With a Jester of Kindness

by K. C. Herbel

  “You too?” the king asked his niece.

  “Aye!” shouted someone from the crowd. “We want to hear Billy!”

  “Let’s hear the boy,” shouted another.

  Other voices chimed in, until the ward was exceptionally noisy with their exultation. Some simply cheered, while others requested specific songs. Billy turned to look them over and saw his new friends from Hillshire. The earl himself stood amongst them, a raised tankard in his hand. Old Finney nodded to Billy. Billy bowed to him and then turned to face the king.

  The king crinkled his forehead and stared out at the large contingent of rowdy guests. He held up his wrinkled hands until they were finally quiet. He then turned his attention back to Billy. “I see you have a following,” he said.

  Billy felt genuinely embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

  “Sorry?” said the king. “It seems to me that you should be!”

  Billy bowed his head.

  “You should be sorry,” continued the king, “for not coming here before now.”

  Malcolm let out a laugh, and Billy looked up to see that his king was smiling at him. Billy returned the smile and again bowed to his ruler.

  “So,” said the king, “what songs do you know?”

  “I know many songs, Your Majesty,” answered Billy, “but there is one song which I would most like to sing for you.”

  The king held out his hand and nodded for Billy to proceed. A cheer went up from the crowd at the lower tables. Billy looked to Lady Myrredith and Sir Hugh whose proud, encouraging smiles seemed most parental.

  While Malcolm quieted the crowd, Billy took a moment to tune his new instrument. It had a beautiful round tone, more full and rich than Sir Hugh’s instrument. The neck was a trifle larger than he was used to, to accommodate additional strings, but Billy didn’t mind at all. The strings were right where they ought to be. He gave them a gentle strum, and they jumped to life under his touch. Billy couldn’t help smiling even broader as he slipped the strap over his head and began.

  The song that Billy chose to perform for the king was one that he had heard most of his life. It was perhaps his favorite ballad, retelling King William’s most famous battle, wherein he saved Lyonesse from an invasion. Billy sang the words, as he had never done before. Unfortunately he forgot, until it was too late, that the defeated army belonged to the father of the princess’ new husband.

  In the middle of the last stanza, Billy stopped. There was nothing but silence as he looked back over his shoulder to the head table. There he saw nearly every conceivable expression on the faces of the nobles.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the king with a smile.

  “Uncle!” exclaimed Kathryn.

  “I just-just” stammered Billy. “I just realized that he—that I—that the song . . .”

  “I thought ya sung it quite well,” said the prince.

  Everyone stared at him in surprise, the odd sound of his accent stuck in their ears. The prince looked around and then rose to his feet.

  “My friends,” said the prince solemnly, “I, Prince Gaelyn, am now of Lyonesse. My wife, Kathryn, will someday be ruler of this land . . . and then our children after. How could I ask ya to stop singin’ your songs? The songs that fill your hearts with pride, for this great nation?”

  Silence hung awkwardly over the ward and then was shattered by a sudden banging. Everyone turned to face the sound. The Earl of Hillshire stood in the midst of the crowd banging his tankard on the table. Forthwith, the entire crowd cheered their new prince.

  “Hooray, Prince Gaelyn, hooray!” The attitude of their new prince was a sure sign that there would be peace and prosperity for all. Billy strummed the first chords of “Lyonesse, My Home”—a song long considered by the common folk to be their national anthem. When people, standing near the dais, heard his sweet, angelic voice over the din, they stopped their applause to listen. Soon everything was silent except for his soothing tones. Romantic images of their homeland rolled over the assembled guests and servants like warm honey.

  When Billy reached the last chorus, the entire ward joined him. Without warning, Billy found tears rolling down his cheeks. From his vantage point he could see the entire ward, and so he cast his eye around the ward to forever record this moment in his heart.

  Billy’s eyes stopped short of the dais when they fell upon the brooding form of Don Miguel Scarosa. The scowling troubadour leaned against a flagpole at the edge of the crowd, his ruffled white shirt stained with wine and his lute hanging limp from his shoulder. He glared hatefully at Billy as they made eye contact, then he threw back his head to swill down the last of his wine. Billy, disturbed by the Spaniard’s appearance, couldn’t take his eyes off him.

  Before Don Miguel could bring down his cup, a darkness enveloped him, which caused Billy to shudder. The pale face of Ergyfel appeared next to Don Miguel’s and began whispering in his ear. Billy completely forgot about the song he was singing. As Scarosa brought his head back level, he sent Billy another black look. The magister continued to whisper, and the Spaniard’s frown changed into a smile—a satisfied, menacing smile. Billy’s blood ran cold.

  The last notes of “Lyonesse, My Home” echoed through the ward, bringing Billy back to his senses. He glanced around and strummed the final cord of the song. Then he turned his attention back to the edge of the crowd. Don Miguel was still there, but he was now alone. Billy scanned the ward for the black attire of Ergyfel. He had vanished again.

  “Billy! Hooray!” shouted someone in the crowd.

  Others started to chant, “Billy! Billy! Billy!” Then more added their voices to Billy’s praises.

  Billy looked at the crowd and then to the head table, where his patron lady smiled knowingly. The entire table of nobles smiled at him.

  Billy glanced back at Don Miguel. The angry troubadour dashed his empty cup to the ground and tromped off to the donjon. Billy wished that he could say something to him, but alas it would have to wait, for the crowd would not.

  Billy was overwhelmed by the response of his audience. He stepped forward and bowed. He desperately wanted to go back, next to Lady Myrredith and Sir Hugh, behind the big table. In a moment of indecision, he started to bow and step back at the same time. It cost him his balance and sent his bottom to the dais decking with a thud. Billy’s audience laughed but continued to applaud him.

  Quickly Billy rolled up to his feet and faced the head table. King William was laughing appreciatively and clapping his hands. The others at the table were likewise applauding him. Billy felt the warmth of his blood rising in his face and bowed to hide his embarrassment.

  “Rise, William. Rise,” said the king.

  Billy straightened and faced his namesake. King William grinned and gestured for Billy to approach.

  “That was beautiful, William,” said the king, “simply beautiful. Now, it would please us if you would sing some more.”

  “If it pleases Your Majesty, I could never refuse.”

  The crowd let out another cheer, and immediately the Hillshire contingent began to shout requests. Billy, still flushed, turned to face them. He listened for a moment to their shouts and then held up his hands for quiet.

  When the din had died down, Billy strummed on his lute and began with the song that had been such a great success at Earl Finney’s court in Waru-Dunom. Gladly the revelers arose and responded to Billy’s musical queries with the traditional shouts and dancing steps. Without hesitation, Billy went from one song to another, occasionally giving the dancers a chance to breathe by singing a ballad for them. His charm and music captivated them, and nearly everyone joined in the dancing, including Princess Kathryn. She and Prince Gaelyn were becoming very popular themselves.

  After a dance, the princess and prince approached Billy. The newlyweds leaned over and requested a song. Billy, already into another tune, smiled and nodded in agreement.

  Then Kathryn said, “My uncle hasn’t been this happy in years, William! Even Myrredith says so.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this carefree! Even his illness seems less severe today.” With that, Prince Gaelyn grabbed her by the hand and took her for another dance.

  Billy’s heart was bursting with pride. He looked to his patron and his king, who were enjoying the dance of the prince and princess. He couldn’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be, or anything he’d rather be doing. Despite the rough start, it was turning out to be the perfect day.

  As in Hillshire, Billy found that his audience was reluctant to let him stop. Each time that he made motions to leave the stage they would protest and insist that he give them one more song. Billy felt embarrassed when he saw the other musicians standing idly nearby, so he signaled for them to come join him. They looked at each other, unsure if Billy was talking to them.

  Finally Billy called, “Musicians! Come help me!”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the musicians gathered their instruments and went to the dais where they joined Billy.

  “Now we can really play some lively tunes!” he told them.

  The musicians replied by smiling and adding the sounds of their instruments to his. The added musicians infused the crowd with vigor. All present were caught in the music’s irresistible spell. They wished they could dance and sing forever.

  In the midst of the revel, Billy spied a messenger weaving his way through the crowd. He recognized the red and gold as a member of Earl Finney’s household. Billy took a quick look at the earl, who sat atop his table, singing and drinking with a great toothy grin, his arms gesturing wildly about him. What a grand sight he is.

  The messenger pushed his way past the dancers, to the dais. He stopped momentarily to speak with the guard, who nodded and let him pass. The boy, red faced from exertion, quickly crossed behind the table and bowed beside Lady Myrredith and Sir Hugh. The Lady of Cyndyn Hall leaned forward to hear the earl’s servant over the ruckus. I hope it’s good news, thought Billy. Maybe Aonghas is coming!

  Lady Myrredith straightened slowly. Her face had lost its rosy color and smile. It was a hollow pale mask.

  Billy stopped playing, and the other musicians followed. A moment later the dancers stopped too. They whined and hollered for the music to continue.

  “What is it, William?” asked the king, still grinning. He seemed unaware of the messenger by Lady Myrredith’s side.

  “Well,” said King William, “speak up. What’s the matter?”

  Lady Myrredith rose stiffly and remained still for a moment. The king saw her face, and his face took on a solemn expression.

  “Myrredith,” he said gently, “has something happened?”

  “I apologize, Your Majesty,” started Lady Myrredith, “I did not mean to disturb this joyous occasion.”

  “What is it, child?”

  “I-My . . .” stammered Lady Myrredith, bracing herself on the table.

  Billy could see Lady Myrredith’s shoulders shake as she tried to control her tears. Kathryn and Gaelyn silently approached the table.

  Sir Hugh stood up and placed his hand on Myrredith’s. “Sir Aonghas . . .” he announced, “has died.”

  A rumble stormed through the crowd like far-off thunder. The hubbub was too garbled for Billy to understand any of it. His own thoughts were confused.

  Finally the noise subsided as the king rose to his feet. “Quiet!” he shouted hoarsely. He wheezed and then fell into the throws of a violent coughing fit. After he had recovered, he turned to face down the table. “Lady Myrredith, this is indeed news that saddens my old heart. You have our complete sympathies.” Then the king fell silent for a moment as if remembering some long-forgotten time.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Lady Myrredith with a bow.

  “I am sure,” said the king in an oddly commanding voice, “that no one here would wish to continue celebrating after hearing of your loss—of indeed—this loss to us all.”

  “Here, here!” came the response from several men in the crowd.

  “No!” said Lady Myrredith, reclaiming some of her usual strength. “This should be a day of great gladness for the entire kingdom. I could not bear for it to be otherwise.”

  “But Myrredith . . . ?” started Kathryn.

  “No,” said Lady Myrredith, softly correcting her friend. “This is your day, Highness. It means a great deal to me, to all our people.”

  A tremor in her voice made it obvious that she was cracking under the strain. However, as Eadwig put it, “she is a Cyndyn,” which meant she would not allow herself to become a pitiful spectacle, nor would she budge until her will prevailed.

  Princess Kathryn, well aware of her friend’s tenacity, did not pursue it further. She bowed deeply to the Lady of Cyndyn Hall. “As you wish, dear friend.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” said Lady Myrredith, and then she turned to King William and added, “I hope you will excuse me, Your Majesty, I believe I have some packing to do.”

  “Of course,” said the king.

  The ward was silent as Sir Hugh escorted Lady Myrredith from the dais. For a brief moment, her footing faltered on the steps down, but she recovered gracefully. Those they passed bowed deeply before the dignified lady.

  It was a long while before anyone felt much enthusiasm for celebrating. The musicians, being the professionals they were, tried to lighten up the atmosphere by playing cheerful, festival music. Billy tried to strum along with them, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

  Billy wanted to go to his lady, to comfort her and cheer her up, but realized the futility in it. Instead, he decided to leave the crowd to wander through the donjon alone and sort things out.

  Billy went to take his leave from King William. “Your Majesty,” he said with a bow, “if I may, I would like to . . .”

  “Retire?” supplied the king.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Of course, William. But before you go, allow me to thank you for the marvelous entertainment.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “I know Sir Aonghas’s death must be upsetting to you,” said Kathryn, “but never forget that today you made your king and myself very happy.”

  “Yes,” said Billy with a bow. “Thank you, Princess Kathryn.”

  “I guess what we’re trying to say, William,” continued the princess, “is that you are welcome here anytime you wish.”

  “And even though ya have come with Lady Myrredith,” added Prince Gaelyn, “there’s no reason why ya have to leave with her.”

  “What?” mouthed Billy.

  “We’d be very glad to have ya stay,” said the prince.

  “You can stay here with us for a while,” said his bride. “The coronation is only a few days away.”

  “And we have been without an official court entertainer for quite some time,” added the king.

  Billy’s mind was adrift in a sea of conflicting thoughts: They invited me to stay . . . Sir Aonghas is dead . . . They need a court entertainer . . . Lady Myrredith’s leaving . . . He didn’t know what to make of what he was hearing. Was there something they were asking, or something he should be saying? Billy was hesitant to say anything.

  “Think on it well, William,” said the king.

  Billy turned to leave and then turned back and bowed to the royal family. Suddenly the meaning of their invitation was clear. “I will, Your Majesty!” he said, before wandering away.

  * * *

  Billy meandered through the halls of Orgulous for the remainder of the afternoon. At some point, he started for Lady Myrredith, only to change his mind at the last moment. He left his new lute by the door instead.

  It seemed as if a lifetime of experiences had been packed into one day. He couldn’t focus on any one thing. There were simply too many things to consider: first his new clothes and losing his mother’s ring, then missing the wedding and finding the ring, then his run-ins with Ergyfel and the king, and then the feast—and Malcolm . . . and the prince . . . and Sir Aonghas . . . and Lady Myrredith—and finally the king
asking him to stay . . . It was dizzying. Above all else, the thing that stuck in his head was Sir Aonghas’s death. It made the least sense of anything. Billy wondered if Aonghas knew how much his wife truly loved him.

  Billy roamed the donjon, ending up exactly where he started. At that moment, he decided to find Sir Hugh. A passing servant informed him that he had seen the King’s Champion, “headed toward the stables.”

  Billy thanked the man and ran from the donjon towards the kitchen and barracks. There was still a great deal of commotion in the inner ward. Lady Myrredith had said the entertainment would probably carry on late into the night.

  When Billy got to the inner gate, he carefully eyed the heavily shadowed outlet. He stood his ground, listening and watching for any hint of monsters.

  One of the guards on duty observed his trepidation and asked, “What’s the matter, boy?”

  “I’m afraid of those troghouls,” Billy answered.

  The guards laughed, then one of them said, “Go on, boy. They’re all gone now.”

  “Where’d they go?” asked Billy, peering into the dark.

  “What does it matter?” said a third guard.

  “The magister took them away,” added the first.

  Billy nodded then strolled into the gateway. About three steps in, he thought he felt eyes staring at him from the shadows. His heart beat faster, and then he sprinted the rest of the way across the gap to sunlight. Behind him, the guards burst out laughing, but Billy didn’t care. He was through, and that was all that mattered.

  Billy ran to the stables to find his friend, Sir Hugh. “Sir Hugh!” he cried. “Sir Hugh!”

  “Over here,” said Hugh’s familiar voice from inside.

  Billy walked to the stable closest to the bailey wall. There was a small silver shield with a blue stripe hanging over the entrance, which told him he was in the right place.

  “Welcome, Billy,” said Hugh from behind the gate.

  “Hello, Sir Hugh.”

  “What brings you out here?” asked the knight.

  “I was lookin’ for you,” answered Billy. “Goin’ for a ride?”