James Patterson - The Jester

The thrill of victory twisted into rage on Stephen’s face. “ Get him!” he screamed. “A hundred gold pieces for the man who brings me that lance. Five hundred!”

His guards started to move toward me. I raised the lance.

[434] “You threw my son into the flames,” I said, fixed on Stephen. “Here, fetch your lance.”

I hurled it with all my might into the center of the bonfire. To everyone’s horror, it stuck firmly amid the flames.

“No…!” Stephen hollered.

He ran like a madman to the fire, desperately pulling at branches and wood, flames biting at his flesh. He hurled sticks toward the lance, trying to dislodge it. Then he backed off, driven away by the raging heat. He stared at the lance fixed in the center, red-hot and starting to lose its shape.

Then he turned toward me, murderous hatred in his eyes. “You!” he screamed. “You incredible fool!”

STEPHEN BOUNDED UP the stone stairs two at a time and onto a parapet, climbing to my level with great speed and agility for such a large man. His eyes burned.

I took my sword and leaped from my ledge to a second-floor balcony of the castle. One of Stephen’s soldiers moved to stop me, and I slashed him across the chest, sending him flying.

The duke hurdled another ledge, racing toward me in a frenzy. He came to face me on the same balcony-ten paces away.

“Your wit has never been in doubt, carrot-head,” he said, leering at me. “Now we’ll see if you have fight.”

He leaped upon me, bringing down his blade. A bone-chilling clang reverberated through my arms as I parried the blow. Stephen pivoted deftly and swung his sword, two handed, at my chest. The blade cut my side.

I buckled, stung with terrible pain.

“ Come on , fool ,” he taunted, “I thought you had some passion for the fight. You will see there is more to being noble than sticking your dick in a highborn coo. You wanted restitution for your shit-covered wife and son? Come on!”

He struck with his sword again, forcing mine back inches from my neck. His eyes were ablaze; hot breath fumed in my face.

With the last of my strength, I kneed him. Stephen groaned and buckled. I pushed him away and swung my blade, knocking [436] the sword from his hand. His eyes widened as it toppled over the ledge. He stood there, defenseless, yet still glaring.

Then he jumped up onto a ledge overlooking the square. He laughed. “Just know that if I get to her first, she is dead!”

He leaped across to the next balcony. Then he darted inside the castle.

I ran to the edge of the balcony, scanning the courtyard, looking for Emilie. I didn’t see her anywhere. Odo either. Blood was seeping from my side.

I ran into the castle, expecting Stephen and a fight to the death. I was in the living quarters. No sign of the bastard anywhere.

“Where are you?” I hollered down the halls. Only echoes answered.

I smashed through a door and into Stephen and Anne’s private quarters. I looked around madly. I had been here that night when I hunted for Anne after finding Sophie in the dungeon.

I looked down at my side. A damp patch of blood was spreading on my tunic. “ Stephen ,” I yelled. “ God damn it , come fight with me .”

His voice came from behind me. “You want me, I am here, jester. Tell me a joke.”

Stephen emerged from a corner smirking, a loaded crossbow aimed at my chest. “I may be a jester short, as you say,” he said, “but you, it seems, are the one who is out of tricks.”

A chill went down my spine. I backed up to the wall. There was nowhere to run.

“What do you say? Our little fool is out of tricks? He dreams of being noble, but he has only fucked one. Shame about the lance, though,” he said with a grin. “Don’t you agree, wife?”

Wife …? Anne?

ANNE STEPPED into the light, remaining behind Stephen. My legs grew weak. A hollowness was in my gut.

In her hand she held the lance. The holy lance … not the ordinary one I had cast so theatrically into the fire. The lance I had entrusted to her last night! Entrusted.

“I am a fool,” I said, seeking out her eyes. How could Emilie have been so wrong about Anne? How could I?

I looked at the crossbow leveled at my chest. And Stephen’s mocking grin. For the first time, I felt ready to die.

“One last word, jester.” Stephen smirked. “Your death is trivial to me, serf. All that mattered was the lance. But what would you do with such a thing, anyway? You could not possibly know the power it holds. I hunted the world for it. By all God’s justice, it is mine.” He tensed his finger on the trigger of the crossbow.

“Then have it, Stephen.” Anne’s voice rang from behind him.

Suddenly Stephen lurched and his eyes wrenched open. I stiffened, expecting my guts to fall into my hands. But no arrow came from his crossbow.

I heard the most horrible sound-the splitting of ribs and sinew, the tearing of flesh. An awful gasp came from Stephen’s mouth. But instead of words, a river of blood followed.

[438] Anne pushed forward strongly. This time, the blade of the lance pierced the base of his neck and came out before his very eyes. “ Have it , husband .”

Then Anne put her mouth close to his ear and whispered, “But know how worthless it is now, our Savior’s blood having mingled with your own.”

Stephen looked down. He stared disbelievingly at the Roman eagle and the bloody tip of the holy lance’s blade protruding from his neck.

Then he fell to the floor.

I stared at Anne, dumbstruck. She merely stared in return. Neither of us spoke. Then I saw a softening in her eyes and she nodded, as if we shared some kind of understanding, one that would never be put into words.

“I think it’s safe to say,” she said, “that when we pulled you from the ditch that day, such an ending would not have entered our minds.”

“Very safe, madame.”

I heard footsteps from down the hall. Emilie burst into the room, breathless. Our eyes met and my heart nearly exploded with joy. She looked at Stephen crumpled on the floor. Then at Anne standing over him. Then at me again, her eyes darting to the blood leaking from my side.

She gasped. “You are wounded.”

“And you are always nursing me back to health,” I said. “Oh God, Emilie, you cannot know how it feels to see you now.”

“I do know,” she said.

Emilie ran to me and flung herself into my arms. I lifted her off her feet and squeezed her as tightly as I have ever held anything in my life. I kissed her over and over, kisses of hope and gratefulness. For the first time, I actually realized that she was mine.

My eyes were moist as I thought of all that had taken place since I first set out from Veille du Père. All who had died. “I [439] have nothing. Not a denier to my name,” I muttered. “Not even a career. How is it possible that I feel like the richest man in all the world?”

Emilie took my hand and whispered, “Because you are free.”

THE LANGUEDOCIANS WERE THE FIRST to leave, early the following morning. Ox told me there was a saying in their part of the woods: No sense hanging around the wine cask when the party’s over.

He and his men assembled at the gates at dawn, their horses loaded with sacks of grain, a few pigs, and hens fluttering behind. I went out in the early light to bid them farewell.

“You should stay,” I told him. “Anne has promised to address all your claims. You deserve a lot more.”

“More? We are farmers,” Ox said. “What else do we need? If we came back laden with gold chalices, our people would think they were to piss in.”