The Jester Read online

  [152] “That’s all I need.” Bette led me away. “Just make sure the other stays out of the soup.”

  She took a covered pot from the hearth and announced, “Give it to Armand, the jailer. And give him that jug of wine. You’ve done me a good turn, fool.” Then she gripped me conspiratorially by the arm. “I wish you luck, Hugh. Be careful. It’s a bad place you go to now. It is hell.”

  I carried the pot and the jug of wine across the courtyard. My arms trembled a bit. Two guards stood at the door of the keep, different ones than those who had booted me away the other day.

  “Ding, ding, ding … dinner bell,” I announced ceremoniously.

  “Who the hell are they putting to work in the kitchen now?” one of them asked.

  “I do it all… jokes to dessert. The duke’s expenses must be trimmed.”

  “The duke must be bankrupt if he sent you,” the other guard said.

  To my relief, they didn’t question me. One opened the heavy door. “If you had nicer tits, I’d carry it down for you.” He sniffed.

  The door slammed shut behind me. I felt a tremor of relief. I was in!

  I stood in a narrow stone corridor lit only by candles. A narrow stairway leading down.

  A draft hit me, then noises-the clang of iron, someone calling out, a high-pitched wail. I stepped down cautiously, my heart nearly bounding out of my chest, my neck beaded with cold sweat.

  I descended one step at a time, the pot clanging against the narrow walls, the wine jug pressed to my chest.

  The fearsome noises intensified. The smell grew horrible, like burned flesh. It made me think of Civetot.

  I winced. Poor Sophie. If she was here, I had to get her out. Tonight.

  [153] Finally, the passageway leveled off into a low, dungeonlike setting. The foul stink of excrement was all around. There was shouting from within, like that of mad people, terrifying moans and shrieks. I saw a hearth, and in it iron instruments, their tips white with heat.

  My stomach grew hollow. Suddenly I did not know what to do-if I found her.

  Two soldiers sat straddling a wooden tabletop, stripped down to sleeveless tunics and skirts. A swarthy one with hulking, imposing shoulders snickered at the sight of me. “We must be fucked. Look who brings our dinner.”

  “You’re Armand?” I lugged the pot over.

  He shrugged. “And if you’re the new chef, the duke’s really got it in for these poor bastards. Where’s Bette?”

  “Down with a headache. She sent me instead.”

  “Just set it here. There’s a pot from this afternoon you can take back up.”

  I placed the pot on the table by a stack of wooden bowls. “How many guests tonight… in la Taverne?”

  “What’s it to you?” the other asked.

  “Never been down here before.” I looked around, ignoring him. “Cheery. You mind if I take a look?”

  “This isn’t a marketplace, fool. You’ve done your chore. Now bug off.”

  My chance was slipping away. I felt I only had a moment more to make my case. “C’mon, let me take in their food. I spend my day making silly jokes and spinning around like a top. Let me take a look. I’ll bring them their bowls.”

  I placed the wine jug on the table in front of him. “Anyway, you guys really want to touch that slop?”

  Armand slowly pulled the jug toward him. He took a swig of wine, then passed it along.

  “What the hell.” He shrugged and winked at his partner. “Why not give the jester’s dick its rise. Take what you want in there. It’s free for the asking.”

  Chapter 50

  I TURNED A CORNER in the dungeon and then I could make out the cells. The odor here was beyond belief, nearly unbearable. My God, Sophie …

  I finally set down the soup pot and started to work. These people had to be fed, and while I did the task, I would search for Sophie in every dark corner.

  I began sloshing thin, murky gruel into bowls. My heart beat like a warning bell swung furiously back and forth.

  I carried two bowls to the first cell. My hands were trembling. Soup splattered on the floor.

  At first glance, the cell seemed to be empty. It was like a cave opening, dug out of solid rock, just a few feet deep. No light or sound, just the reek of human filth. A wet rat slithered out in front of my eyes.

  Then, in the back, I saw the glow of eyes. They flickered, tremulous and afraid. From out of the shadow-a head. Hairless, gaunt, a sunken face covered with runny sores.

  The prisoner crawled toward me, wild-eyed. “I mus’ be dead if it’s a fool come for me.”

  “Better a fool than Saint Peter.” I knelt and shoved a bowl under the bars.

  His thin, palsied hand darted out and grabbed the wooden bowl. A momentary sadness ran through me. I had no idea [155] what he had done to put him here. In Treille, there was no reason to assume he was guilty of anything.

  But I was not here for him. …

  In the next cell was curled a Moor. He was naked and filthy; rats nibbled at sores on his legs. He muttered in a tongue I did not understand. He barely looked up at me, glassy-eyed. “Take heart, old man.” I passed the bowl under the bars. “Your time is almost up.”

  I moved on to the next cells, not even going back for more soup. As with the first, the captives looked more like hunted animals than men. They groaned, peered out at me with beaten, yellow eyes. I took a breath against the urge to violently retch.

  Then, from farther along, came a wail. A woman! My body tensed. Sophie? I did not know if I could go on.

  “There’s your date, fool,” Armand brayed from his post. “Feel free to slip inside if she suits you. She has a magical tongue.”

  I clenched my fists and made my way toward the woman’s cries. Inside my belt, I grasped the hilt of my knife. If this was Sophie, I would surely kill the guards. Norcross too.

  The woman’s wail echoed again. “Go to her, fool. The bitch doesn’t like to be stood up,” yelled Armand.

  I held my breath and stepped in front of the woman’s cell. The stench was worse here. Unbearable. Why was that?

  She was crouched in a tight ball deep in the cell. A beam of light slanted across her hair, which was long and straggly. She seemed to clutch a doll or toy, whimpering like an abandoned child herself. “My baby,” she said, no more than a whisper. “Please… my baby needs milk.”

  I could barely see her. I could not make out her age or her face. I gathered myself and said, “Is that you, Sophie?” Fear shot through me. My breath froze. To be kept like this-it Would be better if she was dead.

  The woman sputtered out nearly incoherent phrases. “Poor baby,” she muttered. “Baby needs milk.” Then something that sounded like… Phillipe.

  [151] Oh, God. I froze. I stepped closer to the bars. What had they done to her? “Sophie,” I called. My tongue grew dry on her name. It seemed her shape, her hair. Please, turn toward me. Let me see.

  “Little one needs milk…” she mumbled again. “What can I do? Breasts are dry.”

  Tears welled in my eyes. I still could not see. “Sophie,” I said again.

  I rammed myself up against the bars. “Baby needs milk,” I heard her say again, then suddenly she emitted an ear-splitting, wrenching howl. It was like a blade running through me.

  I reached out, and her eyes finally caught sight of me. The breath froze in my chest. Her strawlike hair was falling over her face. But her eyes locked on mine. Yellow. Veins running through them. The nose flat and pocked.

  Oh, God! It was not her.

  My legs buckled. It was not her. Part of me was giddy with joy; another, crestfallen and disappointed.

  “My baby …” the woman called, pleading. She held out the doll for me to see.

  Oh, God. I recoiled. It was no doll. It was real. A tiny newborn child, bound in a caul, clearly dead, stillborn.

  “How can I help you?” I whispered. “How?”

  “Can’t you see?” she pushed the infant toward me. “The child needs m
ilk.”

  “Let me help.”

  “Milk!” the woman shrieked. “Feed him.”

  There was nothing I could do. The poor woman was raving mad.

  I stared for a moment more, then flung myself back down the corridor toward the stairs.

  The jailers laughed as I went by. “Leaving so soon, fool?” cried Armand. “What, no jokes?”

  I bolted out of the dungeon and up the stairs.

  Chapter 51

  I RAN IN A COLD SWEAT back to the castle and my alcove under the stairs. There, I threw myself on my mat. My breath raced panicked and wild.

  It was not her.

  My beloved Sophie must he dead after all.

  For the first time, I knew what had been understood all along by the people in my town, Sophie’s brother, even Norbert, my mentor. There was no hope. She had been ripped from her child, raped, and left to die on the road. I knew it now, the darkest lesson in my life.

  I buried my head in my hands. This silly charade was over. I had clung to a hope and now that hope was dashed. I must go. I ripped off my jester’s hat and threw it onto the floor. I was no jester. Just a fool! A bigger fool had never lived.

  I sat there for a long time. Letting the truth sink in.

  I heard footsteps near my bed, then a voice. “Is that you, Hugh?”

  I raised my head… to see Estella, the chamberlain’s wife.

  She had winked at me in court. Many times. She’d grabbed at me and teased. Tonight, she had a loose shawl covering her shoulders; thick auburn hair, which I had only seen braided and pinned until now, fell all about her neck. Her eyes were [158] round and mischievous. And her timing-couldn’t have been worse!

  “The hour is late, my lady. I am not at work.”

  “Perhaps I did not come for work,” Estella said, stepping into my bed-space. She let her shawl drop, revealing a loosely fitted bodice.

  “What striking red hair,” she whispered. “Now how is it such a fiery fool can look so sad?”

  “Please, my lady, I am not one for jokes this night. I’ll be funny again in the morning.”

  “I don’t need to laugh right now, Hugh. Let me feel you in another way.”

  She sat down beside me. Close. Her body was scented with fresh lavender and lilies. She reached out and stroked my face. I moved away from her touch.

  “I have never seen such hair.” She seemed fixed on it. “It is the color of a flame. What are you really like, Hugh, when you are free of all those jokes?”

  She pushed herself even closer. I felt the fullness of her breasts against my chest. One of her legs straddled mine.

  “Please, my lady.”

  But Estella pressed on. She wiggled her shoulders, letting her blouse fall to her waist. Her breasts tumbled forward. Then I felt the hot tip of her tongue dance on my neck.

  “I bet other parts of you contain the same fire as your hair. Touch me, Hugh. If you do not, I’ll tell the duchess you tried to grope under my dress. A commoner touching a noble’s wife… Not a role you want to play.”

  I was in a trap. If I resisted her molestations, I would be charged with molesting her. She nibbled at me. Then her hand entered my tunic, probing for my cock.

  At that moment I felt the tip of a blade digging into my neck. I held very still. A male voice boomed, “What mischief have I stumbled onto?”

  Chapter 52

  THE KNIFE SLOWLY DREW BACK and I turned to face Norcross. The monster was grinning down at me.

  Norcross dug the blade in again, and I felt the warmth of blood trickling down my neck.

  “A nasty situation, fool. The lady Estella is the wife of the duke’s chamberlain, a member of the court. You must be mad to wag your dick at such a lady.”

  Panic pumped through my chest as I realized I had been set up. “I did nothing, my lord.” My heart pounded wildly.

  “The little dick had no urge.” Estella sighed. “It appears our fool’s only ardor is in his hair.”

  Norcross grabbed me by the tunic and raised me, blade under my chin. Suddenly the bastard’s eyes lit up with recognition.

  “His hair … I do know you from somewhere else. Where, fool? Tell me.”

  I saw that I was doomed. I shot a glare back in his face. “My wife… What did you do to Sophie?”

  “Your wife.” The knight sniffed. “What would I do with the wife of a lowly fool? Except fuck her.”

  I lunged toward him, but he gripped me by the hair, and with the leverage of his arms and the blade stuck firmly under [160] my chin, forced me down, slowly, to my knees. “Listen good, fool. I have seen you. But where? Where have I seen your face before?’

  “Veille du Père.” I spat out the words.

  “That little shithole.” Norcross snorted.

  “You burned our inn. You killed my wife and child, Phillipe.”

  He was thinking back. The tiniest smile cracked his lips. “I do remember now… You were the little red squirrel who tried to stop me from dunking the miller’s son.”

  Norcross’s smile widened. “And what of the vaunted Hugh? The jester of jesters who studied under Norbert at Borée?” His grin deepened into a roaring laugh. “You? You are an innkeeper! A fraud.”

  I pressed toward him again, but his blade stabbed into my neck. I felt it cut skin. “You took my wife. You hurled my son into flames.”

  “If I did, all the merrier, you lowly worm.” Norcross shrugged. Then he winked at Estella. “I can see you are greatly offended, my lady. Go now and report the affront.”

  She righted her blouse and scurried away. “I will, my lord. Thank you for coming when you did.” She ran out of the room. “Guards …” I heard her shout echo. “Help me! Guards!”

  Norcross turned back to me. His eyes were hard-set and victorious. “What do you say, fool? It seems the laugh is mine after all.”

  Chapter 53

  I WAS HURLED, hands bound, into a dark, empty cell on the castle’s first floor. There I nervously passed the night.

  I knew my fate was sealed. Lady Estella would play the offended role, just as she had played me last night. Norcross, the vindicated hero. It would be my word against that of nobles. All the laughter in the world couldn’t save me now.

  I was jolted by a loud rattling at the door. A sliver of light appeared beneath it. It was day. Three brawny guards in Baldwin ’s uniform came into the room. The captain yanked me up. “If you know any good jokes, carrot-top, now would be the time…”

  I was pushed roughly into the great hall. The court was buzzing with knights and courtiers just as it had been the day I arrived. A messenger was informing the court about some renowned knight who had been slaughtered by outlaws in a neighboring duchy.

  Baldwin slouched in his elevated chair, chin in hand, and beckoned the man forward. “The vaunted Adhémar… killed in his own home?”

  “Not just killed, my lord…” The messenger was clearly uncomfortable, forced to deliver such news. “… Impaled to the wall of his chapel by his own limbs, his wife next to him. The lord was crucified.”

  [162] “Crucified,” Baldwin rose slowly. “You say he was roused from his own bed by bandits?”

  “Marauders was more like it. They rode in armed and dressed for battle, their faces hidden behind their headpieces. They bore no markings on their armor except for one, a black cross.”

  “A black cross?” Baldwin widened his eyes. I could not tell if his shock was sincere or pretended. “Norcross, do you know of such a band?”

  From the crowd, Norcross stepped forward. He had on a long red surcoat and his war sword hung in his belt. “I do not, my liege.”

  “Poor Adhémar.” Baldwin swallowed. “Tell me, messenger, what treasure did these cowards seek?”

  “I know not.” The messenger shook his head. “Adhémar had just returned from the Holy Land, where he had been wounded. He was said to have come back bearing valuable spoils. I had heard the very ashes of Saint Matthew.”

  “The ashes of Matthew,” Baldw
in said. “Such a prize would be worth the price of a kingdom itself.”

  “Only one relic is holier,” Norcross said.

  “The lance of Longinus.” Baldwin ’s eyes flashed. “Whose blade was dipped in the Savior’s own blood.”

  Hidden riders, burning and slaughtering. I did not doubt Norcross was behind these murders too. How I wanted to cut his throat.

  “Lord,” Norcross continued, “Adhémar’s fate is sealed, but there is other business to be done.”

  “Ah, yes, the fate of our little fool.” Baldwin waved the messenger away, then sat back down and with his finger motioned me forward.

  “I am told, fool, your little dick was wagging itself around where it does not belong. You seem to have offended a great many people in your short stay with us.”

  [163] I glared at Norcross. “It is I who have suffered the greatest offense.”

  “You? How so?” Baldwin chuckled. “Was Briesmont’s wife so unpleasant?” He picked a fistful of nuts out of a bowl and began to munch.

  “I never touched the lady.”

  “And yet the evidence says otherwise. You contradict the testimony of a member of my own court. The offended party as well. Against the word of a fool… from what I am now told, not even a true fool.”

  I wrestled in my bonds toward Norcross. “This noble member of your court has killed my wife, my lord. My wife and child…”

  There was a hush in the crowd.

  Norcross shook his head. “The fool has it in his mind that I ruined him as punishment for abandoning his obligation to you when he ran off to the Crusade.”

  “And did you, knight?” asked Baldwin.

  Norcross merely shrugged. “Truly, lord, I do not recall.”

  A trickle of the cruelest laughter sprinkled through the room. “The knight does not recall, ex-fool. Do you contradict again?”

  “It was him, your lordship. His face was hidden, just like it was to this poor knight spoken of today.”