The Jester

Chapter 132

EMILIE PULLED HER COVERS UP to warm herself in the dark, drafty tower room that had been her cell over the past days. The narrow slit of a window high up on the wall barely let in an angle of outside light. She was not sure if it was day or night.

For the past few hours, she had heard the rumble outside of troops and heavy carts being dragged down to the walls. Something was happening. A flicker in her heart told her it had to do with Hugh.

A pitcher of drinking water and a plate of half-eaten food rested on a table by her side with a few of her books and embroideries. But she had no appetite and no mind to read or weave.

Stephen was a dog, foaming with the madness of greed. All honor and law had been set aside to detain her. All reason too.

But it was fear for Hugh that gnawed at her, festered in her heart through the dark, isolated nights.

Hugh… Stephen would not dare harm her, but he would see Hugh dead with the relish of a cruel child picking the wings off a fly. Now he prepared his army, his awful Tafurs, his archers, and his death-dealing machines of war.

“Do not come,” she prayed, whispering herself back to sleep. “Please, Hugh… do not come.”

[386] But something was different this day. There was a far-off rumble. And a sharpness to the voices nearby. The tremor of large machines being wheeled into place.

Battle machines!

Emilie threw the covers from her bed. She had to know what was going on. The commotion outside grew louder. Horses, shouting, the constant hammering of wood. Preparations for war.

Emilie wrapped herself in her bedclothes and dragged a table beneath the high window. Then she hoisted a sitting bench and placed it on top of the table. As a child she had played such games of “king of the hill” with the boys. High above the floor, she balanced herself on the bench and raised herself to her toes.

Emilie craned her neck to see over the lip of the narrow ledge.

Below, on the i

Emilie pushed herself even higher.

What was beyond was a sight that stole away her breath.

A vast gathering of men, beyond the walls, as far as the eye could see.

In peasant clothes, with weapons and oxen and mangonels.

She felt her heart glow.

An army of them. Stephen’s edict be damned! She began to laugh. She could not help herself. It was as if everyone who had ever marched alongside Hugh were here. Every peasant in the forest!

Then something else caught her eye.

She raised herself on her toes as high as she could.

Yes, standing apart from the troops, a head of fiery red hair. Could it be?

Her heart almost exploded. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she knew he was too far away and could not [387] possibly hear her. She waved and shouted and whooped anyway. She heard herself giggling uncontrollably.

Standing there-in the very tunic she had sewn for him herself, facing Borée as if he knew precisely where she was-she saw Hugh.

Chapter 133

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, we pushed our siege engines forward under the watchful eyes of Stephen’s men. Mangonels, their baskets stretched, followed by wheeled carts filled with giant stones, massive rams hewn from tree trunks and ladders stacked in piles.

We began the construction of wooden towers as tall as the outer walls, as well as smaller platforms called “cats” covered in moist, bloody hides to protect our charging ranks from the rain of burning pitch.

I was in Daniel’s tent, ru

At any moment, I was certain, a formation of green-and-gold-clad knights would come swarming out.

As the portcullis opened, two priests clad in sacramental robes slowly rode out under the ba

After a pause, Bertrand Morais, Stephen’s chatelain, followed. And behind him, as if his presence alone would cause the field to kneel, a noble in full battle gear on a white charger.

Stephen himself.

Chapter 134

“HE WISHES TO TALK,” Daniel said. “He hides behind the priests as a flag of truce.”

“He wishes to trap you, more like it,” Odo said. “You’d be a fool.”

I couldn’t wait to put my vengeful eyes on the bastard. “Don’t forget.” I put on my cap. “I am a fool.”

I rushed to the front, found my horse, and called for Father Leo. “Come, here’s your chance to be an equal to the highest priests in Borée.” We fetched him a horse. “And Daniel?” I slapped him. “Want a chance to see a duke piss in his pants?”

We mounted our horses and rode halfway out into the rutted no-man’s-land separating our camp from Borée.

Stephen waited for us to reach a spot. Then, gauging his distance from our archers, he trotted his own entourage to meet me. My blood was racing just to see this reptile. His look sent chills through me. He wore no helmet; his jet-black hair hung long and greasy. His elaborate chain mail had his dragon crest displayed on the chest. His hands were covered in studded gauntlets, and a heavy sword, befitting a Crusader, was strapped to his side.

As he reached us, he did not stay his horse. He circled us, his glance darting from my face to the lance.

Then Stephen drew his mount to a halt. He smiled quite [390] amiably. “So, you are the deserting coward who rouses men against their lords in the name of heresy.”

“And you are the prick,” I said, unheeding, “who killed my wife and child. With all respect.” I bowed to the priests.

“What a shame, then,” Stephen said, “if a similar fate befell another whom you prize.”

Fury tightened in my chest. “If any harm comes to her, it will take more than a delegation of priests to save you. Lady Emilie returned here of her own will, out of loyalty and concern for her mistress. She has no conflict with you.”

“And do you? Jester, rebel, heretic… How is it I should address you?”

“Hugh,” I said, fixing on his cold, superior eyes. “I am Hugh De Luc. My wife was Sophie. My son, who never saw his second year, was Phillipe.”

“I’m sure all of us are delighted to hear your family tree, but what is it you want here, Hugh?”

“What do I want?” Part of me wanted to pull him off his mount right there and end this thing, just he and I. I directed my horse one step closer to him. “I want your admission of the wrongs you have done. I want restitution paid for each man, woman, and child killed in pursuit of this.” I put forward the lance. “I want the lady Emilie sent to me at once.”

The duke looked to his underlings, as if he were restraining a laugh. “I heard he was entertaining. And now I think no less myself. You want a lord to be a mule-keep. You parade behind a purported relic of the Church and yet you put the souls of a thousand followers at risk.”

“These men are here of their own mind,” I said. “I doubt they would go home even upon my demand.”

“Does the welfare of their immortal souls not matter to them?” one of the priests inquired.

“I don’t know. Let’s see.” I turned back toward my ranks. “Go home. Lay down your arms. All of you. Fight’s over. I have his word that the duke promises to spare your souls.”

[391] My words echoed across the field, but not a single person moved. I turned back to the priest. Shrugged.

“And what if I said the lady Emilie was here of her own mind too,” Stephen snapped. “That it is her choice to stay, even upon my demand.”

“Then I would call you a liar, Stephen. Or a hopeless fool.”