James Patterson - The Jester

A lump grew in Daniel’s throat. Had he gone too far? Had he angered his liege , whom he was pledged to serve?

The duke wrapped his arm around Daniel tighter, drew him close to the flames, then smiled. “Do you for a moment think I have any intention of handing over even a cup of grain to this traitorous puke? I would be the laughingstock of France. I have contacted my cousin. He sends a thousand troops.

“Let the idiots begin their siege. We will eat meat while they boil roots. When the reinforcements arrive, we will open the gates and crush them. You and I, Daniel, we will make sure not a single gray-haired grandfather among this rabble leaves Treille alive.”

Baldwin brought Daniel’s hand so close to the flames that he had to restrain himself from crying out.

“No one threatens my rule, least of all these miserable spawn. So how does that plan sound, chatelain?”

Daniel’s heart pounded furiously. His mouth was dry as dust. He looked into his liege’s eyes and saw nothing but dark holes. “Most wise, my lord.”

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, outside the gates of Treille, a Hebrew merchant, carrying his sack of wares across his back, approached the gates as they began to close.

He wore the dark wool robe and the fringed shawl of the Sephardim, a skullcap upon his head, and held a rusted staff. With him was his young wife, dressed in modest clothes, her hair pinned under a black scarf.

“ Move it along , Jews ,” growled the guard. The checkpoint was manned by a team of pail-helmeted soldiers, hurrying the travelers along like oxen into a pen. The guard stopped the merchant when he reached the gate. “Where do you come from?”

“From the south.” I peeked from under my hood. “Roussillon.”

“And what is in the sack?” He poked at it.

“Wares for the kitchen. Olive oil, pans, a new utensil called a fork. You stab your meat with it. Want to see?”

“What if we stab you with it, you little pests? You say you came from Roussillon? What have you seen? We’ve heard the forests are teeming with rebels.”

“In the east, perhaps, but in the south there are only squirrels. And Italians. Anyway, it’s no concern to us.”

“No, nothing’s a concern to your lot, except a fee. C’mon.” He pushed us roughly. “Get your tick-bitten asses in.”

Emilie and I hurried through the gates. Inside the thick [318] limestone walls heavy beams were braced against the ground to bolster the gates against assault. I glanced around. The towers and ramparts were manned by dozens of troops. They were heavily armed with crossbows and lances, gazing eastward.

From under my hood, I flashed Emilie a wink. “Come.”

We climbed the hill leading to the center of town and Baldwin’s castle. Soldiers on horseback shot about, clattering over the rough stone. Carts dragged rocks and shields down to the outer walls. The defenses were being readied. The air was sharp with the sulfurous smell from vats of burning pitch.

“Here… this way,” I said. It was the market street. Stalls of bakers and butchers were still open for business, and swarming with flies. Others, which sold tin and tools and cloth, were closed for the night.

Emilie and I hurried through a neighborhood that seemed to be home to these merchants. There were not only huts, but stone houses, some with iron gates guarding small courtyards. The smell of burning lard was everywhere.

I stopped before a two-story dwelling with a tin scroll-like ornament hammered next to the doorway. “Emilie, we’re here.”

I knocked on the door. A voice called out from inside, some shuffling, then the door cracked open. A familiar face looked out from under a skullcap.

“We’ve traveled a long way,” I said. “We were told we would find friends here.”

“If you are in need, we are friends,” the man replied. “But who told you this?”

“Two men in the forest,” I said.

The man arched his brow, confused.

“One named Shorty. I asked him what position makes the ugliest children. When he could not say, I told him: ‘Ask your mother!’ ”

The man’s eyes grew wide, then his beard parted into a smile.

“So, Geoffrey.” I grinned, removing my hood. “Can it be you do not remember your jester?”

THE MERCHANT WHOSE LIFE I had saved on the road to Treille broke into a hearty smile. He held me by the shoulders, then hugged me, and hustled Emilie and me through the door. I took off my skullcap and shook out my red hair.

Geoffrey laughed. “I said to myself, you look like no Jew I had ever seen before.”

“We are pork-eating Jews.” I grinned.

We hugged each other again, like old friends. I laid down my staff and unfastened my robe. “This is Emilie. She’s a close friend. This is Geoffrey, who once helped save my life.”

“And I was only able to,” Geoffrey said, “because Hugh had once saved mine. Ours …”

Isabel and Thomas came in from another room. “As I live and breathe,” she exclaimed, “it is the jester with the lives of a cat.”

We were led to a sitting room lined with weavings and old scrolls and tracts. Geoffrey offered us his bench.

“What is the mood of the city?” I asked.

He frowned. “Foul. What used to be a thriving city is now just a pigpen that feeds the duke. And it will only get worse. There is talk of an uprising somewhere, an army of peasants in the forest who took up arms, headed here. Farmers, shepherds, woodsmen, led by a fool with some kind of relic gotten from the Crusade… A lance with their Savior’s blood on it.”

[320] “You mean this ?” I took out my staff and let his eyes travel over it. I smiled. “I have heard of such an uprising.”

The merchant’s eyes grew wide. “This is you … You are the jester… Hugh.”

I nodded. Then I told Geoffrey my plan.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, my work was done and it was time to head back to the forest.

Emilie agreed to stay behind in town. It was safer for her there, with the terrible battle that was to come. She fought me gamely, but this time I would not back down. When it was time to leave, I hugged her close and promised I would see her in a couple of days.

I lifted her face and smiled at her. “My beautiful Emilie, when we first met I was afraid to even talk to you. Now I am afraid to let you go. Remember how you laughed at me and said, ‘That may be, but it will not always be’?”

“In a day or two, I guess we will find out,” she said, trying to look brave.

She leaned up and kissed me. “God bless you, Hugh.” Tears welled in her eyes. “In all the world, I hope to see you again.”

I hoisted my sack and headed down the lane, waving a final farewell at the end of the street. I buried my head in my hood and hunched under my shawl, avoiding any eyes in uniform. As I wound back down the hill, I turned, watching the town recede. Pain tore at my heart. All that I now loved remained in this place. A tremor of panic ripped through me that I might never see Emilie again.

[322] When I got back to the forest, I found the men waiting and ready for a fight. We marched at the break of dawn.

Farmers, woodsmen, tanners, and smiths, in every form of clothing imaginable, carrying homemade bows and wooden shields, stretched out as far as I could see.

At the head of the procession, I felt my blood surge with pride. Whatever the outcome, these men had stood tall. They were people of courage and character. To me, they were all highborn.

Every settlement we came to, a crowd formed, cheering us on. “Look, it is the jester,” they would exclaim. They would bring out their children too. “See, child, you will always say you saw the lance.”