[Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal

by Alan Gordon

  “Absolutely,” said Helga.

  I plunked my daughter down to play in the dirt, and Helga and I hauled out three clubs each and began our warm-ups. Once we were loose, we marched ten paces from each other and turned.

  “Breathe,” I commanded her. “And …”

  We began passing them back and forth. She was good, this young girl, and she had started young, unlike me. But I had been taught by Theo, who had been taught by Amleth, who had been taught by Theo’s father, who reportedly was …

  It occurred to me that I didn’t know who La Rossa’s father was.

  “First forfeit to you,” called Helga. “After only eight passes, too.”

  I looked at her blankly, then down at the club lying at my feet. I wasn’t even aware that I had dropped it.

  “Sorry,” I said, picking it up. “I lost my concentration for a moment.”

  “After all that talk,” she said. “Be on your guard now.”

  “Be on yours, Apprentice,” I growled.

  We made it through twenty passes before she caught one awkwardly and dropped a second while trying to recover.

  “Better,” I said. “Next one to drop cooks dinner.”

  “Not a fair wager at all,” she protested. “If I lose, I have to cook, and if I win, I have to eat your cooking.”

  “Nevertheless,” I said, starting the pattern.

  I felt loose, the bath having unknotted my muscles more than it did Helga’s tresses. I inhaled the warm spring air, filled with the scents of blooming things. My newly literate little girl played happily by my feet, wordlessly singing something she had heard in the bathhouse that morning, and the clubs flew to my hands like trained falcons.

  Brother Timothy, the Fools’ Guild’s juggling master, once told us that there comes a point where you become one with the pattern, and it was in that moment that you knew God. I had scoffed at that at the time—not to his face, of course, for he took the subject very seriously, but today I felt it. I was not even aware of my arms moving. There could have been a hundred clubs flying at me for all I cared. I would have caught them all. I was on the verge of something, a discovery, a revelation… .

  “Damn,” muttered Helga as she fumbled one.

  I fell back to earth with the club.

  “I counted forty-three passes,” called our friend from his aerie. “Very good.”

  “Ah, but that was just an exercise,” I said. “Now, you shall see a show.”

  And we launched into our street routine, playing to an audience of a leper in front and a bodyguard behind. A few furtive daytime customers passed by on their way to the bordel. They watched briefly, but moved on to their destinations.

  “I thought you said juggling was better than making love.” Helga pouted.

  “To watch, Apprentice,” I replied. “Not to do. For now, stick to juggling.”

  “Thank you, ladies,” called the leper. “I look forward to your next performance.”

  We bowed, then turned and bowed to Carlos, who was caught by surprise.

  “You have no excuse for not applauding,” I said.

  He got to his feet quickly and clapped.

  “Better,” I said. “I hope that came from entertainment and not fear.”

  “You took me off guard that time, woman,” he said with a thick Catalan accent. “I will not underestimate you again.”

  “Bravely spoken, senhor,” I said. “Let us part in peace.”

  He nodded. We collected our gear and Portia and left.

  “We have worked very hard, it’s only midday, and we have no money to show for it,” sighed Helga.

  “We have taught a prostitute her letters, given ease to a leper, and nearly met God through juggling,” I said. “If we died now, we would have our place in Heaven.”

  “Let’s not put that to the test,” she urged. “Do you really believe what Brother Timothy always told us?”

  “I am beginning to,” I said.

  “Then I’m sorry I messed up,” said Helga. “I kept you from divinity.”

  “I have a feeling that there will always be a dropped club standing between us and perfection,” I said. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  There was a small tavern near the gate that was reasonable. As we finished our meal, Helga gave a slight nod toward the window. I looked, and saw the Abbess going by.

  “You would think she would be minding the store,” commented Helga.

  “You would,” I agreed. “Are you tired of following dangerous men?”

  “Never,” she said. “But a dangerous woman would be a change of pace.”

  She was off before I could even tell her to go.

  I put Portia up on my shoulders and headed home. Theo was in the lower room, sitting by the window and picking a tune out on his lute.

  “You’re up early,” I commented.

  “You’re not so pretty when you’re being snide,” he replied, putting his instrument down and hoisting Portia from my shoulders.

  “And you still smell like a horse,” I said. “You can’t perform before the nobility smelling like that. They may think it’s the act.”

  He sniffed the air suspiciously.

  “I think that’s Portia,” he said.

  “Your daughter has had a bath today,” I informed him as Portia looked hurt. “So have I.”

  “Really? All that extravagance for a nonpaying job?”

  “It’s not my fault that we’re not getting paid,” I said. “But on that topic, I gave a reading lesson to a prostitute and a performance to a leper, and am out what I spent on luncheon. There had better be some food for us tonight at the very least.”

  “What a disastrous profession we’re in,” he sighed. “We’ll have to make sure Portia marries someone with a regular income.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “She will earn her own way.”

  “Send her to the Fools’ Guild?”

  “Anywhere but,” I said. “We will send her to a proper university when she’s of age.”

  “A girl at university? That’s a waste.”

  “The one at Bologna takes them,” I said. “She can even study law there.”

  “Now you’re just trying to frighten her,” he said, shuddering at the idea.

  A quick series of short and long knocks, then Helga came through the door.

  “Who is this?” exclaimed Theo. “She knows the knock, but I swear that I do not know this girl.”

  “It’s Helga,” she said.

  “But the Helga I know is a dust-covered demon,” said Theo. “You are a blond angel from Heaven.”

  “This is another bath joke, isn’t it?” said Helga.

  “Are you quite certain that I am her father?” Theo asked me. “She doesn’t look anything like me.”

  “No, her father was a handsome man,” I said.

  Theo walked over to her and took her chin in his hand. He perused her face seriously. “You are on the verge of being a very pretty girl,” he said. “That can be dangerous.”

  “I have already had this conversation today,” said Helga. “Ah, good,” he said. “My wife knows too well the pitfalls of being a beautiful woman. You end up marrying penniless fools like me.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “You had a penny when I married you. I know because I gave it to you. Apprentice, report.”

  “The Abbess went through the gate, then put her cloak up once she got into the city,” said Helga.

  “You were following the Abbess?” asked Theo. “Why?”

  “Be quiet, husband,” I said. “Continue.”

  “She went to the Robin’s Egg near the Dalbade and went straight to a back room.”

  “An assignation for the Abbess,” mused Theo. “One would think her own establishment would be sufficient.”

  “Remember being quiet, husband?” I reminded him. “Right, you did mention something about that,” he said, subsiding.

  “Well, I couldn’t just walk through a tavern and peek inside,” said Helga, shoo
ting me a sidelong glance. “It wouldn’t be proper for a young lady like me.”

  “Just so,” I said. “Your solution?”

  “There was no window I could look through,” she said. “No door, either. I went to the rear to see if I could hear through the walls, but they were too thick. So I came back to the front and stood where I could see through the door.”

  “Did anyone go in to see her?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, looking disappointed. “And after a few minutes, she left.”

  “Oh, well,” I said. “You tried.”

  “But after she left, someone did come out,” Helga said in triumph. “A large man, also cloaked. So, I followed to him to his maison, which is a very fine one indeed. After he went in, I asked at one of the stalls who this very fine maison belonged to. And he told me, why, to none other than the Count of Foix.”

  Chapter 10

  The Count of Foix is looming large in our investigation,” I said to Theo after I recounted my morning with the ladies.

  “He looms large wherever he is,” said Theo. “He is a large-looming man. The Abbess spent only a few minutes with him?”

  “Yes,” said Helga.

  “And did not emerge with her dress in any noticeable disarray?”

  “No.”

  “It could still have been the normal transaction of a prostitute and a patron,” said Theo. “A few minutes would be sufficient.”

  “For the man, anyway,” I said. “But he has not hidden his visits to the bordel. Why the sudden need for secrecy? Why the Robin’s Egg, and not the bordel itself?”

  “Something set the two of them off,” speculated Theo. “And I have an idea what it might have been.”

  “What?”

  “You,” said Theo. “Your questions about him at the bordel. The Abbess wanted to let him know that you’re poking around in his life.”

  “That should make tonight’s performance at the house of Foix particularly interesting,” I said.

  “I can’t wait to see it,” said Helga excitedly. “The expression on his face when—“

  “You’re not going,” said Theo.

  “What?” she exclaimed, her face falling.

  “You’re staying here with Portia,” he said. “You will bar all the windows and doors, and you will rig as many trip lines as you think you need. If anyone gets through, take to the rooftops and go to the room at the Yellow Dwarf.”

  “But, Theo-“

  “Not another but Theo out of you, Apprentice,” he said. “I am the Chief Fool of Toulouse and your master. You do as I say without protest.”

  “Yes, Theo,” she said with nary a pout.

  “And you, Master, will take a bath,” I said to my husband. “Yes, dear,” he said. He was pouting.

  * * *

  He pouted less when I came in to scrub his back, but still complained.

  “You had hot water and a room full of naked women,” he said. “I get a couple of buckets from the cistern and—“

  “If you ever want to see this woman naked again, you will choose your next words wisely,” I said.

  “A goddess,” he said quickly. “That’s what I was about to say, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Goddess of what, exactly?”

  “Of loving, living, and laving,” he said.

  “And now, the goddess of leaving,” I said, pouring the last bucket over him to rinse off the soap. “Get yourself dry and dressed. We have work to do.”

  * * *

  I kissed Portia good-bye as Theo came down to the lower room, then handed her to Helga. Our coded knock came on the door, and I opened it to see Pelardit. He bowed with an awkward flourish, several balls tumbling out of his sleeves.

  “Everything ready?” asked Theo.

  “At your command, my lord high master,” I said.

  “Bar the door, Helga,” said Theo.

  She stepped forward immediately, and he grabbed her shoulder.

  “Wait until we’ve gone through it first,” he instructed her.

  “Ohhhh,” she said in dumb comprehension.

  Pelardit cracked a smile, and she broke character to smile back for a moment.

  The moment the door closed behind us, we heard Portia start to howl in protest.

  “Go into danger, or back to our screaming daughter?” asked Theo.

  “Danger’s much easier,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Pelardit lifted an eyebrow at the mention of danger, so we brought him up to date. He was shaking his head by the time it was over, and held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger almost touching.

  “No, it isn’t much,” conceded Theo. “But I’ve been going over Balthazar’s notes on the Count of Foix. Seems that his relationship with Raimon has always been tenuous. He owes his presence at the court more to the Duke of Comminges than through his own importance, although he is Raimon’s cousin. And not an illegitimate half brother, for a change.”

  “That’s refreshing,” I said. “Is he very important? Foix is just this little place up in the Pyrenees. How much power can one have being the Count of Crags?”

  “He gets by on charm and flattery,” said Theo. “Not so different from us, if you think about it. He lets himself be the butt of their gibes, brings them amusing stories of his escapades, and gets to keep feeding at the golden trough as a reward.”

  “When did he first show up?” I asked.

  “On a regular basis, not that long ago,” said Theo. “He had gotten into that little fracas with Aragon about four years back and ended up being held hostage by King Pedro for a while. After his wife, along with Comminges, intervened, he began frequenting Raimon’s court.”

  “I guess home is too close to Aragon for comfort,” I said. “Here, he can pretend he isn’t afraid of anyone. There’s the maison up ahead. How do you want to play it tonight?”

  “Get what gossip we can from the servants,” he said. “If you can get the lady of the house alone, it might be interesting to learn her take on Toulouse and Baudoin.”

  “Do you know what occurs to me?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “If Foix has been here only a short time, how could he possibly care about Baudoin? All of that happened forty years ago.”

  “But Baudoin’s arrival started Foix on this path,” he said. “If you see a man react as if he’s been threatened, then you know that the threat must exist even if you can’t see it.”

  “But is that what he’s reacting to?” I asked. “Is he even the principal here? What if he’s just one more rung up the chain of command?”

  “Do chains have rungs?” he mused.

  “I meant one more link in the ladder,” I said.

  “Ohhhh,” he said, imitating Helga. Then, “Ow!”

  “So sorry,” I said. “My fist slipped.”

  Pelardit took a large step away from us and started to whistle nonchalantly.

  “What I meant is what if Foix is following someone else’s orders?” I asked.

  “Do you think he’s done all this for Count Raimon?”

  “No,” I said. “Raimon wouldn’t need all this subterfuge to set up Baudoin. He could simply banish him, or fob him off on some minor holding, or do whatever counts do when annoying long-lost relatives show up.”

  “If not Raimon, then whom would the Count of Foix owe to this extent?” speculated Theo. “Comminges helped bail him out of Aragon’s dungeon, but Comminges is closer to Raimon than anyone.”

  “You are missing an obvious possibility,” I said. “The wife.”

  “Who also helped get him out,” said Theo. “And who needs all his influence and protection because she is a Cathar, and quite open about it.”

  “And because all husbands owe a debt of obedience and deference to their wives,” I said.

  “Right, I keep forgetting that,” he said. Then, “Ow!”

  “Damn this pesky fist of mine,” I said. “I apologize.” Pelardit moved to the other side of the street.

 
“I will need this arm to function if I am going to earn a living,” said Theo.

  “True,” I said. “I promise not to hit you again until after you get paid.”

  “Lucky for me we’re performing for free tonight,” he sighed. “That gives me an extra day without pain.”

  We passed through the gates into the courtyard, then made our way to a door on the side. This let us in through the kitchen, which was in full bustle. But there was disorder and disarray where one would expect to see the military precision of a great house. The cook, a tall woman with a short temper, was berating everyone in sight, while the assistants scurrying around seemed to have no idea where to find the ingredients she was screaming for or where to place the pots that they were carrying. There were a couple of near collisions in the short time we passed through, and Pelardit had to duck a saucepan that the cook flung at a boy who was not heeding her call quickly enough.

  “You get the feeling that most of them were hired today?” muttered Theo.

  “I was so counting on a decent meal to make up for the lack of payment,” I grumbled.

  “I’ll cook you one tomorrow,” he promised. “Ah, that looks like someone who knows something.”

  He stopped a harried-looking manservant who pointed us in the direction of the great hall. We went up a flight of stairs, stepping gingerly around the maids who were frantically scrubbing it, their cloths already black with removed grime. At the top of the stairs, a man stood wearing the yellow-and-red striped livery of the house of Foix, a silver chain of office around his neck. He was speaking to a woman wearing a plain black gown.

  “Excuse me, senhor,” said Theo, nodding to him politely. “We are the fools, here for the entertainment.”

  The man looked at him severely and barked, “Show the proper courtesy to the countess, fools!”

  Theo blinked once, then turned to the woman and bowed deeply. We followed his lead.

  “Good day to you, fools,” said the countess.

  Her voice was slightly hoarse, as if it normally did not receive much use. Her accent was from somewhere west of the Pyrenees. As we rose, I looked at her more closely. She wore no trace of adornment. Not a jewel, not a comb, not a hint of makeup. Her hair was gray; her nails were her own. Had she walked down the street, I might have first thought her a washerwoman.