The Jester

by James Patterson

  Anne gave a nod of approval. “Useful enough.” She applauded. “So much so, bailiff, that I am forced to side with [193] the fool here. If not by right, then surely by wit. Please forgive me. I am sure next time the scale will tilt to you.”

  The bailiff shot me an angry glance, then backed off and bowed. “I accept, my lady.”

  I pushed off and landed on my feet.

  “So, boar-slayer.” Anne turned back to me. “Your friends are right. Norbert has taught you well. You are welcome here.”

  “Thank you, madame. I won’t disappoint.”

  I felt expanded. I had performed in front of my hardest audience so far and succeeded. For the first time in a long while, I felt out of harm’s way. I shot a wink at Emilie. My body tingled with pride as she smiled back.

  “… At least until my husband returns,” Anne added sharply. “And I must warn you, his views of custom are quite different from my own. He is known to be much less charmed by a fool’s knowledge of Latin than I.”

  Chapter 63

  THE FOLLOWING DAYS, I worked freely at the court, entertaining Lady Anne, reciting tales and chansons from my goliard days, providing mock counsel when she called on me and needed a laugh.

  My trouble at Treille grew distant in my mind. I even found myself craving my new role and the power that came with it. The power of the lady’s ear.

  A few times, I was able to poke fun at a situation and gently twist her into a certain mind, always in favor of the aggrieved party. I felt she listened to me, sought my views, however couched in jest they were, amid the clutter of her advisers. I felt I was doing some good.

  And Emilie seemed pleased. I caught her approving eye amid the other ladies-in-waiting, though I did not see her alone after that first day.

  One day, at the end of court, Anne summoned me. “Do you ride, jester?”

  “I do,” I answered.

  “Then I will set a mount. I want your presence on an outing. Be ready at dawn.”

  An outing … with the duchess …

  This was an unusual honor, even Norbert said. All night I tossed on my straw mat. What would she want with me? Amid [195] his fits of phlegm and coughing, Norbert chided me, “Don’t get too cozy in my hat. I will shortly be back.”

  The following dawn, I was ready at the stables, expecting a coterie of fancily dressed courtiers.

  But it was clear from the start that this was not some idle jaunt in the country. Anne was dressed in a riding cloak, accompanied by two other knights I recognized, her political adviser, Bernard Devas, and the captain of her guard, a blond-haired knight named Gilles. With her also was the Moor who had propped me up with a harness when they found me in the woods, and who never seemed to leave her side. The party was guarded by a detachment of a dozen additional soldiers.

  I had no idea where we were headed.

  The gates opened and we rode out from Borée at first light. A sliver of orange sky peeked over the hills to the east. Immediately we took the road south.

  I rode behind the formation of nobles, just ahead of the rear guard. Anne was a steady rider, trotting capably atop her white palfrey. Occasionally she exchanged a few terse words with her advisers, but mostly we rode in silence, at a quick pace. We did not rest until we hit a stream, an hour south.

  I was a little nervous. We were heading straight for Treille- Baldwin ’s territory. I was not guarded or watched, but a flicker of concern tremored through me:

  Why had Anne asked me on this journey? What if I was being returned to Treille?

  At a fork in the road, the party cut southwest. We were on roads I had never been on before, occasionally passing hilltops clustered with tiny villages. By midday we had entered a vast forest, with trees so dense and tall they almost blocked out the sun. Gilles led the expedition. At one point he announced, “Our domain ends here, my lady. We are now in the duchy of Treille.”

  Yet still we rode on. My blood quickened. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I had an urge to run. But where? I would not get fifty yards if they wanted me caught.

  [196] Anne trotted up ahead. I had to trust this woman. I dared not show my fear. Yet every time I had placed my trust in a noble, I had ended up far the worse. Could they be betraying me now?

  Finally, I kicked my steed and caught up to Anne. I rode alongside her for a while, nervous, until she could see the question on my face.

  “You want to know why I asked you along?”

  Yes, I nodded.

  She did not answer me but trotted on.

  To the sides, I could now make out farms and dwellings. There was a sign scratched onto a tree: St. Cécile.

  Our party slowed to a walk.

  Finally, Anne motioned for me.

  I rode up, fearing that any minute, Baldwin ’s soldiers might come out of the woods to murder me.

  “Here is your answer, fool,” she said with a taut face. “If we encounter what I am told we will in this village, I think on the way back we will all be in great need of mirth.”

  Chapter 64

  I RELAXED, but only for an instant. The first thing that hit me was the smell. The stench of putrefaction… the rot of death.

  Then ahead, wisps of white smoke rose above the trees. The leaves themselves were singed with the stomach-turning char of roasted flesh.

  My mind brought me back instantly… Civetot.

  Anne rode ahead, seemingly unfazed by the repugnant stench. I felt no danger to myself now, only that this was something awful we were nearing.

  The road widened. A clearing. Then a stone bridge. We were at the outskirts of a town. But there was no town. Only what had once been huts and other dwellings, their thatched roofs caved in from fire, the smoke from cinders still rising in the air.

  And people sitting around numbly, blank expressions on their sooty faces, as if mimicking the still silence of the dead.

  We rode into the village. Every single dwelling seemed to have been burned to the ground. Most had tall stakes driven into the ground in front of them. On them, spitted, were charred mounds, unrecognizable. The strange mix of smells turned my stomach-burned hair, flesh, blood. The stakes looked like pagan warnings, gutted animals to ward off demons from the homes that were no more.

  [198] “What are they?” Anne inquired as she trotted by.

  Gilles, the captain of the guard, sucked in a breath. “They are children, my lady.”

  The color drained from her face and Anne pulled her mount to a stop. She leaned over and stared at the mounds, and for a moment I thought she would teeter. But then Anne righted herself. Her face became composed again. She called out firmly to the townspeople, “What has happened here?”

  No one answered. The people just stared. I actually feared someone might have taken out all of their tongues.

  The captain called, “Lady Anne of Borée speaks to you. What has happened here?”

  At that, the fiercest howl rang out from behind. All heads turned to see a large man clothed in a tattered hide, hurtling toward us with an ax.

  When he was no more than a few feet away, a soldier took out his legs with a lance and the assailant crashed to the earth. Two other soldiers pounced on him immediately, one putting a sword to the neck of the fallen man and looking up at Anne for the word.

  A woman screamed and ran to him, but was held back. The man did not turn to her, just glared at Anne with grief-filled eyes.

  “He has lost his son,” a voice called out, “his home…” It came from a gaunt, white-haired man in blackened and tattered clothes.

  The soldier was about to kill the large man, but Anne shook her head. “Let him be.”

  The man was yanked to his feet. Anne’s guards pushed him forcefully to his grateful wife, where he stayed, breathing heavily, without thanks.

  “What has happened here? Tell me,” Anne said to the white-haired man.

  “They came in the night. Faceless cowards with black crosses. They hid under their masks. They said it was to purify the town for God. Tha
t we had stolen from Him.”

  [199] “Stolen? Stolen what?” Anne asked.

  “Something sacred, a treasure. Something that they could not find. They tore every child from its mother. Put them on spits in front of our eyes. Set them aflame… Their cries still ring in our ears.”

  I looked around. This was the work of Baldwin, I knew it. The same savage cruelty that had taken my wife, tossed my son into the flames. Yet this carnage seemed even greater than Baldwin could be responsible for. Norcross was dead, but this hell continued.

  “And what did they find, these killers?” Anne asked.

  The man replied, ashen faced. “I do not know. They torched us and left. I am the mayor of this town. The mayor of nothing, now. Maybe you should ask Arnaud. Yes, ask Arnaud.”

  Anne dismounted. She walked directly up to the mayor and looked in his eyes. “Who is this Arnaud?”

  The mayor snorted a disdainful blast of air. Without replying, he began to walk. Anne set off behind, accompanied by her guards, who ran ahead of her to clear the way.

  We wound through the devastated town. The stables, leveled, smoking, reeking of mutilated horses; a mill, more ash than stone. A wooden church, slashed with blood, the only structure left standing.

  At a low stone hut the mayor stopped. The entrance was smeared with blood-not randomly, but in large red crosses. A butcher-house smell came from inside.

  Holding our breath, we stepped in. Anne gasped.

  The place was ravaged. What scant furniture there was had been split like firewood, the ground beneath it ripped up. Two bodies hung by the arms, a man and a woman, their torsos flayed of flesh. Beneath their dangling legs lay their severed heads.

  My body recoiled in horror. I could not breathe. I had seen these horrible things before. Heads severed and roasted, bodies stripped of skin. I had seen them, but I didn’t want to remember. [200] My mind hurtled backward regardless: Nico, Robert … the bloodbath of Antioch. I turned away.

  “Go ahead, ask Arnaud.” The mayor smirked. “Maybe he will answer your questions, duchess.”

  We stood in horror.

  “Arnaud was born here and always called it his home. He was the bravest man any of us knew, a knight at the court of Toulouse. Yet they carved him up like a pig. They cut out his wife’s womb, looking for some treasure. ‘Stolen from God,’ they said. He had just returned from fighting abroad.”

  “From fighting where?” Gilles, the captain, asked.

  I knew. I had seen such horror before. I knew, but I could not answer.

  “The Crusade,” the mayor spat.

  Chapter 65

  I WALKED FROM THE HUT and tried to clear the repulsive sights from my mind. I had seen it all before. Men and women hung and flayed, body parts scattered as if the murders meant nothing at all.

  Civetot. Antioch. The Crusade …

  These riders in the dead of night who wore no colors and would not show their faces. The towns burned, savagery. Were these acts Baldwin ’s? Norcross was dead. Could his men still be running free, terrorizing villages? What precious treasure did they seek?

  Put it together, I told myself. What does the puzzle signify? Why can’t I solve it?

  The Crusade… Suddenly it resonated everywhere. Arnaud had just returned from there. Adhémar too, whose horrible death I had heard of at Baldwin ’s court. Their villages were ransacked and destroyed-just like my inn.

  Dread shot down my spine. These faceless riders who killed with the savagery of Turks… Were they the same ones who murdered my wife and child?

  Cold, clammy sweat clung to my back. It all began to fit.

  The killers wore no crest or markings, only a black cross.

  No one knew where they came from or what they sought. [202] Then I remembered something. Matthew had said it was as if it were my home, our inn only, that the bastards were interested in.

  What did they want with me?

  During the long ride back, I kept to myself. I racked my brain. What did I have that could connect me with these killings? I had tucked a few worthless baubles into my pouch. The old scabbard with the writing I’d found in the mountains? The cross I had pilfered from the church in Antioch? It didn’t make sense!

  I watched Anne riding just ahead. Her face was tight and somber, as if she wrestled with some inner turmoil. Something wasn’t right.

  Why had we come out here? What had she needed to see?

  Then a chill ran through me. Anne’s husband, the duke, was returning any day. From the Crusade…

  Anne knew.

  Anne knew these atrocities were going on.

  My stomach went cold. All along, I was sure it was Norcross who had done these things to me, as punishment for going on the Crusade. Was it possible it was Anne? Could it be that the answers I sought were not at Treille, but at Borée?

  I should not stay there any longer, I thought. There was a danger that I could not place.

  “Fool, ride up here,” Anne called. “Lift my spirits. Tell me a joke or two.”

  “I cannot,” I replied. I pretended that the horrible sight had made me too sick. It wasn’t far from the truth.

  “I understand.” Anne nodded.

  No, you do not, I said to myself.

  We rode the rest of the way back in silence.

  Chapter 66

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I kept my eye on Anne, trying to determine what connection she might have to the murdered knights. And the killing of Sophie and Phillipe.

  Her husband was returning in a matter of days, and all of Borée was in a state of anxiousness and preparation. Flags were hung from the ramparts; merchants put out their best wares; the chatelain led his troops in their welcoming formations. Whom could I trust?

  I waited for Emilie on Sunday morning as she emerged from the chapel with the other ladies-in-waiting. I caught her eye and lingered until the others were gone.

  “My lady.” I took her aside. “I have no right to ask. I shouldn’t ask. But I need your help.”

  “Here.” She motioned, leading me to a prayer bench in a side chapel. She sat next to me and lowered the hood of her shawl. “What’s wrong, Hugh?”

  This was very hard. I sought the right words to begin. “Be certain, I would never speak to you of this unless it was of the highest need. I know you serve your mistress with all your heart.”

  She wrinkled her face. “Please do not hesitate with me. Haven’t I proven my trust for you enough?”

  “You have. Many times,” I said.

  [204] I took a breath and recounted the horror of my trip to St. Cécile. I told it in detail: the charred mounds, the eviscerated knight, the most graphic images sticking in my throat like memories that did not want to come out.

  I told her of Adhémar, whose similar fate I had heard of at Baldwin ’s court. Both knights were slaughtered, their villages razed. Both had recently returned from the Crusade. Just as I had.

  “Why do you tell this to me?” she finally asked.

  “You have not heard of such deeds? At court? Around the castle?”

  “No. They are vile. Why should I?”

  “Knights who disappear and return? Or talk of sacred relics from the Holy Land? Things more valuable than a simple fool like me would know.”

  “You are my only relic from the Holy Land.” She smiled, trying to shift the mood.

  I could see her trying to put the puzzle together. Why these horrible murders? Why now?

  She took a wary breath. “I did not know of any such violence. Only that word has spread that Stephen has sent an advance guard to conduct his affairs before he returns.”

  My blood lit. “This guard-they are here? At the castle?”

  “I overheard the chatelain speaking of them with some contempt. He has served the duke loyally for years, yet these men are charged with some horrid mission. He feels they are ill-trained for knights.”

  “Ill-trained?”

  “‘Beyond honor,’ he said. Owing no allegiance. He says it is fitting that the
y sleep with the pigs, since they have the hearts of them. Why do you ask me this, Hugh?” Emilie looked into my eyes. I could see fear and I felt awful for causing it.

  “These men are hunting for something, Emilie. I do not know what. But your mistress… she is not innocent in this [205] herself. These might be Stephen’s men, but Anne knows what they do.”

  “I cannot believe that.” Emilie shot upright. “You say this is a matter more important than any in the world to you. I hear it in your voice. These things you describe… they are most vile, and if they are Stephen’s work or Anne’s, they will have to answer to God for what has been done. But why is this so urgent for you? Why do you put yourself at risk?”

  “It is not for Anne or Stephen,” I said, swallowing. “It is for my wife and child. I am sure, Emilie, their killers are these same men.”

  I leaned back, trying to let the pieces fit together in my mind. This guard, doing the duke’s bidding. They had come from the Crusade. As had Adhémar. And Arnaud. And I.

  “I must confront her,” Emilie said. “If Anne is behind such acts, I cannot serve here any longer.”

  “You must not say a word! These men are vicious. They kill without a thought to God’s judgment.”

  “It is too late.” Emilie stared at me glassily. Her look was not anxious but perplexed. “The truth is, when you were away, Hugh, I may have seen something too.”

  Chapter 67

  ANNE FLINCHED in the maze of hedges under the balcony as she heard footsteps creeping up on her. A stealthy presence, most foul, like a shift in the wind. She turned and he was there.

  His frame was large, his face ruined with scars from battle. But it was not these things that made her shiver. It was his eyes. Their remoteness-rigid, dark pools. His face was buried deep in his dark hood. On the hood, a small black cross.

  “Not in church, knight?” She scowled, her words stabbing with irony.