"Stop, stop!" implored Bendybus: "Would you stick your addled head into the lion's mouth?"
"Ay, and knock out his teeth!" shouted the besotted knight, without a backward glance.
There was nothing for Bendybus to do, in either the capacity of squire or of business manager, but to mount and follow. He rode hard but not far, for an urgent figure issued from the castle and came running across the drawbridge with upflung arms and flying white whiskers and inarticulate cries, causing the knight to pull up just this side of the bridge to avoid a collision and himself to draw rein to spare the knight a rear-end bump. The old man louted low at Dinadan's right stirrup, and even clung to it while gasping for breath.
"Worshipful Sir Knight—Sir Bash's compliments—and will Your Honor condescend to attend him in his chamber— with his humble apologies—as he does not feel quite equal—nothing serious—to the effort of coming out and— paying his respects to Your Worship on Your Honor's own ground—so to speak," he gasped.
"Take your time, my friend," said Dinadan kindly. "If you mean that Sir Bash requests a word with me, right-o! I was on my way to a word with him anyhow."
"Not so fast!" exclaimed Bendybus, urging his horse forward and glaring down suspiciously at the old man. Then, leveling his glare at the knight, he rasped, "Would you be made a monkey of—and a dead monkey this time!— twice in the same day? Are you so utterly sotted and bewitched that you can't see the foul truth of this request—the cloak over your head and the daggers in your back the moment you cross that threshold? If so, God defend you for the sorriest fool in Christendom!—and the deadest, Sir Dinadan of the Round Table—when they throw your corpse to the eels in the moat!"
"Sir Dinadan?" cried the messenger. "D'ye mean the Sir Dinadan, young sir?"
"There's but the one, to the best of my knowledge and belief—and thank God for that!" replied the squire, returning his glare to the ancient major-domo, or whatever he was. "But what's to caper and smirk about, you old loon?"
The messenger told them. Believing that he had been unhorsed by the same insolent local clodhopper whose shield he had split and whose life he had so contemptuously spared only a week before, Sir Bash's emotions had hurt him a thousand times more than had his bruised buttocks. He had wept with shame, then all but strangled with anger; and in the madness of his rage and humiliation he had cursed the Damosel Clara and sworn, by his halidom and God's wounds, to destroy her heritage and then himself. But his ravings had ceased when a watcher at a window had come running with the word that the cavalier of the virgin shield had opened his vizor and disclosed the beetling brows and eagle nose and great mustachios of a veteran professional battler. That word had healed Sir Bash's lacerated vanity like magic; and so he had sent his oldest and trustiest servant to beg the honor of the knight's and his squire's company to dinner.
"And if the knowledge that his opponent was an adult and experienced jouster rather than a rustic hobbledehoy means so much to him, imagine the added salve to his feelings to learn that he was unseated by the spear of the incomparable Sir Dinadan," concluded the old man.
"You flatter me, good friend," murmured the knight. "But I warn you that all my concern is still for the young lady's situation, despite the somewhat invidious position in which her lack of frankness—quite unintentional, I'm sure—has placed me as an advocate and observer of the nicest shades of chivalrous behavior."
The major-domo looked apologetic and bewildered.
"Permit me, sir, or we're like to starve to death in our saddles," said Bendybus to the knight. Then, addressing the ancient, he said, "In other words, Sir Dinadan is still so sotted on your Damosel Clara, despite the scurvy trick she played on him, that he is as indifferent to Sir Bash's state of mind as to his own material interests."
"Trick?" queried the major-domo, still bewildered. "What trick, young sir?"
"The same trick that brought her uncle's curses upon her, old dolt! She didn't mention her lover to us. Oh, no, she is far too sly for that! For though the use of a bare shield to bring a bully to book may be excused, for a knight of the Round Table to impersonate a particular and known duffer, for whatever purpose, is quite something else again."
"Hah, I see it now! Lady Clara is a clever puss. How Sir Bash will laugh when I tell him!"
"Laugh! Then why did he curse and threaten her?"
"Oh, young sir, that was while he still believed he had been grounded by the local lout. It wasn't the trick that frenzied him, it was the humiliation."
And now Bendybus was nonplused.
"I give it up, sir," he said to the knight. "Simpletons, evidently—with the exception of that Clara. I doubt that Sir Bash has the wit for treachery even if he has the will. I think we had better risk it, sir. I am decidedly peckish."
"Lead on, friend," said Dinadan to the major-domo; and he sheathed his great sword.
* * *
It was a notable dinner. Sir Bash insisted on sitting up to it, with a swan's-down pillow in the seat of his chair and another at his back. Sir Dinadan was on his right and the damosel and Bendybus were on his left. Sir Bash proved himself a simple soul in truth, and a jovial one to boot.
"A great day for me!" he cried, over and over. "To run a course with a knight of the Round Table—to be grassed by Sir Dinadan—a memorable day indeed!"
For a time, the guest of honor contented himself with murmured modest disclaimers in reply, but after a second horn of mead and a second helping of pigeon pie, his eyes brightened and his funny-bone tickled.
"A red-letter day for me too," he said. "And a lucky day. For look you, Sir Bash, what is the difference between grassing a knightly opponent and being grassed by him but a matter of luck? A trick of chance! A mere matter of inches and seconds. Had your spear been straighter by six inches, or ten at most, and a few seconds faster, then it would have been as straight and soon as mine. And in that case, which of us would have taken to the air, think you? The lighter man, depend upon it! To wit, yours truly; and right now the pillow of swan's-down would be under me instead of you."
Sir Bash goggled. He shook his head and scratched it.
"D'ye say so?" he cried. "You amaze me! As close as that? I can't—if youll forgive my presumption—quite believe it."
"But a matter of inches and seconds, dear Bash, I assure you," returned Dinadan, gravely.
Bendybus, who had been fairly stretching his ears so as not to miss a word, now smiled complacently and murmured, "He is on the road to recovery, I do believe."
The damosel glanced at Bendybus obliquely—but dear heaven, with what eyes!—and whispered: "He suffered nothing that a little arnica won't cure."
"I referred to Sir Dinadan," mumbled the squire, trying to avoid that glance.
"But what has he to recover from?"
"Never mind that. But I wish your uncle had a window in him, or was transparent."
"How absurd! But why?"
"That I might see Sir Dinadan—if his left eyebrow is cocked an inch higher than the right."
"Ill look," she said; and she leaned far forward— halfway across the table, in fact—and peered around Sir Bash's bulk.
Upon recovering her seat and conventional pose, she whispered, "It's cocked, but not that high."
"Gramercy," returned Bendybus. "At this rate hell soon be his old self again with the possessor of every requirement for success except business acumen."
"What is business acumen?" she asked; but while he told her at considerable length and with appropriate gestures, she made better use of her eyes than of her ears.
Sir Dinadan, in the meantime, had talked Sir Bash into two minds, or maybe three, concerning the identity of the victor in their recent tilt; and now the fat knight all but ignored trencher and horn, at one moment congratulating his guest and at the next himself and so on, around and around. The hours wore on, and dinner-time wore thin and extended to supper-time without either knight leaving his seat; but when the first course of supper was served, Sir Bash was sound asle
ep and gloriously adream. Ever and anon a snort, a puff, or a grunt issued from his nose or lips or chest. Ah, what dreams! At unhorsing Sir Guy, he snorted; upon pushing Sir Palomides overboard, he puffed—and no wonder!; and the splintering of a spear on Sir Launcelot's shield fetched up a grunt from the very-depths of his being. And so, face down on table and stern on swan's-down, he astonished King Arthur and was elected to a seat at the Round Table: the while Sir Dinadan continued to ply fingers and spoon and horn, for in truth he had been on a low diet of late. . . .
On three mornings in succession, Sir Dinadan bid his squire see to the saddling of their horses, but without any apparent result. On the fourth morning, he said, "We really must be off today, my boy."
"I don't agree with you, sir," replied Bendybus. "As your business manager, I advise against it strongly. I have to consider your fee, sir—not to mention my commission. Had you not spilled Sir Bash under false pretences, it would be easy enough to collect the price of a cart-horse and an outsized and outmoded suit of armor. But, under the circumstances, the sum involved is for services rendered, and therefore debatable; and I have the niece, not the uncle, to deal with. It can't be done hastily, but I'm already working on it; and if we are smart, sir, well collect what we can by the way of our teeth and gullets in the interim, just in case."
A few hours later, Sir Dinadan and his host played at chess together. It was soon apparent that Sir Bash had something besides the game on his mind, for his moves were even stupider than usual.
"What ails you?" asked Dinadan.
"I'm worried," said the fat knight, leaning back in his chair and emitting a windy sigh terminating in a hiccup.
"Indigestion," suggested the thin knight.
Sir Bash shook his great head and mumbled, "No, no, it's Clara."
Dinadan cocked an eyebrow, narrowed the other eye, and twitched both ears, but said nothing.
Bash added, "I´ll have no peace till she's married."
Again Dinadan said nothing. Bash leaned forward, overturning chessmen with his bulges, whereupon the knight of the Round Table sat back, fearing another sigh.
"Happily married—safely and suitably, that's to say," continued Bash, earnestly if a trifle gustily. "To a husband of my choice, in short. And now I have chosen. And you are it. Speak up, my friend—my worshipful Round Tabler— and bring me peace."
"But—but—my dear Bash—what about her—the lady's—ah!—peace and happiness?" stammered Dinadan, with a red face.
"Shell jump at you, my dear Din—and has done so already, or I miss my guess."
"But I'm in no position to make such a proposal—to so much as dream of such bliss. Ah, Bashy, I'm as poor as a miser's mouse—all due to my lack of business acumen and my too-sensitive funnybone, so Bendybus tells me."
"Bah and faugh to your poverty!" cried Sir Bash. "Clara has enough for both of you, my dear Din—ay, and for a dozen of you, if it comes to that—or will have when she marries you. And the sooner the better, for my peace of mind. Tell her today and we can have the wedding next week."
Sir Dinadan the Jiber rose slowly from his chair and moved about the chamber like a sleepwalker. And soon he talked like a sleeptalker.
"Tomorrow—the natal day of my patron saint. Tomorrow I will lay my heart at her feet. Nay, it is already there! Tomorrow I shall pick it up and give it into her hands. . . ."
The two knights were halfway through breakfast next morning, and Sir Bash was just beginning to wonder what was detaining Clara and young Bendybus—Sir Dinadan was still in too much of a daze and maze to be aware of even his lady's absence—when the ancient major-domo handed a sealed letter to his master, and Sir Bash broke the seals. Ten minutes later—for he had to spell the words over and over, being as slow of wit as of eye—he uttered a spluttered bellow and thrust the parchment under, and all but against, Sir Dinadan's high nose. The sotted knight could not choose but to read.
"Revered Uncle I herewith inform You that My Bendy and Self are now One thanks to ye Venerable Hermit of Creepy Hollow and now well upon the Road to Camelot. I brought away my Dear departed Mama's trinkets in 3 saddlebags and a pouch including Dymonds and Emeralds and Grandmama's Stummicker of Rubies and as My Bendy has a wonderful Head for Business You need not worry on My behalf Tell Dear Dinny with a kiss I'm sure he will soon be quite his Old Self again.
Ever y'r Loving Obedient
—Clara"
Sir Dinadan blinked. For a minute, nothing but his eyes showed any sign of life. Then he stood up, but only to sit down again and continue to blink. The he laid hold suddenly of a great horn of ale on the board before him, raised it to his lips, drained it, and set it down lightly.
"Quite," he said; and his left eyebrow went up a full inch. "Gramercy, little one."
Sir Dinadan and the Giant Taulurd
So this earl made his complaint that there was a giant hight Taulurd by him that destroyed all his lands, and how he durst nowhere ride nor go for him. "Sir," said the knight, "Whether useth he to fight, on horseback or on foot?" "Nay," said the earl, "there be no horse able to carry him.n "Then will I fight him on foot," said the knight.
—Sir Thomas Malory
After supper, the hostess demanded of Sir Dinadan a song of love, and all the other ladies supported her; and so Sir Dinadan being the only gentleman present, the demand was unanimous.
"Fie upon Your Grace!" he cried, knitting his brows and flashing his eyes in mock distress. "A song of love, quoth-a! Nay, God forgive you—and defend me For well you know my opinions on that subject. Ask me for a song of hate—of murder or battle—or of the hunting of wolves, wild pigs, dragons, or giants—of anything betwixt heaven and hell, except love!"
The hostess, who was an elderly dowager duchess, laughed unrestrainedly, as did the other ladies, with the sole exception of the only young one present.
"Hah, madam, you are cruel!" Dinadan railed on. "You bid me to sup, and now you command me to sing of love— to sing for my supper, like poor little Dan Tucker. And of love, of all things! Nay, Duchess, your hospitality deserves a better return than any song I could make on that obnoxious subject."
At this, even the youngest guest laughed, though uncertainly; and the hostess, with tears of mirth hopping on her fat cheeks, cried: "Sing what you will, naughty boy—only sing!"
The knight's air, attitude, and facial expression changed as quick as winking, and all for the better, and he said, "Gramercy, ma'am" to the Duchess as if he really meant it. He shifted his chair a little away from the table and brought his lute, which was slung behind him by a broad ribbon about his neck, around to his front; and he said mildly: "Nay, Duchess, of what you will!" And, with a poetical, faraway and yet introspective look in his eyes, he touched his lingers to the strings. And so he played, now slow, now fast, now high, now low—but soon a melody took shape.
"Of love," he said, and twitched and peaked a cynical eyebrow.
Then he sang. He sang of love and lovers, in general and in particular. He sang of famous love affairs of the past, naming the great lovers by name. It was beautiful and heart-melting; and faded lips trembled, and faded eyes shone and misted, and tears ran on cheeks both fat and thin. Even the bright lips and eyes of the youngest lady trembled and misted slightly. Then he sang of notable, and even notorious, affairs of the day, but without naming the lovers concerned therein; and this too—the words and the music alike—enchanted ears and hearts. The applause was generous. When it subsided, Dinadan stood up and bowed to right and left.
"I am honored by your approval of my pretty song," he said. "I could sing more, but to a less honeyed tune—of the bitter and salty fruits of love—lovers mad and naked in the wilderness, thirsty in the desert, crippled in hidden places, and dead and bloody on the ground; maddened, exiled, crippled, and slain in the name of love, to feed the vanity of women. But you would not like it."
Now his face was grim. He turned to the hostess, at whose right hand he had sat, and said: "I thank you for the noble cheer and gracio
usness, ma'am. And now I must beg to be excused, for I must be up and about full early tomorrow."
He did not explain that if he failed to raise the wind, to the tune of five hundred silver crowns, by noon of the next day, his best suit of armor, and his spare horse, and the best of his wardrobe even to the gorgeous garments in which he stood, would be seized by a certain flinty infidel who held a chattle-mortgage on the lot: but the good Duchess more than suspected the truth, for young Sir Dinadan's haphazard economy was a subject of comment in the best and even the not-so-good circles of society. Now the dowager hostess extended a plump hand, which the cavalier took lightly in his lean and hard sword-and-lute hand, and bowing low, saluted with his lips. He straightened his back then, but instead of retiring, he stood and widened his eyes at something in the palm of his hand.
"Nay, madam, you know better," he murmured, with a sigh that was almost a moan.
"A trifle!" she protested. "A mere nothing between good friends."
He said, with a sad smile: "Ay, a mere nothing worth a king's ransom. Nay, dear lady, it cannot be. Had I saved your life or honor with spear and sword, shed and lost blood for you, it would be another matter. For that sort of thing— knight-errantry—is my profession. But all this play of wit and this raillery against love to make you laugh, and then these songs of love and lovers to wring your heart, are as purely social and noncommercial as Your Grace's delightful suppers. For deeds of arms I take my fees—when I can get them, that's to say—like any honest laborer his wages, but I guard my amateur standing as a poet right jealously."
So saying, he gave the great diamond back to the Duchess, bowed again, and retired from the hall.
"The dratted young fool!" muttered the Duchess, returning the ring to a plump finger.
The young damosel who sat at the hostess's left hand, asked gravely: "What ails the poor man?" And she added, before the other could speak again: "Not modesty, that's obvious."
The Merriest Knight Page 10