[Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal (4 page)

“I wouldn’t say no, and thanks, Domina,” said Sancho as he came in, eyeing the floor for any trip lines I might have left lying about.

“What brings you here, friend Sancho?” I asked as he sat at the table and my wife placed a bowl in front of him.

“My commission is in three parts,” he said, producing a small square of parchment and handing it to me. “The first is to give you this.”

I took it, noting the count’s seal and shooting a glance at my wife, who stood behind me to look at it over my shoulder.

“The second is to watch you read it,” continued Sancho, rapidly shoveling stew into his mouth.

I broke the seal and unfolded it.

The message inside read,
Play the scene with the letter.
It was unsigned.

“The third is to watch you burn it,” said Sancho, upending the rest of the bowl down his gullet.

I touched one corner to the candle flame, then held it as the edges glowed, before turning to ash. When the flames neared my fingertips, I held it up for inspection.

“Very good,” pronounced Sancho, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I will be here at sunrise to fetch you.”

“And I thought you were my friend,” I grumbled.

“Only on my own time,” said Sancho.

“When is that, exactly?” asked Claudia.

“A good question,” replied Sancho. “Thank you for the stew, Domina.”

He nodded to Helga and left. Helga came down the steps and locked the door behind him.

“I like him,” she said.

“A good man,” I agreed. “He knows only what he needs to know, and nothing more. I wish I were like that sometimes.”

“What scene are you to play?” asked Claudia.

“An impulsive request, I suppose, so that no one thinks my letter is at the behest of the count. He doesn’t want to be seen as relying upon me.”

“Then you had better write it,” she said. “You have to get up early. Come upstairs, Helga. Let’s get this child to sleep.” Helga brought Portia over for me to kiss; then all my foolish women abandoned me to my epistolary efforts. Sighing, I dipped the quill in the inkpot.

“My dear Horace,” I wrote.

I
read
it over a couple of times, then folded the note in a particular way. I tilted the candle to let some wax drip onto the overlapping edges. Both the fold and the unsealed wax would let Horace know that the letter was not coming by a secure route.

A fool writes one way when going through Guild channels, another when he isn’t. I had faith in Horace’s ability to understand my words, both the ones I used and the ones I left out.

After all, he was the one who had recruited me to the Fools’ Guild in the first place.

I
slept in my motley
, knowing that I would be rising early again. When Sancho knocked on our door, I was up in a trice. I opened the shutters and whispered to Sancho to cease, then flew into the girls’ bedchamber to pick up Portia and comfort her before she woke the others. Reassured that the monster had been chased away by her heroic papa, she nestled into my arms and fell back asleep. Reluctantly, I put her back in her bed and kissed her on the nose. Then I grabbed my kit and tiptoed downstairs. This time, I avoided the trip lines.

Sancho greeted me as if we did this sort of thing every day, and we walked through the city as the first rays of the sun began to bring out the rosiness of the brick towers. “How is your lord and master this morning?” I asked. “Better, I think,” said Sancho. “A successful night, and a well-earned sleep after.”

“Must be frustrating to hear all that while you’re just standing there,” I said.

“I’d rather hear that than arguments, shouting, and tears,” said Sancho. “Heard enough of that from my parents growing up. And I have my own rewards in town. Tell you all about them after a few drinks sometime.”

“Never tell a married man about your romantic conquests, my friend. It can only arouse envy.”

Anselm, the chief servant, showed me into the Grande Chambre.

“He’ll be down shortly,” he informed me. “He said to grab some food while you can.”

“Sounds like he means to keep me busy,” I said, but I wasted no further breath on conversation, concentrating my efforts on the feast laid out on the sideboard.

I had a muffin studded with currants jammed into my mouth when the count came in with Bernard. I strummed away, trying to chew and swallow without using my hands or choking. The remainder fell from my mouth. I caught it, tossed it into the air, played a chord, caught the muffin in my mouth, played a chord, bit down, caught the smaller remainder, tossed it in the air, and repeated the process until the muffin was devoured and my hands were free to play uninterrupted.

“Impressive,” commented the count.

“Although disgusting,” added Comminges.

“Two words that neatly sum up my career,” I said. “Good morning, noble folks.”

“Good morning, Fool,” said the count. “Some music without muffins, if you would.”

“Easily done, but where’s the challenge?” I asked.

I played through the arrival of the rest of his coterie. Then came the viguier, a man following him respectfully.

“Dominus, this is the man I have chosen for your Parisian mission,” he said.

“Arval Marti, is it not?” asked the count.

“It is, Dominus,” said the man, bowing.

“He is fluent in langue d’oïl and is well acquainted with Paris,” said the viguier. “I have full confidence in his ability to learn what we need to know.”

“Very well, then,” said the count. “You have our commission and our love. God keep you safe on your journey, and fare you well.”

“Excuse me, Dominus,” I called. “I beg that you grant me a small favor.”

“Yes, Fool?”

“I thought, since you were sending a man to Paris, that he might do me the favor of delivering a letter to an old friend of mine who resides there.”

The count glanced at the viguier, who shrugged.

“I see no reason why not,” said the count.

“Good Senhor Marti, he is a fellow jester named Horace,” I said, handing him the letter. “I believe that he lives near Les Halles, but anyone who is anyone in Paris should be able to direct you to him.”

“I have seen him perform,” said Marti. “I should be able to find him with no difficulty.”

“My thanks, senhor,” I said.

Marti turned back to the count, bowed once more, and left.

“Now, to our Parisian guests,” said the count. “Bring them to me.”

Shortly thereafter, the two were dragged in, their hands manacled. They looked at the count fearfully.

He smiled. “My friends, I trust your accommodations were to your liking,” he said in langue d’oïl.

Baudoin stood mute. Hue simply whimpered.

“I have been prevailed upon to release you,” continued the count. “You will be placed in quarters more to your liking until I have made up my mind what to do with you. You may not leave Toulouse.”

“I did not come to Toulouse only to leave it,” declared Baudoin.

“Well said,” the count applauded. “Now, you may have free range of the city, but I have one requirement.”

“Anything my brother commands shall be done,” said Baudoin.

The count bristled at the word
brother,
but held back from lashing out.

“My requirement is that you immediately begin learning our language,” he said. “It ill befits an heir to Toulouse to be so ignorant of its tongue.”

“I shall do as you say,” said Baudoin. “My man Hue shall—“

“I do not have confidence in your man Hue,” said the count. “I want to be sure you have a teacher whose abilities I can trust.”

“Very well,” said Baudoin. “Who is your scholar?”

“Tan Pierre, my fool,” said the count.

“What?” I exclaimed.

B
audoin and Hue
stood in a small anteroom, watching as I paced back and forth, spewing curses. Hue was not translating. I don’t think he needed to.

“Why me?” I fumed. “A waste of my time, playing pedagogue to a Parisian pretender. What was he thinking?”

I turned to look at them.

“What were you thinking?” I yelled at them.

Hue backed up a step, but Baudoin stood his ground. “What did you ask me?” he replied in langue d’oïl.

I took a deep breath.

“I am a fool,” I said in the same language.

“I know,” he said.

“No, you don’t. Repeat it. ‘I am a fool.’ “

“What?”

“Lesson the first. We start with the basics.”

“But I assure you, I am not a fool.”

“Your assurances are noted and hereby ignored. Say it!” He shrugged. “I am a fool.”

“That is the beginning of wisdom,” I said. “Here is the same phrase in langue d’oe. ‘I am a fool.’ “

“I am a fool,” he said in langue d’oc with a pronounced Parisian accent.

“You are a fool,” I said.

“You are a fool,” he repeated.

“He is a fool,” I said, pointing to Hue.

“He is a fool,” he said, more enthusiastically.

“She is a fool,” I said, pointing to a serving wench who was sweeping the corridor outside our door.

“She is a fool.”

The woman shot him a dirty look.

“We are fools,” I said, my arms sweeping around to indicate all of us.

“We are fools.”

“You are fools,” I said, pointing to both of them.

“You are fools.”

“They are fools!” I shouted out the door so that everyone in the tower could hear me.

“They are fools!” he shouted with me.

“Truer words were never spoken,” said Sancho, appearing at the doorway. He bowed to Baudoin and nodded amiably at Hue. “Good morning, senhors. Your belongings have been assembled. Excuse the disorder, but we had to search them first.”

Hue translated to Baudoin.

“What did he just say?” asked Sancho.

“He just said what you just said,” I said. “That’s what translators do.”

“Makes sense,” said Sancho. “I might have figured that one out for myself, had I any sleep the past few days.”

“Do you speak any langue d’oll?” I asked.

“I picked up a little bit from some of the French lads in my squad,” he said proudly. “Let me try it out.”

He turned to the two Parisians and uttered a phrase with extreme confidence. Hue’s face became a mask of horror, while Baudoin stared for a moment, then began to roar with laughter. Sancho looked back at me in consternation.

“What did I just say?” he asked me.

“ ‘Roll over, whore, so that I can take you from behind,’ “ I said.

“Oh,” he said, crestfallen. “Not at all what those French boys told me it meant.”

“Apparently not.”

“Still,” he said brightening. “A useful phrase should I find myself in that part of the world.”

Hue translated his comment to Baudoin, who laughed again and said something.

“What did he just say?” asked Sancho.

“That if you ever go to Paris, he knows just the place where it will come in handy.”

“Tell him much obliged,” said Sancho. “And, if he will be so good as to follow me, I shall take him to his lodgings.” The count maintained a couple of houses within the city walls: one for visiting dignitaries, one for mistresses and gatherings too debauched to be held in the château. Sancho took us to the first one, which was not far from the count’s mills on the river Garonne. A pair of servants carried the bags. It made for a very small parade. The Toulousan children bounced around me, begging for a performance, but I had to decline, regretfully. I tossed them some candies I kept in my pouch to console them for my failure, and they vanished, satisfied. If only adult annoyances could be shooed away so easily. I knew of no candy that could get me out my current predicament.

The house had an arched opening in the center, leading to an interior courtyard. A pair of soldiers opened the iron gates, nodding at Sancho and looking at Baudoin and Hue with mild curiosity. The room was located directly over the stables, and the two Parisians sniffed the air disdainfully when Sancho showed us in. It was bare of decoration, holding only a pair of beds, a small table on which rested a tin basin and a ewer, and a pair of stools. It looked like it had been recently vacated by a pair of servants.

“Your horses have already been brought here,” Sancho informed them. “The count thought you would want to be close to them, having traveled so far together. You are to continue with your lessons each morning. In the afternoons, I will be here to show you around town, starting tomorrow. Your man may go to the stalls at the square to buy food.”

“Are we captives, then?” asked Baudoin once Hue had translated the soldier’s speech.

“Yesterday, you were in a hole deeper than a grave,” I replied. “Today, you have sunlight and air. Count your blessings, and bless your count. And what are you?”

“I am a fool,” he said in langue d’oe.

“Well done,” I said. “I will see you in the morning.” Sancho and I walked out together.

“I didn’t know you gave language lessons,” he said.

“I didn’t know you gave tours,” I replied. “We have both come down in the world.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “At least I’ll be out in the fresh air and sunshine. Do me more good than standing outside someone’s chambers all night.”

“I take it the count wants me to report.”

“Right. I was going to tell you that part next.”

“Was it his idea to house them over the stables?”

“Actually, that was mine,” said Sancho. “Thought I might take a little initiative.”

“You’ll go far,” I said.

The count and his coterie were still having their luncheon when I walked in. My irritation must have been written across my whiteface, for he took one look at my expression and started to chuckle.

“I am supposed to be supplying jokes, not becoming one myself,” I said.

“Forgive me, Fool,” he said. “If it’s any consolation, it amuses me terribly.”

“You chose me as his instructor as a deliberate insult to him,” I said.

“Of course,” said the count. “I am not going to waste the talents of one of my men on such as he. It would show that I am taking him too seriously. What better way to show my contempt than to send him my fool to teach him our tongue?”

“What does it say about Toulouse when its best teacher is a fool?” I replied.

“When you have calmed down, you will find I have put some thought into this,” he said. “Use your talents for observation and conversation to pierce that cloak and find out what lies underneath.”

“He lies underneath, so I must go underneath the lies,” I said. “I may have to tunnel deep.”

“Use something sharp,” said Bernard.

“
A
language instructor
,” snickered Claudia. “You poor thing!”

“I am tempted to teach him a completely different language and let him try to survive,” I said. “Dalmatian would do nicely.”

“You should let Pelardit teach him,” said Claudia. “He speaks more eloquently than any of us without saying a word.” Pelardit made an elaborate gesture of thanks.

“And Baudoin is still a prisoner, despite the luxury of the prison,” she said. “The count did not plan this well. I would leave them unhindered, and have them followed wherever he goes.”

“It may come to that,” I said. “But until then, I shall be conjugating verbs with a middle-aged simpleton.”

“I have always enjoyed it when you conjugate,” she whispered in my ear. “Tonight, we should have a conjugal visit.”

“I heard that,” said Helga. “I know what she means by it, too.”

“Then you know enough to keep your sharp ears behind a closed door and not bother us,” I said.

“Don’t I always?”

“You are the best pretend daughter in the world,” said Claudia.

T
he next morning
, I walked to the lodgings of my new student with a renewed vigor. The conjugation of the night before had been sweet and loving. I hoped that meant I had returned to her good graces, at least for the near future.

It was the not-so-distant future that concerned me. Mark, her oldest child, would be turning fifteen in August. Although titular Duke of Orsino, his powers were currently vested in the regent, his aunt Olivia. I tried to remember at what age Orsinians reached the age of majority. I hoped it was eighteen. I needed time to figure out some way to get my wife back there once Mark had the power to keep her safe from retribution.

And me, for that matter. She at least had the protection of being the duke’s mother. I, on the other hand, was the lowly jester who stole her away from him and gave him a lowborn half sister in the process. Mark and I had gotten along fine during our last visit, but that was while passing through in the dead of night, with no subjects to see us, and no Olivia to oversee him. But with a few more years under her tutelage, he might see me as a monster, and she might see me as a threat.

Hell, they could both be right.

I picked up some freshly baked rolls as a peace offering to Baudoin. I was being paid a little extra by the count for my shift to pedagogy, and a little more to appease my indignation. It was the indignation that paid for the rolls.

Baudoin and Hue were in the inner courtyard when I walked through the gates, running through some basic exercises with their swords. I watched from the shadow of the archway. Baudoin’s sword had a magnificently detailed hilt, studded with jewels and a hammered design that looked Saracen in origin. I noticed a matching dagger at his belt. Hue’s sword was plain, but he wielded it like he knew what he was about.

They faced each other and ran slowly through some practice drills. My arm twitched in sympathy, and I thought back to the fencing lessons of my childhood. I had been fairly proficient once upon a time, but I had not kept up with my swordsmanship over the years. It is not the weapon of choice in the Fools’ Guild. In the amount of time it takes a man to draw one from its scabbard, I can put two daggers in his throat. One from each hand. Claudia, on the other hand, was more than adequate with a sword, having trained with her husband’s fencing master for years.

Her old husband. Back when she was a duchess.

The two Parisians picked up the pace, the blades coming dangerously close to actually striking each other. I had the sense that Hue was the better swordsman but was holding back in deference to his master. Made sense to me—you don’t want to slice off the hand that feeds you. Yet Baudoin certainly would be a formidable opponent in a match. I wondered how he would do in a tavern brawl.

Then he whipped off his cloak with his free hand and whirled it in a blur of red and black. From its midst came his sword thrust, stopping with the point touching Hue’s chest. The servant fell back, holding his hands up in defeat.

“Well done,” I said, applauding from the archway. “Thank you,” said Baudoin. “I did not hear you arrive.”

“I did not want to distract you when sharp objects were about,” I said. “It’s very important to keep your concentration. When I’m juggling knives, you could have an elephant come up with a naked slave-girl riding it, and I would never take my eye off the knives. Of course, they don’t have elephants here, so it’s rarely an issue.”

“Do they have naked slave-girls?” asked Baudoin with interest.

“Not my department,” I said, hauling Hue to his feet and handing him the rolls. “Consult with friend Sancho later. Now, let us proceed with our course of instruction. Repeat everything you learned yesterday.”

“I am a fool,” he began, and he ran through the rest of it fairly well.

“Good,” I said. “Let us name people and professions.” Hue left during this, and returned with some cheese and wine to go with my contribution to the repast. Baudoin proved to be an eager student, although his accent remained. It wasn’t easy to learn a new tongue this late in life. I thought of Helga, our apprentice, who was already fluent and accent-free in five languages and learning Arabic with ease. But she was a fool and a child. I could hardly expect Baudoin to be up to that standard.