With a Jester of Kindness

by K. C. Herbel

  Billy backed up a step and watched Hugh who stood completely motionless before the magnificent, feral beast. The jaw of the King’s Champion hung loosely on its hinges, while his eyes stared on in childlike adoration.

  The horse’s tantrum became more violent, and Thomas fell to the ground, unable to hold on to the reins. Without hesitation Hugh moved between the steed and Lady Myrredith and caught the reins. Instantly, as if by magic, the animal became calm. Thomas, frozen with fear, stared blankly at the beast, half expecting to be trounced. The others likewise gawked at the amazingly subdued creature.

  The lingering silence was broken by a nicker from the horse. As if awakening from a trance, Billy and the others blinked their eyes and glanced at one another.

  “Well,” started Lady Myrredith, “allow me to introduce you. Sir Hugh, this is Splendore Pomponnel. Splendore Pomponnel, this is Sir Hugh.”

  “Splendore Pomponnel?” repeated Hugh curiously.

  Before Lady Myrredith could answer, the horse nickered again and stepped towards Sir Hugh. Hugh stood still, waiting for the beast to reach him. Without warning the horse gently pushed Hugh with its nose.

  Lady Myrredith laughed.

  “What is it?” asked Hugh with a grin.

  “That horse has been waiting for you for a long time.”

  “What?”

  “No one,” continued Lady Myrredith, “but no one has been able to break that ornery beast, much less get near it!”

  Hugh looked appreciatively at the beautiful animal before him. The creature stared back at him. Each one, man and horse, sized up the other. Finally the horse nodded, and Hugh reached up to run his hand through its thick dark mane. Splendore Pomponnel moved in closer, and Hugh’s hand glided along his sleek neck, down to his meaty chest.

  The knight continued down the horse, letting his hand slide over the silky grey and silver coat. Then without a word he moved to the horse’s side and, grabbing a handful of mane, leapt onto its back. Hugh sat still for a moment holding tightly to Splendore’s mane. The horse remained docile. Hugh urged his mount forward, and it obediently complied. Hugh slowly rode the horse across the courtyard then returned to his astonished friends with a smile plastered across his face.

  “Well it seems that you have a new companion,” said Lady Myrredith.

  “Aye,” agreed Hugh. “I think Splendore Pomponnel and I are going to be good friends. There’s just one thing I’d like to know . . .”

  “What’s that?” asked Lady Myrredith.

  “Why give a horse two names?”

  “A horse with two names?” said Don Miguel suddenly appearing beside Billy.

  Lady Myrredith turned to face the troubadour. “Yes, Don Miguel. This horse has two names.”

  “But why?” asked the curious Spaniard walking towards Sir Hugh and Splendore. “Was one not enough?”

  “No,” answered the Lady of Cyndyn Hall flatly. “As a matter of fact, one was not enough.”

  Don Miguel continued to walk closer to the horse. “It appears to be a fine animal,” he said condescendingly, “but two names, milady? I think perhaps you give too much respect to this horse.” With that said he started to walk behind Splendore Pomponnel.

  “Don’t . . . !” shouted Hugh and Lady Myrredith in unison.

  In a blinding flash, Splendore Pomponnel lashed out with his hindquarter at the disrespectful minstrel. The attack came precisely at eye level, but incredibly Don Miguel avoided it. The deadly hooves slashed through the air miraculously missing the Spaniard’s vulnerable head by mere inches. Miguel fell to the ground and rolled out of the way, coming up on his feet two yards away from the cantankerous beast.

  Lady Myrredith watched the troubadour dust himself off and check for broken bones before she spoke to him. “It appears that it is you, Don Miguel, who does not know how much respect to give a horse.”

  Don Miguel looked up at her and shakily answered, “Perhaps you are right . . . Your Ladyship. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I should go inside.”

  “But of course,” said Lady Myrredith with a smile.

  Splendore Pomponnel neighed and took a step back. Don Miguel’s shoulders jumped in response. Swiftly the Spaniard circled around the horse in a wide arc, keeping a weary eye on him until he was out of sight.

  All those present in the courtyard laughed as Miguel disappeared into the main keep. Hugh was nearly beside himself.

  “Yes,” said Hugh between laughs, “I think Splendore Pomponnel and I are going to be great friends!” With that, the King’s Champion nudged his new mount in the flanks, and they sped towards the gatehouse.

  “Hugh!” cried Lady Myrredith after him. “Hugh! What about supper?”

  Sir Hugh stopped the splendid steed and turned to face his hostess. “Don’t worry!” he shouted. “I haven’t got a saddle. I’ll be right back!”

  Lady Myrredith, Billy, and Thomas watched the exuberant knight sally forth through the gate of Cyndyn Hall. He looked more like a twelve-year-old boy than the King’s Champion.

  “We might not see him till bedtime,” said Lady Myrredith with a smile. “As a boy he loved nothing better than to ride bareback through the woods.”

  “How well did ya know Sir Banarel?” Billy asked suddenly.

  Lady Myrredith looked at him. “The man killed at your father’s inn?”

  Billy nodded.

  “Not well. Our journey to Penwyth was the first time I had seen the man.”

  “Oh,” Billy said with a nod. “Do ya think he was a good knight?”

  “Why? What is it, William?”

  “Nothin’. I just wondered what he did . . . before.”

  “Still dreaming of becoming a knight?” asked the lady.

  Billy answered with a grin.

  “Well, Sir Banarel was a foreigner by birth, but I’m told he earned his spurs performing some . . . secret service for the king. I don’t know when he was assigned to the earl.”

  “Assigned?”

  “Yes. It’s a privilege given to the lords of the realm. They can request one of His Majesty’s knights as a protector, although some lords request one just for the attention or social status, but only the king has the authority to make such assignments.”

  “Is one of His Majesty’s knights assigned to you?”

  Lady Myrredith smiled and shook her head. “No, William. I have no need for a protector, or a trophy warrior. Besides, I have my husband, don’t I?”

  Billy nodded, and Hugh trotted through the gate on Splendore Pomponnel.

  “Back so soon?” asked Lady Myrredith.

  Hugh smiled and brought his mount to a stop. “Well . . . to be honest, another few steps and I might not have come back till bedtime.”

  Lady Myrredith and Billy laughed as Hugh dismounted and handed the reins to Thomas, who reluctantly accepted them.

  “Everything’s fine, Thomas,” Hugh said. “I don’t think he’ll trouble you too much anymore.” Then he turned to the horse and said, “Behave yourself, my friend. We’ll go riding again in the morning!”

  Lady Myrredith and Billy eyed their companion as he watched after Splendore Pomponnel. Suddenly aware that he was under scrutiny, he turned to his friends and smiled.

  Lady Myrredith spoke first. “Hugh,” she said, “Splendore Pomponnel is yours.”

  “Milady,” Hugh said solemnly. “I don’t know how to thank you. How can I ever repay you for such a treasure?”

  Lady Myrredith placed her hands on Billy’s shoulders. “You already have.”

  As the three of them entered the great hall, Billy saw Scarosa, in what seemed to be his favorite spot: leaning up against a chimney support. His lute hung around his neck, and in one hand he held a well-heaped plate, while the other pushed food into his thin-lipped mouth. His near-fatal introduction to Splendore Pomponnel hadn’t seemed to hurt his appetite one bit. He looked up from his food then quickly set down the plate. He looked frantically around for a moment while he wiped his greasy hands on a passing
servant. Finally he found his tankard and washed down the mouthful of food. Sir Hugh and Lady Myrredith didn’t seem to notice the troubadour’s gluttonous behavior, as they crossed the hall and sat at the dining table, but Billy watched him in fascination. Suddenly he remembered what Lady Myrredith had said that morning in the garden.

  Billy turned to Sir Hugh and asked, “Is a peacock a kind of pig?”

  Sir Hugh looked at him strangely. “No. Why?”

  Billy leaned over and whispered, “Lady Myrredith said something about a ‘pompous peacock’ this morning . . .”

  “She said what?”

  “She said she had hoped to avoid the pompous peacock this morning, when we were at breakfast in the garden.”

  “Who else was there?”

  “Don Miguel . . .”

  Upon the utterance of the Spaniard’s name, Sir Hugh broke into an uncontrolled laughter. Most everyone in the hall took notice of his guffaw, including Don Miguel, who tucked his lute under his arm and strutted over to the table.

  While Don Miguel approached, Sir Hugh regained his composure and leaned over to whisper to Billy. “Now that,” he said, indicating the troubadour, “is a peacock.”

  Again Sir Hugh laughed.

  “Lady and gentle sirs,” said Scarosa with a superfluous bow. “What wondrous entertainment can I bring you tonight?”

  “Let us hear soft music, which might help pheasant go down easy,” said Sir Hugh with a grin.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Hugh,” said Lady Myrredith, “but I don’t believe we have any pheasant tonight.”

  “Oh . . . my mistake,” answered the smiling knight.

  “Perhaps, Sir Hugh, it is a love song you wish to hear?” interjected the Spaniard.

  At that moment, Sir Aonghas appeared at the main entrance and shouted to Don Miguel. “No more love songs! I wish to hear songs of glory and battle!”

  Upon hearing this, the entertainer bowed his acquiescence and strummed the first notes of a very popular and traditional warrior’s song. Don Miguel sang the first verse alone, but then Sir Aonghas, with tankard in hand, joined him on the chorus. What Sir Aonghas lacked in talent he made up for in enthusiasm. His gusto for singing was only matched by the displeasure it seemed to bring the other half of the duet. Don Miguel squinted one eye and tried vainly to harmonize with his partner.

  Billy smiled broadly at Sir Aonghas, remembering fondly the men who got a belly full of ale in his father’s inn and suddenly broke into song. He was more than content to sit and listen to the two men, as even a small taste of home, no matter how sour, helped in his stand against homesickness.

  At his first chance, Don Miguel slipped into several unfamiliar ballads, and Sir Aonghas was forced to sit them out. The troubadour sang of stormy battles and conquest on distant shores, of the glory, fame, and riches of the victorious. At first his songs were acceptable, even warmly received by his audience, but the small successes went to his head, and, in this cocky state, he decided to sing an especially unsavory song. To say that its gory lyrics hedged on the unappetizing would have been overly kind. Before he could finish the first verse, he was interrupted.

  Her Ladyship was the first to speak. “Please!” she shouted while simultaneously slamming her cup down on the table. It so startled Don Miguel that he stopped singing, in order to catch his lute. The hall reverberated with the sound of its mistress’s voice, and then everything was quiet. All eyes were on Lady Myrredith.

  “Please, Don Miguel,” she said in a much softer voice, “we are trying to eat! Play for us some traditional ballads.”

  Don Miguel opened his mouth to argue the point but stopped himself. He closed his mouth and stood red faced at the center of the room. He looked first to Sir Aonghas, then slowly a satisfied, serpentlike smile spread across his thin lips. He stroked his mustache and focused his eyes on Sir Aonghas’s wife and the King’s Champion. “Ah, I see that the lady has been put in the mood for a love song.”

  “No,” rebuked Lady Myrredith, “just something less bloody, and more . . . palatable.”

  Don Miguel’s eyes shifted back and forth. Then he turned away for a moment and strummed his lute, tuning it. When he turned back around, he was strumming contemplatively.

  “Ah,” he said at last, “I’ve got it! A song of romance . . . from my homeland.”

  “Is that all you know,” said Hugh, “love ballads and battle hymns?”

  Don Miguel eyed him momentarily. “Well, Sir Hugh, they are most popular these days.”

  With that, Miguel sang a song of two lovers, forbidden to love. It ended in tragedy as only such love songs can and left the audience flat.

  “William?” said Lady Myrredith. “Are you finished dining?”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “I think it’s time Don Miguel had a rest. Will you please entertain us?”

  “That is no necessary, Your Ladyship!” argued Scarosa. “I am no tired.”

  “Yes, but I am.”

  Don Miguel Medina Scarosa was stunned. His jaw went slack, and he stood frozen for a moment. Billy came to his side and held out his hand for the Spaniard’s lute. Slowly he loosed it and handed it to the upstart. Then with a “humph,” he held his head aloof and strutted out of the hall. “A temperamental peacock at that,” said Sir Hugh under his breath.

  Lady Myrredith caught what he said and laughed. “You’ve been talking to William.”

  Billy started to sing before the King’s Champion could answer. He began with a well-known song and invited everyone to join in. Before long, even the servants were singing. They spent the rest of the evening laughing, singing, and just enjoying the camaraderie.

  Just before the company retired for the night, Sir Hugh and Sir Aonghas sang a song together for Lady Myrredith. Billy’s effort to mend the gap between them was paying off. He went to his room very weary, but with a feeling of accomplishment.

  Chapter X

  The Spirit of Cyndyn Hall

  That night Billy went to bed and dreamt of faerie kings and feasts. Just as the night before, he awoke with a chill. He found the candles burned out and a pair of eyes staring at him from the darkness. Billy threw up the covers and hid underneath them. He waited there, curled up like a hibernating squirrel. He listened, but all he could hear was his own breathing. Then he heard a low thud, the same as the previous night.

  “Who’s there?” spoke Billy from underneath the covers.

  There was no answer.

  Now, turtlelike, Billy slowly poked his head out from the covers and peeked at the foot of his bed. There was only darkness.

  * * *

  The next two days went slowly for Billy, as everyone was too busy to spend much time with him. Lady Myrredith was busy with the affairs of her holdings, while Sir Hugh and Sir Aonghas had business of their own. At dinner, Sir Aonghas was agitated and started to quarrel with Sir Hugh more than once. Each time, Billy quickly came to the rescue with a song.

  Billy was aware of the tension building, and it made him restless. He wanted to go to town but had to settle for exploring the castle on his own. And while Cyndyn Hall, with all its secret passageways and giant walls, was interesting, he longed for something new.

  Looking for company, Billy tried to approach Don Miguel on several occasions. At first Scarosa simply ignored him but later became irritated and shooed Billy away, accompanied by a few select expletives.

  Not being one to give up easily, Billy decided to ask Scarosa for a lute lesson. Don Miguel was in the kitchen when Billy found him. The troubadour had waylaid Sir Aonghas there and was talking to him in hushed tones.

  As Billy approached, Aonghas grabbed the thin Spaniard by the front of his blouse and held him up to his face. “What?” he shouted. “Where did you see them?”

  Don Miguel held out his hand and pointed in the direction of the gardens. The giant of a man dropped him and marched out the door, knocking over vases and pots full of food as he departed.

  Don Miguel looked around at the kitchen
staff and sighed as he brushed off his clothes. He stopped abruptly when he spotted Billy.

  “What do you want?” spat Don Miguel.

  “I was gonna ask you to give me a lesson,” Billy replied.

  Suddenly Scarosa snapped. “I give you a lesson, you little pip-squeak!” With that he picked up a clay pot and hurled it at Billy.

  Billy ducked the pot, and it splattered against the door jam. Ale splashed in all directions, but Don Miguel wasn’t through. He picked up a cup and likewise threw it at his would-be student. Without thinking, Billy reached up and grabbed the cup out of the air. It startled him, almost as much as his attacker, but still Don Miguel was not finished. He became enraged and hurled another cup at Billy, and then another. Don Miguel’s face reddened with each projectile Billy caught.

  Now Billy had three cups in his hands. He had no intention of aggravating the troubadour further, but something instinctively took over, and he started to juggle the cups.

  Don Miguel, completely frustrated by his failure to nail Billy, began throwing random items at the young juggler: pots, pans, dishes, food, whatever was handy, but still his efforts were fruitless. His target simple stepped aside and kept juggling.

  Billy caught a plate and began to juggle it with the cups. After a couple of items went by, Billy set down a cup and reached out again to add a spoon to his collection of dancing utensils.

  Scarosa shouted, in frustration, and produced a dagger to throw at Billy. One of the cook-women saw the blood in his eyes and smacked the weapon from his grip with her rolling pin. Miguel scrambled for his lost blade, but his opponent deftly stepped on it. He attempted to budge the beefy woman and found this problematic. With his hand still on her foot, he glared at her. The cook kept her weight on the dagger and glared back, hefting her rolling pin in the manner of Sir Aonghas with his mace.

  Don Miguel Medina Scarosa was shaking furiously. He whipped around and charged directly at Billy, forcing him back to the doorway. Without hesitation, Miguel overtook Billy and literally ran him down. The young juggler and his impromptu act were scattered across the floor.

  Scarosa rushed through the door to exit the kitchen. “Stupido!” he shouted over and over as he disappeared down the corridor.