The Ballad of Sir Dinadan (14 page)

"But of course it is," Palomides said firmly. "Any love that calls for another person to dishonor her marriage is entirely selfish. Let us hope that the next knight we meet is more honorable than this Sir Tristram."

Unfortunately, the next knight, or would-be knight, that they met was Culloch. They were at a small tavern that Dinadan visited often, where the keeper loved a good song and set a good table for those who would give him one. Dinadan had just sung the tale of how Sir Lancelot had won the castle of Joyous Garde and was sitting down to a fine roast capon with Palomides, when he heard a roar of mirth from the back of the taproom. "I
knew
I'd seen you before!"

Dinadan turned to see a portly knight with a scraggly blond beard lurching toward him. It took Dinadan several seconds before he recognized this bellowing ox as Culloch. Dinadan sighed, but when Culloch reached their table, he forced himself to smile. "Hello, Culloch. How've you been?"

"Ho ho! I knew it was you when I saw you sing! It's just that I've forgot your name."

"Dinadan."

Culloch shook his head. "No, no, that's not it. Just wait. It'll come to me."

Dinadan nodded. "Well, let me know when it does. So, what've you been up to? You're not still running and fetching for King Isbad, are you?"

"The Sword of Wyrnach!"

"Beg pardon?"

"The Sword of Wyrnach!" Culloch repeated. He leaned closer and added, as if telling a secret, "He's a giant, you know."

"Who?" Dinadan asked.

"Wyrnach! It's my next task. I'm to bring back the Sword of Wyrnach the Giant to cut the roast at the wedding feast." Culloch pulled up a chair and sat down. "It's not as good as the last one, but still good. The last task was to bring back a magic cauldron, but here's the trick. It had to be kept boiling the whole time I was bringing it! Burned up four different oxcarts getting it home!"

Dinadan sighed, then turned to Palomides. "Sir Palomides, this is an old traveling companion named Culloch. Culloch, this is Sir Palomides."

Culloch looked for the first time at Palomides. "Your skin is dark!" he announced. Palomides did not speak, but his eyes looked faintly weary.

"Sir Palomides is a Moor," Dinadan explained.

"Can't he do anything about it?" Culloch asked.

"I suppose not," Dinadan replied, biting back a sharp retort. He was not happy to see Culloch, but now that he had found him, he wanted to ask him a few questions, and it would not do to offend. "All the other tasks going along all right, then?"

"Oh, yes! It's been bang-up, doing knightly deeds for old Izzie."

"Knightly deeds?" Palomides asked, suddenly interested. "Are you a knight?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it," Culloch replied grandly. "A great king is sending me out on quests."

Dinadan cleared his throat. "I thought that you were doing these things to win the hand of the Lady Olwen."

"Well, that, too. But when I've completed all these tasks, everyone will have to admit that I've earned knighthood."

"What sort of tasks do you do to earn knighthood?" Palomides asked.

That's torn it,
Dinadan thought. Sure enough, Culloch launched into an enthusiastic description of the various tasks he had performed for King Isbaddadon. Palomides's expression grew more and more incredulous, as tale after foolish tale unfolded before them. Culloch managed to eat two roast chickens and drink several tankards of ale while he talked, which made his tales almost as hard to understand as they were hard to believe. As the telling grew longer, Dinadan began to worry that he would have no chance to ask his questions before Culloch fell asleep, but the story finally ended, and Culloch leaned back in his chair, as if to receive applause. Palomides was speechless.

"So, how long has it been since you were at Isbaddadon's court?" Dinadan asked.

"Eh? Not long. Week or so, I guess."

"Everyone there all right?" Culloch shrugged and nodded, and Dinadan pressed on. "How about that lady-in-waiting of Olwen's that we brought with us the first time, Lady Brangienne? Is she still there?"

"Brangienne?" Culloch repeated, his brow furrowed. "I don't think there's anyone there by that name. And I know everyone there."

"Brangienne's gone?" Dinadan said slowly.

Suddenly Culloch burst into laughter. "Oh, you mean Bragwaine! Ho ho! Mistress Cold and Stiff, I call her."

"Her name's Brangienne," Dinadan said, irritated.

"Izzie always calls her Bragwaine. Oh yes, she's still there. Why?"

"Just curious," Dinadan said. "Is she doing well?"

But this Culloch was not able to answer, since he had never really considered the matter, and Dinadan had to be content with the knowledge that Brangienne was still alive in Wales.

It was not long after this that Culloch began to nod off, which gave Dinadan and Palomides a reason to take their leave and return to the room that the innkeeper had given them for the night. Palomides did not speak until their door was closed, but then he said, in a voice rich with loathing,
"That
was an English knight?"

"No," Dinadan replied at once. "Nor is he likely to be. He didn't tell the whole tale." Dinadan then proceeded to tell how two of Arthur's most honored knights had gone with Culloch to help him toward knighthood but had eventually given up on him. "You see, Sir Kai and Sir Bedivere were as disgusted by Culloch's games as you are."

Palomides considered this for a moment, then said, "It seems that I must go to the court of your King Arthur to find true knighthood, for the knights I find out here are not at all what I was looking for."

"We'll start that way tomorrow," Dinadan promised.

The two knights took the shortest road to Camelot, skirting Cornwall. At about midafternoon, riding alongside a gentle river, they came upon a hawking party. A dozen courtiers in fine clothes and at least that many ladies-in-waiting sat upon bored-looking horses, chatting and very occasionally directing a liveried falconer to send up a falcon. At the very center of the party was a golden-haired lady in an extravagant gown, and as Palomides and Dinadan drew near, Palomides whispered, "What loveliness!"

The hawking party noted their approach and grew silent, watching the two knights. All eyes were on Palomides's dark features. The golden-haired beauty rode forward a few steps and smiled as she said, "Welcome, travelerth. Or should I say, wandering knighth?" Dinadan stared. When she had spoken the woman's beautiful face had assumed an expression of almost infantile pettishness. Her lips pushed out in a pout, and her eyes opened wide in a disconcerting way. She appeared to be imitating a spoiled five-year-old, though Dinadan could not imagine why.

Palomides bowed and replied. "We are indeed knights, and at your service, O lady, for you have already done us service, by granting us sight of such beauty."

Dinadan glanced quickly at Palomides, wishing for once that the Moor were not so excessively polite. In Dinadan's experience, little good ever came from paying ladies excessive compliments. The lady's eyes opened even wider. "It is alwayth my dearetht joy to meet knighth in thearch of adventure. I have been aided by more than one great champion when I was in dithtreth. May I know your names?"

"I am called Palomides, a knight from far Araby."

"And I," Dinadan said, "am named Dinadan."

The lady glanced at them speculatively, and for a moment Dinadan caught a calculating look in her eye that ill fit her assumed character. "It mutht be God's will that you have come to me, both of you," she said at last. "Two thuch gweat knighth, widing up to help a damthel in dithtweth."

As her artificial lisp grew increasingly infantile, the lady's face grew even more pouty. Dinadan looked away, revolted, but Palomides said politely, "I have come to this land to learn knighthood, and one knight has told me that a knight should serve ladies."

Dinadan glanced up, alarmed. "Yes, but don't forget that the one who told you that was an ass."

"But you said yourself a knight should serve those in need," Palomides replied. "How may I help you, my lady?"

The lady simpered and blinked rapidly for a few seconds, as if she'd got a bit of soot in her eye, and then sighed. "It is the thame quetht I thend evewy knight on, ath I have done for yearth and yearth and yearth, but becauthe I wuv her tho much, I will not thuwwen-dew."

"Will not what?" Dinadan asked.

"Surrender," the lady enunciated, casting a sharp glance at Dinadan.

"It must be wonderful to have a second language," Dinadan said.

"What lady do you love so?" Palomides asked.

"My own beloved lady-in-waiting has been stolen away from me this three years," the lady continued, abruptly dropping her lisp. "I fear she may be dead, but I must know. Please, great knight of Araby, I beg you to find her for me. Her name is the Lady Brangienne."

Dinadan was struck dumb for a moment, as he realized that this conniving woman before him was none other than Iseult, and in his surprise, he did not think fast enough. Before he knew what was happening, Palo-mides had bowed and said, "But this is easy, my lady. The Lady Brangienne is in Wales, at the court of one King Isbadd—how do you say his name, Dinadan?"

Dinadan opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Isbaddadon!" Palomides said. "You need fear for her no more, for she is alive and in service to the king's daughter there. Is that not what your friend Culloch said, Dinadan?"

Dinadan closed his eyes with anguish, his mind racing. If Iseult was still hunting for Brangienne, that could only mean that she still wished to silence her. And now she knew where to find her. Dinadan looked up. "Yes, that's right. Will you be sending a messenger to her now, my lady?"

"But of course," Iseult replied, her eyes bright.

"Then let me tell you how to get to King Isbaddadon's castle," Dinadan said.

It was sad to part from the Moor whom Dinadan had grown to like very much, but he had no time to waste. He had to get to Brangienne before Iseult's messengers did. Those messengers would be slowed down by the misleading directions Dinadan had given, but he knew that they would not be delayed long. Once they got to Wales, almost anyone they asked would be able to show the way.

Dinadan rode hard, pushing his horses long, resting them only briefly. He stopped nowhere for longer than an hour, and then he was off again, through the evening and into the night, then into the black hours before dawn. His horses stumbled and gasped for air. Dinadan knew that he should rest them, but he could not escape the thought that Iseult's assassins might at that very moment be nearing Brangienne. He pushed his horses on, trying to stay in the center of the forest path, praying that his horses would make it.

They did not. In a black patch of shadow beneath huge old trees at the heart of the forest, Dinadan missed the path, and his mount tripped. Down they rolled, the pack horse tumbling over them both. The horses scrambled to their feet again, which meant that they were not seriously injured, but when Dinadan heard their hoarse gasps for air, he knew he could ride them no further that night. He walked over to them, singing to them a soothing song and patting their noses gently. Only when their breath started to grow more even did he reach up on the saddle to make sure his rebec had survived the tumble. To his relief, he found it whole, and then he had an idea.

Taking the rebec from his saddle, he tuned it swiftly, then began to play. He played as loudly and as sharply as he could, trying to capture in his music his own sense of urgency. The tune he played was an old ballad that he had learned first from Thomas the Rhymer, but even the venerable Thomas would have had trouble recognizing the melody in the rapid, frantic rendition that Dinadan played. He played for about ten minutes, though it seemed longer as he listened eagerly to every forest sound, but at last his ears were rewarded with a faint whistle that grew stronger every moment, keeping time to Dinadan's dancing bow. A minute more, and the piping sound was just behind him, and Dinadan played a final flourish, then stopped.

"You called, Dinadan?" came a familiar voice.

"Yes, though I hardly dared hope that you would hear, Sylvanus," Dinadan replied.

"You are in need?"

Dinadan nodded. "I must get to the castle of King Isbaddadon. It means the life of a friend there."

"Tell me."

Dinadan took a breath. "Her name is Lady Brangienne. She alone knows a secret about Queen Iseult of Cornwall, and so she has been hiding from the queen these three years and more. But now Iseult knows where to find her, and I must warn Brangienne before any harm can come to her."

Sylvanus was silent for a moment, then said, "You may relax. Iseult has sent messengers, but they are at the moment very lost indeed. They cannot arrive at Is-baddadon's court before tomorrow night." Dinadan sighed with relief. Sylvanus spoke again, "How is it that Queen Iseult has only now discovered the Lady Brangienne's hiding place?"

Dinadan didn't hesitate. "It was my fault. I was inquiring after her health from one who had been at the court, but I was careless in speaking her name publicly. Please, Sylvanus, if Iseult's men are still a day away from the court, how close am I?"

"Not ten minutes, my friend," came the reply, and as the forest sprite finished speaking, the shadows around them seemed to begin moving. Dinadan stared until his eyes hurt, but all he could ever say afterwards was that it appeared that the world itself moved by him, and as he and his horses stood still, Isbaddadon's castle came to him. At any rate, in a very few minutes, he stood outside the familiar gates of Isbaddadon's castle, unsure how it had happened, but grateful nonetheless.

It actually took Dinadan longer to gain admittance through the gate than it had taken him to arrive there from the woods, but at last a guard appeared who remembered Dinadan from his earlier visits years before, and Dinadan was allowed to bring his horses in. Once inside, though, Dinadan was unsure what to do. He meant to take Lady Brangienne away, and it seemed to him that his best chance was to do it during the night and avoid any contact with either Isbaddadon or Olwen, but he did not know where Lady Brangienne's bedchamber might be. Leaving his horses in the courtyard, he went to the only place he could think to go—the kitchens.