The Jester

I looked at Georges. “Or you?”

They both shrugged guiltily. They glanced at Matthew for support.

[82] “Sophie lives as my own Alo lives,” the miller said. “In Heaven.”

“For you, Georges, but not for me. Sophie still lives on this earth. I know it. I can feel her.”

I picked up my staff and pouch and slung a skin of water around my neck. I headed toward the stone bridge.

“What are you going to do, Hugh, jab them with that stick?” Odo hurried to my side. “You are just one man. With no armor or sword.”

“I’m going to find her, Odo. I promise, I’ll find Sophie.”

“Let me get you some food,” Odo pleaded. “Or some ale. You still drink ale, don’t you, Hugh? The army didn’t cure you of that? Next I’ll hear you’ve been going to church on Sundays.”

From his guarded look, it was clear he thought he would never see me again.

“I will bring her back, Odo. You’ll see.”

I took my stick and headed into the woods.

Toward Treille.

Chapter 26

I RAN IN A BLIND HAZE in the direction I had come. Toward my liege’s castle at Treille.

Grief tore at me like wild dogs. My son had died because of me. Because of my stupid folly. Because of my foolishness and pride.

As I ran, a swell of bitterness surged inside. The thought of that bastard Norcross, or any of his henchmen, having my poor Sophie…

I had fought for these so-called nobles in the Holy Land while they raped and slaughtered in the name of God. I had marched and killed and followed the Pope’s call. And this was my wage. Not freedom, not a changed life, but misery and scorn. I had been a fool to trust the rich.

I ran until my legs gave out. Then, exhausted and blind with rage, I fell to the ground, covering my sores in dirt.

I had to find Sophie. I know you are alive. I’ll make you well. I know how you’ve suffered.

At every turn, I prayed I would not stumble over her body. Every time I didn’t, it gave me hope that she was alive.

After a day of traveling, I looked around and didn’t know where I was. I had no food and had run out of water. All that pushed me on was rage. I checked the sun. Was I heading east or north? I had no idea.

[84] But still I ran. My legs were like heavy irons. I was dizzy and my stomach ached for food. My eyes were glazed over with tears. Yet I ran.

Passersby on the road looked at me as if I were mad. A madman with his staff. “Treille …” I begged them.

They scurried to get out of the way. Pilgrims, merchants, even outlaws let me pass for the fury in my eyes.

I knew not if it was one day or two. I ran until my legs gave out again. As I came to my senses, darkness clung to me. The night was cold, and I was shivering. Ominous sounds hooted from the brush.

From deep in the woods, I heard the rushing water of a stream. I clawed my way off the road and into the woods, following the sound.

Suddenly I lost my footing. I grasped for a bush, but my hand slipped. I started to tumble. I clawed for anything to hold, a vine, a branch. The ground disappeared beneath me.

Jesus… I was falling.

Let it come. I deserve it. I will die out here in the night.

I called to Sophie as I hurtled out of control down the ravine.

My head smacked against something hard. I felt a warm and viscous fluid fill my mouth. “I’m coming,” I said one more time.

To Sophie.

To the howling darkness…

Then the world went black on me, and that was much better, thank you, Lord.

Chapter 27

I CAME TO-not to the rush of water, or anything heavenly, but to a low, dangerous, rumbling sound.

I opened my eyes. It was still night. I had fallen into a deep ravine, far below the level of the road. My back was twisted against a tree and I could barely move. A wound ached horribly on the side of my head.

Again, I heard the deep rumbling from the woods.

“Who’s there?” I called. “Who is it?”

There was no reply. I focused on the spot in the darkness, trying to make out any shape. Who would be out here in the night? Not anyone I wanted to meet.

Then, I focused on a set of eyes. Eyes not human at all, but large as prayer stones: yellow, narrow, fuming. My blood froze.

Then it moved! I heard the brush crunch under its feet. The thing took a step out of the forest and came clear.

Dark, hairy…

Blessed Jesus Christ! It was a boar! Not twenty paces away.

Its yellow eyes were trained on me, inspecting me as if I were its next meal. I heard a snort. Then it was deathly still.

The thing was about to charge! I was certain of it.

I tried to clear my head. I could not possibly fight such a beast. With what? Its breadth alone was twice mine. It could slash me to pieces with its razory tusks.

[86] My heart was pounding, the only sound I heard other than the beast’s low growl. It took another step toward me. The boar’s murderous eyes never left my own, deliberate and tracking.

God help me, what could I do? I couldn’t flee. It would run me down in my first steps. There was no one to shout to for help.

I searched for a strong tree to climb, but I didn’t want to move, to set it off. The beast seemed to study me, bucking its head, snorting its deadly intent. I could smell its fierce, hot breaths, the blood from past conflicts matted in its hair.

I grabbed the knife at my belt. I didn’t know if it would snap against the beast’s hide.

The boar snorted twice and flashed its teeth at me, its jowls red and dripping. I did not want to die. Not like this… Please, God, do not make me fight this thing.

I felt so incredibly alone.

Then, with a last deep snort, the beast seemed to understand that-and it charged.

All I could do was leap behind a tree, barely escaping the first violent gnash of its fearsome teeth.

I stabbed wildly at it with my knife, tearing at its face and neck, doing everything I could to repel its snarling jaws. The beast lunged viciously. It came again and again. I clawed with my knife, backing around the tree. The boar’s jaws ripped into my thigh and I cried out. The air emptied from my lungs.

Good Lord, I was pierced.

I had no time to inspect the wound. The beast slammed into me again, this time goring my abdomen. I screamed in pain.

I kicked at it and slashed my blade. It backed and lunged. Its teeth clamped on my thigh and it shook its head as if to tear my leg out of its socket.

I kicked myself away from the boar. I tried to run, but my legs had no strength. Blood was spattered everywhere.

Somehow I limped across the clearing, my strength nearly sapped. My abdomen felt as if it were on fire. I was done here. I [87] fell to my side and backed myself against another tree, waiting for the end to come.

Beside the tree, I saw my staff. It must have toppled there in my fall. I reached for it, though it wasn’t much of a weapon.

I stared at the angry, snorting boar. “Come at me, offal. Come at me! Finish what you started.”

My mind flashed to the Turk who had spared me, a world away. This time, no laughter would save the day. I held the staff like a spear. “Come at me,” I shouted at the boar again. “Do me in. I am ready. Do me in.”

As if to oblige, the beast made another charge.

My breath was still. I offered no defense except to raise the staff at the shape flying toward me. Harnessing all my remaining strength, I thrust the rod with all my might at its eyes.

The beast let out a blood-chilling cry. I’d actually hurt it. The staff stuck in one eye. The boar staggered and shook its head madly, trying to rid itself of the staff.

I grabbed my knife and with whatever strength I had, stabbed at its throat and face, at anything I could strike.