Shorty and his partner shared looks, as if they could not believe what was going on.
“Don’t know, Shorty?” I gripped my staff. “Well, why don’t we just ask your mother.”
The tall one grunted a slight laugh, but Shorty silenced him with a look. He lifted his club above his shoulders. I watched his eyes grow narrow and mean. “You really are a fool, aren’t you?”
Before all the words had left his lips, I swung my staff. It cracked him firmly in the mouth and sent him reeling. He grabbed his jaw, then raised his weapon again. Before he could swing it, I sprang forward and whacked my stick across his shin, doubling him over in pain. I rapped his shin again and he screamed.
The other came at me, but as he did, the merchant rushed forward and thrust his torch into the outlaw’s face. His entire head was engulfed in flames. The man howled and smacked at his head to smother the flames. Then his clothing caught fire and he fled into the woods, screaming, followed by Shorty.
The merchant and his wife came up to me. “We owe you thanks. I am Geoffrey.” The merchant extended his hand. “I have a ceramics stall in Treille. This is my wife, Isabel. My son, Thomas.”
“I’m Hugh.” I took his hand. “A jester. Could you tell?”
“Tell us, Hugh,” his wife inquired, “where do you head?”
“I head to Treille as well.”
“Then we can go the rest of the way together,” Geoffrey offered. “We don’t have much food left, but what there is, you’re welcome to share.”
“Why not?” I agreed. “But I think we’d better put some space between us and the night crawlers. My pack’s just over here.”
Geoffrey’s son asked, “Are you going to Treille to be a jester at our court?”
I smiled at the boy. “I hope to, Thomas. I’ve heard the one there now has grown a bit dull.”
“Maybe he has.” Geoffrey shrugged. “But you’ll have a difficult job in front of you. How long has it been since you have been to our town?”
“Three years,” I answered.
He lifted the handles of his cart. “These days, I’m afraid you will find Treille a hard place to get a laugh.”
Chapter 40
WE HAD BARELY CLEARED THE FOREST two mornings later when Geoffrey pointed ahead. “There it is.”
The town of Treille, glistening through the sun, perched atop a high hilltop. Was Sophie truly here? There was a cluster of ochre-colored buildings knotted on the rise, then, at its peak, the large gray castle, two towers thrust into the sky.
I had been to Treille twice before. Once to settle a claim against a knight who would not pay his bill, and the other with Sophie to go to market.
Geoffrey was right. As we approached the outlying village, I could tell that Treille had changed.
“Look how the farmers’ fields lie fallow,” he said, pointing, “while over there, the lord’s demesne is neatly planted.”
Indeed, I could see how the smaller plots of land sat unworked, while the duchy’s fields, bordered by solid stone fences, flourished.
Closer to town, other serious signs of decline were everywhere. A wooden bridge over a stream had so many holes in the boards we could barely pass. Fences were broken and run-down.
I was dumbstruck. I remembered Treille as thriving and prosperous. The largest market in the duchy. A place of celebration on Midsummer’s Eve.
We climbed the steep, windy hill that rose toward the castle. The streets stank from waste, the runoff from the castle lining the edges of the road.
The pigs were out. Each morning people got rid of their garbage by tossing it out on the streets. Then pigs were let loose to feed on the waste. Their morning meal was enough to turn my stomach.
At a crowded corner, Geoffrey announced, “Our stall is down the street. You are welcome to stay with us, Hugh, if you have no other place.”
I declined. I had to get started on my quest — which lay inside the castle.
The merchant embraced me. “You’ll always have a friend here. And by the way, my wife’s cousin works in the castle. I will tell her what you did for us. She’ll be sure to save you the best scraps of meat.”
“Thanks.” I winked at Thomas and hopped around a bit until I got a laugh. “Come visit me, if I get the job.”
I waved as I left them behind, then walked through town, making my way up the hill. People stared, and I grinned and juggled my way into my new role. A new jester was like the arrival of a troupe of players, festive and gay.
A crowd of raggedy children followed me, dancing around with shouts and laughs. Yet my heart pounded with the worrisome task that lay ahead. Sophie was here . . . I could feel it. Somewhere in all this stone and decay, she clung on.
It took me nearly an hour to wind through the streets and finally make my way to the castle gates. A squad of uniformed soldiers in milk-pail helmets and Baldwin’s purple-and-white colors stood manning the lowered drawbridge, checking people going in.
The line had backed up. Some passed through. Others, arguing their case, were rudely pushed away.
This was it, my new pretext . . . my first test. My stomach churned. Please, let me be up to this.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the gate.
And once again, I could feel Sophie.
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 grinned and winked.
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 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 step
ped 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.
When it was my turn, I stepped up and announced boldly, “I am Hugh from Borée, cousin to Palimpost the Droll. I was told I could find him here.”
At the herald’s quizzical gaze, I whispered to him, “Family enterprise.”
“I pray, from the funny side of the family.” The herald sniffed. He gave me a quick once-over. “You’ll no doubt find him snoozing with the dogs. Just keep out of the way while business is in session.”
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 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 grinned. A wave of laughter echoed through the cavernous room.
“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 announced, “in the name of patrimony.”
“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 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.
A page leaned over to Baldwin. “Your hawks await, my lord.”
“Good. Is there any more business before the court?” Baldwin asked, implying he wanted none.
I swallowed nervously. This was my chance. Why I had come. I pushed my way to the front.
“I have business, my lord!”
Chapter 43
“THERE IS THE MATTER OF YOUR WESTERN LANDS,” I called out from the throng of petitioners.
“Who speaks?” Baldwin asked, startled. A surprised buzz worked through the crowd of petitioners.
“A knight, your lordship,” I shouted. “I have taken a raiding party and sacked and burned all the villages of your enemies in the west.”
Baldwin stood up. He leaned over to his seneschal. “But we don’t have any enemies in the west . . .”
I took a breath and edged myself out from the crowd. “I am sorry, lord, but I fear that you do now.”
Slowly, steadily, a trail of laughter wound through the room. As the joke became clear, it grew heartier.
“It is a fool,” I heard someone say. “A performance.”
Baldwin glared and stepped toward me. His icy stare made my blood run cold. “Who are you, fool? What has prompted you to speak?”
“I am Hugh. From Borée.” I bowed. “I have studied under Norbert, the famous jester there. I am informed that your court is greatly in need of a laugh.”
“A laugh? My court hungers for a laugh . . . ?” Baldwin squinted uncomprehendingly. “You are certainly fool-born, man, I grant you that. And you have come all this way from the big city to amuse us.”
“That is so, my lord.” I bowed again, nerves flashing through me.
“Well, your journey is wasted,” the noble said. “We already have a fool here. Don’t we, Palimpost, my droll pet?”
The jester sprang up, an old, clubfooted man with white hair and thick lips who looked as if he had just been jolted awake.
“With all due respect,” I said, stepping into the middle of the room and addressing the court, “I have heard that Palimpost couldn’t get a laugh from a drunken sot. That he has lost his touch. I say hear me out. If you are not happy, I will be on my way.”
“The boy sports a challenge to you.” Baldwin grinned at his jester.
“Restrain him, my lord,” Palimpost said. “Do not listen. He means to create unrest in your duchy.”
“Our only unrest, my dizzy-eyed fool, is from the dullness of your wit. Perhaps the lad is right. Let us see what he brings from Borée.”
Baldwin stepped down from his platform. He made his way across the room toward me. “Make us laugh, and we will see about your future. Fail, and you’ll be practicing jok
es for the rats in our keep.”
“It’s fair, my lord.” I bowed. “I will make you laugh.”
Chapter 44
I STOOD IN THE CENTER OF THE HUGE ROOM. A hundred pairs of eyes were on me.
In a group of lounging knights, I spotted Norcross, the duke’s military man, his chatelain. I eyed him tremulously, though he did not look my way. Every sense told me this was the man who had killed my son.
“You have all no doubt heard the tale of the cow from Amiens,” I crowed.
People looked at one another and shook their heads. “We have not,” someone yelled out. “Tell us, jester.”
“These two peasants had a single denier between them. So to enlarge their fortune, they decided to buy a cow, and every day they would sell its milk. Now, as everyone knows, the best cows in the land come from Amiens.
“So they went there, and they traded the denier for the best cow they could find, who yielded lots of milk. And they sold the milk each morning. Soon, one of them said, ‘If we can mate this fine cow, we’ll have two. We can double our milk and our money.’ So they searched their village and found the finest bull. Soon, they were going to be rich.”
I scanned the room. Everyone seemed to hang on my words. A hundred smiles . . . knights, ladies-in-waiting, even the duke himself. I had them. I had their ears.
“The day of the mating, they brought in the bull. First, he tried to mount the cow from behind, but the cow wiggled away. Then, the bull came at her from the left, but the cow wiggled its rump to the right. If it came from the right, the cow wiggled left.”
I spotted an attractive lady and went up to her. I smiled and wiggled my own rump. Just enough to be considered cute. The crowd oohed with delight.
“Finally,” I said, “the peasants threw up their hands in frustration. There was no way this cow from Amiens would mate. But instead of giving up, they decided to consult the smartest person in the duchy. A knight of such rare wisdom, such vision, he knew why all things were as they were.”
I noticed Norcross reclining on his elbow, following the tale. I strode up to him. “Someone like you, knight,” I said.