The Ballad of Sir Dinadan (21 page)

It had to be Tristram. With an effort, Dinadan opened his mouth enough that he could nip the hand with his teeth. The hand jerked away for a second, and Dinadan said quickly, "I can't answer if you cover my mouth!"

"Oh." The arms relaxed and let Dinadan turn around, but the sharp point stayed at his throat. It was Tristram, all right, wielding a sharpened stick as a weapon. He wore about a weeks' worth of beard, and his eyes were as mad as they had ever been.

"It's me. Dinadan."

"Do I know you?" Tristram asked suspiciously.

"You never have," Dinadan replied. "But I know you all the same. What happened here? Was it Mark's soldiers? Where's Iseult?"

Tristram tensed and grasped his stick with both hands. "How do you know about Iseult and me? For I've spoken to no one. I've taken a vow of—"

Dinadan slapped away the sharp stick and snapped angrily at his brother. "Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut up, I say! Enough of this nonsense about a vow of silence. You flickerwick! Everyone in England knows that you and Iseult are having an affair, and do you know something? No one cares! The two of you are excessively boring, and no one is interested anymore except King Mark himself, and that's because he's as stupid as you are. Now put down that stick at once!"

Tristram let go of his stick, and for a moment his eyes seemed less glazed. "Dinadan?"

"Yes, Dinadan. Your brother."

"My brother?"

"Yes, you ass. Now answer my question. What happened here?"

Tristram sat down amid the rubble and began to sob. Dinadan sat, too, and let him cry for a while, then asked again. Finally, Tristram was able to tell him what he knew. Tristram had been out hunting—they had run out of food, as Brangienne had predicted—when King Mark's soldiers came and took Iseult. Tristram had heard the screams and had run to help, but by the time he arrived they were already galloping away on horses. The next day, King Mark had come back to the place himself, with all his soldiers, and they had methodically destroyed everything they could find. Tristram had watched them begin from a hiding place in the rocks, but had slipped away almost at once, hoping to rescue Iseult from Tintagel while the soldiers were busy.

"But it was no use," Tristram said. "Mark has her locked up in the highest tower room, and she is never permitted to leave it. I found a way to climb over the outer walls of the castle, but I couldn't climb the tower to her. Finally, she sent me away before Mark could return. I've been living in the woods ever since. Can you help me, Dinadan?"

Dinadan shook his head. "Not if you mean help you free Iseult. But I have some food with my horses. Come on, I'll give you something to eat."

They left the ruined grotto and climbed together back to the clearing where Dinadan's horses were. They made camp and ate together, and then Tristram rolled over and began sleeping fitfully. Dinadan watched him across the fire and wondered what to do. Once again, he was caught up in someone else's troubles. He had come intending to tell Iseult, with a great show of solicitude, that her beloved former lady-in-waiting Brangienne had died, so that Iseult would put her out of her mind, but now that hardly seemed worth doing. Iseult had problems of her own. Nevertheless, by trying to help one person, Dinadan had ended up embroiled in the ridiculous affairs of others. It was the story of his life.

He went to sleep that night still unsure about what to do next. He couldn't leave Tristram alone and mad in the forest and just ride away, but he could see no way to resolve Tristram's and Iseult's problems either. So it was with considerable relief that he awoke the next morning and discovered that Tristram had left him during the night. Dinadan smiled. There was nothing in his code of honor against allowing Tristram to leave him. Dinadan saddled his horses and gathered his gear, and then saw something that ruined his mood entirely. Thomas's lyre was missing.

Half an hour later, Dinadan rode up to the main gate of Tintagel Castle. Two guards with wicked-looking halberds—eight-foot long battleaxes with sharp points at the ends—stood there watching his approach. "Halt and state your business!" one said.

"He's all right," replied the other guard. "He's the minstrel fellow who took away the other chap's lyre. Remember?"

The first guard nodded, but he said, "We 'ave our orders, anyway. We're to send for the king as soon as anyone comes to the gate. You! Minstrel! You stay here while I fetch King Mark."

As soon as the first guard had left, Dinadan turned to the one who had recognized him. "It's been busy about here, hasn't it?"

"You've heard, then?"

"Yes. The minstrel Tramtris ran away with Queen Iseult, didn't he?"

"Huh! 'Tramtris' indeed. Sir Tristram is who it was, as everyone figured out when he took off with the queen. She's back, now."

"And what about Tristram?" Dinadan asked casually. "Have you seen him?"

The guard barked with laughter. "Not likely, is it? He'd have to be mad to show his face around here again."

"True," Dinadan said. "Very true."

King Mark must have been nearby, because at that moment he and the first guard appeared. "What do you want, sirrah?" Mark demanded.

Dinadan decided to be blunt and honest. "Same thing as last time," he said. "Tristram stole my lyre again, and I've come to get it back."

"Well, he's not here," Mark said.

"He will be," Dinadan replied. "And he doesn't need the gate. He's found a way over the wall."

Mark laughed and repeated what the guard had just said. "He'd have to be mad."

"He is," Dinadan said calmly. "May I come in and wait for him?"

"No!" Mark snapped. "No one comes in! Maybe you're after my wife, too? Eh? What do you say to that?"

Dinadan looked into Mark's eyes and saw in them as much madness as he had ever seen in Tristram's. "I couldn't begin to say—" he began. But he got no further. From across the courtyard, from the base of the tallest tower of the castle, came the unmistakable sound of a lyre.

Mark's eyes widened, and he made a strangled sound in his throat as they all looked across the yard. There was Tristram, his back to the gate, blithely strumming on Thomas the Rhymer's lyre. Mark growled, like a wounded dog, and grabbed one of the guards' halberds.

"No!" Dinadan shouted. He reached out to grab Mark, but the closed gate was between them. Mark pointed the halberd at Tristram's back and began running. Dinadan shouted urgently, "Stop, Mark! Tristram! Turn around!"

At the topmost window of the tower, Iseult appeared. She saw Tristram, then saw Mark charging him. She screamed and leaned out the window. "Stop! No! My love!"

The halberd took Tristram square in the center of the back. He made no noise, but simply sprawled forward, apparently dead before he hit the paving stones. Iseult screamed again and clutched at the air, and then her scream of grief changed to one of fear as she overbalanced and fell. She landed with a thump at King Mark's feet, and then all was quiet. Mark stared at Tristram's body, then at Iseult's, and then he fell forward in a faint.

Dinadan and the guards stared, unmoving, at the little heap of bodies across the court. At last the friendly guard said, "Would you like me to fetch your lyre for you, sir?"

Dinadan shook his head. "Bury it with Tristram," he said. Then he turned and rode away.

Mother Priscilla greeted Dinadan with a warm smile. "I knew you would return," she said, "but I did not think it would be so soon."

"I didn't plan to be back so soon myself," Dinadan replied. "But I've something to tell Brangienne that's rather important,"

Mother Priscilla nodded. "I will send for her at once. Come out to the garden. Would you care for a glass of our own blackberry wine while you wait?"

Dinadan accepted the wine and went to the convent garden, where he sat on a rough wooden bench. A minute later, Brangienne appeared, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. "Dinadan! What brings you back so soon?"

"Several things," he replied. "It's been a busy fortnight since I was here last."

"Why? What's happened?"

Dinadan licked his lips and hesitated. "Why don't you go first? Tell me about your life here. Last time all we did was talk about my affairs."

Brangienne looked acutely at Dinadan's face, but she said, "Very well," and began to tell Dinadan about life at the convent. She described the very ordinary routine, the hours of solitude, the hours of working alongside all her friends there, and the sense of peace that had grown inside her. "Perhaps you had not noticed," she said, "but I was not always very peaceful before I came here."

"Really?" Dinadan said politely.

"I was angry at everyone, I think. Knights, ladies, kings, lovers, men, women—have I left anyone out?"

"No, that should cover it. But you aren't angry now?"

Brangienne's lips quivered. "Not ... not usually. There are a few of the sisters who are, shall we say, irritants. They are good hearted enough, just not extremely clever, and sometimes I do need to say an extra prayer for patience. But no, I don't live with anger anymore."

"That's good," Dinadan said, for lack of anything else to say.

"Now, suppose we get on with what you came here for. What has happened that sent you back her to see me so soon?"

Still Dinadan was loth to begin. "After I left you, I went to a wedding," he said. Brangienne lifted her eyebrows in question, and Dinadan grinned. "Culloch and Olwen."

Brangienne rolled her eyes. "Oh. Well, I suppose I wish them very happy."

"Can't imagine either of them being happy," said Dinadan reflectively. "Whether they're married or not. But they're not off to the best start." He proceeded to tell her about the wedding, and when he was done, she could only shake her head, aghast.

"What fools some people choose to be," she said. Then she looked again at Dinadan. "But surely that isn't what you came to tell me."

"No." There was nothing left but to say it. "Iseult is dead."

"Dead," Brangienne repeated slowly. "How? By violence?"

"I suppose you could say that." Dinadan told her the story, simply and plainly and without emotion.

Brangienne looked at the ground. "I loved her once, when we were children. I suppose I was never more than a servant to her, but I thought we were more. What a dreadful, horrible, stupid, meaningless death to die."

"But of course it won't be long before the minstrels are telling it as if it were noble somehow, making it a great tragic love story."

"You won't, will you? No, of course you won't."

Dinadan shook his head. "I thought you ought to know, though, that the person who wanted you dead is gone. You're safe now."

Brangienne nodded to herself, her eyes empty, and Dinadan could see she was lost in thought. He was silent for several minutes, waiting for her. His stomach began to tighten, and his mouth grew dry. It became harder and harder to breathe normally. At last Brangienne looked up. "Thank you for coming to tell me, Dinadan."

Dinadan nodded. "Brangienne?"

"Yes?"

"I have something else to ask you, too."

"What?" her voice was very quiet.

Dinadan took the hurdle at a rush. "Would you like to marry me?"

Brangienne was silent for a long time. "Dinadan, you are the only man on earth that I could ever marry," she said at last. Dinadan swallowed, and the tight feeling in his chest seemed about to burst. "But if you don't mind terribly, I think I'd rather not."

Dinadan let his breath out with deep sigh. "Oh, thank God," he said.

Brangienne burst into merry laughter. "What do you mean?" she said at last. "Don't you
want
to marry me?"

Dinadan was laughing, too. "I feel just as you do, my love. I could never marry anyone else, but no, no, I don't want to marry you."

"Then why did you ask, you idiot? Suppose I had said yes?"

"It was something that Bedivere said after Culloch's wedding. He said he's always thought there was something between us."

"Well, there is, isn't there?"

"Of course there is, though dashed if I know what to call it. But he put the idea in my head that you were in love with me and would never marry anyone else because you were waiting for me to ask."

"Oh," Brangienne said. "I understand. So you screwed up your courage and asked me because you were afraid it was the only thing that would make me happy."

Dinadan shrugged. "Something like that."

Brangienne leaned forward and kissed Dinadan lightly on the forehead. "You're such a dear, my love."

A voice from behind them said, "Then it's all settled?" It was Mother Priscilla.

"What do mean, Mother?" Brangienne asked.

She looked at Dinadan. "Did you ask her to marry you?"

Brangienne's eyes widened. "You knew he would?"

"Of course, you silly girl. Why do you suppose I've never let you take your vows? You had to face this first. So?"

Dinadan stood from the bench and bowed to Mother Priscilla. "Yes, I asked her. And she's made me the happiest man on earth."

"Ah, she has, has she?" Mother Priscilla said quietly.

Brangienne giggled. "Yes, I have. I turned him down."

***

Dinadan sat cross-legged on his saddle and played his rebec. He was riding more or less in the direction of Camelot, but if he missed it, he didn't care much. Other knights of King Arthur's court were always riding out on quests—very intent on going to particular places to perform particular tasks—but Dinadan had come to accept that he was not like that. For him, it was enough to go, without necessarily arriving anywhere. Every time he had gone somewhere specific it had been with someone else or against his wishes for someone else's sake. "I suppose that means that I'll never accomplish as much as those other fellows," he said aloud. "Thank heaven for that, anyway."

He played idly on his instrument for a moment, then began to sing, quietly, a little nonsense ditty he had been fooling about with since leaving Brangienne the day before,

"When I was but a little tiny boy,
With a hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish love was but a toy,
For the rain, it raineth every day.