The Jester

Chapter 79

THE HULKING MAN in the sheepskin overvest pounded in the fence post with well-timed strokes of his heavy mallet.

I crept from the woods, still in the torn remnants of my jester’s garb, carrying Emilie’s cloak. I had clung to the forest for a week now. Hungry, avoiding pursuit. I had nothing. Not a denier or a possession.

“You’ll never mend a fence by lazing away like a fat cow,” I said boldly.

The burly man put down his mallet and arched his thick, bushy eyebrows. He stepped forward to the challenge. “Look what’s crawled out of the woods… some scrawny squirrel in a fairy’s costume. You look like you wouldn’t know a day’s work if it jumped up and strummed your dick.”

“I could say the same for you, Odo, if it wasn’t always in your hand.”

The big smith eyed me closely. “Do I know you, malt-worm?”

“Aye,” I answered. “Unless, since I’ve seen you last, your brains have grown as soft as your gut.”

“Hugh…?” the smith exclaimed.

We embraced, Odo lifting me high off the ground. He shook his head in astonishment.

[240] “We heard you were dead, Hugh. Then in Treille, wearing the costume of a fool. Then word that you were in Borée. That you killed that prick Norcross. Which of these are true?”

“All true, Odo. Except for rumors of my demise.”

“Look at me, old friend. You killed the duke’s chatelain?”

I took a breath and smiled, like a little brother embarrassed by praise. “I did.”

“Ha, I knew you’d outfox them.” The smith laughed.

“I have much to tell, Odo. And much to regret, I feel.”

“We too, Hugh. Come, sit down. All I can offer you is this rickety fence. Not as fine as Baldwin ’s cushions…” We leaned against it. Odo shook his head. “Last we saw you, you ran into the woods like a devil, chasing the ghost of your wife.”

“She was no ghost, Odo. I knew that she lived, and she did.”

Odo’s eyes widened. “Sophie lives?”

“I found her. In a cell in Borée.”

“Sonofabitch!” the smith grunted. His eyes lit up, delighted. Then he searched mine, serious. “Yet I see you’ve crawled back out of the woods alone.”

I bowed my head. “I found her, Odo, but only long enough for her to die in my arms. They held her as a hostage, thinking that we had something of theirs, something of great value. I’ve come back to tell her brother, Matthew, of her fate.”

Odo shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hugh. That won’t be possible.”

“Why? What’s happened, Odo?”

“ Baldwin ’s men were here again. For you… They said you were a murderer and a coward. They said you ran from the Crusade and killed the lord’s chatelain. Then they ransacked the village. They said any who harbored you would be tried on pain of death. A few of us stood up…”

A grim, ugly stench sent a panic through my stomach. “What is that stench, Odo?”

“Matthew was one who stood up for you,” the smith went on. “He said you had been wronged. That the chatelain had [241] burned your house and child, and taken your wife, and if Norcross was dead, it was justly deserved for what he had done. He showed them the inn, which he was starting to rebuild. These men were horrible, Hugh. They hung Matthew up. Then they stretched him. His neck in a noose and his legs tied to their mounts. They whipped the horses… until his body split in two.”

“No!” A pain shot through my chest. Another weight seemed to crush my heart. Poor Matthew. Why him? Now another was dead… because of me. This nightmare had to end!

I raised my head. A terrible fear pulsed up in my gut. “You did not answer me… What is that smell?”

Odo shook his head. “They burned the town, Hugh.”

Chapter 80

I WALKED WITH ODO into the desolate village, the place that only two years before I had called my home.

All around, fields, cottages, and grain holds were no more than mounds of cinder and stone. Dwellings were either caved in and reduced to rubble, or in some beginning stage of being rebuilt. We passed the mill, once the finest structure in town, it’s majestic wheel now a heap of ruin in the stream.

People put down their hammers, stopped chopping wood.

A group of children shouted and pointed. “Look, it’s Hugh. He’s come back. It’s Hugh!”

Everyone looked up in disbelief. People rushed up to me. “Is it you, Hugh? Have you truly come back?”

A kind of procession picked up around me. What a sight I must have been, in my ragged checkered tunic, my torn green hose. I marched through the cluttered street directly to the square. My last time here, I had been in such a haze, having found out what had happened to my wife and son. Now everything was new, unreal, and so very sad.

A clamor built up, some crying, “Glory to God, it’s Hugh. He’s back,” while others spat in my path. “Go away, Hugh. You’re the devil. Look what you’ve done.”

By the time I reached the square, maybe seventy people, most everyone in town, had formed a ring around me.

[243] I gazed at our inn. Two new walls of rough logs had been erected, supported by columns of stone. Matthew had been rebuilding it, better and sturdier than it was before. A flood of anger rushed through me. God damn them! I was the one who killed Norcross. I was the one who infiltrated the court. What right did they have to take vengeance out on this town?

A rush of tears welled in my eyes. They streamed down my cheeks. I began to weep, weep in a way I hadn’t done since I was a small child.

God damn you, Baldwin. And God damn me, for my stupid pride.

I fell to my knees. My wife, my son… Matthew… Everything was ruined. So many had died.

The ring of townspeople stood there and let me weep. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I choked back sobs and looked up. It was Father Leo. I had never paid much heed to him, with his little domed head, his sermons. Now I prayed he would not remove his hand, for it was all that kept me from keeling over in a ball of shame and grief.

The priest lovingly squeezed my shoulder. “This is Baldwin ’s doing, Hugh, not yours.”

“Aye, it is Baldwin ’s work,” someone shouted from the crowd. “Hugh meant us no harm. It is not his fault.”

“We pay our shares, and this is how the bastard repays us,” a woman wailed.

“Hugh must go,” another said. “He killed Norcross. He will cause us all to burn.”

“Yes, he did kill Norcross,” echoed another. “God’s praise to him! Who among us has stood up like that?”

Voices rose. The shouting built into a clamor-some for me, some against. A few, including Odo and the priest, begged for reason while others started throwing pebbles and stones at me.

“Have pity on us, Hugh,” someone wailed. “Please, go, before the knights return!”

[244] In the midst of the clamor, a woman’s voice shouted above the din. Everyone turned and grew quiet.

It was Marie, the miller’s wife. I remembered her kind face. She and Sophie were best friends; they had been to the well together the day her son was drowned.

“We’ve lost more than any of you.” She scanned the crowd. “Two sons. One to Baldwin. One to the war. Plus our mill… But Hugh has suffered more than we have! You point your scorn at him because we are all too frightened to point it toward the one who deserves it. It is Baldwin who deserves our rage, not Hugh.”

“Marie’s right,” said her husband, Georges, the miller. “It is Hugh who killed Norcross and avenged my son.” He helped me to my feet and put out his hand. “I’m grateful you’re back, Hugh.”

“And I,” said Odo, his voice booming. “I’m sick of quaking every time I hear horsemen come near town.”

“You’re right.” Martin the tailor hung his head. “It is our own liege who is responsible, not Hugh. But what can we do? We are pledged to him.”

It hit me there, in that moment, as I observed my neighbors’ helplessness and fear. I knew what we must do. “Then break the pledge,” I said.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Break the pledge?” the tailor gasped.

People turned to one another and shook their heads, as if my words were a sign that I was mad. “If we break the pledge, Baldwin will come back. This time it won’t be just our houses that he burns.”

“Then next time, friends, we’ll be ready for him,” I said, turning to catch every eye.

A wary silence filled the square. These people looked at me as if the words I uttered were heresy that damned us all.

I knew that these words, and this idea, could set us free.

I stared out at them and shouted, “Break the pledge!”

Chapter 81

EMILIE STORMED PAST the guards to Anne’s bedchamber. “Please, ma’am.” One guard went to restrain her. “The lady is resting.”

Emilie’s blood was surging. The duke had returned the night before, yet it was not Stephen who was in her mind but Anne, her mistress, the person she served, who had lost touch with right.

All morning, Emilie had prayed about what to do. She knew she had crossed a line with Hugh. My God, she had given aid to someone who’d killed a member of the duke’s guard. For that she could be imprisoned. She had asked herself over and over, If I cross this line, am I prepared to lose everything? My family’s blessing, my position in the court. My name… And each time the answer had come back clear and strong. How could I not?

She pushed open the large wooden door to Anne’s chamber.

William, Anne’s nine-year-old son, was about to leave, dressed in his hawking attire. Anne waved him off. “Go. Your father awaits you, son. Catch a prize for me.”

“I will, Mother,” the boy said, running off. Anne was in bed at this late hour, still wrapped in bedclothes.

“You are ill, madame?” Emilie asked.

“You storm into my chambers,” Anne said, turning her face away, “as if concern were not the issue at all.”

[246] “On the contrary, I have much to take issue with you,” Emilie said.

“Take issue, child… No doubt this, as all things, concerns your protégé, the fool.”

“You are right, madame, he is a fool. But only to have trusted you. As am I.”

“So, this is no longer about him, I see. But you and me…”

“You have wronged him in a great way, my lady, and by doing so, wronged me.”

“Wronged you?” Anne laughed coldly. “Your Hugh is a wanted man now. A murderer, a deserter as well. He is sought in two duchies and will be caught. And once he is, he’ll be hanged in the square.”

Emilie stared, aghast. “I am hearing your voice, lady,” she said, “but the words do not seem as if they could come from you. What has become of the woman who was like a mother to me? Where is the Anne who stood up against her husband? Who ruled in his absence with even temper and grace.”

“Go away, child. Please go. Do not lecture me on things you do not know.”

“I know this. Your men raided his village. They killed his son, stole and imprisoned his wife. She is dead now. In your prison. You knew.”

“How would I know?” Anne shot back. “How would I know some worthless harlot thrown in our dungeon was in fact this man’s wife. I do not govern these Tafurs. They are my husband’s. I do not know whom they rouse and what insane deeds they do.”

“These deeds, lady.” Emilie met her eyes. “They are now imprinted on you.”

“Go.” Anne waved her away. “Do you think that if I knew the person we sought all along was here, at Borée, in our court, your jester would still be running around, pained and aggrieved, but alive? He’d be as dead as his wife.”

[247] “You sought Hugh?” Emilie blinked. “For God’s sake-why?”

“Because the fool holds the greatest prize in Christendom, and he does not know it.”

“What prize? He has nothing. You have taken everything from him.”

“Just go.” Anne sank back in bed. “And take with you your mighty sense of what is right and just. All that propelled you to run away from your father and your destiny. Go, Emilie!” In her anger, Anne turned to face Emilie, exposing for the first time what she had concealed.

There was a large red welt. And much worse.

“What is that?” Emilie moved forward.

“Stay away,” Anne snapped, shrinking into her pillows.

“Please, my lady, do not turn from me. What is the bruise on your face?”

Anne took a sharp breath. She dropped her head. “It is my own prison, child. You want to see it-well, look!”

Emilie let out a gasp. She rushed over and, against Anne’s efforts, gently stroked the wound. “Stephen did that to you?”

“You should know it, child, for it is the very truth that you claim to know so well. A woman’s truth.”

Emilie recoiled in horror. The side of Anne’s face was swollen to twice its normal size.

Chapter 82

THE FIRST THING I DID was go up to the hill overlooking town where my infant son, Phillipe, lay buried.

I knelt by his grave and crossed myself. “Your mother spoke of you in her last breath.” There I sat, on the hard earth. “Dear, sweet Phillipe.”

I still did not know what these sons of bitches wanted with me. What they thought I possessed, which clearly I didn’t. Why my wife and son had to die.

I dug up the objects I had brought back from the Crusade and spilled them onto the grass.

The gilded perfume box I had bought for Sophie in Constantinople… How sure I had been that I would bring it back to her with pride. Just thinking of all that had happened-Nico, Robert, Sophie-I felt my eyes fill up.

I looked at the inlaid scabbard with the writing I had found crossing the mountains. Then the gold cross I had taken from the church. Were these the treasures? The things that cursed me? If I gave them back, would they leave me, and the town, alone?

A wave of anger swept over me, mixed with grief and tears. “Which are you?” I screamed at the pieces. “Which is the thing that caused my wife and son to die?”

[249] I picked up the cross and went to hurl it into the trees. Trinkets! Baubles! None of it worth the lives of my wife and son!

Then I held back, remembering Sophie’s last words: “Don’t give them what they want.”

Don’t give them what, Sophie? Don’t give them what?

I sat by my Phillipe’s grave and cried, my fingers digging into my scalp. “Don’t give them what?” I whispered over and over again.

Finally, I pulled myself up, spent and exhausted. I gathered the things and laid them in the hole, replacing the displaced earth. I took a deep breath and said good-bye.

Don’t give them what they want.

All right, Sophie. I won’t.

Because I don’t know what in God’s name it could be.

Chapter 83

SUMMER GAVE WAY to autumn, and bit by bit, I fell back into the life of the village.

Rebuilding.

I picked up the work Matthew had begun on the inn. All day, I lugged heavy logs, hoisted them into place, and notched them together in joints to form walls. At night I slept in Odo’s hut, his wife and two kids and I curled up by the hearth in a single room, until I had rebuilt my quarters behind the inn.

Piece by piece, the town came back to life. Farmers prepared for the harvest. Crumbled homes were patched together with mortar and stone. Harvest time would bring travelers to market; travelers meant money. Money bought food and clothes. People began to laugh once more, and to look forward.

And I became a bit of a hero in town. In no time at all, my stories of how I had dazzled the court at Treille and fought the knight Norcross became part of the local lore. Children clung to my side. “Show us a flip, Hugh. And how you got out of the chains.” I amused them with my tricks, removed beads or stones from their ears, told stories of the war. I felt my soul being restored by the sound of their laughter. Yes, laughter truly heals. This was the great lesson I’d learned as a jester.

And I mourned my sweet Sophie. Each day before sunset, I climbed the knoll outside town and sat at my son’s grave. [251] I spoke to Sophie as if she rested there too. I told her of the progress on the inn. How the town had banded together around me.

And sometimes I spoke to her of Emilie. What a gift it had been to have her as a friend. How she saw something special in me as no other noble had, from that very first day. I recounted the times she had saved me. How I would have been a lifeless mound had she not come upon me after my fight with the boar.

Each time I talked of Emilie, I could not fail to notice the flame that stirred in my blood. I found myself thinking of our kiss. I did not know if it was meant to bring back my wits in a frantic moment or just as the last good-bye of a true friend. What had she seen in me to risk so much? A specialness … a specialness, Sophie! Sometimes I even felt myself blush.

One such afternoon as I was heading back to town from the gravesite, Odo ran up the path toward me. “Quick, Hugh, you can’t go back there now. You have to hide!”

I gazed beyond him. Four riders were approaching over the stone bridge. One an official, colorfully robed and wearing a plumed hat. The other soldiers, wearing the purple and white of Treille.

My heart stood still.

“It’s Baldwin ’s bailiff,” Odo said. “If he sees you here, we will all be dead.”

I ducked behind a copse of trees, my mind flashing through options. Odo was right; I could not go back there. But what if someone gave me up? It would not be enough just to run. The town would be held accountable.

“Bring me a sword,” I said to Odo.

“A sword? Do you see those soldiers, Hugh? You must go. Run as if a beggar had your purse.”

I crouched, hidden from sight, and headed toward the eastern woods. A few people saw me scurry away. I crossed the stream at a low point and thrashed my way into the brush.

[252] I found a spot near the square and watched the bailiff clip-clop his way forward like Caesar on a stallion.

An anxious crowd formed around him, buzzing. A bailiff never brought good news: only higher taxes and harsh decrees.

He took out two official-looking documents. “Good citizens of Veille du Père.” He cleared his throat. “Your lord, Baldwin, sends his greetings.

“ ‘In compliance,’ ” he began, “ ‘with the laws of the land, in the reign of Philip Capet, king of France, Baldwin, duke of Treille, decrees all subjects known to give aid or shelter to the fugitive known as Hugh De Luc, a cowardly murderer, shall be treated as accomplices to the above-mentioned fugitive and receive the full and swift measure of the law.’ Which, for you sow-addled farmers who may not fully understand, means hanged by the neck until dead.

“ ‘Additionally,’ ” he went on, “ ‘all lands, property, and belongings owned or leased from the duchy by such persons shall be immediately forfeited, confiscated, and returned to the demesne, and all spouses, siblings, and descendents, free or indentured, shall be sworn into lifelong service to his liege.’ ”

My blood almost burst through my veins. The town was being punished for my crimes. All personal property handed over, worked lands returned, families ripped apart. I waited, holding my breath, for a voice to cry out against me. A wife, at wit’s end, afraid to lose any more. An unknowing child…

The bailiff took a long, measuring look around. He was an obscenity. “Thoughts, townspeople…? A sudden change of heart?” There was a tense, drawn-out silence. But no one spoke up. Not one of them.

Then Father Leo stepped forward. “Once again, bailiff, our lord, Baldwin, shows he is a wise and charitable liege.”

The bailiff shrugged. “Appropriate measures, Father. Word has it the scum is back in these parts.”

“So what good news have you brought in your other decree?” someone called out.

[253] “Almost forgot…” He smiled and rapped his head. He unfurled the parchment and, without reading, nailed it to the church wall. “General increase in taxes. All raised ten percent.”

“What!” A gasp escaped from the crowd. “That’s not fair. It cannot be.”

“Sorry.” The bailiff shrugged. “You know the reasons… Dry summer, stocks are low…”

Then, all at once, the bailiff stopped talking. Something had caught his eye. He stood there, motionless. It was the inn. My heart clenched in my throat.

“Is this not the inn that only weeks ago was burned to the ground? The one belonging to the person we seek?” No one answered. “Who is rebuilding it? If my memory serves me, the last of its proprietors was, shall we say… torn apart by grief.”

A few eyes traveled about uneasily.

“Who rebuilds it, I say?” The bailiff picked up one of the stones.

I began to tremble. This was surely it! The end of me.

Then a voice rang out of the crowd. “The town rebuilds it, bailiff.” It was Father Leo. “The town needs an inn.”

The bailiff’s eyes lit up. “Most charitable, Father. And most assuring to hear this from you, a man whose word is above refute. So tell me, who will run this establishment?”

Another silence.

“I will,” shouted a voice. Marie, the miller’s wife. “I will tend to the inn while my husband mans the mill.”

“You are most enterprising, madame. A good choice, I think, since you seem to have no heirs to run your mill.”

The bailiff held her gaze. I could see he was unsure whether to believe a word. Then he tossed the stone he still held aside and made his way to his mount.

“I hope this is all true.” He sniffed and pulled the reins. “Perhaps on my next visit I will stay longer, madame. I look forward to the chance to test your hospitality for myself.”

Chapter 84

AS SOON AS THE HATED BAILIFF was out of sight, panic spread through town. I marched back out of the woods, grateful that no one had spoken against me. But I saw the mood had changed.

“What do we do now?” A frightened Martin the tailor shook his head. “You heard him; the prick suspects. How long can we keep up this ruse?”

Jean Dueux, a farmer, looked ashen. “The land we work returned to the demesne? We’d be ruined. Our entire lives lie in this land.”

People crowded around me, shouting and afraid. I was the cause of their misery. “If you want me to leave, I will.” I bowed my head.

“It’s not you,” the tailor said, looking around for support. “Everyone’s afraid. We’ve finally picked ourselves up from the ruins. If Baldwin ’s men come back…”

“They will come back, Martin,” I said to his worried face. “They will come back again and again. Whether I stay or go.”

“We took you in,” the baker’s wife shouted. “What is it you expect us to do now?”

I went over to the inn, and I felt my wife’s soul stirring in the rubble. “Do you think I drag these rocks every day and sweat [255] building these walls so that this inn I promised my dead wife I would rebuild can be brought down once again?”

“We all feel that way, Hugh,” the tailor said. “We’ve all rebuilt. But what can we do to stop it?”

“We can defend ourselves,” I shouted.

“Defend?” The word was whispered through the crowd.

“Yes, defend. Draw the line. Fight them. Show them they can never take away our lives again.”

“Fight? Our liege?” People looked stunned. “But we are all pledged to him, Hugh.”

“I told you before… Break the pledge.”

The gravity of these words silenced the buzzing crowd. “Break it,” I said again.

“If we did, that would be treason,” the tailor objected.

I turned to the miller. “Any more treason, Georges, than the murder of your son? Or you, Marte-your husband lies not far from my son. Was it any less treason when he was struck down defending your home? Or my own boy, who did not even know the word when he was tossed into the flames.”

“ Baldwin ’s a ruddy prick,” the miller replied. “But these obligations you want to throw down, they are the law. Baldwin would come at us with everything he has. He would crush us like moths.”

“It can be done, Georges. I’ve seen how a small, able detachment can defend themselves for months against a greater force. I’m not trying to stoke up fire like the little hermit, then have you follow me to ruin. But we can beat him if we stand up.”

“The duke has trained men.” Odo stepped forward. “Weapons. We are just farmers and smiths. One town. Fifty men.”

“Yes, and in each town between here and Treille there are another fifty men who hate Baldwin just as you do. Hundreds who have suffered the same misery and oppression. We beat them back just once, these men will join us. What can Baldwin do, fight us all?”

[256] Some were nodding in agreement; for others, the thought of standing up against the liege was almost impossible to conceive.

“Hugh’s right,” Marie, the miller’s wife, said. “We have all lost husbands and children. Our homes have been ruined. I’m tired of quaking in my bed every time we hear the sound of riders.”

“I too,” Odo shouted out. “We’ve pandered to that bastard our whole lives. What comes of it? A load of shit and death.” He stepped over to me and shrugged. “I’m a smith. I know smelting, not soldiering. But if you need me, I can wield a hell of a fucking hammer. Count me in!”

One by one, other voices were raised in agreement. Farmers, carters, shoemakers… people who had simply reached the end of their tether.

“What say you, priest?” the tailor begged, hoping for an ally. “Even if we beat Baldwin back, will we survive one hell only to be damned to another?”

“I cannot say.” Father Leo shrugged. “What I can promise, though, is that the next time Baldwin ’s riders come to town, you can count on me to throw a stone or two.”

There were shouts of acquiescence all around. But the town was still divided. The tailor, the tanner, and some farmers who were petrified to lose their lands.

I went up to the tailor. “One thing I can promise… Baldwin ’s men will come. You’ll rebuild your homes and pay to the bone every year until your hands blister or your will dies. But they will always come. Until we tell them they cannot.”

The tailor shook his head. “You wear a patchwork skirt and a bell upon your cap, and you’re going to show us how to fight?”

“I will.” I looked him in the eye.

The tailor seemed to measure me up and down. He fingered the hem of my tunic. “Whoever did this, it’s a nice job.” Then he took my hand and clasped it wearily. “God help us,” he declared.

Chapter 85

“MOVE IT HERE!” I called to Jean Dueux, on his perch atop a tree. “A little to the right. Where the road narrows.”

High above the road, Jean hoisted a heavy wheat sack bulging with rocks and gravel. He tied off the sack with a long rope and double knotted the other end to a sturdy branch.

“I’ll send the horse,” I said to him. “When it reaches my position, let the rocks go.”

Since the bailiff’s visit, we had begun the task of fitting the town for its defenses. Woodsmen sheared off wooden barriers to be placed in rows along the town’s western edge. Stakes were sharpened and driven into the ground at jutting angles that even the bravest warhorse would not advance upon. Large stones were half buried in the road.

And we began to make weapons. A few old-timers brought out their swords, rusty things. Odo polished and sharpened them on his lathe. The rest of our arsenal consisted of clubs and mallets, a few spears and billhooks, iron tools. From these we made arrows that could pierce armor. We were a town of Davids preparing for Goliath.

I backed off and signaled down the road. Apples, the baker’s son, slapped the horse and sent him coming. Jean braced himself on his perch, tipping the weighted sack to the edge. When the horse passed my spot, I shouted, “Release!”

[258] Jean let it go. In a sweeping arc, it hurtled out of the sky like a boulder, picking up speed. As the horse passed, it swung across the road with a loud whoosh, at exactly the height of a man atop his mount. It might as well have been hurled by a catapult. Even the staunchest rider would not withstand its force.

Jean and Apples cheered.

“Now it’s your turn, Alphonse.” I turned to the tanner’s oldest boy, who had a slight stutter. He was a strapping fifteen, muscles beginning to bulge. I placed a club in his hands. “The fallen knight will be stunned. For a few moments, he’ll be pinned to the earth by his armor. You cannot hesitate.” I looked him in the eye and swung the club hard into an imaginary shape on the ground. “You have to be prepared to do the deed.”

“I w-will.” The boy nodded. He was big and strong but had never been in as much as a tussle. Yet he had seen his brother sliced in half by Baldwin ’s men. He took the club and sent it crashing down. “D-don’t worry about m-me,” he said.

I nodded approvingly.

It felt so good to see the town come together. Everyone could do something useful. Woodsmen could shoot; children could throw stones; the elderly could sew leather armor and sharpen arrows.

But when it came down to it, it would take more than high spirits and eagerness to ward off Baldwin ’s raiders. The townspeople would have to fight. I prayed to God we were up to this. That I was not, like Peter the Hermit, leading them into a murderous rout.

“Hugh!” I heard an urgent voice call from the direction of town. Pipo, Odo’s little son, was running toward me. His face was ruddy with importance. I felt a shudder of alarm.

“Someone’s here,” he gasped, out of breath.

“Who?” For a moment, my heart clenched. Who knew I was here?

“A visitor,” the boy said. “And a pretty one.” He nodded. “She says she came all the way from Borée.”

Chapter 86

EMILIE!

I ran the dusty road back to the village, my heart bounding with excitement and surprise. I had thought of her so much, yet I always felt it was just another stupid dream to actually believe that I would ever see Emilie again!

I took a shortcut through the stables and blacksmith stalls, and saw her in the square-with her maid. She wore a simple linen dress, her hair pinned up under a cap, and a plain brown riding cloak about her shoulders. And yet she was lovely, so beautiful. I had to tell myself this was no dream. She was here!

I came out from behind the barn and let her see me. I did not know whether to run and sweep Emilie up into the air or just stand there. “In all the world, my lady,” I finally said, “you have no idea what joy this brings me.”

“ ‘In all the world’ is right, Hugh De Luc.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “For it feels as though I have traveled it to find you.”

How I ached to wrap her in my arms. I did not know what feelings had brought her here-or even what feelings were my own. So I held back. She was still a noble, and I was there in torn rags and a patched skirt.

“I’m sorry for your trouble.” I shook my head. “But you are a sight for dreaming eyes no matter how far you’ve come. But how …? How did you find me here?”

[260] “You said you were from the south.” Emilie picked up her satchel and walked up to me. “So I merely went to the spot where we found you on the road and continued south. And south. And south even more. Every village we passed, I asked, ‘Is there a very strange person here who has come from Borée, who wears a jester’s suit?’ I had gone so far south I thought I would hear Spanish, when this nice boy answered, ‘Yes, ma’am. You must mean Hugh.’ I thanked God to hear that word, since we could not drag ourselves one more mile. This is Elena.” She waved her attendant forward. “She accompanied me on the trip.”

“Elena.” I bowed. “I have seen you at Borée.”

The servant curtsied wearily, clearly delighted their journey had come to an end.

I turned back to Emilie. “So tell me, how have you come here?” I shook my head. “And why?”

“Because I promised I would see you again. Because I told you I would do what I could do to find you the answers you sought. I will explain later.”

“And you came all this way alone? The two of you? Do you not know the risk you took?”

“I told Anne that I had arranged a visit to my aunt Isabel in Toulon. There was such commotion in Borée with Stephen’s return, I am sure she was happy to be rid of me. We were escorted on our way by a party of priests headed south on a pilgrimage.”

“But your aunt? When you fail to arrive in Toulon, you will be missed.”

Emilie bit her lip guiltily. “My aunt Isabel does not know. There never was any visit. I made it up.”

I broke into a wide grin. “You have taken on the world to visit me. But enough questions. You and Elena must be tired. And hungry. I’m afraid we have no castles in these parts.” I smiled. “But there is no shortage of hospitality. Come, I know just the place.”

[261] I threw her leather satchel over my back and walked with them across the square. Everyone had come out and was staring. It must have seemed an incredible sight: Hugh, who had come back from his travels without a denier in his pocket, in torn and preposterous clothes, with this very special visitor.

A woman of highborn stature. A noble … And a most beautiful one.

I took Emilie and Elena to the inn. “This was our inn.” I nodded. “I have taken up the work to rebuild it.”

I noticed a glint of approval light up Emilie’s eyes. “It is good work, Hugh.”

“It’s no castle, I know. But you’ll be warm and comfortable. It’s got a good roof and a hearth.”

“I am honored. Don’t you think, Elena? I have heard the fare in such country places is quite good. And they say the innkeeper’s quite cute.”

I smiled. “Then welcome, ladies. To the Château De Luc. You will be my first guests!”

Chapter 87

THERE WAS A BIG CELEBRATION in town that night.

We ate at Odo’s table, which filled most of his hut. His wife, Lisette, cooked, helped by Marie, the miller’s wife. There were Odo and Georges, my closest friends, and Father Leo. And, of course, Emilie.

A special meal was prepared, a goose roasted in the hearth. With carrots and turnips and peas, a soup of vegetables in a garlicky broth, and fresh bread that we dipped in the soup. There was no wine, but the priest brought along a cask of Belgian ale he’d been saving for the bishop’s visit. By our standards, it was a rare feast.

Odo played the flute, and we all pitched in with chansons. The children danced as if it were Mid-summer’s Eve. And I performed a few tricks, a flip or two. Everyone laughed and danced, Emilie too. For a few hours, we forgot the past.

All the while I could not keep my gaze far from the brightness of Emilie’s eyes. They were as light as the moon, and just as genuine. She clapped and laughed as Odo’s kids tried to reproduce my flips, as if this were the most natural role in the world for her. She told them of life in the castle. It was a golden evening, free from all barriers and stations in life.

Afterward, I walked with her back to the inn. There was a chill in the air, and Emilie huddled tightly in her cloak. Part of [263] me wanted to put my arm around her; another part quivered with nerves.

We walked amid the noises of the night-owls hooting., other birds fluttering in the trees. A bright round moon peeked through the clouds. I asked her, “How is Norbert? His health?”

“He is fine again,” Emilie said, “except he is still unable to do that trick with the chains. But things have changed since Stephen’s return. The Tafurs are everywhere, and the duke is behind them.”

“Stephen and Anne,” I replied.

“Anne…” Emilie stopped, hesitating. “I believe with all my heart she did not act of her own accord.”

“You mean the raids she directed in her husband’s absence, the slaughter and mayhem, these were not hers?”

“I only meant that she behaved from fear. I do not justify it. She said something to me, Hugh, that I did not understand. I pressed her on why she allowed these things to occur, and she said, ‘If I knew the person we sought all along was at Borée, your jester would be as dead as his wife.’ ”

I shook my head in confusion.

“She called you the innkeeper from the Crusade. It was why they took your wife. But she claimed she did not know this was you.”

“Why? Why in God’s name would they want me?”

“Because you hold ‘the greatest prize in Christendom.’ ” Emilie tilted her head to me. “And do not know. That is what Anne says.”

“The greatest prize in Christendom…” I started to laugh. “Are they mad? Look around you. I have nothing. All that I had they’ve already taken.”

“I told her the same. But you were there, Hugh, in the Crusade. Perhaps they confuse you with someone else.”

We had arrived at the inn. Emilie shivered in the cold night air, and I ached to hold her, just for a moment. I would have [264] given anything to have her in my arms. Even “the greatest prize in Christendom.”

“I brought something for you, Hugh. I have it here.” We ducked inside the door. By the fiery hearth, Elena was already asleep on her mat. Emilie went over to her satchel.

She came back with a calfskin pouch cinched at the top, and from it removed a wooden box the size of my two palms. It was finely engraved, the mark of a craftsman, with an ornate letter C on its lid.

She placed the box in my hands and stepped back. “This belongs to you, Hugh. It’s why I came.”

I stood there examining the box a moment, then lifted the tiny latch and opened the lid.

Burning tears welled in my eyes. Immediately I knew what the box contained.

Ashes.

Sophie’s ashes …

“Her body was cremated the following day,” Emilie said softly. “I went and gathered these. The priests say her soul will not reach Heaven unless she is buried.”

A knot rose in my chest and throat. I took the deepest breath, as if sucking air into every fiber in my body. “You cannot know how much I treasure this gift, Emilie.”

“As I said, Hugh, it belongs to you.”

I wrapped my arms around her and drew her close. I felt her heart beating against mine.

I whispered beneath my breath, so only I could hear. “I meant you.”

Chapter 88

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I rose before the sun. I took the calfskin pouch that was next to my bed and slipped out of the inn.

Next to the woodshed, I found a few scattered tools. I took a shovel. The cocks had not yet crowed.

A few other early risers fluttered about their chores. A carter was heading out with his mule. By the baker’s hut, the smell of fresh baking bread perfumed the air.

I headed for the knoll overlooking our village.

I had dreamed of this so many times since Sophie had died in my arms. Bringing her home. The thought that her soul was incomplete, with no rites or blessings, tormented me. Now her life would be complete. She would rest here forever.

By the ford in the stream I began to climb a steep hill. The morning was alive with birds chirping in the soft light. The sun tried to burn through the mist. I climbed for a few minutes; soon I was above the town. I looked back over the waking valley. The little huts had begun to show life. I saw the square and the inn. Emilie was sleeping there.

On top of the hill, I went to a spot near a spreading elm where my son’s grave was.

I knelt and put the calfskin pouch down. Then I began to [266] dig. I made a space in the ground next to Phillipe. Tears gathered in my eyes as a heavy drum pounded inside my chest.

“At last you’re home, Sophie,” I whispered. “You and Phillipe.”

I opened the pouch and held the box with the C. Then I scattered her ashes into the dug-up earth and covered them up again. I stood there at her grave and looked back over the awakening town.

You are finally home, Sophie. Your soul can rest.

Chapter 89

STEPHEN OF BORÉE SAT STOLIDLY on the high-backed chair in his court. A crowd of toadying favor-seekers stood in line as his bailiff brought him up to date on a new tax. Behind him, the seneschal readied a report on the status of his demesne. His thoughts were a thousand miles away.

An incompleteness jabbed at Stephen. Since he had been back, the business of his estates, his holdings, things that had once meant everything to him, now seemed trivial, worthless. These functionaries droned on and on, but he could not fix. His mind was a brooding pit that focused on a single, far-off point of light.

The prize. The treasure.

It haunted him, invaded his dreams. This holy relic miraculously preserved for centuries in the tombs of the Holy Land. He longed for it with an avarice he had felt for no woman. Something that had touched Him. He woke in the night dreaming about it, his body covered in sweat. His lips grew dry just thinking of its touch.

With such a prize in hand, Borée would be among the most powerful duchies in Europe. What a cathedral he would build to house its glory. What was the worth of the meager bones of his own patron saint, resting in his reliquary? It was nothing compared to this prize. People would come from all over the [268] world to make pilgrimages to Borée. No cleric would be greater than him, or closer to God.

And he knew who had it.

A furor built in Stephen’s chest. His underlings were lathering on, blabbering about his holdings, his wealth. It was all rubbish-insignificant. He felt as if he were about to explode.

“Get out,” he stood and screamed. The bailiff and the seneschal looked at him, surprised. “Get out! Leave me be! You go on about this new tax, or a new flock of sheep. Your eyes are fixed on the ground. I am dreaming of everlasting life.”

He swept his hand across the table in front of him, and a tray of wine goblets clattered to the floor. Everybody scurried, fleeing their places as if the whole structure were about to collapse.

Only Norbert, his jester, remained, clinging to the base of his chair and shaking like a man in seizure, trying to make him laugh.

“It is no use, Norbert. Do not waste your jest. Let it be.”

“It is no jest.” Norbert shook, lips trembling. “Your chair is on my hand.”

Finally Stephen grunted back a smile and the loyal jester rolled away, shaking his swollen hand.

A servant nervously approached to clear the mess. Stephen waved him away. His eyes followed the trail of spilled wine until they came to rest upon someone’s boot.

Who is so presumptuous as to approach? Stephen thought. He looked up at the face of Morgaine, the leader of his Tafur guard. Black Cross.

“Have you come to taunt me, Morgaine, with news of another village laid waste without my prize?”

“No, I have come to cheer you, my lord, with news that I know where the treasure is.”

Stephen’s eyes widened. “Where?”

“Your cousin, the lady Emilie, has led me right to it,” Black Cross said with a pinched smile.

[269] “Emilie?” Stephen’s face twitched. “What has Emilie to do with this prize? She is in Toulon.”

“She is not in Toulon,” Black Cross said. He whispered close. “But in a little pisshole in the duchy of Treille, Veille du Père.”

“Veille du Père? I know that name. I thought you had already sacked-”

“Yes.” Morgaine nodded, seeing Stephen come to understand. “She is with the innkeeper as we speak. And so is the treasure.”

Chapter 90

TO MY AMAZEMENT AND DELIGHT, Emilie did not leave as soon as she had delivered her gift. She stayed on for the next few days. I was in heaven.

I showed her the work we were doing to fortify the town. The perimeter defenses of sharpened stakes, strong enough to repel a sudden charge; the battle stations high in the trees, from where we could rain arrows and stones on any attackers. She saw the passion with which I urged my friends and neighbors to resist. And she heartily approved.

In between, I treated her to the best sights of our village. The lily pond in the woods where I liked to swim. A field high in the hills where sunflowers ran wild in the summer. And she helped me at the inn. I showed her how to fit logs into a support column with pegs and joints. She helped me hoist up a log as a support beam. Then we carved her initials into the wood: Em. C.

I knew this fantasy would have to come to an end. Soon she would leave. Yet she seemed comfortable. So I allowed myself to pretend. That Emilie would not be missed and looked for. That it was safe here, free from attack. That something unthinkable was happening between us.

It was on a warm afternoon a few days later that I tossed down my tools before noon. “Come.” I took Emilie by the [271] hand. “It’s not a day to be working. I want to show you a beautiful place. Please, my lady.”

I took her up into the hills, past the knoll where Sophie and Phillipe lay. The sun beat deliciously against our skin. High above town, an open meadow stretched out, the tall grass golden under the blue sky.

“It’s gorgeous,” Emilie exclaimed, her eyes soaking in every burst of blue and flash of gold.

She flung herself down in the field and fanned her arms and legs into the shape of a star. “Come here, Hugh, this is heaven.” She patted the grass next to her.

I lay down beside her. Her soft blond hair fell off her shoulders, and I could see the hint of breasts peeking from the neckline of her dress. My blood was running wild, and it terrified me for obvious reasons.

“Tell me,” I said, propping myself up on my elbow, “what does the C stand for?”

“The C?”

“Your family name… It was on the box you gave me, and the initials we carved into the inn. I know nothing about you. Who you are. Where you are from. Your family.”

“Are you concerned,” she said with a laugh, “that I may not be a high enough match for you?”

“Of course not, I just…”

‘‘I was born in Paris, if you must know. I am the fourth child, with two brothers and a sister, all older. My father is remarkable, but not for the reasons you may suspect.”

“He is a noble, that much I know. A member of the royal court?”

“He is important; leave it at that. And educated. But sometimes his vision is as narrow as a fly’s.”

“You are the baby.” I winked. “And yet you have wandered away from the nest.”

“The nest is not always a welcome place.” Emilie looked away. “At least not for a woman down the pecking order. What [272] is there for me except to be educated in lofty arts and concepts I will never use? Or to be married off for gain to some old sod twice my age. Can you see me entertaining and receiving gifts from gassy old coots?”

“I have met only two duchesses,” I said, beaming, “and you outshine them in both beauty and heart.”

She put her palm against mine, and we held it there, for a moment, in silence. Then Emilie pushed me away. “Make me laugh, will you?”

“Make you laugh?”

“Yes. You were a jester. Quite a decent one.” Her eyes shined. “Come on. It shouldn’t be hard for you.”

“It’s not so easy,” I protested. “I mean, you just don’t blurt out a joke, in a place like this, and have it succeed.”

“Are you embarrassed, then? With me…? Come.” She pinched my arm. “It is only us. I will close my eyes. In all the world, it should not be so hard to know what will make me smile.”

Emilie closed her eyes with her chin raised. I stared at her face, the delicate yellow hair falling off her shoulder.

I felt my breath come to a halt.

She was incredibly lovely… And kind, generous, smart as a whip.

All of a sudden, there was nothing between us: no words, no barriers, just our two beating hearts. I placed my hand on her hip. Nervously-I prayed she would not take offense-I moved it up her side, over the curve of her waist.

She made no move to resist. I felt the strangest urge come over me. My breath was tight, my spine tingling. Had I felt this from the start? From the first moment I opened my eyes and saw her face?

I moved my hand over her shoulder and let it fall gently against the round of her breast. I felt her heart quiver. I had felt this only once before. Yet here it was again.

Slowly I placed my mouth upon her lips.

[273] Emilie did not resist, only moved closer, her mouth softly parting. Our tongues seemed to merge and dance as softly as clouds meeting in the sky.

She put her hand on my cheek, her breath as heavy as my own. Her skin smelled of lavender and balsam. In the warm rush of our kiss, I felt a new world open to me.

In a breath, we pulled away. She smiled. “You take advantage of me. I was warned of such country boys.”

“Tell me to wake up,” I said. “I know I am in a dream.”

“Wake up, then.” She placed my hand upon her heart. “And know that this is real.”

My own heart almost exploded with joy. I could not believe what was happening.

Then I heard the loud peal of church bells coming from town.

Chapter 91

I KNEW SUCH A SOUND was a call of warning.

My mind jolted back to reality. I frantically rose to my knees and looked down toward the village. I saw no riders. No sign of panic yet. We were not under attack.

But a crowd was forming in the square. Something had happened.

“Come.” I pulled Emilie up. “We have to get back.”

We ran down the hill as fast as we could. As soon as I came within earshot of town I heard my name shouted.

Georges ran up to me. “Hugh, they’re coming. Men from Borée are on the way.”

I looked at Emilie, then back at Georges. “How do you know this?”

“Someone is here to warn us. Come, quick, in the church. He looks for you.”

Georges ran with me into the main square. The town had assembled there, and voices rang out, panicked and afraid.

I pushed through the crowd around the church and came upon a young man resting on the steps. No more than sixteen, panting, clearly out of breath. When he saw me, he stood up and eyed me.

“You are Hugh,” the boy said. “I can tell by your red hair.”

[275] “I am,” I answered. He looked vaguely familiar. “You come from Borée?”

“Yes.” The boy nodded. “I have run the whole way. I am sent by your friend Norbert, the jester.”

“Norbert sent you?” I went up to him and stood close. “What news do you bring?”

“He said to tell you they are coming. For everyone to prepare.”

“I must try and go back,” Emilie said, clutching my arm. “I must tell them it’s a mistake.”

“You cannot.” The boy shook his head, alarmed. “Norbert said you must not return. That Stephen knows you are here. You were followed. The duke’s guard is on the way. They will be here tonight, perhaps. Latest tomorrow.”

Frantic cries rose in the crowd. A woman fainted. Martin the tailor pointed at me. “Now what? This is your work, Hugh. What are we to do?”

“Fight,” I shouted back. “This is what we expected.”

There was whimpering and worried faces. Wives sought out their husbands and clutched children to their bosoms.

“We are prepared,” I said. “These men come to take away what is ours. We will not bow down to them.”

Dread hung over the crowd. Then Odo stepped forward. He looked around, tapped the head of his hammer on the ground. “I’m with you. So is my hammer!”

“I-I’m with you too,” said Alphonse. “And my sharpened ax.”

“And I,” cried Apples.

They ran toward their positions as the rest of the crowd remained still. Then others followed, one by one.

I turned back to the messenger. “How do I know you are who you say? That you’ve come from Norbert? You say the lady Emilie was followed. This could be a trick.”

“You know my face, Hugh. I am Lucien, the baker’s boy. I sought to apprentice with Norbert.”

[276] “Apprentices can be bought,” I challenged him further.

“Norbert said you would press me. So he sent proof. Something of value to you that could come from no one other than him.”

He reached behind him on the church steps and unwound a woolen blanket.

A smile curled on my face. Norbert was right. What the boy had brought was of great value to me. I had not seen it since I left Borée in the middle of the night.

Lucien was holding my staff.

Chapter 92

IN THE NEXT FEW HOURS, the town bustled with a purpose I had not seen before.

Bales of sharpened stakes were dragged to positions just inside the stone bridge and driven into the ground. Sacks filled with rocks were readied in the trees. Those who could shoot sharpened their arrows and stocked their quivers; those who could not sat with hoes and mallets in their hands.

By the time night fell, everyone was nervous but prepared.

The plan was for old folk and some of the women and young children to flee to the woods before the first sign of trouble. I told Emilie she had to go too. But when the time came, no one would leave.

“I’m staying with you.” Emilie shook her head. She had torn her dress at the hem and sleeves to move about more easily. “I can stack arrows. I can distribute arms.”

“These men are killers,” I said, trying to reason with her. “They’ll make no distinction between noble and common. This is not your fight.”

“You are wrong. The distinction between noble and common is clear here today,” she replied with that same unbending resolve as when she rescued me at Borée. “And it has become my fight.”

[278] I left her stacking rocks and ran to the first defenses at the bridge. Alphonse and Apples were tightening the rope.

“How many will come?” Alphonse asked.

“I do not know,” I said. “Twelve, twenty, maybe more. Enough to do what it takes.”

I took my station on the second floor of the tailor’s house, near the entrance to town. From there I could oversee the defense. I had a sword, an old clunker sharpened to a tee.

My stomach was in knots. Now all that was left to do was wait.

Emilie met me toward evening. We sat against a wall, her head resting on my shoulder. I felt what I had always known about her. She gave me strength.

“Whatever happens,” she said, tightening against me, “I am glad to be here with you. I don’t know how to explain, but I feel you have a destiny in front of you.”

“When the Turk spared me, I thought it was just to make people laugh.” I chuckled.

“And you became a jester.”

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

“Not me.” Emilie pulled away and looked at me. “You. It is you who had the court at Borée eating out of your hand. But now I think God has found you a higher purpose. I think this is it.”

I pressed her tightly to my body, feeling her breasts against my ribs, the cadence of her heart. In my loins, I felt desire spark. We looked at each other, and something told me, unspoken, that this was right. She was where she belonged. And so was I.

“I do not want to die,” Emilie said, “and never know what it is like to be with you.”

“I won’t let you die.” I cupped her fist.

She lowered herself onto me and we kissed. Not as before, with the thrill of friendship turning into something more, but deeper, more forcefully. The tempo of Emilie’s breath began to quicken.

[279] I put my hands under her dress and felt the smoothness of her stomach. My skin jumped alive all over.

She raised herself on my lap. We looked in each other’s eyes and there was no hesitation. “I love you,” I told her. “From the first. There was no doubt.”

“There was doubt,” she whispered, “but I loved you too.”

She lowered herself on top of me and gasped as I came inside her. Soon she was calm and at ease. I held her by the hips and we rocked. Her eyes lit with pleasure, and my skin grew heated and damp as we increased the pace. We were eye to eye, rocking against time, a smile and a sheen of ardor on her face. “Oh, Hugh.” She squeezed her pelvis into me. “I do love you.”

At last she cried out, a body-tremoring moan. I held her close to me and squeezed her shoulders as if I would never let go. She tremored once more in my arms.

“Do not wake me,” she said with a sigh, “for I am in the midst of the most marvelous dream.”

She buried her face in my chest, and I could have stayed like that forever. I looked out at the moon and thought, What a miracle it is that I have found this woman. I wanted to hold her and protect her with all my heart, as she had risked everything to protect me.

Is this why I had been saved? I could ask no better purpose.

Then I heard a shout, and an alarmed cry. A chilling, far-off rumble came from the earth.

I ran to the window. A fiery arrow arced toward us across the sky. The lookout’s signal.

I looked at Emilie, the calm of a moment ago replaced by a stabbing dread. “They are here!”

Chapter 93

BLACK CROSS’S MEN STOOD just outside the sleeping town. The moonless night covered their approach. They had ridden for the better part of two days, barreling at full speed, knocking people and carts out of their way as they charged through tiny forest towns. He knew that the hard journey only heightened their eagerness for blood.

From up ahead, a scout crept back from the woods. “The village sleeps, my lord. It is ripe for attack.”

“And their defenses?” Morgaine inquired.

“Only one.” The scout smirked. “They have piled their shit in the road so high our horses may not see.”

Morgaine chuckled. This would be child’s play. Babes slaughtered in their sleep. He had sought this beetle all the way from Antioch. Now he was only minutes from holding his prize. The greatest of all of them. This insect would not get away again.

Morgaine said to his men, “Whoever finds the prize will have a castle waiting for him on his return. Kill who you have to, fuck who you like, just find the redhead. Run a blade up his ass and bring the worm to me.”

His men’s eyes lit up. Senses eager for battle, they applied their breastplates and shoulder pieces over their riding leathers. They chose their arms-maces and pikes and heavy swords. [281] They donned their steel-beaded gloves. In a few moments they would turn this sleepy mound of dung into a slop of blood. They fitted on their helmets. Bright eyes glinted through the slits.

Morgaine’s lieutenant signaled him. “What orders, sir?”

“Level it,” Morgaine said evenly. “Every home, every child. Other than the innkeeper, nothing lives. I want nothing left, and that includes the lady Emilie.”

The Tafur nodded. At Morgaine’s nod, he gave the signal to charge.

Chapter 94

THE FLOOR SHOOK beneath my feet. The rumble of hooves grew louder and louder, like an avalanche approaching fast.

I ran into the street. People stuck out their heads from their positions, looks of terror building in their eyes.

“Do not panic,” I urged them. “They think this will be child’s play. Everyone remember the plan.”

Inside, I felt the grinding fist of fear that must now be intensifying in everybody’s gut. I hurried toward Alphonse and Apples, bracing the rope on both sides of the bridge. I told them, “Remember what they did to your friends and family the last time they were here. Remember what you swore in your heart you would do to them if you ever had the chance. Now is that chance!”

The thundering noise had risen to a terrifying level. I could not tell if the noise crashing through me was the drum of approaching hooves or my heart beating out of control.

Finally we saw them-a black cloud bearing down on us from out of the woods, torches in hand. Twelve to fourteen, howling cries of death.

A spark of hope flared in me. The town was dark. I knew they could not see our defenses.

“Hold tight,” I hollered as the horses neared, but my words were drowned in the advancing roar.

The first line of horsemen galloped over the bridge, straight [283] into the tautness of the rope. The horses came down in a tangle. The lead riders were pitched into the air. With a scream, one was hurled headlong into the sharpened stakes and impaled through the chest, his limbs outstretched and twitching. The other catapulted off his mount, landing on his neck, his body trampled under the advancing hooves.

Seeing the ambush, the next line of marauders attempted to stop, but their speed was too great. A third rider fell, screaming. Then another.

I saw Odo leap out from under the bridge and, as one struggled to right himself, swing his heavy club downward, smashing it into the man’s head. His helmet caved in like tin. Buoyed by the sight, Apples dashed out as well, thrusting his sword through the other raider’s neck.

The torches carried by the fallen riders sent the wooden defenses up in flames. Horses whined and bucked. Arrows shot out from the trees, and two other riders hit the ground, pierced through the neck and head. The other marauders, seeing what had happened, regrouped on the bridge. Then they darted single file through the burning defenses into town.

Now Tafurs on horseback were in the streets, flinging torches into our homes. I waved my sword at the trees. “Now, Jean, now!”

A dark shape fell out of the sky, hurtling across the road and crashing into one of the riders, knocking him off his mount with a loud groan. He remained there, stunned, pinned to the ground by the weight of his armor. I raised my sword and screamed into the slits of his helmet, “This is for Sophie, you bastard. See what it’s like to be killed by a fool.” I crashed the sword down, penetrating cleanly through the seam above the chest plate. There, it remained embedded. I couldn’t pull the sword free.

For a moment, and even without a weapon, I felt exultant. This was working. People were fighting. Seven of the invaders were down, perhaps slain. Two more were off their horses, surrounded by townsmen pelting them with clubs and [284] stones. They tried to fight in all directions, overwhelmed, thrashing at air.

I watched as Alphonse climbed onto the back of one of the attackers and pushed a knife through the eye slit in his helmet. The Tafur pitched forward. He thrashed back and forth, jabbing his mace, trying to twist the boy off. Another boy swatted a beam at the man’s knees and sent him to the ground, where Alphonse jerked the blade across the bastard’s neck and soon he rolled over, dead.

All around, people were screaming, running back and forth. A few riders made their way through town, hurling torches onto the thatched roofs, which shot into yellow flame. I counted only five invaders left, but five armed and deadly, still on their mounts. If we backed down now, they were enough to take the town.

I started to run-weaponless-toward the square. “Here,” Emilie yelled, and tossed me my staff.

Across the road, I saw poor Jacqui, the ruddy-faced milk woman, hurling stones at one attacker while another galloped up from behind and knocked her to the ground with a mace. Arrows shot out of the trees, and the second attacker fell. He was immediately surrounded by townspeople, kicking and bashing him with clubs and farm tools.

Suddenly the square lit up in flames.

Aimée, the miller’s daughter, and Father Leo had set fire to the line of brush ringing the square. The horses of the invaders reared. One rider was immediately thrown, landing in the flames. The others darted and circled, unable to break through.

The fallen rider stood up, engulfed in flames. He thrashed about crazily, smoke pouring through the slits in his armor. Fire had seeped inside; his skin was boiling like a pot over a flame.

Two other attackers remained trapped inside the ring of flame. One forced his mount through, but Martin ran up and whacked the horse’s legs. The rider clubbed at him but was thrown from his mount. He flailed on the ground, struggling to [285] right himself, his weapon out of reach. Then, from out of the darkness, Aimée ran out. She raised an ax and crashed it solidly into the man’s head.

We were winning! The town continued to battle as only people clinging to their last hope can do. Still, two or three invaders remained.

Then, to my horror, the last Tafur who’d been contained within the ring of fire burst free. He reared his steed and made his way, ax whirling, toward Aimée, who still stood staring at the man she had killed.

“Look out, Aimée,” I yelled. I started toward her, helplessly screaming at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t bear to see the miller lose his last child. The girl did not move, oblivious to the death descending upon her. I was twenty yards away, not thinking, running as fast as my feet would fly. The rider crouched in the saddle and raised his ax.

Twenty feet away… I shrieked, “No…”

I reached her at a cross angle just as the Tafur swung his ax. I swept Aimée to the ground and covered her, expecting at any moment to feel the blade of the ax buried in my back. But no blow came.

The Tafur galloped by, then reversed. He stood for a moment, tightening his reins, surveying the rout of his fellows.

I knew his mind; I had seen it many times in the Crusade. It was the time of the battle when one knows all is lost; the only thing left is to fight whatever comes into your path and cause as much death and mayhem as possible until you too are taken down.

I pushed Aimée out of the square and raised myself to my feet. I stood there facing the attacker, nothing to defend myself with but my wooden staff.

I didn’t want to die here. But I would not run.

The raider reared his giant horse and galloped into a charge. I stood my ground as the thundering shape barreled toward me.

I braced myself and raised the staff.

Chapter 95

AS THE CHARGING HORSEMAN raised his ax, I darted to the side opposite his weapon. I swung my staff as hard as I could at his mount’s legs. The animal neighed in pain, buckled, then threw its rider. The Tafur hit the earth with a mighty crash and rolled over several times until he came to a stop ten feet from where I stood.

His giant war ax had fallen to the side. I ran to grab the weapon. In the time it took to arm myself, the Tafur had managed to right himself and draw his sword.

“Deus adjuvat,” he taunted me in Latin-God aid me, “as I send this little rat tail back to his maker.”

“By all means, God, look on,” I replied in kind.

He charged at me with a ferocious roar.

I could see him go high with his blade and met his blow, our weapons colliding with a loud clang. We stood there eye to eye, each trying to drive his blade into the other’s neck, muscles straining to the limit. All of a sudden the Tafur jerked his knee into my groin. The air rushed out of me. I gasped and bent in two. In the same instant, he swept his sword toward my knees, and I summoned every sliver of strength to counter with the ax.

Again we faced each other, eyes blazing. He tried to headbutt me with the crown of his helmet, but I threw myself back. [287] I stumbled, and the Tafur leaped at me, swinging his blade back and forth with a maniacal fury.

The Tafur saw that I was slowed. He laughed. “Come here, fairy. You look like you might want to feel a set of real balls.”

I crouched back warily. His sword was too quick. In this form of fighting, I was no match for him. The ax was clumsy and heavy in my weakened grasp.

“Come…” He blew me a kiss.

I looked him in the eye, panting heavily. I knew I would not be able to ward off the blows much longer. I felt my legs wobble; I was out of strength. I searched my mind for any form of skill or trickery I had seen in the wars. Then one clicked in. It was crazy, desperate, not a soldier’s but a jester’s trick.

“Why wait?” I said, lowering the ax, pretending to be beaten, out of fight. “What’s wrong with now?”

I turned my back to him. I hoped I wasn’t insane.

I bent into a deep crouch, flipped up my tunic, and let him see my rear. “C’mon …” I said. “I’d wait for a real man, but you’re the only one here.” I tossed the ax about four feet ahead of me.

In my crouch, I saw him raise his sword and come. Just as he was set to run me through, I sprang into a forward flip. The Tafur sliced at the air where suddenly there was no person. His sword stuck in the soggy earth.

I landed on my feet and in the same movement pivoted and grabbed the handle of the ax. I sprang back around as the surprised Tafur struggled to free his sword.

A look of panic spread over his face. This time it was I who laughed and blew him a kiss.

I swung with all my might and sent the Tafur’s head hurtling like a kicked ball.

I sank to my knees, out of breath. Every muscle in my body felt as if it were about to explode. I dropped the ax, sucking precious air into my lungs.

[288] Then I rose and picked up my staff. As I did so, a snickering voice intoned, “Well done, innkeeper. But you must conserve your kisses. You may need one or two over here…”

I turned. There was another Tafur. He had a black cross painted on his helmet, but his visor was up, revealing a cold, scarred face that I thought I had seen before.

But it was not the face I was focused on.

The bastard was holding Emilie.

Chapter 96

“LET HER GO,” I told him. “This isn’t her fight.”

The Tafur was large and strong, and he twisted Emilie roughly by the hair with his sword edged into her neck. His dark hair was long and greasy and fell over his scarred face. A cross was burned into his neck.

“Let her go?” He laughed. The Tafur twisted Emilie harder. “But she is so pretty and sweet. What a treat she’ll make for me.” He inhaled her hair. “Like you, I am not used to sifting my pole through such highborn trash.”

I took a step toward him. “What is it you want from me?”

“I think you know, innkeeper… I think you know where we have met once before too.”

I focused on his hard, laughing eyes. Suddenly the past rocketed through me. The church in Antioch.

He was the bastard who had killed the Turk.

“You are the one doing these terrible deeds?” The Tafur grinned in recognition.

“ ‘You are free’… innkeeper. Do you not remember? When I saw you last you had an infidel about to plow your ass. But enough of old times.” He forced Emilie to her knees. “I would be happy to let her go. You only have to hand over what is mine.”

“Tell me what you want!” I shouted. “You’ve already taken everything I have.”

[290] “Not all, innkeeper.” He forced Emilie’s chin up and edged his silvery blade along her neck. She sucked in a gasp. “Where is it? Her future awaits.”

“Where is what?” I screamed, I looked at Emilie, so helpless there. Anger flared in my blood.

“Do not toy with me, Red.” The Tafur glared. “You were there in Antioch, the church. I saw you. You were no more praying than I was. Quick now, or I will ram my blade through her pretty skull.”

I was there … Suddenly it came clear to me. The cross. The gold cross I had stolen from the church. That is what this was all about. Why so many people had died. “It is buried on the hill,” I said. “Let her go. It is yours.”

“I will not barter with you.” The Tafur’s face began to twitch with rage. “Hand me what I want, or she will be pig slop, and you next.”

“Then take it. I stole it from the church. It was just a trinket to me. I don’t even know what it is, what it signifies. Just let her go and I will bring the gold cross to you. Just let her go.”

“Cross…?” I could not tell if it was confusion or rage that shook his lips. He dug the blade into Emilie and spat, “I do not want your fucking cross, not if you took it from Saint Peter’s ass. You know very well what prize you hold.”

“I don’t know!” My head was spinning. Panic shot through me. “I do not have anything else.”

“You must.” He jerked Emilie’s head back.

“No!” I cried. What else could it be? I looked at this monster. Black Cross. He had killed Sophie. He had tossed my son into the flames. He had taken from me everything I loved. And now he would do it again. For what? For a thing I did not have!

“Whatever it is, is it worth following me all the way back from the Holy Land? Slaughtering innocent villages and children? My wife and child?”

“It is!” His eyes lit up. “Those souls are meaningless compared to it, and a thousand more like your wife and seed. Now, [291] innkeeper!” he yelled. “Or I will rid the world of yet another you claim to love.”

“No.” I shook my head, at first numbly, then with rage. “You will not take anything else from me.”

I looked at Emilie. Her eyes bravely met mine.

I knew if I charged him, he would not kill her. It was me the Tafur needed. I was the path to his precious prize, not her. He would not risk leaving himself unguarded. I gripped my staff firmly in my palms. It was all I had, this stick against his sword. And my hands. And my will.

In the next breath, I screamed and charged the bastard.

Chapter 97

I SWUNG MY STAFF at him with everything I had.

In the same instant, Black Cross flung Emilie aside and readied himself for my blow. He was huge and agile, and blocked it easily with his sword.

“What is this prize,” I screamed, smashing and flailing my staff at all angles, “that you would murder people who had never even heard of it? Was it worth my wife, my little son? Or even the most worthless soul you stamped out in your way?” I swung at him again and again. For Sophie. For Phillipe. Each blow crashed harmlessly against his sword. I thought my staff would surely split, or that at any moment I would feel the sword run through my gut.

“Is this a pretend, jester? Do you mock me again to explain the meaning of the prize you stole?” He forced me backward and began advancing, swinging his sword with half strength and forcing me to block the blows with the staff, the wood rattling in my grasp.

“I do not have it,” I shouted. “I never have. You are mistaken.”

He swung at my legs and I darted back. His sword chipped slivers of wood off my staff. “You were there, jester. The church in Antioch. We all sought it out. Do you think these nobles were fighting for the souls of a few nuns? You were there for [293] what, jester, mass? You try to tell me you don’t know that the relic you fought the infidel for, which lay for centuries in that vault, was not the same used to sacrifice our Lord, and stained with His holy blood?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. He cut at my torso. I blocked it again, the blade slicing against my hand, but it was only a matter of time before he landed the blow that would do me in.

“Did you sell it? Have you profited by some Jew? If you have, your death will only be more warranted.” He swung again, this time knocking me backward to the ground, shattering another piece of my staff, which I barely held up now in defense.

My knuckles bled. My mind ricocheted back and forth. “I do not have it. I swear!”

He swung again, the brute force of his blow almost breaking the staff in two. I knew it could sustain only a few more hits.

I heard shouts behind me. Emilie was screaming. She tried to leap on him and ward him off, but he flung her across the ground as if she were a toy.

The Tafur’s eyes flashed. “Give it to me, thief, now. For in another minute you will surely be in Hell.”

“If I am,” I said, whacking my stick at him, “it will only be to welcome you.”

I was done. Out of breath and strength. I blocked his blows, but each one hacked a little farther into the staff. I wanted with all my heart to kill this man-for Sophie, for Phillipe-but I didn’t have the strength.

He kicked me into a ditch off the road. I looked about for a weapon, anything to fight him. He raised his sword above my head. “I give you this final chance,” he grunted. “Produce it. You can still go free.”

“I have nothing,” I yelled at him. “Can’t you see that?”

He came down with his sword. I think I closed my eyes, for I knew this last, desperate defense would not hold. A chunk of [294] my staff shattered. To my astonishment, a patch of metal showed through.

Black Cross slashed at me again and again, yet each time, the staff miraculously held. The wooden rod split open like a casing, revealing something underneath.

Iron.

My eyes clung to it. I was staring at the long, rusted shaft of an ancient spear.

The Tafur stopped, his gaze transfixed. The spear shaft led to a molding in the shape of an eagle, a Roman eagle. The blade that came from it-dark, blunt, rusted-was encrusted with a bloodlike stain.

Good Lord in Heaven. I heard myself gasp. I blinked, twice, to make sure I wasn’t in Heaven already.

My staff … the wooden staff I had taken from the church in Antioch, from the dying priest’s hands… It wasn’t a staff at all.

It was a lance.

Chapter 98

I DO NOT KNOW how to describe what happened next.

Time seemed to stand still. Neither of us moved, held by the incredible sight. Whatever this was, I could tell by the Tafur’s stupefied amazement that the lance was what he had sought all along. Now, miraculously, it was in front of him. His eyes were as large as moons. Though it was rusted and dulled, just a common thing, a glow seemed to emanate from it.

Suddenly he lunged for it! I yanked it out of his reach. He was still above me, with all the advantage. He reared back his sword. I had no defenses. He would surely split my chest this time.

I thrust with the only thing I had-the lance. The blade split his mail and pierced his ribs. Black Cross cried out, his dark eyes open wide, but even with the lance in him, he did not stop. He went to raise his sword again. I pushed the lance in deeper. This time his eyes rolled back in his head. He tried to lift the sword once more, his arms reaching the height of his head, hands squeezing the hilt.

But his arms suddenly dropped. He gasped, opened his mouth as if to speak, and blood leaked out.

I pushed hard on the lance again and he froze, upright, disbelieving, as if he could not lose now, not with his prize in [296] sight, so close. Then with a final grunt, Black Cross crumpled and fell onto his back.

I lay there for a second, stunned that I was alive. I forced myself to my knees and crawled to the dying man, his hands wrapped around the shaft of the lance. “What is it?” I asked.

He did not answer. Only coughed: blood and bile.

“What is it?” I cried. “What is this thing? My wife and son died for it.”

I pulled the spear out of his body and held it close to the dying man’s face. He coughed again, but this time it wasn’t blood-he was laughing. “Do you not know?” His chest wheezed-and then, a thin smile. “All along… you were blind?”

“Tell me.” I pulled him by the mail. “Before you die.”

“You are a fool.” He coughed again and smiled. “You are the richest man in Christendom and do not know it. Do you not understand what lay in those tombs for a thousand years? Do you not recognize your own Savior’s blood?”

I stared at the ancient, bloodstained spear, my eyes almost bulging out of my head. The spear of Longinus, the centurion who had stabbed Christ while He was dying on the cross.

A numbness was in my chest. My hands began to tremble.

I was holding the holy lance.

Chapter 99

I STAGGERED to my feet, cradling the precious relic in my hands. Emilie rushed up first and threw her arms around my neck. The battle had ended and we had won. Georges, Odo, and Father Leo came running toward me.

Other people approached, cheering, dancing with joy, but I could not take my eyes from the lance. “My staff…” I was barely able to speak. “All along, it was the holy lance.”

Everyone stopped, converged. A hush fell over the crowd.

“The holy lance…?” someone repeated. A ring formed around us. Murmurs of exclamation and joy. All eyes fell on the rusted blade, the tip slightly broken.

“Mother of God.” Georges stepped forward, his tunic splattered with blood. “Hugh has the holy lance.”

Finally everyone knelt, myself included.

Father Leo examined the lance without touching it, fixing on the old, hardened blood upon the blade. “God’s grace.” He shook his head with a look of wonderment in his eyes. He recited scripture from memory: “But one of the soldiers with a spear pierced His side, and forthwith came there out blood and water.”

“It’s a miracle,” someone shouted.

“It’s a sign,” I said.

[298] Odo spoke, his coarse voice on the verge of laughter: “Jesus, Hugh, were you trying to save this thing until we really needed it?”

I could not speak. People were shouting my name. Stephens henchmen were dead. I did not know whether it was our will or the lance that was responsible, but either way, we had beaten them back.

I looked at Emilie. What a knowing smile she had, as if to say, I knew, I knew. … I reached for her hand.

Everyone whooped and shouted. “Hugh. Lancea Dei.” Lance of God.

I had been saved. Not once but many times. Who could understand it? What had been entrusted to me? What did God want with an innkeeper? With a jester?

“The holy lance!” everyone shouted, and I finally threw my fist in the air.

But inside I was thinking, Good Lord, Hugh, what is next?

Chapter 100

WHAT WAS NEXT was bolder and more amazing than anything I could have imagined.

Our victory was complete, but it came at a great cost. Thirteen of Stephen’s mercenaries lay on the ground, but we had lost four of our own: Apples; Jacqui, the stout and cheery milk woman; a farmer, Henri; and Martin, the tailor. Many others, like Georges and Alphonse, nursed messy wounds.

When the smoke cleared, the body of the Tafur I had fought with the lance was nowhere to be found. He had not died after all.

In the ensuing days, we extinguished the fires and bade good-bye to our brave fallen friends. For the first time in anyone’s memory, bondmen had stood up to a noble. And to the fear that we could not defend ourselves simply because they were rightly born and we weren’t.

Word spread fast. Of the fight and the lance. People from neighboring towns came to see. No one could believe it at first. Farmers and tradesmen had stood up against a noble and his men.

Yet I did not join much in the celebration. I spent the next several days in a troubled state atop the hill. I couldn’t work on the inn. I had to make sense of what had happened. That I had picked up the lance from the dying priest’s hand in Antioch. [300] That, penniless, I now held a prize worth kingdoms. Why had I been chosen? What did God want of me?

And a deeper dread hung over me. What would happen next-when news of the battle reached Stephen’s ears? When he learned that we possessed the prize he so desperately coveted. Or when word reached Baldwin in Treille.

Had the poor tailor been right? Had I saved them from one slaughter only to lead them to another?

Emilie stayed with me the whole while. I looked at the lance and did not know what to do, but to her, the answer was clear. She understood what I resisted. “You have to lead them, Hugh.”

“Lead them? Lead them where?” I asked.

“I think you know where. When Stephen hears of this he will send more men. And Baldwin… your village is pledged to him. He will not permit such rebellion in his domain. The stone has been pushed, Hugh. You’ve sought a higher destiny. Here it is. It’s in your hands.”

“I’m just a lucky fool,” I said, “who picked up a silly antique, a souvenir. I’ll end up the biggest fool of all time.”

“I saw you in that costume many times, Hugh De Luc.” Emilie’s eyes shone brightly. “And never once thought you a fool. A while back, you left this town on a quest to make yourself free. Now, leave it again and free them all.”

I picked up the lance, weighed it like a measure in my hands.

Lead them against Baldwin? Would anyone follow? Emilie was right on one thing. We could not remain here. Baldwin would burst a vein when he heard the news. Stephen would send more troops, this time hundreds. Something had been started that could not be drawn back.

“You will be by me?” I took her hand, searched her eyes. “You will not change your mind when we are standing against Baldwin ’s army and it is just us two?”

“It will not just be us two,” she said, crouching beside me. “I think you know that, Hugh.”

Chapter 101

THAT DAY, I called the town together in the church. I stood at the front, in the same bloody rags I had worn in the fight, holding the lance. I took a sweeping look around the room. The place was full-the miller, Odo, even people who never went to church.

“Where have you been, Hugh?” Georges stood up in his place. “We’ve all been celebrating.”

“Yes, that lance must be holy.” Odo stood too. “Since it found you, it’s been hard to even buy you an ale.”

Everyone laughed.

“Don’t blame Hugh,” Father Leo put in. “If such a pretty maiden were visiting me, I wouldn’t waste my time drinking with you clowns, either.”

“If you had such a pretty maiden, we’d all be in church a lot more often,” Odo roared.

Everyone laughed again. Even Emilie smiled from the back.

“I do owe you an ale,” I said, acknowledging Odo. “I owe you all an ale, for your courage. We did a great thing the other day. But the ale must wait. We are not done.”

“Damn right we are not done.” Marie, the miller’s wife, stood up. “I have an inn to run, and when that fat bailiff comes back, I intend to stuff him so full of squirrel droppings he pukes himself dead.”

[302] “And I’ll be happy to serve it to him.” I smiled at Marie. “But the inn… it has to wait too.”

Suddenly everyone noticed the look on my face. The laughter settled into a hush.

“I pray I have not drawn you in against your will, but we cannot stay here. Life will not return to what it was. Baldwin has made a promise to all of you, and he will keep it. We have to march.”

“March?” Voices rang out, skeptical. “To where?”

“To Treille,” I answered. “ Baldwin will come at us with everything now. We must march against him.”

The church went silent. Then, one by one, people shouted up to the front.

“But this is our home,” Jean Dueux, a farmer, protested. “All we want is for things to go back to the way they were.”

“Things will never go back, Jean,” I said. “When Baldwin hears of this, he’ll send his henchmen to ride down upon us with the full fury of his will. He will raze the town.”

“You talk of marching against Treille,” Jocelyn, the tanner’s wife, declared. “Do you see any war horses or artillery? We’re just farmers and widows.”

“No, you are not.” I shook my head. “You’re fighters now. And in every town there are others, who have farmed and toiled their entire lives only to hand over what their liege demands.”

“And they will join us?” Jocelyn sniffed. “These others? Or will they just cheer and cross themselves as we march by?”

“Hugh is right,” Odo’s deep voice cut in. “ Baldwin will make us pay, just like the bailiff promised. It’s too late to back down.”

“He will surely take my lands anyway,” Jean moaned, “after what’s happened here.”

“H-Hugh has the lance,” Alphonse said. “It is a greater weapon than all the arrows in Treille.”

Shouts and murmurs rose around the church. Some stood in agreement, but most were afraid. I could see it in their [303] faces. Am I a soldier? Am I fit to fight? If we march, will others follow?

Suddenly a pounding was heard from the church steps outside. People froze. Everyone in town was already inside.

Then three men stepped into the doorway. They were dressed in working hides and tunics. They knelt, made the sign of the cross. “We seek Hugh,” a large one said, taking off his hat. “The one with the lance.”

“I am Hugh,” I said from the front.

The man grinned at his companions, seemingly from relief. “I am glad you truly exist. You sounded more like a fable. I’m Alois, a woodsman. We’ve come from Morrisaey.”

Morrisaey? Morrisaey was halfway between here and Treille.

“We heard about your fight,” one of the others said. “Farmers, bondsmen fighting like devils. Against our liege. We wanted to know if it was true.”

“Look around. These are your devils,” I said. Then I showed him the lance. “Here is their pitchfork.”

Alois’s eyes grew wide. “The holy lance. Word is that it changes things for us. That it’s a sign. We couldn’t just sit by and twiddle our thumbs if there was going to be a fight.”

My chest expanded. “This is good news, Alois. How many men do you have?” I was hoping it was more than these three.

“Sixty-two,” the woodsman shouted proudly. “Sixty-six if the fucking Freemasons don’t back down.”

I looked around the church. “Go back and tell your townsmen you are now one hundred and ten. A hundred fourteen if the fucking Masons take part.”

The man from Morrisaey grinned at his companions again. Then he turned back, “Too late for that…” he said.

He swung the church doors open wide. I saw a crowd in the square. Everyone rushed out of their seats to look and saw woodsmen carrying axes, farmers with hoes and spades, ragged-looking peasants carting hens and geese. Alois smiled. “Already brought ’em.”

Chapter 102

THAT WAS HOW IT BEGAN, that first day.

Barely a hundred of us, farmers, tailors, and shepherds, makeshift weapons in hand, food and other supplies carted behind. We started on the road toward Treille.

But by the next town we were two hundred, people kneeling before the lance, grabbing their belongings. By Sur le Gavre we were three hundred, and at the crossroad between north and south, a hundred more were waiting, clubs and hoes and wooden shields in hand.

I marched at the front, carrying the lance. I could not believe these folk had come to follow me, in a fool’s suit, yet at every corner, more joined us.

They knelt-husbands, wives-kissing the lance, and Christ’s blood, singing praise and vowing the nobles would crush them no longer. Banners were hoisted, with the purple and white lions of Treille upside down or with the crest slashed and tattered.

It was like the hermit’s march all over again. The hope and promise that had captured my soul more than two years before. Simple men-farmers and serfs and bondmen-banded together to raise up their lives. Believing that the time had finally come. That if we stood up with the might of numbers, no matter how long the odds, we could be free.

[305] “Are you tired of being shat on?” went the refrain as we wound past a watching goatherd.

“Aye,” came the reply. “I’ve been tired my whole life.”

“And what would you risk,” another would shout, “to gain your freedom?”

“All I have. Which is nothing. Why do you think I’m here?”

The ranks swelled with people from all corners of the forest. “Follow the lance” was the cri de coeur. “The lance held by the fool.”

By St. Felix, we had grown to seven hundred strong. By Montres, we had lost count. We could no longer feed them; we had no more stocks or provisions. I knew we could not stand a drawn-out siege, yet people continually joined.

Near Moulin Vieux, Odo edged his way up to the front. Behind us was a column of peasants at least a thousand strong.

The big smith grinned, walking alongside me. “You have a plan, don’t you, Hugh?” He eyed me warily.

“Of course I have a plan. You think I brought all these folks along for a picnic in the woods?”

“Good.” He sighed. He dropped back into the ranks. “Never doubted…”

“Of course Hugh has a plan,” I heard him whisper to Georges the miller, a row behind.

From Moulin Vieux, Treille was two days’ march away. That night, I curled up at our fire with Emilie. Behind us, the glow from hundreds of others lit up the night. I stroked her hair. She nestled close. “I told you this was no accident,” she said. “I told you if you stood up to lead they would follow.”

“You did.” I held her. “Yet the real miracle is not them, but you. That you have followed.”

“For me there was no choice.” She rolled her tongue and toyed with my jester’s tassel. “I always had a thing for a man in uniform.”

I laughed. “But now comes the real miracle. Treille is two days away. I have a thousand men and only fifty swords.”

[306] “I overheard you had a plan,” Emilie said.

“The outline of one,” I admitted. “Father Leo says we should draw up our demands: that taxes must be reduced immediately, that all fiefs should apply toward purchase of a parcel of land, that any nobles who take part in raids must be brought before the court.”

“Look at the numbers.” Emilie nodded optimistically “Baldwin will have to sue for peace. He cannot fight us all.”

“He won’t fight us.” I shook my head. “At least not right away. He knows we cannot provision such an army for a long siege. He will wait us out. He’ll stall, and let the songs subside, until the food runs out and people lose patience and start to go home. Then he will open the gates and send out his dogs to slaughter us. He will chase us down and burn our towns so thoroughly even the scavengers will not think anything was once alive there. I’ve seen Baldwin’s diplomacy. He will never submit.”

“You have known this from the start, haven’t you? That the duke would never comply. It was what was troubling you back at Veille du Père.”

I nodded.

“So if you know this, Hugh, what then? All these people, they’ve given you their hope, their very lives.”

“What it means…” I tucked my head onto her lap, begging to drift off to sleep. “… is that we must take him.”

Emilie raised herself up. “Take him? In order to take Baldwin you must seize his castle too.”

“Yes.” I yawned. “That is usually the case.”

Emilie shook me. “Do not jest with me, Hugh. This requires weapons and provisions. For this you have a plan?”

“The outline of one, I told you. It lacks but one thing.” I curled myself into her warmth. “Fortunately, it is the thing you are best at.”

“And what is that, Hugh?” She pounded my shoulder.

“A pretext, my lady.” I glanced up and winked.

Chapter 103

DANIEL GUI’S SWORD CLATTERED as he rushed into the duke’s sitting room. He was Baldwin’s new chatelain, having taken over for Norcross.

“You can’t go in there,” said a page, flashing a cynical wink. “The duke’s in council.”

“The duke will find this news more urgent than any meeting,” Daniel said, and pushed by the page.

His lord was upright against a wall, his leggings down, fucking a young chambermaid.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Liege.”

The maid gasped and fixed her skirt, running out through another door.

‘‘I am sorry to interrupt,” the chatelain said, “but I have news you must hear.”

Baldwin pulled up his leggings as if it were the most natural thing in the world and tied his tunic. “I hope this news is crucial, chatelain, for it has taken me months to back that little sow up against a wall.” He wiped his hand across his mouth.

Baldwin disgusted the young chatelain. Daniel looked at his position as a chance to serve his native town, not plunder and slaughter defenseless subjects. He told himself that being in the duke’s pen was not tantamount to being a pig.

[308] “It is news of the redhead you seek. The jester who escaped after killing Norcross.”

“Hugh. That little canker.” Baldwin sprang alive. “What of him? Speak!”

“He has turned up. In his own town, after all. It seems he has led an uprising there against a raiding party from Borée.”

“Uprising? What do you mean, uprising? There’s nothing but field mice and manure out there.”

“Apparently these field mice defended their nest quite well. Our messengers report all of Stephen’s men were killed.”

Baldwin shot up out of his seat. “You tell me this little maw-worm has led a bunch of farmers and hayseeds against Stephen’s crack troops?”

“It is so, but it is only the tip of it, my lord.” A tremor of enjoyment rippled through Daniel, as he knew the next piece of news would send Baldwin into a rage. “The thing Stephen’s men sought… this will amuse you… was apparently a relic stolen from the Crusade. Some kind of lance…”

“The holy lance?” The duke pursed his lips skeptically. “The holy lance belongs to a jester? You must be mistaken, chatelain. The holy lance, if it even exists, exceeds in value everything I own. It is a child’s fancy to conceive it could be in the hands of that kitchen-rot.”

“Then apparently it is a tale children from all over seem to believe. And grown men too. For they flock to him as to a crusade. The whole region is up in revolt.”

“Revolt!” Baldwin’s eyes were ablaze. “There is no revolt in my domain. Rouse the men, chatelain. We’ll ride tonight and nail the little bastard to a cross if he’s so holy.”

“I do not think that is wise, sir.”

“Not wise…?” Baldwin stepped up, eyes twitching. “And why is it not wise?”

“Because,” said the chatelain, “this little maw-worm, as you call him, commands an army of these worms over a thousand strong.”

[309] The color drained from Baldwin’s face. “A thousand… That cannot be. That is all the towns in the forest. That is three times the size of our own garrison.”

“Perhaps more,” Daniel said. “This news is days old. Every peasant in the duchy seems to have joined him.”

Baldwin sat down on a bench. His face was taut, the color of spoiled fruit. “Ready the men anyway, chatelain. I will call to my cousin in Nîmes for additional troops. Together we will cut them down in the forest like saplings.”

“Then I think you must hurry,” Daniel said. “For these cowherds are in Moulin Vieux as we speak. It appears they are coming to you.”

Chapter 104

WE CAME TO THE EDGE of the forest only a half day’s march from Treille.

There it was, in the distance-many towered, seemingly hung in the clouds, the sun glinting off its ochre walls. The good mood of our march dimmed, replaced by a troubled silence. There would be no deceiving them now. All of Treille-including Baldwin-now knew we were here.

I called the people closest to me together: Odo, Georges, Emilie, Father Leo, and Alois, the woodsman from Morrisaey. I had constructed a plan, but it depended on help from within. “I have to go into Treille,” I told them.

“I do too,” Odo chortled. “And Georges. And Alois here. I want to open Baldwin’s eyes. With an eye wrench.”

“No.” I smiled at his joke. “I meant alone. In Treille, I have friends who will help.”

“Just how do you intend to get in there?” Georges asked. “Sneak past the guards while Odo here juggles balls? They’ll never let you through the gates.”

“Listen, if we are to take this castle, it can only be through trickery, not force of arms. Baldwin has few friends, even within his own walls. I have to gauge the mood inside.”

“All right, but it’s a huge risk,” Alois agreed. “So what’s your big plan?”

[311] I pointed toward the town. “Father, your eyes are best. Are those riders coming from there now?”

Everyone spun their heads to see.

“Where?” Father Leo said. “I don’t see anyone.”

When the priest turned back, I handed him his prayer beads, which I had lifted out of his robe. His eyes widened with surprise. Emilie smiled. Everyone started to laugh.

“I’m a jester. You don’t think I would go in there without a trick or two?”

Odo grunted skeptically. “Your tricks may be artful enough here, but if you drop the ball in there, the rest of us are left plowing the north field with our God-given hoe, if you catch my drift. Send someone else.”

“I don’t see another way.” I shrugged. “Except to surround the castle with our shovels and picks and storm Baldwin’s army in one massive charge.”

Odo and Georges swallowed uneasily at each other, considering that unseemly prospect.

The smith glanced around, weighing my suggestion, then slapped me on the back. “So, Hugh, when do you go?”

Chapter 105

THAT NIGHT, I LAY with Emilie by a fire. I felt her nervousness as I wrapped my arm tightly around her.

“Don’t be worried for me,” I said.

“How could I not? You are walking into a lion’s den… And there are other things on my mind.”

“What things? The stars are out. We are here. I can feel the beating of your heart…”

“Please, do not mock me, Hugh.” Emilie turned in my arms. “I cannot help myself. My mind has been returning to Borée.”

“Borée…?”

“Anne.” Emilie rose up on an elbow. “Stephen’s wrath will be great now that his men have failed. He’ll want this lance more than ever. I am worried for her.”

“I don’t share your concern.”

“I know you have no love for her.” She stroked my face. “But Anne is a prisoner too, just as surely as if she were behind bars. You must understand that. I am pledged to her, Hugh. It is a bond I simply cannot run away from and break.”

“You are pledged to me now.” I tickled Emilie’s ribs. “Can you break that one?”

“No.” She sighed and kissed me on the forehead. “That I will never break.”

I leaned down to her and kissed her. She opened her mouth [313] to me, but showed a little hesitation. A thousand other people were about. Her breasts came to life at my touch, hard and willing through her robe. I felt my cock spring alive too.

“Come with me,” I said.

“Come where? We are in the forest.”

“A country boy knows.” I winked a bit mischievously. “I have a spot. Just for us.”

I pulled her up, and in the dark of night, with the glimmer of campfires and the forms of sleeping men all around, we sneaked off.

“How can you be so impressively aroused,” Emilie asked, pretending to pull away from me, “with what lies before you in the morning?”

In a small clearing, we threw ourselves into each other’s arms, cushioned by a small bed of leaves. Without speaking, we lifted our clothing and felt our bodies warm to the touch of each other-still new, a gift I could not believe was mine.

There was a deeper, knowing look in Emilie’s eyes. She put my hand on her breast and took a breath. I felt her heart beating like a doe’s. Her nipple grew tight and firm at my touch.

“Is my spot to your satisfaction?” I asked.

“That depends.” She grinned. “Just which spot is that?”

She kissed me, her tongue searching mine with an ardor I had not felt from her before. She climbed on my lap and I buried my head in the softness of her breasts. I was aching for her and I could see in her eyes that she felt the same for me.

I moved inside Emilie. Her breaths became heated and purposeful. Her eyes did not leave mine. I loved that. I felt as if every thrill and instance of her passion, each tremor and jolt shooting through me, narrowed into one enormous burst.

At the moment of climax, we cried out. Then we muffled each other and laughed.

Emilie rested with her head on my chest, the distant camp-fires lighting up the night. She sighed, so I knew she was happy, but then a shiver rippled across her shoulders. “What happens,” [314] she said warily, “once Baldwin is defeated? Things cannot just go back. These lands have been in his family for generations.”

“I have been thinking that too,” I said. “I have no wish to govern. Only to right this wrong. I was thinking I would write to the King. I have heard he is a fair man.”

“I have heard he is fair.” Emilie took a breath. “But is he also noble.”

I turned her face to me. “You said you know the King. You said your father was a member of his court.”

“Well, yes… I have met him, but…”

“Then you could intercede,” I said. “You could tell him we are only humble men who want to return to their lives and work in peace. We have no thought to stealing anyone’s title or territory. He will have to see.”

I felt Emilie nod, her chin upon my chest, but distantly, as if she was not convinced.

“Do not be so worried for me.” I held her tightly. “You have made me strong.”

“I do not worry just for you, but for all that will follow. For you, I have a secret charm.”

“And what is this charm that will protect me?” I laughed, stroking her hair.

“I’m coming along.”

“What?” I raised her up. “There is no way, Emilie. I can’t allow it.”

“There is every way,” she said, her eyes unwavering. “I am in this as deeply as you, Hugh De Luc. I told you, we are together, our fates entwined. I am going with you. That is all.”

I moved to argue, but she stopped me with a finger to my lips. Then she put her head back on my chest and held me as if she would never let go.

Chapter 106

DANIEL GUI BOLTED into the planning room.

“My lord, your jester’s army has been sighted. It lies half a day from the city, at the edge of the forest.”

“You mean the rabble.” Baldwin sniffed. His advisers, the bailiff and chamberlain, seemed delighted with the news.

“You must attack, then,” the bailiff wheezed. “I know these peasants. Their courage will crumble at the first sign of a fight. Their resolve is only as strong as their last ale.”

“It appears their resolve has stiffened,” Daniel observed. “This jester has given them hope. They outnumber us three to one.”

“But we have horses and crossbows,” Baldwin said. “They have only tools and wooden shields.”

“If we go after them in the woods,” Daniel said, “all our horses and crossbows would be reduced to nothing. Your men would be slaughtered just like Stephen’s. The jester has this lance. It emboldens them.”

“The chatelain is right, my lord,” said the chamberlain. “Even if you won, you would turn each carcass into a hero’s grave. You must hear their demands. Consider them, even disingenuously. Promise them the slightest gain if they return to their fields.”

“You are wise, chamberlain.” Baldwin grinned. “These peasants have no means for a long siege. They will grow bored and tired as soon as their bellies start to ache.”

[316] The bailiff and the chamberlain puffed back their agreement.

“Do not forget, my lord,” Daniel cut in, “the jester has this lance. They believe it makes them right.”

“This lance will rest in Treille before the negotiation is done,” said Baldwin. “They will give it up for a bag of wheat. And they will give him up too. I will have the fool’s head upon his precious lance and place it before my bath.”

“I merely meant,” Daniel pressed on, “that you take a risk by inviting this siege.”

Baldwin slowly rose. He walked around the table and put his arm across Daniel’s shoulders. “Come,” Baldwin motioned him toward the fire. “A word with you, by the light.”

A lump grew in Daniel’s throat. Had he gone too far? Had he angered his liege, whom he was pledged to serve?

The duke wrapped his arm around Daniel tighter, drew him close to the flames, then smiled. “Do you for a moment think I have any intention of handing over even a cup of grain to this traitorous puke? I would be the laughingstock of France. I have contacted my cousin. He sends a thousand troops.

“Let the idiots begin their siege. We will eat meat while they boil roots. When the reinforcements arrive, we will open the gates and crush them. You and I, Daniel, we will make sure not a single gray-haired grandfather among this rabble leaves Treille alive.”

Baldwin brought Daniel’s hand so close to the flames that he had to restrain himself from crying out.

“No one threatens my rule, least of all these miserable spawn. So how does that plan sound, chatelain?”

Daniel’s heart pounded furiously. His mouth was dry as dust. He looked into his liege’s eyes and saw nothing but dark holes. “Most wise, my lord.”

Chapter 107

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, outside the gates of Treille, a Hebrew merchant, carrying his sack of wares across his back, approached the gates as they began to close.

He wore the dark wool robe and the fringed shawl of the Sephardim, a skullcap upon his head, and held a rusted staff. With him was his young wife, dressed in modest clothes, her hair pinned under a black scarf.

“Move it along, Jews,” growled the guard. The checkpoint was manned by a team of pail-helmeted soldiers, hurrying the travelers along like oxen into a pen. The guard stopped the merchant when he reached the gate. “Where do you come from?”

“From the south.” I peeked from under my hood. “Roussillon.”

“And what is in the sack?” He poked at it.

“Wares for the kitchen. Olive oil, pans, a new utensil called a fork. You stab your meat with it. Want to see?”

“What if we stab you with it, you little pests? You say you came from Roussillon? What have you seen? We’ve heard the forests are teeming with rebels.”

“In the east, perhaps, but in the south there are only squirrels. And Italians. Anyway, it’s no concern to us.”

“No, nothing’s a concern to your lot, except a fee. C’mon.” He pushed us roughly. “Get your tick-bitten asses in.”

Emilie and I hurried through the gates. Inside the thick [318] limestone walls heavy beams were braced against the ground to bolster the gates against assault. I glanced around. The towers and ramparts were manned by dozens of troops. They were heavily armed with crossbows and lances, gazing eastward.

From under my hood, I flashed Emilie a wink. “Come.”

We climbed the hill leading to the center of town and Baldwin’s castle. Soldiers on horseback shot about, clattering over the rough stone. Carts dragged rocks and shields down to the outer walls. The defenses were being readied. The air was sharp with the sulfurous smell from vats of burning pitch.

“Here… this way,” I said. It was the market street. Stalls of bakers and butchers were still open for business, and swarming with flies. Others, which sold tin and tools and cloth, were closed for the night.

Emilie and I hurried through a neighborhood that seemed to be home to these merchants. There were not only huts, but stone houses, some with iron gates guarding small courtyards. The smell of burning lard was everywhere.

I stopped before a two-story dwelling with a tin scroll-like ornament hammered next to the doorway. “Emilie, we’re here.”

I knocked on the door. A voice called out from inside, some shuffling, then the door cracked open. A familiar face looked out from under a skullcap.

“We’ve traveled a long way,” I said. “We were told we would find friends here.”

“If you are in need, we are friends,” the man replied. “But who told you this?”

“Two men in the forest,” I said.

The man arched his brow, confused.

“One named Shorty. I asked him what position makes the ugliest children. When he could not say, I told him: ‘Ask your mother!’ ”

The man’s eyes grew wide, then his beard parted into a smile.

“So, Geoffrey.” I grinned, removing my hood. “Can it be you do not remember your jester?”

Chapter 108

THE MERCHANT WHOSE LIFE I had saved on the road to Treille broke into a hearty smile. He held me by the shoulders, then hugged me, and hustled Emilie and me through the door. I took off my skullcap and shook out my red hair.

Geoffrey laughed. “I said to myself, you look like no Jew I had ever seen before.”

“We are pork-eating Jews.” I grinned.

We hugged each other again, like old friends. I laid down my staff and unfastened my robe. “This is Emilie. She’s a close friend. This is Geoffrey, who once helped save my life.”

“And I was only able to,” Geoffrey said, “because Hugh had once saved mine. Ours …”

Isabel and Thomas came in from another room. “As I live and breathe,” she exclaimed, “it is the jester with the lives of a cat.”

We were led to a sitting room lined with weavings and old scrolls and tracts. Geoffrey offered us his bench.

“What is the mood of the city?” I asked.

He frowned. “Foul. What used to be a thriving city is now just a pigpen that feeds the duke. And it will only get worse. There is talk of an uprising somewhere, an army of peasants in the forest who took up arms, headed here. Farmers, shepherds, woodsmen, led by a fool with some kind of relic gotten from the Crusade… A lance with their Savior’s blood on it.”

[320] “You mean this?” I took out my staff and let his eyes travel over it. I smiled. “I have heard of such an uprising.”

The merchant’s eyes grew wide. “This is you… You are the jester… Hugh.”

I nodded. Then I told Geoffrey my plan.

Chapter 109

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, my work was done and it was time to head back to the forest.

Emilie agreed to stay behind in town. It was safer for her there, with the terrible battle that was to come. She fought me gamely, but this time I would not back down. When it was time to leave, I hugged her close and promised I would see her in a couple of days.

I lifted her face and smiled at her. “My beautiful Emilie, when we first met I was afraid to even talk to you. Now I am afraid to let you go. Remember how you laughed at me and said, ‘That may be, but it will not always be’?”

“In a day or two, I guess we will find out,” she said, trying to look brave.

She leaned up and kissed me. “God bless you, Hugh.” Tears welled in her eyes. “In all the world, I hope to see you again.”

I hoisted my sack and headed down the lane, waving a final farewell at the end of the street. I buried my head in my hood and hunched under my shawl, avoiding any eyes in uniform. As I wound back down the hill, I turned, watching the town recede. Pain tore at my heart. All that I now loved remained in this place. A tremor of panic ripped through me that I might never see Emilie again.

[322] When I got back to the forest, I found the men waiting and ready for a fight. We marched at the break of dawn.

Farmers, woodsmen, tanners, and smiths, in every form of clothing imaginable, carrying homemade bows and wooden shields, stretched out as far as I could see.

At the head of the procession, I felt my blood surge with pride. Whatever the outcome, these men had stood tall. They were people of courage and character. To me, they were all highborn.

Every settlement we came to, a crowd formed, cheering us on. “Look, it is the jester,” they would exclaim. They would bring out their children too. “See, child, you will always say you saw the lance.”

Word spread like a brushfire. More joined us all the time.

All the while, Treille grew closer, the color of an amber sunset. Its formidable towers reached high into the sky. The nearer we got, the more the mood stiffened; the ranks grew worried and quiet.

The sun was high when we reached the outskirts of town. No force had charged out to confront us yet.

Instead, downtrodden townspeople stood aside, exhorting us on. “It is the jester. See, he exists! He is real!”

The massive limestone walls of the outer city rose above us with their crenellated battlements. At each opening, I could see teams of soldiers, their helmets gleaming.

They did not attack, though. They let us come. They allowed us to march within a hundred yards of the outer walls.

Just out of arrow-shot, I signaled the column to a halt.

I ordered the ranks to fan out around the perimeter, forming a massing ring twenty men deep. No one knew what to do, to shout or charge.

“Go on, Hugh,” Georges said with a smile. “Go on and tell ’em why we’re here.”

I stepped out, trying to calm the thumping in my chest. I shouted to the defenders above the gate.

“We are from Veille du Père, and Morrisaey, and St. Felix, and every town in the duchy. We have business before Lord Baldwin.”

Chapter 110

FOR A MOMENT there was no answer. I thought, What do I do now? Say the same words again?

Then a brightly clad figure whom I recognized from my stay here as Baldwin’s chamberlain leaned out. “The lord is napping,” he yelled back. “He knows no business before him today. Go back to your wives and farms.”

Curses and taunts began to rise from the crowd. “The pig is napping?” someone growled. “Let us be careful not to wake him up, friends.”

A thunderous jeer rose. Weapons rattled, shouts rang out.

Someone rushed forward and pulled down his leggings. “Come on, Baldwin. Here’s my ass. Try and fuck me now.”

A few rash ones charged up to the walls, spitting curses and insults. “Stay back,” I yelled. But it was too late.

From the ramparts came the blood-chilling whine of arrows in reply. One man gagged, an arrow piercing his neck. Another clutched his head. A young boy sprinted up and hurled a stone, which fell halfway up the wall.

A wave of burning black pitch rained down on him. The boy fell, rolling on the ground, his skin sizzling with flame.

“Go home, you stinking filth,” spat a soldier from the top.

Now everyone moved forward in a rush. Some of us shot [324] off fire arrows, which streaked across the sky and died harmlessly against the massive walls.

Volleys of arrows whooshed down on us in return, so heavy and strong they tore through flimsy shields and pierced men in two. The volley sounded like a thunderstorm.

Images from the Crusade burned in my brain.

I waved frantically for everyone to move back. Some were angry and wanted to charge. They had followed me for days with little food. All they had thought of was striking their picks and hammers against the walls of Treille, tearing it down chunk by chunk. Others, seeing blood and death for the first time swarmed back, afraid.

This is what Baldwin wanted. To show that our makeshift weapons were useless. Anger was setting in, and we hadn’t even begun the siege. My blood was racing. I had brought a thousand men here. We had the town surrounded. We had the will to fight but not the weapons to break through. All Baldwin had to do was open the gates and I knew all but the most hardened fighters would turn and flee.

But the gates did not open. No warhorses thundered out. He was probably amused at our spineless lack of resolve.

The commitment of this entire army hung in the balance. All eyes looked toward me.

A farmer carrying a broken hoe came up to me. “You have brought us here, jester. How will we take this castle? With this?” He threw the hoe down as if it were a useless twig.

“No.” I tapped my chest where my heart was. “We will take their castle with this.

“Get the raiding party together,” I told Odo. My spine stiffened with resolve. “We go tonight.”

Chapter 111

THAT NIGHT, as most of our ranks dozed, I got together the twenty brave men who would sneak into the castle.

There was Odo and Alphonse from our town, Alois and four of his best from Morrisaey. For the rest, we chose strong-hearted men we could trust, who would not back down from killing with their bare hands.

One by one, they arrived before my fire, wondering, why were they here?

“How do you intend to take this castle with us,” Alois asked, “when you can’t make a dent in it with a thousand men?”

“We’ll have to take it without a dent,” I said. “I know a way inside. Come with me now or go back to sleep.”

We armed ourselves with swords and knives. Father Leo blessed us with a prayer. I handed him the lance. “On the chance that I don’t return.”

“Are you ready, then?” I looked around at the men. I clasped each of their hands. “Say good-bye to your friends. Pray we see them on the other side.”

“Are we talking about Heaven?” Odo asked.

“I was speaking of the wall,” I said, and faked a laugh.

Under the cover of night, we crept away from the campsites and out behind the hutted settlements and narrow streets that clung to the city walls. Torches lit up the defenses above us, [326] lookouts peering for signs of life. We crouched in the shadow of the wall.

Odo tapped my shoulder. “So, Hugh, this ever been done before?”

“What?”

“People like us, bondmen, rising against their liege.”

“A group of farmers rose against the duke of Bourges,” I said.

The smith seemed satisfied. We crept a little farther. He tapped me again. “So, how’d it turn out for them?”

I pressed my back against the wall. “I think they were slaughtered to a man.”

“Oh.” The big smith grunted. His face turned white.

I mussed his shaggy hair. “They were discovered talking under the walls. Now shush!”

We continued, creeping along the east edge of town. In the crook of a ravine, we came across a shallow moat. It reeked, stagnant with putrid water and sewage. It was more of a large ditch; we could cross it with a jump.

At each point, I scanned the base of the wall for a sign of the tunnel once shown to me by Palimpost. None… As we moved along, the terrain grew tougher to traverse and the walls rose high above us, too tall for any kind of assault. That was good; no lookouts would be manning the walls here.

But where was the blasted passageway?

I began to get worried. Soon it would be light. Another day. There was the chance Baldwin would unleash his warriors to break our will.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing, Hugh?” Odo muttered.

“Hell of a time to ask,” I snapped.

Then I spotted it: a formation of piled rocks concealed behind some brush on the bank of the moat. I sighed with relief. “There!”

[327] We scurried down the embankment and straddled the moat. Then I pulled my way up the other side. I ripped through the dense brush and began to tear apart the pile of rocks.

The declining pile revealed the entrance to a tunnel.

“Never doubted you for an instant.” Odo laughed.

Chapter 112

THE CRAWL SPACE WAS AS I REMEMBERED-dark, narrow, barely enough room for a man to pass. And shin-deep with murky, foul-smelling water trickling down to the moat.

There were no torches to light our way. I had to trust my instincts against the dark, feeling along the cold, rocky walls. I knew each one in my party had his heart in his throat too. It was like crawling into Hell-cold, pitch-black, odiferous. Floating shit and other refuse lapped against our feet. Moments stretched along like hours. With every step, I grew less sure of the way. After countless prayers, I came upon a fork in the tunnel. One path continued up, the other went left. I decided to follow the path upward, since the castle stood at the top of the hill.

“We are all right,” I whispered. But I wasn’t really sure. The word rippled down the line. We climbed higher and higher, cutting through the mount on which Baldwin’s castle was built. Above us, Treille slept.

Suddenly a blast of air hit me from ahead. I noticed light slanting onto the wall. I quickened my pace and came to a spot I vaguely remembered. The dungeon. Where Palimpost had sneaked me into the tunnel.

I passed the word, “Ready your weapons.” Then, with a deep breath, I pressed at the stone in the cave where the light trickled in.

[329] It moved. I pushed it a little more. The slab gave way.

Soon, all twenty men had pulled themselves out of the tunnel. By my reckoning, it was still before dawn. The relief detail had not come.

Two guards were asleep, their feet up on a table. One was that pig Armand who had delighted in torturing me when I was captive here. A third guard snoozed on the stairs.

I signaled Odo and Alois, and each silently crept behind one of the guards. We had to take them quickly. Any sound would be as good as an alarm.

At my nod, we were on them. Odo took the one on the stairs, and as he gagged on a loud snore, wrapped his thick, muscular arms around the man’s throat.

Alois cupped his hand over the mouth of one sleeping at the table. His eyes flew open. As he strained to scream, the woodsman slid a sharp blade across his neck. The guard’s legs stiffened and shook, more of a spasm than a fight.

Armand was mine. At the sound of commotion, he blinked himself awake, befuddled. Clearing his eyes, he bolted up to see his partners slumped to the floor and a familiar face grinning down at him.

“Remember me?” I winked.

Then I bashed him in the face with the hilt of my sword. He toppled backward, kicking the table aside, and landed, mouth bloody, on his back.

He reached behind him for an iron stake leaning on the wall. François, one of the Morrisaey woodsmen, stepped up.

“No need to be so civilized.” The woodsman shrugged and hammered Armand to the floor with his club, stepping on his throat and pinning the struggling jailer’s airway with his huge foot. Armand gagged and choked, flailing his arms from side to side, but the woodsman’s step was like a vise. In a minute, Armand’s arms relaxed.

“Quick,” I said to Odo and Alois, “into their uniforms.”

We stripped the guards and donned their purple-and-white [330] tunics. Then we put on their helmets and armed ourselves with their swords. We dragged the bodies back down the corridor.

Suddenly there was the creaking of a door opening above. Voices coming down the stairs.

“Time to wake up, sleepyheads,” someone called. “It’s almost light. Hey, what’s going on?”

Chapter 113

BETTE, THE DUKE’S COOK, had risen early that morning. She had hurried down to the kitchen and by dawn busied herself with her usual task of preparing the morning meal.

She stirred the porridge until it was the perfect consistency. She took down a jar of cinnamon, a sweet new spice brought back from the East, and sprinkled it onto the simmering grain. She fried cured pork over the flame, and it gave off a delicious, fatty smell. She dressed the porridge with currants.

The two guards who stood watch outside the pantry, she knew, were about to end their overnight shift. Pierre and Imo, lazy slobs. This wasn’t exactly crack duty, guarding the royal kitchen when an army threatened at the gates.

Bette knew they would be dead tired, ready for a snooze, and that their bellies would be aching for something to eat. The early-morning cooking smells would lure them like a whore’s scent.

As the sun broke through the early mist, Bette tied up two burlap sacks filled with last night’s mess. Then she poked her head out of the kitchen.

“What are you making? Smells like Heaven,” Pierre, the plumper of the guards, said.

“Whatever it is, the duke seems to prize it.” Bette winked. “And there’s some extra this morning, if I can get a chore done for me.”

[332] “Show us, cooky,” Pierre said.

Bette grinned and led them back through the kitchen. She showed them the two heavy pails of garbage.

“Empty them in the back,” Bette instructed. “Just make sure you captains of war don’t spill them.”

“Pile on those currants.” Imo grinned, hoisting his pail. “We’ll be right back.”

“Of course.” Bette nodded.

She looked out the window. An anxious tremor fluttered in her heart. This was a dangerous line she had crossed, but she had crossed it in her mind long ago. When the duke unceremoniously hanged her friend Natalie as a thief for taking a bit of salve from the physician’s chambers; and when her second cousin Teddy had his flock confiscated and was forced to tend them in the duke’s own pen. She would have gladly poisoned the prick herself, if Hugh had asked.

The two soldiers went in back and emptied the pails carelessly onto the garbage pile, drooling with anticipation of their forthcoming meal.

Behind them, two other soldiers dressed in purple and white stood up and grabbed them by the neck. Pierre’s and Imo’s eyes bulged as they were dragged to the ground.

Bette wiped her hands on a rag. Yes, it was a dangerous line she had crossed… but what choice was there?

She sighed. It was a crazy time when you had to choose between a madman and a fool.

Chapter 114

IN AN HOUR’S TIME, fourteen of our men stood about the courtyard, dressed as Baldwin’s own brigade.

The rest kept from sight, concealed behind the dungeon door. Like Bette, three of Geoffrey’s friends had helped lure soldiers into our trap.

Odo and I stood guard at the dungeon door, looking for a sign that the duke was conducting business. Across the courtyard, two guards stood with halberds on either side of the castle entrance. Others crossed back and forth at a crisp pace, wheeling weapons and armaments down to the ramparts.

From down the road, we could hear our own men massing at the city walls-shouting and taunting, just as I had ordered them.

Finally I spotted Geoffrey entering the courtyard. He scratched his head, then flashed me a purposeful nod.

“It’s time,” I said, rapping at the dungeon door.

Odo slid it open. The balance of our party, some still in their own clothes, headed out. In the hubbub of people moving about, no one noticed. We made our way across the courtyard. We were joined by the rest of our ranks in Baldwin’s uniforms, loitering about.

As we approached the castle guards, one of them lowered his halberd in our path. “Only military personnel in the castle today.”

[334] “These men have business before the duke,” I said, indicating those not wearing guards’ uniforms. “They have come from the woods and know of the jester.”

The guards hesitated. They eyed us up and down. My heart beat wildly. “We’ve come from the wall,” I said in a firmer voice. “Do you have the time to conduct an investigation when there’s important news to deliver to the duke?” Finally, eyeing our uniforms, the guard retracted the halberd and let us by.

We were inside the castle. I boldly led the group through the main vestibule toward the great hall.

To my surprise, the halls were not as busy as I expected. Most of the duke’s manpower was defending the walls. The times I had been here before, these same halls were crowded with petitioners and favor-seekers.

I led the way to the great hall. Two more guards stood at attention before the large doorway. The duke’s voice bellowed inside. My stomach churned.

“We are wanted within.” I snapped a nod to the guards. I wore the purple and white. We’d made it this far. No one made a move to block us.

Our ranks sifted into the duke’s large meeting room. It was just as I remembered when I had been a jester here, except that then, it had been packed with people conducting business; today, I saw mostly Baldwin’s retinue and knights.

Baldwin was slouched in his chair. He wore a military tunic with his crest and high leather boots. His sword was sheathed in an ornate scabbard.

The pig!

A high-ranking officer was concluding a report on the scene outside the walls. Two of my men remained behind, near the guards at the doorway.

“My lord,” the chamberlain said, “the rabble has made a petition for you to consider.”

“A petition?” Baldwin shrugged.

[335] “A list of demands,” the new chatelain, who had presumably taken over for Norcross, explained.

My men circulated around the room. Odo and Alphonse took positions behind the duke. Alois and two others from Morrisaey edged near the chamberlain and the chatelain.

“Who brings these demands?” Baldwin perked up. “Our fucking jester?”

“No, my lord,” the chamberlain replied. “Your jester is nowhere in sight. Perhaps he is afraid to get out of bed. But it is as we spoke. Let them deliver their complaints. And you give them the impression that you will seriously take them into account.”

“Into account.” Baldwin stroked his beard. He turned to the chatelain. “Chatelain, choose your lowest, most unfit soldier, prop him up on a mule, and send him out to receive these grievances. Have him convey to the filth that they have his assurance it will receive our most urgent review.”

A few of the knights snickered.

The chatelain stepped up. “I beg you, sir, not to mock these men.”

“Your protest is heard. Now, hurry off and find this latrine-cleaner. And Gui, when your man is safely back, kill a few of them. Just to assure them we are placing their petition under our most urgent review.”

“But my lord, they will be protected, under truce,” the chatelain said hesitantly.

“Are you whining again? Chamberlain, do you think you could head to the walls and carry out this decree? My military man seems to have come down with a case of cold dick.”

“I can, my lord.” The fat weasel scrambled away.

About the room, everyone stood aghast at the chatelain’s rebuke.

“Now.” Baldwin stood, staring around the room. “Is there anyone else in here who has a similar plan?”

“Yes,” I shouted from the back of the room. “I think we should attack. Attack your enemies in the west.”

Chapter 115

BALDWIN POUNDED his fist. “We don’t have any fucking enemies in the…” Then he fixed perfectly still. His eyes bulged like dark plums. “Who said that? Who is that man? Come forward.”

I stepped out from the crowd and let the military tunic fall off my shoulders. I stood in my checkerboard tunic and leggings. I removed my helmet. I watched his eyes home in on my face.

“You do now…” I winked at him.

Baldwin’s face drained of color. Then he stood and pointed at me, saying, “It’s him. The jester!”

Soldiers went for their arms but were immediately intercepted by men in their own uniform, my men, pressing swords to their throats.

The chatelain made a move toward me, but Alois subdued him before he drew his sword.

“Seize him. Do you hear?” Baldwin ordered the guards behind his chair.

They moved toward me but in almost the same motion took hold of the duke. Odo was one of them. He placed a knife against Baldwin’s throat; Alphonse dug his sword into the middle of Baldwin’s back.

[337] The duke’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. He looked at his knights, many of whom had scrambled for their arms.

“If they charge, you’re a dead bastard,” I said to him. “It would give me much pleasure.”

Baldwin looked about, his neck muscles twitching. Outrage smoldered in his eyes, All around, men loyal to the duke were held at knifepoint. Some knights drew their swords, looking to Baldwin for the word.

“Tell them, arms down,” I said. Odo pressed his knife and finally drew a trickle of noble blood.

Baldwin’s eyes flitted desperately from side to side as he estimated the probable outcome of any resistance.

“Trust me, liege, these men who hold you hate you more than I do,” I said. “I do not know if they will even heed me, they want to spill your guts so badly. But on the assumption that they want their children to live in peace more than they want your steaming entrails on the floor, I beg you, tell the knights to put down their arms. Otherwise, when I drop my hand, you are dead.”

Baldwin did not answer but continued to look about. Then he nodded almost imperceptibly. One by one, the knights’ blades clattered to the floor.

My chest heaved a sigh of relief. “Now we go outside, my liege. You’ll tell your men on the walls to lay down their arms.”

The duke swallowed, a lump slowly traveling down his throat. “You are insane,” he spat.

“And you seem to be a little foolstruck as well, my lord, if you don’t mind me saying.”

An amused snicker traveled across the room.

“You will be dead by nightfall.” Baldwin burned his gaze into my face. “Towns will come to my defense. To rise against a lord this way, you could only be the biggest fool in history.”

I looked slowly around the room. Odo curled back a smile, then Alphonse, then Alois.

“Perhaps the second biggest,” I replied.

Chapter 116

WE DRAGGED THE LORD BALDWIN outside, forcing him at sword point to the castle gates.

Each soldier we passed looked on with dumbfounded shock. Some, no doubt eager to resist, looked to their liege for a sign, but at the sight of Baldwin’s beaten eyes, and the bailiff, chamberlain, and chatelain trailing submissively behind, they held their weapons at their sides.

As we marched, stunned townspeople rushed to line the streets. They must have thought themselves hungover.

A few began to jeer. “Look at Baldwin. It’s what you deserve, you greedy hog.” There was laughing, and scraps of food and debris began to be thrown.

As we approached the walls, I saw that word must have traveled ahead. Soldiers were just staring at us, lances and bows held at their sides.

“Tell them the battle is over.” I pushed Baldwin forward. “Tell them to lay down their arms and open the gate.”

“You can’t expect them to stand by and let in that mob.” Baldwin sniffed. “They will be ripped to shreds.”

“Not a soul will be harmed; you have my word on it. Except, of course, you,” I continued, pressing the sword in deeper, “if you fail to comply. My guess is, not one of them would mind the sight of that very much.”

[339] Baldwin swallowed. “Put down your arms,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Louder.” I prodded him.

“Put down your arms,” Baldwin shouted. “The castle is lost. Open the gates.”

Everyone remained still. In disbelief. Then two of my men ran and threw off the heavy beams that secured the gates. They flung the doors open, and a band of our men, Georges the miller at the lead, burst in.

“What took you so long?” the miller said, coming up to me.

“Our liege was so thoroughly set on hearing each last grievance, we lost track of time.” I grinned.

Georges ran his eyes over the captured duke. No doubt he had been thinking of this moment for a long time. “My apologies, lord. You raised our taxes. I think I owe you my last installment.”

With that, he spat a thick yellow wad all over the duke’s face. Georges’s eyes remained on him while the spit slowly trickled its way down Baldwin’s chin. “Now here’s my grievance.” He put his face close to the duke’s. “I am Georges, miller of Veille du Père. I want my son back.”

All around us, farmers and peasants spilled into the streets and climbed up the ramparts. Hesitant soldiers climbed out of the towers and ran terrified off the walls.

A few people started to shout my name, “Hugh, Hugh, Hugh …” I looked with pride at the miller and Odo, and we thrust our arms victoriously into the air.

Chapter 117

WE TOSSED BALDWIN into his own dungeon-into the dark, cramped cell where I was once held myself.

There was much in those first hours that needed my attention. With the duke under lock and key, his soldiers had to be disarmed, and the plotting chamberlain and bailiff put under guard. The chatelain too, though, strangely, I did not feel him an enemy. Order had to be maintained in our ranks as well if we intended to press our case in a peaceful way before the King.

My mind ran to Emilie.

Where was she? I needed to share this with her. Our victory was as much hers as mine. A flash of worry went through me.

I hurried out of the castle and down the narrow streets in the direction of Geoffrey’s home. People tried to stop and cheer me, but I pushed through, keeping up a brave face but inwardly beseeching them to let me pass. Something was wrong!

My pace quickened as I neared the market. Some of the merchants shouted my name, but I ignored them and finally turned down the street to Geoffrey’s house.

I pounded on the door. Something now terrified me. I slammed my fist against the door, my heart galloping with each desperate knock.

Finally the door creaked open. Isabel was there! She had a [341] look on her face that was first pleased to find me well, then all at once serious and alarmed. I knew that something was wrong.

“She’s gone, Hugh,” she muttered.

“Gone?” Gone where … ? How? All the strength in my body seemed to drain away.

“At first I thought she went to find you, but just a while ago I saw this.”

Isabel handed me a note, scribbled in a hurried hand.

My brave Hugh,

Do not fear as you read this, for my heart is yours-always. But I must go.

By now, your victory is complete. I was not wrong, was I? What once was will not always be. You have climbed a rung to your own destiny. To see you do this, confirm the specialness I saw in you from the first, nothing in the world could make me more proud.

But now I must return to Borée. Don’t be angry. Anne is like a mother to me. I cannot abandon her and be joyous in the glow of your triumph.

Please, do not worry. There are some things I have not shared with you, and even Stephen would not dare do me any harm. Write the King, Hugh. Make your triumph true. I will do my part.

This was so cruel. My eyes welled with stinging tears. I could not lose her. Not now, after so much had happened. I swallowed hard, struggling to read the end:

You have been my true love since I saw you that very first day. I know I shall say that to you when we see each other again. I hold up my palm. Remember the words,

In all the world…

Emilie

[342] A sharp pain lanced through me, bleeding out the joy and triumph of all that had taken place. I had won the day. But I had lost the woman I loved.

Chapter 118

“WHO IS THERE?” a cranky voice barked from behind the door. “Speak to me!”

Emilie hunched inside her dark hood. The familiar testiness was like an old friend, and it made her smile. “Have your wits become as dull as your jokes, Norbert?” she called back.

Slowly the door to the jester’s chamber cracked open. Norbert peeked out, his tunic open to his chest and his hair tousled and awry.

At first, he regarded the huddled shape suspiciously. Then, as she removed the hood, his eyes opened wide. “Lady Emilie!”

Norbert glanced down the corridor to make sure she was alone, then spread his arms and embraced her. “It’s a beautiful sight to see you.”

Emilie squeezed him back. “It’s good to see you too, jester.”

Norbert hurried her inside his room. He shut the door, then frowned. “It’s a beautiful sight, my lady, but not necessarily to see you here. You’ve taken a great risk to come back. But tell me quick-you’ve been with Hugh?”

Emilie brought him up to date. First, on the raid on Veille du Père and the existence of the lance. “The very staff you sent to Hugh.” Then, of the incredible events that followed. The townspeople who had risen up with him. Treille. With each piece of [344] news, the jester’s eyes grew more incredulous, his cackles of delight more unrestrained.

When she told him of Baldwin’s capture, he danced around and fell back on his mat, kicking his legs with glee. “I knew that boy was a gift from God, but this…”

He lifted himself back up, his laughter subsiding. He studied her face, the rosy cast of her cheeks. “But tell me, my lady… why are you here now?”

Emilie lowered her eyes. “For my mistress. It is my duty.”

“Your mistress! Then you have traveled a long way and at much risk for no end. Things are much changed here. The duke dreams of killing Hugh with the zeal of a dog slobbering over a cooking roast. Does anyone know you have arrived?”

“I mingled with a party of monks returning from pilgrimage. I came to you first.”

“That is wise. Your last running off is exposed. It is assumed you were with Hugh. If not for Lady Anne’s protest, Stephen’s guards would be looking for you too.”

Emilie’s face lit up. “I knew she would be true. I was right about Anne.”

Chapter 119

IT TOOK SEVERAL DAYS to completely secure Treille. There were a few stubborn knights still loyal to Baldwin. And word of a purported reprisal from one of the duke’s supposed allies. But no reprisal came.

Treille was ours.

Now there was the matter of what to do with it.

There was the issue of the duke’s treasury, which had been fattened on the backs of those who now occupied his city. And vast stores of grain and livestock had to be redistributed fairly.

A debate raged between those who had been with us from the start and those who joined later about what to do. Georges said give out the keys to the grain holds. Let each man leave with a sack and a hen. Alois said why stop there. Raid the treasury. Redistribute all the money. Put a noose to the bastard!

I wished Emilie were there. I had no skill to govern, nor the urge. I did not know exactly what to do, or what was right.

It was only a matter of time before I would lose my army. The ranks were growing impatient. They wanted to go back to their homes. “It’s harvest time,” they said. “When do we get what we were promised?”

And not just food and money. They needed laws to protect them. The right to choose: where to live, whom they would serve. If a man was pledged to a lord, need his children and [346] their children be bound by the same pledge? Someone had to rule on such things.

One night, I found a sheaf of paper, Baldwin’s seal, and a vial of viscous, red-tinged ink. I sat down and started to write the most important letter of my life.

To His Majesty, Philip Capet, Ruler of France,

I pray God grants me the words by which to write this, for I am a humble townsman. A bondman, in fact, thrust into a larger role.

I am said to be the leader of a group of brave men. Some call it a rabble; I call it an outpouring. An outpouring of farmers, tanners, woodsmen-all your servants-who have risen up against our liege lord after repeated cruel and unnecessary attacks.

I write from Treille, Your Majesty, where I sit at Duke Baldwin’s own table, his lordship held prisoner, while I await word from you as to what to do next.

We are not traitors, far from it. We bound together to fight cruel injustice, and only when it threatened our safety and well-being. We bound together to demand laws, so that rape and murder could not be committed on us freely, and property destroyed without cause. We bound together to free ourselves from a servitude without end.

Is it such an incredible dream, Sire, that all God’s men, common and noble alike, should be governed by just laws?

Many who marched with us have served Your Majesty in wars, or taken up the Cross of His Holiness in the ongoing struggle against the Turk. We ask only what we have been promised for such service: the right to a fair tax; the right to grievance and recompense for harsh penalties forced upon us; the right to face an assailant at trial, noble or not; the right to own land, fairly paid to our lord, for years of labor and toil.

[347] We have done all this with little bloodshed. We have acted in peace and respect. But our ranks grow weary. Please send us word, Your Majesty, of your conviction on such matters.

In return for your judgment, I offer you the only tribute I have-but, I think, a worthy one: the most holy treasure in all of Christendom, thrust into my possession in Antioch.

The very Lance that pierced the Lord Jesus Christ upon the Cross.

It is a treasure worth having, yet amazing as it is, it is not nearly as great as the hearts of these men who serve you.

We await your answer,

In faith, Your humble servant,

Hugh De Luc, Innkeeper, Veille du Père.

I waited for the ink to dry.

A tightness pulled at my chest. So many had died. Sophie, Matthew, my baby son. Nico, Robert, the Turk. All to get me here?

The lance was leaning against the table. What if I had died in that church at the hands of the Turk? I thought. What if none of this had taken place?

Finally I folded the parchment and bound it with the duke’s own seal. I saw that my hands trembled.

A most miraculous thing had just taken place. I, a bondman, a jester by trade, a man without a home, without a denier to his name…

I had just addressed a letter to the King of France.