James Patterson - The Jester

A dark shape fell out of the sky, hurtling across the road and crashing into one of the riders, knocking him off his mount with a loud groan. He remained there, stunned, pinned to the ground by the weight of his armor. I raised my sword and screamed into the slits of his helmet, “This is for Sophie, you bastard. See what it’s like to be killed by a fool.” I crashed the sword down, penetrating cleanly through the seam above the chest plate. There, it remained embedded. I couldn’t pull the sword free.

For a moment, and even without a weapon, I felt exultant. This was working. People were fighting. Seven of the invaders were down, perhaps slain. Two more were off their horses, surrounded by townsmen pelting them with clubs and [284] stones. They tried to fight in all directions, overwhelmed, thrashing at air.

I watched as Alphonse climbed onto the back of one of the attackers and pushed a knife through the eye slit in his helmet. The Tafur pitched forward. He thrashed back and forth, jabbing his mace, trying to twist the boy off. Another boy swatted a beam at the man’s knees and sent him to the ground, where Alphonse jerked the blade across the bastard’s neck and soon he rolled over, dead.

All around, people were screaming, running back and forth. A few riders made their way through town, hurling torches onto the thatched roofs, which shot into yellow flame. I counted only five invaders left, but five armed and deadly, still on their mounts. If we backed down now, they were enough to take the town.

I started to run-weaponless-toward the square. “ Here ,” Emilie yelled, and tossed me my staff.

Across the road, I saw poor Jacqui, the ruddy-faced milk woman, hurling stones at one attacker while another galloped up from behind and knocked her to the ground with a mace. Arrows shot out of the trees, and the second attacker fell. He was immediately surrounded by townspeople, kicking and bashing him with clubs and farm tools.

Suddenly the square lit up in flames.

Aimée, the miller’s daughter, and Father Leo had set fire to the line of brush ringing the square. The horses of the invaders reared. One rider was immediately thrown, landing in the flames. The others darted and circled, unable to break through.

The fallen rider stood up, engulfed in flames. He thrashed about crazily, smoke pouring through the slits in his armor. Fire had seeped inside; his skin was boiling like a pot over a flame.

Two other attackers remained trapped inside the ring of flame. One forced his mount through, but Martin ran up and whacked the horse’s legs. The rider clubbed at him but was thrown from his mount. He flailed on the ground, struggling to [285] right himself, his weapon out of reach. Then, from out of the darkness, Aimée ran out. She raised an ax and crashed it solidly into the man’s head.

We were winning! The town continued to battle as only people clinging to their last hope can do. Still, two or three invaders remained.

Then, to my horror, the last Tafur who’d been contained within the ring of fire burst free. He reared his steed and made his way, ax whirling, toward Aimée, who still stood staring at the man she had killed.

“Look out, Aimée,” I yelled. I started toward her, helplessly screaming at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t bear to see the miller lose his last child. The girl did not move, oblivious to the death descending upon her. I was twenty yards away, not thinking, running as fast as my feet would fly. The rider crouched in the saddle and raised his ax.

Twenty feet away… I shrieked, “No…”

I reached her at a cross angle just as the Tafur swung his ax. I swept Aimée to the ground and covered her, expecting at any moment to feel the blade of the ax buried in my back. But no blow came.

The Tafur galloped by, then reversed. He stood for a moment, tightening his reins, surveying the rout of his fellows.

I knew his mind; I had seen it many times in the Crusade. It was the time of the battle when one knows all is lost; the only thing left is to fight whatever comes into your path and cause as much death and mayhem as possible until you too are taken down.

I pushed Aimée out of the square and raised myself to my feet. I stood there facing the attacker, nothing to defend myself with but my wooden staff.

I didn’t want to die here. But I would not run.

The raider reared his giant horse and galloped into a charge. I stood my ground as the thundering shape barreled toward me.

I braced myself and raised the staff.

AS THE CHARGING HORSEMAN raised his ax, I darted to the side opposite his weapon. I swung my staff as hard as I could at his mount’s legs. The animal neighed in pain, buckled, then threw its rider. The Tafur hit the earth with a mighty crash and rolled over several times until he came to a stop ten feet from where I stood.

His giant war ax had fallen to the side. I ran to grab the weapon. In the time it took to arm myself, the Tafur had managed to right himself and draw his sword.

“ Deus adjuvat ,” he taunted me in Latin-God aid me, “as I send this little rat tail back to his maker.”

“By all means, God, look on,” I replied in kind.

He charged at me with a ferocious roar.

I could see him go high with his blade and met his blow, our weapons colliding with a loud clang. We stood there eye to eye, each trying to drive his blade into the other’s neck, muscles straining to the limit. All of a sudden the Tafur jerked his knee into my groin. The air rushed out of me. I gasped and bent in two. In the same instant, he swept his sword toward my knees, and I summoned every sliver of strength to counter with the ax.

Again we faced each other, eyes blazing. He tried to headbutt me with the crown of his helmet, but I threw myself back. [287] I stumbled, and the Tafur leaped at me, swinging his blade back and forth with a maniacal fury.

The Tafur saw that I was slowed. He laughed. “Come here, fairy. You look like you might want to feel a set of real balls.”

I crouched back warily. His sword was too quick. In this form of fighting, I was no match for him. The ax was clumsy and heavy in my weakened grasp.

“Come…” He blew me a kiss.

I looked him in the eye, panting heavily. I knew I would not be able to ward off the blows much longer. I felt my legs wobble; I was out of strength. I searched my mind for any form of skill or trickery I had seen in the wars. Then one clicked in. It was crazy, desperate, not a soldier’s but a jester’s trick.

“Why wait?” I said, lowering the ax, pretending to be beaten, out of fight. “What’s wrong with now?”

I turned my back to him. I hoped I wasn’t insane.

I bent into a deep crouch, flipped up my tunic, and let him see my rear. “ C’mon …” I said. “I’d wait for a real man, but you’re the only one here.” I tossed the ax about four feet ahead of me.

In my crouch, I saw him raise his sword and come. Just as he was set to run me through, I sprang into a forward flip. The Tafur sliced at the air where suddenly there was no person. His sword stuck in the soggy earth.

I landed on my feet and in the same movement pivoted and grabbed the handle of the ax. I sprang back around as the surprised Tafur struggled to free his sword.

A look of panic spread over his face. This time it was I who laughed and blew him a kiss.

I swung with all my might and sent the Tafur’s head hurtling like a kicked ball.

I sank to my knees, out of breath. Every muscle in my body felt as if it were about to explode. I dropped the ax, sucking precious air into my lungs.

[288] Then I rose and picked up my staff. As I did so, a snickering voice intoned, “Well done, innkeeper. But you must conserve your kisses. You may need one or two over here…”