The Jester

by James Patterson

  Not a single man had made it over the walls alive.

  Not one.

  Not Odo.

  Chapter 137

  WE HAD LOST!

  Alphonse hurled down his sword, unable to speak, as were so many others. Georges threw himself onto the ground, spent and drained. Father Leo did his best to comfort everyone, but his face was as desolate as any.

  “You men must not let down your guard,” Daniel yelled. “Stephen may send his horsemen to finish the job tonight.”

  His warning, however real, seemed a million miles away. Darkness was falling. Mercifully, as if its black cloak offered some reprieve. Our soldiers sat down around fires, exhausted, rubbing salve on their burns and other wounds. Some wept for their friends; others thanked God that they were still alive.

  “Did anyone see Odo?” I looked around. I had known Odo since I was a boy. Alois and Georges merely shook their heads.

  “He’s a wily sort,” Georges finally said. “If anyone could make it back, it’s him.”

  “Yes,” Alphonse agreed, pretending to be optimistic. “He was s-so close in, he probably just d-ducked behind the walls to steal a keg of Stephen’s best mead.”

  “Many died today.” Daniel sighed, spreading out a map of Borée. “We can’t spend time on one more.”

  “The chatelain is right.” Ox nodded. “Thirty of my men are dead, maybe more.”

  [401] I looked in the Languedocian’s eyes. “Your men were brave to join us. But this is not your fight. I release you from your pledge. Go, take the rest home.”

  Ox stared back as if insulted. “Who said anything about going home?” He cracked a toothy smile through his beard. “In Languedoc, we say a good fight doesn’t even begin until some blood is on the floor. God gave us all two arms, but hell, one’s just for scratching our balls, anyway.”

  Around the fire, we all started to laugh. Then the din subsided. Georges shrugged. “So, what do we do now?”

  I looked at the men, face by face.

  “Continue the fight,” Alphonse said. “Stephen massacred our town. That’s why we came here, no?”

  “You’ve grown a lot of spunk, lad.” Georges sniffed. “But tomorrow it could be you who’s left moaning out there.”

  “Keep pounding the walls,” Daniel insisted. “By the river, they are not as fortified. We can hit them with our mangonels all day. Sooner or later, they’ll cave.”

  Father Leo cut in, “Maybe soon, word from the King will come?”

  “It is autumn,” Daniel pressed. “You were in Antioch, Hugh. You’ve seen that a siege is not determined in one day. Stephen has scorched his own earth. They couldn’t have stockpiled food and water for the entire winter.”

  I had to ask: “Is anyone for meeting Stephen’s terms?” I looked around, awaiting their reply. There was only silence.

  Finally, Georges picked himself up off of the ground. “I was raised to grind grain, not to soldier. But we’ve all made our choice here. We’ve each lost loved ones. My boy Alo. Your friends, Ox… Odo. What would any of their deaths mean if we turned it in now?”

  “Whose death are you speaking of?” a voice barked in the darkness.

  We looked up. A huge, hulking shape came forward. At first, I thought it was an apparition.

  [402] “Dear God.” The miller shook his head.

  The big smith limped stiffly toward our fire. Odo’s skins were torn and smeared with blood. His bushy brown beard was matted with who knew what.

  I met Odo’s eyes, which showed the horror that he had faced. I was so exhausted, I could not even get up to give him a hug. “What the hell took you so long?”

  “Fucking hard to claw your way out with all those green-and-gold shits piled on top.” He sighed with an exhausted grin. “So, anything to drink?”

  I finally got up, wrapped my arms around his shoulders in an adoring hug, and slapped his back. I felt his broad shoulders tense. His arms were covered in burns and one leg was bloody and raw. Someone put a mug in his hand and he drained it in a single swallow. A nod from Odo said, One more.

  Then he looked up at us, our incredulous smiles. “It was a bad day today, huh?”

  We stared back.

  “Well …” Odo swung his bloody leg up, the gash in his thigh causing even Ox to cringe. He took the second mug and poured it all over the wound, sucking back pain. “No mind.” He shrugged at our blank stares. “We’ll kick their asses tomorrow.”

  Chapter 138

  WE PUMMELED BORÉE again and again over the next few days. Our catapults battered the walls with heavy rocks. Our sturdiest rams pounded at the gates. Charge after charge, ladders were pitched against the walls, only to be thrown aside, and the men on them killed.

  The bodies of our fallen comrades piled high outside the walls. I feared we could not take the city. It was too strong, too well fortified. With each repelled charge, the hope of victory faded. Food and drinking water were growing scarce. No answer was received from the King. Our will began to crack.

  This was what Stephen had relied on, I realized. All it would take was one mounted strike by his knights against our depleted ranks, and we would be finished.

  I called our leaders to the dilapidated grain tower we used for strategy sessions. The mood inside was anxious. Many friends had been left on the field. A somber look was etched on every face, even Daniel’s.

  I went up to the hearty Languedocian. “Ox, how many men do you have left?”

  “Two hundred,” he said grimly, “of what was once three.”

  “I want you to take them, then… tonight, and leave camp. And the Morrisaeys… You, Alois, I want you to take your men too.”

  [404] Ox and Alois were stunned. “Give up? Let that bastard win?”

  I did not reply. I stood in the center of the group, catching Odo and Alphonse’s eyes, taking in their looks of disappointment and anger.

  The Languedocian shook his head. “We came a long way to fight, Hugh, not to run.”

  “We too, Hugh,” Alois protested. “We’ve earned our place.”

  “Yes, you have.” I nodded. “All of you have.” I turned and faced each one to convey my thanks.

  “And you shall have it,” I declared, my voice coming alive. “You shall have the chance that each of your friends sought as they were cut down.”

  They stared at me, lost between alarm and confusion. “Oh, shit.” Odo’s jaw dropped. “It’s another of those fucking pretexts.” He looked at me as if he were trying to gauge the weather inside. “We have Emilie to blame for this. What is the plan, Hugh?”

  My face gave away nothing.

  “We’re going to take this city,” I finally said, “but not as soldiers. I have tried to fight this as a military man, and as a general, but I’m really a fool… And as a fool, even the great Charlemagne would have no advantage over me.”

  “I’m not sure this is a revelation I’m pleased to trust my life to.” Ox sent a skeptical gaze my way. “But I’m all ears. Tell us about this pretext of yours.”

  Chapter 139

  STEPHEN WAS IN THE MIDST of stabbing a piece of breakfast ham, the morning light tumbling into his quarters, when his page called out, “Look, your lordship, to the window, quick. The rabble has fled.”

  Just minutes before, the duke had woken in a sour mood. These rebels had proven more resistant than he’d imagined. In wave after wave they came at him; he could not understand their zeal to die. Plus, two weeks ago, Anne had moved to the lady’s quarters. He’d been sleeping alone.

  At his page’s call, he hurried to the window. His empty stomach filled with glee. The boy was right! The rebel ranks had thinned, cut by more than half.

  Those fucking Languedocians, with their arms as thick as ox legs and their horsehair vests, had fled. All that remained was a measly little force, standing around like chickens waiting to lose their heads.

  And there, at the head of them, the green-and-red rooster himself, in full view. With the lance! This decimated rabble of
woodchoppers and farmers was no more than mop-up work for his men.

  From behind, his aides burst in. Bertrand, the chatelain, followed by Morgaine.

  “Look,” Stephen cackled, “the gutless bastards have given [406] up. Look at that stupid prancing cock, standing about as if he still had something to command.”

  “You said, when the opportunity arose, the little fool was mine,” Morgaine rasped.

  “So I did.” Stephen beamed a gloating grin. “I did promise you that. Tell me, Bertrand, what strength do you estimate they still have?”

  The chatelain scanned the field. “Barely three hundred, my liege. All on foot, with limited weapons. It should be no feat to round them up with our horsemen and achieve a quick surrender.”

  “Surrender?” Stephen’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, it might be good to extend a hand and save these poor, misguided fools a bit more blood. How does that word sound to you, Morgaine? Surrender?”

  “These men are soulless, my liege. We’d be doing God a service by removing their heads.”

  “So what are you waiting for?” Stephen jabbed him in the chest. “The little bastard’s lance still makes an ache in your side, does it not? You heard the chatelain’s advice. Let the knights ride with you.”

  “Liege, those are my men,” Bertrand interrupted. “They are our castle’s reserve.”

  “You know, Bertrand,” Stephen interrupted. “That surrender thing… I’ve never been particularly keen on it. Morgaine makes a case. These men have already forfeited their souls. No reason to keep them fluttering around in this world.”

  The chatelain’s stomach sank.

  “The holy lance or my dignity-that was his choice, was it not?” Stephen’s eyes lit up. “Now it seems that I will have them both. Won’t I, chatelain? And Morgaine… one more thing. I know how you enjoy your work, but do not forget your real purpose out there.”

  “The holy lance, my lord. My thoughts have never strayed from the prize.”

  Chapter 140

  “LOOK!” A cry of alarm spread among the troops. Several men pointed toward the castle.

  The gates of Borée had suddenly opened. We watched, all eyes fixed on the sight, not knowing what would emerge. Then, we heard the rumble of heavy hooves clattering over the lowered drawbridge and saw armored men atop massive crested chargers, trotting in rows of two.

  Silently, we watched the deadly battle formation assemble.

  No one moved. I knew even the strongest among us debated whether to fight or throw down our arms.

  “Positions, men,” I called. The troops remained, eyeing the ever-growing enemy force massing on the ridge. “Positions!” I called again.

  Then, slowly, Odo picked up his gigantic club. And Alphonse, taking a deep breath, strapped on his sword. Then Georges and Daniel too armed themselves.

  They took their places without saying much. One by one the rest began to fall in. We gathered into a tight formation, like a Roman phalanx, covered by shields. I prayed this final pretext would work.

  Alphonse took a breath. “How many of them do you count?”

  [408] “Two hundred. All armed to the teeth.” Daniel shrugged. He continued to count as they steadily poured out of the gate and took their places on the field. “Make that three.”

  “And how m-many are we?” the boy asked.

  “Never mind.” Daniel sniffed, raising his weapon. “What are warhorses and pikes against a good hoe, anyway?”

  A stream of grim laughter trickled around the ranks.

  “What is this city, just one big fucking garrison?” Odo shook his head.

  On the walls, green-and-gold defenders of Borée stood silently, gaining confidence as the ranks of their horsemen grew. Chargers blew and snorted, held back from the charge as knights adjusted their armor and weapons.

  When the force was finally set, a sole rider walked his horse out of the gate and took his place at the head of the formation. I expected Bertrand, the chatelain, but it was not.

  On his helmet, I saw the outline of a dark Byzantine cross. My blood went still. Once again, I was facing the man who had killed my wife and baby son.

  Odo swallowed dryly. He leaned close to me. “Hugh, I know I’ve asked this before…”

  “Yes, I think it’ll work,” I told him. “But if it doesn’t… what’s the cost? I always thought you made a better soldier than a smith.”

  “And you were a better jester than a general,” he shot back.

  I started to laugh, but suddenly my voice was drowned out by a terrifying rumble from across the field.

  “Here they come!” Daniel cried. “Shields!”

  There was a harried, desperate murmuring. People could be heard muttering their last prayers. I slung the holy lance through a strap across my back and took hold of a heavy sword.

  The ground had started to shake. Shouting and cheers erupted from the castle walls.

  [409] We linked together in tight formation, our perimeter protected by a wall of shields. The drum of heavy hooves grew closer and closer, like an advancing landslide.

  “Hold together,” I yelled. Forty yards… thirty… Then they were on us!

  Chapter 141

  THE WAVE OF HORSEMEN crashed into our formation with the impact of a hundred-foot crest swallowing up a ship. Sparks and shields and armor flew into the air.

  Our ranks staggered backward from the force, shields raised over our heads. Steel came crashing down on us. But the men did not break.

  A knight barreled into me, chopping furiously at my shield with an enormous pike. My legs buckled under the heavy blows. All around were the sounds of groans and terror, the chilling clang of iron, shields splitting against the weight of steel, horses neighing, soldiers crying out.

  Fighting back, I managed to pin the face of my attacker’s pike against the dressings of an adjacent mount. Then I lashed upward with my sword, praying it would strike something. It pierced the armor just above his knee plate. The knight howled, and his mount bucked. I was able to drag him from the saddle and throw him under the hooves of his own horse.

  Our ranks were already two-thirds encircled. Men groaned and dropped in place; the ranks thinned. We could not withstand much more of this onslaught.

  “Back,” I shouted. “Now!”

  Slowly we started to retreat, still fighting in formation, making our way toward the cover of the woods.

  [411] Across the way, I saw Black Cross righting with fury and rage, cutting down men with a single strike, pushing his own knights out of the way. I knew he was trying to get to me.

  We made our way back toward the trees. Stephen’s horsemen closed for the kill. We continued to resist in formation. Someone’s blade slashed across my arm. All around, we were being encircled, a noose strangling our ranks. I saw Black Cross steadily approaching, watching me as he came.

  Suddenly a roar rose from the woods. The trees themselves seemed to come alive with hide-clad horsemen and club-wielding warriors springing forth out of the green. The knights between us and the woods spun around. All of a sudden they faced a charging enemy from behind. Their horses, caught in the squeeze, tripped and reared, tossing riders off. We began to strike at them, using our swords like battering rams, crumpling armor until it gave and then running the knights through.

  Now Stephen’s horsemen were pinched, fighting a renewed foe from all sides. You could see in their darting eyes the terror of this unanticipated shift of fortune. More knights began to be stripped from their mounts, their heavy weapons useless in the closeness of battle among the trees. It was a massacre. A massacre-but not the one they had planned.

  Soon, barely half of Stephen’s knights were standing. Many were off their horses, fighting two or three of us at a time in their cumbersome suits of armor. Shouts of exhortation were replaced by pleas for mercy. Some began to cease fighting and put up their hands. Weapons dropped to the ground.

  Relief rippled through me. I could not believe it. I was so tired I wan
ted to sink to my knees.

  Then a fearsome voice pierced through me, sharp as any lance. “You rejoice too soon, jester. Before we call it a day, let us see how much power that little stick of yours really has.”

  Chapter 142

  HIS VISOR WAS UP, a cold expression on his scarred face. I fastened on the hard-set eyes of Black Cross, the man I hated more than any other in this world.

  “Twice,” I spat at him.

  “Twice what, innkeeper?”

  “Twice I have to rid the world of the scum who killed my wife and child.”

  I rushed toward him, hurtling my sword at his neck.

  The Tafur put his visor down and stood his ground, pinning back my strongest thrust with ease. I hacked at him again and again. Each time he parried my blade.

  “You have caused me shame,” Black Cross said. Through his visor’s narrow slits I could see his pupils darting from side to side.

  With a ferocious howl, he leaped and swung his blade down on me with the power of a mangonel. I darted backward, the wind from his blade only inches from my face.

  The Tafur did not even stop to regain his breath. He swung again, backhanded, aiming to slice through my legs. The mighty force of his blow almost drove my own blade into my thigh.

  Slowly I forced his blade upward, but it took all of my strength. I felt like a boy straining against the power of a fully grown man.

  [413] “You are every bit the fool your reputation speaks.” Black Cross chuffed. “When I kill you, Stephen will take the lance and the lives of your men. Your severed head will be at the foot of your whore’s bed.”

  He sliced at me again, each blow harder to fend off. I darted to the left, trying to catch my breath. Only my speed prevented me from being cut in half. But my quickness was waning. I couldn’t beat Black Cross, I realized.