James Patterson - The Jester

A crowd of raggedy children followed me, dancing around with shouts and laughs. Yet my heart pounded with the worrisome task that lay ahead. Sophie was here … I could feel it. Somewhere in all this stone and decay, she clung on.

It took me nearly an hour to wind through the streets and finally make my way to the castle gates. A squad of uniformed soldiers in milk-pail helmets and Baldwin ’s purple-and-white colors stood manning the lowered drawbridge, checking people going in.

The line had backed up. Some passed through. Others, arguing their case, were rudely pushed away.

This was it, my new pretext… my first test. My stomach churned. Please , let me be up to this.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the gate.

And once again, I could feel Sophie.

“WHAT’S THIS, jester? You have business here?” a brusque-looking captain of the guard eyed me up and down.

“I have , Your Grace.” I bowed to the guard and smiled. “It is business I have come for and business I will do. Important business… Not as important as yours, Your Grace, but the stuff of lords, I mean laughs …”

“Shut your trap, fool.” The guard glowered. “Who awaits you inside?”

“The lord awaits me.” And my Sophie.

The guard scrunched his brow. “The lord ? Awaits you ?”

“The Lord awaits us all .” I grinned and winked.

Some people waiting in line began to chuckle.

“Lord Baldwin , then,” I went on. “It is he who awaits me. He just does not know it yet.”

“Lord Baldwin?” The guard screwed up one eye. “What do you take me for? A fool ?” He roared laughter.

I bowed humbly. “You’re right, sir, I am not needed if such a wit as you is already here. You must truly keep the barracks up all night in stitches.”

“We already have a fool, jester. His name is Palimpost. Not Your lucky day, eh? It seems we’re all fooled up.”

“Well, now we’re two-fooled, aren’t we?” I exclaimed. I had [128] to say something that would gain me support. Even this mold-worm must be able to be charmed or swayed.

I knelt down to a farmer’s boy. I poked at his chin, his nose, then snapped my fingers, and a small dried plum appeared in my hand. The child squealed with delight. “It is a sad day, boy, is it not, when a laugh is barred with a sword. Don’t tell me the great Lord Baldwin has something to fear from a laugh.”

There was a trickle of applause from the bystanders. “C’mon, sergeant,” a pretty, fat woman called. “Let the fool in. What harm can he cause?”

Even his fellow guards seemed to give in. “Let him through, Albert. The man’s right. Things could use some lightening up around here.”

“Yes, Albert,” I added. “I mean Your Grace. Things could use some lightening. Here, hold this.” I gave him my sack. “That’s much lighter. Thank you.” I folded my arms.

“Get your ass through,” the guard growled at me, “before it ends up on the point of my lance.” He thrust my sack back into my ribs.

I bowed a last time, winking thanks to the woman and the farmer as I hurried through.

A tremor of relief passed through me. I was in.

The drawbridge groaned under my feet; the walls of the castle loomed high above. Across the bridge, I entered a large courtyard. Busy people were scurrying to and fro.

I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know if Sophie was here, or even alive. A knot tightened in my chest.

I stepped up to the castle entrance. The sun was high. It was before noon. Court would still be in session.

I had work to do. I was a jester.

BALDWIN ’S COURT WAS HELD in the great hall, down the main corridor through tall stone arches.

I followed the official traffic: knights dressed in casual leggings and tunics; pages scurrying at their sides, holding their helmets and arms; courtiers in colorful robes and cloaks with plumed feathers on their hats; petitioners of the court, both noble and common. And everywhere I walked I searched for Sophie.

People caught my eye and smiled. I, in turn, responded with a wink or a juggle, or a quick sleight of hand. My role was working so far. A man in a patchwork skirt and tights, juggling a set of balls… who would believe such a man could be up to any harm?

The din of a large crowd ushered me toward the great hall. Two tall oak doors, engraved with panels depicting the four seasons, stood at each side of the entrance. Soldiers holding halberds stood at attention, blocking the way.

My blood was pounding. I was here . Baldwin sat on the other side. All I had to do was talk my way in.

A herald wearing the lion shield of Baldwin seemed to be keeping track of appointments. Some were told to sit and wait; others, brimming with self-importance, were allowed in.

[130] When it was my turn, I stepped up and announced boldly, “I am Hugh from Borée, cousin to Palimpost the Droll. I was told I could find him here,”

At the herald’s quizzical gaze, I whispered to him, “ Family enterprise.”

“I pray, from the funny side of the family.” The herald sniffed. He gave me a quick once-over. “You’ll no doubt find him snoozing with the dogs. Just keep out of the way while business is in session.”

To my shock, he waved me in.

Through the wide doorway, I stepped into the great hall. The room was enormous-at least three stories tall, rectangular and long. It was filled with a throng of people, standing in line for the duke’s attention or sitting idly around long tables.

A voice rang out above the din. From behind a huddle of merchants and moneylenders arguing about ledgers, I pushed to a vantage point where I could see.

It was Baldwin!

He was sitting, more like slouching, on a large, high-backed oak chair elevated above the floor. A totally uninterested look was on his face, as if these boring proceedings were all that held him from a preferred day of hunting and hawking.

Beneath him, a petitioning commoner knelt on one knee.

Baldwin …! The sight of him sent a chill racing down my spine. For weeks, I had thought of little more than driving my knife through the base of his neck. His jet-black hair fell to his shoulders, and his chin was sharp, with a short black beard. He was wrapped in a purple-and-white robe over a loose-fitting blouse and tights.

I spotted my new rival, Palimpost, in similar garb to mine, reclining on a step to Baldwin ’s side, throwing dice.

Some formal matter was under discussion. A yellow-clad bailiff, pointing toward the kneeling serf, said, “The petitioner seeks to deny the right of patrimony, lord.”

“The right of patrimony?” Baldwin turned to an adviser. “Is [131] the right of the firstborn not the foundation of all property law?”

“It is, my lord,” the adviser agreed.

‘‘For nobles, for men of property, yes,” the petitioner said, “but we are humble farmers. This flock of sheep is all we have. My older brother is a drunkard. He hasn’t done a day’s work at the farm in years. My wife and I… this farm is everything to us. It is how we pay our fief to you.”

“You, farmer.” Baldwin peered at him. “You are a working man at all costs? You do not drink yourself?”

“On holidays, perhaps…” The farmer hesitated, not knowing how to answer. “At feasts… when we celebrated our vows.”

“So it seems I am forced to decide how to divide these sheep between two drunkards.” Baldwin grinned. A wave of laughter echoed through the cavernous room.

“But my lord …” The farmer rose.