James Patterson - The Jester

“I have a dilemma,” I said as I sat on the ground next to him. I looked Daniel Gui in the eye, man to man.

“You have a dilemma?” The chatelain laughed, showing me his bonds.

“Mine first.” I smiled. “I am at the head of an army, but I know little of how to fight a great battle.”

“Is this a riddle, jester? If it is, let me play. I know how to fight, yet my army is disarmed and scattered.”

I offered him a sip of ale. “It seems we are aligned yet opposite. But you command the duke’s forces.”

“I command Treille’s forces,” he responded firmly. “My job was to lead them in defense of my city, not slaughter innocent subjects that our lordship did not trust.”

[374] “Treille is Baldwin, though. You try and separate them, but you cannot.”

“My dilemma .” The chatelain smiled. He showed me his wrists. “By which I am now unfortunately bound.”

“I need a general, chatelain. If we march on Borée, we will not overcome it with sleight of hand.”

He took another sip of ale, seemed to think this over. “What do I get if I help you take this city?”

I smiled. “Mostly a lot of trouble with your old boss.”

Daniel Gui grinned. “I’m not exactly sure I can return to that job now anyway.”

Indeed, Baldwin would be already savoring the taste of someone to blame. “Only a chance,” I answered. “The same chance any of us have. To sue for peace and go back and live our lives as free men.”

“There’s an irony here somewhere.” The chatelain chuckled. “So far, you have taken my castle and put my liege in chains. You don’t seem too bad a soldier for a man in a checkerboard suit.”

“I was at Antioch and Civetot,” I said, “in the Crusade…”

The chatelain nodded in a deep and acknowledging way.

“So, will you help us? I know it will mean breaking your pledge to Baldwin. Your career may not be the brighter for it. Yet we are not such a bad bunch, for heretics and rebels and fools.”

Daniel took in a deep breath and smiled. “I think I will fit in just fine.”

WE CAME OUT OF THE FOREST the next day facing a river. A truly terrifying sight stood before us.

On the high ground, directly in our path, waited an ominous horde of warriors. Maybe three hundred of them.

They wore no colors, just rough skins and high boots, swords and shields gleaming in the noonday sun. They were long-haired and filthy, and regarded us with no particular alarm. They looked ready for a fight.

Panic shot through our troops, and through me as well. The ferocious-looking horde just stood there, watching us assemble out of the trees. As though battle were an ordinary thing for them.

Horns blew. Horses whinnied. A few carts toppled over. At any moment, I expected them to charge.

I ordered our column to a halt. The rabble ahead of us looked restless. Shit, had I led us into a trap?

Odo and Daniel ran up to me. I had never seen Odo this scared.

“They growl like Saxons,” Odo muttered. “These ugly bastards are meaner than shit. I heard they live in caves and when food is scarce, they eat their young.”

“They are not Saxon.” Daniel shook his head. “They are [376] from Languedoc. From the south. Mountain men. But they are known to eat their young even when the harvest is good.”

His depiction gave me chills. “Are they from Stephen?” I asked.

“Could be.” He shrugged. We watched them watching us, showing no concern about our larger ranks. “Mercenaries. He has used them before.”

“Have the men fan along the ravine,” I said. I hoped to make a show of strength. This threat had come upon us so suddenly. “Lances to the front in case they charge.”

“Keep the horses in reserve,” Daniel said. “If these bastards come at us, they’ll do so on foot. To a Languedocian, it’s a sign of cowardice not to.”

Everyone rushed into formation. Then we stood there, hearts tense, holding our shields. The field was silent.

“Seems a good enough day to meet my maker.” Odo strapped on his mallet. “If you’re still listening , God.”

All of a sudden, there was movement in the Languedocian camp. Get ready. I gripped my lance.

Then two riders rode out from the pack and galloped toward us.

“They wish to talk,” Daniel said.

“I’ll go,” I said. “Here.” I turned to Odo. “Hold the lance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Daniel said.

Daniel and I rode out between the armies. The two Languedocians sat there indifferently, eyeing us as we came up to them. One was large and stout, built like an ox. The other was leaner but just as mean looking. For a moment, no one spoke. We just regarded one another, circling.

Finally, the ox grunted a few words in a French I could barely make out. “You are the jester Hugh? The one with the lance?”

“I am,” I replied.

“ You’re the little fart who has led the peasants and bondmen against their lords?” the other growled.

[377] “We’ve risen up in the face of murder and oppression,” I replied.

Ox snickered. “You don’t look so big. We were told you were eight fucking feet tall.”

“If we have to fight, it will seem that,” I said.

The Languedocians looked me up and down in a way I could not read. Then they looked at each other and started to laugh. “Fight you?” The big one chortled. “We’ve come to join you, fool. Word reached us you intend to march on Treille. We are sworn enemies of that prick Baldwin. We’ve been enemies of Treille for two hundred years.”

I looked at Daniel and we broke into grins. “This is good news… but you’re too late. Treille is already taken. We are marching on Borée.”

“Borée?” the thinner one said. “You mean against that prick Stephen?”

I nodded. “The same.”

For a moment, the two Languedocians drew their horses close and huddled together. I could hardly understand the tongue they were speaking in. Then Ox looked back to me and shrugged. “All right, we march on Borée.”

He raised his sword to his ranks and they erupted-lifting their swords and spears in a riotous cheer.

“You’re lucky.” Ox grinned through his beard. “We’ve been enemies of Borée for three hundred years.”

STEPHEN WAS IN his dressing room when Anne stormed in and found him, in a chair, peeling an apple. Annabella, a lady of the court, was bent over his waist, swallowing his cock.

At the sight of Anne, Annabella gagged. She jumped, frantically replacing Stephen’s leggings as if to hide the evidence. Stephen looked on, seeming not to care.

“Oh, do not bother, Annabella.” Anne sighed. “When the lord hears what news I bear, we shall all be amused to see to what size his manhood shrinks.”

The lady smoothed her ruffled tresses, curtsied, then scurried out of the room.

“These are my private quarters, not your parlor,” Stephen said, hitching himself up. “And do not feign offense, dear wife, since you obviously knew what business you would find here.”

“I do not feign offense.” Anne eyed him sharply. “Only regret, to have interrupted you from such pressing work.”

“So.” Stephen rose. “By all means, let me know. What’s the big surprise?”

“A runner has arrived from Sardoney. He’s brought word that your little jester is on the way. Two days out. With his lance.”

“ This is the news you thought would disarm me?” Stephen seemed to yawn, taking another deep bite from his apple. “That this poor fool marches on us? Why should this mean any more [379] to me than a bite of this fruit, I say? But come,” he said, eyeing the bulge in his hose, “as long as the table is set, why not put the little weasel to some work?”