James Patterson - The Jester

“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.”

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.

“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.