Robin Hobb - The Complete Tawny Man Trilogy - Fool’s Errand, The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate

We came at length to Galeton. We had crested several rocky hills and crossed the oak valleys between, and then as we reached the top of yet another rolling hill, the winking lights of a small town shone out below us. Galeton fronted onto a small tributary of the Buck called Antler River. It was too small a body of water to be navigable by large boats. Most of the goods that came to Galeton made the last stretch of their journey by waggon. The Antler furnished water for the cattle and the fields, and fish for the folk that lived alongside it. The Bresinga manor was on a small rise that overlooked the little town. In the dark it was impossible to see the extent of the great house, but the spacing of the candlelit windows convinced me it was substantial. The waggons entered through the gate of a long stone wall and we followed unchallenged. When the drivers pulled up in the waggonyard beside the manor, men with torches came out to meet them. I noted the absence of barking dogs, and thought it odd. Lord Golden led Laurel and me on to the main entrance of the manor itself. Before we had even alighted, the door opened for us, and servants poured out to greet us.

We were expected. A messenger had preceded us on the morning ferry. Lady Bresinga herself appeared to greet us and welcome us to her home. Servants led our horses away, and bore our baggage for us as I followed Lord Golden and the Queen’s Huntswoman into the spacious entry hall of Bresinga Manor. Of oak and riverstone was this imposing house built. Thick timbers and massive stonework commanded the eye, dwarfing the folk who filled the chamber.

Lord Golden was the centre of their attention. Lady Bresinga had taken his arm in welcome. Short and plump, the woman looked up at him approvingly as she chatted. Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes and stretched her upper lip tightly above her teeth. The lanky boy that stood at her side was likely Civil Bresinga. He was taller than Hap, yet about his age, and wore his dark hair brushed straight back above his forehead, revealing a pronounced widow’s peak. He gave me an odd glance in passing, then directed his attention back to his mother and Lord Golden. An odd little shiver of awareness danced across my skin. The Wit. Someone here was Old Blood, and concealing it with consummate skill. I breathed a thought of warning to the wolf. Be small . His acknowledgement was more subtle than the scent of night flowers when day comes, yet I saw Lady Bresinga turn her head slightly, as if to catch a distant sound. Too soon to be certain, yet I felt that Chade’s and my suspicions were well-founded.

The Huntswoman of the Queen had her own circle of admirers courting her favour. The Bresinga Huntsman was at Laurel’s elbow already, telling her that as soon as she arose in the morning, he’d be pleased to show her the best uplands for game birds. His assistants stood alertly at his elbow. Later, he would escort her into a late dinner with Lady Bresinga and Lord Golden. When hunting was planned, those two could expect to share table and wine with their betters.

In the midst of the hubbub of welcoming, little attention was paid to me. I stood, as any good servant did, awaiting my next command. A serving-woman hastened up to me. ‘I’ll show you the chambers we’ve prepared for Lord Golden so that you may arrange them to his taste. Will he want a bath this evening?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ I replied to the young woman as I followed her. ‘And a light repast in his rooms. Sometimes he is taken with an appetite late at night.’ This was a fabrication on my part to be sure that I did not have to go hungry. It was expected that I would see to my master’s comfort first, and then my own.

Lord Golden’s unexpected visit had commanded a fine chamber as large as my entire cottage. An immense bed dominated the room. It was mounded with featherbeds and fat pillows. Enormous bouquets of cut roses scented the chamber, and a veritable forest of beeswax tapers added both light and their delicate scent. By daylight, the room would look over the river and across the valley, but tonight the windows were shuttered. I opened one ‘for air’, and then assured the maid that I could unpack my master’s garments if she would see to bathwater. A small antechamber opened off Lord Golden’s for my own use. It was small, but better furnished than many servants’ chambers that I’d seen.

It took me longer to unpack Lord Golden’s clothing than I had expected. I was amazed at how much he had managed to fit into his packs. Not only clothing and boots, but jewellery, perfumes, scarves, combs and brushes emerged from the compact bags. I put it all in place as best I could imagine. I tried to recall Charim, Prince Verity’s serving-man and valet. Standing in his shoes suddenly put all he had done in a different perspective. That good man had always been present, and always engaged in some task for Verity’s comfort or convenience. Unobtrusive, yet ever ready for his master’s command. I tried to think what he would do in my place.

I kindled a small fire in the hearth so that my master would be comfortable while he was drying after his bath. I turned down Lord Golden’s bed and set his nightshirt out upon the linen. Then, smirking, I retreated to my own chamber, wondering what the Fool would have made of all this.

I had expected my own unpacking to be simple and it was until I got to the package of clothing from the tailor. I untied the string, and the garments seemed to burst from their confines like a blossom unfurling. The Fool had reneged on Lord Golden’s promise to keep me poorly dressed. The clothing the tailor had sewn was the best quality I had ever possessed in my life. There was a set of servant’s blues, better tailored than what I now wore, and of a finer weave. Two snowy shirts of linen were more elegant than what most servants wore. There was a doublet of rich blue, with dark hose with a grey stripe in it, and another in deep green. I held the green doublet up against me. The doublet’s skirt came almost to my knees, longer than I was accustomed to, and yellow embroidery ran riot over it. Yellow leggings. I shook my head. There was a wide leather belt to fasten about it. Lord Golden’s golden cock-pheasant was embroidered on the breast of the jerkin. I rolled my eyes at my reflection. Truly, the Fool had expressed himself in these clothes for me. Dutifully I put them away. No doubt he would soon find an excuse to make me wear them.

I had scarcely finished my unpacking before I heard a step in the hallway. A knock at the door announced that Lord Golden’s tub had arrived. Two serving-boys carried it in, followed by three others bearing buckets of both hot and cold water. It was expected that I would mix these to achieve Lord Golden’s preference in his bath. Then another lad arrived carrying a tray of scented oils that he might choose from, and yet another with a towering stack of towels. Two men arrived carrying the painted screens that would protect him from draughts while he was enjoying his ablutions. I have not always been swift at appraising social situations, yet dim as I was, I was awakening to Lord Golden’s social stature. A welcome this effusive was more likely to be accorded to royalty rather than to a landless noble of dubious origin. Obviously, his popularity at court far exceeded my initial regard of it. It chagrined me that I had not previously perceived it. Then, with unerring certainty, I knew the reason for it.

I knew who he was. I knew his past, or far more of it than any of his admirers did. To me, he was not the exotic and fabulously wealthy nobleman of some distant Jamaillian family. To me, he was the Fool in the midst of one of his elaborate pranks, and I was still expecting that at any moment he would cease his juggling and let all his flying illusions come clattering to the ground. But there was no moment of revelation awaiting. Lord Golden was real, as real as the Fool had been to me. I stood stock still a moment, reeling in that unveiling thought. Lord Golden was as real as the Fool. And hence, the Fool had been as real as Lord Golden.