The Jester

Odo checked the window for the angle of the sun. “I figure, hoisting an ale. Listening to your stupid jokes.”

I stood up, patted him on the back. “Then let’s do that, friend. I’m sure there’s a cellar here. And I still know a few you haven’t heard.”

Chapter 124

AT DAWN THE NEXT MORNING, I pulled on my tattered jester’s tunic, said good-bye to my old friends who had been with me from the start, put the sacred lance under my arm, and left.

Georges, Odo, Father Leo, and Alphonse met me by the city gates. I urged them not to buckle, but to remain and hold the city. That what we had done was right and would one day be honored.

But what I had to do now was right too. And I had to face it, alone, whatever the cost.

As I prepared to mount my horse, I gave Georges and Odo heartfelt hugs. “God bless you both,” I said. I thanked them for following me, for believing. For taking the chance. In their strong, silent embraces and held-back tears, I felt the grip of a sadness that we might never see one another again.

Then I mounted the horse and, glancing back with a wink and a smile, headed down the hill. I vowed not to look back again.

At the base of the hill, with the gates closed and Treille rising behind me, I broke the promise to myself. I stared back at the tall, foreboding walls, the high, unscalable towers. The town that could not be taken. I couldn’t help but utter a laugh. A spark of pride warmed my blood. Serfs and bondmen had seized [364] their liege’s castle without even fighting a battle. Baldwin ’s apoplectic face rose up in my mind-and for that single moment, it had all been worth it.

But now Baldwin was behind me. One final challenge lay ahead. It was with the person who had burned our village, who had killed my wife and child. Who now held the one I loved. I knew this battle was no longer simply about rights and freedom. It had narrowed to something deeper, personal.

I turned my back on Treille a final time and kicked my mount upon its way.

My mind was set on Borée.

Chapter 125

STEPHEN’S BOOT HEELS sounded loudly as he pushed into a small, squalid room near the rear of the barracks. Hunched silently in a dark corner, its occupant turned, a man who was filthy and covered with sores.

“Come, Morgaine.” Stephen threw the door wide open. “Your moment is here again. I need to make use of your talents. You are still a knight, are you not?”

The dishonored knight slowly lifted his muscular frame off the floor. Tattered, soiled cloth still hid the spot where the lance had pierced his side, and the tiny cubicle reeked of putrefaction.

“I am here to serve you, my liege.”

“Good,” Stephen said. “You must air this place out. Your hygiene is odious anyway, Morgaine, but these days a latrine would smell less foul.”

“It is unavoidable, my liege. The stench keeps the memory of my wound awake in my mind, and the lowly bastard who gave it to me.”

“I’m glad your memory is fresh,” Stephen said. “For if God grants, you will have a second chance for vengeance.”

The Tafur’s eyes lit up. “Each breath I force myself to take is in hope of such a moment. How?”

[366] “Events, larger than you can contemplate, bring the fool back to me.”

“The fool! He comes to Borée? You know this?”

“Do you think I would soil these boots in this pit of infection for any other reason? Now, get up. I will have the physician mask that stench.”

The Tafur pulled his war tunic off the floor, still torn and bloodstained at the spot where the jester’s lance had ripped through. He moistened his lips the way a famished man would awaiting, impatiently, a fresh roast.

“The thought of vengeance has made you alive again, warrior.” Stephen gri

“I will gut him,” the Tafur said, grinding his teeth, “and let my sores drip in his wound so that he may die knowing the contagion that he inflicted on me.”

“That’s the spirit.” Stephen slapped him on the shoulder, then looked at his own hand with distaste. He leaned close to the wounded warrior, as if they were drinking mates, then dug the hilt of his own sword sharply into Morgaine’s side. He gasped.

“This time make sure you come away with the lance.” Stephen sniffed.

“But first, there is other work to be done,” Stephen said, returning to his earlier tone. “In your absence, all sorts of scum have come to Borée. That is why I need you. Whom else am I to trust?”

“Just tell me what you need done.”

“Good.” Stephen’s look brightened. “That’s what I hoped to hear. You seem like a man who could use some entertainment, Morgaine. How about we order some up? Let us call upon the jester, Norbert. You know Norbert, don’t you, Morgaine? Why don’t we see if we can prod him to make us laugh?”

[367] Morgaine nodded, and Stephen knew he understood perfectly. It wouldn’t matter whose blood was on his blade, as long as it led to the fool.

“And Morgaine…” Stephen said as he departed the filthy room. “As long as it’s a party why don’t we ask along the lady Emilie?”

Chapter 126

I HAD TRAVELED in the forest for two days, riding during light until my back ached, then, once it was dark, curling up in the brush, my mind racing as I drifted off to a troubled sleep. I dwelled on many things. The friends I had left behind. Emilie’s safety. What I would do when I got to Borée, still two days’ ride away.

I had just finished a few bites of bread and cheese that morning and was preparing to go on my way when I became aware of the slow advance of a rider approaching from behind.

I ducked behind a tree and took out my knife.

Gradually a single rider clip-clopped into view. A churchman, a friar, perhaps, covered in his burlap hood, riding by himself through dangerous woods.

I relaxed and stepped out from my cover. “You must be either foolishly brave to chance these woods alone, Father,” I called to the advancing shape, “or just as foolishly drunk.”

The churchman stopped. “That’s an unusual warning,” he replied from under his hood, “coming from a man in a patchwork skirt.”

To my shock, the voice was familiar!

He lifted his hood, and I saw it was Father Leo, with a smile the width of his face. “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed.

[369] “I thought a man on a mission like yours might need his soul tended to.” He sighed, struggling to get off his mount. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I’m delighted to have the company, old friend.”

“I knew it was a risk,” the priest said, brushing dust off his robe. “Truth is, it’s taken me so long to find a true sign from God, I couldn’t bear being separated from the lance.”

I laughed and helped him brush off the road dirt. “You look tired, Father. Drink.”

I handed Father Leo my calfskin and he tilted it back. “We will make quite an army when we get to Borée.” I smiled. “The fool and the priest.”

“Yes,” the priest said and wiped his mouth, “very imposing. I knew we would frighten no one, so I hope you don’t mind that I asked along a friend.”

“A friend…?”

From down the road, the hoofbeats of another rider could be heard, and as he came close, I blinked twice and realized it was Alphonse. The lad trotted up to me dressed for battle. He flashed me his shy, awkward smile.

“You two are crazy,” I said.

“Dressed as you are, marching to attack the castle at Borée alone, and you call us crazy?” muttered Father Leo.

“Well, now we are three fools.” I gri

“No.” Alphonse sniffed and shook his head. “No, we are not.”

“Got anything good to eat?” another voice called from the forest. “Anything sounds good after these squirrels and lizards I’ve been chasing.”