to wait for his reclusive followers. Coming to a thick copse where the trees grew so close together that they formed a nearly impenetrable screen, Dinadan hid his horses, then waited in the branches of a large elm tree. He didn't have to wait long. Not ten minutes had passed before two armed men in the livery of castle guards rode cautiously down the trail and then, as luck would have it, stopped just beneath him.
"Now where's the bugger gone?" the first guard muttered, half to himself.
"He must have rid on," the other replied. "He wouldn't have stopped in this thicket,"
"Wouldn't bet a groat on it, myself," the first guard said with a grunt. "Never saw such a fellow for stopping and picking daisies every bleedin' ten minutes. He wants to go somewhere, why doesn't he go there? That's all I want to know. We might have been done and back at the castle by now."
The other shrugged. "Don't mind the ride, myself. With Mark all in a rage, and the queen nasty to everyone, and now that new minstrel chap underfoot, I'd as soon be away from Tintagel anyway."
"Maybe, but the food's better, there. We're getting low on rations already. If we don't find that sorceress and kill her soon, we'll have a hungry ride back to Cornwall."
"Come along then," the second guard said. "T'gaffer can't be too far ahead."
They rode on, and Dinadan let them go, seething with fury. So Iseult had sent these men to follow Dinadan to Brangienne and kill her—but why? What had she to gain by it? Dinadan waited another ten minutes, to give the guards ample time to get out of hearing, then he climbed down, retrieved his horses, and turned back toward Tintagel.
Dinadan was no closer to understanding Iseult's motives when he arrived at Tintagel, and the scene that met him there didn't help. The castle was in an uproar, with guards and knights scurrying about on urgent errands that had no visible purpose. Horses were being readied, hounds were baying, knights were giving each other contradictory commands, and at the center of it all was a raging King Mark. It took Dinadan several minutes to find someone who would stop and explain, but at last he learned the cause of the commotion.
The minstrel "Tramtris" and Iseult had run away together the night before. Iseult had evidently concealed a knotted rope in her tower room, and had climbed down to meet Tramtris in the courtyard, and they had disappeared. It had been very well planned: Iseult had a key to the gate and had even fooled her chief lady-in-waiting into telling the king that Iseult was ill, with the result that their disappearance had gone unnoticed for almost a full day. King Mark had already had the lady-in-waiting executed and now was swearing revenge on whomever else he could blame.
Dinadan found a place in the shadows and watched while every guard and knight in the castle assembled before King Mark in the castle court. Mark drew himself up to his full height, which was not much, and gave his men their orders. These had to do with tearing Iseult and her lover to shreds and feeding them to the birds in tiny bits. Dinadan marveled at the depth of the man's bitterness and hatred. When the king was done, the men galloped out the gates at top speed, charging headlong down the main road to the east, leaving King Mark alone in the yard. The king stood still for a moment, then sank to his knees and began to cry. Embarrassed, Dinadan looked away.
At length, the king went back inside the castle keep, and Dinadan rode away, his thoughts somber. He had never asked to be involved in anyone else's love affairs, but he never seemed to be able to avoid them. It was enough to make a fellow swear off the whole ridiculous business of love. Either it was all a sham, as in the case of Culloch and Olwen, or it was unbearably painful, as it seemed to be with King Mark, or it was selfish and cruel, as with Tristram and Iseult and Lamorak and his faery love. Dinadan would never understand why loving one person would make you want to hurt that person—or hurt someone else. It all left a sour taste in his mouth, and he longed to talk to someone sensible. It was past time to visit Brangienne.
He chose the least traveled path from Tintagel, taking a weedy track that meandered into a ridge of rocky hills, and within fifteen minutes, Dinadan knew that once again his evil muse had mired him in someone else's revolting love affair. Two sets of footprints marked the trail ahead of him, and one was definitely the print of a woman. Odd that Tristram and Iseult should have fled on foot. They couldn't possibly have expected to outrun the horses of their inevitable p
ursuers. They must have been going to a prearranged place, and not far away either. He knew he ought to turn right around and go the other way, but he didn't. He dismounted and followed their trail.
He found them twenty minutes later, in a small open area surrounded by craggy rock walls. Someone had expended a great deal of effort in preparing this rocky room for the lovers—probably that lady-in-waiting that Iseult had left to be executed. There were ornate chairs and woven rugs scattered about, and golden candlesticks and dishes were stacked on tables. At one end of the area was the mouth of a cave, and over the cave's entrance was painted the legend "The Love Grotto." Tristram and Iseult lay together on a canopied bed, asleep in each other's arms. Revolted, Dinadan turned and crept back down the rocks to the trail, where he had left his horses. He thought once about returning to tell King Mark, but only for a second. For his part, he hoped he never saw any of them again. For the second time that week, he left Tristram and Iseult and rode away to Brangienne.
"I thought you'd come back," said the fierce-looking nun who had taken in Brangienne the last time Dinadan had been there. "I'm glad to see you." She smiled and didn't look fierce at all.
"And likewise, I'm sure," Dinadan managed to murmur politely.
The nun noted Dinadan's surprise and chuckled. "I'm afraid that I was not very civil to you when you brought Brangienne here. I do hope you'll forgive me."
"Oh, but, my lady—"
"Please do not call me that," the nun said calmly. "We have no titles here but sister—or, in my case, Mother. I am Mother Priscilla."
"Pleased to meet you ... this time."
Mother Priscilla smiled again. "You should understand that you are not the first knight to bring a lady to our gates. Usually they do so when they have grown weary of the lady and are ready to discard her. I assumed that you were one of those, and by the time Brangienne had told me the truth, you were already gone. So I have been waiting these three months to apologize."
Now Dinadan understood. "Of course, my ... ah ... of course, Mother Priscilla."
"You'll be here to see Brangienne, I assume."
"Yes." Dinadan's brow creased. "But should you not say 'Sister Brangienne'?"
"No," Mother Priscilla said. "She has not taken her vows. But you are waiting, sir. I will bring Brangienne at once."
She walked quickly inside and reappeared a moment later with Brangienne. Brangienne's face lit with a brilliant smile when she saw Dinadan and she hurried forward, her hands outstretched. Dinadan took them in his own, returning her smile. "Dinadan!" she said. "How lovely to see you!" Her smile faded slightly. "You haven't come to take me away again, have you? Because, I warn you, I won't do it this time."
"No, no. I just thought I'd come check on you. You see, when I brought you here, Mother Priscilla seemed so formidable that I was afraid for your safety."
"Oh, that was because ... oh, I see she's already explained that to you." Brangienne glanced once at Mother Priscilla.
"I have, dear. I'll leave you two alone now."
Brangienne's eyes laughed. "What? Alone with a man?"
"I hardly think you'll be in any danger here in the common yard. Goodbye, Brangienne."
Mother Priscilla strode away with a decisive step. "She's such a dear," Brangienne said, watching her depart. "She tries to be stern, but the sisters would do anything for her anyway, so it's hardly worth her bother."
"You're happy here, then?" Dinadan asked. Brangienne nodded. "Yes. The only thing..." she hesitated.
"The only thing?"
"Sometimes I wonder if you're all right. But I can see you are. Tell me about things. What have you been up to since I've been here?"
Dinadan told her. It was odd that he who told stories so often, to such varied audiences, should find it difficult to give a simple and unadorned account of his own life, but so it was. First he told her, very awkwardly indeed, how he and Palomides had gone to confront Iseult, and about the confusion caused by the magic horn and his final warning to Iseult. Brangienne colored and looked at the ground, so Dinadan pressed on with his narrative. He told how he and Palomides had overcome Helius and Helake—leaving out the details of his fall into the river—and then told about Tristram's madness. Brangienne tried to look sympathetic at this, but not very successfully. Dinadan laughed, and said, "You don't care much, do you?"
"Not about Tristram," she replied promptly. "The difference between a madman and a nincompoop is not all that great, except that madmen probably do less harm. But don't let me interrupt you. Did he get better?"
Dinadan shook his head. "No. He just went back to being a nincompoop."
"How dull of him. But at least you're rid of him now. How did you manage that?"
"Actually, he did it himself. Along the way, I was given a lyre—a nice instrument, too—left to me by an old minstrel whom I had loved once. Anyway, Tristram saw it and—"
"He didn't steal it did he?" Dinadan nodded. Bran-gienne closed her eyes. "Tramtris again?"
Dinadan grinned affectionately at her. "You know, the thing I like most about you is your wit. I never have to bore myself by giving explanations."
"I suppose I should feel honored, but since you've been riding with Tristram, it hardly counts. Your horses probably seem quick-witted in comparison."
"Yes, but I think you're even smarter than my horses," Dinadan said with mock earnestness.
"Merci du compliment!" replied Brangienne, laughing. "Did you get your lyre back?"
Dinadan told her about the trial by music, and by the time he was done, she was wiping away tears of laughter. Dinadan let her get her breath, then said, more soberly, "Then something else happened. It's another reason I came back to see you. You see, once I'd gotten the lyre back, Iseult stopped me and said that she wanted to apologize to you, if I would tell her where you were."
"You didn't, did you?" Brangienne asked sharply.
"No, I'm not a fool twice. But I told her I'd give you the message."
"Were you followed?"
"Yes, by two guards with orders to kill you. They lost my trail, though." He looked searchingly at Bran-gienne. "Why did she still want to kill you? It could do her no good."
Brangienne frowned. "You don't understand Iseult's kind of woman. She is always in competition with every other lady, and any woman that she ever sees as having an advantage over her—like knowing a secret—she will hate until one of them dies. She wants me dead because of something rotten inside her, not because it will serve any real purpose—which I'm sure it won't. I imagine that everyone in England knows about her affair with Tristram by now."
"If they don't, they soon will," Dinadan said. He told her how Tristram and Iseult had escaped and how he had found them in their "Love Grotto."
Brangienne sighed. "Idiots, of course. How long do they expect to be able to stay there undetected? How long will their food hold out? And how near did you say it was to Tintagel?"
"Not four miles."
"They're a tragedy waiting to happen. One of those pointless tragedies that are told by second-class minstrels."
Dinadan lifted one eyebrow and looked down his nose at Brangienne. "I wouldn't know," he said austerely.
Brangienne giggled, but said, "No, I'll give you this much. If there was ever a musician with God's own gift, it's you. Nothing second-class at all."
A moment later, Mother Priscilla joined them. "Brangienne, if you're coming in, it is time for you to join the others in the refectory."
Brangienne leaped to her feet. "If I'm coming in? But of course I'm—oh, goodness, is it already so late? I'm afraid I must have left others to do my chores before dinner!" She turned to Dinadan. "I have to go now, Dinadan. Thank you for coming. I've had so much fun talking with you. Are you satisfied that I'm all right now?"
Dinadan grinned and nodded. "Yes, but I'm almost sorry for it. It means I have no excuse to come visit you next time."
Mother Priscilla said calmly, "You need no excuse, Sir Dinadan. You may come as often a
s you like. But now, it is time for you to go."
Dinadan had not been to Arthur's court in almost six months, and now that he had seen Brangienne, he began to long for Bedivere and Gaheris and his other friends there, so he pointed his horses toward Camelot. It was slow traveling, though, as he stopped at every likely tavern along the road to sing the new song he was working on—"The Ballad of Sir Palomides"—about how the noble Moorish knight had single-handedly defeated the two villainous brothers Helius and Helake. As a bit of history, it wasn't especially accurate, but Dinadan was pleased at how well he captured Palomides's honorable and generous nature, and surely a noble heart was something far more true than mere facts.
He was looking forward to sleeping in a bed in a quiet room when at last he came to Camelot, but it was not to be. The first person he saw upon riding through the castle gates was Bedivere, and the delight on his friend's face nearly brought a lump to Dinadan's throat. Then Bedivere spoke. "Dinadan! By all that's holy, it's wonderful to see you!"
"And likewise, Bedi—"
"You're just the person I've been wishing for!"
Dinadan's smile faded slightly. "For what, may I ask?"
"To go with me! I wanted you from the start, but you weren't here, and no one's heard from you in months. Kai wouldn't do it."
"Go where?" Dinadan asked warily.
"To Culloch's wedding, of course. The invitation came by special messenger just three days ago."
"Culloch's wedding! You don't mean—"
"That's right. Old Isbaddadon's finally given in."
"Or couldn't think of any more lame-brained chores for the silly sod to do. No, Bedivere, I'm with Kai this time. I want nothing to do with it."
Bedivere looked astonished. "But after all, Dinadan, you were with him at the start, even before I was. Don't you want to see how it all ends?"
The Ballad of Sir Dinadan Page 15
