With a Jester of Kindness

by K. C. Herbel

  “In the Valley of the Yew,” said Billy.

  “Valley of the Yew?” snapped Ergyfel.

  Billy watched the dark eyes of the King’s First Counselor widen and then narrow again as he focused on Sir Hugh.

  “The Valley of the Yew,” mouthed Ergyfel nodding. The magister was silent for a moment then straightened. “Well then . . . Can you vouch for the boy, Sir Hugh?”

  “Lady Myrredith is the boy’s patron, but I will gladly vouch for him.”

  “Yes, of course we . . .” started Lady Myrredith.

  Ergyfel held up his hands to the two nobles, signaling his acquiescence. “Yes, yes, yes. That should be more than enough, Lady Cyndyn,” he said. “Are you ready to meet your sovereign in earnest, William?”

  Billy swallowed and nodded.

  “Good,” said Ergyfel. “Come with me.”

  Billy stood. Lady Myrredith and Sir Hugh each took one of his hands. “I’ll be fine,” he said, smiling. “I’ve dreamt of this moment all my life. What could go wrong?” Billy thought for a moment and then added, “Don’t answer that.”

  Billy’s friends released his hands, and he followed Ergyfel. As they rounded the table and came out front, Billy felt his heartbeat increase. He felt as if every eye was upon him as they crossed the long dais to the king. Each step was an eternity.

  At last Billy, son of John the Innkeeper, stood where he had wanted to stand for as long as he could remember. It was the culmination of an extraordinary journey and the pinnacle of all his dreams, but as much as he wanted to, Billy couldn’t bring his eyes up from the wooden planks of the dais. His stomach bunched from side to side as he waited. He began to think that it would have been better not to eat at all. Billy was snapped out of his trance by the sound of Ergyfel’s voice.

  “Your Majesty, I have the pleasure of introducing to you William, son of John . . . the Innkeeper.”

  Billy felt himself bow, as if he were a puppet with someone else controlling his movements. His supporting knee began to wobble. I must not fall! He told himself. It seemed strange to him that the formal circumstances should make such a difference between this and the first time he ever met his king. The first sudden encounter hadn’t given him any time to think, but now, the waiting allowed his mind to breed a whole new strain of fear that wrenched his guts and rattled his bones.

  “Rise, boy,” commanded the king.

  Billy willed himself to stand. He slowly brought his eyes up to look upon King William. The king likewise was taking good measure of Billy. His blue eyes sparkled with recognition.

  “Son of an innkeep . . . Why I know you . . . William, is it?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Of course . . . You’re the boy with the very sensible, if somewhat boisterous stomach.”

  Billy grinned as he felt the blood rush to his face. “Yes, Sire.”

  “Your Majesty?” interrupted Ergyfel. “I have some rather pressing duties to attend to.”

  “Quite so. You are excused,” said the king, then he turned to Billy. “You say your name is William?”

  Ergyfel let out a low grunt. Billy saw the magister’s hand clench into a tight fist. The king coughed shortly, then Ergyfel turned and left the dais. Billy could see that he didn’t like to be brushed off in this manner. When the First Counselor turned to bow to the king, he glanced in Billy’s direction, his dark eyes seething.

  “Yes, Sire,” answered Billy, turning his full attention back to the king.

  The king cleared his throat then asked, “How came you by that name, William?”

  “My father says that he named me after Your Majesty.”

  “Is that so?” said the king, with a grin.

  “Yes, Sire, although most of the time I’m just called Billy.”

  “Billy?” said the king. “Seems a bit disrespectful, I should say. After all, you were named after me.”

  “Oh no, Your Highness!” blurted Billy. “It’s quite the opposite.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, Your Majesty . . . As I said, my father named me after you, but most everyone in the valley says that I ought not be called anything save Billy, as it is the name that fits me best.”

  “Fits you best, does it?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Perhaps for now, but when you’ve finished growing . . .”

  “Sire, I’m full grown now.”

  “What? How old are you, boy?”

  “Near fifteen winters, Sire.”

  The king paused to contemplate what Billy had told him. “Well, perhaps you’ll still grow a little more yet.”

  Princess Kathryn leaned towards the king and said, “Regardless of his size, he’s very talented, Your Majesty,”

  “Talented?” asked the king. “And how is it that you know him, my niece?”

  “Lady Myrredith introduced us, Uncle.”

  The king leaned forward to see Lady Myrredith past the new husband of his heir. She bowed her head in greeting.

  “Myrredith of Cyndyn,” said the king, “what is this boy to you?”

  “I am his patron, my lord . . . and his friend.”

  “Friend, eh?” The king paused for a moment with a coughing attack. “We don’t get too many of those here now.”

  “He’s ever so clever, Uncle,” said the princess.

  “Clever?” said the prince.

  “Oh yes, he has quite a gift for juggling!”

  “Juggling?” said the king eyeing Billy. “Are you any good?”

  “Well . . . I . . .” stammered Billy.

  “Quite good, Your Majesty,” said a voice from the crowd.

  “And who might you be?” asked King William.

  “I am known as Malcolm the Magnificent, Your Highness . . . your humble servant.”

  “Malcolm the Magnificent, of course. Come here, man. Come here.”

  Malcolm approached the dais. In an unexpected flash of movement and jingling of bells, Malcolm propelled himself feet over hands and back again. He landed next to Billy in a perfect two-point stance, which immediately became a bow.

  The king’s guards visibly tensed; however, everyone else on the dais, including the king, applauded the famous performer’s entrance.

  Still bowing, Malcolm glanced, to the side, at his amazed partner. “I’ll teach ya that sometime,” he whispered out the side of his mouth.

  “Well done, Malcolm,” said the king. “I have often heard of your prowess in the courts of my lords. Your presence is most welcome.”

  Malcolm rose with another jingle. “It is an honor I have looked forward to for some time, Your Majesty.”

  “So, tell me, Malcolm,” said the king, “is William here a student of yours? I was told that you performed alone.”

  “You might say that Billy is my student, Your Majesty,” answered Malcolm with a smile. Then he added, “You might also say that I am the student from time to time.”

  Billy looked in shock at his mentor, then to the king who had turned his attention back to Billy. Billy could see that the king was reevaluating his first assessment of him.

  “Well then,” said the king suddenly animated, “let us have some juggling!”

  Malcolm produced Billy’s juggling hat, seemingly out of thin air. “Remember what we practiced?” he whispered as he handed Billy his hat.

  Billy artfully palmed several balls secreted in his hat and placed the hat on his head. He nodded to Malcolm, and they faced the head table. They bowed to the king and the new heir and then to each other.

  “One, two, three . . .” said Billy, and they began.

  The crowd surged to its feet as the two jugglers transmuted the very air into small brightly colored balls and began to shuffle them into amazing patterns. Billy’s balls were all green, and Malcolm’s yellow. In the short time it took Malcolm and Billy to synchronize, all other activity in the ward came to a stop. Now, regardless of Billy’s wishes, all eyes were on him and Malcolm. Billy was aware of the attention he was under, but
he only felt the weight of two eyes upon him: the eyes of his king.

  Billy heard the pitter-patter of Malcolm’s juggling change and realized that he had forgotten to add another ball to his own set. He was thinking too much. The king’s presence was proving to be more of a distraction than Billy could handle. It was almost enough to bring down the lot.

  Billy tried to refocus himself. The only things that exist are the balls and Malcolm, he told himself. The balls and Malcolm. The balls and Malcolm. Gradually everything faded away except for the familiar pitter-patter and the balls in motion.

  Billy regained his rhythm and started to walk towards Malcolm. Their patterns merged and meshed until they were in reaching distance. At that moment Malcolm grabbed one of Billy’s green balls and added it to his collection of yellow ones. Then Billy took one of Malcolm’s. They set up a pattern of stealing each other’s balls, creating another pattern of yellow and green. The tempo began to increase. Faster and faster they went. Billy and Malcolm could sense the tension in the audience build. Slowly they began to circle each other. When they reached halfway around, like magic, they were each juggled one color again. Now, Billy’s balls were yellow, and Malcolm’s were green. The audience cheered.

  “And again!” shouted Malcolm.

  Billy and Malcolm the Magnificent circled each other again, and again the patterns emerged having been changed—each juggling two yellow and two green. Billy looked Malcolm in the eyes as the crowd let out another cheer. Malcolm nodded, and they stepped closer together and turned to be side by side. Next, Billy stepped out and slid over in front of Malcolm. Their balls formed into one pattern that was too complex to grasp at a glance. They united into a single creature with four hands and one mind.

  Suddenly Billy heard an odd sound. Malcolm was laughing. It was not just a little guffaw, as he often did while teaching Billy a new trick, but a good, strong belly laugh—a fat, frolicsome, contagious laugh. Billy had never heard such a laugh and started to laugh as well. Next, the whole audience laughed. It was obvious that the two jugglers were enjoying themselves completely.

  Malcolm was nearly hysterical with laughter. Billy was afraid they would lose control and bring down their balls in a shower to the dais flooring. Malcolm seemed to have gone mad, but nothing changed. Their motions became automatic. They were in perfect synchronization. Even when Malcolm improvised new patterns with the balls, Billy was able to follow his lead. Their act had progressed far beyond what they had rehearsed when Malcolm finally managed to control his laugh.

  “Ready?” Malcolm said, as he sped up the rhythm.

  “Ready for what?” asked Billy.

  “The change.”

  Billy thought for a moment. What change could Malcolm be talking about? The only “change” he remembered from their practices, they had already performed. Billy became very nervous. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep the balls aloft. The balls were a blur, even for him.

  “What change?” he just managed to ask.

  “One . . .” said Malcolm.

  “What change?”

  “Two . . .”

  “Oh, zounds,” mouthed Billy, remembering a trick Malcolm had mentioned that he wanted to attempt someday. I guess “someday” is here. But why here—now—in front of the king?

  “Three!”

  Very subtly the pattern of the flying balls changed. It really wasn’t much at first, certainly not enough for a well-fed and wine-seasoned audience to catch. Malcolm started to make extraneous arm movements. Billy couldn’t see them, but he could sense the brief pauses they created in the rhythm—pauses which then became part of a new, complex rhythm. Billy wished he knew more about the trick he was about to perform.

  The change that occurred was completely unexpected by everyone who witnessed it, including Billy. Before their eyes the yellow and green balls started to change color. Within a matter of seconds all the balls were blue. Somehow, from somewhere, Malcolm had exchanged the yellow and green balls for blue ones, and even though he had handled them himself, Billy was at a loss.

  Billy’s mouth fell open, and he almost stopped juggling.

  “One, two, three,” said Malcolm again.

  With trained expedience Billy snatched four balls out of the air. Malcolm continued to juggle his four as Billy removed his hat and sat on the ground. A moment later—one, two, three, four—all of Malcolm’s balls landed in Billy’s hat.

  The audience erupted in cheers. Many banged their cups on the tables. Everyone went to his or her feet. Malcolm bowed humbly and helped his protégé to his feet. Then they both bowed several times to the crowd and the head table.

  Billy looked at the king between bows. King William was grinning from ear to ear and banging the table with the handle of a cup, which had obviously broken under his enthusiastic response.

  Finally the crowd quieted and allowed the king to speak.

  “Well done, William! Well done, Malcolm!” said the king, still grinning broadly. “I see now why you are called Magnificent. I’ve not seen anything like it . . . ever!”

  The crowd cheered its agreement.

  “High praise indeed, Your Majesty,” said Malcolm with a deep bow.

  Billy mimicked his juggling master.

  “And you, William,” said the king, “I can see quite well why Malcolm has deigned to take on a student after all these years.”

  “Thank you, Sire,” said Billy, bowing again.

  “Malcolm,” started the king, “I want you to have this.”

  King William reached down to his side and pulled out an elegant dagger. At a glance, Billy estimated there were a dozen gems set into the intricate gold handle and sheath. It was a prize worth a king’s ransom.

  “Your Majesty . . .” said Malcolm, “I cannot accept such a priceless . . .”

  “Take it,” ordered the king. “I don’t hand out such bounty to just anyone, but you have earned my honest esteem. I offer it in homage to a great artist.”

  The audience cheered. Malcolm, swelling with pride, stepped forward, bowed before King William, and graciously took the dagger.

  Billy wondered if there would be a dagger for him. It didn’t have to be a fancy one. An ordinary old knife would do. Just something that he could take home to the Valley of the Yew and say, “This was given to me by King William.” However, it seemed like too much to hope for, after all he was just the apprentice.

  The king then turned his eyes to Billy. He smiled appreciatively, and for a moment Billy thought that would be all.

  “And as for you, young man,” said the king, “I am certain that the artistry we have just been witness to, would not have been possible without you.”

  “Quite right, Your Majesty,” said Malcolm.

  “Therefore, I . . .” started King William. He broke off his pronouncement as he glanced down at his vacant side. “I’m sorry. I don’t have another dagger to give you.”

  “That’s not necessary, Your Majesty,” said Billy.

  “Yes it is!” corrected the king. “I want to reward you somehow.”

  “It’s enough to just be here, Your Majesty,” answered Billy humbly.

  King William frowned. “It’s not often that I have such loyal, unselfish guests,” he said, looking around the crowd. “That in itself is worthy of reward.”

  “Aye, Uncle,” said Princess Kathryn. “He is good and honest.”

  The king looked at his niece and nodded. Then he said, “William, it is obvious to me that you have won over my heir, in whom I have great faith. I therefore defer to her to devise a fitting reward for you.”

  The princess smiled to her uncle and then looked about thoughtfully. Then her eyes sparkled with an idea.

  “Amongst our many marvelous wedding gifts, there is a glorious creation, which I was most taken with. However, it is a gift more fitting for someone with William’s obvious talents.”

  Princess Kathryn leaned back and beckoned one of her maids to her side. Lady Myrredith appeared troubled by
something. She looked at her childhood friend, the princess, with a questioning expression and whispered something. The princess simply held up her hand for patience.

  The princess’ servant arrived and knelt next to her. Billy watched the girl’s face turn into a smile as her mistress whispered into her ear. Then suddenly the servant bowed and ran to one side of the dais. The secrecy of the princess’ choice was making waves throughout the audience. Each one was wondering, “Is it my gift?” A low hum began to build in the crowd, as the gathered guests softly talked to one another.

  At last the maid returned, carrying an oddly shaped package wrapped in cloth. She went to her princess’ side and handed the object to her.

  “Come forward, William,” said the princess standing.

  Billy slowly stepped towards her. His eyes were on the object she held by her side—partially obscured. When he was a step away from the table, Billy bowed to the princess.

  “This is the most fitting reward I could think of, William,” said Kathryn. “And one I’m sure you will put to good use.”

  Billy stepped forward and took the package from her. Instantly he knew what it was. Even had the weight or size been completely wrong, the way it naturally fell into his arms gave everything away. Quickly he removed the cloth cover to reveal his reward.

  A hush fell over the crowd as sunlight danced off the polished face of a beautifully crafted lute. Billy felt tears welling up in his eyes as he examined the fabulous inlaid patterns along the wide neck and sound hole. Up to now, Lady Myrredith’s gift of the clothes had been the most wonderful he had ever been given, but the gift of this fine musical instrument, especially from Princess Kathryn, made clothes seem altogether unimportant.

  “Thank you” was all Billy could manage to say.

  “Not at all, William,” said Kathryn. “It is what you deserve.”

  “Does the boy play?” asked the king.

  “He has an extraordinary way with song, Sire,” said Lady Myrredith.

  The king looked at her and then at Billy. “Is there no limit to your talents, young man?” asked the king.

  Billy bowed again to hide his embarrassment.

  “Oh, Uncle,” said the princess. “Let us hear a song from William. He has the most enchanting voice.”