James Patterson - The Jester

“And Morgaine…” Stephen said as he departed the filthy room. “As long as it’s a party why don’t we ask along the lady Emilie?”

I HAD TRAVELED in the forest for two days, riding during light until my back ached, then, once it was dark, curling up in the brush, my mind racing as I drifted off to a troubled sleep. I dwelled on many things. The friends I had left behind. Emilie’s safety. What I would do when I got to Borée, still two days’ ride away.

I had just finished a few bites of bread and cheese that morning and was preparing to go on my way when I became aware of the slow advance of a rider approaching from behind.

I ducked behind a tree and took out my knife.

Gradually a single rider clip-clopped into view. A churchman, a friar, perhaps, covered in his burlap hood, riding by himself through dangerous woods.

I relaxed and stepped out from my cover. “You must be either foolishly brave to chance these woods alone, Father,” I called to the advancing shape, “or just as foolishly drunk.”

The churchman stopped. “That’s an unusual warning,” he replied from under his hood, “coming from a man in a patchwork skirt.”

To my shock, the voice was familiar!

He lifted his hood, and I saw it was Father Leo, with a smile the width of his face. “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed.

[369] “I thought a man on a mission like yours might need his soul tended to.” He sighed, struggling to get off his mount. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I’m delighted to have the company, old friend.”

“I knew it was a risk,” the priest said, brushing dust off his robe. “Truth is, it’s taken me so long to find a true sign from God, I couldn’t bear being separated from the lance.”

I laughed and helped him brush off the road dirt. “You look tired, Father. Drink.”

I handed Father Leo my calfskin and he tilted it back. “We will make quite an army when we get to Borée.” I smiled. “The fool and the priest.”

“Yes,” the priest said and wiped his mouth, “very imposing. I knew we would frighten no one, so I hope you don’t mind that I asked along a friend.”

“A friend…?”

From down the road, the hoofbeats of another rider could be heard, and as he came close, I blinked twice and realized it was Alphonse. The lad trotted up to me dressed for battle. He flashed me his shy, awkward smile.

“You two are crazy,” I said.

“Dressed as you are, marching to attack the castle at Borée alone, and you call us crazy?” muttered Father Leo.

“Well, now we are three fools.” I grinned, my heart warmed.

“No.” Alphonse sniffed and shook his head. “No, we are not.”

“Got anything good to eat?” another voice called from the forest. “Anything sounds good after these squirrels and lizards I’ve been chasing.”

Odo!

I looked at the smith, dressed in his leather armor, carrying his mallet, one of Baldwin’s purple and white cloaks slung around him. “I knew you must be behind this,” I said, attempting to look stern.

“Nah.” Odo grinned. He indicated with his head. “It was him .”

[370] Behind him, the miller thrashed his way out of the woods.

“I told you this was my fight,” I protested, feigning anger.

“You also told us we were free ,” Odo shot back. “So I figure this is my choice.”

I faltered. “I put you in charge, Georges. I left you with Baldwin. And four hundred men.”

“So you did, didn’t you?” The miller winked.

From down the road, the heavy rumble of footsteps now rose in my ears. Many people, marching. From around a bend, the first of them came into view. It was Alois, from Morrisaey, and three of his townsmen, carrying their axes and shields.

The column grew. Alois’s four turned into forty. Then forty more. Faces I recognized. From Morrisaey, Moulin Vieux, Sur le Gavre. Some on horses, others on foot. Their faces rugged, silent, proud. A lump caught in my throat. I didn’t speak. They kept coming, line after line, men who still believed in me. Who had nothing left but their souls.

Then, on a pale stallion, bound like a sack of wheat, I saw Baldwin. And his chatelain close behind.

I could not believe what I was seeing!

“They all came? All four hundred?” I asked Alois.

He shook his head. “Four hundred and four .” He grinned. “If the Freemasons came along.”

Odo said to me, “We figured, if our souls are fucked anyway, what do we have to lose?”

My heart almost exploded with pride. I stood there watching the column grow and grow. Feeling the common heart of these men. Some called out to say hello, “Hey, General, good to see you again.” Others simply nodded, many I did not know by name. When the end of the column came in sight, it was trailed by four scruffy men hurrying to keep up, hoisting a white banner with an eye painted on it-the sign of the Freemason society.

I mouthed “Thank you” to Odo and Georges, the words sticking in my throat. I wanted to tell them how proud I was of them. Of everyone.

[371] I merely put my hand on the miller’s shoulder.

“Guess we’re going to Borée,” Odo said with a shrug, and I nodded, watching the column as it stretched down the road.

“You better have a real plan if you want to take this place,” he muttered.

JUST AS IT HAD HAPPENED weeks before when we marched on Treille, at every village we came to, every crossroad, people joined our ranks. Our fame had spread, and it was embarrassing. Certainly it was humbling.

Farmers in their fields, carpenters, goatherds with their flocks, ran to their fences to see a lord like Baldwin bound behind a fool.

“How can you continue on?” people asked in wonder. “Stephen has damned your very souls.”

“He might as well,” we called back, “since that’s all we have left.”

Once again I marched at the front in my tattered jester’s suit, carrying the holy lance. But this time the army was properly outfitted. We had real swords and newly minted shields taken from Baldwin’s men and painted in the green-and-red checkerboard that had become our crest. We also had crossbows and catapults to mount a siege, oxen and stores of food to sustain an entire army.

“You cannot take Borée,” some mocked us. “A thousand men could not take Borée.”

“We could not take Treille , either,” Odo replied huffily.

“We trust the lance,” Alphonse would say. “It is truer than any b-bishop’s judgment.”

[373] New recruits fell constantly into line. “I’ll come. This is a new world if a lord is dragged by a fool!” Young and old knelt before the lance and fell in.

Yet even as we marched, I knew this new battle would not be as easy as the last. Stephen would never let our ragtag army approach without a fight. He had a much larger and fiercer army than Baldwin. Better trained. He himself was known to be a formidable fighter.

And to be sure, I was no general. The only military skills I had were those I had picked up in the Crusade. Nor did Georges, or Odo, or any of my other men have any tactical training. They were farmers and woodsmen. An old worry began to consume me: that I could be leading innocent men, who believed in my call, to slaughter.

I needed a leader, but where could I get one?

The third night out, I wandered over to where Baldwin and his men were being held. The duke glared at me belligerently. I merely shook my head and laughed.

I knelt beside his chatelain, Daniel Gui. He was handsome and held himself with a strong bearing. He’d never complained of being a captive, unlike Baldwin, who spat curses and threats at anyone who met his eye. I’d heard other good things about him.