“Why, they are here,” the bishop said, stabbing his finger toward my men. “And here.” He pointed at me.
The archbishop looked closely at us. “These men seem quite benign, for apostates and heretics.”
The bishop’s face turned white. A few snickers were heard around the square.
“The duke felt…”
“The duke obviously felt,” Velloux interrupted, “that the Church’s laws were available, as were you, to enact his personal bidding.”
For the first time, the tightened bowstring that was my chest began to relax.
“Your Grace.” Anne stepped forward and knelt. “Your presence is most welcome, but there are matters of civil law that also need to be addressed.”
A voice called from out of the carriage. “That is why I came along, my dear.”
[445] A stately figure emerged, wrapped in a purple cloak embroidered with gold fleurs-de-lis. Each of the soldiers immediately dropped to a knee.
“Your Highness,” Anne exclaimed, her face blanched. She immediately rose and curtsied, eyes fastened to the ground. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Words I could scarcely believe.
“The King…”
The entire square dropped to one knee. The King! He had answered my call. I had to blink twice to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Then I heard something that stunned me even more.
“Father!” Emilie exclaimed.
Chapter 153
FATHER! Did I hear right? My body slammed to a halt. I know that my jaw hung wide.
The King’s eyes were drawn to Emilie. I could not tell if he was pleased or stern. “Has your absence from the court made you forget, child, who it is you address?”
“No, my lord,” Emilie replied. She knelt and averted her eyes. Then she lifted them, twinkling with amusement. “Father…” She exhaled and smiled.
“So.” The King signaled for us to rise. “Show me the misguided fool who I am told is responsible for this unrest.”
Emilie shot forward, clasping my arm. “You are mistaken, Father. It is not Hugh who is responsible but-”
“Quiet,” the King interrupted, his voice raised. “I was referring to Stephen, the supposed duke, not your damned jester,” he said.
Emilie, her eyes moist, broke into a blushing smile. She took my hand.
“The duke is dead, my lord.” Anne came forward. “He died, realizing his shame, by his own hand.”
“By his own hand…” The King glanced at the archbishop and snorted. “Then it is he, after all is done, who is withheld from God’s grace. As for the rest of you heretics…” He turned [447] and faced my men. “Consider yourselves restored. I speak for Archbishop Velloux when I give you back your souls.”
A joyous cheer rose up. The. men hugged one another and threw their fists in the air.
“Now, as for you, jester…” The King turned back to me. “You have made demands that if granted would throw half the country into disarray.”
“No demands.” I bowed my head. “Only the hope to return to our homes in peace, and some manner of law to redress ills perpetrated on us.”
The King sucked in a breath. For a moment I thought he would go into a rage. Then he relaxed. “My daughter has been talking about this very thing for years… Perhaps it is time.”
The courtyard exploded in cheers, but he immediately put up his hand to stop them. “The fact remains, you have risen up against your lords. Against those you were pledged to. The law of liege and serf is not at issue here. Some justice must be meted out.”
Emilie pushed me down. I knelt.
“You must be educated in the manner of the nobles,” said the King.
“My lord. I was a jongleur and an innkeeper. I am as far from highborn as one can be.”
“Yet you will have to be educated.” The King cocked his eye. “If you intend to marry my daughter.”
I slowly raised my head. I looked about, a smile spreading on my face.
“Father!” Emilie gasped and pulled me to my feet. Then she ran to the King and without so much as a curtsy, threw her arms around him.
“I know, I know. Fools are everywhere, even those who wear the royal robe. But first, I need a word with your boy.”
He came to me, evaluating me. Then he placed an arm [448] around my shoulder and ushered me away. I felt some rebuke about to come.
“Not to seem ungrateful, son, for I know Emilie is in your debt… but in your letter you mentioned a lance.”
I took a breath, then spoke.
“It was destroyed, Your Highness. Hurled into flames in the fighting here. I’m afraid there is nothing left.”
The King sighed deeply. “It was the lance that pierced our Savior’s side? Such a relic was more valuable than my own crown. You are sure of it, lad?”
“Only sure that it has produced the most miraculous of outcomes. Look around you, Sire.”
He looked-at the ebullient men, at his daughter’s eyes wet with joy-then nodded wistfully. “What a treasure that would have made. But perhaps it is just as well… In my experience, such things are better left the stuff of legends and myths.”
Epilogue
“GRAND-PÈRE.”
My little grandson Jack came up to me in the gardens. It was a bright late-summer morning. I had just returned from the hill with a handful of sunflowers, as I did every morning in the summer. Though climbing to the spot was a little harder for me now.
Little Jack, my daughter Sophie’s son, who was five, threw himself into my arms and almost toppled me over. He pointed to the checkerboard crest that hung above the entrance to our inn. (Of course, the inn was slightly larger than my first one. We now owned a quarter of the land that had once belonged to Baldwin. Some things do come with being married to the daughter of a king.)
“Mother told me you would tell me what our crest means. She said you were once a jester.”
“She said that?” I pretended to be surprised. “Well, if she said that, then it must be true.”
“Show me,” Jack insisted, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Show you?” I took his hand. “Then first you must hear the tale.”
I took him to the bench that overlooked the town where we had lived these forty years, near where Sophie and Phillipe were buried. Around us, the fields exploded with sunflowers galore.
I took Jack back to the time when all I had was a tiny inn. When an army marched through here, an army led by a hermit. [452] To the battles near and far, and the holiest prize in the world, which for a short while was in my hands. To the fight of men to make themselves free, forty years before.
My little blond-haired grandson listened without so much as a breath. “That was you, Grand-père? You did these things?”
“Me and Odo and Alphonse. When Uncle Odo was just a smith in town, and not our seneschal.”
“Let me see.” He screwed up an eye as if I were joking. “Show me what you learned.”
“What I learned?” I touched his tiny freckled nose. Then a thought flashed into my head. I got up off the bench and winked at him as if to say, “This is our secret. Whatever happens, don’t tell your grandmother.”
I sucked in my stomach and held my breath. I hadn’t done this in thirty years. I tucked myself into a deep crouch. I prayed to God I would not kill myself. “Watch this!”
And I sprang. Through the air into a forward flip. And in that fleeting instant, a thousand memories flashed through my mind: Sophie. Norbert. Nico and Robert. And the Turk. I sprang for all of them. One last time.
With a thump, I landed on my feet. Every bone in my body seemed to rattle. But I had nailed it! I was in one piece. Norbert would’ve been proud!
I looked at Jack. His eyes glistened bright as the summer sun. I saw my beautiful Emilie in those eyes. Then all at once he started to laugh. A true child’s laugh, like water rushing in a brook. It almost choked me as I watched him. Laughter, the most beautiful sound in all the world.
“That’s what I learne
d.” I tousled his long blond hair and smiled. “To make people laugh. That’s what this crest is all about. That is everything.”
I took my little grandson by the hand and led him back to the inn. Emilie, my queen, was waiting for me there. The hearth was roaring.
And I had sunflowers for her.
Sources
The following books on the Crusades and the Middle Ages have been sources of information and background for both setting and characters in this book:
Armstrong, Karen. Holy War: The Crusades and Their Impact on Today’s World. New York: Anchor Books, 2001.
W. B. Bartlett. God Wills It! An Illustrated History of the Crusades. Gloucestershire: Sutton Publishing, 2000.
Bishop, Morris. The Middle Ages. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1968.
Cantor, Norman, E The Medieval Reader. New York: Harper Collins, 1994. Including original works of: Song of Roland, William of Tyre, Peter Abelard, the Magna Carta, Goliardic Verse, St. Ambrose, Gregory of Tours, Marie de France, Bernard Gui.
Cohn, Norman. The Pursuit of the Millennium. New York: Oxford University Press, 1974.
Connell, Evans. Deus lo Volt! Chronicle of the Crusades. New York: Counterpoint Press, 2000.
Goetz, Hans-Werner. Life in the Middle Ages: From the Seventh to the Thirteenth Century. Translated by Albert Wimmer. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1993.
Holmes, George. The Oxford Illustrated History of Medieval Europe. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.
Keen, Maurice, editor. Medieval Warfare: A History. New York: Oxford University Press, 1999.
Konstram, Angus. Atlas of Medieval Europe. New York: Checkmark Books, 2000.
Lacey, Robert, and Danny Danziger. The Year 1000. New York: Little, Brown and Co., 1999.
Ladurie, Emmanuel Le Roy. Montaillou: The Promised Land of Error. New York: Vintage Books, 1979.
Read, Piers Paul. The Templars. New York: St. Martin ’s Press, 1999.
Tuchman, Barbara. A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century. New York: Ballantine Books, 1978.
Villehardouin, Geoffroi de, et al. Memoirs of the Crusades. London: Penguin Books, 1963.
Acknowledgments
The authors would like to acknowledge that The Jester is, in all ways, a work of fiction, an entertainment, and while painstaking care has been paid to historical detail and times, now and then a fact has been stretched or a truth bent for the sake of the story.
Thanks to H. D. Miller of Yale University for his scholarly, yet always anecdotal, reading of the manuscript. And also to Mary Jordan, who kept this project on the right track at all times.
And most of all, thanks to Sue and Lynn, whose warmth and laughter and spirit found its way onto many pages of this book. And to our kids, Kristen and Matt and Nick and Jack, in the hope that the sound of laughter will never fail to be a guiding companion and a cherished friend in their lives.
About the Authors
James Patterson is the author of many international bestsellers, including Along Came a Spider, Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue, and 1st to Die. He lives in Florida.
Andrew Gross coauthored 2nd Chance with James Patterson. He lives in New York.
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