The Ballad of Sir Dinadan (6 page)

"It seems that our companion has found a home here," Bedivere murmured in his ear. "I am not surprised. I guessed she had been a lady-in-waiting."

"Ladies-in-waiting are shrewish, are they?" Dinadan asked innocently. Bedivere shook his head, but did not reply, and the two applied themselves to their meals.

All who ate at the table finished at roughly the same time, even though some (Isbaddadon and Culloch) ate twice as much as the others. Dinadan noticed that Lady Olwen did justice to her dinner as well, but that the ladies-in-waiting ate nothing. At last the king rose and turned his attention to his guests.

"Well, Ollie!" he trumpeted to his daughter. "What d'ye think of your suitor?"

Lady Olwen simpered and blinked very rapidly at Culloch. The eyelid movement was apparently supposed to be flirtatious, but Dinadan found it oddly disconcerting. Culloch raised his cup and grinned foolishly.

"Blast it," Bedivere muttered. "The lad's fuddled."

"And he's even brought us a gift, a fine wench to be your lady-in-waiting!" Isbaddadon laughed without humor, and was joined by Culloch, who had come to the rollicking stage of his inebriation. The king bowed toward the lady in question and said, "Welcome, Lady Bragwaine."

The lady looked pained. "My lord, forgive me, but my name is Brangienne."

The king grunted. "One of those pothersome foreign names!" he announced, as if this explained something. He turned back toward Culloch, and his eyes grew hard. "But we can't give my gel away just because you gave us one, too. Can't trade even up for a princess, now, can I? What can you offer me in exchange?" Culloch babbled something nearly incoherent, but the word "task" appeared several times, and King Isbaddadon snapped back, "Of course you'll do a task, as many as I ask! But I want something now! Tell us a tale, why don't you?"

Culloch hiccuped and grinned. Dinadan closed his eyes with anguish. Another cup and Culloch would be under the table.

"I said—"

Dinadan started to speak, but before he could say a word a shrill voice interrupted from the servants' gallery. It was Wadsworth. "Your gracious highness! If I may, I shall speak for my master and shall tell thee a tale!"

King Isbaddadon glared at the minstrel, then shrugged. "Make it a good one, then, and your master lives." He leaned back in his chair and reached for another flagon of wine.

Wadsworth strummed his instrument, then said, "Because your lordship is here in Wales, I tell of a Welsh hero, and call upon all the Welsh heroes to witness my telling. I call upon Gwydden the Difficult, Sugyn son of Sugynedydd (who could suck up a sea in a draught), Cacamwri the Barn Flailer, Llong, Dygyvlong, Anoeth the Bold, Eiddyl the Tall, and Amren the Also Tall, Gwevyl son of Gwastad (whose lip drooped to his navel when he was sad), and Uchdryd Cross Beard."

"He's making this up, isn't he?" Dinadan whispered to Bedivere.

"Nay, lad," Bedivere replied. "Some of the old minstrels think it mightily impressive to show off their memory for names. Impressive, but dull."

King Isbaddadon appeared to agree. His scowl grew blacker at each new name. Nothing could slow Wadsworth, though. "Even more, I call upon Bolch, Kyvolch, and Syvolch, the three sons of Cleddych Kyvolch and the grandsons of Cleddyv Divolch, who had three swords named Glas, Glessig, and Gleisyad, and three dogs named Call, Cuall, and Cavall, and three horses named Hoyrddyddog, Drogddyddog, and Lloyrddyd-dog, and three wives named—"

Wadsworth got no further. With a roar, King Isbaddadon leaped to his feet and snatched up his boar spear. Dinadan stared, unable to move or even to think except to wonder whether the king would kill Culloch or Wadsworth first, but Sir Kai was much quicker. As fast as thought, he had thrown himself across the table toward King Isbaddadon. The king hurled his spear toward Culloch, but Sir Kai—Dinadan would have laughed at this if he'd heard it in a tale, but it happened nevertheless—Sir Kai caught the spear in midflight.

Everyone froze in astonishment, staring at the spear in Sir Kai's grasp. Even Sir Kai seemed hardly to believe it, but he reversed it in a flash and held the point an inch from Isbaddadon's nose. "It's not good manners to kill your guests," Sir Kai said.

"Guards!" shouted the king, and at once thirty men armed with longbows appeared from what had evidently been a planned ambush.

"And do you think your men can kill me before I split your skull?" Sir Kai asked. And then there was silence for a long moment, while Sir Kai and the king stared at each other, neither moving a muscle.

"I have an idea," Dinadan said suddenly, trying to keep his voice calm. "It seems that our host has already heard the fine tale that our friend Wadsworth told—"

"Actually, I hadn't even begun the—"

"Be quiet, fool!" Bedivere hissed at Wadsworth. "Go on, Dinadan."

"Thank you. But if I could tell a tale that was more to your liking, then perhaps you would be satisfied, your highness."

King Isbaddadon did not move his eyes from Sir Kai, but after a second, replied, "Agreed."

Dinadan licked his lips, took a breath, and began. Afraid that he would be too self-conscious singing the Tale of Sir Dinadan, he began the tale he had composed before leaving home, the story of Sir Tristram's battle with the evil knight Sir Marhault. Never had the telling of a tale come so hard to him. Not only did he not have his rebec, but the room was filled with tension. Dinadan's voice wavered nervously, but the spear that Sir Kai held in King Isbaddadon's face remained steady. When at last Dinadan finished, the hall was silent for a long moment, then King Isbaddadon nodded slowly.

"It was well told," he said at last. "You may go, guards."

Only when the last guard was gone did Sir Kai relax and move the spear point away from the king. King Is-baddadon stood. "I'll give your champion his first task in the morning," he announced and walked out of the room.

Sir Kai and Bedivere and Dinadan looked at each other. "You might have told a shorter tale, lad," Sir Kai said gruffly, but his lips curled in what was almost a smile.

"Good Gog, Kai," Bedivere said. "You caught that spear in flight! I've never seen the like! They should write a song about that." Bedivere glanced inquiringly at Dinadan.

Dinadan shook his head. "Nobody would believe it."

Bedivere nodded. "In any case, Kai, you saved his life."

Sir Kai's smile faded as he glanced at Culloch, who had gone to sleep with his face in a sauce bowl during the story. "Don't remind me," Sir Kai said.

Judging by the stars, it was after midnight, but Dinadan was wide awake, his stomach complaining loudly that, in all the excitement, he had not eaten enough dinner. After vainly trying several times to go back to sleep, he gave up and rose from his bed to go hunting the kitchens.

It took a long time, feeling his way down strange hallways, but at last he found them, only to discover that someone had preceded him. Lady Brangienne was there, back to the door, hungrily devouring a chicken. Dinadan watched her a moment, then said mildly, "Don't take it all."

Lady Brangienne jumped and whirled around. Seeing Dinadan, the fear left her face and was replaced with intense dislike. "Oh, it's you."

Dinadan wondered at her scornful look, but he only asked, "Was there anything else where you got that chicken?" Lady Brangienne pointed to a partly open cabinet, where Dinadan saw some other cold meat. Nodding his thanks, he crossed the room and chose a half-eaten meat pie. Lady Brangienne never spoke, so at last Dinadan broke the silence. "You wouldn't be so hungry if you'd eat your dinner, you know."

Lady Brangienne snorted. "What dinner?" she snapped. "It's the custom here for Lady Olwen's ladies-in-waiting only to eat what is left over from my lady's plate."

"Sounds appetizing," Dinadan said.

"Impossible, you mean. You may not have noticed, but she left nothing to speak of."

"Yes. I did see she had a good appetite."

Lady Brangienne snorted again. "All her other ladies make it a point to eat before dinner, but I didn't discover that until it was too late."

Dinadan smiled. "You should have left early. But then you'd have missed the excitement."

Lady Brangienne's eyes lit with anger. "Excitement! Slanderous lies, more like!" Dinadan blinked and stepped back involuntarily. "You and your fancy Sir Tristram! What do you know about Tristram anyway?"

"More than you might think!" Dinadan retorted.

"Did you see him kill Sir Marhault?"

"No," Dinadan returned promptly. "Did you?"

Lady Brangienne hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, I did. And it was nothing like your tale."

Dinadan stared, his anger overcome for the moment by his curiosity. "What happened?"

Lady Brangienne's eyes narrowed, and she glared at Dinadan. "Why do you care? You have your story already."

"You may believe that I want to know what really happened," Dinadan said softly.

Lady Brangienne still looked suspicious, but at length she began.

"I used to be chief lady to Queen Iseult, daughter of good King Aguissance of Ireland. We reached womanhood together, and no two ladies could have been closer than we two. Iseult grew as beautiful as her mother had been before her, and soon all the land called her La Belle Iseult.

"Iseult's mother was from Cornwall, the daughter of the impoverished King of Tintagel. When she and Aguissance were wed, the poor king could not even provide a dowry, and so he and Aguissance arranged for Tintagel to pay a small yearly tribute, and every year that sum was paid gladly. It was received gladly, too, because the King of Tintagel always sent the payment by the hand of his cousin, the great knight Sir Marhault."

Lady Brangienne glared again at Dinadan, but when he did not respond, resumed her story. "Those were the best times of the year. Aguissance loved Sir Marhault as a brother, and when he arrived there was feasting and hunting and jousting and all sorts of revelry. There was no one so kind, so brave, or so courteous as Marhault—a man who could look a king in the eye as an equal but who still took time to speak to young ladies-in-waiting." Lady Brangienne hesitated, her mind far away, in a different day.

Then she came back to the present and her voice hardened as she continued. "One year, though, Mar-hault arrived empty-handed. The old king had died, and his nephew, Mark, had assumed the throne. King Mark declared that he would no longer pay tribute and dared King Aguissance to send a champion if he cared to dispute it. Marhault was ashamed at having been sent with such a churlish message, and he asked the king if he could be Aguissance's champion himself. After some persuasion, Aguissance agreed."

"Hang on, I'm getting confused here," Dinadan said. "Sir Marhault was related to this King Mark, wasn't he?"

"Remotely, yes," Lady Brangienne replied.

"But he wanted to go back and challenge King Mark on behalf of the King of Ireland?"

"He was more at home with us than in Cornwall, he always said. And besides, as I just said, he was offended by King Mark's boorishness."

Dinadan nodded, and Lady Brangienne continued. "A combat was arranged between Sir Marhault and King Mark's champion, a young man named Sir Tristram. All the court traveled to Cornwall for the test, and I went with them. It was terrible, and all so stupid. The battle was supposed to be a test of skill, not a fight to the death, but Tristram never let up. We could all see that he meant to kill Marhault, and if Marhault had been a lesser knight he would have been in great danger."

"Wasn't he killed then?" Dinadan asked in surprise.

"Not fairly!" Lady Brangienne snapped. "After a long time, Marhault succeeded in disarming Tristram and knocking him down, but he refused to follow up his advantage and kill him while Tristram was defenseless. Instead, he turned away, thinking that the battle was over. Tristram grabbed up his sword and attacked again. Marhault died there, with Tristram's sword in his skull."

Dinadan swallowed. He wanted to believe that Lady Brangienne was lying, but her low voice carried deep conviction. His brother Tristram had killed a good man by attacking him from behind.

More quietly, Lady Brangienne continued. "Later we learned that King Mark had told Tristram it was a fight to the death, but it made no difference. Marhault was dead, and nothing has been right in either Ireland or Cornwall since."

Her voice faded, and she looked at the floor for a long time. At last Dinadan said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I had heard only that Tristram won the battle, and I made up the rest. I shouldn't have."

Lady Brangienne did not look up, but at last, she said, "At least it made for a good enough tale to save your lives tonight." A tear rolled down her cheek, and she dashed it away angrily with the back of her hand.

Dinadan looked away from her grief. "All the same," he said. "I won't tell it again."

The sun was already high in the sky when Dinadan awoke, and he looked bemusedly around the unfamiliar room, remembering where he was. He was at the castle of King Isbaddadon, in the room he shared with Culloch, who was to be getting a task this morning in his quest to win the hand of the unappealing Olwen. Dinadan glanced at Culloch's bed, across the chamber, then sat up. Culloch was gone, along with his armor and weapons.

Ten minutes later, Dinadan was dressed and hurrying down the hallway. Since he did not know where he might find Culloch, he made his way toward the kitchens. It was as likely a guess as any, and there at least he could find some breakfast. But first he found Lady Brangienne.

She was just leaving the kitchens, carrying a scarf filled with baked goods. She lifted one eyebrow at Dinadan. "You're still here?" she asked abruptly. "I thought you'd gone with the others."

"They've gone?" Dinadan blinked. He couldn't believe Bedivere would leave without telling him.

"Of course," Lady Brangienne replied. "They've gone off to do Culloch's first task, if you can call it that."

Her voice was rich with scorn, and Dinadan looked at her inquiringly. "What do you mean? What's the task?"

"Don't you know?" Dinadan shook his head, and Lady Brangienne tossed her hair back out of her eyes with a sharp gesture that managed to communicate impatience and disdain at once. "The king has sent Culloch to plow his north field with two oxen. One of them has to be yellow and the other one spotted."