[Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal (3 page)

“I might know a jester in Paris, Dominus,” I said. “If he still lives, he would be a man who knows much.”

“Thank you, Fool,” he said. “My man leaves in the morning. Be here at daybreak.”

“Up at dawn two days in a row?” I protested. “You are mistaking me for a working man.”

“You may go have a nap now,” said the count. “Thank you for your advice. On everything.”

I bowed and left.

As I walked into the courtyard, Bernard fell into step by me. “How is he?” he asked.

“Calming down,” I said.

“Well done,” said Bernard. “You’re good for him.”

“It’s what a fool does, senhor.”

“He trusts you an awful lot for such a short acquaintance,” observed Bernard.

“Well…”

“I don’t,” he said.

“I hope that I may become worthy of your trust in time, senhor.”

“Trust with me must be earned, Fool,” he said. “Once earned, it must be constantly renewed.”

“Sounds like hard work for low pay,” I said. “I am averse to working hard. It’s why I became a fool in the first place.”

“I look out for him,” said Bernard. “More than anyone. You cannot betray my trust, because you haven’t earned it yet. But if I find that you have betrayed his, you will not draw another breath on this earth.”

“I understand, senhor.”

We passed through the gate into the city proper.

“Good day to you, Fool,” he said.

I bowed low, and we continued our separate ways.

It was midafternoon. I decided that it was time for ale. I am capable of deciding that any time of day. I turned toward the Porte Montgalhart, which was the next gate up from the château, and walked until I saw a sign showing a tiny man who shone like the sun.

The Yellow Dwarf served good ale, and the tapster, Hugo, was pleasant toward all and particularly tolerant to fools in that he didn’t have us perform as part of the price of our long sessions at his table. Balthazar had kept a room in the inn above the tavern when he lived, and though he had been dead nearly a year, we honored him by making this the center of the Fools’ Guild for Toulouse. Any visiting fool or troubadour would know to turn up here first, so I made a point of checking in several times a week.

Oh, and the ale was good. Did I mention that?

Hugo, who was a hale man in his mid-fifties, was serving a group of soldiers when I came in, but he waved and pointed me toward a table in the corner. Pelardit was already there, a pitcher and several cups in front of him.

“Are those all for you?” I asked him as I sat down.

He looked at them, appeared to think for a moment, then reluctantly slid one over to me.

He was a fool, of course, one who had been in Toulouse for years, but he had accepted the appointment of an outsider like me as Chief Fool with grace. He was an unusual man, even for one of the Fools’ Guild, for he was a silent man. His humor came from the exquisite precision of his gestures and a malleable face whose features could instantly resemble anyone’s. He wore motley of the red-and-blue mesclat cloth that the city was famous for, and could produce from its sleeves and pockets a stunning variety of props without ever letting you see where they came from.

He made a small ring with his right thumb and forefinger, then slid it over the fourth finger of his left hand and looked at me questioningly.

“She and Helga should be joining us shortly,” I said. Right on cue, there was a cheer from the soldiers, and I turned to see my wife enter, now in full makeup and motley, Helga right behind her carrying Portia.

“Look, Mama! Soldiers!” cried Helga. “May I go play with them?”

“Behave, child,” scolded Claudia. “You are much too young. I, on the other hand, am the perfect age to entertain— Oh, damn, my husband’s here!”

There was a good-natured groan of disappointment from the soldiers as my wife sashayed past them, a lewd grin on her face. Helga did an exaggerated imitation of the walk as she followed her, prompting hoots of laughter. Claudia came to our table, leaned over, and kissed me hard, bringing on more hooting. I didn’t care. It was the part of the act that I enjoyed the most.

“Oh, look,” said Claudia, sitting by me. “The saddest sight in the entire world.”

“What is that, my love?”

“An empty cup,” she said. “How very tragic.”

Pelardit dolefully separated another of the cups from his pile and filled it, then passed it to her. Another one went to Helga.

“To Balthazar,” I said, and we knocked cups and drank.

“Well, is it true?” asked Claudia. “Did a long-lost brother descend from an angel’s chariot to claim his inheritance from the Count of Toulouse?”

“Not exactly, and nobody knows for sure,” I said.

I recounted the events of the morning.

Pelardit looked thoughtful.

“Know any of this story?” I asked him.

He shrugged, pointed to himself, and mimed holding a babe in arms, then shrank the imaginary child until it was no more.

“Of course,” I said. “You weren’t born then. But did you ever hear of this unheard-of heir? Gossip, rumors, anything?”

He shook his head.

“It sounds wonderfully romantic,” sighed Helga. “Was he handsome?”

“He had a magnificent cloak,” I said.

“Just the thing for concealment,” said Claudia.

“I wonder if he’s married,” said Helga.

“I will ask him, first chance I get,” I promised.

“Really?” exclaimed the girl.

“Any chance to have you taken off our hands, no matter how small, must be pursued.”

She pouted.

“I don’t know his mother’s story,” said Claudia. “Do either of you?”

“Her name was Constance, she was the sister to King Louis, and was married to Raimon the Fifth for the usual reasons.”

“Peace between France and Toulouse,” said Claudia.

“Not love?” asked Helga.

“The great cannot afford such frivolous emotions,” I said.

“I hope I never become great,” said Helga.

“Another step toward wisdom,” said Claudia, patting the girl’s head. “How did the marriage end?”

“Apparently not well, but I don’t know that part of the story,” I said.

“None of this was in our briefing at the Guild,” she said.

“I suppose they considered it not worth considering,” I said. “It was ancient history. But you can understand the count’s reaction. After all, his mother abandoned him when he was just a child, and—“

Claudia was on her feet in an instant, her ale spilling across the table, the rage forcing its way through her white-face.

“And what?” she shouted. “What happens to children when their mother abandons them at such a tender and impressionable age? Tell me that, husband!”

The soldiers, brave men all, carefully looked down at their trenchers. Hugo watched us from the safety of his place behind the counter.

“Even for me, that was a remarkably stupid thing to say,” I said. “Forgive me.”

Tears started streaking her makeup. She picked up Portia and stormed out of the tavern. Helga turned toward me with a stricken expression.

“Stay with her,” I said. “She’ll calm down eventually, but stay with her.”

Helga fled. Pelardit looked at me with concern.

“She left two children behind when she joined the Guild and came with me to Constantinople,” I explained. “They had already been placed under the control of a regent, so she would not have been— Anyhow, she hasn’t seen her son in over a year, and her daughter in three. Sometimes, she— It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Hugo came over with a cloth to mop the ale from the tabletop.

“You’ll be wanting some food, I think,” he said. “I’m guessing you’ll not be having dinner cooked tonight.”

“Thank you, friend Hugo,” I said.

He came back with a tray holding two slabs of brown bread and ladled some wonderfully aromatic lamb stew over them. Pelardit and I tasted it.

“Delicious,” I said. “For a man who did not eat meat for so long, you certainly know how to bring forth its magic.”

“Ah, all those years wasted as a Cathar,” he sighed. “If the Church would just open some taverns and serve good food, there would be no heresy. I heard a little of what you were talking about. The count’s long-lost brother showed up, did he?”

“You know about him?”

“Has to be a fraud,” said Hugo. “The countess would have been showing when she left town.”

“You were around then?”

“Helping my mother run this place,” he said. “Don’t know if Constance left the old count, or if he threw her out, but she didn’t go right away. Took the marriage part seriously, I suppose. And she didn’t have any money, was what I heard. Finally got some help from her brother and went back to Paris, and that’s the last anyone heard of her around here. But I knew someone who saw her leaving, and they said nothing about her being with child.”

“Might have been early in the pregnancy,” I said.

“Then how come no one knew anything back here?” he argued. “She whelps one more of the old count’s pups, you’d think he’d be galloping off to Paris to lay claim, especially if it was another boy.”

“Maybe King Louis thought it would be like keeping a hostage,” I said.

“Well, the maneuverings of the high and mighty are beyond me,” he said. “I still think he’s a fraud.”

“Most likely,” I said. “All will be revealed in time.”

“Or not,” he said.

“Or not,” I agreed. “What do you think, Pelardit?”

The fool shrugged without breaking the rhythm of his dining.

I finished and trudged home. When I turned the key in the lock, Helga opened the door and beckoned me in.

My wife was standing by the table, holding Portia. A kettle simmered over the fire.

“I made dinner,” she said. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” I lied.

A
fter
, when Helga had cleared the table, I fetched parchment, ink, and quill and laid them out. Then I sat, thinking.

“What are you going to say to him?” asked Claudia.

“It’s awkward,” I confessed. “I haven’t seen him for so long, nor written. I hear about him only occasionally, when the gossip drifts my way. I suppose it’s the same for him.”

“If it makes it any easier, keep it to Guild business,” she said. “No point in letting personal feelings get in the way.”

Something in her voice stung me, although her face was impassive. Helga sat on the stairs, watching us, Portia asleep in her arms.

“What would you have me do?” I asked. “I told you that we could go back to Orsino once Mark comes of age.”

“Could go?”

“Will go. We will go.”

“Unless there is some crisis that demands our services,” she said.

“Well…”

“And there always is a crisis, isn’t there?”

“There have been some quiet stretches here and there,” I said.

“Things are quiet only when you don’t listen,” she said. “My children are being raised by my greedy, venal sister-in-law and my weak-willed brother. For all I know, they are being turned into monsters. All because I became a jester.”

“They were placed under Olivia’s thumb before you decided to change lives,” I said. “That’s the way I remember it.”

“I ran,” she said. “I fled from my responsibilities.”

“You say it as if it were an act of cowardice,” I said. “You ran toward danger and war. You’ve fought bravely and well when many lives were at stake. Including yours.”

“I should have stayed and fought for my children,” she said. “Would you let me go back?”

“Now?”

“Now. And speak as my husband, not as the Chief Fool of Toulouse.”

“Go back without me?”

“Yes. And don’t you dare mention anything about the dangers of the journey. Right now, I am the most dangerous thing you have ever seen.”

“I believe you,” I said. “What about Portia?”

“She’s not dangerous yet.”

“You asked me to speak as your husband. I am also Portia’s father. I wouldn’t let her make that journey with you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No,” I said. “And speaking as one who was a motherless child, I would not have her raised by only me.”

“Who said anything about—?”

“If you go without us, who knows if you make it back?” I asked her. “Who knows if you even get to Orsino safely on your own? If anything happened to you, then not only would your older children still be without you, but so would your baby.”

“And you, husband?” she asked. “What of you?”

“I think,” I said, “that having waited so long and having been through so much to win your love, that I would die if you left me.”

She sat down at the table across from me, resting her chin on her hands while she looked at me. I could not read her expression.

“Well,” she said finally. “We can’t have that, can we?”

There was a knock on the door. I have never been so grateful for an interruption in my life. Helga, who seemed to have been holding her breath for the entire conversation, exhaled loudly.

“Who is it?” called Claudia, her hand at her knife.

“Sancho,” came the response.

She opened the door a crack, peered outside, then swung it open.

“Come in, good soldier,” she said. “Would you like a bit of chicken stew? It’s still warm.”