James Patterson - The Jester

“Of course Hugh has a plan,” I heard him whisper to Georges the miller, a row behind.

From Moulin Vieux, Treille was two days’ march away. That night, I curled up at our fire with Emilie. Behind us, the glow from hundreds of others lit up the night. I stroked her hair. She nestled close. “I told you this was no accident,” she said. “I told you if you stood up to lead they would follow.”

“You did.” I held her. “Yet the real miracle is not them, but you. That you have followed.”

“For me there was no choice.” She rolled her tongue and toyed with my jester’s tassel. “I always had a thing for a man in uniform.”

I laughed. “But now comes the real miracle. Treille is two days away. I have a thousand men and only fifty swords.”

[306] “I overheard you had a plan,” Emilie said.

“The outline of one,” I admitted. “Father Leo says we should draw up our demands: that taxes must be reduced immediately, that all fiefs should apply toward purchase of a parcel of land, that any nobles who take part in raids must be brought before the court.”

“Look at the numbers.” Emilie nodded optimistically “Baldwin will have to sue for peace. He cannot fight us all.”

“He won’t fight us.” I shook my head. “At least not right away. He knows we cannot provision such an army for a long siege. He will wait us out. He’ll stall, and let the songs subside, until the food runs out and people lose patience and start to go home. Then he will open the gates and send out his dogs to slaughter us. He will chase us down and burn our towns so thoroughly even the scavengers will not think anything was once alive there. I’ve seen Baldwin’s diplomacy. He will never submit.”

“You have known this from the start, haven’t you? That the duke would never comply. It was what was troubling you back at Veille du Père.”

I nodded.

“So if you know this, Hugh, what then? All these people, they’ve given you their hope, their very lives.”

“What it means…” I tucked my head onto her lap, begging to drift off to sleep. “… is that we must take him.”

Emilie raised herself up. “Take him? In order to take Baldwin you must seize his castle too.”

“Yes.” I yawned. “That is usually the case.”

Emilie shook me. “Do not jest with me, Hugh. This requires weapons and provisions. For this you have a plan?”

“The outline of one, I told you. It lacks but one thing.” I curled myself into her warmth. “Fortunately, it is the thing you are best at.”

“And what is that, Hugh?” She pounded my shoulder.

“A pretext , my lady.” I glanced up and winked.

DANIEL GUI’S SWORD CLATTERED as he rushed into the duke’s sitting room. He was Baldwin’s new chatelain, having taken over for Norcross.

“You can’t go in there,” said a page, flashing a cynical wink. “The duke’s in council.”

“The duke will find this news more urgent than any meeting,” Daniel said, and pushed by the page.

His lord was upright against a wall, his leggings down, fucking a young chambermaid.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Liege.”

The maid gasped and fixed her skirt, running out through another door.

‘‘I am sorry to interrupt,” the chatelain said, “but I have news you must hear.”

Baldwin pulled up his leggings as if it were the most natural thing in the world and tied his tunic. “I hope this news is crucial, chatelain, for it has taken me months to back that little sow up against a wall.” He wiped his hand across his mouth.

Baldwin disgusted the young chatelain. Daniel looked at his position as a chance to serve his native town, not plunder and slaughter defenseless subjects. He told himself that being in the duke’s pen was not tantamount to being a pig.

[308] “It is news of the redhead you seek. The jester who escaped after killing Norcross.”

“Hugh. That little canker.” Baldwin sprang alive. “What of him? Speak!”

“He has turned up. In his own town, after all. It seems he has led an uprising there against a raiding party from Borée.”

“Uprising? What do you mean, uprising ? There’s nothing but field mice and manure out there.”

“Apparently these field mice defended their nest quite well. Our messengers report all of Stephen’s men were killed.”

Baldwin shot up out of his seat. “You tell me this little maw-worm has led a bunch of farmers and hayseeds against Stephen’s crack troops?”

“It is so, but it is only the tip of it, my lord.” A tremor of enjoyment rippled through Daniel, as he knew the next piece of news would send Baldwin into a rage. “The thing Stephen’s men sought… this will amuse you… was apparently a relic stolen from the Crusade. Some kind of lance…”

“The holy lance?” The duke pursed his lips skeptically. “The holy lance belongs to a jester? You must be mistaken, chatelain. The holy lance, if it even exists, exceeds in value everything I own. It is a child’s fancy to conceive it could be in the hands of that kitchen-rot.”

“Then apparently it is a tale children from all over seem to believe. And grown men too. For they flock to him as to a crusade. The whole region is up in revolt.”

“Revolt!” Baldwin’s eyes were ablaze. “There is no revolt in my domain. Rouse the men, chatelain. We’ll ride tonight and nail the little bastard to a cross if he’s so holy.”

“I do not think that is wise, sir.”

“Not wise…?” Baldwin stepped up, eyes twitching. “And why is it not wise?”

“Because,” said the chatelain, “this little maw-worm, as you call him, commands an army of these worms over a thousand strong.”

[309] The color drained from Baldwin’s face. “A thousand… That cannot be. That is all the towns in the forest. That is three times the size of our own garrison.”

“Perhaps more,” Daniel said. “This news is days old. Every peasant in the duchy seems to have joined him.”

Baldwin sat down on a bench. His face was taut, the color of spoiled fruit. “Ready the men anyway, chatelain. I will call to my cousin in Nîmes for additional troops. Together we will cut them down in the forest like saplings.”

“Then I think you must hurry,” Daniel said. “For these cowherds are in Moulin Vieux as we speak. It appears they are coming to you .”

WE CAME TO THE EDGE of the forest only a half day’s march from Treille.

There it was, in the distance-many towered, seemingly hung in the clouds, the sun glinting off its ochre walls. The good mood of our march dimmed, replaced by a troubled silence. There would be no deceiving them now. All of Treille-including Baldwin-now knew we were here.

I called the people closest to me together: Odo, Georges, Emilie, Father Leo, and Alois, the woodsman from Morrisaey. I had constructed a plan, but it depended on help from within. “I have to go into Treille,” I told them.

“I do too,” Odo chortled. “And Georges. And Alois here. I want to open Baldwin’s eyes. With an eye wrench.”

“No.” I smiled at his joke. “I meant alone. In Treille, I have friends who will help.”

“Just how do you intend to get in there?” Georges asked. “Sneak past the guards while Odo here juggles balls? They’ll never let you through the gates.”

“Listen, if we are to take this castle, it can only be through trickery, not force of arms. Baldwin has few friends, even within his own walls. I have to gauge the mood inside.”

“All right, but it’s a huge risk,” Alois agreed. “So what’s your big plan?”

[311] I pointed toward the town. “Father, your eyes are best. Are those riders coming from there now?”