Alexander didn’t say anything else and I could tell he was having grave doubts about my abilities; but, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s this. A good buffalope can put his mind to just about anything and, nine times out of ten, he’ll pull it off. The song was no exception. It took some time coming, but when it did, by golly, it was a belter!
Chapter 15
The Singing Buffalope
It took me a while but I finally had the song completed to my satisfaction. The problem was that I was unable to write anything down and had to keep going through it in my mind until I finally had it memorised. Of course, I also had to come up with a suitable melody and the only way I could do that was to hum various themes. I swear that Betty was starting to think that I had quite taken leave of my senses.
But finally, after many long nights of struggle, I felt that I had something worthy of Alexander. So, one evening, I summoned him to the paddock and, by the light of a lantern, I sang it for him. This is how it went.
Lads and lasses! Lords and Ladies! Gather round and hear my song. Humour lovers, fans of laughter Step this way, you can’t go wrong! For here comes someone so fantastic Oh so witty, such a lark . . .
Introducing, for your pleasure The famous Alexander Darke! He’s outrageous! So contagious! He will claim you heart and soul He’ll tell stories, to amuse you, Dry and witty, oh so droll.
Jokes and riddles, comic capers Are my master’s ready tools.
Come and see him, long to be him The one and only Prince Of Fools!
After I had finished, I looked at Alexander. He was sitting there on a bale of straw, staring at me. His mouth was hanging open and, in the poor light, I took his expression to be one of dismay.
‘You . . . do not care for my song, Master?’ I asked him.
He shook his head.
‘No, Max, I do not care for it . . . I love it!’
His expression changed to one of delight.
‘I just can’t believe that you wrote it. I mean, goodness me, you haven’t been talking much more than a year; how did you ever . . . ?’
‘Oh, it’s just a little ditty, Master, nothing to get excited about.’
‘On the contrary, it’s perfect. I’ll go and get my mandolin and we’ll work out the chords.’
He got up to hurry away but then paused, as though he’d just thought of something.
‘You don’t think . . . well, that you’ve laid it on a bit thick, do you?’
Now it was my turn to stare at him.
‘Whatever do you mean, Master?’
‘All those superlatives. I’d hate to be a disappointment to people.’
‘Master, the whole point about these songs is to blow your own trumpet. I mean, Jonathan Jolly’s song doesn’t say, “Here comes a fat oaf with a bunch of third-rate jokes about women,” does it? He wouldn’t get much of a crowd if he told the truth, would he?’
Alexander smiled.
‘I suppose not,’ he said.
‘And, likewise, we can hardly say about you, “Here comes a promising young jester, who once he’s got more experience and boosted his confidence a bit, is likely to be quite amusing.”’
Now he laughed.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘That wouldn’t do at all. Max, what would I do without you?’
He hurried off to get his mandolin, leaving me to stand there, feeling rather smug. Then came a voice behind me.
‘You seem to be doing very well in your new role.’
I turned to see Betty standing just beyond the light of the lantern. She had gone down a lot over the last few months; she was thin and shaky on her feet and I knew that she probably wouldn’t be around for very much longer. In fact, it was unusual for her to be awake at this hour; but then, perhaps my singing had been a bit more raucous than I’d imagined.
‘The master clearly liked your song,’ she said. ‘I wish I could understand the human words.’
‘That’s no problem,’ I told her.
And I sang it for her in the language of the plains. It was an on-the-spot translation, but I think I got it across quite well. When I had finished, she nodded her head and snorted appreciatively.
‘You’re a very clever creature, Max,’ she observed. ‘You’ve done so much for the master in such a short space of time, more than I ever did in all my years of service to the Darke family.’
‘Oh, I’ve done nothing,’ I assured her. ‘A silly song, a bit of advice; how does that compare to a lifetime of hard work?’
I was being uncharacteristically modest, but then, I didn’t want her to feel that she was in some way infer - ior. As I have said already, I had the highest regard for Betty – and it couldn’t have been easy, watching a young pretender like myself taking over her duties and doing so well at them.
She fixed me with a look.
‘Max, a word of advice, if I may be so bold?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘A mutt may walk on its hind legs, but that doesn’t make it human. Likewise, you have mastered the human tongue and you are doing things that I’m sure no other buffalope has done before you. But . . . at the end of the day, you are still a buffalope and you must never lose sight of that.’
‘Thanks for the advice,’ I said.
I must admit that, at the time, young and arrogant as I was, I didn’t really understand what she meant. It was only years later, when I had grown into an adult, that her words came back to haunt me and I finally understood the wisdom in them.
It was one of the last things she ever said to me. Only a few days later, I awoke to see that she was lying in her usual place in the corner of the paddock. Alexander and I were leaving early in order to reach an appointment in a far-off town, so I left her sleeping. It was only in the evening when we returned, that I noticed she had not moved a muscle. I alerted Alexander and he went over to look at her. He crouched beside her, stroking her head gently and I knew by his grim expression what had happened.
‘Her troubles are over now,’ he said quietly and I just stood there, wishing there was something I could say to make it better.
Chapter 16
Three Strangers
In those early days we criss-crossed the length and breadth of the land to reach our various destinations. The caravan was heavy and I grew stronger and stronger as each day passed. We often met with other travellers along the way and, mostly, our experiences were positive ones; but not always.
I well remember one hot summer ’s day on the road to Bodengen, when we saw a cloud of dust up ahead and, after a while, we noticed three men, mounted on equines, riding slowly towards us.
My experiences as a youngster had made me understandably nervous about the approach of strangers.
‘Master,’ I said. ‘There are humans approaching.’
‘I’ve seen them,’ he said calmly. ‘Just keep on going.’
As the three strangers drew closer, my heart fell. They were one of the ugliest trios I had ever clapped eyes on. They were dressed in hides and furs and their bare arms and shoulders were covered with crudely executed tattoos.
‘I don’t like the look of them,’ I said quietly.
‘Me neither,’ said Alexander, but still his voice remained calm. ‘Brigands, no doubt about it. But say nothing and leave the talking to me.’
The three men drew their equines to a halt on the road in front of us and, for the moment, I could do nothing but pull to a halt. I was able to get a good look at their faces. The first man was bald and had evil, hooded eyes that made me feel very nervous. The second was squat and wizened and was grinning nastily, revealing that he had barely more than three teeth in his head. The last man was tall and thin and had a huge nose that stood out from his face like the beak of a huge bird of prey. In my mind, I instantly assigned them nicknames; Baldy, Gap and Beaky.
It was Gap who spoke first, his voice horribly distorted by his absence of teeth.
‘Good morning to you, Sir,’ he said, in a mocking ton
e. ‘That’s a fine caravan you have there.’
He ran his eyes over me.
‘Pity you don’t have a handsome equine to pull it along for you.’
‘I’m happy enough with my buffalope,’ said Alexander. ‘He gets me wherever I want to go.’
‘And where would you be heading on such a fine day?’ asked Baldy.
‘To Bodengen,’ said Alexander. ‘I’m a jester and I’m to do a performance there.’
The three men exchanged glances and Beaky sniffed.
‘Like jokes, do you?’ he growled.
‘It would be a poor thing if I didn’t,’ admitted Alexander. ‘I tell them all the time.’
‘Well I’ve got one for you,’ said Beaky. ‘Did you hear about the jester who got robbed on the way to Bodengen?’
There was a pause before Alexander came back with his answer.
‘No, I don’t believe I know that one. Tell me, how does it go?’
Baldy laughed unpleasantly.
‘Three strong lads meet with a jester. They make short work of him, take his caravan and his buffalope. Then they strip off his fine outfit and leave him for the vultures to pick at.’
Alexander didn’t say anything for a few moments. He seemed to be considering what Baldy had said.
‘That’s not much of a joke,’ he said, at last. ‘It has no punchline.’
‘A punchline?’
Baldy seemed offended that Alexander wasn’t showing any evidence of fear.
‘What are you blathering about?’
‘Your joke. Forgive me, but it doesn’t really work. Let me offer you a better version. Three stupid thieves meet with a jester on the road to Bodengen . . .’
‘What did you say?’ gasped Beaky.
‘Shush, I haven’t finished. The first thief is as bald as a drabnat fruit. The second is as ugly as a babarusa licking urine off a thistle. And the third has such a big nose that it should have been classed as a deadly weapon.’
‘Why you . . .’ snarled Gap, but Alexander held up a hand to silence him.
‘The jester tells them that he can help each of them to be a better man. “How can we do that?” they ask. To the first man, he says, “Stick two rabbits on your head. From a distance they’ll look like hares!” To the second man, he says, “Paint a face on your backside and walk on your hands; that will definitely be a big improvement.” And to the third man, he says, “Don’t change a thing. Just offer to shelter six children under your nose when it starts to rain.”’
Alexander laughed.
‘See, that’s just off the top of my head, but it’s a better joke than your poor attempt.’
Beaky scowled.
‘It’s the last joke you’ll ever tell,’ he said.
And, sliding his sword from its sheath, he urged his equine forward. His two friends followed his example. I braced myself to meet them with my horns, but I had no opportunity to do anything. I heard the hiss of steel behind me as Alexander drew his own sword and then to my surprise, my master ’s feet thudded down onto the broad expanse of my back.
There was a hiss of air and quite suddenly, Beaky’s distinctive head was falling through the air and rolling across the ground at my feet. Before the others even had time to draw breath, Alexander had leapt from my back and jumped astride Beaky’s equine, shoving the man’s headless body aside as he did so.
Now he urged the creature forward, ducked a wild blow from Gap and stabbed the point of his curved sword into the ugly man’s stomach, making him double over with a gasp of pain. Baldy urged his mount forward, trying to seize an advantage, but Gap’s equine reared up between him and Alexander, blocking his sword thrust. Alexander urged Beaky’s equine around in a tight circle and came at the remaining brigand with terrible ferocity, bringing the curved blade down deep into his shoulder and knocking him from his saddle. Baldy hit the ground hard and lay there, writhing in pain, clutching his bleeding shoulder. His look of apprehension told me that he was expecting the deathblow, but it never came.
Instead, Alexander snatched up the reins of the two other horses, kicked Gap’s slumped figure out of the saddle and rode calmly around to the rear of the caravan, where I heard the sound of him hitching them in place. After a few moments, he came strolling back around to me, wiping his bloody sword on a handful of grass as he did so. He sheathed the sword and then climbed back into his seat. I stared back at him over my shoulder, astounded by the speed with which it had all happened. It was the first indication I had that my master, despite his placid looks, was evidently a master swordsman.
Baldy looked up at him in dismay.
‘I’m bleeding!’ he gasped.
Alexander studied him for a moment.
‘So you are,’ he said, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘Cut yourself shaving, did you?’
‘You . . .’
Baldy glared at him.
‘This is no laughing matter,’ he snarled.
‘You seemed to think it was before,’ said Alexander. ‘When you were telling me how you were going to take my belongings. I distinctly remember you laughing.’
He picked up the reins.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ cried Baldy.
‘I don’t think I’m going anywhere,’ said Alexander. ‘I know I’m going to Bodengen. Forgive me, I thought I’d already told you that.’
‘But . . . you . . . you can’t leave me here like this. It’s . . . murder.’
Alexander glanced around for a moment.
‘Oh, it’s not that bad,’ he said. ‘A bit dull, but I’ve seen worse.’
‘You know what I mean!’ protested Baldy. ‘I’m bleeding to death here! At least let me keep my equine.’
‘Let me think about it,’ said Alexander.
He paused for about one second.
‘No, sorry, don’t think so. I’d like to help, but you know what? You were planning to rob and murder me and – call me old-fashioned – but that doesn’t exactly endear me to a person. So I think I’ll sell the equines in Bodengen. Your friends have no further need of them and, judging by the look of you, you’ll soon be joining them. Well, bye now!’
He flicked the reins, startling me, and I moved off, kicking Beaky’s head gingerly out of the way as I did so. Behind us, I could hear Baldy’s desperate yells, pleading with us to come back. I waited until they had faded into the distance before I spoke.
‘Well, that was a surprise,’ I said.
‘Was it?’ Alexander seemed amused. ‘Thought I’d be a pushover, did you?’
‘Well, forgive me, but I had no idea you were so talented with the sword.’
Alexander chuckled.
‘My father was a sword maker and he knew very well how to use the weapons he made. He taught me well. He said to me, “Alexander, if you’re intent on telling those terrible jokes and stories for a living, you’d better know how to defend yourself.”’
‘Your father wasn’t too keen on your choice of profession, then?”
‘No. He really wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I tried my best to please him, but I had no skill at making swords.’
‘But plenty of skill at using them,’ I said. ‘He must have been pleased about that, at least.’
‘Oh, I suppose so. But it’s the duty of any father to teach a son how to bear arms. If I am ever lucky enough to have a son, I’ll make sure he knows one end of a sword from the other.’
‘I can’t help feeling you’re being modest. You just made mincemeat of those brigands.’
Alexander shrugged.
‘I’m never one to start trouble,’ he said. ‘But I’m only too happy to finish it. And I don’t much care for bullies.’
We went on our way without any more problems and, after that, I felt a lot less nervous of strangers, whenever we encountered them. If there’s something I’ve learned over the years, it’s this: if you must have a master, it pays to have one who’s a bit handy when it comes to trouble.
Chapter 17
Op
portunity Knocks
I don’t know if it was the song I had written, or whether my valuable input was giving the master more confidence, but the act finally began to take off. Whenever we arrived at a town or village, the populace would come running to see Alexander Darke, Prince of Fools. The laughter was that bit louder, the applause that bit more heartfelt and, when it came to passing around the hat, the returns were definitely up on previous visits.
To show his gratitude, the master started buying me little treats: rich, red pommers or a bucket of golden starfruit, all of which were gratefully received. I had as powerful an appetite then as I have today, which may account for my lifelong struggle with my figure.
We didn’t know it, but the act was about to take a very important step up, one that would set Alexander on the path to real success.
We were in the town square of Jerebim, one day, where my master was performing his usual act for a packed and appreciative audience. As was my usual custom, I was positioned close by, so that I was on hand whenever he needed a voice to provide feed lines or to make announcements.
As the performance continued, I noticed a beautifully decorated sedan chair carried by four servants pushing its way through the crowd to the front of the stage, a sure sign that somebody of quality had arrived. The chair was duly set down in a good spot and one of the servants hurried forward to open the door.
A tall, thin man stepped out to view the proceedings. He was wearing an opulent purple cloak, a gold turban and enough jewellery to make him glitter in the sunlight, like the surface of a pool of water. He had a long, equine-like face, with a neatly trimmed beard curving down from his chin and as he stood there watching, his lips twisted into a wry smile.
I glanced at Alexander, but, as usual, he was so caught up in his routine, he didn’t seem to have noticed this new arrival. I hoped that none of the material he was using would prove too vulgar for such a sophisticated viewer, but my worries were unfounded. As the show neared its conclusion, I noticed that the rich man was laughing heartily and, when my master took his final bow, he clapped his gloved hands together, to show his appreciation.
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