James Patterson - The Jester

“These men are here of their own mind,” I said. “I doubt they would go home even upon my demand.”

“Does the welfare of their immortal souls not matter to them?” one of the priests inquired.

“I don’t know. Let’s see.” I turned back toward my ranks. “Go home. Lay down your arms. All of you. Fight’s over. I have his word that the duke promises to spare your souls.”

[391] My words echoed across the field, but not a single person moved. I turned back to the priest. Shrugged.

“And what if I said the lady Emilie was here of her own mind too,” Stephen snapped. “That it is her choice to stay, even upon my demand.”

“Then I would call you a liar, Stephen. Or a hopeless fool.”

“Again, jester,” he said, yanking his horse, “you waste precious time on jokes. Your new chatelain will tell you, you are on the verge of a bloody bath.”

“We are ready, my lord. This battle has your handprint on it, if it occurs, not mine.”

Stephen curled a smile. “Just know that I will not be as lenient with you as was that codswipe Baldwin. You have seen the fate of certain villages and people who I thought had something I wanted. Expect no less, jester. I will see your heart burned out of your traitorous body. You will be hung upside down as heretics, all of you… your insides left to soil your faces as they run to the ground. Even God will avert His eyes!”

“Then what do you say, Daniel?” I glanced at Gui with a smile. “We must make sure we fight this fight on a full stomach, so as not to disappoint.”

Stephen sniffed back a laugh. Then he ran his eyes over the lance. “You know, should I return with that, all I described could be avoided. You could have the little slut and ride off to the far corner of the earth for all I care. As for your men, I will see that we restore their souls.”

“Most tempting,” I replied, pretending to ponder his offer for a moment. “Problem is, my men have not assembled here for Lady Emilie, but for the single purpose of seeing the offenses of your rule brought to justice. They’re here to demand recompense for your crimes. To see you bow down, lord, nothing less. Then I will give you the lance. That is my offer. In the meantime, with all respect to the bishop, we’ll take our chances on our souls.”

“I could simply take it, you know. My archers could cut you in half with just a nod.”

[392] “And mine too, my lord. Then God would have to decide.”

A tiny twitch tremored on Stephen’s nose. “You think I would trade the dignity of my name even for a vault of such lances?”

“It should not be so hard,” I said, holding it close to his face, “since you have traded most of it already just to be this close.”

Stephen reared his horse and smiled. “I can see why the court grew fond of you. Get prepared, jester. I will reply. Within an hour.” He yanked his horse around and started to head back toward the gate.

OUR ARMY WAITED just two hundred yards from the towering walls of Borée in a broad and teeming line.

Archers tensed their bows, fire arrows tipped in oil. Foot soldiers, some holding ladders like crosses, focused on the walls, on the line of silent green-and-gold defenders.

A thousand men, cradling their weapons, muttering last prayers, awaited my sign.

“What are you thinking now?” Odo asked.

I took a breath. “That Emilie is in there… And you?”

“That those are the biggest fucking walls I’ve ever seen.” The smith shrugged.

I fixed on the impressive main gate, waiting for Stephen’s reply. Odo to my left, Georges, Daniel, and Alphonse flanked to my right. The tension beat around like a drum of war.

Stephen’s defenders crowded the walls, crossbows tilted down at us. There were no taunts or curses rattling back and forth, only a heavy silence hanging like a fog between the two armies. In the distance, the chirp of birds could be heard. Any moment, the tense calm would be shattered like a club smashing through glass.

Odo leaned close, clutching his enormous pike. “One of the Languedocians told me a good one. You have the time to hear?”

I kept my eyes fixed on the gate. “If I must.”

[394] “What’s hairy underneath, stands tall and erect in a bed, has reddish skin, and is guaranteed to make even a nun cry out in tears?”

I looked down the line. Everyone was ready. “I don’t know.”

The big smith shook his head. “Don’t know? What kind of a shit jester are you? It’s a wonder I keep putting my life in your hands.”

“If you put it that way…” I cocked my head his way. “It’s an onion.”

Odo groaned. “Oh, you know that one.” A trail of snickering filtered down the line. Then he elbowed me and grinned. “That’s my boy.”

All at once, from behind the walls, the ping of a catapult releasing pierced the air and a black projectile shot high into the sky. Murmurs rippled through the ranks, men pointing as the object descended toward our front line.

“Brace yourselves! Here it comes,” someone yelled.

The projectile struck the ground and rolled to a stop only a few yards from where I stood. My stomach fell.

The mound had features-hair, charred and singed; startled, round eyes bulging out of their sockets.

I let out a sickened cry.

The face seemed to be staring at me. It had a grin that was both impish and impudent. The eyes spat back in their moment of death, familiar, unmistakable.

Norbert!

His eyes looked at me as they had that first day, when Emilie brought me to his chamber. I almost expected him to wink: Had you fooled , didn’t I , boy? That is the best you can do …? Watch this!

I rushed out of formation and knelt over the remains. My ears were filled with a deafening ringing. Countless images of things that had transpired since I first set out from home flashed before me.

[395] The ringing finally subsided. I raised the holy lance and, perhaps for the first time, I believed in it. I looked at my men, who in their readiness reminded me of horses unwilling to be held back.

“Your freedom lies within those walls. Now,” I shouted. “Now is the time!”

Then the cry from my lungs was drowned by the stampede of a thousand men hurling themselves at the walls of Borée.

THE FIRST SOUND of battle was a belching groan from one of the mangonels, as a massive rock was launched high into the sky and crashed with a thunderous blast into the wall above the main gate. Fragments of stone and sparks and dirt exploded everywhere. But when the dust cleared, the wall still held.

Then another boulder whistled into the sky. Followed by a third, both striking high on the wall, shattering guard posts, sending bodies and battlements flying like debris. Then a volley of flaming arrows. Whoosh . Some struck against the walls, sticking in wooden battlements, where small fires ignited; others clattered harmlessly to the ground.

Then the mangonels again, this time with a cargo of burning molten pitch. Defenders ducked; some screamed in pain, slapping at body parts. Others ran around with buckets, dousing flames. The smell of tar and sizzling flesh singed the air.

I raised my arm. “Now, men. What is yours is within those walls. Charge!”

Our men raced toward the walls in a mountainous wave of steel, spears, and ladders. Eighty yards. The closer we got, the larger the walls grew. Sixty yards…

I could see the faces of the defenders-ready for our charge, holding fast, waiting for us to come within range.

[397] Fifty yards…

Then, all of a sudden, the cry of, “Tirez!” Fire!