The Merriest Knight Read online

  —Mike Ashley

  December 2000

  Mike Ashley is now a full-time writer and researcher after having spent thirty-two years as a local government officer. He has produced more than sixty books and ten times as many articles. He has edited several Arthurian anthologies, including The Pendragon Chronicles, The Camelot Chronicles, The Merlin Chronicles, Chronicles of the Holy Grail, Chronicles of the Round Table, and The Mammoth Book of Arthurian Legends. He recently completed Starlight Man, a long-awaited biography of Algernon Blackwood, and is currently working on The Mammoth Encyclopedia of King Arthur.

  THE MERRIEST KNIGHT

  Author's Introduction

  The character and foibles of Sir Dinadan are familiar to all students of the Arthurian Legend as presented by Sir Thomas Malory.

  A capable knight-at-arms, though somewhat cautious about engaging against odds except under especial pressure; a good comrade, loving and loved by all good knights; an acknowledged wit, though of a decidedly puckerish sense of humor; and a poet within the limitations of his wit—and yet, according to Malory, Sir Dinadan's chief claim to fame lay in the role of "jaber against love and lovers."

  You may remember that it was this Sir Dinadan who, tete-a-tete one day with Queen Isoud, and ignorant of her identity, went on record for all time as follows: "'Madam,' said Sir Dinadan, 'I marvel of Sir Tristram and more other lovers, what aileth them to be so mad and so sotted upon women.' 'Why,' said La Beale Isoud, 'are ye a knight and be no lover? It is a shame to you: wherefore ye may not be called a good knight but if ye make a quarrel for a lady.' 'God defend me!' said Dinadan. 'For the joy of love is too short, and the sorrow thereof, and cometh thereof, dureth over long.'"

  Here is proof, to my mind—though the historians and learned commentators make nothing of it—that the key to the character and foibles of the Dinadan we know lies hidden in some legends or songs overlooked by the good Sir Thomas Malory. The fact is, Malory did not know all about Sir Dinadan. To prove my statement, I shall now tell you some things that he did not know.

  A Purfle for a King

  Then came a messenger from King Rience of North Wales and Ireland, greeting King Arthur and saying that King Rience had overcome eleven kings and pur-fled a mantle with their beards, but there lacked one on the mantle; wherefore he demanded King Arthur's beard, or else he would enter into his lands and burn and slay.

  "Well," said Arthur, "thy message is the most villainous and lewdest that ever was sent unto a king. Also thou mayest see that my beard is full young yet to be made a purfle of for a mantle."

  —Sir Thomas Malory

  King Arthur Pendragon was full young himself at this time, and possibly too young for the governance of the disputed realm of Britain, which he had inherited but recently, and under somewhat equivocal circumstances, from that old rip King Uther. Now he was all agog to set out for North Wales within the hour, at the head of such knights and footmen as might happen to be within trumpet-call at the moment, to teach Rience the Devastator that Arthur of Britain was not to be insulted with impunity. But the counsel of certain mature barons and knights prevailed, and the young king consented to recruit his military strength before attempting a punitive expedition into North Wales.

  Now it happened that a young squire hight Dinadan was in the King's train at this time, in attendance upon the good old knight Sir Gyles of the Swamp. The mentality of this youth was somewhat in advance of his time, and his self-assurance was even farther in advance of his rank. King Rience's villainous message to King Arthur made a special appeal to his mind, and particularly to his peculiar sense of humor, and kept him awake till past midnight; and he sought audience with the King bright and early next morning, and soon talked himself into the chamber in which the puissant prince sat at breakfast with his foster-father Sir Ector and his foster-brother Sir Kay the Seneschal. He made his best bow three times.

  "What can I do for you?" asked Arthur, graciously.

  "Sir," replied Dinadan, "I ask your royal attention for a minute or two while I present a plan of action against villainous King Rience, which I am confident, Your Grace, will make him the fool of the world and the laughingstock of Christendom, and all without the cost of a man or a penny to Your Majesty."

  "It sounds too good to be true," said the King. "Speak on."

  The knights were silent; but Sir Kay, the younger one, smiled cynically.

  "Sir, with your permission I shall go fetch King Rience's beard to you, and make so bold as to suggest its use as a purfle upon Your Grace's finest mantle—those unmistakable flaming whiskers and mustachios on a white field—for all the world to see and recognize."

  "Hah!" cried Sir Ector. "Excellent! I can see it in me mind's eye. What a picture! But not so fast, young sir. How d'ye propose to get possession of those same savage facial appendages?"

  "Quite," said the King.

  Sir Kay maintained his silence, but his smile became even more cynical.

  "Sirs, I have given the matter hours of thought," replied the squire confidently. "I propose, with Your Grace's permission, to hunt King Rience through his mountains and into his greatest castle in the guise of a troubadour, but equipped with Nick Barber's best razor and a beard-softening emulsion of my own concoction in addition to my lute, and there await my opportunity and then make the most of it. I may say that I am already something of a lutanist, and that I understand the theory of shaving at least, having watched Nick Barber flay Sir Gyles hundreds of times in the past year. In fact, sirs, it was for Sir Gyles' comfort that I gave thought and time to the invention of the emulsion of which I have spoken."

  "Does it make the beard come away easier?" asked Sir Ector, wistfully.

  "It does that, sir," Dinadan assured him. "And more than that, sir. The smell of it puts the patient to sleep for an hour at least. He's dead to the world at the first whiff. If you are contemplating a shave, Sir Ector, I ll be proud to mix you up a jar of it."

  "Gramercy," said the old knight. "I feel that this beard does not become me."

  "Sir Gyles has to be razored every morning, but now he thinks nothing of it," said Dinadan complacently.

  "I've wondered about that," said the King. "Not a hair on his face except his eyebrows, and I've heard he wears a wig."

  "Yes, sir, it's a wig. And his eyebrows are blackened every morning." "Why?"

  "The truth is, Your Grace—in the strictest confidence— the natural color of that worthy knight's hair is pea green."

  The King and Sir Ector goggled. Sir Kay said to his royal foster-brother, "I must warn you, sir, that this young squire has a local reputation as a joker and jiber."

  Arthur asked Dinadan, "Are you joking now?" in a low but formidable voice.

  "God forbid!" cried Dinadan.

  So he obtained the royal permission to essay the rape of King Rience's beard.

  "But if you should think better of it, forget all about it," said the King kindly.

  "Good luck, my boy! But to be quite frank with you, I'd liefer try to shave the dragon of Wantage," said good Sir Ector.

  Even Sir Kay shook Dinadan's hand and said: "In case you don't change your mind, it's been nice meeting you."

  * * *

  King Rience was lord of many castles; and by the time he was located by Dinadan, that enterprising squire had lost count of nights and days and, along with his charger, his groom, and the groom's cob, a lot of weight. It was a grand castle situated at the upper end of a high but fertile and populous valley. Dinadan's beribboned lute attracted instant and favorable attention, for King Rience was partial to troubadours, harpers, and bards, and was himself something of a song-maker and musician, but in the Welsh manner rather than that of Provence. So Dinadan was welcomed at the front door, and Kedge and the horses into kitchen and stables.

  This was indeed an impressive establishment, of a numerous and various household, and a yet more numerous mob of guests of all sorts and degrees. Big as the castle was, and thick though its walls, it buzzed and humme
d like a hive in a blossoming orchard. Dinadan was lucky to get so much as a cot in a chamber shared with three bewhiskered native bards and their harps, and a tonsured friar.

  "You look more like a cavalier to me," said the oldest harper.

  "Than a what, venerable sir?" asked Dinadan.

  "Musician," replied the ancient.

  "Clearly an amateur," said another harper.

  Before Dinadan could answer that, a fanfare of trumpets sounded from far below.

  "Supper!" cried the friar, and was gone.

  The bards grabbed up their harps and dashed after him. Dinadan followed composedly, with his long lute slung at his back by a wide ribbon.

  The tables were set and already crowded in the great hall, under the wavering glare of torches. All the occupants of the high table, which spanned the dais at the upper end of the hall, faced the two lower tables, which stood at right angles to the dais and extended the full length of the hall; and Dinadan, for whom a seat had been found among the bards and some household officers near the top of one of the lower tables, had an excellent view of that exalted company. He regarded the King, whose great beard and mustaches flared as red as the flames of the torches, with lively interest; and the bejeweled and gorgeous dame on the King's immediate right with mild interest; and the damosel on the King's other hand—all white and gold save for the ruby-red of lips and emerald-green of eyes and necklace—with an incredulous stare.

  "Who is that?" he gasped.

  "The great, noble, and good King Rience, our sovereign lord and patron," replied the oldest bard. "Nay, the lady!"

  "Where d'ye come from, young man, that you don't know the most beautiful queen in Christendom when you see her? Queen Dian, our noble Rience's royal consort these twenty years and more."

  "No, no! The damosel on the other side of him?"

  "Hah! Just so! Their only daughter, Megan—the apple of the King's eye and the most beautiful princess in Christendom."

  "Now I believe you. Gramercy."

  There was much to eat and more to drink, and all of the best or near enough; but Dinadan practiced discretion with horn and cup; and preoccupied by the vision of gold, white, emerald, and ruby at the high table, he plied even his knife and spoon and fingers with less than his usual vigor. After the dozen serving-men at the low tables and the pages at the high table had been up and down and around a dozen times at least, King Rience wiped his beard and fingers on a fair napkin and bawled for order; whereupon there was order, save for the overturning of a benchful of fuddled grooms at the foot of one of the low tables. And then there was silence too, save for a few ill-suppressed belches from the surfeited commonalty and even fewer polite hiccups at the high table. Then the King called for his harp; and as it was right there at his elbow, he did not have to call twice. He heaved upright, overturning his thronelike chair in the act, tucked his magnificent beard into the neck of his vest of cloth-of-gold to keep it out of the way, and seized the harp.

  "A small thing of me own composition," he announced.

  Small? In artistic merit, yes, but in nothing else. Both vocally and instrumentally it was of large and tremendous action, and as big of matter as of manner. The voice combined the bellows of a bull and the howling of wolves; the tormented, outraged harp-strings twanged and clanged like the speeding of arrows and the strokes of sword and axe on iron and bone; and the words were all of victorious slaughterings of feebler peoples by the ancestors of King Rience and by Rience himself. It was a terrific performance.

  Several ladies swooned dead away, each upon the contiguous masculine shoulder on her left or right as her heart inclined. Even the Queen shivered slightly.

  But the Princess laughed. Her mirth was rendered inaudible by her father's bardic uproar; but it did not escape Dinadan, who happened to be looking at her. He saw it and was so thrilled and startled by the sight that he gaped like a zany. To him it was beautiful. Well, the lips were like rosebuds even in the grimace of laughter, and the little teeth were like pearls, devil a doubt of it! Then, while he was still atremble at that spectacle, the roses closed over the pearls and the emerald eyes opened wide and full upon his and all but blinded him. He blinked; and the green stars were veiled.

  A string of the King's harp broke with a vicious whang. But what cared the King? Five strings yet remained to him, two of copper and three of brass; and not till only two of these were left did he sit down, amid loud applause. He pulled up and smoothed out his flaming beard and shouted: "Match that if ye can, Taffy ap Rhys!"

  The whiskery bard who sat at Dinadan's right elbow grabbed his battered harp from between his knees and took the floor. But his performance fell far short of matching his sovereign lord's, though the subject matter was the same. But he had neither the voice nor the muscles for it. He did his best, however; and the King applauded, and then everyone who was still awake did the same. The third and fourth performers were harpers also, and their subject too was bloody violence. The Princess whispered to the King. He nodded.

  "Now we shall be pleased to hear from a lutanist," he announced.

  Princess Megan shot an emerald glance at Dinadan, then warmed and softened it with a rosy smile. Dazed though he was, he unslung his lute and took the floor. He bowed low to the King, lower to the Queen, then even lower and twice to the Princess, whose eyes were now as soft as fern-fringed pools of dew in a sylvan glade.

  Then he fingered the strings of his instrument, which was a superior specimen of its kind and the gift of a doting godmother. They responded like sentient things, tinkling and twittering, whispering like a little breeze in ripe grasses and soughing like a wind in high treetops, sobbing like lost children, singing like thrushes, crying out like wild geese in weary flight under the stars. The lute pulsed like a living heart as its myriad voices rose and fell and rose again, leaping and sinking and flaring like a flame of fire in the wind. Soon the thrill in his fingers and against his breast gave Dinadan courage to add his own voice to those of string and wood.

  "Time is long, and Life is brief .

  Youth and Spring are too soon over.

  At the binding of the sheaf—

  At the fading of the leaf—

  Pain and Age will have your lover.

  "Time is long and Life is brief.

  Every rose is Spring's undoing.

  Summer is a laughing thief

  Filching Beauty for gray Grief.

  Age and frost will chill my wooing.

  "Day is brief and Night is long.

  Joy and Youth are too soon over.

  Harken, Princess, to my song—

  Glad and young and brave and strong—

  Ere frosty Age possess your lover."

  The ensuing silence was broken by the King.

  "Hah!" he said, stroking his beard. "Ho and hum! Not bad—if you like that love-an'-dove sort of thing, which I don't. Very pretty, young man. Gramercy."

  "I think it was sweet," said the Queen; whereupon three or four ladies at the high table clapped their bejew-eled hands.

  But the Princess said never a word. Instead, she raised a little gold cup to her lips, drained it and then threw it with strength and accuracy. It flew like a bright bird or a shooting star, but Dinadan snatched it from the air quick as thought; and thanks to the smoky and wavery light and the general fogginess of eyes and minds, only the two closest concerned knew what had become of it. The besotted poet filled it from the nearest flagon and drained it with an air of dedication and an appropriate gesture. He repeated the ritual—and again and again.

  In short, that small cup of gold proved to be the undoing of his immediate plans. It had been his intention, at the beginning, to make the most of this opportune feast toward the daring purpose that had brought him here: to bide his time patiently and temperately till the ladies and weaklings retired, till the hardiest topers and King Rience himself were overcome and floored, then to make good his boast. He and Kedge would be leagues on their homeward way before the tyrant knew what had happened. Bu
t alas, Dinadan himself was overcome long before his host. He was lost to the world, with his face on the table, ere the ladies had been gone ten minutes.

  * * *

  Sunshine was slanting through the narrow windows when Dinadan raised his head and opened his eyes. Torches and tapers were burned out, but their smoke still crawled among the beams and rafters. The great hall looked like a fiercely disputed and finally deserted battlefield, but one upon which brown ale and yellow mead and red wine had been spilled in lieu of blood, and cups and horns, flagons and leather jacks cast away instead of broken swords. Motionless figures lay across tables; and more, including King Rience, doubtless lay under the tables, all as still as corpses, but all alive to drink another day. Dinadan got to his feet and staggered off with one hand pressed to his head; and though he knocked many times against stone and wood and stumbled often, it was upon soft greensward that he fell and lay at last.

  He dreamed that his head and shoulders were under a waterfall. The water splashed and ran on head and neck so delightfully and realistically that he opened his eyes. His head dripped, and the grass was wet under his face. He turned onto his back and beheld a damosel standing over him, and a dripping wooden bucket in her hands. She was gazing down at him with emerald eyes; and though his own eyes were out of focus, he recognized her instantly—but before he could do anything about it, she upped and overturned the bucket again, splashing the last quart of its vivifying contents full in his face.