James Patterson - The Jester

[419] I grabbed the lance. Someone hitched up a mount for me.

“I’ll go with you,” Daniel said.

“I’ll come too,” the miller said.

I looked at Stephen. I didn’t trust this bastard, no matter how deeply he was bound by honor. “I think not.” I shook my head. I had someone else in mind.

We brought up Baldwin. He had long been stripped of his fancy clothes and was dressed in a burlap tunic like any common man. His wrists were bound, his haggard face badly in need of a shave.

“It is your lucky day,” I said, plopping a plumed hat upon his head. “If all goes well, you’ll soon be back in silk.”

“You do not need to dress me up.” He threw off the hat. “You can be sure Stephen will recognize one of his own.”

“Suit yourself.” I nodded solemnly.

We headed forward out of the ranks, Baldwin’s mount tethered to mine. Soldiers on the walls watched us silently approach.

We stopped, out of arrow-shot, forty yards from the wall. Stephen gazed down, barely acknowledging me, as if he had been called away from a meal.

“Black Cross is dead,” I announced. “The fate of your best knights, what’s left of them, awaits your word. We have no more urge for blood. Submit!”

“I commend you, carrot-top,” the duke replied. “You have proven to be as worthy a fighter as you are a fool. I have taken you too lightly. Come, ride forth where I can see your face. I will present my terms.”

“ Your terms? It is our terms you are bound to hear.”

“What do I detect, jester? Do you not think me a man of honor? Ride forth and claim your prize.”

“I think you bargain freely, lord, with something you are short of. Do not be offended if I send out my man instead.”

A smile curled on Stephen’s face. “Your man, then, jester. And I will send mine.”

“Shall I go?” Daniel offered.

[420] I shook my head and glanced toward Baldwin. “No… him .”

Baldwin’s eyes bolted wide. A film of sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Here’s your chance.” I pulled his hood over his head. “Show us how your fellow lord recognizes you.”

I untied his horse and gave it a hard slap to the rump, and it bolted forward. The duke, hands bound, tried to gather it under control. As he crossed over into no-man’s-land, he began to shout, “I am Baldwin, duke of Treille!”

A few guards on the wall began to point and laugh.

The duke’s voice became more agitated. “I am Baldwin, you fools. Disregard these clothes. Look at me, Stephen. Do you not see?”

All that could be seen was a lowly-clad figure galloping toward the gates on his horse.

“Here, jester,” Stephen called from the wall. “Here are my terms.”

A chilling whoosh was heard and an arrow struck Baldwin’s chest. The duke keeled back. Then another, and a third arrow cut into him. Baldwin’s body slumped in the saddle. The horse, sensing something was wrong, reversed its course and drifted back toward our ranks.

“There are my terms, fool,” Stephen called from the wall. “Enjoy your victory. You have one day .” Then he wrapped his purple cloak about his shoulders and left, without even waiting for a response.

Daniel rode out to meet the returning horse. Baldwin’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

A parchment was rolled onto one of the arrows in his chest.

Daniel leaped off his horse and, without pulling out the arrow, unfastened the paper bound to its shaft. He read, then looked up. I saw the bitterness in his eyes.

“Lady Emilie is decreed a traitor. We have the day to lay down our arms. Unless we submit, and turn the lance over to Stephen, she will be hanged.”

THAT NIGHT, I went out into the fields behind our camp, my chest exploding with rage.

I needed to be alone. I headed past the sentries manning our perimeter. What did I care if I was in danger? I wanted to hurl the blasted lance against the castle walls. Keep it, Stephen. My life has been sorrow and misery since I found it!

Behind me, the flames of a hundred fires sparkled in the night, my men dozing or making bets on what tomorrow would bring: fight or surrender.

I began to feel heartened, my shoulders free of strain. Maybe I would see Emilie if I walked close to the walls. Just for a moment, as I passed by the gates. The thought lifted me-that I might see her beautiful face one more time.

I let out a breath, cradling the lance in my palms, staring at the massive walls.

Suddenly I felt a muscular arm around my neck. I gulped for air, the grip tightening. The tip of a blade was pressed into my back.

“Most accommodating, jester,” hissed a voice in my ear.

“You’ve picked a daring place for a murder. If I shout out, you will be meat for our dogs.”

“And if you shout, you would be out a very dear friend, boar-slayer.”

[422] I slowly turned and was face-to-face with the Moor who always guarded Anne.

“What are you doing here, Moor? Your mistress, Anne, is no friend of mine. You’re not welcome either.”

“I come with a message,” he said. “You must listen, just listen.”

“I have already seen your lady’s message, but my wife died in her dungeon.”

“A message not from my lady,” the Moor said with a smile, “but from yours. Emilie. She bids you come with me tonight. I told her no sane man would come back with me through these walls. She said to tell you, ‘That may be , but it will not always be .’ ”

The sound of those words took my breath away. I could hear Emilie’s voice, see her as I set off that day in the jester’s suit to Treille. My spirits lifted at the thought of the brave twinkle in her eyes.

“Do not smile yet,” warned the Moor. “It will be a long shot to save her. Choose two men. Your best. Two whom you would be happy to die with. Then we must go. Inside. Now.”

I CHOSE ODO and Ox. Who else? They were the two bravest, and they had gotten me this far.

Around midnight, we left, snaking our way through the camp and into the woods without attracting attention. Then we followed the river to where it neared the city walls, away from the main gates.

Through the darkness, I saw the outline of the great cathedral, lit by the flames of sentry fires. We could even hear Stephen’s men talking while manning the walls.

We kept close to the river, approaching a part of the city I did not know. We forded the river at a low point the Moor knew.

Creeping along the wall, we finally reached a spot that seemed to be the exterior of a large stone building many stories high. Narrow window slits were carved in the wall. I had no idea where I was.

The Moor climbed up to one of the narrow slits. He scratched at the opening. A voice whispered back, “ Who is there , fool or king?”

In his broken accent, the Moor said, “If fools wore crowns, we’d all be kings. Quick, let us in-or we’ll all be hanging tomorrow.”

[424] Suddenly chunks of the wall began to shift. The slit grew larger, a block at a time, and I could see it was not a window but a tunnel.

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“ La porte du fou ,” the Moor said, hurrying us through. The fool’s gate. “It was dug during the wars with Anjou as an escape route, but the Anjevins found out and they were waiting there. They slaughtered all who came out. Anyone who went through was said to be a fool. Thought you’d appreciate the touch.”

“Very reassuring.” Odo swallowed uneasily.

“My apologies,” the Moor said. “I would have suggested the main gate, but all these men in green-and-gold surcoats with big swords were standing around guarding it.” He pushed Odo forward.