With a Jester of Kindness

by K. C. Herbel

  “Ergyfel?” asked Billy.

  “The Evil One!” cried the man.

  “He’s evil all right,” said Billy, “but he is not the devil.”

  “He speaks to me sometimes in my dreams. He takes away the light. He frightens me.”

  “He frightens me too,” said Billy half to himself.

  Billy wished his father would come and take him home to his cozy, soft bed. He lay down and cried himself to sleep.

  * * *

  Billy was roused by a voice that whispered his name. “Father?” he said, squinting in the light. “What is it, Father?”

  “It’s not your father, Billy.”

  “What?”

  “It’s me, Gryff.”

  “Gryff?” asked Billy without at clue. He had been dreaming of his father and the home he had left behind in the Valley of the Yew. As he regained his senses, the awful reality of his current predicament smacked him in the face. “Gryff?” he exclaimed. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “I come to bring ya some food,” said Gryff. “But that’s not all. I brung ya some parchment and a quill.”

  “What?”

  “To write a letter to Sir Hugh or Lady Myrredith. Surely they will come if ya tell them what’s happened.”

  “But how will I get it to them?”

  “Let me worry about that,” answered Gryff. “Now quickly, lad. I haven’t much time.”

  Billy quickly penned a note to Lady Myrredith, under the shaft of light from the small hatch. He then read it to Gryff.

  “Myrredith, I am in terrible trouble. Ergyfel has murdered Princess Kathryn and Prince Gaelyn. I tried to stop it, but was too late. Ergyfel has me locked in the dungeon. Please come quickly, Ergyfel has also poisoned King William and I don’t know how to save him. I know that if you and Sir Hugh come, you can save me and the king. Signed Billy.”

  “Good,” said Gryff, taking the letter. “I’ll see that this gets into the right hands. Now I must go.”

  “Thank you, Gryff,” said Billy taking Gryff’s hand.

  “It’s nothin’,” said Gryff. “It’ll be fine, lad. You’ll see.”

  “Luck,” said Billy.

  “And to you,” offered Gryff. Then he closed the hatch and left.

  Billy waited in the darkness. Neither he nor his new companion had the mind to converse. He waited and slept, waited and slept, on and on, until he had no idea of what time or even what day it was. Occasionally food came through the little hatch, but nary a word from any who were outside.

  Billy awoke to the sounds of someone coming. Not the sound of one or two, in soft shoes, as when food was brought, but the heavy tramping of many wearing heavy boots. It grew louder until they were directly on top of the cell, then they stopped. Billy heard the sound of chains being pulled through a pulley, and suddenly a crack of light appeared in a large square pattern over his head. Slowly the crack expanded, becoming too bright for Billy to gaze upon. He closed his eyes and waited. Without warning, two men reached down into the little cell and grabbed Billy under his arms.

  “Wha . . .” started Billy, before a large rough hand punched him in the mouth.

  “Gag him,” ordered the man, and a dirty rag was thrust into Billy’s mouth and tied around his head. “The magister don’t want him charmin’ nobody with his evil, faerie magic.”

  Billy squinted until his eyes became more accustomed to the light. There were eight men in a small round chamber. All but one was wearing armor and weapons. He had a large key ring in his hand and a scar that ran over one eye, closing it up. Two of the armored men lowered the heavy cover back onto the pit, in the center of the floor. Meanwhile, two others ran a spear through Billy’s chains and picked him up like hunters carrying a deer. The men carried Billy from the room, down the long hallway, and through the door, which Billy had only heard before.

  They went up and up, ascending one set of steps after the other. Finally they came to a large platform with an iron door. As the jailer opened the door, bright light flooded in, blinding Billy completely. Now Billy knew what his cellmate had meant by the stabbing light.

  It was some time before Billy could bring himself to open even one eyelid a crack. However, soon after he had accomplished this, his eyes were able to see without the burning pain. He knew that he was in one of the corridors of Castle Orgulous, but where? The guards marched on in silence. Billy so much wanted to ask where they were taking him. Then his question was answered.

  The small squad carrying Billy came to a door with two guards. The man leading the squad ordered the guards to open the door, and they entered. As they cleared the doorway, Billy saw the ceiling of the king’s great hall. He also heard the sound of Ergyfel’s voice.

  “Ah, here is the miscreant now,” said Ergyfel.

  Suddenly, the screams and jeers of hundreds of angry people accosted Billy’s ears. He looked to either side and saw a huge crowd of lords and commoners behind a solid row of guardsmen. All of them pointed at him and yelled foul, horrible names. Some had to be restrained by the guards as they tried to cross the picket line. Their eyes were wild and full of hate.

  Billy saw faces that he knew but could hardly recognize them. Are these the same people who cheered me only a few days ago?

  The guards dropped Billy on the floor and formed a semicircle behind him. In front of Billy, down each side of the hall, were the majority of the court’s lords and ladies, again behind a curtain of guards. The king sat at the end of the hall, sadly stroking his beard and staring at Billy. Hovering nearby, like a carrion bird, was the dark figure of the King’s First Counselor. His mouth was frowning, but Billy could see him laughing behind his cold ebony eyes.

  Ergyfel held up his hands for the court to be silent. Billy noticed a bandage around the First Counselor’s hand where the ring had burned him. The crowd continued to shout and jeer.

  “Silence!” shouted the magister angrily. His voice boomed over the din and reverberated even after the mob quieted. He then pointed a long bony finger at Billy. “Stand!” he ordered.

  Billy got to his feet and faced Ergyfel.

  “Your Majesty,” said the King’s First Counselor, “what is thy bidding?”

  Billy watched while King William stared blankly at the floor. He wondered what the king could be thinking.

  “I believe,” said the king weakly, “I believe we should let the prisoner and this assembly hear your evidence before I pass judgment.”

  “The evidence is quite overwhelming, Your Majesty,” stated Ergyfel.

  “It is in accordance with my laws. Are you not up to it, cousin?” asked the king.

  “No, Your Majesty. I . . . only worry about your health.”

  “Do not worry for me, cousin,” said the king. “As you know, I have a fondness for the boy. It will take some effort on your part, to convince me that he is the villain we seek.”

  “As Your Majesty wishes,” Ergyfel acquiesced.

  The magister turned and signaled to a guardsmen near the end of the great hall. The man came forward, carrying a box that he placed at the feet of the King’s First Counselor. Ergyfel dismissed the man and reached into the box. He pulled out the knife that Billy had seen the assassin use.

  “Your Majesty,” started Ergyfel, “this knife is the weapon used to slay our dear cousin, Princess Kathryn . . .”

  A murmur rose from the crowd.

  “And . . .” said Ergyfel, raising his voice over the hubbub, “and her beloved husband Prince Gaelyn, whom we had all come to love and respect.”

  “Here, here!” came several cheers from the crowd.

  Ergyfel held up his hand for silence. When the room was quiet, he continued. “Its blade is poisoned.”

  The crowd grumbled again.

  “My fellow countrymen, please!” pleaded Ergyfel. “I have discovered a great deal of disturbing evidence, and I know how terribly you want justice, but please try to control yourselves.”

  The mob quieted.

  “Thank you,�
�� said Ergyfel. “To continue . . . When the murders were discovered, the prisoner’s clothing was drenched in blood, and I had the guards search his room. What they found . . .” said the king’s counselor, reaching into the box again, “was this!”

  The magister held up a second knife. It was the twin to the first.

  “They are identical, Your Majesty,” said Ergyfel to the king. “A matched set . . . down to the poison.”

  Again the crowd had to be put down. They all shouted at Billy and demanded his death. Finally the king held up his hand to quiet the mob.

  “Is this all the evidence, Ergyfel?” asked the king.

  “No, Your Majesty,” said his First Counselor. “As you know, I have warned you all about the faerie folk and the evil threat they pose to us.”

  “Yes, yes,” said King William, “but what does that have to do with this? Surely you are not implying that William here is a faerie!”

  The king laughed, and the crowd followed his example. Billy could see Ergyfel’s ears turn red, and the muscles in his jaw tighten.

  “Your Majesty!” cried Ergyfel over the noisy mob. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid that you have gotten ahead of me. Please allow me to finish . . . The apothecary has analyzed the poison on these blades. He tells me it is derived from birch, bluebells, and toadstools, a deadly concoction known as faerie venom.”

  Ergyfel’s audience was now very quiet. Only Billy was close enough to see the satisfaction on his face. He was performing now.

  “I fail to see the connection,” said the king.

  “I think you will in just a moment, Sire,” said Ergyfel. “I would like you to hear something that may surprise and even shock you.” The magister then turned to the crowd and waved for someone to come forward.

  There was a commotion as somebody pushed their way to the front of the crowd. Billy watched with great curiosity. At last a well-rounded friar appeared. Billy recognized him as the same priest he had chased through the orchard in Dyven. The guards let him through, into the center of the hall. He bowed to the king and then faced the magister.

  “Good friar,” said Ergyfel, addressing the fat priest, “could you please tell us where you come from?”

  “I am Brother Angal. My home is in Dyven, in the abbey there,” answered the priest humbly. “I came here to witness the wedding and coronation of the late princess. The abbot wished me to record these events for posterity. Alas, I was delayed and missed the wedding.”

  “Yes, and tell me,” continued the magister, “have you ever seen the prisoner before?”

  “Oh yes!” exclaimed the priest crossing himself. He was sweating profusely.

  “Good friar, you seem a bit frightened.”

  “As would be any God-fearing man who had seen what I have.”

  “Please, tell us what you saw.”

  “Well . . .” said the friar, “I was out in our orchard, collecting some apples, when I spied a hare. I thought that perhaps the good Lord had sent this fine hare to feed my brothers and me. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

  “Please explain, friar,” said Ergyfel.

  “When I chased the hare into an older part of the orchard—a place where pagans once buried their dead—it changed into a boy. It changed into him!” said the priest, pointing at Billy.

  The crowd gasped.

  “You mean to tell us,” said Ergyfel, “that the hare became this boy?”

  “Aye,” said the priest, crossing himself again. “I saw the devil-sent demon transform before my very eyes.”

  Billy wanted to scream out that the priest was a liar as a multitude of cries erupted from the crowd. He wanted to remove his gag and proclaim to the whole world that Ergyfel had manipulated the whole thing and that Ergyfel was the guilty one. Billy tried to reach his gag but couldn’t raise his hands above his waist. Quickly he squatted and thrust up with his hands to reach his mouth.

  “Stop him!” shouted Ergyfel, and two guardsmen grabbed Billy.

  Billy struggled with the guards, and the crowd redoubled its noisy anarchy. Two more guards came to aid of their comrades with the squirming, kicking juggler.

  The king rose shakily to his feet and held up his hand for quiet. Guards around the room had to use force to restore the peace. Finally all was still, including Billy. Every eye was on the king.

  “Why not . . .” started the king, before he was taken by a coughing fit. When the king had sat on his throne again and regained his breath he continued. “Why not let the boy speak for himself?”

  “Your Majesty!” exclaimed Ergyfel. “Allowing him to speak would be inviting him to charm us all with some evil enchantment!”

  “I am not convinced that the boy has any magical powers.”

  “But, Your Majesty, he is not a boy!”

  “Then what is he?” asked King William.

  “A faerie assassin, sent to murder our family and overthrow the kingdom. Dhwen found this out, and was on his way to warn me. That’s when the prisoner murdered him.”

  The crowd gasped.

  “Dhwen’s death was not an accident?” said the king.

  “I’m afraid there is little doubt of that, Your Majesty. Shortly before the feast I hosted that night, I saw your physician and the prisoner on the inner bailey wall, directly above where his body was found. At the time, I thought little of it, but that was before this faerie murdered our cousins!”

  Ergyfel raged and shook his fist at Billy. The mob followed his lead until the king spoke.

  “Cousin,” shouted the king. “Cousin, please!” When the rabble had quieted, he continued. “If the prisoner is truly a faerie, as you say, then why hasn’t he turned himself into a bird and . . .”

  Billy saw the magister make a tight fist, and the king succumbed to another coughing fit. Billy watched closely as he released his fist, and the king recovered.

  Ergyfel indicated Billy and said, “The prisoner’s chains are wrought from iron, Your Majesty . . . and iron is a powerful agent against faerie magic. He cannot change his form while thusly bound.”

  King William pondered this before nodding. “Proceed.”

  “Please, Your Majesty,” said Ergyfel. “Allow me to show you the most damning piece of evidence.”

  “Very well.”

  “It is a letter sent by the prisoner to the Lady of Cyndyn. I intercepted it by chance, before it could leave.”

  Billy thought back to the letter he had written to his patron lady. There was nothing damning in that letter. In truth it was quite the opposite. Billy watched as Ergyfel lifted a parchment from the box. It appeared to be the same letter he had written.

  What could he be up to? thought Billy.

  Ergyfel turned to Billy and showed him the bottom of the parchment. “Is this your signature?” he asked.

  Billy examined it. At first glance it appeared to be his letter, and the signature at the bottom was definitely his. However, there was something odd about it. The way it laid on the page looked different from the way he remembered it, and the letters appeared smeared and fuzzy.

  Ergyfel pulled the letter away from Billy’s sight and grabbed hold of his chains. He pulled upwards until the manacles cut into Billy’s flesh and forced him to stand on tiptoes.

  “I compel you, by the iron that binds you, faerie! Now tell me, is this your signature?”

  The audience was still as they waited for Billy’s response. At last, he nodded his head in the affirmative.

  Ergyfel released Billy and said, “Your Majesty, I would like for the good friar to read to us this letter.”

  The king nodded, and Ergyfel handed the letter to the priest. The priest took a moment to look at it. His eyes became large and his skin pale. He swallowed deeply to prepare for reading the parchment.

  “Myrredith, I am in terrible trouble. I has murdered the Princess Kathryn and Prince Gaelyn. Ergyfel tried to stop it, but was too late. I has also . . .” The priest stopped cold, as his hands trembled.

  “What is it, good friar?�
�� asked Ergyfel.

  “It’s-it’s-I can not,” answered the priest.

  “Please, Brother Angal, read on,” said the king. “I command it.”

  “ . . . I has also poisoned . . . King William,” read the friar.

  A low murmur rippled through the crowd and came crashing back as a wave of outraged cries. The priest stopped again.

  “Please!” shouted the Ergyfel. “Let him finish!”

  The friar swallowed and wiped the sweat from his brow before continuing. “And Ergyfel don’t know how to save him. And Ergyfel has me locked in the king dungeon. Please come quickly, I know that if you and Sir Hugh come, you can save me.”

  “Is that all?” asked Ergyfel.

  “And then,” said the friar, “the letter is signed . . . Billy.”

  The crowd instantly surpassed its prior level. Many people charged the guard line trying to break through to Billy. The guards held them, but they were loosing ground to the rabble. Immediately, the captain of the guard ordered the detail, which had brought Billy, to take him away.

  As Billy was carried away, the perimeter guardsmen lost control, and the angry mob charged across the hall after him. The small squad with Billy passed through a low door and slammed it shut behind them. They immediately dropped Billy, barred the door, and reinforced it with their bodies.

  Billy waited. The roar behind the door went on for minutes. Several times the door shook with a loud thump, as it was struck from the opposite side. Billy heard the sounds of fighting. Finally the noise subsided, and the guards relaxed. They waited in the little hallway outside the great hall, listening.

  “My fellow countrymen,” Billy heard Ergyfel say, “it is obvious we have the culprit. It is also obvious that we have the situation under control. Because of the tragic nature of this business we are willing to be lenient this one time, but do not overtax our patience! Please return to your places and hear the judgment of the king.”

  Billy and the guards waited several minutes more as the assembly shuffled about the hall. It sounded like the hum from a beehive.

  Several of the guards turned their attention to their prisoner. Billy looked at each of them. Their grim, sneering faces spoke volumes.