James Patterson - The Jester

Word spread like a brushfire. More joined us all the time.

All the while, Treille grew closer, the color of an amber sunset. Its formidable towers reached high into the sky. The nearer we got, the more the mood stiffened; the ranks grew worried and quiet.

The sun was high when we reached the outskirts of town. No force had charged out to confront us yet.

Instead, downtrodden townspeople stood aside, exhorting us on. “It is the jester. See , he exists! He is real!”

The massive limestone walls of the outer city rose above us with their crenellated battlements. At each opening, I could see teams of soldiers, their helmets gleaming.

They did not attack, though. They let us come. They allowed us to march within a hundred yards of the outer walls.

Just out of arrow-shot, I signaled the column to a halt.

I ordered the ranks to fan out around the perimeter, forming a massing ring twenty men deep. No one knew what to do, to shout or charge.

“Go on, Hugh,” Georges said with a smile. “Go on and tell ’em why we’re here.”

I stepped out, trying to calm the thumping in my chest. I shouted to the defenders above the gate.

“We are from Veille du Père, and Morrisaey, and St. Felix, and every town in the duchy. We have business before Lord Baldwin.”

FOR A MOMENT there was no answer. I thought, What do I do now? Say the same words again?

Then a brightly clad figure whom I recognized from my stay here as Baldwin’s chamberlain leaned out. “The lord is napping,” he yelled back. “He knows no business before him today. Go back to your wives and farms.”

Curses and taunts began to rise from the crowd. “The pig is napping?” someone growled. “Let us be careful not to wake him up, friends.”

A thunderous jeer rose. Weapons rattled, shouts rang out.

Someone rushed forward and pulled down his leggings. “Come on, Baldwin. Here’s my ass. Try and fuck me now.”

A few rash ones charged up to the walls, spitting curses and insults. “Stay back,” I yelled. But it was too late.

From the ramparts came the blood-chilling whine of arrows in reply. One man gagged, an arrow piercing his neck. Another clutched his head. A young boy sprinted up and hurled a stone, which fell halfway up the wall.

A wave of burning black pitch rained down on him. The boy fell, rolling on the ground, his skin sizzling with flame.

“Go home, you stinking filth,” spat a soldier from the top.

Now everyone moved forward in a rush. Some of us shot [324] off fire arrows, which streaked across the sky and died harmlessly against the massive walls.

Volleys of arrows whooshed down on us in return, so heavy and strong they tore through flimsy shields and pierced men in two. The volley sounded like a thunderstorm.

Images from the Crusade burned in my brain.

I waved frantically for everyone to move back. Some were angry and wanted to charge. They had followed me for days with little food. All they had thought of was striking their picks and hammers against the walls of Treille, tearing it down chunk by chunk. Others, seeing blood and death for the first time swarmed back, afraid.

This is what Baldwin wanted. To show that our makeshift weapons were useless. Anger was setting in, and we hadn’t even begun the siege. My blood was racing. I had brought a thousand men here. We had the town surrounded. We had the will to fight but not the weapons to break through. All Baldwin had to do was open the gates and I knew all but the most hardened fighters would turn and flee.

But the gates did not open. No warhorses thundered out. He was probably amused at our spineless lack of resolve.

The commitment of this entire army hung in the balance. All eyes looked toward me.

A farmer carrying a broken hoe came up to me. “You have brought us here, jester. How will we take this castle? With this?” He threw the hoe down as if it were a useless twig.

“No.” I tapped my chest where my heart was. “We will take their castle with this.

“Get the raiding party together,” I told Odo. My spine stiffened with resolve. “We go tonight.”

THAT NIGHT, as most of our ranks dozed, I got together the twenty brave men who would sneak into the castle.

There was Odo and Alphonse from our town, Alois and four of his best from Morrisaey. For the rest, we chose strong-hearted men we could trust, who would not back down from killing with their bare hands.

One by one, they arrived before my fire, wondering, why were they here?

“How do you intend to take this castle with us,” Alois asked, “when you can’t make a dent in it with a thousand men?”

“We’ll have to take it without a dent,” I said. “I know a way inside. Come with me now or go back to sleep.”

We armed ourselves with swords and knives. Father Leo blessed us with a prayer. I handed him the lance. “On the chance that I don’t return.”

“Are you ready, then?” I looked around at the men. I clasped each of their hands. “Say good-bye to your friends. Pray we see them on the other side.”

“Are we talking about Heaven?” Odo asked.

“I was speaking of the wall,” I said, and faked a laugh.

Under the cover of night, we crept away from the campsites and out behind the hutted settlements and narrow streets that clung to the city walls. Torches lit up the defenses above us, [326] lookouts peering for signs of life. We crouched in the shadow of the wall.

Odo tapped my shoulder. “So, Hugh, this ever been done before?”

“What?”

“People like us, bondmen, rising against their liege.”

“A group of farmers rose against the duke of Bourges,” I said.

The smith seemed satisfied. We crept a little farther. He tapped me again. “So, how’d it turn out for them?”

I pressed my back against the wall. “I think they were slaughtered to a man.”

“Oh.” The big smith grunted. His face turned white.

I mussed his shaggy hair. “They were discovered talking under the walls. Now shush!”

We continued, creeping along the east edge of town. In the crook of a ravine, we came across a shallow moat. It reeked, stagnant with putrid water and sewage. It was more of a large ditch; we could cross it with a jump.

At each point, I scanned the base of the wall for a sign of the tunnel once shown to me by Palimpost. None … As we moved along, the terrain grew tougher to traverse and the walls rose high above us, too tall for any kind of assault. That was good; no lookouts would be manning the walls here.

But where was the blasted passageway?

I began to get worried. Soon it would be light. Another day. There was the chance Baldwin would unleash his warriors to break our will.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing, Hugh?” Odo muttered.

“Hell of a time to ask,” I snapped.

Then I spotted it: a formation of piled rocks concealed behind some brush on the bank of the moat. I sighed with relief. “There!”

[327] We scurried down the embankment and straddled the moat. Then I pulled my way up the other side. I ripped through the dense brush and began to tear apart the pile of rocks.

The declining pile revealed the entrance to a tunnel.

“Never doubted you for an instant.” Odo laughed.

THE CRAWL SPACE WAS AS I REMEMBERED-dark, narrow, barely enough room for a man to pass. And shin-deep with murky, foul-smelling water trickling down to the moat.

There were no torches to light our way. I had to trust my instincts against the dark, feeling along the cold, rocky walls. I knew each one in my party had his heart in his throat too. It was like crawling into Hell-cold, pitch-black, odiferous. Floating shit and other refuse lapped against our feet. Moments stretched along like hours. With every step, I grew less sure of the way. After countless prayers, I came upon a fork in the tunnel. One path continued up, the other went left. I decided to follow the path upward, since the castle stood at the top of the hill.