The Jester

by James Patterson

  Emilie craned her neck to see over the lip of the narrow ledge.

  Below, on the inner walls of Borée, soldiers in pail helmets and green-and-gold tunics were bustling along the ramparts.

  Emilie pushed herself even higher.

  What was beyond was a sight that stole away her breath.

  A vast gathering of men, beyond the walls, as far as the eye could see.

  In peasant clothes, with weapons and oxen and mangonels.

  She felt her heart glow.

  An army of them. Stephen’s edict be damned! She began to laugh. She could not help herself. It was as if everyone who had ever marched alongside Hugh were here. Every peasant in the forest!

  Then something else caught her eye.

  She raised herself on her toes as high as she could.

  Yes, standing apart from the troops, a head of fiery red hair. Could it be?

  Her heart almost exploded. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she knew he was too far away and could not [387] possibly hear her. She waved and shouted and whooped anyway. She heard herself giggling uncontrollably.

  Standing there-in the very tunic she had sewn for him herself, facing Borée as if he knew precisely where she was-she saw Hugh.

  Chapter 133

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, we pushed our siege engines forward under the watchful eyes of Stephen’s men. Mangonels, their baskets stretched, followed by wheeled carts filled with giant stones, massive rams hewn from tree trunks and ladders stacked in piles.

  We began the construction of wooden towers as tall as the outer walls, as well as smaller platforms called “cats” covered in moist, bloody hides to protect our charging ranks from the rain of burning pitch.

  I was in Daniel’s tent, running through the siege plans, when a shouting was heard outside. I rushed out and saw that everyone was running for their weapons and pointing toward the city gates. The drawbridge was lowering. This was it!

  At any moment, I was certain, a formation of green-and-gold-clad knights would come swarming out.

  As the portcullis opened, two priests clad in sacramental robes slowly rode out under the banner of the Church.

  After a pause, Bertrand Morais, Stephen’s chatelain, followed. And behind him, as if his presence alone would cause the field to kneel, a noble in full battle gear on a white charger.

  Stephen himself.

  Chapter 134

  “HE WISHES TO TALK,” Daniel said. “He hides behind the priests as a flag of truce.”

  “He wishes to trap you, more like it,” Odo said. “You’d be a fool.”

  I couldn’t wait to put my vengeful eyes on the bastard. “Don’t forget.” I put on my cap. “I am a fool.”

  I rushed to the front, found my horse, and called for Father Leo. “Come, here’s your chance to be an equal to the highest priests in Borée.” We fetched him a horse. “And Daniel?” I slapped him. “Want a chance to see a duke piss in his pants?”

  We mounted our horses and rode halfway out into the rutted no-man’s-land separating our camp from Borée.

  Stephen waited for us to reach a spot. Then, gauging his distance from our archers, he trotted his own entourage to meet me. My blood was racing just to see this reptile. His look sent chills through me. He wore no helmet; his jet-black hair hung long and greasy. His elaborate chain mail had his dragon crest displayed on the chest. His hands were covered in studded gauntlets, and a heavy sword, befitting a Crusader, was strapped to his side.

  As he reached us, he did not stay his horse. He circled us, his glance darting from my face to the lance.

  Then Stephen drew his mount to a halt. He smiled quite [390] amiably. “So, you are the deserting coward who rouses men against their lords in the name of heresy.”

  “And you are the prick,” I said, unheeding, “who killed my wife and child. With all respect.” I bowed to the priests.

  “What a shame, then,” Stephen said, “if a similar fate befell another whom you prize.”

  Fury tightened in my chest. “If any harm comes to her, it will take more than a delegation of priests to save you. Lady Emilie returned here of her own will, out of loyalty and concern for her mistress. She has no conflict with you.”

  “And do you? Jester, rebel, heretic… How is it I should address you?”

  “Hugh,” I said, fixing on his cold, superior eyes. “I am Hugh De Luc. My wife was Sophie. My son, who never saw his second year, was Phillipe.”

  “I’m sure all of us are delighted to hear your family tree, but what is it you want here, Hugh?”

  “What do I want?” Part of me wanted to pull him off his mount right there and end this thing, just he and I. I directed my horse one step closer to him. “I want your admission of the wrongs you have done. I want restitution paid for each man, woman, and child killed in pursuit of this.” I put forward the lance. “I want the lady Emilie sent to me at once.”

  The duke looked to his underlings, as if he were restraining a laugh. “I heard he was entertaining. And now I think no less myself. You want a lord to be a mule-keep. You parade behind a purported relic of the Church and yet you put the souls of a thousand followers at risk.”

  “These men are here of their own mind,” I said. “I doubt they would go home even upon my demand.”

  “Does the welfare of their immortal souls not matter to them?” one of the priests inquired.

  “I don’t know. Let’s see.” I turned back toward my ranks. “Go home. Lay down your arms. All of you. Fight’s over. I have his word that the duke promises to spare your souls.”

  [391] My words echoed across the field, but not a single person moved. I turned back to the priest. Shrugged.

  “And what if I said the lady Emilie was here of her own mind too,” Stephen snapped. “That it is her choice to stay, even upon my demand.”

  “Then I would call you a liar, Stephen. Or a hopeless fool.”

  “Again, jester,” he said, yanking his horse, “you waste precious time on jokes. Your new chatelain will tell you, you are on the verge of a bloody bath.”

  “We are ready, my lord. This battle has your handprint on it, if it occurs, not mine.”

  Stephen curled a smile. “Just know that I will not be as lenient with you as was that codswipe Baldwin. You have seen the fate of certain villages and people who I thought had something I wanted. Expect no less, jester. I will see your heart burned out of your traitorous body. You will be hung upside down as heretics, all of you… your insides left to soil your faces as they run to the ground. Even God will avert His eyes!”

  “Then what do you say, Daniel?” I glanced at Gui with a smile. “We must make sure we fight this fight on a full stomach, so as not to disappoint.”

  Stephen sniffed back a laugh. Then he ran his eyes over the lance. “You know, should I return with that, all I described could be avoided. You could have the little slut and ride off to the far corner of the earth for all I care. As for your men, I will see that we restore their souls.”

  “Most tempting,” I replied, pretending to ponder his offer for a moment. “Problem is, my men have not assembled here for Lady Emilie, but for the single purpose of seeing the offenses of your rule brought to justice. They’re here to demand recompense for your crimes. To see you bow down, lord, nothing less. Then I will give you the lance. That is my offer. In the meantime, with all respect to the bishop, we’ll take our chances on our souls.”

  “I could simply take it, you know. My archers could cut you in half with just a nod.”

  [392] “And mine too, my lord. Then God would have to decide.”

  A tiny twitch tremored on Stephen’s nose. “You think I would trade the dignity of my name even for a vault of such lances?”

  “It should not be so hard,” I said, holding it close to his face, “since you have traded most of it already just to be this close.”

  Stephen reared his horse and smiled. “I can see why the court grew fond of you. Get prepared, jester. I will reply. Within
an hour.” He yanked his horse around and started to head back toward the gate.

  Chapter 135

  OUR ARMY WAITED just two hundred yards from the towering walls of Borée in a broad and teeming line.

  Archers tensed their bows, fire arrows tipped in oil. Foot soldiers, some holding ladders like crosses, focused on the walls, on the line of silent green-and-gold defenders.

  A thousand men, cradling their weapons, muttering last prayers, awaited my sign.

  “What are you thinking now?” Odo asked.

  I took a breath. “That Emilie is in there… And you?”

  “That those are the biggest fucking walls I’ve ever seen.” The smith shrugged.

  I fixed on the impressive main gate, waiting for Stephen’s reply. Odo to my left, Georges, Daniel, and Alphonse flanked to my right. The tension beat around like a drum of war.

  Stephen’s defenders crowded the walls, crossbows tilted down at us. There were no taunts or curses rattling back and forth, only a heavy silence hanging like a fog between the two armies. In the distance, the chirp of birds could be heard. Any moment, the tense calm would be shattered like a club smashing through glass.

  Odo leaned close, clutching his enormous pike. “One of the Languedocians told me a good one. You have the time to hear?”

  I kept my eyes fixed on the gate. “If I must.”

  [394] “What’s hairy underneath, stands tall and erect in a bed, has reddish skin, and is guaranteed to make even a nun cry out in tears?”

  I looked down the line. Everyone was ready. “I don’t know.”

  The big smith shook his head. “Don’t know? What kind of a shit jester are you? It’s a wonder I keep putting my life in your hands.”

  “If you put it that way…” I cocked my head his way. “It’s an onion.”

  Odo groaned. “Oh, you know that one.” A trail of snickering filtered down the line. Then he elbowed me and grinned. “That’s my boy.”

  All at once, from behind the walls, the ping of a catapult releasing pierced the air and a black projectile shot high into the sky. Murmurs rippled through the ranks, men pointing as the object descended toward our front line.

  “Brace yourselves! Here it comes,” someone yelled.

  The projectile struck the ground and rolled to a stop only a few yards from where I stood. My stomach fell.

  The mound had features-hair, charred and singed; startled, round eyes bulging out of their sockets.

  I let out a sickened cry.

  The face seemed to be staring at me. It had a grin that was both impish and impudent. The eyes spat back in their moment of death, familiar, unmistakable.

  Norbert!

  His eyes looked at me as they had that first day, when Emilie brought me to his chamber. I almost expected him to wink: Had you fooled, didn’t I, boy? That is the best you can do …? Watch this!

  I rushed out of formation and knelt over the remains. My ears were filled with a deafening ringing. Countless images of things that had transpired since I first set out from home flashed before me.

  [395] The ringing finally subsided. I raised the holy lance and, perhaps for the first time, I believed in it. I looked at my men, who in their readiness reminded me of horses unwilling to be held back.

  “Your freedom lies within those walls. Now,” I shouted. “Now is the time!”

  Then the cry from my lungs was drowned by the stampede of a thousand men hurling themselves at the walls of Borée.

  Chapter 136

  THE FIRST SOUND of battle was a belching groan from one of the mangonels, as a massive rock was launched high into the sky and crashed with a thunderous blast into the wall above the main gate. Fragments of stone and sparks and dirt exploded everywhere. But when the dust cleared, the wall still held.

  Then another boulder whistled into the sky. Followed by a third, both striking high on the wall, shattering guard posts, sending bodies and battlements flying like debris. Then a volley of flaming arrows. Whoosh. Some struck against the walls, sticking in wooden battlements, where small fires ignited; others clattered harmlessly to the ground.

  Then the mangonels again, this time with a cargo of burning molten pitch. Defenders ducked; some screamed in pain, slapping at body parts. Others ran around with buckets, dousing flames. The smell of tar and sizzling flesh singed the air.

  I raised my arm. “Now, men. What is yours is within those walls. Charge!”

  Our men raced toward the walls in a mountainous wave of steel, spears, and ladders. Eighty yards. The closer we got, the larger the walls grew. Sixty yards…

  I could see the faces of the defenders-ready for our charge, holding fast, waiting for us to come within range.

  [397] Fifty yards…

  Then, all of a sudden, the cry of, “Tirez!” Fire!

  Arrows whooshed down from above. Our warriors stopped in their tracks, arrowheads ripping viciously through their chests and necks. Hands clutched the exposed tips.

  Our roar was replaced by a thudding terror, followed by groans and death cries. “Aagh… Aagh… Aagh…”

  I stumbled over a Languedocian writhing on the ground, an arrow protruding from his knee. To my left, a man in the skins of a shepherd spun around, his eyes rolled back, holding both ends of an arrow through his jaw. Men fell to their knees, howling in pain, praying, or both.

  “Don’t stop,” I heard Daniel shouting. “Get behind your shields. You must make the wall.”

  The sweeping advance, narrowed to a crawl, continued. I saw Odo and Daniel and Georges in the first charge. Twenty yards from the wall.

  Above us, soldiers stood and fired. Lances were flung in reply. Some defenders clutched at their chests with a yelp and fell over screaming, dropping from the walls.

  Dozens of ladders were thrown against the walls, the men climbing up. Defenders reached over to push them off.

  “Bring in the cats,” I shouted, as waves of boiling tar splattered down on us, followed by screams and the smell of sizzling flesh. Advancing ranks pressed into us from behind. Those in the front tried to climb the walls but were met with burning pitch and lances. They toppled back into the arms of the men behind them, spitting blood or swatting at their blistering skin.

  The tall cats were pushed up to the front. For a moment, they provided a refuge from the smoldering pitch, which sizzled on the moist, stretched skins. Under this protection, men with a ram backed up and battered the gate over and over. Crossbows were fired from directly above. A man next to me, not [398] wearing a helmet, had an arrow pierce the top of his scalp. From behind, the mangonels continued, and an enormous boulder crashed into a tower. A cloud of smoke shot up and when it cleared, the top of the tower was caved in and mangled body parts fell away from it like branches.

  Screaming and panic reigned everywhere. “Where is the mead table?” someone staggered by asking, completely befuddled. “God save me,” wailed another, holding in his hand his other arm. In the furor, I lost touch with anyone I knew.

  The once-shiny walls of Borée were soaked with mud, pitch, and blood. I had no idea if we were winning or in the midst of being routed.

  Many yards away, I spotted Odo leading a charge up a ladder. He wrestled in a tug-of-war with the lance of a defender, then Odo won, pulling his opponent over the edge.

  Then another defender reared up and ran the point of his lance into the smith’s leg. I screamed. Odo arched back in pain. He wrenched the lance out of the defender’s grasp and frantically tried to pull the blade out of his leg.

  “Odo!” I yelled, but the roar of battle made every shout indistinguishable from the others.

  I watched him take two Borée soldiers by the tunics, then fall back against the wall, swarmed over by a wave of men. I tried vainly to fight my way along the wall to get to him, but the line would not yield.

  Arrows rained down from above with terrifying force. Men were huddling under shields, starting to cry, realizing they were trapped. Where was Odo?

  Those of our men who ma
de it up the ladders were hurled backward or run through as they tried to fight their way forward. I realized we were losing. I could see the will in the men begin to bend.

  Then a voice cried, “Look out!” A huge wave of rocks crashed down on us from above. One of the cats collapsed under the weight, pinning the men with the ram.

  [399] “The towers themselves are coming down,” someone yelled. “Get back or be crushed.”

  But it was not the towers. Stephen’s soldiers were toppling bins of heavy stone over the edge.

  The men began to push their own comrades back. I could not stop it. My eyes were singed by pitch; I was coughing amid clouds of dust.

  I tried to spot Odo, but he had disappeared.

  “Go back, go back!” I heard panic rippling down our line.

  “Stay!” I yelled at the top of my voice, and so did Daniel. “Don’t quit the fight now! Don’t give up ground!”

  But I realized we had lost. The rear of our line finally broke, men heading away from the walls at a dead run. Then the first ranks, suddenly exposed, fell back. A shout of joy came from the defenders.

  Nausea rose in my gut as the men peeled away, running for their lives. They were farmers and cobblers and woodsmen, not trained soldiers.

  I trailed the field and scanned for Odo, arrows whizzing by my head. But the smith was nowhere to be found. The ground was piled with bodies. I could not believe our losses. I staggered back, finally out of arrow range. A horrible moaning came from the field, wounded who would soon die. Grown men wept and muttered desperate prayers.

  I saw Georges limping on the shoulder of Daniel, both men as white as ghosts.

  “Have you seen Odo?” I asked them. They shook their heads and stumbled on.

  I turned back toward the castle. Men on the walls were cheering. They were shooting arrows at anything that moved. My best friend was still out there. What was once a blossoming field was now a swamp of blood.