The Jester

by James Patterson

  “I’ll tell it to you, lady. You have earned that. I only hope it does not upset you.”

  “I assure you, Hugh,” Lady Emilie said with a smile, “if you have not already noticed, you will find my tolerance for the upsetting to be quite high.”

  Chapter 32

  SO I TOLD HER. Everything.

  Of Sophie, and our village. Of my journey to the Holy Land, the terrible fighting there. Of my moment with the Turk… how I was saved, freed, to come back, to see Sophie again.

  Then I told Emilie of the horrible truth that I’d found upon my return.

  My voice cracked and my eyes filled with tears as I spoke. It was why I had been wandering the woods like a madman before they had come upon me. Why I had to get to Treille …

  All the while, Emilie seemed riveted by my tale, never once interrupting. I knew that much of what I said must have brushed against the fantasies of her upbringing. Yet never once did she react as a spoiled noble. She did not question my desertion from the army, nor take offense at my ire toward Norcross and Baldwin. And when I came to why I so desperately needed to get to Treille, her eyes glistened. “Indeed, I understand, Hugh.”

  She leaned forward, placing a hand upon mine. “I see that you have been truly wronged. You must go to Treille and find your wife. But what do you intend to do, go there as one man? Without arms or access to the duke’s circle? Baldwin is well-known here for what he is: a self-serving goat who sucks his own duchy dry. But what will you do, call him out on the field [102] of battle? Challenge him? You will only get yourself tossed in a cell, or killed…”

  “You speak like Sophie would have,” I said. “But even if it seems crazy, I have to try. I have no choice in this.”

  “Then I will help you, Hugh,” Emilie whispered, “if you let me.”

  I looked at her, both confused and overwhelmed by her trust and resolve. “Why do you do this for me? You are highborn yourself. You attend the royal court.”

  “I told you the first time, Hugh De Luc. It is your smile that saves you.”

  “I think not,” I said, and dared to hold my gaze on her. “You could have left me on the road. My troubles would have died along with me.”

  Emilie averted her eyes. “I will tell you, but not now.”

  “Yet I have told you everything.”

  “This is my price, Hugh. If you’d like to shop around, I can have you delivered back where I found you.”

  I bowed my head and smiled. She was funny when she wished to be. “Your price is agreeable, Lady Emilie. I’m truly grateful, whatever your reason.”

  “Good,” she said. “So first we must start work on a pretext for you. A way for you to get in. What is it you do well, other than that keen sense of direction I saw?”

  I laughed at her barb, sharp as it was. “I am one of those with skills abundant but talents none.”

  “We’ll see,” Emilie said. “What did you do in your town before the war?”

  “We owned an inn. Sophie looked after the food and beds, and I…”

  “Like most innkeepers, you poured the ale and kept the patrons entertained.”

  “How would you know such a thing?” I asked.

  “No matter. And during the war? From what I’ve seen, you were certainly not a scout.”

  [103] “I fought. I learned to fight quite well, actually. But I was told I was always able to keep my friends amused with my stories and their minds off the fighting. In the most worrisome of times, they always requested my tales.” I told her how I had grown up, traveling the countryside, reciting verses and profane songs as a goliard. And how after the war I made my way home entertaining at inns as a jongleur. “Maybe I have a talent after all.”

  “A jongleur,” Emilie repeated.

  “It’s a modest one, but I’ve always had the skill to make new friends.” I smiled, to let her know of whom I was speaking.

  Emilie blushed, then stood up. She straightened her dress and produced a demure look. “You must rest now, Hugh De Luc. Nothing can happen until your wounds have healed. In the meantime, I must go.”

  A worry shot through me. “Please, lady, I hope I have not offended you.”

  “Offended me?” she exclaimed. “Not at all.” She broke into a most wonderful smile. “In fact, your vast talents have given me a splendid idea.”

  Chapter 33

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Emilie knocked on the door of the large bedchamber in the royal couple’s section of the castle. The duchess Anne was at a table, overseeing a group of ladies-in-waiting at work threading a tapestry. “You called for me, my lady,” said Emilie.

  “Yes,” Anne replied. The quintet of women stopped work and looked up for a sign to leave. “Please, stay,” she said. “I will speak with Emilie in the dressing room.”

  The duchess motioned her into the next room, adjacent to the bedroom, where there was a large dressing table, bowls of perfumed water, and a mirror.

  Anne sat on a stool. “I wish to speak of the health of your new red squire,” she said.

  “He recovers well,” Emilie replied. “And please, he is not my squire. In fact, he is already married and seeks to find his wife.”

  “His wife! And that was where he was heading when we found him so neatly trussed in the woods? A curious courtship.” Anne smiled. “But, now that he is well…”

  “Not quite well,” Emilie cut in.

  “But now that he recovers, it is fitting he should be on his way. Anyway, the doctor tells me he has a will to leave.”

  “He has suffered great injury, madame, which he seeks to right. The owner of his offense is Baldwin of Treille.”

  [105] “ Baldwin.” Anne grimaced as if she had swallowed spoiled wine. “Surely Baldwin is no friend to this court. But this man’s affairs, lowly as they are, are no concern of ours. Your heart is admirable, Emilie. You have surpassed what anyone might expect of you. Now I want you to let him leave.”

  “I will not shoo him away, madame.” Emilie stood tall. “I want to help him right this wrong.”

  “Help him?” Anne looked shocked. “Help him what? Regain his title? His honor? A set of clothes?”

  “Please, madame, every man deserves his honor, regardless of his rank in life. This man has been horribly wronged.”

  Anne came up to her. As she was in her living quarters and not presiding at court, her dark brown hair was combed long and over her shoulders. She was just thirty, but in many ways she was like a mother to Emilie. “My sweet Emilie, where did you get such notions?”

  “You know well, my lady. You know why I came to be here, why I left Paris and my own troubles there.”

  Anne placed her hand tenderly on Emilie’s shoulder. She did love the girl. “You are as caring, child, as you are rash. Nonetheless, as soon as he is ready to travel he must be off. If my husband were to hear of this, he’d come back from the Crusade and thrash me blue. This Red, does he have a profession? Some skill other than boar fighting?”

  “I am teaching him a profession-starting today,” Emilie replied.

  “But not for here, I hope. We are overemployed with hangers-on as it is.”

  “No, not for here, my lady. Once he learns what I have to teach, he will be on his way. He has a wife to find. He loves her dearly.”

  Chapter 34

  I RESTED FOR THREE MORE DAYS, until most of my wounds had healed.

  Then Emilie knocked on the door, seeming excited. She inquired as to my health. “Are you able to walk?”

  “Yes, of course.” I hopped out of bed to show her, though still a bit impaired.

  “That’ll do.” She seemed pleased. “Then come along with me.”

  She marched to the door and I hurried, with a slight limp, to keep up with her. She led me through the halls, wide and arched and adorned with beautiful tapestries, then down a steep flight of stone stairs.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, pushing to keep up. It felt good to be out of my sickroom.

  “To view your new pretext, I
hope,” she said.

  We traveled to a different part of the castle. I had never been so close to the abode of royals before.

  On the main floor there were large rooms, with long rows of tables and huge hearths, guarded by uniformed soldiers at every door. Knights milled about in their casual tunics, trading stories and rolling dice. Mounted torches lit the halls.

  Then we passed the kitchen, with an inviting smell of garlic in the air, maids and porters shuffling around, casks of wine and ale.

  [107] Still we traveled, down a narrow corridor leading beneath the ground. Here the walls were of coarsely laid stone. The air grew stale and damp. We were in some sort of keep now. In the womb of the castle. Where was Emilie taking me? What did she mean by my new pretext?

  Finally, when the halls were so ill-lit and dank that the only living thing must be some slumbering beast, Emilie stopped in front of a large wooden door.

  “My new pretext is a mole,” I said with a laugh.

  “Do not be rude,” she said, and knocked.

  “Come in,” groaned a voice from deep inside. “Come, come. Hurry before I change my mind.”

  Curious, I followed Emilie as we stepped into a cool room. It was more of a cell, or a dungeon, but large and candlelit; on the walls were shelves filled with what I took to be toys and props.

  In the rear, on an ornately carved chair, sat a hunched man in a red tunic, green tights, and a patchwork skirt.

  He lowered a yellowy eye toward Emilie. “Come in, auntie. May I have a lick? Just a lick would do…”

  “Oh, shut up, Norbert,” Emilie retorted, though not crossly. “This is the man I spoke of. His name is Hugh. Hugh, this is Norbert, the lord’s fool.”

  “Egad.” Norbert leaped out of his chair. He was squat and gnomelike, yet he moved with startling speed. He sprang up to me, almost smothering my red hair with his huge eyes, placing a hand on my head, then swiftly pulling it back. “Do you intend to burn me, ma’am? What is he, torch or man?”

  “What he is, is no fool, Norbert,” Emilie cautioned. “I think you’ll have your work cut out for you.”

  I looked at Emilie with consternation. “My pretext is a jester, my lady?”

  “And why not?” Emilie replied. “You say you have a knack for amusing people. What better role? Norbert informs me that the jester at Treille is as old as vinegar.”

  [108] “And his wit even more sour,” the jester croaked.

  “And that he has lost the favor of your liege there, Baldwin. It should be no great feat for a youthful up-and-comer like yourself to gain his ear. Easier, I would think, than storming his castle in a fit of rage.”

  I started to stammer. I had just come back from the war, where I had fought as bravely as any man. I was looking to avenge a misery that cut to my core. I did not think of myself as a hero. But a jester? “I can’t dispute your reasoning, lady, but… I am no fool.”

  “Oh, you think it’s a natural thing to act this way?” The gnomelike man hopped up to me. “Unpracticed, not learned…? You think, carrot-top”-he stroked my face with his rough hands and batted his wide eyes-“that I was never as young and fair as you?”

  He sprang back, narrowing his gaze. “Just because you play the fool, boy, doesn’t mean you must be thick inside. The lady’s plan is well-conceived. If you have the knack to carry it out.”

  “Nothing motivates me more than the will to find my wife,” I insisted.

  “I didn’t say the will, boy. I said the knack. The lady says you have a way about yourself. That you fancy yourself a jongleur. Jongleurs … oh, they can soften the blood of blushing maidens and patrons drunk on ale. But the real trick is, can you walk into a room filled with scoundrels and schemers and make an ill-tempered king smile?”

  I looked at Emilie. She was right. I did need some way to gain access to Baldwin ’s castle. Sophie, if she was alive, wouldn’t be dressed up in the royal court, would she? I needed to snoop around, gain some trust…

  “Perhaps I can learn,” I replied.

  Chapter 35

  “LEARN…” Norbert shook his head and bellowed laughter. “Learning would take years. How would you learn in a short time to do this?”

  The gnome took a lit candle, waved his bare hand through the flame, not once crying out, then snapped his fingers, and the flame was snuffed as if by magic. “It’s what comes natural that I need to know. So tell me, whaddaya do?”

  “Do…?” I muttered.

  “Do,” the jester snapped. “What kind of student have you brought me, auntie? Has a rock hit his head? What do you do? Juggle, tumble, fall down?”

  I looked around. I spotted a staff leaning against a table, roughly the same size as mine. I winked at Norbert. “I can do this.” I placed one end of the staff on the palm of my hand, balancing it there, then lightly transferred it to a single finger. For a full minute, it stood straight on end.

  “Oh, that’s goood,” Norbert crooned. “But can you do this?” He snatched the staff from me. In a flash, he balanced it, just as I had, upon his index finger. Then, with almost no hesitation, he flung it in the air and caught it as before on the same finger. Then again, on only one finger.

  “Or this?” He smirked and began to twirl the staff so fast it looked as if six pairs of hands were twirling it. I could not even [110] follow its path. Then he brought it to a stop and handed it to me in the same motion. “Let me see you do that.”

  “I cannot,” I admitted.

  “Then this, perhaps…” He winked at me with a bulging eye. “The lady said you were sprightly.”

  In a motion that defied my eyes, this squat, curved man spun into a complete forward somersault, then backward again, landing precisely where he had started.

  “What about jokes, then? The lady said you could make me laugh. You must know some fabulous jokes.”

  “I know a few,” I said.

  Norbert folded his arms. “So, go ahead, boy. Bowl me over. Make me laugh until I piss myself.”

  Now I was eager to take the dare, eager to show the jester up. This I could surely do. I thought through my best inventory. “There’s the one about the peasant who is so lazy that as he watches a gold coin drop from the money bag of a knight riding by…”

  “Knowit,” Norbert interrupted. “He says to his friend, ‘If he comes back the same way, this just might be our lucky day.’ ”

  “Then there’s the one about the traveler and the whorehouse,” I began. “A traveler is walking down the road…”

  “Knowit,” the jester snapped again. “The sign says, ‘Congratulations, you’ve just been screwed.’ ”

  I went through two other tales that never failed to stir a laugh. “Knowit,” he said to both. He seemed to know them all. Emilie held back a laugh.

  “So that’s it? That’s your entire repertoire?” The jester shook his head. “Can you at least rhyme? A dour king cannot ignore, refusedly, a spicy tale about his wife if it is told amusedly.

  “This stuff is easy, right? Hump your back, hop around like an ape, everyone rolls over in stitches. C’mon, Red, you must have something decent. You want a pretext? Well, I want to be a mentor. I want to be a mentor.” He pranced around and whined like a spoiled child. “You know, maybe on second thought, you [111] would have an easier time storming Baldwin ’s castle than making them laugh.”

  In a fit of vexation, I searched the room. This was no sport to me. No stupid audition. This was about the fate of my wife. Then, in the corner of the jester’s cell, I spotted a ball and chain.

  “That.” I pointed.

  “What? Wanna play catch?” Norbert asked haughtily.

  “No, jester. Fetch me the chain.” I remembered something I had seen on the Crusade. A captured Saracen did a trick to amuse his captors; it worked so well they kept him alive.

  “Bind me with it,” I said. “Wrap it all the way around, tight as you can. I will extricate myself.”

  This brought a worried look from Emilie. The chain was heavy. Wound too t
ight, it could squeeze the air out of a man.

  “Your poison.” Norbert shrugged.

  He went over and dragged the heavy chain back to me. I took several deep breaths, as I had seen the Saracen do when he performed the trick. Then the jester began to wrap. Slowly, heavily, the chain squeezed me. I lifted my arms and he wrapped it around my shoulders. And for good luck, between my legs.

  “Your rubicund friend has a knack to kill himself.” Norbert chuckled.

  “Please be careful,” Emilie said.

  I pushed out my chest as expansively as I could as the jester circled it with the chain. I had to enlarge myself. I had to hold my breath. I had seen this done. I had questioned the Turk about it myself. I only hoped I could re-create the effect now.

  “Time’s a wasting,” Norbert said after the chain was secure. He stood back.

  The links felt heavy on my shoulders. Slowly, I released the captured air from my lungs. The slightest wiggle room developed around my chest. It was only a finger’s breadth or two.

  Then I was able to shift my shoulders back and forth. Then gradually my arms. Every grueling minute advanced like an [112] hour. The weight of the chains pressed me to the floor. My hands were pinned behind my back, but finally I pulled one free. I twisted it like a snake through an opening up around my shoulders.

  Emilie gasped. The jester looked on, finally interested in me.

  It took all of my strength to get an arm free. My stomach and leg still ached from the boar’s attack. Each exertion was grueling, but gradually, with the arm free, I was able to unwrap the chain. From between my legs, from under my arms, from around my chest. Layer after layer came off. Then I freed my other arm.

  As I kicked off the final loop, Emilie screeched a happy cry.

  I doubled over, drenched in sweat. I looked up at my mentor.

  Norbert drummed his fingers along the side of his face. He smiled at Emilie. “I think we can work with that.”