The Ballad of Sir Dinadan by Gerald Morris

instruments in the choir. Surely such beauty would be best used in praise of God. How much better it would be to play such music to a sacred song than it is to play it with tales of bloodshed and wrath!"
    Dinadan pursed his lips. "You mean, like in stories of knights?" Brother Eliot nodded, and Dinadan said mildly, "But I
like
stories of knights."
    Brother Eliot looked guilty again. "Yes, there is a certain ... pleasure.... But think of what good could be done! Why, imagine if the minstrels who sang of Sir Gawain should turn their talents in praise of the noble defenders of the church in the Holy Lands!"
    "Who?" Dinadan asked.
    "The Crusaders! They who fight and die to recover the Holy City Jerusalem from the infidel in faraway lands!"
    "Why?" Dinadan asked. Brother Eliot looked confused, and Dinadan added, "I mean, why do they want Jerusalem?"
    "It's ... it's the Holy City. Where Our Lord walked. We good Christians must defend it, of course."
    "Oh," Dinadan said, his mind suddenly focused on an idea for a verse. Brother Eliot started to speak, but Dinadan shushed him. "Hang on a minute, I think I have a song for you." He fingered the strings for a moment, words dancing in his head, and then he straightened. "Right, then. A song for the Crusaders. Ready?"
    Brother Eliot nodded eagerly, and Dinadan ran the bow over the rebec's strings and sang:
"What must the infidel have thought,

Beholding those corsairs?

How bravely the Crusaders fought

For lands that were not theirs.
"How utterly, completely mad

To fly to the defense

Of cities they had never had

And haven't wanted since."
    Brother Eliot was quiet for a moment, then said softly, "Perhaps the Crusades are not the best subject after all, friend ... I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."
    "Dinadan. And I'm sorry to make light of your idea. It was ill done of me, but once the idea had started, I could hardly stop. I'm afraid that I, at least, could never write convincingly about the Crusades."
    "Never mind," Brother Eliot said. "Will you stay with me tonight and share my meal? It is nothing but thin soup and water, a penitent's meal, but all I have is yours." He smiled, but the smile faded slightly. "Except, of course, what Sir Tristram eats."
    Dinadan grinned. "Let Sir Tristram have the soup. I have some food in my pack left from my noontime meal at an inn down the road. There's some roast chicken and two good loaves of bread. It may not be a penitent's meal, but it's a meal you can give thanks for."
    Brother Eliot hesitated, but not for long. He nodded agreement, and Dinadan took out his feast, more than enough for both to eat well. Brother Eliot stared.
    "I really shouldn't," he said. "When we come out to the anchorage, we're supposed to put aside all venial pleasures." He sighed. "That's always been the hardest part for me. Not obedience, not poverty, not chastity—but I do like good food and music, and I've never been able to see them as entirely corrupt. But I must trust Father Abbot, I suppose." He sighed and then, clearly putting Father Abbot out of his mind, laid into the chicken.
    When their meal was over, Brother Eliot lay on his back and chewed on a piece of grass. "Are you a minstrel?" he asked suddenly.
    "Sometimes," Dinadan replied.
    "Do you sing short songs mostly, or do you write knightly tales?"
    "Mostly tales," Dinadan said.
    Brother Eliot ruminated for a minute, then cast a sidelong glance at Dinadan. "You know, I've had an idea for a knightly tale."
    This was said so guiltily that Dinadan was hard put not to laugh. "And you a monk!" he said with mock horror.
    "Oh, this would be a religious tale," Brother Eliot assured him, adding hastily, "and it's not about the Crusades, either, so don't give me that look. It's a story about a knight fighting great battles, but it would really be about faith."
    Dinadan had a feeling he would regret asking, but he said, "How would that be?"
    "It would be an allegory!" Brother Eliot continued eagerly. "Everything