With a Jester of Kindness

by K. C. Herbel

  Billy looked around and saw that he was now in the middle of the inner ward, far from the chapel and Lady Myrredith. He felt ashamed that he had run away from her, and foolish for imagining that the sparkle of sunlight off a dirty old cobblestone could be his mother’s ring.

  At that moment, the bells rang out again. Billy spun around to see the mirthless face of Lady Myrredith disappear behind the closing doors of the chapel. He took in a breath to call for the guards to stop, but it was too late. The doors came to, and the guards lined up in front of the entrance.

  Billy dropped his head and sighed. All his good intentions to represent the people of the Valley of the Yew were in that moment dashed aside. He would not be able to tell his father about all the splendid lords and ladies, or his boyhood friends about all the knights arrayed in their shining armor, or tell the hopeful young girls how beautiful the princess’ wedding gown was. For that matter, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone anything they might wish to know about this once-in-a-lifetime event. He sighed again, and it caught in his chest. His sigh turned into a sob as tears welled up in his eyes.

  Billy blinked, and a tear ran on to his cheek. He sniffed and watched, with cloudy eyes, as it fell silently to the ground. It struck a pink flower petal, strangely turning its surface blood red. Billy bent down to pick up the marvelous petal. As he lifted it from the cobblestones, his breath caught in his throat. Directly beneath the petal lay his mother’s ring. The simple gold loop stared up at him. The sunlight winked off its smooth surface in greeting. Billy’s legs buckled, sitting him on the stone pavement with a grunt. He stared dumbly at the ring. He reached for it but then pulled away.

  “It’s all your fault,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at the ring.

  The ring continued to stare at him blankly, mockingly.

  “I’d be at that wedding if it weren’t for you!”

  Impulsively, Billy snatched up the ring and ran across the ward to the outer bailey wall. He drew back his arm to throw the ring over the wall, closed his eyes, and squeezed the ring in his hand. It felt soft and warm, as it always had. He imagined his mother giving the ring to his father for safekeeping. Her image grew stronger, and instantly his anger left him. He lowered his arm and considered the ring in his palm. He found nothing hateful there. In fact, the simple loop was a symbol of his mother’s never-ending love. It was the only bond he had with her.

  “Sorry, Mother,” Billy whispered, “I’ll never take it off again.”

  Billy slipped the ring on his finger and turned away from the wall. As he started across the inner ward, he felt unusually confident and complete. He inhaled deeply, and his nose filled with the sent of slowly roasted beef.

  “Aw, who needs an old wedding anyhow?” he said to himself. “The feast is what’s really important.”

  Billy renewed his vow to memorize everything that happened that day as he skipped a serpentine path through the brightly decorated white and blue poles. He headed towards the chapel side of the donjon, contemplating what he should tell Lady Myrredith but could think of nothing that made sense. Finally he decided not to make excuses. He would simply apologize, and that would be that.

  Billy swung around the last of the fanciful flagpoles and into the vacant area of the ward. He straightened his new tunic and was halfway to the chapel before he realized there was someone directly in front of him. He stopped abruptly when the sun was suddenly eclipsed. He looked up to see the silhouette of a man. A bright halo surrounded the shadowy figure. Billy squinted and stepped to the side. The hue of the shadow hardly changed as it took on substance, but in transforming, it revealed a thin darkly dressed man standing with his arms crossed. As the veil of shadows lifted from his face, Billy saw jet black eyes staring back at him and immediately recognized them.

  “Ergyfe . . . !” said Billy, before he had time to stop himself.

  The magister smiled and said in a deep, tranquil voice, “You have me at a disadvantage, my boy.”

  Billy felt as if he were in the wrong place at the wrong time—a feeling he had heard his father describe many times but had not fully experienced, until that moment. He remembered Hugh’s words of warning about the King’s First Counselor. He glanced around but saw no way to avoid this contact.

  “As you know,” continued the magister, “I am Ergyfel, First Counselor to King William, and you are . . . ?”

  “I’m . . . Billy.”

  “Just Billy?” asked the magister.

  “Um . . . well, I’m called William . . . by some.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” said Billy. Then he turned and marched away.

  “Wait!”

  Billy stopped. Too frightened to turn around, he stood with his back to Ergyfel. His entire body stiffened, and he clenched his eyes closed, waiting to be turned into a toad—or worse, food for a toad!

  “I think I owe you an apology,” said Ergyfel.

  Billy’s eyes snapped open, and he turned around. “Oh?”

  “Aren’t you the one . . . the one attacked by the troghoul yesterday?”

  “Um . . . yes,” answered Billy.

  “Then you have my apologies,” said the magister, bowing his head.

  “I do?”

  “Yes. It is by my order that they are present.”

  “Oh?” said Billy, feigning surprise.

  “Yes. I find they make marvelous guards.” Ergyfel paused, seeming to wait for a response from Billy. “You see . . . the king has enemies. I must protect him. If that means using troghouls, then so be it. Unfortunately they can be a little, shall we say, unpredictable at times.”

  “Yes,” whispered Billy.

  “I’m curious, my little friend. Do you know the old story of the troghouls and the little people?”

  Billy shook his head no.

  “The troghouls were once a proud and beautiful race, but the loathsome faeries grew jealous and cursed them with ugliness. Since then, the troghouls have feuded with the little devils.”

  Billy remembered what Lady Myrredith told him about the troghouls and faeries. This was, at the least, a very different interpretation.

  “They cursed them for no reason?” asked Billy.

  “None, save their own petty jealousy.”

  Billy chanced a glimpse of the counselor’s face and found Ergyfel’s eyes staring back at him with an expression that begged a response. Instantly Billy felt uncomfortable and looked away.

  “Say,” said Billy, “why aren’t you at the wedding?”

  “I have my reasons,” answered Ergyfel flatly.

  Billy looked again at the imposing nobleman. The magister gazed blankly across the ward. Billy held his tongue, waiting to hear Ergyfel’s reasons.

  “Even if I had the inclination,” said the magister under his breath, “I wouldn’t be welcomed.”

  “But you’re her cousin.”

  Ergyfel only smiled, his eyes moving back and forth in thought—as if reading some invisible manuscript. At last the magister spoke. “And why is it that you are not at the joyous event?”

  Just speaking the words “joyous event” seemed loathsome to Ergyfel. Billy watched as his cool facade shifted to smother what smoldered under the surface.

  “I . . .” started Billy. “I meant to be there, I just . . .”

  “Don’t like churches?” inserted Ergyfel.

  Billy felt Ergyfel leaning towards him. He looked up and saw the dark eyes burrowing down on him.

  Billy was completely caught off guard. “What?”

  The magister removed his glare and spoke. “I said, I thought you mightn’t like churches.”

  Billy mulled this over a moment. It was true that he felt uneasy near Orgulous’s chapel and the cathedral in Dyven, but after all he had never really been in a church. At last he answered, “Naw, churches are fine . . . I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  Billy only shrugged. The Valley of the Yew was too small to have its own church, and while mos
t of the inhabitants professed the new religion and called themselves “good Christians,” they had never built one. It never occurred to him before to like or dislike churches.

  Billy abruptly realized he was feeling at ease with the king’s counselor, and his ease was replaced by trepidation. Is there some magic at work here? He thought about it a moment. He consciously made a check of his entire body. There was no tingling or itching or anything else. There seemed to be no threat. Oh, you’re just being silly, he told himself. Maybe Sir Hugh and Lady Myrredith just don’t understand Ergyfel. After all, the rumors say that he’s a sorcerer, and who wants to get to know a sorcerer? But then again . . . Billy smiled to himself and shook his head.

  At that very moment, Billy felt a shadow fall over him. He turned and saw Ergyfel’s face just inches away. The strange sensation that had overcome him on the balcony returned. Billy was drawn to the magister’s dark eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to look away. He felt light-headed, and his thoughts began to drift.

  “Why are you here?” Billy heard Ergyfel say. The words seemed to float around in his head like warm milk. Then suddenly they turned and bored into his mind, and all Billy could see was the black wells of Ergyfel’s eyes, which seemed to grow darker and deeper, blotting out the light and surrounding him. The words resounded in his ears as they wove themselves into his thoughts. Why are you here?

  Without warning, the light returned, and the words were expelled from Billy’s mind. His head stopped floating, and he found himself staring at Ergyfel’s face. There was a tingling in his hand, a ringing in his ears, and he felt sure that Ergyfel had asked a question . . . but he must have been daydreaming, for he couldn’t remember what it was.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Billy.

  Ergyfel blinked, and for a moment confusion passed over his cool visage. He straightened and looked across the ward. “Uhm . . . nothing,” he said through his teeth. Then he fell into a contemplative silence.

  The ringing in Billy’s ears became more defined, and he realized it came from the bells of the chapel. He turned to the chapel and saw the guards opening the doors.

  “They’re done with . . .” said Billy, turning back to Ergyfel, but no one was there.

  Billy quickly scanned the area around him. He was the only person in the entire ward, save the few cooks and servants who were still busy with their preparations for the wedding feast.

  A loud cheer went up from behind Billy, and he turned to see the newly married couple exit the chapel atop the shoulders of a half-dozen knights. Princess Kathryn was the perfect image of beauty. This was the first time Billy had ever seen her new husband, the third Prince of Gwyddea. The would-be sire of the kingdom’s heirs was a handsome youthful man who looked over the crowd with an aloof stare. However, Billy saw this as an act, for when the prince gazed at his new bride, his face took on an expression of boyish adoration. Once his eyes were upon the radiant Kathryn, he could not move them. She too seemed to stare at her husband—with an expression Billy took to be hope. They were, as is often said, “a lovely couple.” Seeing the two young rulers so enthralled put Billy’s heart at ease. It was a sign of hope and peace for their homelands. Billy memorized every detail so that in the years to come, he could tell everyone back in the Valley of the Yew what a splendid sight they made.

  As the newlyweds hit the bottom of the steps, the cheering from within the chapel redoubled. Billy could hardly bring himself to look away from the glory of the prince and princess, but the boisterous clamor grew so loud that he was forced to retrain his eyes on the crowd inside the ornate entry. He found another group of jolly nobles making their way from the hall of worship. He was about to dismiss the whole vociferous lot of revelers and return his attentions to the royal couple when the glint of bright metal caught his eyes from within the dark chapel—just beyond the crowd. Billy decided to move closer to get a better look.

  When Billy was a few steps from the mob, it momentarily parted, and he caught sight of a man wearing a gem-encrusted crown of gold slowly moving through the crowd. Billy’s heart skipped a beat. Thinking quickly, he jumped up onto the stone baluster, frantically trying to see over the nobles who suddenly seemed ever so much taller than they needed to be.

  As the king appeared from Castle Orgulous’s chapel, hungrily rubbing his middle and complaining about the “rather miserly” breakfast he had been served that morning, Billy thought it strange that the king should look so . . . ordinary. That is, aside from his royal trappings, Billy thought the king looked very much like an ordinary man in the twilight years of his life. He was slightly stooped over and had a long beard of white.

  Billy took a closer look at the king, and the ordinary qualities began to slide away. A glimpse of the great leader King William had once been poked through the seemingly ancient facade. His warrior’s spirit, though long faded, still lived deep behind his bright blue eyes. His purposeful actions bespoke of the virtues that had made him great, and Billy was reminded of heroic tales he had heard many times as a boy. The bandy legs, which had once propelled a proud warrior into battle in defense of the kingdom, now moved unsteadily, and the once-potent body had been worn down and scarred by hard years of campaigning and illness. However, there could never again be any doubt in Billy’s heart that the man he saw before him was King William of Lyonesse.

  Billy forgot himself in his observations and admiration of the king and suddenly found himself being pushed off the balustrade by the surrounding nobility. He hit the ground with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. As he struggled for breath, he looked up to see his deposers still advancing on him, unaware of his presence. He was swallowed up into their midst as he scrambled to his feet. He gasped for air as he was whisked away in front of the throng like a leaf before the wind. Unable to catch his breath, or to escape the forward inertia of those around him, Billy was dragged across the inner ward.

  “Stop!” Billy exclaimed as he was jostled back and forth. Knees and elbows struck him on all sides. “Let me . . . Ouch!”

  Suddenly the pressure of bodies against him ceased, and he was spun around. His breathing was still difficult and his chest hurt, but all these concerns seemed to vanish as he came face to face with King William.

  The king stopped and scrutinized Billy, as did the crowd of nobles and guards around him. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Billy’s eyes flashed around him, looking for a friendly face. Billy noticed a guard smoothly place his hand on the hilt of his sword, and panic gripped his mind. The king was just inches away! Billy froze, afraid to move even the slightest bit. However, he was still out of breath, and he was forced to gasp for air. Billy reached up and tugged on his collar, and the guards moved forward. Billy heard the sound of sliding steel and immediately went to his knees, bowing before his king. The king raised his hand to stay his guards. It was deathly quiet, and Billy held his position. A low, rolling growl from the king’s belly broke the silence.

  Billy cocked his head in surprise. From the corner of his eye he could see the king still staring down at him. Billy felt terribly embarrassed for hearing his king’s stomach make such a noise. He quickly looked away, not wanting anyone to know that he had heard. The aroma of roasting meat and fresh-baked pies suddenly entered Billy’s nostrils. Goodness, thought Billy, but I’m hungry. Down deep within him, Billy felt a rumble building. Oh no! Please! Not now! Billy wished he could stop it, just as he held his position, or the king could stay his men with the wave of a hand, but nature is not a mistress easily stayed, and Billy’s stomach voiced its own discontent.

  Billy wished he could curl up and hide beneath one of the flower petals beneath his knees. Should I say something? As if to sympathize, the king’s innards again expressed their resentment at being ignored—this time much louder than before. Billy was sure that he could not have been alone in perceiving the sound. Billy risked another look at the king.

  King William smiled at Billy. “I suppose that even the king needs nourishment from tim
e to time, eh boy?”

  Billy grinned back. “Yes . . . Your Majesty,” he said humbly.

  “Then let’s get on with it,” said the king, gruffly. He coughed to clear his throat then in a lusty voice announced, “Let the feasting begin!”

  The celebrations weren’t officially to begin until the sun had reached its zenith, but Billy noticed that when King William made his announcement, no one seemed interested in arguing with the famished monarch.

  The king winked at Billy, and then all at once he and his courtiers were on the move. Their abrupt migration left Billy in shock. Speechless, he turned on his knees to watch them leave.

  As the parade of nobles followed the king and newlywed royals to the keep, Lady Myrredith appeared next to Billy. He felt her hand upon his head and looked up to see the wetness of tears on her cheeks. Her eyes followed her childhood friend, the princess, with great devotion. Billy rose to his feet to get a better look.

  “Ya think everything will work out?” asked Billy, watching the royal couple move up the stairs of the donjon.

  “Yes,” she said, “I think so . . . I really think so.”

  Lady Myrredith stepped in front of Billy and placed her hands on her hips. Billy readied himself, trying to think of something to tell her.

  “William, why did you run away from me like that? Are you ill?”

  Billy was a surprised. Lady Myrredith wasn’t angry with him. She was only concerned.

  “I’m . . . fine, milady,” said Billy, ashamed. “Lady Myrredith?”

  “Yes, William.”

  “I’m sorry I-I-didn’t go to the wedding with you.”

  “Don’t worry yourself, William. I’m just sorry that you missed it. It was a beautiful ceremony. Oh, all the lords and ladies, the best knights of the realm, the royal couple, the king . . . ! Every noble in the kingdom was there!”