The Jester

by James Patterson

He butted me, helmet into my forehead. I staggered back, the crash reverberating through my skull. The breath was heavy in my chest. A voice inside me pleaded, Please, God, show me the way.

  The Tafur pressed closer and I stumbled, trying to scamper away. I crawled along the bank of the river, knowing my death was only seconds away. Stephen would end up with the holy lance after all.

  Black Cross stood in front of me. There was no escaping him now. He put up his visor and let me see his awful, scarred face.

  He sniffed. “Your soul is already lost. I only do God’s dirty work by delivering your corpse to Him.”

  For a moment I blinked, disoriented, the sun glinting off his armor. I felt in another place, Antioch, staring up at the Turk, sucking in the last, precious breaths of my life.

  Once again, the craziest urge took hold of me.

  I began to laugh. I did not know at what. That I had come full circle, back to the moment of my death? That despite all my hope, life in the duchy would remain as it was? That I would die in the patchwork clothing of a fool?

  Something crazy had come into my head. A line from a stupid joke. I don’t know why it seemed funny to me, but I could not help myself. I was a fool, wasn’t I?

  “It sure is deep,” I said. Then I started to laugh again, twisting up my legs and rolling on my side.

  “You die witless, jester. Tell me, what image is so funny that you will carry it to your grave?”

  [414] “Oldest joke in the book.” I caught my breath. I did not know if it was cunning or total lunacy that was in control. “Two men pissing off a bridge. Each trying to prove to the other who’s bigger. One rolls out his pecker. ‘Bbrrr … this water’s cold,’ he says. ‘Yeah,’ goes the other, ‘and it sure is deep.’ ”

  Black Cross looked blank, not understanding. He stood on the bank of the river, ready to dispatch me to Hell.

  “It sure is deep,” I said again, this time a renewed certainty in my voice.

  It was only a flash, but I was sure I saw on his face the subtle recognition that all was not what it seemed, that he had misjudged something.

  Before he could figure it out, I kicked my legs and struck him squarely in the midsection. The blow sent him stumbling to the very edge of the riverbank.

  Black Cross struggled to keep his balance. And he did! He smiled disdainfully, as if to say, You little man. That’s all you have?

  Then his boots could not hold the ground. He teetered, his armor dragging him backward. And still his look was not of peril but merely annoyance. Little man, little problems.

  But then he began to fall. A clang of metal the armor dragging him, picking up speed like a boulder until he rolled, grasping at rocks and weeds, all the way down the embankment and tumbled into the river.

  He slid under the surface. I am certain that what flashed through his mind was that he would pick himself up and climb back and finish me off. Moments passed. I could not believe what was happening myself. The Tafur did not rise. A gloved hand broke the surface and thrashed in the air, struggling for something to grasp on to.

  More time passed. Air bubbles rose to the surface. His glove flailed back and forth. But the Tafur never rose again. Black Cross was done, drowned, dead.

  [415] I forced myself to crawl over to the edge of the embankment. The fighting had wound down. Stephen’s men were kneeling, groaning, hands in the air. Some of our men were beginning to cheer, hoisting their swords above their heads.

  Then they were all cheering, jubilant faces reflecting the same incredible thing. We had won! Stephen was defeated. We had actually won!

  All around, people came rushing up to me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Finally, tears bit at my eyes, tears of joy and exhaustion. People shouted my name as if I were a hero.

  I reached behind me for the holy lance. With whatever strength was left in my body, I thrust it high into the air.

  Toward Heaven.

  Chapter 143

  EMILIE DID NOT hear cheering. Why?

  She knew a fierce battle was under way. She’d heard the pounding gallop of horsemen leaving the city, the walls shaking with their strides.

  Oh, God, she thought, that could only mean Stephen had attacked. Hugh’s army was now fighting for its life.

  Emilie could not bring herself to look out the window of her cell. How could God let this ruthless bastard win? Fight, Hugh, fight. But she knew the odds were against him.

  She waited for the roar, close by, announcing victory. It would tell her Stephen’s killers had done their job. That Hugh was dead.

  But there was no roar.

  After the first rumble of horsemen there was only the clash of metal, the gnashing din of battle, far-off cries. Then, in the distance, a trail of cheers. Why were the ranks on the wall so silent? She finally pulled herself up on her mat.

  No cheering… Could Hugh have won? Was it possible?

  Suddenly the bolt jangled and the door was flung open.

  Stephen was there, his eyes fierce. Two soldiers followed him into the cell.

  She forced a smile. “I hear no cheers coming from the walls, my lord. Why do I think the battle has not gone your way?”

  [417] “For both of us.” Stephen snorted and seized her arm. “There’s a noose in the courtyard that awaits your pretty neck. Tomorrow morning, you traitorous bitch!”

  “You have no right to pass such judgment.” Emilie tried to twist away. “You sentence me to death on what charge?”

  “Sedition, abetting the rebels, fucking a heretic…” Stephen listed them with a shrug.

  “Have you lost your mind? Is there no honor left in you? Have you bargained everything with the Devil for a piece of metal? That lance?”

  “The lance,” Stephen said, his eyes flashing, “is worth more to me than you and your fool, and all the pitiful ‘honorable’ souls left in France.”

  Emilie shouted, “You will not beat him, Stephen, whether you hang me or not. He came for you as one man; now an army stands behind him. You cannot stop him, not with all your titles and mercenaries, no matter how many men.”

  “Yes, yes, your ruddy little fool. Oh, now you’ve really got my knees knocking.” Stephen laughed.

  “He will come for me.”

  Stephen shook his head and sighed. “Sometimes I think the two of you actually deserve each other. Of course the fool will come for you, my pathetic girl. That’s precisely what I’m counting on.”

  Chapter 144

  THE REALIZATION SETTLED over the men that the battle was finally over. No more fighting. No more blood.

  They looked around, stunned and elated. Those who had lived sought out friends and embraced them. Georges and the Languedocians, Odo and Father Leo, Alphonse and Alois, farmers and Freemasons, jubilant just to be alive.

  I led our men back to the castle walls, exhausted, out of fight. But as conquerors!

  The same defenders who had pushed aside our attacks now sullenly watched us, arms at rest. Stephen’s captured knights were pushed to the front, stripped of their armor, and forced to kneel. A cry rose up. Not a cry of victory but a single, steady voice that grew in power until all joined in.

  “Submit, submit,” they chanted.

  Finally, from a parapet above the front gate, Stephen appeared, dressed in a ceremonial purple cloak. He surveyed our ranks contemptuously, as if he could not believe this ragtag rabble had beaten back his troops.

  “What happens now?” I asked Daniel.

  “You must talk with him. Stephen has to comply or his knights will lose their heads. He is bound by honor.”

  “Go on.” Odo pushed me forward. “Tell the bastard he can keep his fucking grain. See if there’s any ale in there.”

  [419] I grabbed the lance. Someone hitched up a mount for me.

  “I’ll go with you,” Daniel said.

  “I’ll come too,” the miller said.

  I looked at Stephen. I didn’t trust this bastard, no matter how deeply he was bound by honor. “I think not.” I sho
ok my head. I had someone else in mind.

  We brought up Baldwin. He had long been stripped of his fancy clothes and was dressed in a burlap tunic like any common man. His wrists were bound, his haggard face badly in need of a shave.

  “It is your lucky day,” I said, plopping a plumed hat upon his head. “If all goes well, you’ll soon be back in silk.”

  “You do not need to dress me up.” He threw off the hat. “You can be sure Stephen will recognize one of his own.”

  “Suit yourself.” I nodded solemnly.

  We headed forward out of the ranks, Baldwin’s mount tethered to mine. Soldiers on the walls watched us silently approach.

  We stopped, out of arrow-shot, forty yards from the wall. Stephen gazed down, barely acknowledging me, as if he had been called away from a meal.

  “Black Cross is dead,” I announced. “The fate of your best knights, what’s left of them, awaits your word. We have no more urge for blood. Submit!”

  “I commend you, carrot-top,” the duke replied. “You have proven to be as worthy a fighter as you are a fool. I have taken you too lightly. Come, ride forth where I can see your face. I will present my terms.”

  “Your terms? It is our terms you are bound to hear.”

  “What do I detect, jester? Do you not think me a man of honor? Ride forth and claim your prize.”

  “I think you bargain freely, lord, with something you are short of. Do not be offended if I send out my man instead.”

  A smile curled on Stephen’s face. “Your man, then, jester. And I will send mine.”

  “Shall I go?” Daniel offered.

  [420] I shook my head and glanced toward Baldwin. “No… him.”

  Baldwin’s eyes bolted wide. A film of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Here’s your chance.” I pulled his hood over his head. “Show us how your fellow lord recognizes you.”

  I untied his horse and gave it a hard slap to the rump, and it bolted forward. The duke, hands bound, tried to gather it under control. As he crossed over into no-man’s-land, he began to shout, “I am Baldwin, duke of Treille!”

  A few guards on the wall began to point and laugh.

  The duke’s voice became more agitated. “I am Baldwin, you fools. Disregard these clothes. Look at me, Stephen. Do you not see?”

  All that could be seen was a lowly-clad figure galloping toward the gates on his horse.

  “Here, jester,” Stephen called from the wall. “Here are my terms.”

  A chilling whoosh was heard and an arrow struck Baldwin’s chest. The duke keeled back. Then another, and a third arrow cut into him. Baldwin’s body slumped in the saddle. The horse, sensing something was wrong, reversed its course and drifted back toward our ranks.

  “There are my terms, fool,” Stephen called from the wall. “Enjoy your victory. You have one day.” Then he wrapped his purple cloak about his shoulders and left, without even waiting for a response.

  Daniel rode out to meet the returning horse. Baldwin’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

  A parchment was rolled onto one of the arrows in his chest.

  Daniel leaped off his horse and, without pulling out the arrow, unfastened the paper bound to its shaft. He read, then looked up. I saw the bitterness in his eyes.

  “Lady Emilie is decreed a traitor. We have the day to lay down our arms. Unless we submit, and turn the lance over to Stephen, she will be hanged.”

  Chapter 145

  THAT NIGHT, I went out into the fields behind our camp, my chest exploding with rage.

  I needed to be alone. I headed past the sentries manning our perimeter. What did I care if I was in danger? I wanted to hurl the blasted lance against the castle walls. Keep it, Stephen. My life has been sorrow and misery since I found it!

  Behind me, the flames of a hundred fires sparkled in the night, my men dozing or making bets on what tomorrow would bring: fight or surrender.

  I began to feel heartened, my shoulders free of strain. Maybe I would see Emilie if I walked close to the walls. Just for a moment, as I passed by the gates. The thought lifted me-that I might see her beautiful face one more time.

  I let out a breath, cradling the lance in my palms, staring at the massive walls.

  Suddenly I felt a muscular arm around my neck. I gulped for air, the grip tightening. The tip of a blade was pressed into my back.

  “Most accommodating, jester,” hissed a voice in my ear.

  “You’ve picked a daring place for a murder. If I shout out, you will be meat for our dogs.”

  “And if you shout, you would be out a very dear friend, boar-slayer.”

  [422] I slowly turned and was face-to-face with the Moor who always guarded Anne.

  “What are you doing here, Moor? Your mistress, Anne, is no friend of mine. You’re not welcome either.”

  “I come with a message,” he said. “You must listen, just listen.”

  “I have already seen your lady’s message, but my wife died in her dungeon.”

  “A message not from my lady,” the Moor said with a smile, “but from yours. Emilie. She bids you come with me tonight. I told her no sane man would come back with me through these walls. She said to tell you, ‘That may be, but it will not always be.’ ”

  The sound of those words took my breath away. I could hear Emilie’s voice, see her as I set off that day in the jester’s suit to Treille. My spirits lifted at the thought of the brave twinkle in her eyes.

  “Do not smile yet,” warned the Moor. “It will be a long shot to save her. Choose two men. Your best. Two whom you would be happy to die with. Then we must go. Inside. Now.”

  Chapter 146

  I CHOSE ODO and Ox. Who else? They were the two bravest, and they had gotten me this far.

  Around midnight, we left, snaking our way through the camp and into the woods without attracting attention. Then we followed the river to where it neared the city walls, away from the main gates.

  Through the darkness, I saw the outline of the great cathedral, lit by the flames of sentry fires. We could even hear Stephen’s men talking while manning the walls.

  We kept close to the river, approaching a part of the city I did not know. We forded the river at a low point the Moor knew.

  Creeping along the wall, we finally reached a spot that seemed to be the exterior of a large stone building many stories high. Narrow window slits were carved in the wall. I had no idea where I was.

  The Moor climbed up to one of the narrow slits. He scratched at the opening. A voice whispered back, “Who is there, fool or king?”

  In his broken accent, the Moor said, “If fools wore crowns, we’d all be kings. Quick, let us in-or we’ll all be hanging tomorrow.”

  [424] Suddenly chunks of the wall began to shift. The slit grew larger, a block at a time, and I could see it was not a window but a tunnel.

  “What the hell is this?” I asked.

  “La porte du fou,” the Moor said, hurrying us through. The fool’s gate. “It was dug during the wars with Anjou as an escape route, but the Anjevins found out and they were waiting there. They slaughtered all who came out. Anyone who went through was said to be a fool. Thought you’d appreciate the touch.”

  “Very reassuring.” Odo swallowed uneasily.

  “My apologies,” the Moor said. “I would have suggested the main gate, but all these men in green-and-gold surcoats with big swords were standing around guarding it.” He pushed Odo forward.

  We crept through the narrow opening. A dim light appeared up ahead. “Come, quick,” I heard a voice say on the other end. I did not know where I was or whom I was heading toward. I prayed this was not an ambush.

  The tunnel was not long, only the length of a building. We came out into a torch-lit room, arms assisting us as we jumped.

  Those arms belonged to a man in a deep blue robe with a white beard. I immediately recognized him: Auguste, the physician who had healed me after I was attacked by the boar. This was his hospital. People in the th
roes of disease reclined on mats or leaned half-naked against stone walls.

  Auguste led us down a hall into a large adjoining chamber. A study. The walls were lined with heavy manuscripts, scrolls all about.

  I had barely enough time to thank Auguste for his help before the physician scurried off, shutting us in. My heart beat nervously.

  “What is next?” I turned to the Moor.

  “What’s next,” said a voice from the shadows, “is to pray that [425] holy lance of yours has a fraction of the powers it’s said to-if you intend to save the life of the woman you love.”

  I spun to see a shape in a hood emerge from a corner. I did not know whether to raise my knife or bow.

  I was staring at Lady Anne.

  Part Six . LAST RIGHTS

  Chapter 147

  A DRUM BEAT SOLEMNLY in the courtyard outside the castle. An anxious crowd had begun to form, eager to see what was happening.

  Usually, before a thief or a murderer took the rope, people gathered around laughing and gossiping as if they were going to a feast. Peddlers hawked cakes and candles; children played hide-and-seek through the crowd, hoping for a front-row vantage point from which to taunt or spit.

  But today the mood was different. Everyone knew they were going to see something they had never seen before.

  A noble was going to be hanged.

  A noble woman.

  High above the courtyard, I hid on a castle ledge, crouched in a nook the Moor had found for me. In the square, I spotted Odo in the crowd near the gallows. And Ox, balancing two pails on his shoulders, making his way in the direction of the main gate.

  On the walls, soldiers lined the ramparts, poised in case the rebels charged. A bonfire burned in the square, its flames fanned by a whipping wind. The fire was for Emilie’s body, once she was dead.

  A flourish of horns shattered the restive quiet. Murmurs buzzed through the crowd. It was time! The door to the donjon opened.

  [430] A detachment of soldiers marched out, Emilie at their center.