The Jester

by James Patterson

  “I-I’m with you too,” said Alphonse. “And my sharpened ax.”

  “And I,” cried Apples.

  They ran toward their positions as the rest of the crowd remained still. Then others followed, one by one.

  I turned back to the messenger. “How do I know you are who you say? That you’ve come from Norbert? You say the lady Emilie was followed. This could be a trick.”

  “You know my face, Hugh. I am Lucien, the baker’s boy. I sought to apprentice with Norbert.”

  [276] “Apprentices can be bought,” I challenged him further.

  “Norbert said you would press me. So he sent proof. Something of value to you that could come from no one other than him.”

  He reached behind him on the church steps and unwound a woolen blanket.

  A smile curled on my face. Norbert was right. What the boy had brought was of great value to me. I had not seen it since I left Borée in the middle of the night.

  Lucien was holding my staff.

  Chapter 92

  IN THE NEXT FEW HOURS, the town bustled with a purpose I had not seen before.

  Bales of sharpened stakes were dragged to positions just inside the stone bridge and driven into the ground. Sacks filled with rocks were readied in the trees. Those who could shoot sharpened their arrows and stocked their quivers; those who could not sat with hoes and mallets in their hands.

  By the time night fell, everyone was nervous but prepared.

  The plan was for old folk and some of the women and young children to flee to the woods before the first sign of trouble. I told Emilie she had to go too. But when the time came, no one would leave.

  “I’m staying with you.” Emilie shook her head. She had torn her dress at the hem and sleeves to move about more easily. “I can stack arrows. I can distribute arms.”

  “These men are killers,” I said, trying to reason with her. “They’ll make no distinction between noble and common. This is not your fight.”

  “You are wrong. The distinction between noble and common is clear here today,” she replied with that same unbending resolve as when she rescued me at Borée. “And it has become my fight.”

  [278] I left her stacking rocks and ran to the first defenses at the bridge. Alphonse and Apples were tightening the rope.

  “How many will come?” Alphonse asked.

  “I do not know,” I said. “Twelve, twenty, maybe more. Enough to do what it takes.”

  I took my station on the second floor of the tailor’s house, near the entrance to town. From there I could oversee the defense. I had a sword, an old clunker sharpened to a tee.

  My stomach was in knots. Now all that was left to do was wait.

  Emilie met me toward evening. We sat against a wall, her head resting on my shoulder. I felt what I had always known about her. She gave me strength.

  “Whatever happens,” she said, tightening against me, “I am glad to be here with you. I don’t know how to explain, but I feel you have a destiny in front of you.”

  “When the Turk spared me, I thought it was just to make people laugh.” I chuckled.

  “And you became a jester.”

  “Yes. Thanks to you.”

  “Not me.” Emilie pulled away and looked at me. “You. It is you who had the court at Borée eating out of your hand. But now I think God has found you a higher purpose. I think this is it.”

  I pressed her tightly to my body, feeling her breasts against my ribs, the cadence of her heart. In my loins, I felt desire spark. We looked at each other, and something told me, unspoken, that this was right. She was where she belonged. And so was I.

  “I do not want to die,” Emilie said, “and never know what it is like to be with you.”

  “I won’t let you die.” I cupped her fist.

  She lowered herself onto me and we kissed. Not as before, with the thrill of friendship turning into something more, but deeper, more forcefully. The tempo of Emilie’s breath began to quicken.

  [279] I put my hands under her dress and felt the smoothness of her stomach. My skin jumped alive all over.

  She raised herself on my lap. We looked in each other’s eyes and there was no hesitation. “I love you,” I told her. “From the first. There was no doubt.”

  “There was doubt,” she whispered, “but I loved you too.”

  She lowered herself on top of me and gasped as I came inside her. Soon she was calm and at ease. I held her by the hips and we rocked. Her eyes lit with pleasure, and my skin grew heated and damp as we increased the pace. We were eye to eye, rocking against time, a smile and a sheen of ardor on her face. “Oh, Hugh.” She squeezed her pelvis into me. “I do love you.”

  At last she cried out, a body-tremoring moan. I held her close to me and squeezed her shoulders as if I would never let go. She tremored once more in my arms.

  “Do not wake me,” she said with a sigh, “for I am in the midst of the most marvelous dream.”

  She buried her face in my chest, and I could have stayed like that forever. I looked out at the moon and thought, What a miracle it is that I have found this woman. I wanted to hold her and protect her with all my heart, as she had risked everything to protect me.

  Is this why I had been saved? I could ask no better purpose.

  Then I heard a shout, and an alarmed cry. A chilling, far-off rumble came from the earth.

  I ran to the window. A fiery arrow arced toward us across the sky. The lookout’s signal.

  I looked at Emilie, the calm of a moment ago replaced by a stabbing dread. “They are here!”

  Chapter 93

  BLACK CROSS’S MEN STOOD just outside the sleeping town. The moonless night covered their approach. They had ridden for the better part of two days, barreling at full speed, knocking people and carts out of their way as they charged through tiny forest towns. He knew that the hard journey only heightened their eagerness for blood.

  From up ahead, a scout crept back from the woods. “The village sleeps, my lord. It is ripe for attack.”

  “And their defenses?” Morgaine inquired.

  “Only one.” The scout smirked. “They have piled their shit in the road so high our horses may not see.”

  Morgaine chuckled. This would be child’s play. Babes slaughtered in their sleep. He had sought this beetle all the way from Antioch. Now he was only minutes from holding his prize. The greatest of all of them. This insect would not get away again.

  Morgaine said to his men, “Whoever finds the prize will have a castle waiting for him on his return. Kill who you have to, fuck who you like, just find the redhead. Run a blade up his ass and bring the worm to me.”

  His men’s eyes lit up. Senses eager for battle, they applied their breastplates and shoulder pieces over their riding leathers. They chose their arms-maces and pikes and heavy swords. [281] They donned their steel-beaded gloves. In a few moments they would turn this sleepy mound of dung into a slop of blood. They fitted on their helmets. Bright eyes glinted through the slits.

  Morgaine’s lieutenant signaled him. “What orders, sir?”

  “Level it,” Morgaine said evenly. “Every home, every child. Other than the innkeeper, nothing lives. I want nothing left, and that includes the lady Emilie.”

  The Tafur nodded. At Morgaine’s nod, he gave the signal to charge.

  Chapter 94

  THE FLOOR SHOOK beneath my feet. The rumble of hooves grew louder and louder, like an avalanche approaching fast.

  I ran into the street. People stuck out their heads from their positions, looks of terror building in their eyes.

  “Do not panic,” I urged them. “They think this will be child’s play. Everyone remember the plan.”

  Inside, I felt the grinding fist of fear that must now be intensifying in everybody’s gut. I hurried toward Alphonse and Apples, bracing the rope on both sides of the bridge. I told them, “Remember what they did to your friends and family the last time they were here. Remember what you swore in your heart you would do to them if you e
ver had the chance. Now is that chance!”

  The thundering noise had risen to a terrifying level. I could not tell if the noise crashing through me was the drum of approaching hooves or my heart beating out of control.

  Finally we saw them-a black cloud bearing down on us from out of the woods, torches in hand. Twelve to fourteen, howling cries of death.

  A spark of hope flared in me. The town was dark. I knew they could not see our defenses.

  “Hold tight,” I hollered as the horses neared, but my words were drowned in the advancing roar.

  The first line of horsemen galloped over the bridge, straight [283] into the tautness of the rope. The horses came down in a tangle. The lead riders were pitched into the air. With a scream, one was hurled headlong into the sharpened stakes and impaled through the chest, his limbs outstretched and twitching. The other catapulted off his mount, landing on his neck, his body trampled under the advancing hooves.

  Seeing the ambush, the next line of marauders attempted to stop, but their speed was too great. A third rider fell, screaming. Then another.

  I saw Odo leap out from under the bridge and, as one struggled to right himself, swing his heavy club downward, smashing it into the man’s head. His helmet caved in like tin. Buoyed by the sight, Apples dashed out as well, thrusting his sword through the other raider’s neck.

  The torches carried by the fallen riders sent the wooden defenses up in flames. Horses whined and bucked. Arrows shot out from the trees, and two other riders hit the ground, pierced through the neck and head. The other marauders, seeing what had happened, regrouped on the bridge. Then they darted single file through the burning defenses into town.

  Now Tafurs on horseback were in the streets, flinging torches into our homes. I waved my sword at the trees. “Now, Jean, now!”

  A dark shape fell out of the sky, hurtling across the road and crashing into one of the riders, knocking him off his mount with a loud groan. He remained there, stunned, pinned to the ground by the weight of his armor. I raised my sword and screamed into the slits of his helmet, “This is for Sophie, you bastard. See what it’s like to be killed by a fool.” I crashed the sword down, penetrating cleanly through the seam above the chest plate. There, it remained embedded. I couldn’t pull the sword free.

  For a moment, and even without a weapon, I felt exultant. This was working. People were fighting. Seven of the invaders were down, perhaps slain. Two more were off their horses, surrounded by townsmen pelting them with clubs and [284] stones. They tried to fight in all directions, overwhelmed, thrashing at air.

  I watched as Alphonse climbed onto the back of one of the attackers and pushed a knife through the eye slit in his helmet. The Tafur pitched forward. He thrashed back and forth, jabbing his mace, trying to twist the boy off. Another boy swatted a beam at the man’s knees and sent him to the ground, where Alphonse jerked the blade across the bastard’s neck and soon he rolled over, dead.

  All around, people were screaming, running back and forth. A few riders made their way through town, hurling torches onto the thatched roofs, which shot into yellow flame. I counted only five invaders left, but five armed and deadly, still on their mounts. If we backed down now, they were enough to take the town.

  I started to run-weaponless-toward the square. “Here,” Emilie yelled, and tossed me my staff.

  Across the road, I saw poor Jacqui, the ruddy-faced milk woman, hurling stones at one attacker while another galloped up from behind and knocked her to the ground with a mace. Arrows shot out of the trees, and the second attacker fell. He was immediately surrounded by townspeople, kicking and bashing him with clubs and farm tools.

  Suddenly the square lit up in flames.

  Aimée, the miller’s daughter, and Father Leo had set fire to the line of brush ringing the square. The horses of the invaders reared. One rider was immediately thrown, landing in the flames. The others darted and circled, unable to break through.

  The fallen rider stood up, engulfed in flames. He thrashed about crazily, smoke pouring through the slits in his armor. Fire had seeped inside; his skin was boiling like a pot over a flame.

  Two other attackers remained trapped inside the ring of flame. One forced his mount through, but Martin ran up and whacked the horse’s legs. The rider clubbed at him but was thrown from his mount. He flailed on the ground, struggling to [285] right himself, his weapon out of reach. Then, from out of the darkness, Aimée ran out. She raised an ax and crashed it solidly into the man’s head.

  We were winning! The town continued to battle as only people clinging to their last hope can do. Still, two or three invaders remained.

  Then, to my horror, the last Tafur who’d been contained within the ring of fire burst free. He reared his steed and made his way, ax whirling, toward Aimée, who still stood staring at the man she had killed.

  “Look out, Aimée,” I yelled. I started toward her, helplessly screaming at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t bear to see the miller lose his last child. The girl did not move, oblivious to the death descending upon her. I was twenty yards away, not thinking, running as fast as my feet would fly. The rider crouched in the saddle and raised his ax.

  Twenty feet away… I shrieked, “No…”

  I reached her at a cross angle just as the Tafur swung his ax. I swept Aimée to the ground and covered her, expecting at any moment to feel the blade of the ax buried in my back. But no blow came.

  The Tafur galloped by, then reversed. He stood for a moment, tightening his reins, surveying the rout of his fellows.

  I knew his mind; I had seen it many times in the Crusade. It was the time of the battle when one knows all is lost; the only thing left is to fight whatever comes into your path and cause as much death and mayhem as possible until you too are taken down.

  I pushed Aimée out of the square and raised myself to my feet. I stood there facing the attacker, nothing to defend myself with but my wooden staff.

  I didn’t want to die here. But I would not run.

  The raider reared his giant horse and galloped into a charge. I stood my ground as the thundering shape barreled toward me.

  I braced myself and raised the staff.

  Chapter 95

  AS THE CHARGING HORSEMAN raised his ax, I darted to the side opposite his weapon. I swung my staff as hard as I could at his mount’s legs. The animal neighed in pain, buckled, then threw its rider. The Tafur hit the earth with a mighty crash and rolled over several times until he came to a stop ten feet from where I stood.

  His giant war ax had fallen to the side. I ran to grab the weapon. In the time it took to arm myself, the Tafur had managed to right himself and draw his sword.

  “Deus adjuvat,” he taunted me in Latin-God aid me, “as I send this little rat tail back to his maker.”

  “By all means, God, look on,” I replied in kind.

  He charged at me with a ferocious roar.

  I could see him go high with his blade and met his blow, our weapons colliding with a loud clang. We stood there eye to eye, each trying to drive his blade into the other’s neck, muscles straining to the limit. All of a sudden the Tafur jerked his knee into my groin. The air rushed out of me. I gasped and bent in two. In the same instant, he swept his sword toward my knees, and I summoned every sliver of strength to counter with the ax.

  Again we faced each other, eyes blazing. He tried to headbutt me with the crown of his helmet, but I threw myself back. [287] I stumbled, and the Tafur leaped at me, swinging his blade back and forth with a maniacal fury.

  The Tafur saw that I was slowed. He laughed. “Come here, fairy. You look like you might want to feel a set of real balls.”

  I crouched back warily. His sword was too quick. In this form of fighting, I was no match for him. The ax was clumsy and heavy in my weakened grasp.

  “Come…” He blew me a kiss.

  I looked him in the eye, panting heavily. I knew I would not be able to ward off the blows much longer. I felt my legs wobble; I was out of strength.
I searched my mind for any form of skill or trickery I had seen in the wars. Then one clicked in. It was crazy, desperate, not a soldier’s but a jester’s trick.

  “Why wait?” I said, lowering the ax, pretending to be beaten, out of fight. “What’s wrong with now?”

  I turned my back to him. I hoped I wasn’t insane.

  I bent into a deep crouch, flipped up my tunic, and let him see my rear. “C’mon …” I said. “I’d wait for a real man, but you’re the only one here.” I tossed the ax about four feet ahead of me.

  In my crouch, I saw him raise his sword and come. Just as he was set to run me through, I sprang into a forward flip. The Tafur sliced at the air where suddenly there was no person. His sword stuck in the soggy earth.

  I landed on my feet and in the same movement pivoted and grabbed the handle of the ax. I sprang back around as the surprised Tafur struggled to free his sword.

  A look of panic spread over his face. This time it was I who laughed and blew him a kiss.

  I swung with all my might and sent the Tafur’s head hurtling like a kicked ball.

  I sank to my knees, out of breath. Every muscle in my body felt as if it were about to explode. I dropped the ax, sucking precious air into my lungs.

  [288] Then I rose and picked up my staff. As I did so, a snickering voice intoned, “Well done, innkeeper. But you must conserve your kisses. You may need one or two over here…”

  I turned. There was another Tafur. He had a black cross painted on his helmet, but his visor was up, revealing a cold, scarred face that I thought I had seen before.

  But it was not the face I was focused on.

  The bastard was holding Emilie.

  Chapter 96

  “LET HER GO,” I told him. “This isn’t her fight.”

  The Tafur was large and strong, and he twisted Emilie roughly by the hair with his sword edged into her neck. His dark hair was long and greasy and fell over his scarred face. A cross was burned into his neck.