The Jester

Emilie and I hurried through a neighborhood that seemed to be home to these merchants. There were not only huts, but stone houses, some with iron gates guarding small courtyards. The smell of burning lard was everywhere.

I stopped before a two-story dwelling with a tin scroll-like ornament hammered next to the doorway. “Emilie, we’re here.”

I knocked on the door. A voice called out from inside, some shuffling, then the door cracked open. A familiar face looked out from under a skullcap.

“We’ve traveled a long way,” I said. “We were told we would find friends here.”

“If you are in need, we are friends,” the man replied. “But who told you this?”

“Two men in the forest,” I said.

The man arched his brow, confused.

“One named Shorty. I asked him what position makes the ugliest children. When he could not say, I told him: ‘Ask your mother!’ ”

The man’s eyes grew wide, then his beard parted into a smile.

“So, Geoffrey.” I gri

Chapter 108

THE MERCHANT WHOSE LIFE I had saved on the road to Treille broke into a hearty smile. He held me by the shoulders, then hugged me, and hustled Emilie and me through the door. I took off my skullcap and shook out my red hair.

Geoffrey laughed. “I said to myself, you look like no Jew I had ever seen before.”

“We are pork-eating Jews.” I gri

We hugged each other again, like old friends. I laid down my staff and unfastened my robe. “This is Emilie. She’s a close friend. This is Geoffrey, who once helped save my life.”

“And I was only able to,” Geoffrey said, “because Hugh had once saved mine. Ours …”

Isabel and Thomas came in from another room. “As I live and breathe,” she exclaimed, “it is the jester with the lives of a cat.”

We were led to a sitting room lined with weavings and old scrolls and tracts. Geoffrey offered us his bench.

“What is the mood of the city?” I asked.

He frowned. “Foul. What used to be a thriving city is now just a pigpen that feeds the duke. And it will only get worse. There is talk of an uprising somewhere, an army of peasants in the forest who took up arms, headed here. Farmers, shepherds, woodsmen, led by a fool with some kind of relic gotten from the Crusade… A lance with their Savior’s blood on it.”

[320] “You mean this?” I took out my staff and let his eyes travel over it. I smiled. “I have heard of such an uprising.”

The merchant’s eyes grew wide. “This is you… You are the jester… Hugh.”

I nodded. Then I told Geoffrey my plan.

Chapter 109

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, my work was done and it was time to head back to the forest.

Emilie agreed to stay behind in town. It was safer for her there, with the terrible battle that was to come. She fought me gamely, but this time I would not back down. When it was time to leave, I hugged her close and promised I would see her in a couple of days.

I lifted her face and smiled at her. “My beautiful Emilie, when we first met I was afraid to even talk to you. Now I am afraid to let you go. Remember how you laughed at me and said, ‘That may be, but it will not always be’?”

“In a day or two, I guess we will find out,” she said, trying to look brave.

She leaned up and kissed me. “God bless you, Hugh.” Tears welled in her eyes. “In all the world, I hope to see you again.”

I hoisted my sack and headed down the lane, waving a final farewell at the end of the street. I buried my head in my hood and hunched under my shawl, avoiding any eyes in uniform. As I wound back down the hill, I turned, watching the town recede. Pain tore at my heart. All that I now loved remained in this place. A tremor of panic ripped through me that I might never see Emilie again.

[322] When I got back to the forest, I found the men waiting and ready for a fight. We marched at the break of dawn.

Farmers, woodsmen, ta

At the head of the procession, I felt my blood surge with pride. Whatever the outcome, these men had stood tall. They were people of courage and character. To me, they were all highborn.

Every settlement we came to, a crowd formed, cheering us on. “Look, it is the jester,” they would exclaim. They would bring out their children too. “See, child, you will always say you saw the lance.”

Word spread like a brushfire. More joined us all the time.

All the while, Treille grew closer, the color of an amber sunset. Its formidable towers reached high into the sky. The nearer we got, the more the mood stiffened; the ranks grew worried and quiet.

The sun was high when we reached the outskirts of town. No force had charged out to confront us yet.

Instead, downtrodden townspeople stood aside, exhorting us on. “It is the jester. See, he exists! He is real!”

The massive limestone walls of the outer city rose above us with their crenellated battlements. At each opening, I could see teams of soldiers, their helmets gleaming.

They did not attack, though. They let us come. They allowed us to march within a hundred yards of the outer walls.

Just out of arrow-shot, I signaled the column to a halt.

I ordered the ranks to fan out around the perimeter, forming a massing ring twenty men deep. No one knew what to do, to shout or charge.

“Go on, Hugh,” Georges said with a smile. “Go on and tell ’em why we’re here.”

I stepped out, trying to calm the thumping in my chest. I shouted to the defenders above the gate.

“We are from Veille du Père, and Morrisaey, and St. Felix, and every town in the duchy. We have business before Lord Baldwin.”

Chapter 110

FOR A MOMENT there was no answer. I thought, What do I do now? Say the same words again?

Then a brightly clad figure whom I recognized from my stay here as Baldwin’s chamberlain leaned out. “The lord is napping,” he yelled back. “He knows no business before him today. Go back to your wives and farms.”

Curses and taunts began to rise from the crowd. “The pig is napping?” someone growled. “Let us be careful not to wake him up, friends.”

A thunderous jeer rose. Weapons rattled, shouts rang out.

Someone rushed forward and pulled down his leggings. “Come on, Baldwin. Here’s my ass. Try and fuck me now.”

A few rash ones charged up to the walls, spitting curses and insults. “Stay back,” I yelled. But it was too late.

From the ramparts came the blood-chilling whine of arrows in reply. One man gagged, an arrow piercing his neck. Another clutched his head. A young boy sprinted up and hurled a stone, which fell halfway up the wall.

A wave of burning black pitch rained down on him. The boy fell, rolling on the ground, his skin sizzling with flame.

“Go home, you stinking filth,” spat a soldier from the top.

Now everyone moved forward in a rush. Some of us shot [324] off fire arrows, which streaked across the sky and died harmlessly against the massive walls.

Volleys of arrows whooshed down on us in return, so heavy and strong they tore through flimsy shields and pierced men in two. The volley sounded like a thunderstorm.

Images from the Crusade burned in my brain.

I waved frantically for everyone to move back. Some were angry and wanted to charge. They had followed me for days with little food. All they had thought of was striking their picks and hammers against the walls of Treille, tearing it down chunk by chunk. Others, seeing blood and death for the first time swarmed back, afraid.

This is what Baldwin wanted. To show that our makeshift weapons were useless. Anger was setting in, and we hadn’t even begun the siege. My blood was racing. I had brought a thousand men here. We had the town surrounded. We had the will to fight but not the weapons to break through. All Baldwin had to do was open the gates and I knew all but the most hardened fighters would turn and flee.