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Authors: Alan Gordon

Tags: #FIction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Historical

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BOOK: Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery
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This was one of the rare occasions in which I saw the Lionhearted unarmored, his mane of auburn hair towering over the sea of pates before it. He cut a mean caper himself, leaping about with a gold goblet that seemed never to be empty, bellowing along with the song of the moment.

The French in attendance remained uncharacteristically sober, choosing to watch their counterparts act like idiots. I knew that they were much less enthusiastic about venturing forth to Jerusalem—they would have been content to remain in Acre until the walls were repaired and then to follow the example of their King and return home.

The Duke of Burgundy held forth on one side of the raised platform at the rear of the hall. A cousin to the French king, he had been the intermediary on all of the missions calling for diplomacy. Now, he had been left behind in command of the French troops, but under Richards command and dependent on the English for funds. He was careful now to laugh at the Lionhearteds attempts at humor.

With him was Henry of Champagne, the nephew of both kings. He was just beyond a boy, with a pale, young beauty that was due in part to the illness that had beset him when he first arrived. Indeed, illness probably wiped out more of this army than any Saracen blade, but they were all guaranteed places in Heaven, so who cared how they went?

Henry was talking to a man I had never seen before, who wore Frankish garments as far as I could tell. He was about my height, with thick, black curls cascading greasily over his collar. At one point, I saw the other man burst into laughter at something. Henry only smiled a bit wanly. I had never actually seen Champagne laugh, which I regarded as both a character defect and a personal challenge. I decided to take him on.

I attempted to cut through the reveling throng to get closer to the higher commanders, trying to catch any useful information, but the mass of bodies was too thick. By the time I reached the rear, Richard was standing with his arm draped about Burgundy’s shoulders, spilling wine on the Frenchman, who pretended not to notice.

Henry of Champagne was standing by himself now, watching his uncle’s revels. I forced my way to a spot next to him, sweating heavily by the time I was there. I gasped loudly which drew his attention. He looked displeased upon seeing me.

“Why do you draw breath so suddenly, Fool?” he demanded.

“Sir, there is no air left in this room anymore,” I replied. “I thought there would be a more rarefied atmosphere in the vicinity of great ones such as yourself, and came only but to sample.”

“I would think that a fool like you would enjoy crowds,” he said. “I do love a crowd,” I agreed. “But it all depends on where they are standing. If a thousand men have their backs turned when I am performing, then that will do me less good than ten watching me.”

“A worthy point,” he said. “It’s like having an army under your command, but too far away to be of any use.”

“How far is Jerusalem?” I asked.

“Too far,” he muttered, but then caught himself. “A tune, Fool. Something to lighten my heart.”

“An air in this airless room? A brilliant idea, milord. But why are you so glum? There is pleasure to be had but a few steps away. I would think that someone like you could have the pick of the ladies.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “The trouble is these ladies have been picked many times before. I didn’t take the Cross and sail the seas so that I could sample the local whores.”

“Indulge, sir, indulge. When a plenary indulgence awaits, a secular indulgence should be taken.”

He looked across the sea of revelry with an expression of disgust. “I should not condemn them, I suppose,” he said. “We all may be marching to our doom. Yet I would rather go to Heaven with a pure soul than have to rely upon a papal bribe for the privilege.”

“But these men have fought long and hard—“

“And I have not!” he barked. “I have not earned the right to dance with whores and drink strange wine. I have lain abed while arrows and stones flew and lesser men died in my place. I have earned nothing, and shall partake of nothing until I deserve better.”

I plucked a goblet from a tray passing by and handed it to him. “If you partake of nothing, than you shall be ill once again,” I said. “Avoid women by all means, but wine and song shall sustain you on this mission of God.”

I sang to him, an old song from Champagne, and he sipped the thick red wine as he listened. I don’t know if it was the wine or the music that brought the color to his cheeks, but when I was done, he nodded slightly, his eyes glistening.

“I thank you for that, Fool,” he said softly. “I have thought of home ever since I left it.”

And you shall see it again, I hope,” I said.

Somehow, I think not,” he said. “But I made my vows in Champagne, and I will not come home until I have completed my appointed task.”

“And if it cannot be done, milord?” I asked gently.

He turned his light blue eyes on me.

“Then I die here,” he said.

The lad needs a woman, I thought to myself. If he had one, he wouldn’t be so certain about everything.

I heard another voice raised in song nearby and looked to see Blondel strumming his lute. But he was not the singer. It was Richard himself, and he was not half bad, I must say. Blondel joined him in the choruses, and when they were through, the soldiers in their vicinity applauded heartily. Richard bowed, and Blondel smiled at him. I was near enough to overhear as the troubadour leaned toward his monarch.

“There’s a moon out tonight, sire,” he purred. “And I have heard that a man can see Jerusalem from the top of your tower. Will you show me?”

By God, I would have jumped him myself if he had pointed those eyes and words in my direction, and I knew he was pretending. Richard had a skin of wine inside him, and needed no further persuasion.

“This way, my canary,” he rumbled. “Let us sing across the hills so that Saladin himself will hear it.”

They left that hall arm in arm, the troubadour supporting the king when he stumbled.

That was my cue. I played on for another twenty minutes, then purloined a wineskin and headed for the roof.

Four

“Wit, an’t be thy will, put me into good fooling.”

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,

TWELFTH NIGHT, I.V

T
he roof
between the towers gave a good view of the Crusader encampment to the north. A hundred fires dotted the landscape, with the largest forming a perimeter a hundred feet past the camp, preventing any suicidal Saracen from getting too close unobserved.

With the security geared toward the perimeter, the castellum roof was relatively unguarded. But it was not deserted. A few glum Normans were scattered about, calling the watch every few minutes.

I didn’t want to be cut in half before they could figure out who I was, so I strummed a few chords to announce myself. I was met at a somewhat leisurely pace by a fat guard in an ill-fitting breastplate. “’You’re not supposed to be up here,” he barked.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “I’m not supposed to be up here, and I’m not supposed to be carrying this wineskin, either.”

He looked at me, then began to smile.

“What else aren’t you supposed to be doing?” he asked.

“I’m not supposed to be giving any wine to the brave men who sacrificed their chance at festivity so that their fellows could sacrifice their chance at virtue.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he said. I handed over the wine-skin, and he upended it for a long count of ten before coming up for air.

“Who sent you?” he asked.

“Some count of something,” I said. “ ‘Take this up to the boys on the roof,’ he said, ‘and tell them it came from me.’ Had I not partaken of so much earlier, I’d be able to tell you his name.”

“Bet it was Clarence,” he said after another pull at the wineskin. “Always remembers his men, no matter how drunk he is.”

“I’m supposed to bring it around to the rest of the watch,” I said, reaching for it.

“One moment,” he said, taking a last swig. Then he stiffened.

“What is it?” I asked.

He turned, staring in toward the central tower. “I thought I heard something.”

“Where?” I asked.

“From up high,” he said.

“Do the Turks attack from the skies?” I scoffed.

“I heard something,” he insisted. “A scraping sound.”

I had placed a few rocks in my pouch for this very occasion. I quietly removed one and tossed it behind us. It skidded along the roof stones. The guard whirled.

“It’s over there, now,” he whispered.

“But I don’t see anything,” I said. I took a few steps that way, then started and stomped my foot. “Ugh, come look.”

He tiptoed over and looked down at my feet. A rat lay dead, apparently crushed by my quick attack.

“There’s your Turk,” I laughed.

He grimaced and kicked it over the side into the darkness.

“They go everywhere, don’t they?” he observed, relieved.

Y
ou had
a dead rat in your pouch? asked Claudia.

I had a dead rat in my pouch.

She tickled Portia, who squealed.

See what you have to look forward top Claudia said to our daughter.

I
wandered about the roof
, chatting with the guards and offering them libations. As I passed by the central tower, I saw the strong box resting at its base. I quickly slashed the twine above it and hid the box under my cloak. I walked along the edge of the roof that joined the outer wall and looked down. Forty feet below, the ground was broken and rutted from the months of siege. A small flame flickered from one of them. I could have sworn I could see Scarlets eyes as well, but from that distance it was probably just a trick of my imagination.

I took the ball of twine and tied one end around the box, then cast it over the edge. The twine played out until there was a thud below. I prayed that it was the box hitting the ground, and that I hadn’t manage to brain the little fellow. A second later, a tug from the other end reassured me. I sat down, my legs dangling over the edge, as if I were on some wall by a river, waiting for a fish to bite.

But I had to wait for a while, and the guards were beginning to look in my direction.

“Hey, Fool!” one called. “You’re not hogging all that wine for yourself, are you? Bring it over.”

The problem was the twine. I couldn’t drag it with me, because Scarlet needed to find it again. But there was nothing nearby to which I could tie it, and if I lost my end, we’d never get the strong box back up.

“Fool!” cried the guard, starting in my direction.

“Anon, good sir,” I called back. I took one of the stones from my pouch and wrapped my end of the twine around it, then placed it carefully on the roof stones, five feet from the edge, which was all the length I had left to work with. I quickly ran over with the wineskin before the guard could get too close.

However, this drew the attention of the fat guard who first met me. Like a pesky pigeon pursuing the last crust of stale bread thrown, he waddled along the northern edge of the roof toward me, which put him on a direct route to my precariously anchored twine. The guards I was with were still sharing the skin. I watched out of the corner of my eye the fat man’s progress.

“Enough, good fellows,” I said when he was within ten paces of the stone. I snatched back the skin and ran back to the fat man. To my horror, I saw his right boot strike the rock, sending it skittering toward the edge. My last step was a leap, and I landed with my left foot on the roof’s edge, directly on top of the end of the twine.

“’four wine, sir,” I said, handing the skin to him. I heard the other guards protesting behind me, but the fat man growled good-naturedly in their direction, and they laughed and withdrew.

He tilted his head back and drained the skin, tapping it until not a drop remained. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and handed it back.

“Many thanks, Fool,” he said. “Now, you’d best be going before the next watch comes up and finds you empty-handed.”

“My pleasure, good soldier,” I said. “Let me just relieve myself before I go.”

“Be my guest,” he said.

I stood at the edge of the roof, then glanced back.

“Do you mind?” I said. “It’s a bit finicky about being stared at.” He shrugged and walked away. I reached down and grabbed the twine, then quickly hauled the box back up.

I walked casually over to the main tower and trailed my fingers along the smooth stones until I grasped the end of Blondel’s twine. I tied the box to it and tugged twice. Blondel began pulling it up. I waved, even though I couldn’t see him, and began walking away.

Then I heard the box scrape against the stones above me. The fat guard started in my direction.

“I heard it again,” he said, showing no effects of the wine he had consumed. “That was no rat, Fool. There’s something funny going on around here, and it isn’t you.”

“Sir, I assure you that I haven’t seen anything untoward since I’ve been up here,” I said.

“It’s not your job to see things, it’s mine,” he said, staring up at the tower. “There’s something up there.”

“A bat?” I guessed. “Or an owl?”

“No,” he said. “I thought I saw—“

“Hallo!” came a shout from the ground below. “Help, for the love of Christ!”

The fat guard dashed over, soon joined by the rest of the guards and myself.

The ground patrols outside the wall rapidly converged on the source of the shouting. Their torches revealed Scarlet trying to scrabble up the side of a six-foot hole, then falling back repeatedly. As his attempts grew more frantic, his failures became more comical, and the soldiers, both on the ground and on the roof, were soon guffawing helplessly.

“It’s a fine thing for the guardians of Christ to be laughing at a poor dwarf’s misfortunes,” grumbled Scarlet. “Here I am in this pit, this chasm, near death, and you laugh.”

“Chasm?” said one of the patrol. “It’s just a small hole in the ground.”

“To you, a small hole,” said Scarlet. “To me, it’s the gateway to Hell, the Stygian depths, the bottomless pit of Revelation, and I wonder if one of you will help me out before I run out of metaphors?”

A soldier reached down and grabbed the dwarf’s hand, then hoisted him easily to the surface.

“How came you to this pass, little one?” asked a soldier.

“I’m not rightly sure, and that’s God’s truth,” said Scarlet, his speech slightly slurred. “I was drinking with a group of Burgundians, and one of them was wondering if I weighed as much as a catapult stone, and another said, ‘Let’s find out,’ and before I knew it, they were boosting me into one of those infernal machines. I jumped out and took to my heels without looking where I was going, and, fulfilling the ancient prophesy that he that fleeth from the fear shall fall into the pit, the next thing I knew, I was staring up at the moon from six feet under. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to find out that I’m not actually dead.”

I had eased my way to the back of the pack by this point and managed then to slip away to the steps down. I noted with relief that the box was no longer in view. I blessed Blondel for the risk he took and cursed him for carrying out his task so clumsily.

W
hen I reached
Scarlet’s room, a hauberk, ganbisson, and surcoat lay ready for me, along with some gauntlets, chauces de fer for my legs, and espalieres for my shoulders. I’ve rarely worn armor in my life, and then only for disguise. The idea of going into combat with that kind of weight hindering my movements confounded me, but so did the idea of going into combat, period. A jester does his best work away from the battlefield. If a battle actually commences, that means he has failed in his principal mission. It also means he should stay the hell out of it if he wants to survive.

A
rule you knew then
, but forgot later, commented Claudia.

I always knew that rule, I replied. I just break it every now and then.

S
carlet came
in as I finished packing.

“At your service, Captain,” he said, bowing and handing me the sealed scroll.

“Horses?” I asked.

“Procured and saddled,” he replied, picking up his gear. “Let’s go.”

I stuffed my foolish noggin into the chain mail coif, topped the whole mess off with a pot helm, and staggered noisily down the steps.

Two reliable-looking steeds awaited us in the stables. I was surprised to see a second horse instead of a donkey, but the dwarf took a running start and vaulted up without assistance. I actually had more difficulty mounting with the extra sixty pounds of metal on my body, but I managed eventually.

“Where did you get the armor?” I said.

“Scavenged from a battlefield by someone who sold it to me at a reasonable price,” he said. “There’s a sword in the scabbard in case you need it.”

“Norman colors,” I observed. “Where’s the fatal hole?”

“It’s a little dented near the back of the helm,” he said. “Poor fellow must have fallen and broken his neck.”

“Well, his loss is our gain. It should lend us some authenticity. How long have you been preparing this little escapade?”

“I have armor from several nations stashed away for these occasions,” he said. “I obtained the horses two days ago.”

“Obtained,” I said. “Not necessarily bought.”

“They won’t be missed,” he said. “For a while, at least.”

We rode north. When the sun finally put in an appearance, we were about six miles from Acre, well past the outer limits of the patrols. We kept to the coastal road, traveling slowly in case of ambush from any quarter. I was sweating like a pig in the armor, frustrated by the limited visibility, spooked by the unfriendly surroundings, and irritated by the absolute complacency of my companion.

“A thought,” I said.

“About time,” he replied.

“If I am some Norman captain carrying out an important assignment from King Richard, shouldn’t I have some kind of escort accompanying me?

“Are you saying that I’m not impressive enough to be your escort?” he replied plaintively.

“Well, yes. It’s not your size, mind you…”

“No, of course not.”

“But your numbers—which, to put no small point on it, are one. If that.”

“So little respect from one’s minions,” he sighed. “When one’s heart is pure, one’s arm is greater than all the armies of the enemy.”

“Is your heart that pure?”

“Probably not. I take your point. In fact, I took it a few days before you made it.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning let’s turn off the road at that well over there.”

I hadn’t even spied the well, but the horses were quite happy to see it. We dismounted and watered the beasts, then Scarlet lifted a bucket to his lips.

“Have to wet my whistle before I whistle,” he remarked. Then he pursed his lips and pierced the air with a noise that could have attracted every hawk in the kingdom.

A minute later, I heard hooves galloping in our direction. I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword.

“No need,” said Scarlet.

Six horsemen in Norman armor rounded the bend, kicking up the dust, followed by several boys divided among some wains. They came to a halt in formation, and their leader saluted me.

“My lord,” he said with a trace of a Syrian accent.

“Hail, fellows,” I said, then I turned to the dwarf. “Who are these fine men?”

“Your escort,” he replied.

“Which you conjured out of the air by that whistle?”

He smiled. “’You think you’re the only fool working for me?”

“Are they Guildmembers?”

“Not yet,” he said, pulling himself onto his horse. “But the ones in armor have been apprenticing to me, and the extra boys are refugees that I hire for special occasions. Normally, the apprentices are scattered around the kingdom, checking on what’s going on, but I summoned them to Tyre when Acre fell. Friends, this is Theophilos of the Fools’ Guild, my brother in motley. Treat him better than you treat me, and he may reward you with a few tricks I don’t know about.”

“I’m beginning to think there’s nothing I can do that you don’t already know,” I said, mounting my horse. “Gentlemen, fall in behind me.”

BOOK: Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery
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