The Jester

Chapter 41

“WHAT’S THIS, jester? You have business here?” a brusque-looking captain of the guard eyed me up and down.

“I have, Your Grace.” I bowed to the guard and smiled. “It is business I have come for and business I will do. Important business… Not as important as yours, Your Grace, but the stuff of lords, I mean laughs …”

“Shut your trap, fool.” The guard glowered. “Who awaits you inside?”

“The lord awaits me.” And my Sophie.

The guard scrunched his brow. “The lord? Awaits you?”

“The Lord awaits us all.” I gri

Some people waiting in line began to chuckle.

“Lord Baldwin, then,” I went on. “It is he who awaits me. He just does not know it yet.”

“Lord Baldwin?” The guard screwed up one eye. “What do you take me for? A fool?” He roared laughter.

I bowed humbly. “You’re right, sir, I am not needed if such a wit as you is already here. You must truly keep the barracks up all night in stitches.”

“We already have a fool, jester. His name is Palimpost. Not Your lucky day, eh? It seems we’re all fooled up.”

“Well, now we’re two-fooled, aren’t we?” I exclaimed. I had [128] to say something that would gain me support. Even this mold-worm must be able to be charmed or swayed.

I knelt down to a farmer’s boy. I poked at his chin, his nose, then snapped my fingers, and a small dried plum appeared in my hand. The child squealed with delight. “It is a sad day, boy, is it not, when a laugh is barred with a sword. Don’t tell me the great Lord Baldwin has something to fear from a laugh.”

There was a trickle of applause from the bystanders. “C’mon, sergeant,” a pretty, fat woman called. “Let the fool in. What harm can he cause?”

Even his fellow guards seemed to give in. “Let him through, Albert. The man’s right. Things could use some lightening up around here.”

“Yes, Albert,” I added. “I mean Your Grace. Things could use some lightening. Here, hold this.” I gave him my sack. “That’s much lighter. Thank you.” I folded my arms.

“Get your ass through,” the guard growled at me, “before it ends up on the point of my lance.” He thrust my sack back into my ribs.

I bowed a last time, winking thanks to the woman and the farmer as I hurried through.

A tremor of relief passed through me. I was in.

The drawbridge groaned under my feet; the walls of the castle loomed high above. Across the bridge, I entered a large courtyard. Busy people were scurrying to and fro.

I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know if Sophie was here, or even alive. A knot tightened in my chest.

I stepped up to the castle entrance. The sun was high. It was before noon. Court would still be in session.

I had work to do. I was a jester.

Chapter 42

BALDWIN ’S COURT WAS HELD in the great hall, down the main corridor through tall stone arches.

I followed the official traffic: knights dressed in casual leggings and tunics; pages scurrying at their sides, holding their helmets and arms; courtiers in colorful robes and cloaks with plumed feathers on their hats; petitioners of the court, both noble and common. And everywhere I walked I searched for Sophie.

People caught my eye and smiled. I, in turn, responded with a wink or a juggle, or a quick sleight of hand. My role was working so far. A man in a patchwork skirt and tights, juggling a set of balls… who would believe such a man could be up to any harm?

The din of a large crowd ushered me toward the great hall. Two tall oak doors, engraved with panels depicting the four seasons, stood at each side of the entrance. Soldiers holding halberds stood at attention, blocking the way.

My blood was pounding. I was here. Baldwin sat on the other side. All I had to do was talk my way in.

A herald wearing the lion shield of Baldwin seemed to be keeping track of appointments. Some were told to sit and wait; others, brimming with self-importance, were allowed in.

[130] When it was my turn, I stepped up and a

At the herald’s quizzical gaze, I whispered to him, “Family enterprise.”

“I pray, from the fu

To my shock, he waved me in.

Through the wide doorway, I stepped into the great hall. The room was enormous-at least three stories tall, rectangular and long. It was filled with a throng of people, standing in line for the duke’s attention or sitting idly around long tables.

A voice rang out above the din. From behind a huddle of merchants and moneylenders arguing about ledgers, I pushed to a vantage point where I could see.

It was Baldwin!

He was sitting, more like slouching, on a large, high-backed oak chair elevated above the floor. A totally uninterested look was on his face, as if these boring proceedings were all that held him from a preferred day of hunting and hawking.

Beneath him, a petitioning commoner knelt on one knee.

Baldwin …! The sight of him sent a chill racing down my spine. For weeks, I had thought of little more than driving my knife through the base of his neck. His jet-black hair fell to his shoulders, and his chin was sharp, with a short black beard. He was wrapped in a purple-and-white robe over a loose-fitting blouse and tights.

I spotted my new rival, Palimpost, in similar garb to mine, reclining on a step to Baldwin ’s side, throwing dice.

Some formal matter was under discussion. A yellow-clad bailiff, pointing toward the kneeling serf, said, “The petitioner seeks to deny the right of patrimony, lord.”

“The right of patrimony?” Baldwin turned to an adviser. “Is [131] the right of the firstborn not the foundation of all property law?”

“It is, my lord,” the adviser agreed.

‘‘For nobles, for men of property, yes,” the petitioner said, “but we are humble farmers. This flock of sheep is all we have. My older brother is a drunkard. He hasn’t done a day’s work at the farm in years. My wife and I… this farm is everything to us. It is how we pay our fief to you.”

“You, farmer.” Baldwin peered at him. “You are a working man at all costs? You do not drink yourself?”

“On holidays, perhaps…” The farmer hesitated, not knowing how to answer. “At feasts… when we celebrated our vows.”

“So it seems I am forced to decide how to divide these sheep between two drunkards.” Baldwin gri

“But my lord …” The farmer rose.

“Be still,” the duke cautioned. “The law must be obeyed.

“And to do so, the flock must be transferred to a firstborn,” he continued. “Is that not right? Yet your reserve is warranted, I think, farmer. Should the flock be wasted, we will not be enriched in any way. It occurs to me that there is an option.” He beamed at the room. “I am a firstborn…”

The petitioner gasped. “You, my lord?”

“Yes.” Baldwin smiled broadly. “The first of the firstborn, wouldn’t you say so, chamberlain?”

“You are the lord, my liege.” The chamberlain bowed.

“Therefore, it seems the law would be upheld nicely should these precious sheep revert to me,” Baldwin declared.

The horrified farmer looked around for some support.

“So I take them,” Baldwin a

“But my lord,” the farmer pressed, “these sheep are all we have.”

Anger swept through me. I wanted to lunge at Baldwin, plunge my dagger into his throat. This was the man who had [132] stolen everything from me, with the same ease and indifference with which he now ruined this poor farmer. But I had to restrain myself. It was Sophie I came for, not revenge against this pig of a man.