James Patterson - The Jester

All around us, farmers and peasants spilled into the streets and climbed up the ramparts. Hesitant soldiers climbed out of the towers and ran terrified off the walls.

A few people started to shout my name, “ Hugh, Hugh , Hugh …” I looked with pride at the miller and Odo, and we thrust our arms victoriously into the air.

WE TOSSED BALDWIN into his own dungeon-into the dark, cramped cell where I was once held myself.

There was much in those first hours that needed my attention. With the duke under lock and key, his soldiers had to be disarmed, and the plotting chamberlain and bailiff put under guard. The chatelain too, though, strangely, I did not feel him an enemy. Order had to be maintained in our ranks as well if we intended to press our case in a peaceful way before the King.

My mind ran to Emilie.

Where was she? I needed to share this with her. Our victory was as much hers as mine. A flash of worry went through me.

I hurried out of the castle and down the narrow streets in the direction of Geoffrey’s home. People tried to stop and cheer me, but I pushed through, keeping up a brave face but inwardly beseeching them to let me pass. Something was wrong!

My pace quickened as I neared the market. Some of the merchants shouted my name, but I ignored them and finally turned down the street to Geoffrey’s house.

I pounded on the door. Something now terrified me. I slammed my fist against the door, my heart galloping with each desperate knock.

Finally the door creaked open. Isabel was there! She had a [341] look on her face that was first pleased to find me well, then all at once serious and alarmed. I knew that something was wrong.

“She’s gone, Hugh,” she muttered.

“Gone?” Gone where … ? How? All the strength in my body seemed to drain away.

“At first I thought she went to find you, but just a while ago I saw this.”

Isabel handed me a note, scribbled in a hurried hand.

My brave Hugh,

Do not fear as you read this, for my heart is yours-always. But I must go.

By now, your victory is complete. I was not wrong, was I? What once was will not always be. You have climbed a rung to your own destiny. To see you do this, confirm the specialness I saw in you from the first, nothing in the world could make me more proud.

But now I must return to Borée. Don’t be angry. Anne is like a mother to me. I cannot abandon her and be joyous in the glow of your triumph.

Please, do not worry. There are some things I have not shared with you, and even Stephen would not dare do me any harm. Write the King, Hugh. Make your triumph true. I will do my part.

This was so cruel. My eyes welled with stinging tears. I could not lose her. Not now, after so much had happened. I swallowed hard, struggling to read the end:

You have been my true love since I saw you that very first day. I know I shall say that to you when we see each other again. I hold up my palm. Remember the words,

In all the world…

Emilie

[342] A sharp pain lanced through me, bleeding out the joy and triumph of all that had taken place. I had won the day. But I had lost the woman I loved.

“WHO IS THERE?” a cranky voice barked from behind the door. “Speak to me!”

Emilie hunched inside her dark hood. The familiar testiness was like an old friend, and it made her smile. “Have your wits become as dull as your jokes, Norbert?” she called back.

Slowly the door to the jester’s chamber cracked open. Norbert peeked out, his tunic open to his chest and his hair tousled and awry.

At first, he regarded the huddled shape suspiciously. Then, as she removed the hood, his eyes opened wide. “ Lady Emilie!”

Norbert glanced down the corridor to make sure she was alone, then spread his arms and embraced her. “It’s a beautiful sight to see you.”

Emilie squeezed him back. “It’s good to see you too, jester.”

Norbert hurried her inside his room. He shut the door, then frowned. “It’s a beautiful sight, my lady, but not necessarily to see you here . You’ve taken a great risk to come back. But tell me quick-you’ve been with Hugh?”

Emilie brought him up to date. First, on the raid on Veille du Père and the existence of the lance. “ The very staff you sent to Hugh .” Then, of the incredible events that followed. The townspeople who had risen up with him. Treille. With each piece of [344] news, the jester’s eyes grew more incredulous, his cackles of delight more unrestrained.

When she told him of Baldwin’s capture, he danced around and fell back on his mat, kicking his legs with glee. “I knew that boy was a gift from God, but this…”

He lifted himself back up, his laughter subsiding. He studied her face, the rosy cast of her cheeks. “But tell me, my lady… why are you here now?”

Emilie lowered her eyes. “For my mistress. It is my duty.”

“Your mistress! Then you have traveled a long way and at much risk for no end. Things are much changed here. The duke dreams of killing Hugh with the zeal of a dog slobbering over a cooking roast. Does anyone know you have arrived?”

“I mingled with a party of monks returning from pilgrimage. I came to you first.”

“That is wise. Your last running off is exposed. It is assumed you were with Hugh. If not for Lady Anne’s protest, Stephen’s guards would be looking for you too.”

Emilie’s face lit up. “I knew she would be true. I was right about Anne.”

IT TOOK SEVERAL DAYS to completely secure Treille. There were a few stubborn knights still loyal to Baldwin. And word of a purported reprisal from one of the duke’s supposed allies. But no reprisal came.

Treille was ours.

Now there was the matter of what to do with it.

There was the issue of the duke’s treasury, which had been fattened on the backs of those who now occupied his city. And vast stores of grain and livestock had to be redistributed fairly.

A debate raged between those who had been with us from the start and those who joined later about what to do. Georges said give out the keys to the grain holds. Let each man leave with a sack and a hen. Alois said why stop there. Raid the treasury. Redistribute all the money. Put a noose to the bastard!

I wished Emilie were there. I had no skill to govern, nor the urge. I did not know exactly what to do, or what was right.

It was only a matter of time before I would lose my army. The ranks were growing impatient. They wanted to go back to their homes. “It’s harvest time,” they said. “When do we get what we were promised?”

And not just food and money. They needed laws to protect them. The right to choose: where to live, whom they would serve. If a man was pledged to a lord, need his children and [346] their children be bound by the same pledge? Someone had to rule on such things.

One night, I found a sheaf of paper, Baldwin’s seal, and a vial of viscous, red-tinged ink. I sat down and started to write the most important letter of my life.

To His Majesty, Philip Capet, Ruler of France,

I pray God grants me the words by which to write this, for I am a humble townsman. A bondman, in fact, thrust into a larger role.

I am said to be the leader of a group of brave men. Some call it a rabble; I call it an outpouring. An outpouring of farmers, tanners, woodsmen-all your servants-who have risen up against our liege lord after repeated cruel and unnecessary attacks.

I write from Treille, Your Majesty, where I sit at Duke Baldwin’s own table, his lordship held prisoner, while I await word from you as to what to do next.