by Alan Gordon
“My wife was supposed to do that,” said Comminges.
“Apparently, she’s finally met her match in King Pedro,” I said. “He left her pregnant to go off on this expedition.”
“We have heard about that,” said Raimon, turning to my wife. “The blessed event is about two months away, is it not?”
“As far as she can tell,” answered Claudia.
“And her mood?”
“Sour,” said Claudia. “She’s big with child, abandoned by her handsome new husband, and resentful of the world in general.”
“That’s my Marie,” said Comminges.
“What does she think the child will be?” asked Raimon.
“She thinks a girl,” said Claudia. “Though one never can be certain.”
“If she bears a daughter, Pedro won’t be happy,” said Raimon to Bernard. “He’ll be open to some arrangement. We should look into betrothing her to my son to strengthen the alliance. Let us send a generous gift to the newborn.”
“Your son is eight years old, Dominus?” I asked.
“That is not your concern, Fool,” snapped Raimon. “I was nine when my father married me off for the first time. If it benefits Toulouse, it will be done.”
“I was not criticizing, Dominus,” I said. “Merely voicing my curiosity.”
“You might want to put a muzzle on that tongue of yours,” he said.
“Then I would be a poor excuse for a jester, Dominus,” I said. “May I say something further?”
He looked surprised, but indicated that I should continue.
“I suspect that nothing I have told you is news to you,” I said. “No doubt I have merely confirmed what your own spies have already told you, which is part of your reason for asking me here.”
“And the other part?”
“To gauge whether or not I am working for Marseille, Montpellier or Aragon.”
He looked at me again, his eyes narrowing.
“Not such a fool after all,” he said. “Who do you work for?”
“For you today,” I said. “Tomorrow, for whoever pays me for that performance.”
“Then you can be bought?”
“Lacking a regular patron, I earn my way where I can, Dominus,” I said. “We are hoping to stay here, however. It seems like a fine place to raise a family.”
“That talented girl is your daughter?”
“Yes, Dominus,” I said. “And we have a baby girl as well. It does make the travel wearisome.”
“Did you know Balthazar?” he asked.
“I met him during my previous journey here,” I said. “A most worthy fool.”
“He was at that,” he said. “Balthazar used to presume to give my father and me advice. Unorthodox, but usually on target. I once said to him in jest, what will I do if you ever die? He took the question quite seriously. He told me that if it happened, I shouldn’t be surprised if a new fool turned up about four or five months later. And that if I valued his advice, I should make this new fool a friend as well.”
“Very considerate of him to clear the way for a strange jester,” I said.
“And I find it interesting that you arrive, and that the two fools who have been here for years immediately defer to you,” he said.
“Respect for my superior abilities,” I said. “Excuse my lack of modesty.”
“I think that I may begin respecting them as well,” he said. “We will have you perform for us again, Senhor and Domina Fool.”
We stood and bowed.
“One request, Dominus,” I said as I straightened.
“Yes?”
“We live in Saint Cyprien. A pass for the gates would be useful to jesters who frequently entertain at night.”
“Oldric has them in hand as we speak,” he said.
We bowed again.
“Balthazar said it would take four or five months for the new fool to arrive,” he said as we moved toward the door. “It took you six.”
“An unexpected obstacle on the journey,” I said. “Nothing we couldn’t overcome, but not a story to interest a count.”
“Then I shall not ask to hear it,” he said. “Good evening, Fools.”
Comminges let us out. Oldric was waiting in the hall, a pair of scrolls in his hand.
“A count as your doorman, a Master of Revels as your guide,” he said. “You have risen far today. Here. One for each of you, with my signature and seal.”
“You are most kind, Senhor,” I said, bowing as we took them.
“Kind, nothing,” he said, leading us back to the Grande Chambre. “You have done me credit today. Here are your companions. Good day, Fools.”
We bowed one more time as he left.
“You have returned,” said Jordan. “And in one piece, too. What was that all about?”
“Tell you outside,” I said. “Everything packed?”
“Yes, Dominus,” said Helga, passing us our bags.
“Let’s go.”
We left, acknowledging the waves of the servants inside and the guards outside. Jordan and Pelardit were whistling happily, their share of the proceeds jingling in their purses.
“So?” inquired Jordan when we entered the city.
“He was pumping me for information,” I said.
“And you avoided giving it to him through clever badinage, eh?”
“No, I told him everything I knew,” I said.
“What?”
“Oh, it was just gossip from the other courts we came through,” I said. “Nothing of value to us, so no harm in singing like a bird.”
“If you say so,” said Jordan. “He did seem to enjoy our antics.”
“Everyone did,” said Claudia.
“I was particularly good, I thought,” said Jordan, puffing up with pride.
“You were,” I said. “Now, we need to line up our next performance.”
“Done and done,” said Jordan. “I was about to tell you. A servant came up and requested our presence at another dinner tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Where?”
“You’re going to like this,” he grinned. “The Château Bazacle. A command performance before the Guilaberts.”
“Most excellent,” I said. “How large a party?”
“Oh, he likes to outdo the Count,” said Jordan. “Just to show he has money. The food should be outstanding.”
Pelardit kissed the tips of his fingers exquisitely in agreement.
“Good,” I said. “Same openings, but we should bring in some different material. Pelardit, we should do ‘The Mirror.’ We have similar builds.”
Pelardit nodded, beaming.
“And can the two of you perform ‘The Sailing-Master and the Seasick Crusaders’ with us?”
“I have some notes on that somewhere,” said Jordan. “It’s been a while.”
“Then you be the Englishman,” I said. “Fewer lines to remember. Pelardit can be the drunken Pisan, my wife the Toulousan, and Helga the first mate. Let’s meet midmorning at your place to go over it once.”
“Very well,” said Jordan.
“Is your wife feeling better?” asked Claudia.
“She is, and thanks for asking,” said Jordan. “That tissane of rue helped immensely.”
“I am glad of it,” said Claudia.
“Shall we celebrate today’s triumph?” asked Jordan, looking longingly at a tavern as we passed.
“We have to go retrieve Portia,” said Claudia.
“But I might put this pass to the test and come back later,” I said. “Time for this jester to start working the taverns.”
“Then if our paths cross, I will buy you a drink,” said Jordan. “You have kept your word about the Count’s dinner, and given me some extra laughs to boot. My thanks for both.”
Pelardit thumped his chest.
“Our thanks for both,” Jordan corrected himself.
“And ours to you, fellow fools,” I said. “See you later.”
We went our various ways. The s
un was low on the horizon as we crossed the Daurade Bridge.
“Count Raimon looks to you for advice already,” said Claudia. “That’s convenient.”
“I do give good advice,” I said.
“It showed remarkable perception on his part to see that,” she said. “Of course, you came highly recommended by a dead fool who didn’t even know it would be you who would replace him.”
“When you put it that way, it is surprising that the Count would have so much faith in me on such short acquaintance,” I said.
“What you’re both saying is that you think he really doesn’t trust you,” said Helga.
“Correct, Apprentice,” I said. “That story about Balthazar predicting my arrival is nonsense. A Chief Fool would never reveal so much about the Guild’s practices.”
“Then Raimon must have figured that much out on his own,” said Claudia. “The Guild’s activities are not completely unknown to the world. And, my goodness, after listening to you in there, I was practically convinced that you were a spy.”
“Which is fine,” I said. “He’ll want me close so he can keep an eye on me, and he’ll be trying to figure out a way of using me. I want him to use me, because it puts me in a position to bring my influence to bear.”
“Unless he just has you beheaded so you won’t be a bother,” sighed Claudia.
“He wouldn’t do that,” protested Helga. “Would he do that? Really?”
“Probably not,” I said.
“Then you had better start teaching me faster,” said Helga. “I need to know everything that’s in your head before you lose it.”
“Don’t fret, dear,” said Claudia. “There really isn’t that much in there.”
“Right,” I agreed. “A couple of afternoons at most should do it. Shall we ditch the man following us, just for fun?”
“You already told the Count that we live in Saint Cyprien,” said Claudia. “Let’s not make the poor soldier feel bad.”
“You are a sweet and generous soul, my dove,” I said. “Tell you what—if he has to keep watch on us, we’ll send Helga out with a cup of warm wine. It’s cold today.”
We picked up Portia, who was resentful about being left for so long and let us know it. As we went inside our house, I peeked back out through the doorway. Our follower waited for a while, stepping from side to side and sticking his hands under his armpits for warmth. Finally, he turned and walked back in the direction of the city.
“No need for warm wine,” I said when I climbed into our rooms.
“At least not for any soldiers,” said Claudia, ladling a cup out for me. “Will you be going out tonight?”
Portia scooted over to my feet, looked up smiling, and said, “Papa! Up!”
I scooped her into my lap and bounced her on my knees. She squealed happily.
“No,” I said. “I have all the entertainment I need right here.”
* * *
“You’ve played the Château Bazacle before?” I asked Jordan as we walked there the next morning.
Rehearsal had gone well, but the weather was foul and playing havoc with our whiteface. We wore wide-brimmed straw hats to keep the worst of it away, but streaks of floury paste were still running down our necks onto our cloaks in spite of that protection.
“Bazacle, sure,” said Jordan. “The Guilaberts, unlike the Count, are there year-round. I suppose that’s because all of his holdings are local. They’re always good for several engagements each year.”
“And Balthazar performed here?”
“Not so much toward the end,” said Jordan. “He said something that put Guilabert out of sorts, I never heard what, so Pelardit and I were more likely to be here than he was.”
“Children?”
“Three, all grown. Two sons, one daughter. There will be some very small grandchildren. We could put Portia to work.”
“Ready to start earning your keep?” Claudia asked our daughter, who was riding contentedly on my shoulders, a tiny cap and bells on her head.
“Ba,” she said, and Pelardit gave her a thumbs up.
“What notables will be there?” I asked Jordan.
“Merchants, some of the newer consuls from the last election, some of the wealthy families from those big new houses near Saint Sernin.”
“Anyone from Saint Sernin itself?”
“I doubt it. The Benedictines don’t go in for parties in my experience. And it’s the Feast of Saint Thomas today.”
“What about the Count and his coterie?”
“The Count does not deign to dine with millers’ sons,” he said grandly. “Even if the miller’s son is worth half the town. Count Raimon is more likely to be found in a crumbling tower of a destitute, debt-ridden derelict clinging by his teeth to what’s left of his gentility than passing through the gates of Bazacle.”
“Which we are about to pass through,” pointed out Claudia as Helga looked up at the fortifications with her mouth hanging open. “I guess we left our nobility back home.”
“We’re fools. We go everywhere,” I said. “Let’s go here now.”
Once inside, we saw that the tower with its surrounding outbuildings echoed the octagonal design of the walls. The parapets were patrolled by a few guards rather than manned by many, but there were a pair of barracks, suggesting that the place could become well defended in a hurry.
We were met at the entrance to the tower by Arnaut Guilabert himself, who was taking charge of the arrangements for the dinner.
“Ah, good, the fools are here,” he said. “Hello, Jordan and Pelardit, hello, Senhor Pierre and Domina Gile, hello, little girl, and hello, even littler girl. Let’s get a look at that one.”
I pulled Portia off my shoulders and held her in front of me for inspection. He put his face in front of hers and growled, wiggling his eyebrows. She reached forward and touched his nose.
“She likes noses,” I said.
“Who doesn’t?” he said, tapping her gently on the nose in response. “Adorable. I love babies. I have three grandchildren now. Grandchildren, Jordan! How could I be old enough to be a grandfather?”
“You’re not,” said Jordan. “I think it was very silly of you to even try.”
“Well, glad you brought her along,” said Guilabert. “This means I have six fools at my dinner, and the Count only had five. Come on in, everyone!”
“See, she is earning her keep,” I said to the others.
The Bazacle great hall may have been slightly larger than the Grande Chambre of the night before. Certainly it was more richly decorated, The tapestries, interestingly, did not depict scenes from mythology or history, but showed instead millers hard at work, sawyers turning out planks, waterwheels so realistic that you would swear you could see them move, and sacks spilling forth flour and all the other abundant products of the area.
“You like them?” the lord of Bazacle asked as he saw me looking at them.
“I do,” I said. “Nice to see working people on a heroic scale.”
“Working people are heroes,” he said. “I started in my father’s mill just like everyone else, performing every task under the sun to keep it going. That’s how you learn about the world.”
“It certainly is one way,” I said.
“I’m putting your curtain and frame over there,” he said, pointing to the opposite end of the hall. “I had them build it out of scrap wood, so don’t feel bad about knocking it apart. You! That goes on the sideboard, not the main tables.” A servant scrambled to make the change. “And Pelardit?”
The fool came up to him.
“I want you to do that Cups and Balls trick right in front of me,” ordered Guilabert. “I’m going to figure out how you do it this time.”
Pelardit bowed, and several balls came tumbling out of the sleeves of his motley. He looked at them as if he had never seen them before, then strolled nonchalantly away, whistling.
“I know that part,” Guilabert called after him. “That’s misdirection, isn’t it?”
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“I will wager you a song that by the time he’s done, you will be as befuddled as before,” I said.
“Do you know how it’s done?” he asked me.
I reached out with an empty hand and produced an apple from behind his ear.
“I know how everything is done,” I said, winking.
I tossed him the apple and went to set up.
The guests started arriving shortly thereafter. Portia was passed from fool to fool, depending on who was performing what specialty, but she was cute enough to merit attention for herself, mostly from the wives.
The crowd was much more convivial than the one at the Count’s affair, and there was much less ostentation on display. It was by and large a different group, although I saw with interest that Bonet Borsella was there. It made sense, given his sawmill was at the Bazacle dam, but I wondered about the true nature of his relationship with our host.
Guilabert welcomed everyone from the start, and his wife, rather than making a grand entrance, simply walked in from the kitchen, where she had been attending to some last-minute preparations, and began embracing her friends. She did not glitter with jewels as she had the day before, but seemed all the warmer for their absence.
The dinner was announced, not by fanfare, but by the bringing of soup in giant tureens. We moved about the tables, juggling, singing and, in Pelardit’s case, performing magic tricks. When he came to Guilabert, he stopped, and the rest of us drummed our hands on the tables to direct everyone’s attention to him. He held his hands up to show they were empty, then proceeded to run through the Cups and Balls at a blinding speed, balls of different sizes and colors appearing and disappearing under the three wooden cups while Guilabert’s eyes kept darting back and forth.
Finally, Pelardit looked at our host with an evil grin and indicated that he should choose.
“You think you have me, don’t you?” said Guilabert. “Well, this time, I have you.”
He tapped on the right cup. As he did, it split into two, and a yellow chick stood on the table, peeping in bewilderment.
“But how did you—?” exclaimed Guilabert, then he sat dumbfounded as Pelardit lifted the middle cup to reveal a red ball underneath. He tossed it to a young boy on the right, then gently gathered up the chick and offered it to Guilabert, who roared with exasperated laughter.