James Patterson - The Jester

“In Edessa, you looted the tomb of a Christian shrine. In the reliquary, there were crosses and vestments and coins. There [121] was also a gold box. In it were ashes. That is all we came for. Just a box filled with ash…”

Black Cross grabbed a war ax from one of his cohorts and raised it over the knight’s head. The knight closed his eyes. As the knight’s wife shrieked, Black Cross swung the ax in a mighty arc, narrowly missing the knight, smashing the stone floor beneath the altar. The rock crumbled under the mighty blow.

Beneath the masonry, a hidden space came into view. Inside was a gold ark wrapped in cloth. One of Black Cross’s men knelt and lifted it. He smashed the valuable chest as if it were a trinket.

He lifted out a simple wooden box. He opened the lid and gazed awestruck at the dark sand inside.

“It is blasphemy that you should hold such a thing in His name.” The old knight glared.

Black Cross’s eyes lit up with rage. “Then we shall let Him decide.”

Black Cross scanned the broken chapel, his gaze coming to rest on the crucifix hanging on the wall. “Such a spirited faith, brave knight. We must make sure such faith is recognized for all to see.”

MY JOURNEY TO TREILLE took six days. The first two, the road was busy with travelers-peddlers dragging their carts, workers with tools and other belongings, pilgrims heading back home.

By the third day, the villages grew smaller, and so did the traffic.

By the fourth, at dusk, I huddled under a tree for a stingy meal of bread and cheese. I could not rest long. Treille was but a good day’s walk away now, and the anticipation of reaching there and finding Sophie beat through my blood like a restless drum.

I decided to travel a bit farther, until darkness completely set in.

I heard voices up ahead. Then shouts, and a woman’s cries. I came upon a merchant family-husband, wife, and son-in the midst of being attacked by two robbers.

One of the scavengers grabbed a prize, a ceramic bowl. “Look what I have, Shorty. A piss bowl.”

“Please,” the merchant begged, “we have no money. Take the wares if you must.”

The one called Shorty sneered. “Let’s have a trade. You can have your piss bowl back for a stab at your wife.”

[123] The blood pounded in my veins. I did not know these people. And I had my own pressing needs in Treille. But I couldn’t stand by and watch them be robbed and possibly murdered.

I put down my pack and crept closer behind some brush. Finally, I stepped out from my cover.

Shorty’s eyes fell upon me. He was stumpy and barrel-chested, balding on top, but very muscular. I knew I made a ridiculous sight in my leggings and skirt.

“Let them be,” I said. “Leave them and go.”

“What do we have here?” The fierce outlaw grinned toothlessly. “A pretty fairy come out of the woods.”

“You heard the man.” I came closer with my staff. “Take what you have. You can sell it in the next town. That’s what I would do.”

Shorty stood up, hardly about to buckle under a threat delivered by someone in a jester’s suit. “ ‘ What I would do ,’ eh, big shot? What I would do is run off now. Your bad jokes aren’t needed here.”

“Let me try another,” I said, stepping forward. “How about this one? Name the sexual position that produces the ugliest children.”

Shorty and his partner shared looks, as if they could not believe what was going on.

“Don’t know, Shorty?” I gripped my staff. “Well, why don’t we just ask your mother.”

The tall one grunted a slight laugh, but Shorty silenced him with a look. He lifted his club above his shoulders. I watched his eyes grow narrow and mean. “You really are a fool, aren’t you?”

Before all the words had left his lips, I swung my staff. It cracked him firmly in the mouth and sent him reeling. He grabbed his jaw, then raised his weapon again. Before he could swing it, I sprang forward and whacked my stick across his shin, doubling him over in pain. I rapped his shin again and he screamed.

[124] The other came at me, but as he did, the merchant rushed forward and thrust his torch into the outlaw’s face. His entire head was engulfed in flames. The man howled and smacked at his head to smother the flames. Then his clothing caught fire and he fled into the woods, screaming, followed by Shorty.

The merchant and his wife came up to me. “We owe you thanks. I am Geoffrey.” The merchant extended his hand. “I have a ceramics stall in Treille. This is my wife, Isabel. My son, Thomas.”

“I’m Hugh.” I took his hand. “A jester. Could you tell?”

“Tell us, Hugh,” his wife inquired, “where do you head?”

“I head to Treille as well.”

“Then we can go the rest of the way together,” Geoffrey offered. “We don’t have much food left, but what there is, you’re welcome to share.”

“Why not?” I agreed. “But I think we’d better put some space between us and the night crawlers. My pack’s just over here.”

Geoffrey’s son asked, “Are you going to Treille to be a jester at our court?”

I smiled at the boy. “I hope to, Thomas. I’ve heard the one there now has grown a bit dull.”

“Maybe he has.” Geoffrey shrugged. “But you’ll have a difficult job in front of you. How long has it been since you have been to our town?”

“Three years,” I answered.

He lifted the handles of his cart. “These days, I’m afraid you will find Treille a hard place to get a laugh.”

WE HAD BARELY CLEARED the forest two mornings later when Geoffrey pointed ahead. “There it is.”

The town of Treille, glistening through the sun, perched atop a high hilltop. Was Sophie truly here? There was a cluster of ochre-colored buildings knotted on the rise, then, at its peak, the large gray castle, two towers thrust into the sky.

I had been to Treille twice before. Once to settle a claim against a knight who would not pay his bill, and the other with Sophie to go to market.

Geoffrey was right. As we approached the outlying village, I could tell that Treille had changed.

“Look how the farmers’ fields lie fallow,” he said, pointing, “while over there, the lord’s demesne is neatly planted.”

Indeed, I could see how the smaller plots of land sat unworked, while the duchy’s fields, bordered by solid stone fences, flourished.

Closer to town, other serious signs of decline were everywhere. A wooden bridge over a stream had so many holes in the boards we could barely pass. Fences were broken and run-down.

I was dumbstruck. I remembered Treille as thriving and prosperous. The largest market in the duchy. A place of celebration on Midsummer’s Eve.

We climbed the steep, windy hill that rose toward the castle. [126] The streets stank from waste, the runoff from the castle lining the edges of the road.

The pigs were out. Each morning people got rid of their garbage by tossing it out on the streets. Then pigs were let loose to feed on the waste. Their morning meal was enough to turn my stomach.

At a crowded corner, Geoffrey announced, “Our stall is down the street. You are welcome to stay with us, Hugh, if you have no other place.”

I declined. I had to get started on my quest- which lay inside the castle.

The merchant embraced me. “You’ll always have a friend here. And by the way, my wife’s cousin works in the castle. I will tell her what you did for us. She’ll be sure to save you the best scraps of meat.”

“Thanks.” I winked at Thomas and hopped around a bit until I got a laugh. “Come visit me, if I get the job.”

I waved as I left them behind, then walked through town, making my way up the hill. People stared, and I grinned and juggled my way into my new role. A new jester was like the arrival of a troupe of players, festive and gay.