James Patterson - The Jester

“We all feel that way, Hugh,” the tailor said. “We’ve all rebuilt. But what can we do to stop it?”

“We can defend ourselves,” I shouted.

“Defend?” The word was whispered through the crowd.

“Yes, defend . Draw the line. Fight them. Show them they can never take away our lives again.”

“Fight? Our liege?” People looked stunned. “But we are all pledged to him, Hugh.”

“I told you before… Break the pledge .”

The gravity of these words silenced the buzzing crowd. “Break it,” I said again.

“If we did, that would be treason ,” the tailor objected.

I turned to the miller. “Any more treason , Georges, than the murder of your son? Or you, Marte-your husband lies not far from my son. Was it any less treason when he was struck down defending your home? Or my own boy, who did not even know the word when he was tossed into the flames.”

“ Baldwin ’s a ruddy prick,” the miller replied. “But these obligations you want to throw down, they are the law. Baldwin would come at us with everything he has. He would crush us like moths.”

“It can be done, Georges. I’ve seen how a small, able detachment can defend themselves for months against a greater force. I’m not trying to stoke up fire like the little hermit, then have you follow me to ruin. But we can beat him if we stand up.”

“The duke has trained men.” Odo stepped forward. “Weapons. We are just farmers and smiths. One town. Fifty men.”

“Yes, and in each town between here and Treille there are another fifty men who hate Baldwin just as you do. Hundreds who have suffered the same misery and oppression. We beat them back just once, these men will join us. What can Baldwin do, fight us all?”

[256] Some were nodding in agreement; for others, the thought of standing up against the liege was almost impossible to conceive.

“Hugh’s right,” Marie, the miller’s wife, said. “We have all lost husbands and children. Our homes have been ruined. I’m tired of quaking in my bed every time we hear the sound of riders.”

“I too,” Odo shouted out. “We’ve pandered to that bastard our whole lives. What comes of it? A load of shit and death.” He stepped over to me and shrugged. “I’m a smith. I know smelting, not soldiering. But if you need me, I can wield a hell of a fucking hammer. Count me in!”

One by one, other voices were raised in agreement. Farmers, carters, shoemakers… people who had simply reached the end of their tether.

“What say you , priest?” the tailor begged, hoping for an ally. “Even if we beat Baldwin back, will we survive one hell only to be damned to another?”

“I cannot say.” Father Leo shrugged. “What I can promise, though, is that the next time Baldwin ’s riders come to town, you can count on me to throw a stone or two.”

There were shouts of acquiescence all around. But the town was still divided. The tailor, the tanner, and some farmers who were petrified to lose their lands.

I went up to the tailor. “One thing I can promise… Baldwin ’s men will come. You’ll rebuild your homes and pay to the bone every year until your hands blister or your will dies. But they will always come. Until we tell them they cannot .”

The tailor shook his head. “You wear a patchwork skirt and a bell upon your cap, and you’re going to show us how to fight?”

“I will.” I looked him in the eye.

The tailor seemed to measure me up and down. He fingered the hem of my tunic. “Whoever did this, it’s a nice job.” Then he took my hand and clasped it wearily. “God help us,” he declared.

“MOVE IT HERE!” I called to Jean Dueux, on his perch atop a tree. “A little to the right. Where the road narrows.”

High above the road, Jean hoisted a heavy wheat sack bulging with rocks and gravel. He tied off the sack with a long rope and double knotted the other end to a sturdy branch.

“I’ll send the horse,” I said to him. “When it reaches my position, let the rocks go.”

Since the bailiff’s visit, we had begun the task of fitting the town for its defenses. Woodsmen sheared off wooden barriers to be placed in rows along the town’s western edge. Stakes were sharpened and driven into the ground at jutting angles that even the bravest warhorse would not advance upon. Large stones were half buried in the road.

And we began to make weapons. A few old-timers brought out their swords, rusty things. Odo polished and sharpened them on his lathe. The rest of our arsenal consisted of clubs and mallets, a few spears and billhooks, iron tools. From these we made arrows that could pierce armor. We were a town of Davids preparing for Goliath.

I backed off and signaled down the road. Apples, the baker’s son, slapped the horse and sent him coming. Jean braced himself on his perch, tipping the weighted sack to the edge. When the horse passed my spot, I shouted, “Release!”

[258] Jean let it go. In a sweeping arc, it hurtled out of the sky like a boulder, picking up speed. As the horse passed, it swung across the road with a loud whoosh, at exactly the height of a man atop his mount. It might as well have been hurled by a catapult. Even the staunchest rider would not withstand its force.

Jean and Apples cheered.

“Now it’s your turn, Alphonse.” I turned to the tanner’s oldest boy, who had a slight stutter. He was a strapping fifteen, muscles beginning to bulge. I placed a club in his hands. “The fallen knight will be stunned. For a few moments, he’ll be pinned to the earth by his armor. You cannot hesitate.” I looked him in the eye and swung the club hard into an imaginary shape on the ground. “You have to be prepared to do the deed.”

“I w-will.” The boy nodded. He was big and strong but had never been in as much as a tussle. Yet he had seen his brother sliced in half by Baldwin ’s men. He took the club and sent it crashing down. “D-don’t worry about m-me,” he said.

I nodded approvingly.

It felt so good to see the town come together. Everyone could do something useful. Woodsmen could shoot; children could throw stones; the elderly could sew leather armor and sharpen arrows.

But when it came down to it, it would take more than high spirits and eagerness to ward off Baldwin ’s raiders. The townspeople would have to fight. I prayed to God we were up to this. That I was not, like Peter the Hermit, leading them into a murderous rout.

“Hugh!” I heard an urgent voice call from the direction of town. Pipo, Odo’s little son, was running toward me. His face was ruddy with importance. I felt a shudder of alarm.

“Someone’s here,” he gasped, out of breath.

“Who?” For a moment, my heart clenched. Who knew I was here?

“A visitor,” the boy said. “And a pretty one.” He nodded. “She says she came all the way from Borée.”

EMILIE!

I ran the dusty road back to the village, my heart bounding with excitement and surprise. I had thought of her so much, yet I always felt it was just another stupid dream to actually believe that I would ever see Emilie again!

I took a shortcut through the stables and blacksmith stalls, and saw her in the square-with her maid. She wore a simple linen dress, her hair pinned up under a cap, and a plain brown riding cloak about her shoulders. And yet she was lovely, so beautiful. I had to tell myself this was no dream. She was here!

I came out from behind the barn and let her see me. I did not know whether to run and sweep Emilie up into the air or just stand there. “In all the world, my lady,” I finally said, “you have no idea what joy this brings me.”