[Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal (14 page)

I took the rest of the carrots, gave one to Zeus and the rest to the boy.

“Make sure he gets all of them, and a bucket of water to cool him down,” I said, tossing the boy a penny.

“Would you like one for yourself?” he asked. “You smell worse than he does right now.”

“Get on with you,” I growled.

One of the exercise riders, a wiry young man with a nose that had been broken more than once, came up to me and shook my hand heartily. “Thank you,” he said.

“For the entertainment?” I asked.

“That, and for making me enough money to last a month,” he said. “I won the pool.”

“And what was the subject of this wager?”

“How long you would stay on,” he said. “I took the position that you would not be unhorsed at all.”

“I am not sure I would have bet on that outcome myself,” I said.

“I’ve seen you ride him before,” he said. “You’re quite the horseman.”

“It helps that I had training as an acrobat,” I said. “When I was your age, I could have ridden him standing on his back, playing my lute, and singing a chivalrous song.”

“We could set that up as a bet,” he said, brightening.

“The key phrase in that brag was ‘when I was your age,’” I pointed out. “That was a long time ago.”

“Then we should come up with a challenge more suitable to your declining years,” he declared.

“My years and I decline your kind offer, thank you,” I said. “Do you often set up these strange betting opportunities?”

“I have bet on horses, donkeys, ducks, turtles, and cockroaches,” he said. “I have bet on twigs floating down the Garonne, how many monks will fall asleep during a sermon, and whether or not a man will swing after Assizes. If I had been on the Ark with Noah, I would have made my fortune off his three sons betting on which day we would have found land.”

“Surely that was God’s decision, not a random date,” I said.

“I believe that God is a gambler,” he said. “What else can explain the randomness of our fates but the vicissitudes of chance?”

“You have thought about this deeply,” I said. “You should teach.”

“Anyone who bets with me will learn a lesson,” he said modestly. “Care to try?”

“As a fool, I fear any man with greater knowledge, which is to say, all of them,” I said. “Besides, if I was to bet on anything, it would be on the roll of a pair of dice.”

“I spent many happy years in unlit alleyways relieving drunks of their wages by means of those treacherous cubes,” he said. “I have never seen you participating.”

“I came to town only six months ago,” I said. “I promised my wife for last year’s resolution that I would stay on God’s path. But it’s a new year, and I don’t see the harm of one little game. I heard there’s a fellow named Higini who runs one around here.”

“Higini?” he said in surprise. “I thought you were interested in gambling.”

“I was. I am.”

“Higini’s game is not a gamble,” he said. “Higini’s game is a complex mechanism for taking away Paradise without any hope of redemption. It is a trap for the unwary and the simple-minded.”

“You could not have described me any better if you had been my own mother,” I said. “Higini, it is. Take me to him, if you’d be of a mind.”

“I bear no ill will toward you, good Fool,” he said. “May I not take you instead to a true game of chance?”

“No, though I thank you for your charitable impulse,” I said. “I will have Higini, and no other. Guide me to him, if you are truly grateful for the money you have made wagering on my death and dismemberment today.”

“My gratitude is to God, the Great Gambler,” he said piously. “He who kept you in the saddle and me in silver.”

“Then it is God’s will that we meet, and that you lead me to my next station,” I said.

“There may be something in that,” he conceded. “Very well. Fool. Follow me.”

There were several stables in that section of Saint Cyprien, built with no particular regard for order. My new guide led me through them like a bee through a hive, shouting out greetings and friendly insults to ostlers, smiths, grooms, and stable boys without missing a step. I was treated to the sights and smells on this little tour. The sights were fine, if you have an eye for horses. The smells were those you get when you have an eye for horses: mounds of hay being piled into lofts, waiting to be gulped up by equine mouths; heaps of dung being piled into wagons, the end product of hay and horse; burning charcoal from the blacksmiths, a smell that never failed to remind me of a man I once encountered in— but I have told that story before.

Many of the stable boys and grooms seemed to live here. I doubted that any of them had ever seen the inside of a church since baptism. Based on their appearances, that may have been the last time any of them had been bathed as well. There were sudden turns into narrow alleyways that then opened up into unexpected enclaves where women nursed infants or stirred bubbling pots over small fires. They looked at me in my motley and whiteface curiously, even fearfully. I made my usual funny expressions to the children to no avail.

My guide took one last turn, and I was in an alley that led to a dead end. He turned to me and held out his arms in triumph. I became very aware of the sounds around me, wondering if I had been set up for an attack.

“We have arrived,” he said.

“And Higini?”

“He is here.”

I looked behind me at the alley, then up at the stable walls around me, then back at my guide, who was grinning like an idiot.

“You are Higini?” I asked.

“At your service,” he said, bowing low. As he did, a pair of white dice rolled into his hand from his sleeve.

“Where is the rest of the game?”

“The game is wherever I am, and it is up to those who wish to play to seek me out.”

I looked at him more closely. His face was smooth, as though no hair had ever pushed up through its surface. His fingers were long and supple, and he rolled the two dice between his knuckles like a conjurer. His smile was guileless and welcoming. His eyes showed nothing.

He may have been the most devious man I had ever met in my life, and I doubted that he was more than twenty-two.

“Let me show you my arena, Fool,” he said, and he pointed to his feet.

While the rest of the alleyway was dirt, there was a section of hard clay laid down there, about nine feet square and tamped smooth.

“Even ground for an even match,” he said.

“Which, according to you, cannot be possible.”

“There are more honest games in town,” he said. “But those who come to Higini come thinking they can outfox the fox. What is your game, Fool?”

“I came to help one who thought he could outfox you,” I said. “I want to pay off his debt.”

“Noble,” he said. “Who is the man?”

“Sancho, of the count’s guard.”

“A friend of yours?”

“Why else would I be here?”

“Because you like the challenge of facing the fox,” he said. “You are a fox yourself. Sancho was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Higini fleeced the sheep, then skinned the wolf.”

“How much to redeem his two coats?”

“It cannot be done,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because Higini sold Sancho’s debts to another.”

“Wonderful,” I sighed. “I thought myself on a simple errand of charity, and it has turned into a epic quest. Who now owns Sancho’s debts?”

“Why should Higini tell you?” he asked. “What does Higini care for a soldier of misfortune?”

“Would a coin or two help?”

“Higini has already been paid by the master of debts. Higini’s discretion was part of the bargain.”

“Commendable,” I said. “And I know where this ends. We roll for it.”

“You truly are a fool,” he said.

“I brought my own dice,” I said, producing them from my pouch.

He laughed.

“Higini has seen fools before,” he said. “Pelardit has come to the heart of the stables to perform for us. He is a master of sleight of hand, so fast and so adept that not even Higini can spot the pass. And Pelardit defers to you.”

“Pelardit is the master in that respect,” I said. “But I am not without skills. Nor is Higini, I expect.”

He sat cross-legged at one edge of the clay surface and placed his dice down at the edge. When he lifted his hand back up, there were two sets. He passed his other hand over, and there were now four pairs. He waved again, and they had changed from white to red.

“All crooked in some fashion or other,” I said, applauding.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe yours are as well. Now, what can you offer Higini for your stake in this contest?”

“If you will not take money, perhaps a performance?”

“Higini can see you in any tavern he wishes, working hard for the price of a tankard of ale.”

“That’s just the tavern routine. You haven’t seen the material I save for the lords.”

“Do you fart in a richer, more noble tone when you play for them?”

“Oh, you saw that routine. What else may I wager?”

“Your motley,” he decided.

“What? This is my only pair. And I need it to make my living.”

“Your mission to save your friend is not worth so much as a suit of patches? For shame, Fool.”

This was becoming serious. I couldn’t bet my motley against a cheat to gain a small piece of information for an investigation that may have been senseless from the beginning.

Only a fool would do such a thing.

“You’re on,” I said.

“Well done,” he said. “Now, we shall roll.”

“Wait a second. Using whose dice?”

“I will use mine, you will use yours,” he proposed. “High number wins.”

“But I don’t trust your dice.”

“And I don’t trust yours. Are we at a standstill?”

I thought for a moment, then sat opposite him and put my dice forward.

“Select a pair of yours,” I said. “Then I shall take one from that pair, and you will take one from mine. We will each roll a mixed pair, and that will make it at least half a random outcome.”

He lit up, the smile reaching his eyes for the first time. “You are a clever fool,” he said. “Higini accepts.”

He looked at his dice, selected one pair, and placed them by mine.

“And to keep things clear, place all those other dice in that corner where I can see them,” I said.

“Done,” he said, moving them. “And you roll up the sleeves of your motley, soon to be Higini’s. I will do the same.” I complied. His eyes widened when he saw the two daggers strapped to my forearms. I shrugged.

“I do a knife-throwing act as well,” I said. “Let us now hold out our hands, fingers spread, and turn them slowly.” We watched each other’s hands like hawks would a scurrying mouse, then placed them on the clay surface.

“You are my guest,” said Higini. “You may choose first.”

I took one of his dice. He took one of mine. Then we picked up our remaining cubes.

“We throw together,” he said. “One, two …”

“
Y
ou smell like a sweaty horse
,” said my wife as we snuggled together later in bed.

“I almost came home naked tonight,” I said.

“Who was the wench?” she demanded immediately. “Give me my rival’s name, so that I may curse it properly as I strangle her.”

“No wench,” I said. “Merely a talented young cheat whom I tempted with a rare moment of fairness.”

“Explain?”

I told her of Higini and the maze through which he led me.

“But how did you beat him?” she asked.

“I beat him when I gave him an opportunity to gamble for real stakes,” I said. “His discretion against my profession. I reminded him of the true thrill of the wager, the joy of the dice. The reason he became a gambler in the first place.”

“And the dice came up favoring you?”

“Fool’s luck.”

“I see,” she said. “I suspect that he was not the only one in that alleyway who lives for the gamble.”

“I am not like him.”

“No. You gamble with your life. Which, I must remind you, is also mine. Please take better care of it.”

“I haven’t risked our lives much lately.”

“In the last few days, you’ve been off to a bordel, and when I deprived you of that, you turn around and go to a gambling den.”

“Best investigation I’ve ever had,” I agreed.

“Did you become this degenerate recently, or were you like this all the time, and I was too blinded by love to notice?”

“I became degenerate only when I married you,” I said. “Likewise,” she purred. “Anyhow, you won. What did you find out? Who purchased Sancho’s debts?”

“The Count of Foix,” I said.

Y
ou go
to sleep with a man who smells like a horse, you wake up smelling like a horse yourself,” I grumbled to Helga the next morning.

“You said ‘horse’?” asked Helga uncertainly.

Theo was still asleep upstairs, his snores shaking the rafters. I was attempting to feed Portia, who had decided that her oatmeal was some type of sculpting material.

“Your lord and master decided to follow his nose yesterday,” I told her.

“And he smelled horses?”

“He was looking for the gambler who had ensnared Sancho,” I explained. “An infamous runner of moving games with fixed outcomes.”

“Oh, Higini,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Are you truly a twelve-year-old girl?” I asked, glaring at her. “Or are you some ancient malevolent demon who prowls the dark corners of the human soul?”

“You’ve already told me that there is no difference,” she said.

“Apparently not,” I replied.

“I’m going to be thirteen in June,” she said cheerfully. “The world trembles in fear,” I said. “How did you know about Higini?”

“I go to the stables to visit Zeus,” she said.

“And the stable boys?”

She smiled dreamily, then shook herself. “Stable boys?” she asked innocently. “Anyhow, I heard all about Higini. I hope Theo isn’t going to match dice with him.”

“He already has.”

“Oh, no!” she cried, her face falling. “What have we lost?”

“He won.”

“He beat Higini at his own game?” she exclaimed.

Her face was as awed as if she had seen a vision of the Virgin Mother appear in Portia’s oatmeal. As a matter of fact, the shape Portia had fashioned in it did bear a passing resemblance.

“Did any of that actually get into your little belly?” I asked my daughter.

Portia thought seriously for a moment, then nodded.

“That is a lie,” I informed her, and she looked at me guiltily.

I looked at the mess that my daughter had made, and the larger mess that was my daughter, and the largest mess that pretended to be my daughter.

“I think that we are all due for a bath,” I said.

“But it’s only Wednesday,” protested Helga.

“Come on,” I said, scooping up the baby. “I smell like a horse, and Portia smells like oatmeal.”

“What do I smell like?” asked Helga.

“Fire and brimstone,” I said. “We must wash you clean and douse you in holy water before you may pass safely amongst the citizens of Toulouse.”

There was a women’s bathhouse in the Comminges quarter, patronized, or rather matronized, by those who stayed nearby. This meant that one’s bathing partners were most likely to be pilgrims or prostitutes. Or both, occasionally—I had met many a fallen woman on her way to Compostela to gain absolution for her many sins, and not a few pilgrims who fell from grace in Toulouse after making a pragmatic if desperate choice to fund the rest of the journey.

I paid for a tub of fresh hot water, soap, and cloths, and we piled our motley and linens on the bench. A team of maids ran back and forth with steaming buckets to fill the oaken tub. One tested the water, winced, and added two buckets of cold water to bring the temperature down to a tolerable level. I stepped in and lowered myself until I was completely submerged, then surfaced and took Portia from Helga.

“Do my hair, girl,” I directed my apprentice, and she worked it to a fierce lather while I scrubbed Portia, who squealed with frustration. I plunged her down and up quickly, and she spluttered in indignation. Then I did the same with myself, holding her above the surface and blowing bubbles at her.

“Your turn, Helga,” I said.

Helga put her hands on the edge of the tub and kicked up into a handstand as the women in the other tubs gasped and clapped in delight. Then she flipped into the water, sending a geyser ten feet into the air.

“You’re supposed to leave some in the tub for washing,” I reminded her. “Hold Portia.”

She took the baby, and I washed her hair. Around us, women were happily exchanging gossip, recipes, stories about children. All of the currency of women. From different corners, songs suddenly arose, to be joined by others. There
was
freedom in this room that didn’t exist outside it.

I finished washing Helga’s hair and rinsed it with a bucket of water. “I remember now—you’re a blonde,” I said as I inspected the results.

She groaned in exasperation at the old joke.

“There’s nothing in this world that’s going to untangle this,” I said. “Do you ever comb it?”

“I do,” she said indignantly. “Sometimes. Every now and then. Ow!”

“They say Alexander solved the Gordian Knot by splitting it with his sword,” I said as I worked one cluster out. “Alexander would have taken one look at you and fled, screaming in terror. There, that’s another one loose.”

“I’ve seen gentler handling of horses by their grooms,” she grumbled.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that,” I said. “About my hair? Or about horses?”

“About your running around to those places when you’re not with us.”

“I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t,” she said.

“Not yet,” I said. “And you may not want to do anything you shouldn’t. But no matter how much you like Zeus, and no matter how friendly the stable boys act, you may find yourself in a dangerous situation.”

“Unlike the ones you and Theo keep putting me in.”

“That’s different,” I said, working another knot loose. “Following deadly men through dark alleys, fending off attacks by ruffians in the woods, spying in great houses. All of these could get me killed, yet you worry about stable boys?”

“You are training to be a jester,” I reminded her. “A member of the Fools’ Guild. All the tasks we assign you are part of that training, and we would never send you into anything before you were ready.”

“If I can go into the seediest tavern in Montpellier alone, what makes you think I can’t hold off an amorous stable boy?”

“Because when you act as a jester, you keep your guard up,” I replied. “But when you are wandering off on these explorations, you don’t. And it’s when you let down that guard that you are at risk.”

“I am not,” she insisted. “And I’m not a jester all of the time. There should still be time for me to have some fun.”

“When you are overcome by several men who carry you behind the stables and have their way with you, fun will be the last thing you’ll be having.”

She looked at me in shock. “That wouldn’t happen,” she whispered. “I would never let that happen.”

“No woman ever thinks it will,” I said. “But it does. Women have to be on their guard all the time, just like jesters.”

“What about now?” she pointed out. “We’re naked, sitting in a tub of water. How are you on your guard?”

I showed her the washcloth in my hand, then let it fall open slightly to reveal the dagger concealed under it.

“I didn’t see you do that,” she said.

“No one did,” I said. “Remember—just because you think you know all about evil doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to avoid it. Lesson learned?”

“You’re not my mother,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I am your teacher and your guardian. Where is your dagger, by the way?”

“With my clothes on the bench,” she sighed. “Too far away to be useful. Lesson learned.”

“Good. No more gallivanting about. Understood?”

“Oc, Maman,” she said. She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Sometimes, I wish you had been my mother. You would have been a better one than the one I had.”

“The mother you had protected you from harm and molestation, then spirited you out of that bordel to the Fools’

Guild,” I said. “She must have been a courageous and resourceful woman to do that, and she passed those qualities on to you. You should honor her memory.”

“What was your mother like?” she asked suddenly.

“I never knew her,” I said. “She was carried off by a fever when my brother and I were but a few months old. Our father died when we were thirteen.”

“Theo’s mother died when he was born,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied, a little surprised at her knowledge.

“He’s always on his guard, isn’t he?”

“It’s what has kept him alive so long,” I replied.

“It must be hard being married when both of you are on guard all the time,” she commented.

I worked through the last knot and ran my fingers through her hair. “You see too much sometimes,” I said.

We dried ourselves and dressed. I did not observe where she concealed her knife on her person, and was pleased with that.

“Where to now?” asked Helga as I applied my whiteface.

“Back to the bordel,” I said.

“Right,” she said. “So that we may continue my righteous upbringing and education.”

“As a matter of fact, educating is exactly what I will be doing,” I said.

W
e stopped
by the market on the way to the bordel, but saw no sign of Sylvie, so we continued on. As we crossed the yard between the leper house and the bordel, we were hailed from above. I turned and looked up at the window, shading my eyes from the late morning sun.

“Good day to you, Fools,” called my leprous admirer.

“And to you, senhor,” I replied, making courtesy.

“You are too early,” he said. “The ladies will not be at their posts until midafternoon. They are still asleep.”

“They are fortunate to have you watching over them,” I said.

“I did not watch enough, alas,” he said mournfully. “I will miss that fiery redhead. Will you perform for me when you are done with your errand?”

“Certainly, senhor,” I said. “But it will have to be dumb-show, for my music may wake the slumberers.”

“If they can sleep through a murder, they can sleep through your music,” he said.

“I thank you for the comparison,” I said, bowing again. Carlos didn’t even bother raising both eyelids this time. One bleary eyeball acknowledged our existences, then was hidden again. We took that as permission and went inside.

The only stirrings we heard came from the direction of the kitchen, accompanied by some wonderful aromas. We followed them in to find Sylvie up and cooking.

“Good morning, Na Sylvie,” I said. “I have come in my new capacity of tutor.”

“A waste of time,” she muttered. “These women are good at one thing, and one thing only, and reading will not make them any better at it.”

“On the contrary, a mistress who can read to her patron may find that she may soothe him just as readily as by love-making,” I said. “Or she may arouse him to new heights. It all depends upon the subject matter being read. Do you read and write?”

“Enough to copy down my recipes,” she said haughtily. “More than that, I have no time for.”

“So, you are a veteran cook?” I asked.

She nodded.

“I am not surprised, given the tantalizing odors emanating from those pots,” I said. “I take it that you haven’t worked in this house in its principal activity?”

“Certainly not,” she snapped. “And I will thank you to show some respect for my station.”

“As a consumer of food, I respect all cooks,” I said. “Helga here has been showing some promise in that area. Could she assist you in exchange for some tips?”

“Can you stir a pot, girl?” asked Sylvie.

“One with each hand,” said Helga. “And a third with my right foot if necessary.”

“We have only two pots to stir,” said Sylvie, handing the girl two long spoons. “Keep your feet away from both of them.”

“Has the Abbess replaced La Rossa yet?” I asked.

“Why, do you want the job?” sneered Sylvie.

“Not I,” I said.

“Then what business is it of yours?”

“Curiosity,” I said. “Having avoided bordels all my life, I am fascinated to find myself actually in one. I want to know everything about it.”

“You have children,” said Sylvie.

“Obviously.”

“You know how that happened, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know what happens here. There’s just much more of it, and with money changing hands.”

“And partners changing beds,” said Marquesia as she entered the kitchen, not bothering to conceal an enormous yawn. “Speaking of which, Sylvie, I need my bed linens washed.”

“Oc, milady,” muttered Sylvie, leaving us.

Marquesia grabbed a handful of nuts from a bowl and started cracking them.

“Good morning,” I said.

“I hate mornings,” she said. “I hate the light, I hate the birds singing, I hate how I look before I have my face together.”

“That’s where whiteface has an advantage,” I said. “There is no need for subtlety in its application. Are you ready for your lesson?”

“My what?” she asked.

“You wanted to learn how to read,” I said.

She looked at me, her mouth hanging open for a moment, a half-chewed nut visible. Not the most attractive prostitute at that moment, but she was off duty.

“You actually meant it when you made that offer,” she said, swallowing quickly. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“An obvious conclusion, since no one ever thinks that we’re serious,” I said. “Do you know your letters?”

“Of course,” she said indignantly. “Well, most of them.”