The beast’s blood mixed with my own. Finally its hind legs crumpled. I took the staff and forced it deep into the boar’s skull. A dying snarl came out of its awful tooth-filled mouth.
With a crash, the monster fell on its side. I just knelt there, depleted of strength. And amazed. I let out an exhausted shout.
I had won!
But I was badly wounded. Blood ran freely from my stomach and thigh. I had to make it out of the ravine or I knew I would die here.
Sophie’s face appeared in my mind. I know I smiled; I reached out to touch her. “Here is the way,” she whispered. Come to me now.”
Chapter 28
IT WAS QUIET, like any sleeping town. The dark riders brought their panting mounts close to the edge. A few thatched cottages with post fences, animals sleeping in their sheds. That was all there was.
This would be easy, mere sport for such men. The leader sniffed, shutting his visor. His helmet bore a black Byzantine cross. He had chosen only men who killed for pleasure, who hunted for spoils as others hunted for meat. They wore only the darkened armor of battle, no crests, visors down. No one knew who they were. They strapped on their weapons-war swords, axes, and maces. They looked at him, eager, thirsty, ready.
“Have your fun,” Black Cross said, a bit of laughter coming through his command. “Just let us not forget why we are here. Whoever finds the relic will be a rich man. Now, ride!”
The night was split asunder by the explosion of charging hooves.
The clang of a warning bell sounded. Too late! The first thatched dwellings went up in flames. The sleeping town came alive.
Women screamed and ran to cover their children. Aroused townspeople struggled out of their homes to protect themselves, only to be struck down by swords or trampled in the melee as the riders stormed by.
[89] These pathetic peasants, Black Cross mused, they run up and die like swatted flies, protecting their tiny clumps of shit. They think we are invading soldiers, come to take their cattle and steal their bitches. They do not even know why we are here!
Fire and mayhem raging, Black Cross trotted unconcerned through the street to the large stone home, the best in the town. Five of his riders followed.
Panicked sounds came from inside-a woman screaming, children being roused from bed.
“Break it in.” Black Cross nodded to a cohort. A single ax blow shattered the door.
A man in a white-and-blue shawl appeared in the doorway. He had long gray hair and a heavy beard. “What do you want here?” the cowering man asked. “We’ve done no harm.”
“Get out of my way, Jew,” Black Cross barked.
The man’s wife, in a wool sleeping shawl, rushed out and spoke fearlessly. “We are peaceful people,” she said. “We will give you whatever you want.”
Black Cross pinned the woman by her throat to the wall. “Show me where it is,” he demanded. “Show me, if you have any regard for his life.”
“Please, the money is in the courtyard,” the panicked husband whined. “In a chest under the cistern. Have it. Take what you will.”
“Search the house,” Black Cross screamed at his men. “Rip down every wall. Just find it.”
“But the money … I told you…”
“We did not come for money, filth.” Black Cross leered. “We are here for the jewel. Christendom’s precious relic.”
His henchmen stormed inside. They found an old man, his arms around two cowering children. A boy, perhaps sixteen, already with the locks of his race, and a girl, maybe a year younger, with dark, fearful eyes.
“What do you mean?” The father crawled on his knees. “I am a merchant. We have no jewels. No relics.”
[90] Piece by piece, the house was torn apart. The raiders smashed their swords into walls, dug with axes at stone, broke into chests and cupboards.
Black Cross pulled the husband up by the throat. “I will not trifle any longer. Where is the treasure?”
“I beg you, we have no jewels.” The trembling man gagged. “I trade in wool.”
“You trade in wool.” Black Cross nodded, glancing at the man’s son. “We shall see.” He took out a knife and pressed it against the boy’s throat. The boy flinched, revealing a line of blood. “Show me the treasure unless you want your son to die.”
“The hearth … underneath the tiles on the hearth.” The father bowed his head in his hands.
In a rush, two of the knights ran to the fireplace and, using axes, crashed through the floor tiles, unearthing a secret space. From it, they raised a chest, inside of which were coins, necklaces, brooches of gold and silver. And finally, a gorgeous ruby the size of a coin, in a gilded Byzantine-style setting. It gave off a luminous glow. The knight held it aloft.
“You have no idea what you hold.” The Jew blinked back tears.
“Don’t I…?” Black Cross grinned. “It is the seal of Paul. Your race is unworthy to even hold it. You will steal from our Lord no more.”
“I did not steal it. It is you who does that. It was sold to me.”
“Sold, not stolen…?” Black Cross’s eyes glittered. He turned back to the son. “Then it is only a small loss, compared to what your race has taken from us.”
In the same instant, he pushed his knife into the boy’s gut. A gasp emerged from the boy; his eyes grew wide and blood dribbled from his mouth. All the while, Black Cross smirked.
“Nefrem …” The merchant and his wife screamed. They tried to rush to their son but were held back by other raiders.
“Burn the place,” Black Cross said. “Their seed is dead. They can foul the earth no more.”
[91] “What of the daughter?” a knight inquired.
Black Cross yanked her up and looked at the girl measuringly. She was a pretty specimen. He ran his gloved hand along the smooth skin of her cheek. “Such a pretty pelt, wool merchant… I wonder what it’s like to be wrapped in such a cloth. Why don’t you tell me.”
“Please, you have taken everything,” the father begged. “Leave us our child.”
“I’m afraid not.” Black Cross shook his head. “I must have her later. And no doubt the duke’s mule cleaner will want to do the same. Take her with us.” He threw the girl to another knight. She was carried out of the house, screaming in horror and fear.
“Don’t be so sad, Jew,” Black Cross addressed the sobbing man. He tossed a coin at him from the chest of treasure. “As you say, I do not steal your daughter, I buy her.”
Chapter 29
“IS HE DEAD?”
A voice crept through the haze. A woman’s voice… I opened my eyes. But I couldn’t make out a thing. Only a shifting blur.
“I don’t know, my lady,” another said, “but his wounds are grave. He doesn’t look far from gone.”
“Such unusual hair…” remarked the first.
I blinked, my brain slowly starting to clear. It was as if there were a shimmering veil reflecting my sight. Was I dead? There was a lovely face leaning over me. Yellow hair, braided densely, tumbling from under a brocaded purple cloak. She smiled. It warmed me like the sun.
“Sophie,” I muttered. I reached to touch her face.
“You are hurt,” replied the woman, her voice like the delicate trill of a bird. “I’m afraid you mistake me for someone else.”
My body felt no pain. “Is this Heaven?” I asked.
The woman smiled again. “If Heaven is a world where all wounded knights resemble vegetables, then, yes, it must be.”
I felt her hands cradle my head. I blinked again. It was not Sophie, but someone lovely, speaking with the accent of the north. Paris.
[93] “I still live,” I uttered with a sigh.
“For the moment, yes. But your wounds are serious. We must get you to a physician. Are you from here? Do you have a family?”
I tried to focus on her questions. It was all too fuzzy and hurtful. I just said, “No.”
“Are you an outlaw?” the second woman’s voice intoned from above.
I st
ruggled to see a lavishly robed lady, clearly royal, atop a stunning white palfrey.
“I assure you, madame,” I said, doing my best to smile, “I am benign.” I saw my tunic matted with blood. “Regardless of how I look.” Sharp pangs of pain now lanced my stomach and thigh. I had no strength. With a gasp, I fell back once more.
“Where do you head, Monsieur Rouge?” the golden-haired maiden asked.
I had no idea where I was. Or how far I had traveled. Then I remembered the boar. “I head to Treille,” I said.
“To Treille,” she exclaimed. “Even if we could take you, I fear you will die before you reach Treille,” the maiden said with concern.
“Take him?” the older lady questioned from above. “Look at him. He is covered with the blood of who knows whom. He smells of the forest. Leave him, child. He will be found by his own kind.”
I wanted to laugh. After all I’d been through, my life was being bargained for by a couple of bickering nobles.
I replied in my finest accent, “No need to fret, madame, my squire should be arriving at any moment.”
Then the young maiden winked at me. “He seems harmless. You are harmless, aren’t you?” She looked into my eyes. A lovelier face I hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Only to you.” I smiled faintly.
“See?” she said. “I vouch for him.”
[94] She tried to lift me, appealing to two guards in bucket helmets and green tunics for help. They glanced toward their lady, the older of the women.
“If you must.” The grand lady sighed. She waved and the guards responded. “But he is your charge. And if your concern is so great, child, you will not mind giving up your horse.”
I tried to push myself to my feet, but my strength was not there.
“Do not struggle, red hair,” the blond maiden said. One of the accompanying guards, a big, hulking Moor, lifted me by the arms. The lady was right. My wounds were severe. If I slipped back into unconsciousness, I didn’t know if I would ever wake up again.
“Who saves me?” I asked her. “So I will know who to bless in Heaven should I pass on.”
“Your own smile saves you, redhead.” The maiden laughed. “But should the Lord not feel as favorably… I am called Emilie.”
Chapter 30
I AWOKE, this time with a sense of peace and the warmth of a fire about me. I found myself in a comfortable bed, in a large room with stone walls. A bowl of water sat on a wooden table to my right.
Above me, a bearded man in a scarlet robe shot a satisfied grin at a portly priest at his side.
“He wakes, Louis. You can go back to the abbey now. It seems you are out of a job.”
The priest lowered his flabby face in front of mine. He shrugged. “You have done well, Auguste… on the body. But there is also the matter of the soul. Perhaps there is something this blood-spotted stranger would like to confess.”
I wet my lips, then answered for myself. “I am sorry, Father. If it’s a confession you’re looking for, you might get a better one out of the boar that attacked me. Certainly a better meal.”
This made the physician laugh. “Back among us for only a second, Louis, and he’s sized you up.”
The priest scowled. It was clear he didn’t like being the brunt of mockery. He threw on a floppy hat. “Then I’m off.”
The priest left, and the kindly-looking doctor sat down beside me. “Don’t mind him. We had a bet. Who got you-he or I.”
[96] I raised myself up on my elbows. “I’m glad to have been the subject of your sport. Where am I?”
“In good hands, I assure you. My reputation is that I’ve never lost a patient who wasn’t truly sick.”
“And where am I?”
He shrugged. “You, sir, I’m afraid, are truly very sick.”
I forced a weak smile. “I meant the place, Doctor. Where am I taken?”
The physician gently patted my shoulder. “I knew that, boy. You are in Borée.”
Borée … My eyes widened in shock. Borée was among the most powerful duchies in France. Three times the size of Treille. Borée was also a four-day ride from Treille, but north. How had I ended up here?
“How long… have I been in Borée?” I finally asked.
“Four days here. Two more along the way,” the physician said. “You cried out many times.”
“And what did I say?”
Auguste wrung out a cloth from the bowl and placed it across my forehead. “That your heart is not whole, though not from any boar wound. You carry a great burden.”
I did not try to disagree. My Sophie lay somewhere-at Treille. And Treille was a week away on foot. I still felt her alive.
I pushed myself up. “You have my thanks for tending my wounds, Auguste. But I have to go.”
“Whoa.” The physician held me back. “You are not yet well enough to go. And do not thank me. I merely applied the salve and cauterized the wounds. It is the lady Emilie who deserves your thanks.”
“Emilie … yes…” Through the haze of my memory I brought back her face. I had thought she was Sophie. All at once, flashes of my journey here came to me. The Moor constructed a harness for me. The lady gave up her own mount for me and walked behind.
[97] “Without her, pilgrim,” the doctor said, “you would have died.”
“You are right, I truly owe her thanks. Who is this lady, Auguste?”
“A soul who cares. And a lady-in-waiting at the court.”
“Court?” My eyes bolted wide. “What court do we speak of? You said you were commanded to my care. By whom? Who is it that you serve?”
“Why, the duchess Anne,” he replied. “Wife of Stephen, duke of Borée, who is away on the Crusade, and second cousin to the King.”
Every nerve in my body seemed to leap to attention. I could not believe it. I was in the care of a cousin to the King of France.
The doctor smiled. “You have done yourself well, boar-slayer. You rest in their castle now.”
Chapter 31
I SAT UP in bed, confused and shocked.
I did not deserve this. I was no knight, no noble. Just a commoner. And a lucky one at that-fortunate not to have been ripped to shreds by a beast. My ordeal came back to me, my wife and child. It had been more than a week since I set out to find Sophie.
“Your care is most appreciated, Doctor, but I must leave. Please thank my gracious hostess for me.”
I got up out of bed but managed to limp no farther than a couple of painful steps. There was a knock at the door. Auguste went to see who was there.
“You may thank the lady yourself,” the doctor said. “She has come.”
It was Emilie, adorned in a dress of linen gilded with golden borders. God, I had not been imagining her. She was as lovely as the vision from my dreams. Except her eyes shimmered soft and green.
“I see our patient rises,” Emilie exclaimed, seemingly delighted. “How is our Red today, Auguste?”
“His ears are not injured. Nor is his tongue,” the doctor said, prodding at me.
I didn’t know whether to bow or kneel. I did not speak to nobles directly unless addressed. But something made me look [99] into her eyes. I cleared my throat. “I would be dead if not for you, lady. There is no way I can express my thanks.”
“I did what anyone would do. Besides, having vanquished your boar, what a shame it would’ve been if you had become the dinner of the next pest that stumbled by.”
Auguste pushed qver a stool and Emilie sat down. “If you must show gratitude, you can do so by permitting me a few questions.”
“Any,” I said. “Please ask.”
“First, an easy one. What is your name, redhead?”
“My name is Hugh, lady.” I bowed my head. “Hugh De Luc.”
“And you were on your way to Treille, Hugh De Luc, when you encountered the boorish boar?”
“I was, my lady. Though the doctor has informed me that my direction was slightly askew.”
“So it would seem.” Lady Emil
ie smiled. This surprised me. I had never met a noble with a very keen sense of humor, unless it was cruel humor. “And on this journey you set out alone. With no food. Or water. Or proper clothes…?”
I felt a lump in my throat-not from nerves but because of what must have seemed my enormous stupidity. “I was in a hurry,” I said.
“A hurry?” Emilie nodded with polite jest. “But it seems, if I recall my mathematics, that no matter how fast you traveled, be it the wrong direction, it would only widen the distance to your goal, no?”
I felt like an idiot in front of this woman who had saved me. I’m sure I blushed. “In a hurry and confused,” I replied.
“I would say.” She widened her eyes. “And the purpose of such haste… and confusion, if you don’t mind…?”
All at once, my being ill at ease shifted. This was not a game, and I was not a toy for amusement, no matter how much I owed her.
Emilie’s expression shifted as well, as if she sensed my unease. “Please know I do not mock you. You cried out in [100] anguish many times during the trip. I know you carry a heavy weight. You may be no knight, but you are surely on a mission.”
I bowed my head. All the lightness of the moment fled from me. How could I speak of such horrors? To this woman who did not know me? My throat went dry. “It is true. I do have a mission, lady. But I cannot tell of it.”
“Please tell, sir.” (I couldn’t believe it. She addressed me as “sir.”) “You are troubled. I do not belittle you at all. Perhaps I can help.”
“I am afraid you cannot help,” I said and bowed my head. “You have helped too much already.”
“You may trust me, sir. How can I prove it more than I already have?”
I smiled. She had me there. “Just know, then, that these are not the tales of a noble, the kind you are no doubt used to hearing.”
“I do not seek entertainment,” she replied, her eyes firmly on mine.
My experience with those highborn had always taught me to beware of their taxes and random killing and total indifference to our plight. But she seemed different. I could see compassion in her eyes. I’d felt it in that first glance as I lay by the road near death.
The Jester Page 7
