The Ballad of Sir Dinadan

by Gerald Morris

  They rode together wordlessly for a few seconds. "You can drop the title, lad. Just call me Kai," the great knight said suddenly. Then they were silent again.

  They camped that night in a clearing in the woods. Dinadan lay down after dinner, feeling exhausted, but sleep did not come to him. After lying awake for almost an hour, the moon rose over the edge of the trees and washed the clearing with its pale light—not bright enough to make the world lighter, only enough to make the shadows blacker. Dinadan sat up, his mind returning to Rhiannon and her children back at the shop, and he knew he would not sleep this night. Taking up his rebec, he slipped into the woods and walked a furlong into the shadows, where he would not disturb his companions' rest.

  Dinadan began to play. He did not sing; there were no words for the song that he felt this time. He played slow, mournful notes, making up the tune as he went along, hardly caring which note followed which, so long as each note was played in purity, with as rich a tone as his hand and instrument could produce. He tried to form each note into the shape of an unloved wife's grief, the sort of grief that has no end in sight before death, no revenge but the private revenge of secret hatred.

  There was a rustling at his feet, and Dinadan looked down to see two rabbits, ears cocked, sitting not two feet away, listening. He nodded absently at them but continued playing. In a moment, there was another motion, and Dinadan saw the large unblinking eyes of a deer behind a nearby deadfall. He paused and looked up. The deer retreated into the darkness, the rabbits hopped away, and a faint rustling came from every side. He looked about but saw nothing.

  Taking up his rebec again, he resumed his song, and within seconds the rabbits and the deer had returned, along with a fox, a badger, several hedgehogs, and a sleek otter. Birds alit in the branches above his head, without any sound but the faintest ruffling of wings. The air was thick, and Dinadan felt light-headed, but he continued his song, now playing not only for Rhiannon but also for his woodland audience.

  More animals appeared, and then, from behind Dinadan came a gentle piping sound, like the wind whistling through chinks in a wall, but the piping kept time with Dinadan's song. Slowly, the piping grew clearer and closer, and then, to Dinadan's wonder, began to play in counterpoint to his own melody. Amazed, but too full of music to be afraid, Dinadan continued playing, picking up the tempo and playing furiously, playing—as he realized later—beyond his own ability. The piping kept time, joining the melody for brief moments, then branching away in wild harmonies. More animals gathered. Dinadan was dimly aware that a great brown bear had joined the crowd, sitting on the forest floor with rabbits and squirrels gathered fearlessly around its heavy paws.

  Dinadan did not know how long he played, but at last there came a time when he knew the song was ending, and he slowed down to play the last refrain. The piping slowed with him and ended at the same moment, and then there was silence. This time the animals did not retreat, and Dinadan wondered briefly if he ought to be afraid, but he hardly cared. "Who are you?" he said softly, not turning around.

  "I am Sylvanus," answered a clear, musical voice. "And I am your servant, dear Dinadan."

  "You know me?" Dinadan asked.

  "Not until this moment," the voice replied, "but now I know you as well as you know yourself. You called me with your music. Few mortals are given such magic."

  Dinadan swallowed. "Then you ... are not a mortal?"

  "No." A shadow moved at the corner of his eye and Dinadan turned his head to see the outline of a small horned figure, human in shape except for goat-like legs. The animals had all turned their attention away from Dinadan and were watching this shape, this Sylvanus. "Tell me," the little figure asked. "Did you play from your own grief or of the grief of another."

  "I was thinking of ... of a woman I met, who is married to a beast."

  "It is very strange," Sylvanus said conversationally, "but it always seems to me that the sort of men that are called 'beasts' are not very beastly at all, but are rather the most human."

  Dinadan smiled slowly, then turned to the assembled animals. "You are right. I beg your pardon, all of you. I shall be more careful in the future how I speak of you."

  "Oh, I wasn't complaining," Sylvanus said mildly. "After all, when bear cubs misbehave, their mothers call them 'boys' or 'girls.' Is that not so, ma'am?" The brown bear nodded slowly in reply.

  "She understood you? You speak to the animals?" Dinadan asked, amazed.

  "Of course," Sylvanus replied. "Is there something you wished to ask them?"

  "Oh, no. I was just surprised."

  "Are you sure? Have you no questions?"

  Dinadan stopped, thinking. Sylvanus appeared to be prompting him. "No, nothing. Unless ... unless they could tell me about a small baby—a human baby, I mean—that was stolen about fifteen years ago and may have been carried through these woods."

  Sylvanus hesitated. "That will be difficult. Few of these creatures gathered here were alive then, and even among those who were, the notion of keeping count of years would be foreign. But my lady bruin here may know something."

  Dinadan heard no words, not even any sounds, pass between the shadow and the bear, but the bear's countenance grew very intent and her eyes stayed fixed on Sylvanus's form. After several minutes, the shadow spoke. "I do not know if this will help or not. She says that there has been no stolen baby in these woods as long as she has lived, which I judge to be at least twenty years. She does remember, though, that many years ago a young woman, hardly old enough to be a mother, brought her baby through here. Was the child a boy?"

  "Yes," Dinadan replied, suddenly convinced he had his answer. This was Modron's first wife. No wonder the merchant had spoken of her so harshly. She had run away with her child.

  "She says that the woman had just borne the child and was very weak, too weak to be traveling alone, but she came this way, traveling only at night for two nights."

  "Where did she go?"

  "That is hard to explain. The landmarks that the wood creatures know are not the ones that you would recognize, or even see, since they are as much about smells and feelings as they are about sight. Wait a moment."

  There was another long silence, and then a fox stepped forward, placed one paw on Dinadan's knee and looked deeply into his eyes.

  "Tomorrow," Sylvanus said, "follow Renard here. He will show you."

  "Thank you," Dinadan said, with wonder, both to the shadow and to the fox. The fox nodded and then slipped noiselessly away. The other animals also began to scatter, and Dinadan looked up quickly at the outline of his friend. "Sylvanus?"

  "Yes?" the piper's voice was faint.

  "Will we play together again?"

  "Surely," came the reply. "Surely." And then Sylvanus was gone, and Dinadan's heart was full as he walked slowly back to the camp.

  The next morning, Dinadan said nothing to the others, but he made certain that he was the first one to break camp so that the others would have to follow him. He saw no fox, but he pushed ahead, and a few minutes after starting he was rewarded with a glimpse of a tawny hide in the underbrush. Without hesitation, Dinadan left the path and headed into the brush.

  "Hey, Dinadan!" Bedivere called. "Where are you going?"

  "Follow me!" Dinadan called back, though he was not at all sure that they would. If Culloch, for instance, had led them into these thickets, Dinadan would have promptly parted company with him and kept himself to the path. But Dinadan heard them crashing into the bushes behind him. "Quickly," he said to the fox, hoping that somehow it would understand. Dinadan didn't want the others to catch up and ask him questions that he had no intention of answering.

  It was a rough ride, but the fox seemed to understand what Dinadan wanted. It went slowly enough that he never lost track of it, even as he had to crash heavily through thickets that the fox slipped through with ease. At the same time, though, it went fast enough that Bedivere and Kai and Culloch never quite caught up. Dinadan's skin was scratched and bleeding, and hi
s clothes were torn, and he was just beginning to doubt he could go on much farther when the fox stopped in a hollow under an ancient elm tree and looked up at Dinadan.

  Without being sure why, Dinadan knew that this was the place to which the fox had been leading him. He dismounted, and the fox walked over to him and placed one paw on Dinadan's leg, just as he had done the night before. "Thank you, Renard," Dinadan said in a whisper.

  In a blink, the fox was gone. Dinadan stood beneath the great tree, alone but for the wind and the thick layer of leaves. Then he saw it, a human skull at the base of the tree trunk, worn and weather-stained, but definitely human. Dinadan had just stooped to examine it when the others arrived, their horses lathered and panting.

  "About time you stopped," Culloch said, gasping with exertion. "What were you thinking, riding off into the bush like that, when there was a perfectly good path?"

  "What do you have, lad?" Kai asked curtly. Dinadan gestured at the skull, and Kai dismounted and joined him. "Let's take a look," Kai said. He knelt and began digging in the loam at the tree's base. In a moment, he had unearthed another bone, then a strip of embroidered cloth, faded but still clearly an intricate piece of work. Wordlessly, Kai handed the material to Bedivere, who had dismounted beside them.

  Bedivere examined it for a moment, then said, "A woman's dress, I would say, and not of the latest fashion. But then, that much is obvious."

  They both looked at Dinadan, who had been sitting beside the skull, watching Kai dig. Kai spoke. "Can you tell us anything about this, lad?"

  Dinadan hesitated, but he had no reason to lie. "Modron's first wife, I would say. Rhiannon the first. She ran away after her baby was born. Is the baby there, too, Kai?"

  Kai shrugged. "I'll look. Give me a hand, Bedivere?" Bedivere nodded, and Kai looked at Dinadan.

  He shook his head and glanced down at the skull. "I'll stay with her," he said.

  Culloch, the only one still on horseback, snorted and said, "I don't see what you're on about. We're not looking for a woman after all, and besides, I still think we should have begun with Dillus the—"

  "Shut up, Culloch," said Kai.

  They found more bones and the rest of the woman's dress, but no sign of a baby. They wrapped the bones and the skull in the remnants of the dress, then buried them deep. Bedivere said a few quiet words over the grave, and then Dinadan took out his rebec. Quietly, he played a brief passage from the elegy he had played with Sylvanus. Even Culloch was quiet while he played, and the wind brought a faint piping sound from across the forest. Dinadan lowered the rebec, and they rode away. Nobody asked Dinadan any questions.

  Not half a mile further, they came upon a small cottage in the woods. There was a neat garden plot, and a few chickens and cows in the yard. An elderly man and woman sat on a bench outside the cottage, enjoying the sun, and from the woods nearby came the sound of an axe.

  "Good morning," Bedivere said to the old couple.

  "Good morning, sirs," they stammered, bowing deeply. Clearly they were unused to visits from knights.

  "Don't be afraid," Bedivere said kindly. "We mean no one any harm, and we are as surprised to see you as you to see us. Is this not a very secluded place to make your home?"

  "Yes, your worship," the man replied, bowing again. "But Beatrice and me, we never needed more people than just ourselves."

  "And Colin," the woman added. "Don't forget Colin." She turned to Bedivere and curtseyed awkwardly. "Our grandson," she explained. "He lives with us and takes care of us."

  The sound of the axe stopped, and Dinadan saw a sturdy, black-haired youth step out from among the trees.

  "Have you lived here long?" Bedivere asked.

  "Almost twenty-five years now," the woman said. "It is a good life we lead."

  "But how do you live? Do you have enough to eat?"

  The woman took a quick breath. "Sakes! I've been out of the world so long that I've lost my manners. I haven't offered you a bite! Will you stay and eat with us? We have fresh venison and vegetables. Colin!"

  "Here, grandmother," the youth said. "You stay there. I'll get the food."

  Bedivere dismounted, and the others followed his lead. "I thank you, ma'am," he said. "In truth I would like to talk with you. You see, we are looking for someone whom we think passed this way."

  "No one has passed this way in many weeks," the old man said.

  "Let's eat first, then talk," Culloch said abruptly. "I'm hungry."

  Dinadan tossed his reins to Kai. "I'll go help the boy," he said and strolled after Colin. He found him in a small smokehouse behind the cottage, unhooking a haunch of venison. "Can I help?"

  The boy looked Dinadan squarely in the eyes, and his gaze was direct and without guile. "Is that really what you want, sir?" The boy looked to be about fifteen years old.

  "No. I wanted to speak to you alone," Dinadan replied simply.

  "Why?" the boy's voice was firm, but polite. Very different from his father's voice, Dinadan reflected.

  "We are here on a quest. We are looking for a baby that was lost, oh, about fifteen years ago. His mother stole him away from his father soon after the boy was born, and she took him through the woods near here. Sadly, though, she was not strong, and I believe that she died not far from this place."

  The boy's gaze had not wavered from Dinadan's eyes. He did not speak.

  "One of those knights out there," Dinadan continued, "is under oath to find the boy and take him on a boar hunt. Then, I imagine, the boy will be taken back to his father."

  "Who is the boy's father?" Colin asked quietly.

  "A rich merchant named Modron."

  "Why did the boy's mother leave this Modron?"

  "I would guess it is because the man's soul is made of shop goods and silver, and he cares for nothing else."

  Colin was silent for a moment. Then he said, "My grandparents are very old. Each month they are able to do less for themselves. Sometimes it is more than even I can do, keeping things going here." Dinadan nodded but didn't answer. Colin lifted his chin. "So, sir knight. What do you think happened to the baby?"

  Dinadan smiled. "I see two possibilities. Either the baby was found and brought home by an elderly couple who lived nearby and who had no children of their own, or else he died in the forest by his mother. I think he died in the forest." Colin's eyes widened with hope, and Dinadan added, "The only problem is that we didn't find the baby's body. I was wondering if perhaps you had found it one time and buried it yourself."

  Colin's face brightened with a joy more pure than any that a boy raised in the home of Modron the merchant would have ever known. "Yes," he said at once. "Now that you mention it, I did." Dinadan could not help returning Colin's smile, but Colin's face clouded again almost at once. "I must go and speak to my grandparents. You see, they sometimes tell a story about how many years ago, they found a baby left beside the forest path. There was no one else around, as if the baby had been left there by someone who ... who then crawled back into the woods to die. It's all a silly tale, of course, but it would be best for them not to tell it today."

  Dinadan nodded. "You go talk to your grandparents. I'll bring some food, and then I'll break the news to my companions."

  Telling the others that Mabon, son of Modron, had died in the forest was a bit more ticklish than Dinadan had expected. Neither Bedivere nor Kai was a fool, and the appearance of a boy of about fifteen years of age so close to the body under the elm had already aroused their suspicions. With Colin's help, though, Dinadan was able at least to stop them from pursuing their suspicions. Culloch, of course, noticed nothing.

  It was a lie, to be sure. There was no disguising that fact. At heart though was a greater truth: the son of Modron the merchant—the boy who would have been had he been raised in that household—was as dead as he could be. This young man, who had chosen a life of hard work and loneliness and duty to others over the life of a rich merchant's son, and had so chosen without even a second's hesitation, this was a diff
erent person entirely, a boy that Rhiannon the first would surely have been proud of.

  Dinadan's mind turned now to the other Rhiannon and her two children, and a pleasing thought began to take shape. He waited until the knights had finished their meal, and then asked casually, "So where to now? Since Mabon's dead, the whole task is off."

  Kai nodded judiciously. "Ay, that's true. Can't do any of it since this part's impossible."

  "We could still hunt for Dillus the Bearded to make a leash," protested Culloch. "I always thought we ought to begin there any—"

  "No, Culloch," Bedivere said. "The others are right. The only thing to do is to go back to King Isbaddadon and ask for another task."

  Culloch brightened up perceptibly. "Oh, that would be all right. We could have another feast, and then he could send us out again. In fact, he'll probably just send us out on the same task, just leaving the boy out, don't you think?"

  Bedivere's face grew stern. "If he does, Culloch, you'll go on that quest alone. I'll have no more to do with this foolishness."

  "Hear, hear," Kai said, grinning. "I was wondering how long it would take you to come to that."

  "But you've made a vow!" Culloch exclaimed.

  "That I have. I vowed to stay with you until you were made knight or until you stopped trying to become one. To continue playing this child's game with Isbaddadon is to prove that you've no desire to be a true knight. If he gives you another silly chore, you shall have to decide whether you wish to stay with him or to go with me to seek knighthood."

  Culloch looked both angry and confused, and Dinadan realized that Culloch had never seen any distinction between the great deeds demanded for knighthood at the Round Table and the tasks assigned by King Isbaddadon. Dinadan felt sorry for him, but there was no point in dwelling on Culloch's problem. He cleared his throat and said, "Say, lads. Someone ought to go tell that merchant fellow what's happened to his son."

  "I didn't get the feeling he cared much," Kai pointed out.