The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery

by Alan Gordon

  “Rome?” said Roncelin.

  “Minor city in Italy, milord,” called Pantalan. “I think the Pope lives there.”

  “Take him away,” said Roncelin irritably, and there was a minor ruckus down at that end of the room as the servants threw the fool out, his protestations echoing down the stairs.

  “Why are you going to Rome?” asked Roncelin. “And what does it have to do with me?”

  “I am inviting you to be present at my coronation,” said Pedro.

  “Coronation? But you are already the king. Everyone knows—”

  “Everyone knows nothing!” shouted Pedro. “I am God’s anointed messenger, sent to carry out His will, and I cannot even scrape together enough ships to make a decent escort on these little social calls. Great plans cost money, my brother, and your fat merchants do not adequately recognize their moral obligation to my cause. So, I am going to Rome to be anointed and crowned by the Vicar of Christ himself, and then I will go forth and do God’s bidding with proper support from my flock. And I am inviting you to be present at this tremendous honor.”

  “We could visit Rome?” breathed Eudiarde. “Travel? Leave this place?”

  “It would be a great sacrifice to leave my responsibilities to my people,” said Roncelin.

  He glanced down the table as he spoke. The merchant who had caught his eye before had a brief whispered conversation with his brethren, then shrugged and nodded again.

  “But our love for you is greater than those responsibilities,” continued Roncelin hesitantly.

  “Then it is done,” boomed Pedro. “Let’s have some music! Something jolly. And let that pretty lady who juggles so deftly come where I can see her better.”

  I bounded up, batting my eyes at him. He broke into laughter.

  “Not you,” he growled. “That one.”

  Claudia came up.

  “Milord, allow me to introduce you to my wife,” I said as she bowed.

  “Wife,” he repeated, sounding disappointed.

  “Yes, milord,” she said. “And may I be so bold as to congratulate you on your ascendance to matrimony. It is a holy sacrament, sanctified by God. May you be blessed forever in His sight.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said, sighing. “Let me see you perform. I have never seen a woman juggle before.”

  “All woman juggle,” she said, launching into her patter. “Say this club is marriage…”

  She had matters safely in hand, so I wandered about the room. Helga came up, the baby asleep in her arms. “Who is the merchant who is pulling the strings of the viscount?” she asked.

  “I would guess the head of the Anselme family,” I said. “We’ll have to ask Pantalan. Damn him for getting thrown out and leaving us on our own.”

  “That king certainly doesn’t act like a man who just got married,” she said, watching Claudia keep her clubs between her and Pedro.

  “Kings don’t behave any differently than the rest of us,” I said. “They just get away with it more. Keep Portia with you at all times.”

  “Why? Is she in danger?”

  “No, but you may be,” I said. “If Pedro wants to dally with a female fool, and Claudia is unavailable, he might look your way.”

  “But I’m only twelve!” she protested.

  I patted her shoulder. “Just keep holding Portia,” I said. “She’ll protect you.”

  I kept working the room, but heard nothing of use. Toward the end of the evening, Laurent signaled me to join him by the entrance. We walked into the hallway and he led me to a small room that served him as an office.

  “I trust that you will be seeing Pantalan tonight,” he said, unlocking a drawer with a key from a bunch at his waist and pulling out a handful of coins.

  “I will.”

  He sorted through them, then handed me four pennies.

  “One for each of you,” he said.

  “Then there should be five,” I said.

  “How so?”

  “The baby. She earned her keep tonight.”

  He flipped me one more. “Only because I like babies,” he said.

  “Thank you, milord,” I said, bowing.

  “Am I to understand that you will be leaving Marseille in the morning?” he asked, sitting down at the desk and motioning me to a chair across from him.

  “You are remarkably well-informed,” I said.

  “One overhears things when one is a servant,” he said.

  “Especially when one is trying to overhear things,” I said.

  “Just so,” he said.

  “Well, there’s no reason to hide it,” I said. “We go to seek our fortune in Montpellier next.”

  “Do they lack fools in Montpellier?” he asked.

  “On the contrary, there is a surfeit, but it takes a professional such as myself to point that out to them.”

  “I wonder if they will appreciate the information,” he said. “Well, since you are going, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to deliver something to a friend of mine.”

  “What sort of something, and what sort of friend?” I asked.

  “A letter,” he said.

  “Are there no couriers you can use?”

  “Not leaving tomorrow.”

  “What’s in the letter?”

  “It’s personal,” he said. “It will be sealed.”

  “And who is its intended recipient?”

  “My counterpart there. His name is Léon, the seneschal to the Countess. It would have the advantage of gaining you a valuable connection upon your arrival.”

  “That would be useful,” I said. “Very well. I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you,” he said. From the desk he took a piece of parchment that had already been written upon, then dipped a quill in a jar of ink and jotted down a few lines that I couldn’t make out, blotted them, then folded the parchment in thirds. He turned to take a candle from a shelf behind him, and I slipped my hand into my pouch. He turned back to melt some wax onto where the folded edges met, then pressed a signet ring into it. When it hardened, he handed it to me.

  “Have a safe—,” he began.

  “Two pennies,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Two pennies more for the extra weight.”

  “What weight?” he scoffed. “A piece of parchment will add nothing to your wain.”

  “The weight of the responsibility,” I explained. “It sits heavily on a fool’s shoulders.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he muttered, handing the coins to me.

  “A fool’s blessing upon you for your generosity,” I said, pressing his hands fervently between mine as he did so.

  “What is that worth?” he said, extricating his hand from mine.

  “Two pennies,” I said, tossing them into the air and catching them.

  We returned to the dinner, which was at its end. My wife was at the other end of the room, her virtue successfully defended. Pedro was in intense conversation with Anselme, having sniffed out the real power in the room, and Roncelin sat moodily as his wife berated him loud enough for all to hear. The subject seemed to be his inability to provide her with children. The guests were practically fleeing the room.

  We quietly gathered our gear and slipped out, waving to the poor musicians who were forced to play to the bitter end. Pantalan was waiting for us by the wharf, skipping pebbles across the harbor’s waters.

  “Roncelin is one of the sorriest excuses for a man I have ever seen,” he said, fuming. “Not one smile the entire night. And to throw me out! The nerve. What does he think he is, a viscount? Please tell me that he got drunk, picked a fight with Pedro, and got beaten to a pulp.”

  “No, no, and no,” I said. “Let’s go back to your place. We need to pack for tomorrow.”

  When we were done packing, I tossed Pantalan his share of our payment for the evening.

  “A penny,” he sighed. “The price of my humiliation. Who paid you?”

  “Laurent,” I said. “And he asked me to de
liver a letter to Montpellier for him.”

  “Really? That’s odd.”

  I pulled it out of my pouch.

  “It’s sealed,” said Helga.

  “You know, a friend of mine was once asked to take a sealed letter somewhere,” I said. “His curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to break the seal and see what was inside. It turned out to be a warrant for his execution.”

  “I suppose he decided not to deliver it after that,” said Helga.

  “You suppose correctly, Apprentice.”

  “So, open it.”

  “Ah, but what if it is a letter that we do want to have delivered?” I asked her.

  “Then you can deliver it—Oh, but what about the seal?”

  “There’s the problem,” I said. “Fortunately, seal-stealing is a specialty of mine. Observe.”

  I reached into my pouch and pulled out a small lump of clay.

  “Make sure that it’s quite moist before you put it in your pouch,” I said. “Then, you can use it to make an impression of a seal or key.”

  I turned it toward her to show her the impression of Laurent’s signet ring. I had gotten it while pressing his hand between mine when giving him my blessing.

  “Now, all we have to do is find a smith of dubious propriety and get him to cast a new seal for us,” I said. “Pantalan, you must know such a man.”

  “I do,” he said. “But he’s probably out drinking right now.”

  “Well, I think we should find him, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t bother,” he said. “He’s mean and useless when he’s drunk, and you don’t want someone like that handling molten metal.”

  “But this could be important,” I insisted.

  “I agree,” he said. “Wait here.”

  He climbed the steps to his room. We heard some rummaging noises; then he came back down with a small bronze coffer. He opened it and spilled two dozen seals onto the pallet.

  “Let’s see,” he said, sorting through them. “Roncelin, Eudiarde, Anselme—oh, that big one is my favorite. It belongs to Hughes de Fer, he’s the chief of the Viguerie, very grandiose, took me ages to get hold of it. Ah, here we are. Laurent’s signet ring.”

  He held up a small chunk of iron with the seneschal’s seal recreated on one end.

  “I didn’t know,” I said.

  “Because you didn’t ask,” he said. “Now, if you would like, I could have you teach my grandmother to suck eggs. But first, open that damn letter.”

  I took my knife and slid it carefully under the seal, making sure the parchment was undamaged. Then I opened.

  “‘To my Lady Marie, Countess of Montpellier,’” I read. “‘Your husband attempted to raise money from Anselme and other members of the consulat, but has been unsuccessful. He has, however, prevailed upon Roncelin to accompany him to Rome, where he intends to have himself coronated by Innocent. I shall attend the Viscount so that I may further learn of your husband’s plans. I remain, as ever, your obedient servant.’”

  “No execution this time,” said Claudia. “Interesting. He addresses it on the outside to this Léon person, but it is clearly meant for the countess herself.”

  “He said he was a servant,” I commented. “Now we know who he’s serving. Any idea how he knew the countess?”

  “Well, we all knew her when she was here,” said Pantalan. “Laurent has been with the house of Barral for over thirty years, so naturally he would know her well.”

  “But in Marseille?” I asked.

  “Of course,” said Pantalan. “She lived here for several years.”

  “Wait,” said Claudia. “Do you mean that she’s the same Marie who married Barral?”

  “Yes,” said Pantalan. “I thought you knew that.”

  “I never made the connection,” she said. “But then Folc would have known her.”

  “Here and in Montpellier,” said Pantalan.

  “And if Folc knew her,” she said, starting to pace back and forth. “And the timing. Let me think. Yes, the timing works out.”

  “Where are you going with this?” I asked her. “Do you think Marie has something to do with the message to Folc?”

  “Look, when Barral died, she was pregnant with his child,” she said. “So the child would have a claim to being the next in line to become viscount, and maybe Marie could have been regent until it was of age. But Folquet comes up with the idea of bringing in Roncelin. Did Marie protest when this happened? They basically dispossessed both her and the child.”

  “She didn’t utter a peep, as I recall,” said Pantalan. “It seemed very noble of her at the time.”

  “Let’s say that Folc had something to do with her staying quiet,” said Claudia. “Maybe he had some information on her that kept her from asserting her claim. She goes back home to Montpellier because there is nothing left for her here. When her father dies, she becomes Countess of Montpellier and then marries the King of Aragon. That was when?”

  “This past August,” said Pantalan. “And she didn’t become countess when her father died. Her brother was count, but he renounced the title and entered a monastery at the beginning of the summer.”

  “Lot of that going around,” I said.

  “So, she has just become more powerful than any woman since Eleanor of Aquitaine,” continued Claudia. “But maybe she still considers Folc to be a danger. Or maybe word reached him and he sent her a letter reminding her of what he knows. She sees it as a threat, and threatens him right back. Hence, the warning in the librarium. And that’s why it only surfaced after all these years. It was Marie’s marriage that brought it on.”

  She stopped, grinning triumphantly. We looked at each other.

  “Well?” said Claudia, looking at me.

  “It’s possible,” I said. “The timing of the marriage is certainly suggestive. And it’s not like we have any better leads to follow.”

  “I still like my idea about the pilgrim captured by pirates,” said Helga.

  “It sounds far-fetched to me,” said Pantalan. “But if it will fetch you far from here, I’m all for it. I could use the peace and quiet.”

  “Then it’s to Montpellier in the morning,” I said.

  “What will we find there?” asked Helga.

  “A flock of wild geese,” said Claudia. “And we are going to chase every single one of them.”

  SIX

  Mas vos, Domna, que avetz mandamen …

  [But you, Lady, who are in control…]

  —FOLQUET DE MARSEILLE, “AMORS, MERCE! NO MUEIRA TAN SOVEN!” [TRANS. N. M. SCHULMAN]

  Portia let out a squeal of delight as Theo drove Zeus and the wain into the courtyard, and the horse whinnied in return. I brought her carefully within petting distance of his head, and she reached out with both hands, straining against my arms to stroke the monster’s muzzle. Zeus submitted to her inexpert attentions with unbridled affection, nuzzling her gently. I never understood how this great horse could be so loving with one infant, yet so carnivorous toward everyone else.

  Theo and Helga took advantage of the distraction to load the wain. Pantalan stood and watched, occasionally picking up one of the lighter items and handing it to our beleaguered apprentice, all the while offering a stream of useless advice.

  A voice hailed me from the entrance to the courtyard, and I turned in surprise to see Julien Guiraud hurrying toward me, waving. “Oh, good, I have caught you,” he said. “I have found him!”

  “Well done,” I said. “Found who?”

  “Marin Itier,” he said. “He lives, or at least did until recently.”

  “Itier? Who is he again?” asked Theo, coming over.

  “Ah, you must be the lucky husband of this remarkable lady,” said Julien, shaking his hand enthusiastically.

  “Itier was the merchant that Folc ruined,” I explained. “I told you about him.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Theo.

  “I remember him,” said Pantalan, coming over to greet Julien. “He sailed off
to Acre after that, didn’t he?”

  “He did,” said Julien. “After that pilgrimage, he disappeared, and Marseille never heard from him again. But I made some inquiries among some sailor friends of mine, and it turns out that he ended up in Toulon! He’s a peddler there, fallen on hard times, but he still lives.”

  “Toulon,” said Theo. “That’s east, down the coast a ways.”

  “Exactly,” said Julien.

  “Well, we’ll look into him if Montpellier proves fruitless,” said Theo. “And it may very well be a barren town for us. Thank you for the information, friend Julien.”

  “Give my warmest regards to your sister,” I added. “If our path takes us through Gémenos again, I promise to visit her.”

  “I am sure that she would enjoy that,” he said, taking my hand and bowing over it.

  Theo rolled his eyes over the display of gallantry. I stuck my tongue out at him before Julien straightened up.

  “Then all I can do now is wish you a safe journey,” said Julien.

  “Thank you, Sieur Guiraud,” said Theo, and the merchant departed.

  “I guess this is good-bye,” said Theo, turning to Pantalan.

  “It was, if not fun, at least a change,” said Pantalan, clasping his hand. He turned to me and bowed with ten times as much flourishing as had Julien, then kissed my hand.

  “That’s how it’s done properly,” I said to Helga. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Brother Fool. Take care of our troubadour friend.”

  “I will, Domna,” he said. He waved and wrinkled his nose at Portia, who giggled and waved back.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Helga. “I have a question for you.”

  “Ask away,” said Pantalan.

  “Why do you live here, when everything that’s happening is down by the harbor?”

  He was taken aback for a moment, and I could see some easy quip forming in his mind. Then his eyes softened. “There is a garden by a church up here,” he said. “A wall around it shuts out the world. A jester’s life is filled with constant chatter and noise. If I didn’t go there and enjoy the stillness every once in a while, then it would be me up in the mountains singing to the wolves instead of Vidal.”