The Ballad of Sir Dinadan (13 page)

Dinadan rode out on quest himself a few times—mostly for form's sake—but he generally stayed away from Cornwall and Wales, not wanting to get involved again with either Tristram or Culloch. He did go to Cornwall once, to visit Brother Eliot at St. Anselm's Abbey, and twice he went to Wales to see Colin and Rhiannon and the rest of the family in Sylvanus's Woods. It was a happy household there, and as one of the prime architects of that home, Dinadan took pleasure in its felicity. While in Wales, Dinadan had asked discreetly at a few inns, but he was never able to get any word of the Lady Brangienne. Not knowing how Brangienne was doing was the only drawback to avoiding Culloch, and Dinadan found himself thinking of her often.

About three years after leaving Culloch, while traveling through the Oxfordshire forest on a lazy and desultory quest—mostly riding cross-legged and playing the rebec—Dinadan caught the smell of roasting meat and heard the melodious strumming of an unfamiliar instrument. Following his senses, Dinadan guided his horses to a small clearing, where a large man sat by a fire. From the armor that was laid out neatly beneath a tree, Dinadan perceived that this was a knight, but he was like no knight he had ever seen. The armor was of an odd design, and most peculiar of all, the man's skin was as dark and brown as weathered wood. Dinadan stared. He had heard of the Moors—dark-skinned knights from Spain and Africa who fought well and bravely—but he had never seen one before.

The man rose to his feet at Dinadan's arrival. "I bid you good evening, O traveler." His voice was low and gentle, and his words, though clear, were pronounced in an unfamiliar manner. "As you see," the man continued, "I am taking of a fair repast soon. I would be honored if you would share it with me."

In the dusk, the stranger's eyes seemed unnaturally large, perhaps because they were the only white spots on the man's face. Then the man smiled, showing gleaming teeth, and Dinadan grinned back. "I accept your hospitality, friend. My name is Dinadan."

The man bowed formally. "It is my honor, O my lord Dinadan. Your servant is named Palomides."

Dinadan dismounted and bowed back, feeling the need to match the Moor's formal politeness. "Forgive me for being inquisitive," Dinadan said, as he straightened up, "but did I also hear some music from your camp?"

Palomides bowed again, then produced a small, curious instrument, something like a child's longbow, strung with four strings. Palomides ran his fingers along these, producing a high-pitched but pleasing chord. "I was only playing to amuse myself in my solitude."

Dinadan produced his rebec. "I do the same thing," he said.

The Moor's formality melted visibly, and his smile grew broader. "This is indeed a fortunate meeting, my lord Dinadan. After you have eaten, perhaps we can share music."

The food was excellent, well-roasted and spiced with a delicious but unfamiliar seasoning that made Dinadan's mouth tingle. Eating took a long time, because his host would not eat until Dinadan had finished. Though Dinadan tried to get Palomides to join him, the Moor firmly declined, declaring that he really was not hungry, and that it was an honor to be able to give his food to Dinadan. When Dinadan had finished and had refused three times to eat more, then Palomides seemed to regain his appetite and was able to eat a healthy portion. Dinadan privately considered such politeness excessive, but he could not help feeling extraordinarily honored by it.

When the Moor had eaten, Dinadan smiled and said, "And now, your music."

Palomides bowed his head and said, "My skill is small. I would much rather hear the music of my lord Dinadan, if you would permit."

Dinadan grinned. "Very well, friend. But only if you will promise to play for me when I have done." Palomides again protested that he had no talent, but his lips curled in a tiny smile, and Dinadan knew that he would hear from Palomides before he went to sleep that evening. "Here is a noble tale that I have heard told but have never sung." Dinadan took out his rebec and bow. "Perhaps you have heard of the good knight Sir Gawain?"

Dinadan proceeded to sing the tale of Sir Gawain's quest for the Green Knight. Dinadan was experimenting with some different techniques and had been working on this for some time. The tale went well, and although there were a few rough patches, Dinadan warmed to the story, allowing the rhythmic patterns of heroic songs to carry carry him along when he was unsure himself. As he came to the climax, where Gawain threw aside the charmed belt by which he had sought to save his life, the words flowed almost without check:

"'Behold' cried Gawain, 'There my falsehood lies fallen!
'Your cut taught me cowardice, care for my life,
'I ever sought loyalty, love, and largesse,
'But in falseness I find only fear.'

"'Grasp once again, O Green Knight, your axe,
'And strike yet a second time after my shame.
'I will not resist, too wretched am I,
'And gladly I give myself here.'"

Dinadan finished the tale, telling how the Green Knight refused to take the life that was offered him, and how Gawain returned to court, made wise by failure. Dinadan played a final refrain on his rebec, then bowed his head, pleased and expecting applause. When none came, he looked up. Palomides was nodding gravely, his lips pursed.

"It is well that we have met," the Moor said at last. "For it is to know such things as this that I have come to this land."

Dinadan cocked his head and asked, "Such things as what?"

"The ways of knighthood." Palomides paused. "I am myself a knight, though the word is not used in my homeland. I fought against many of your knights at Jerusalem, and I found them to be worthy men of great courage. I came here to learn the secrets of their glory, for it seemed to me that a man can only grow stronger by learning of the strengths of others. I would like to meet this great man, Gawain."

Dinadan nodded. "He's just as great as I've told, even though he doesn't really talk like that. But you promised that I would hear you sing as well. What do you call that instrument?"

Palomides smiled modestly and said, "It has no name, for it is a trifle that I made myself and is like no other that I know. But my lord Dinadan has sung so well, I am ashamed to follow him. You must not ask me."

Interpreting this to mean that he should ask Palo-mides to sing at once, Dinadan did so. After another polite refusal, Palomides allowed himself to be persuaded. Taking up his instrument, he played a slow, quavering melody and then began to sing softly, in a different language. Dinadan leaned forward as he listened, and though he understood none of the words, he felt fascinated by the strange rhythms and curious chords. When Palomides stopped and put away his instrument, Dinadan asked, "What did your words mean?"

Palomides frowned with thought. "It is hard for me to put it into your language, for the words are made to echo each other in sound and meaning both. But it is a poem, by one of my homeland's greatest poets, called 'Sand of Life.' It says that all time is as sand, blowing in the desert, forming patterns and waves, but then changing with each new wind. It says that we living things are but small earthen vessels, formed for a time from grains of the sand of life, then shattered and driven back into the winds as particles that shape nothing for no purpose."

Dinadan nodded slowly. "Oh," he said.

"It is a poem much admired in the palaces and libraries of my country."

"A real crowd-pleaser, eh?" Dinadan said, still nodding. "I've never heard a song like it."

Palomides bowed. "You are too kind."

Dinadan bowed back. "Oh, no," he murmured politely.

Dreary poetry aside, Dinadan liked Palomides, and the Moor seemed to reciprocate. The next morning, by unspoken consent, they rode away together. Palomides wanted to meet the greatest knights of England, and Dinadan didn't have any objection, so they joined company. Palomides asked Dinadan many questions about the knights of the Round Table. He was disappointed to hear that Sir Lancelot, of whom he had heard even in distant lands, had left the court, but he hoped to meet other knights and learn from them. So it was that Palomides was delighted when after an hour or so they heard the unmistakable sound of sword on armor. Somewhere ahead at least two knights were fighting. "Come, Lord Dinadan, let us see what is before us."

Dinadan couldn't refuse, but it was with much less enthusiasm that he spurred his horse forward, and what little interest he had melted away at once when he came upon the battlefield. There fought two knights, and one of them wore shiny golden armor. "Oh, blast it," Dinadan muttered.

"What is it?" Palomides asked.

"Nothing. It's just that I think I know one of those knights, the chap in the gold."

"Is he an enemy of yours?" asked Palomides seriously.

"An enemy? Oh, no, I don't have any enemies," Dinadan replied.

Palomides's eyebrows shot up, and he stared at Dinadan with amazement. "None?"

"No, I don't think so. Well, there's one shopkeeper in Wales, but other than that, no. Tristram there isn't an enemy; just an annoyance."

"Tristram? Sir Tristram de Liones?" Palomides asked excitedly. "But I have heard of him! Surely he is one of the greatest knights living."

"He's very good with a sword, I believe," Dinadan replied guardedly. "But then, you can see that for yourself."

It was true. The battle that waged across the meadow before them was an impressive display of knightly prowess, on the part of both knights. It could have been quite enjoyable to watch from a technical standpoint, if it were not clear that the fight was in deadly earnest. Tristram and his opponent struck with lethal intentions, and between blows shouted insults and threats at each other. Palomides frowned, and Dinadan sighed. "Ah," he said. "That must be Sir Lamorak. He and Tristram don't get on, you see."

"Is it normal for English knights to speak thus to worthy opponents?" Palomides asked distastefully. "Such language is better suited to fishwives than to knights."

Dinadan shrugged. "It's normal for these two. They've hated each other for years, and the only surprising thing is that one hasn't killed the other yet."

At that moment, Dinadan felt suddenly very sleepy, as if morning had turned to night in a second. He fought the drowsiness for a moment, but it seemed so much easier to bow his head and take a short nap in his saddle. A moment later—or at least what seemed a moment later—the sleepiness fell away, and his first thought was that it was very quiet. The fighting had stopped. He lifted his eyes to see Palomides shaking his head sleepily and Tristram lying alone on the meadow before them. "What happened?" Dinadan asked.

"I can hardly say," Palomides replied. "But just before the sleep came upon us, I saw a woman at the edge of the field. I fear we have been enchanted."

A vague memory stirred. "Oh, yes. I remember Tristram saying once that Lamorak's love is a faery lady who sometimes rescues him from danger."

Tristram began to move on the ground, and Palo-mides rode up to his side and dismounted. "Sir Tristram, may I give you my aid?" he asked.

Tristram sat up and took off his helm. "Who told you my name?" he asked.

Palomides blinked. "Sir Dinadan here told me."

"Dinadan?" repeated Tristram. "I know no one by that name."

Palomides glanced back at Dinadan, puzzled. "It's all right," Dinadan said with a sigh. "I'm not offended." He turned to Tristram. "It's been a few years since we met. How've you been? Still pining for Iseult, I gather?"

Tristram's eyes widened. "How came you to know about my love? It's a secret!"

"Oh yes, a secret," Dinadan replied. "Known only to you and Iseult and every minstrel in England."

Tristram struggled to his feet and turned to Palo-mides. "You must tell no one, do you understand?"

"No, I do not," Palomides replied quietly. "Why do you keep your love for a woman secret?"

Tristram tightened his lips and lifted his chin. Dinadan guessed that they were about to hear all about his vow of silence, and to head it off, Dinadan explained. "She's already married to someone else."

Palomides frowned again. "If this is so, then you must forget her. She has pledged herself to another, and that pledge must be honored by all. Is it not so?"

Tristram seemed taken aback. "But she is the only woman I shall ever love. If I cannot have her, then I shall have no one."

"Then have no one," Palomides said. He turned to Dinadan. "Do English knights not show respect to the marriage vows of others?"

Dinadan answered honestly. "Some of us do. Others don't."

Tristram ignored this last exchange. "But if I have no lady, then I am no knight, for what is a knight for but to do service to a fair lady?"

Palomides looked at Tristram with a sort of horrified curiosity. "This is what you say is the purpose of knighthood? To serve a woman. This and no more?"

"What more could a man want?"

Palomides's face showed even more amazement, and he started to speak, but Dinadan cleared his throat and, catching Palomides's eye, shook his head briskly. Palo-mides closed his mouth, and Dinadan urged his horse forward, past Sir Tristram. "Very pleasant to have seen you again, Sir Tristram," Dinadan said politely. "Best of luck to you in performing service to ladies and all that, but we really must be moving along."

Palomides followed, and when they were out of sight, Dinadan stopped and looked back at the Moor. "Sorry about that, but you see I know that fellow, and that's the only thing you're likely to get out of him, that and lot of other rot about love, about which he knows nothing."

"But does he speak truth? That knights live only to serve ladies?"

"Some say that, especially the French minstrels. And some knights believe it, too. I don't know where the notion came from, but it isn't from King Arthur."

"What says King Arthur?" Palomides asked.

Dinadan paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. "King Arthur commands his knights to help the helpless. I suppose some people might interpret that to mean women. I wouldn't, myself, but that may be where the idea came from. And, to be fair, I suppose doing things for love is better than doing them for oneself. At least it isn't selfish."