The Jester

Blood seeped out of its fur, each knife thrust striking home. Its growls diminished. It stumbled, still swinging its head to free the rod, while I continued to slash, tearing at its coat.

The beast’s blood mixed with my own. Finally its hind legs crumpled. I took the staff and forced it deep into the boar’s skull. A dying snarl came out of its awful tooth-filled mouth.

With a crash, the monster fell on its side. I just knelt there, depleted of strength. And amazed. I let out an exhausted shout.

I had won!

But I was badly wounded. Blood ran freely from my stomach and thigh. I had to make it out of the ravine or I knew I would die here.

Sophie’s face appeared in my mind. I know I smiled; I reached out to touch her. “Here is the way,” she whispered. Come to me now.”

Chapter 28

IT WAS QUIET, like any sleeping town. The dark riders brought their panting mounts close to the edge. A few thatched cottages with post fences, animals sleeping in their sheds. That was all there was.

This would be easy, mere sport for such men. The leader sniffed, shutting his visor. His helmet bore a black Byzantine cross. He had chosen only men who killed for pleasure, who hunted for spoils as others hunted for meat. They wore only the darkened armor of battle, no crests, visors down. No one knew who they were. They strapped on their weapons-war swords, axes, and maces. They looked at him, eager, thirsty, ready.

“Have your fun,” Black Cross said, a bit of laughter coming through his command. “Just let us not forget why we are here. Whoever finds the relic will be a rich man. Now, ride!”

The night was split asunder by the explosion of charging hooves.

The clang of a warning bell sounded. Too late! The first thatched dwellings went up in flames. The sleeping town came alive.

Women screamed and ran to cover their children. Aroused townspeople struggled out of their homes to protect themselves, only to be struck down by swords or trampled in the melee as the riders stormed by.

[89] These pathetic peasants, Black Cross mused, they run up and die like swatted flies, protecting their tiny clumps of shit. They think we are invading soldiers, come to take their cattle and steal their bitches. They do not even know why we are here!

Fire and mayhem raging, Black Cross trotted unconcerned through the street to the large stone home, the best in the town. Five of his riders followed.

Panicked sounds came from inside-a woman screaming, children being roused from bed.

“Break it in.” Black Cross nodded to a cohort. A single ax blow shattered the door.

A man in a white-and-blue shawl appeared in the doorway. He had long gray hair and a heavy beard. “What do you want here?” the cowering man asked. “We’ve done no harm.”

“Get out of my way, Jew,” Black Cross barked.

The man’s wife, in a wool sleeping shawl, rushed out and spoke fearlessly. “We are peaceful people,” she said. “We will give you whatever you want.”

Black Cross pi

“Please, the money is in the courtyard,” the panicked husband whined. “In a chest under the cistern. Have it. Take what you will.”

“Search the house,” Black Cross screamed at his men. “Rip down every wall. Just find it.”

“But the money … I told you…”

“We did not come for money, filth.” Black Cross leered. “We are here for the jewel. Christendom’s precious relic.”

His henchmen stormed inside. They found an old man, his arms around two cowering children. A boy, perhaps sixteen, already with the locks of his race, and a girl, maybe a year younger, with dark, fearful eyes.

“What do you mean?” The father crawled on his knees. “I am a merchant. We have no jewels. No relics.”

[90] Piece by piece, the house was torn apart. The raiders smashed their swords into walls, dug with axes at stone, broke into chests and cupboards.

Black Cross pulled the husband up by the throat. “I will not trifle any longer. Where is the treasure?”

“I beg you, we have no jewels.” The trembling man gagged. “I trade in wool.”

“You trade in wool.” Black Cross nodded, glancing at the man’s son. “We shall see.” He took out a knife and pressed it against the boy’s throat. The boy flinched, revealing a line of blood. “Show me the treasure unless you want your son to die.”

“The hearth … underneath the tiles on the hearth.” The father bowed his head in his hands.

In a rush, two of the knights ran to the fireplace and, using axes, crashed through the floor tiles, unearthing a secret space. From it, they raised a chest, inside of which were coins, necklaces, brooches of gold and silver. And finally, a gorgeous ruby the size of a coin, in a gilded Byzantine-style setting. It gave off a luminous glow. The knight held it aloft.

“You have no idea what you hold.” The Jew blinked back tears.

“Don’t I…?” Black Cross gri

“I did not steal it. It is you who does that. It was sold to me.”

“Sold, not stolen…?” Black Cross’s eyes glittered. He turned back to the son. “Then it is only a small loss, compared to what your race has taken from us.”

In the same instant, he pushed his knife into the boy’s gut. A gasp emerged from the boy; his eyes grew wide and blood dribbled from his mouth. All the while, Black Cross smirked.

“Nefrem …” The merchant and his wife screamed. They tried to rush to their son but were held back by other raiders.

“Burn the place,” Black Cross said. “Their seed is dead. They can foul the earth no more.”

[91] “What of the daughter?” a knight inquired.

Black Cross yanked her up and looked at the girl measuringly. She was a pretty specimen. He ran his gloved hand along the smooth skin of her cheek. “Such a pretty pelt, wool merchant… I wonder what it’s like to be wrapped in such a cloth. Why don’t you tell me.”

“Please, you have taken everything,” the father begged. “Leave us our child.”

“I’m afraid not.” Black Cross shook his head. “I must have her later. And no doubt the duke’s mule cleaner will want to do the same. Take her with us.” He threw the girl to another knight. She was carried out of the house, screaming in horror and fear.

“Don’t be so sad, Jew,” Black Cross addressed the sobbing man. He tossed a coin at him from the chest of treasure. “As you say, I do not steal your daughter, I buy her.”

Chapter 29

“IS HE DEAD?”

A voice crept through the haze. A woman’s voice… I opened my eyes. But I couldn’t make out a thing. Only a shifting blur.

“I don’t know, my lady,” another said, “but his wounds are grave. He doesn’t look far from gone.”

“Such unusual hair…” remarked the first.

I blinked, my brain slowly starting to clear. It was as if there were a shimmering veil reflecting my sight. Was I dead? There was a lovely face leaning over me. Yellow hair, braided densely, tumbling from under a brocaded purple cloak. She smiled. It warmed me like the sun.

“Sophie,” I muttered. I reached to touch her face.

“You are hurt,” replied the woman, her voice like the delicate trill of a bird. “I’m afraid you mistake me for someone else.”

My body felt no pain. “Is this Heaven?” I asked.

The woman smiled again. “If Heaven is a world where all wounded knights resemble vegetables, then, yes, it must be.”

I felt her hands cradle my head. I blinked again. It was not Sophie, but someone lovely, speaking with the accent of the north. Paris.

[93] “I still live,” I uttered with a sigh.

“For the moment, yes. But your wounds are serious. We must get you to a physician. Are you from here? Do you have a family?”