The Jester

Chapter 120

STEPHEN, DUKE OF BORÉE, winced as the physician applied another repulsive leech to his back. “If you bleed me any more, physician, there will be more of me in these suckers than left in me.”

The physician went about his work. “You complain of ill humor, my lord, yet you complain of the cure as well.”

Stephen sniffed. “All the leeches in the world couldn’t bleed me enough to raise my mood.”

Ever since the failure of Morgaine’s raid, Stephen had been hurled into a biting melancholy. His most trusted and ruthless men had been routed. Worse, he had lost his best chance to grab the lance. Then, to make matters worse, the arrogant little pest had the gall to march on Treille. It made his choler boil to a fever pitch.

Then, only yesterday, he had received the incredible news that the fool had actually taken Treille; that Baldwin, idiot of idiots, had surrendered his own castle.

Stephen grimaced, feeling his humors sucked out of him by these slimy little slugs.

So the lance was still to be had! He thought of calling a Crusade to liberate Treille, to capture the prize that had been pilfered by the deserter and return it to its rightful place. Borée, of [352] course. But who knew where it would end up then? Paris or Rome or even back in Antioch.

At that moment, things got even worse-Anne walked in. She looked at him, prone, covered with welts, and held back a smile of amusement. “You asked for me, my lord?”

“I did. Physician, give me a word with my wife.”

“But the leeching, my lord, it is not over…”

Stephen jumped up, swatting the slimy little creatures off his back. “You have the hand of an executioner, doctor, not a healer. Get these creatures out of here. From now on I’ll handle my ill temper my own way.”

Anne regarded him with a slight smile. “I’m surprised these slimy things offend you so, since you are akin in so many ways.”

She came over and ran her hand along his back, mottled with fiery red welts. “From the look of this, your ill temper must have been most severe. Shall I apply the salve?”

“If you are not too offended to touch me.” Stephen kept her eye.

“Of course not, husband.” She dipped her hands in the thick white ointment, applying it liberally to the welts on his back. “I am quite used to offense. What was it you needed of me?”

“I hoped to inquire into the well-being of your cousin Emilie. That her visit to her aunt went well.”

“I suspect so.” Anne spread the salve. “She seems quite rosy.”

Rosy… Both of them knew the bitch never went within fifty miles of the old hen, her aunt.

“I would like to talk with her,” he said, “and hear the details of her visit.”

“These leeches seem to have dug particularly deep,” Anne said, applying pressure to one sore. Stephen jumped. His head spun. “All this leisure here does not seem to suit you, husband. Perhaps you should return to the Holy Land for some more amusement. Regarding Emilie, I’m afraid she is too weary to [353] provide much detail. Weary …” she said, pressing again, “yet rosy, as I say.”

“Enough.” Stephen seized her arm. “You know I do not need to ask for your permission.”

“You do not.” Anne glared. “But you also know she remains under my protection. And even you, my scheming husband, must know what price you will have to pay if any harm comes to her.”

She dug the edge of her nail into a particularly swollen welt, Stephen almost jumping off the table.

He raised his arm as if to strike. Anne did not flinch. Instead, she merely looked at him, detestation firing her eyes. Then she slowly eased into a smile. “I am here, husband, if you wish to strike. Or I can call one of the housemaids, if you find my face too rough.”

“I shall not be mocked,” Stephen said, brushing her away, “within my own house.”

“Then perhaps it would be wise to move.” Anne smiled sharply.

“Get out,” he shouted, passing his hand within an inch of her face. “Do not pretend, Anne, that your little vow of protection gives me even a moment of hesitation. In the end, you will regret such mockery. You, and the pink-cheeked whore that waits on you, and the lowborn fool she is so wont to fuck.”

Chapter 121

“YOUR GRACE!” Stephen knelt to kiss the ruby ring of Barthelme, bishop of Borée, even though he thought him the most air-filled, well-fed functionary in France. “So good of you to join me on such short notice. Please, sit here by me.”

Bishop Barthelme was a corpulent, owl-eyed man with a sagging jowl that seemed to sink almost undetectably into his massive purple robe. Stephen wondered how such a man could take a step, or climb a stair, or even perform his sacraments. He knew the bishop did not like being summoned. He thought he was too good for this diocese and longed for a larger position. In Paris, or even Rome.

“You have taken me from my sext for this?” the bishop wheezed.

At Stephen’s nod, a young page filled two silver cups with ale.

“It’s called alembic.” Stephen raised his goblet. “It is brewed by monks near Flanders.”

The bishop managed a smile. “If it’s God’s work, then I feel I have not strayed too far.”

They both took a deep draft. “Aaah.” The cleric licked his lips. “It is most sweet. Tastes of apples and mead. Yet I feel you did not call me to hear my opinion of your ale.”

“I have asked you here today,” Stephen said, “because there is a hole torn in my soul which you can help mend.”

[355] Barthelme nodded and listened.

Stephen leaned close. “You have heard of this uprising in the south, where a jester has led a rabble of peasants.”

Barthelme smirked. “I know a stupider man does not exist than Baldwin, so it is not so far-fetched that he was outfoxed by a fool. Yet reports say this man was your fool once, your lordship?”

Stephen put down his cup and glared through the bishop’s haughty smile. “Let me get to the point, Your Grace. Do you know what this jester carries with him, that is the source of his appeal?”

“The message of a better life. The freedom from bondage,” the bishop said.

“It is not his message that I speak of, but his staff.”

The cleric nodded. “I have heard that he parades around with a spear purported to be the holy lance. But these petty prophets are always claiming this or that… holy water from the baptism of Saint John, burial shrouds of the Virgin Mary.”

“So this does not concern you?” Stephen asked. “That a trumped-up country boy uses the name of our Lord to incite rebellion?”

“These local prophets.” The bishop sighed. “They come and go like the frost, every year.”

Stephen leaned forward. “And it does not concern you that this peasant marches around with the word of Christ, inciting the rabble to overthrow their lieges?”

“It sounds like you are the one who is worried, Stephen. Besides, I have heard it is not grace this lad is seeking, but grain.”

A smile etched onto the cleric’s face, the smile of a gambling man with knowledge of the outcome. “What do you want, Stephen, for the church to fight your battles? Shall we contact Rome and declare a holy crusade against a fool?”

“What I want, Your Grace, is to strike these ignorant puppets where they most ache. More than their bellies or their [356] desires, or their silly dreams of this precious freedom they long to taste.”

Barthelme waited for him, quizzically.

“Their souls, Your Grace. I want to crush their souls. And you are the man who can do it for me.”

The bishop put down his drink. His expression shifted from amusement to concern. “Just what is it you want me to do?”

Chapter 122

NO REPLY CAME from the King, and day by day, the ranks grew more tired and impatient. These were not soldiers, prepared to occupy a city like Treille. They were farmers, tradesmen, husbands, and fathers. They longed to go home.

Lookouts were scattered along the road to the north, but each day, no answer came.

Why? If Emilie had contacted him? If she was able. And what if she was not?

Then one day the lookouts did spot a party traveling south toward the castle. I was in the great room. Alphonse burst in. “H-Hugh, a party of riders is approaching. It looks like it could be from the King!”

We rushed to the city walls as fast as our legs would carry us. I climbed the ramparts and watched the party approach, my heart racing. From the north, six riders at full gallop. Knights, carrying a banner, but not in the purple and gold of the royal flag.

But with a cross upon it. Knights pledged to the Church.

They escorted a rider in the center of their group, in the dark robes of a cleric.

We drew open the outer gates, and the party rode into the courtyard. A crowd gathered in the square. All of us-Odo, Georges, the Morrisaey men. Many grinned optimistically.

[358] “Is this good or bad?” Alphonse asked.

“I think it’s good,” Father Leo said. “The King wouldn’t send a priest to rebuke us. You’ll see.”

The gaunt, clear-eyed priest slowly dismounted. He wasted no time and faced the crowd. “I am Father Julian, emissary to his eminence Bishop Barthelme. I bear an urgent decree.”

“I am Hugh,” I said. I bowed and made the sign of the cross to show respect.

“My message is for all to hear,” the priest said, passing his eyes right over me. He removed a folded document from his robe and held it aloft.

“ ‘Occupiers of Treille,’ ” the cleric began in a loud, clear voice. “ ‘Farmers, woodsmen, tradesmen, bondmen and free, all followers of the man known as Hugh De Luc… a deserter from the Army of the Cross, which still valiantly fights to free the Holy Land…’ ”

A flash of worry chilled my blood. The crowd grew still.

“ ‘His eminence the Bishop Barthelme Abreau rebukes you for your false rebellion and urges you, this day, the seventeenth of October, 1098, to disband at once, to renounce all claims and territory seized from Duke Baldwin of Treille, and to return to your villages at once or face the full consequence of your actions: immediate and total excommunication from the Church of Rome and the separation from Grace, forever, for your eternal souls.’ ”

The priest paused to observe the look of shock that was on every face, including mine.

“ ‘His eminence insists,’ ” he continued, “ ‘that you repudiate all teachings and promises of the heretic, Hugh De Luc; deny the legitimacy of and confiscate any relics or symbols claimed to be of holy origin in his possession; and discredit all claims, made that present him as an agent of our Lord Jesus Christ.’ ”

“No.” People shook their heads. “This cannot be…” They looked about, at one another, at me, with alarm.

[359] The young priest shouted over them, “In the hopes that you will adhere to this decree immediately and that your souls may be made available to once again receive the Holy Sacrament, a two-day period of enforcement is declared, citing me as the final overseer. This edict is signed His Eminence, Barthelme Abreau, bishop of Borée, representative of the Holy See.”

Borée! I thought. Stephen had done this!

A frightened hush hung over the crowd.

“This is madness.” Father Leo spoke. “These people are not heretics. They only fought for food in their mouths.”

“Then I suggest they chew quickly,” the young priest said, “and return to their farms before their souls remain hungry forever. And you as well, country priest.” He tacked the edict on the church wall.

“This is Stephen’s blackmail,” I shouted to all around. “It is the lance he wants.”

“Then give it to him,” someone yelled, “if it buys back our immortal souls.”

“I’m sorry, Hugh. I came for a fight.” Another shook his head. “But I’m not prepared to be damned for eternity.”

All around, our army looked terrified and overwhelmed. Some climbed down from the walls and meandered slowly toward the city gates.

“That’s right.” The priest nodded. “The Church welcomes you, but only if you act now. Go back to your farms and wives.”

How could I fight against this poisonous assault? These brave men thought they were doing something good when they followed me. Something that God would shine on.

I watched as a steady stream of friends and fighters passed dejectedly by me and toward the city gates. A tightening anger burrowed deep into my chest.

We had just lost the war.

Chapter 123

THAT NIGHT, ODO FOUND ME huddled by myself in the chapel.

I was actually praying. Praying about what to do. If there was indeed a God, I did not believe He would let a bunch of scheming, well-fed pawns like Father Julian, who didn’t give a thought to whether my men lived or died, crush their resolve.

“I know we’re deep in shit,” Odo said with a snort, “if we’ve got you praying.”

“How many of our men are still left?” I asked.

“Half, maybe less. By tomorrow, who knows? Perhaps not even enough to hold the city. We still have some good ones. Georges, Alphonse, the Morrisaey boys… even Father Leo. Most of those who’ve been with us from the start.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Still trusting me?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. Let’s just say, if they’re making their bet with God, they trust the holy lance more than they trust that slimy church mouse.”

I pulled the lance from the bench next to me and cradled it in my palms.

“So…?” Odo said. “That thing providing any answers? What is next?”

“What is next,” I replied, “is that it’s me Stephen wants, or at [361] least this… not your souls. This edict is a challenge: ‘Come face me if you have the will.’ I’ve no choice but to go.”

“Go?” Odo laughed. “You’re going to march on Borée with what we’ve got left?”

“No, my friend.” I shook my head. “I’m going to march on Borée alone.”

It seemed to take Odo a second to decide whether to object or roll his eyes. “You’re going to Borée? Just you and that spear?”

“You see what he’s telling me, Odo? He has burned villages to get this lance. He killed my wife and child. He has Emilie now. What else can I do?”

“We can wait. Keep Baldwin under guard until word comes. The King will surely stop this lunacy.”

“This is the King’s word.” I shook my head. “The King is noble. He will side with Baldwin and Stephen without even hearing our claims. These men are pledged to him. They raise armies to fight his wars. We… what do we raise, hens?”

“Even a king can be swayed by a good omelet.” The big smith chuckled. Then he looked at me plainly. “I am with you, Hugh, until the end.”

I grabbed his wrist. “No more, Odo. You’ve been a loyal friend, all of you. You’ve trusted me more than any fool could ever ask for.” I shot him a smile. “But now I have to face this. This thing … it has brought me mostly pain. But some things-seeing the town stand up, feeling the pride as we marched on Treille, Baldwin ’s face-they’ve been a joy.”

“You’ve become quite a bad philosopher since you put on that skirt,” Odo commented.

“Maybe… but I go alone.”

Odo didn’t answer, just took a deep breath and smiled. Then he looked around. “So this is what it’s like on the inside of a church. The seats are hard and there’s nothing to eat. I don’t see the attraction.”

[362] “That makes two of us.” I grinned in reply. We sat a moment, draped in silence.

“So where would we be,” I asked, “if I hadn’t wandered off that day on the Crusade? If I had never left, and Sophie and Phillipe were still alive. And Father Leo was preaching dull sermons. And you still put in an honest day’s work.”

Odo checked the window for the angle of the sun. “I figure, hoisting an ale. Listening to your stupid jokes.”

I stood up, patted him on the back. “Then let’s do that, friend. I’m sure there’s a cellar here. And I still know a few you haven’t heard.”

Chapter 124

AT DAWN THE NEXT MORNING, I pulled on my tattered jester’s tunic, said good-bye to my old friends who had been with me from the start, put the sacred lance under my arm, and left.

Georges, Odo, Father Leo, and Alphonse met me by the city gates. I urged them not to buckle, but to remain and hold the city. That what we had done was right and would one day be honored.

But what I had to do now was right too. And I had to face it, alone, whatever the cost.

As I prepared to mount my horse, I gave Georges and Odo heartfelt hugs. “God bless you both,” I said. I thanked them for following me, for believing. For taking the chance. In their strong, silent embraces and held-back tears, I felt the grip of a sadness that we might never see one another again.

Then I mounted the horse and, glancing back with a wink and a smile, headed down the hill. I vowed not to look back again.

At the base of the hill, with the gates closed and Treille rising behind me, I broke the promise to myself. I stared back at the tall, foreboding walls, the high, unscalable towers. The town that could not be taken. I couldn’t help but utter a laugh. A spark of pride warmed my blood. Serfs and bondmen had seized [364] their liege’s castle without even fighting a battle. Baldwin ’s apoplectic face rose up in my mind-and for that single moment, it had all been worth it.

But now Baldwin was behind me. One final challenge lay ahead. It was with the person who had burned our village, who had killed my wife and child. Who now held the one I loved. I knew this battle was no longer simply about rights and freedom. It had narrowed to something deeper, personal.

I turned my back on Treille a final time and kicked my mount upon its way.

My mind was set on Borée.

Chapter 125

STEPHEN’S BOOT HEELS sounded loudly as he pushed into a small, squalid room near the rear of the barracks. Hunched silently in a dark corner, its occupant turned, a man who was filthy and covered with sores.

“Come, Morgaine.” Stephen threw the door wide open. “Your moment is here again. I need to make use of your talents. You are still a knight, are you not?”

The dishonored knight slowly lifted his muscular frame off the floor. Tattered, soiled cloth still hid the spot where the lance had pierced his side, and the tiny cubicle reeked of putrefaction.

“I am here to serve you, my liege.”

“Good,” Stephen said. “You must air this place out. Your hygiene is odious anyway, Morgaine, but these days a latrine would smell less foul.”

“It is unavoidable, my liege. The stench keeps the memory of my wound awake in my mind, and the lowly bastard who gave it to me.”

“I’m glad your memory is fresh,” Stephen said. “For if God grants, you will have a second chance for vengeance.”

The Tafur’s eyes lit up. “Each breath I force myself to take is in hope of such a moment. How?”

[366] “Events, larger than you can contemplate, bring the fool back to me.”

“The fool! He comes to Borée? You know this?”

“Do you think I would soil these boots in this pit of infection for any other reason? Now, get up. I will have the physician mask that stench.”

The Tafur pulled his war tunic off the floor, still torn and bloodstained at the spot where the jester’s lance had ripped through. He moistened his lips the way a famished man would awaiting, impatiently, a fresh roast.

“The thought of vengeance has made you alive again, warrior.” Stephen grinned. His instincts had been good. He’d been right to save this drooling beast and not lop off his head when he crawled back without the lance.

“I will gut him,” the Tafur said, grinding his teeth, “and let my sores drip in his wound so that he may die knowing the contagion that he inflicted on me.”

“That’s the spirit.” Stephen slapped him on the shoulder, then looked at his own hand with distaste. He leaned close to the wounded warrior, as if they were drinking mates, then dug the hilt of his own sword sharply into Morgaine’s side. He gasped.

“This time make sure you come away with the lance.” Stephen sniffed.

“But first, there is other work to be done,” Stephen said, returning to his earlier tone. “In your absence, all sorts of scum have come to Borée. That is why I need you. Whom else am I to trust?”

“Just tell me what you need done.”

“Good.” Stephen’s look brightened. “That’s what I hoped to hear. You seem like a man who could use some entertainment, Morgaine. How about we order some up? Let us call upon the jester, Norbert. You know Norbert, don’t you, Morgaine? Why don’t we see if we can prod him to make us laugh?”

[367] Morgaine nodded, and Stephen knew he understood perfectly. It wouldn’t matter whose blood was on his blade, as long as it led to the fool.

“And Morgaine…” Stephen said as he departed the filthy room. “As long as it’s a party why don’t we ask along the lady Emilie?”

Chapter 126

I HAD TRAVELED in the forest for two days, riding during light until my back ached, then, once it was dark, curling up in the brush, my mind racing as I drifted off to a troubled sleep. I dwelled on many things. The friends I had left behind. Emilie’s safety. What I would do when I got to Borée, still two days’ ride away.

I had just finished a few bites of bread and cheese that morning and was preparing to go on my way when I became aware of the slow advance of a rider approaching from behind.

I ducked behind a tree and took out my knife.

Gradually a single rider clip-clopped into view. A churchman, a friar, perhaps, covered in his burlap hood, riding by himself through dangerous woods.

I relaxed and stepped out from my cover. “You must be either foolishly brave to chance these woods alone, Father,” I called to the advancing shape, “or just as foolishly drunk.”

The churchman stopped. “That’s an unusual warning,” he replied from under his hood, “coming from a man in a patchwork skirt.”

To my shock, the voice was familiar!

He lifted his hood, and I saw it was Father Leo, with a smile the width of his face. “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed.

[369] “I thought a man on a mission like yours might need his soul tended to.” He sighed, struggling to get off his mount. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I’m delighted to have the company, old friend.”

“I knew it was a risk,” the priest said, brushing dust off his robe. “Truth is, it’s taken me so long to find a true sign from God, I couldn’t bear being separated from the lance.”

I laughed and helped him brush off the road dirt. “You look tired, Father. Drink.”

I handed Father Leo my calfskin and he tilted it back. “We will make quite an army when we get to Borée.” I smiled. “The fool and the priest.”

“Yes,” the priest said and wiped his mouth, “very imposing. I knew we would frighten no one, so I hope you don’t mind that I asked along a friend.”

“A friend…?”

From down the road, the hoofbeats of another rider could be heard, and as he came close, I blinked twice and realized it was Alphonse. The lad trotted up to me dressed for battle. He flashed me his shy, awkward smile.

“You two are crazy,” I said.

“Dressed as you are, marching to attack the castle at Borée alone, and you call us crazy?” muttered Father Leo.

“Well, now we are three fools.” I grinned, my heart warmed.

“No.” Alphonse sniffed and shook his head. “No, we are not.”

“Got anything good to eat?” another voice called from the forest. “Anything sounds good after these squirrels and lizards I’ve been chasing.”

Odo!

I looked at the smith, dressed in his leather armor, carrying his mallet, one of Baldwin’s purple and white cloaks slung around him. “I knew you must be behind this,” I said, attempting to look stern.

“Nah.” Odo grinned. He indicated with his head. “It was him.”

[370] Behind him, the miller thrashed his way out of the woods.

“I told you this was my fight,” I protested, feigning anger.

“You also told us we were free,” Odo shot back. “So I figure this is my choice.”

I faltered. “I put you in charge, Georges. I left you with Baldwin. And four hundred men.”

“So you did, didn’t you?” The miller winked.

From down the road, the heavy rumble of footsteps now rose in my ears. Many people, marching. From around a bend, the first of them came into view. It was Alois, from Morrisaey, and three of his townsmen, carrying their axes and shields.

The column grew. Alois’s four turned into forty. Then forty more. Faces I recognized. From Morrisaey, Moulin Vieux, Sur le Gavre. Some on horses, others on foot. Their faces rugged, silent, proud. A lump caught in my throat. I didn’t speak. They kept coming, line after line, men who still believed in me. Who had nothing left but their souls.

Then, on a pale stallion, bound like a sack of wheat, I saw Baldwin. And his chatelain close behind.

I could not believe what I was seeing!

“They all came? All four hundred?” I asked Alois.

He shook his head. “Four hundred and four.” He grinned. “If the Freemasons came along.”

Odo said to me, “We figured, if our souls are fucked anyway, what do we have to lose?”

My heart almost exploded with pride. I stood there watching the column grow and grow. Feeling the common heart of these men. Some called out to say hello, “Hey, General, good to see you again.” Others simply nodded, many I did not know by name. When the end of the column came in sight, it was trailed by four scruffy men hurrying to keep up, hoisting a white banner with an eye painted on it-the sign of the Freemason society.

I mouthed “Thank you” to Odo and Georges, the words sticking in my throat. I wanted to tell them how proud I was of them. Of everyone.

[371] I merely put my hand on the miller’s shoulder.

“Guess we’re going to Borée,” Odo said with a shrug, and I nodded, watching the column as it stretched down the road.

“You better have a real plan if you want to take this place,” he muttered.

Chapter 127

JUST AS IT HAD HAPPENED weeks before when we marched on Treille, at every village we came to, every crossroad, people joined our ranks. Our fame had spread, and it was embarrassing. Certainly it was humbling.

Farmers in their fields, carpenters, goatherds with their flocks, ran to their fences to see a lord like Baldwin bound behind a fool.

“How can you continue on?” people asked in wonder. “Stephen has damned your very souls.”

“He might as well,” we called back, “since that’s all we have left.”

Once again I marched at the front in my tattered jester’s suit, carrying the holy lance. But this time the army was properly outfitted. We had real swords and newly minted shields taken from Baldwin’s men and painted in the green-and-red checkerboard that had become our crest. We also had crossbows and catapults to mount a siege, oxen and stores of food to sustain an entire army.

“You cannot take Borée,” some mocked us. “A thousand men could not take Borée.”

“We could not take Treille, either,” Odo replied huffily.

“We trust the lance,” Alphonse would say. “It is truer than any b-bishop’s judgment.”

[373] New recruits fell constantly into line. “I’ll come. This is a new world if a lord is dragged by a fool!” Young and old knelt before the lance and fell in.

Yet even as we marched, I knew this new battle would not be as easy as the last. Stephen would never let our ragtag army approach without a fight. He had a much larger and fiercer army than Baldwin. Better trained. He himself was known to be a formidable fighter.

And to be sure, I was no general. The only military skills I had were those I had picked up in the Crusade. Nor did Georges, or Odo, or any of my other men have any tactical training. They were farmers and woodsmen. An old worry began to consume me: that I could be leading innocent men, who believed in my call, to slaughter.

I needed a leader, but where could I get one?

The third night out, I wandered over to where Baldwin and his men were being held. The duke glared at me belligerently. I merely shook my head and laughed.

I knelt beside his chatelain, Daniel Gui. He was handsome and held himself with a strong bearing. He’d never complained of being a captive, unlike Baldwin, who spat curses and threats at anyone who met his eye. I’d heard other good things about him.

“I have a dilemma,” I said as I sat on the ground next to him. I looked Daniel Gui in the eye, man to man.

“You have a dilemma?” The chatelain laughed, showing me his bonds.

“Mine first.” I smiled. “I am at the head of an army, but I know little of how to fight a great battle.”

“Is this a riddle, jester? If it is, let me play. I know how to fight, yet my army is disarmed and scattered.”

I offered him a sip of ale. “It seems we are aligned yet opposite. But you command the duke’s forces.”

“I command Treille’s forces,” he responded firmly. “My job was to lead them in defense of my city, not slaughter innocent subjects that our lordship did not trust.”

[374] “Treille is Baldwin, though. You try and separate them, but you cannot.”

“My dilemma.” The chatelain smiled. He showed me his wrists. “By which I am now unfortunately bound.”

“I need a general, chatelain. If we march on Borée, we will not overcome it with sleight of hand.”

He took another sip of ale, seemed to think this over. “What do I get if I help you take this city?”

I smiled. “Mostly a lot of trouble with your old boss.”

Daniel Gui grinned. “I’m not exactly sure I can return to that job now anyway.”

Indeed, Baldwin would be already savoring the taste of someone to blame. “Only a chance,” I answered. “The same chance any of us have. To sue for peace and go back and live our lives as free men.”

“There’s an irony here somewhere.” The chatelain chuckled. “So far, you have taken my castle and put my liege in chains. You don’t seem too bad a soldier for a man in a checkerboard suit.”

“I was at Antioch and Civetot,” I said, “in the Crusade…”

The chatelain nodded in a deep and acknowledging way.

“So, will you help us? I know it will mean breaking your pledge to Baldwin. Your career may not be the brighter for it. Yet we are not such a bad bunch, for heretics and rebels and fools.”

Daniel took in a deep breath and smiled. “I think I will fit in just fine.”

Chapter 128

WE CAME OUT OF THE FOREST the next day facing a river. A truly terrifying sight stood before us.

On the high ground, directly in our path, waited an ominous horde of warriors. Maybe three hundred of them.

They wore no colors, just rough skins and high boots, swords and shields gleaming in the noonday sun. They were long-haired and filthy, and regarded us with no particular alarm. They looked ready for a fight.

Panic shot through our troops, and through me as well. The ferocious-looking horde just stood there, watching us assemble out of the trees. As though battle were an ordinary thing for them.

Horns blew. Horses whinnied. A few carts toppled over. At any moment, I expected them to charge.

I ordered our column to a halt. The rabble ahead of us looked restless. Shit, had I led us into a trap?

Odo and Daniel ran up to me. I had never seen Odo this scared.

“They growl like Saxons,” Odo muttered. “These ugly bastards are meaner than shit. I heard they live in caves and when food is scarce, they eat their young.”

“They are not Saxon.” Daniel shook his head. “They are [376] from Languedoc. From the south. Mountain men. But they are known to eat their young even when the harvest is good.”

His depiction gave me chills. “Are they from Stephen?” I asked.

“Could be.” He shrugged. We watched them watching us, showing no concern about our larger ranks. “Mercenaries. He has used them before.”

“Have the men fan along the ravine,” I said. I hoped to make a show of strength. This threat had come upon us so suddenly. “Lances to the front in case they charge.”

“Keep the horses in reserve,” Daniel said. “If these bastards come at us, they’ll do so on foot. To a Languedocian, it’s a sign of cowardice not to.”

Everyone rushed into formation. Then we stood there, hearts tense, holding our shields. The field was silent.

“Seems a good enough day to meet my maker.” Odo strapped on his mallet. “If you’re still listening, God.”

All of a sudden, there was movement in the Languedocian camp. Get ready. I gripped my lance.

Then two riders rode out from the pack and galloped toward us.

“They wish to talk,” Daniel said.

“I’ll go,” I said. “Here.” I turned to Odo. “Hold the lance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Daniel said.

Daniel and I rode out between the armies. The two Languedocians sat there indifferently, eyeing us as we came up to them. One was large and stout, built like an ox. The other was leaner but just as mean looking. For a moment, no one spoke. We just regarded one another, circling.

Finally, the ox grunted a few words in a French I could barely make out. “You are the jester Hugh? The one with the lance?”

“I am,” I replied.

“You’re the little fart who has led the peasants and bondmen against their lords?” the other growled.

[377] “We’ve risen up in the face of murder and oppression,” I replied.

Ox snickered. “You don’t look so big. We were told you were eight fucking feet tall.”

“If we have to fight, it will seem that,” I said.

The Languedocians looked me up and down in a way I could not read. Then they looked at each other and started to laugh. “Fight you?” The big one chortled. “We’ve come to join you, fool. Word reached us you intend to march on Treille. We are sworn enemies of that prick Baldwin. We’ve been enemies of Treille for two hundred years.”

I looked at Daniel and we broke into grins. “This is good news… but you’re too late. Treille is already taken. We are marching on Borée.”

“Borée?” the thinner one said. “You mean against that prick Stephen?”

I nodded. “The same.”

For a moment, the two Languedocians drew their horses close and huddled together. I could hardly understand the tongue they were speaking in. Then Ox looked back to me and shrugged. “All right, we march on Borée.”

He raised his sword to his ranks and they erupted-lifting their swords and spears in a riotous cheer.

“You’re lucky.” Ox grinned through his beard. “We’ve been enemies of Borée for three hundred years.”

Chapter 129

STEPHEN WAS IN his dressing room when Anne stormed in and found him, in a chair, peeling an apple. Annabella, a lady of the court, was bent over his waist, swallowing his cock.

At the sight of Anne, Annabella gagged. She jumped, frantically replacing Stephen’s leggings as if to hide the evidence. Stephen looked on, seeming not to care.

“Oh, do not bother, Annabella.” Anne sighed. “When the lord hears what news I bear, we shall all be amused to see to what size his manhood shrinks.”

The lady smoothed her ruffled tresses, curtsied, then scurried out of the room.

“These are my private quarters, not your parlor,” Stephen said, hitching himself up. “And do not feign offense, dear wife, since you obviously knew what business you would find here.”

“I do not feign offense.” Anne eyed him sharply. “Only regret, to have interrupted you from such pressing work.”

“So.” Stephen rose. “By all means, let me know. What’s the big surprise?”

“A runner has arrived from Sardoney. He’s brought word that your little jester is on the way. Two days out. With his lance.”

“This is the news you thought would disarm me?” Stephen seemed to yawn, taking another deep bite from his apple. “That this poor fool marches on us? Why should this mean any more [379] to me than a bite of this fruit, I say? But come,” he said, eyeing the bulge in his hose, “as long as the table is set, why not put the little weasel to some work?”

Anne crept behind him and smoothed her hands across his chest, even though the pretense of such affection was as repulsive to her as kissing a snake. She bent down to his ear and whispered, “It is not the fool that I thought would concern you, my husband.” She rubbed her hand near his cock. “But the thousand men who march along with him.”

“What?” Stephen twisted around. He screwed up his face in disbelief.

“Oh, has the weasel crept back in his little cave?” Anne laughed. “Yes, my liege, apparently an army follows him that is even greater than before. An army of lost souls, heretics, thanks to you. And thanks to Baldwin, fully armed.”

Stephen jumped out of his seat, hot with rage. “Impossible! They damn their souls to follow him.”

“No, husband, it is your soul that is damned.”

“Get out of my way.” Stephen shot out his hand. It slashed across Anne’s face, knocking her to the floor. “If you have any hope for that little brat you call your cousin, you will mock me no more.”

“If you harm her, Stephen…” Anne forced herself up to her palms.

Stephen burned his gaze right through her. He moved as if to strike again. She did not flinch. Then the color came back into his face, and he softened and knelt, cupping her quivering face in the palm of his hand.

“Why would I want to hurt her, my precious wife? She is a part of you.” He raised himself, smoothing his tunic, the veins in his forehead now calm. “I have merely detained her for her own protection. There are dangerous conspirators about who plan us harm, even within these very walls. Haven’t you heard?”

Chapter 130

“LOOK.” Men began to point. “Up on the hill. There it is. Borée!”

Above the rolling hills of vineyards and farms, its limestone towers rose with roofs of blue, like lapis etched into the sky. There was the facade of the famous cathedral, gleaming white; and the castle that I had stayed in, its donjons reaching to the sky-where Emilie was.

As we neared, the exhilaration spread: “I’m gonna take Stephen in one arm and his largest hen in the other, and squeeze them till they both lay a fucking egg,” a boastful farmer yelled.

Behind me, my new army stretched for nearly a mile. In every row, men marched in different clothing: tailors, woodsmen, and farmers in their own garb, but with thrown-together mail and helmets they had swiped from Baldwin. They carried pennants from their towns, pikes and clubs and bows on their backs. Some even spoke different dialects.

The vast line included men and horses, carts drawn by heavy oxen, and catapults, mangonels, and trebuchets with their loads of heavy stone. All beat a cloud of dust that seemed to smother the sky.

But the giddy boasts and dares began to fade the closer we got to Borée. This was no ant’s nest in the middle of nowhere [381] with a pompous duke who did not want to dirty his hands with combat. This was a city, the largest many of us had ever seen. We had to take this place! It was protected by rings of walls, each manned with archers and artillery. Its reserve of knights was twice our number, many of them emboldened by bloody victories in the Crusade. The closer we got, the higher the walls loomed over us. I knew the same reality drummed through every soul: Many of us would die here.

All around, farms close to the city were shuttered and abandoned, livestock nowhere to be seen. Plumes of smoke trickled into the sky, from bales of hay and grain carts set afire. Stephen was giving us no sustenance or quarter. He was preparing for a siege.

People we passed did not cheer us as at Treille. They spat at us or averted their eyes. “Go home, rebels, heretics. You’re God’s curse!”

“Look at what you’ve brought on us,” a woman wailed, scavenging for food. “Go on, your welcoming committee lies just ahead.”

Welcoming committee … ? What did she mean by that?

As we neared the city, men at the front pointed to what seemed a row of crosses lining the road. A few ran ahead.

As they did, their faces lost some color. A silence came over the ranks, which only moments before had been boasting of what they would do when they reached Borée.

The welcoming committee.

These were not crosses but bodies, some still alive, muttering, moving their limbs feebly, impaled on long shafts that split their torsos.

Some through the anus. Others, even worse, upside down. Men, young and old, farmers, tradesmen in common garb. Women too, stripped naked like whores, moaning, choking for breath, eyes glazed over in agony. There was a row of thirty of them.

[382] “Get them down,” I shouted. My heart sank as at Civetot, or riding into the damned village of St. Cécile. What had these poor people done? I rode by, barely able to look.

Then I stopped at one of the bodies. My blood came to a halt. My eyes actually rolled back in my head.

It was Elena, Emilie’s maidservant.

I jumped off my horse and with my sword started to hack at the stake until it sheared, then I gently eased her down.

I lifted Elena’s head in my hands and stared at her chafed white face, peeking through tufts of bloodied hair. She was in torn, soiled rags, desecrated like some shameless murderess. All the poor soul had done was serve her lady.

Anger dug into my ribs, sharp as a knife. If this was Elena, what had happened to Emilie?

What kind of warning was this monster giving me?

My breath stuck in my chest. I turned to the man behind me. “Bury her as well.”

Chapter 131

FARTHER AHEAD, we came to a fieldstone bridge that crossed the river along the outskirts of the city.

It was guarded by a stone tower. I drew the ranks to a halt about sixty yards away. Three or four of Stephen’s knights were waiting there, mounted on horseback, draped in their lordship’s green and gold colors.

The first sign of the enemy.

They began to taunt us, questioning the size of our balls. “You call this rabble an army?” one yelled. He lifted his leg as a dog pees. “It’s a bunch of peasants who wouldn’t know a fight from a good fart.”

“They are only trying to bait us into something stupid,” Daniel cautioned. “Stay your ground. They will fall back as soon as we advance.”

A few of the men, fueled by the horrific sight they had just seen, ignored him and ran toward the taunting soldiers, ready to do battle with their clubs and swords.

When they were about twenty yards away, archers appeared in the tower armed with crossbows. They sent a volley of arrows whooshing down. Four men dropped immediately, clutching their chests. The rest peeled back out of range.

Behind me, I heard Alphonse yell out, “They want their fight, they’ll g-get it!”

[384] “No,” I called, “we can’t lose more.” But against my futile shout, he took off. He and his group ran bravely toward the tower.

Arrows hissed down on them, thudding into their shields. Another man fell, struck in the thigh. Our own archers loaded and sent a reply of fire arrows toward the tower.

Now our men were pinned, huddled under their wooden shields. I saw Alphonse race out and pull one wounded man out of range.

Then one of our arrows struck the wooden roof of the guard tower. Chaos broke out among the archers as the flames caught. Our ranks began to cheer. For a second the enemy archers disappeared, then we caught sight of them on the ground, scampering back with their heavy bows toward the city walls.

Our men set after them, Alphonse leading.

At first, they were met by knights on horseback, who fought bravely. But soon there were too many of us to fight. Stephen’s knights were pulled down from their mounts, their bodies bludgeoned with swords and clubs. Several of us went after the retreating archers, overtaking them in a gully by the river. One knelt, ready to fire into the back of one of our men, but Alphonse leaped and clubbed him into a heap.

To a man, the archers were hacked to bits. A chorus of cheers rose in our ranks. Our party of rescuers returned, dragging the wounded and dead, raising aloft captured crossbows.

It was our first engagement, and we had shown Stephen we were here to fight.

Alphonse passed by me, tossing a captured crossbow into a supply cart. Though I was relieved to see him safe and held back reproaching him for his recklessness, he could see I was angry. Four of our men lay dead.

He shot me a contrite wink. “Wouldn’t know a fight from a good fart, eh?”

Chapter 132

EMILIE PULLED HER COVERS UP to warm herself in the dark, drafty tower room that had been her cell over the past days. The narrow slit of a window high up on the wall barely let in an angle of outside light. She was not sure if it was day or night.

For the past few hours, she had heard the rumble outside of troops and heavy carts being dragged down to the walls. Something was happening. A flicker in her heart told her it had to do with Hugh.

A pitcher of drinking water and a plate of half-eaten food rested on a table by her side with a few of her books and embroideries. But she had no appetite and no mind to read or weave.

Stephen was a dog, foaming with the madness of greed. All honor and law had been set aside to detain her. All reason too.

But it was fear for Hugh that gnawed at her, festered in her heart through the dark, isolated nights.

Hugh… Stephen would not dare harm her, but he would see Hugh dead with the relish of a cruel child picking the wings off a fly. Now he prepared his army, his awful Tafurs, his archers, and his death-dealing machines of war.

“Do not come,” she prayed, whispering herself back to sleep. “Please, Hugh… do not come.”

[386] But something was different this day. There was a far-off rumble. And a sharpness to the voices nearby. The tremor of large machines being wheeled into place.

Battle machines!

Emilie threw the covers from her bed. She had to know what was going on. The commotion outside grew louder. Horses, shouting, the constant hammering of wood. Preparations for war.

Emilie wrapped herself in her bedclothes and dragged a table beneath the high window. Then she hoisted a sitting bench and placed it on top of the table. As a child she had played such games of “king of the hill” with the boys. High above the floor, she balanced herself on the bench and raised herself to her toes.

Emilie craned her neck to see over the lip of the narrow ledge.

Below, on the inner walls of Borée, soldiers in pail helmets and green-and-gold tunics were bustling along the ramparts.

Emilie pushed herself even higher.

What was beyond was a sight that stole away her breath.

A vast gathering of men, beyond the walls, as far as the eye could see.

In peasant clothes, with weapons and oxen and mangonels.

She felt her heart glow.

An army of them. Stephen’s edict be damned! She began to laugh. She could not help herself. It was as if everyone who had ever marched alongside Hugh were here. Every peasant in the forest!

Then something else caught her eye.

She raised herself on her toes as high as she could.

Yes, standing apart from the troops, a head of fiery red hair. Could it be?

Her heart almost exploded. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she knew he was too far away and could not [387] possibly hear her. She waved and shouted and whooped anyway. She heard herself giggling uncontrollably.

Standing there-in the very tunic she had sewn for him herself, facing Borée as if he knew precisely where she was-she saw Hugh.

Chapter 133

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, we pushed our siege engines forward under the watchful eyes of Stephen’s men. Mangonels, their baskets stretched, followed by wheeled carts filled with giant stones, massive rams hewn from tree trunks and ladders stacked in piles.

We began the construction of wooden towers as tall as the outer walls, as well as smaller platforms called “cats” covered in moist, bloody hides to protect our charging ranks from the rain of burning pitch.

I was in Daniel’s tent, running through the siege plans, when a shouting was heard outside. I rushed out and saw that everyone was running for their weapons and pointing toward the city gates. The drawbridge was lowering. This was it!

At any moment, I was certain, a formation of green-and-gold-clad knights would come swarming out.

As the portcullis opened, two priests clad in sacramental robes slowly rode out under the banner of the Church.

After a pause, Bertrand Morais, Stephen’s chatelain, followed. And behind him, as if his presence alone would cause the field to kneel, a noble in full battle gear on a white charger.

Stephen himself.

Chapter 134

“HE WISHES TO TALK,” Daniel said. “He hides behind the priests as a flag of truce.”

“He wishes to trap you, more like it,” Odo said. “You’d be a fool.”

I couldn’t wait to put my vengeful eyes on the bastard. “Don’t forget.” I put on my cap. “I am a fool.”

I rushed to the front, found my horse, and called for Father Leo. “Come, here’s your chance to be an equal to the highest priests in Borée.” We fetched him a horse. “And Daniel?” I slapped him. “Want a chance to see a duke piss in his pants?”

We mounted our horses and rode halfway out into the rutted no-man’s-land separating our camp from Borée.

Stephen waited for us to reach a spot. Then, gauging his distance from our archers, he trotted his own entourage to meet me. My blood was racing just to see this reptile. His look sent chills through me. He wore no helmet; his jet-black hair hung long and greasy. His elaborate chain mail had his dragon crest displayed on the chest. His hands were covered in studded gauntlets, and a heavy sword, befitting a Crusader, was strapped to his side.

As he reached us, he did not stay his horse. He circled us, his glance darting from my face to the lance.

Then Stephen drew his mount to a halt. He smiled quite [390] amiably. “So, you are the deserting coward who rouses men against their lords in the name of heresy.”

“And you are the prick,” I said, unheeding, “who killed my wife and child. With all respect.” I bowed to the priests.

“What a shame, then,” Stephen said, “if a similar fate befell another whom you prize.”

Fury tightened in my chest. “If any harm comes to her, it will take more than a delegation of priests to save you. Lady Emilie returned here of her own will, out of loyalty and concern for her mistress. She has no conflict with you.”

“And do you? Jester, rebel, heretic… How is it I should address you?”

“Hugh,” I said, fixing on his cold, superior eyes. “I am Hugh De Luc. My wife was Sophie. My son, who never saw his second year, was Phillipe.”

“I’m sure all of us are delighted to hear your family tree, but what is it you want here, Hugh?”

“What do I want?” Part of me wanted to pull him off his mount right there and end this thing, just he and I. I directed my horse one step closer to him. “I want your admission of the wrongs you have done. I want restitution paid for each man, woman, and child killed in pursuit of this.” I put forward the lance. “I want the lady Emilie sent to me at once.”

The duke looked to his underlings, as if he were restraining a laugh. “I heard he was entertaining. And now I think no less myself. You want a lord to be a mule-keep. You parade behind a purported relic of the Church and yet you put the souls of a thousand followers at risk.”

“These men are here of their own mind,” I said. “I doubt they would go home even upon my demand.”

“Does the welfare of their immortal souls not matter to them?” one of the priests inquired.

“I don’t know. Let’s see.” I turned back toward my ranks. “Go home. Lay down your arms. All of you. Fight’s over. I have his word that the duke promises to spare your souls.”

[391] My words echoed across the field, but not a single person moved. I turned back to the priest. Shrugged.

“And what if I said the lady Emilie was here of her own mind too,” Stephen snapped. “That it is her choice to stay, even upon my demand.”

“Then I would call you a liar, Stephen. Or a hopeless fool.”

“Again, jester,” he said, yanking his horse, “you waste precious time on jokes. Your new chatelain will tell you, you are on the verge of a bloody bath.”

“We are ready, my lord. This battle has your handprint on it, if it occurs, not mine.”

Stephen curled a smile. “Just know that I will not be as lenient with you as was that codswipe Baldwin. You have seen the fate of certain villages and people who I thought had something I wanted. Expect no less, jester. I will see your heart burned out of your traitorous body. You will be hung upside down as heretics, all of you… your insides left to soil your faces as they run to the ground. Even God will avert His eyes!”

“Then what do you say, Daniel?” I glanced at Gui with a smile. “We must make sure we fight this fight on a full stomach, so as not to disappoint.”

Stephen sniffed back a laugh. Then he ran his eyes over the lance. “You know, should I return with that, all I described could be avoided. You could have the little slut and ride off to the far corner of the earth for all I care. As for your men, I will see that we restore their souls.”

“Most tempting,” I replied, pretending to ponder his offer for a moment. “Problem is, my men have not assembled here for Lady Emilie, but for the single purpose of seeing the offenses of your rule brought to justice. They’re here to demand recompense for your crimes. To see you bow down, lord, nothing less. Then I will give you the lance. That is my offer. In the meantime, with all respect to the bishop, we’ll take our chances on our souls.”

“I could simply take it, you know. My archers could cut you in half with just a nod.”

[392] “And mine too, my lord. Then God would have to decide.”

A tiny twitch tremored on Stephen’s nose. “You think I would trade the dignity of my name even for a vault of such lances?”

“It should not be so hard,” I said, holding it close to his face, “since you have traded most of it already just to be this close.”

Stephen reared his horse and smiled. “I can see why the court grew fond of you. Get prepared, jester. I will reply. Within an hour.” He yanked his horse around and started to head back toward the gate.

Chapter 135

OUR ARMY WAITED just two hundred yards from the towering walls of Borée in a broad and teeming line.

Archers tensed their bows, fire arrows tipped in oil. Foot soldiers, some holding ladders like crosses, focused on the walls, on the line of silent green-and-gold defenders.

A thousand men, cradling their weapons, muttering last prayers, awaited my sign.

“What are you thinking now?” Odo asked.

I took a breath. “That Emilie is in there… And you?”

“That those are the biggest fucking walls I’ve ever seen.” The smith shrugged.

I fixed on the impressive main gate, waiting for Stephen’s reply. Odo to my left, Georges, Daniel, and Alphonse flanked to my right. The tension beat around like a drum of war.

Stephen’s defenders crowded the walls, crossbows tilted down at us. There were no taunts or curses rattling back and forth, only a heavy silence hanging like a fog between the two armies. In the distance, the chirp of birds could be heard. Any moment, the tense calm would be shattered like a club smashing through glass.

Odo leaned close, clutching his enormous pike. “One of the Languedocians told me a good one. You have the time to hear?”

I kept my eyes fixed on the gate. “If I must.”

[394] “What’s hairy underneath, stands tall and erect in a bed, has reddish skin, and is guaranteed to make even a nun cry out in tears?”

I looked down the line. Everyone was ready. “I don’t know.”

The big smith shook his head. “Don’t know? What kind of a shit jester are you? It’s a wonder I keep putting my life in your hands.”

“If you put it that way…” I cocked my head his way. “It’s an onion.”

Odo groaned. “Oh, you know that one.” A trail of snickering filtered down the line. Then he elbowed me and grinned. “That’s my boy.”

All at once, from behind the walls, the ping of a catapult releasing pierced the air and a black projectile shot high into the sky. Murmurs rippled through the ranks, men pointing as the object descended toward our front line.

“Brace yourselves! Here it comes,” someone yelled.

The projectile struck the ground and rolled to a stop only a few yards from where I stood. My stomach fell.

The mound had features-hair, charred and singed; startled, round eyes bulging out of their sockets.

I let out a sickened cry.

The face seemed to be staring at me. It had a grin that was both impish and impudent. The eyes spat back in their moment of death, familiar, unmistakable.

Norbert!

His eyes looked at me as they had that first day, when Emilie brought me to his chamber. I almost expected him to wink: Had you fooled, didn’t I, boy? That is the best you can do …? Watch this!

I rushed out of formation and knelt over the remains. My ears were filled with a deafening ringing. Countless images of things that had transpired since I first set out from home flashed before me.

[395] The ringing finally subsided. I raised the holy lance and, perhaps for the first time, I believed in it. I looked at my men, who in their readiness reminded me of horses unwilling to be held back.

“Your freedom lies within those walls. Now,” I shouted. “Now is the time!”

Then the cry from my lungs was drowned by the stampede of a thousand men hurling themselves at the walls of Borée.

Chapter 136

THE FIRST SOUND of battle was a belching groan from one of the mangonels, as a massive rock was launched high into the sky and crashed with a thunderous blast into the wall above the main gate. Fragments of stone and sparks and dirt exploded everywhere. But when the dust cleared, the wall still held.

Then another boulder whistled into the sky. Followed by a third, both striking high on the wall, shattering guard posts, sending bodies and battlements flying like debris. Then a volley of flaming arrows. Whoosh. Some struck against the walls, sticking in wooden battlements, where small fires ignited; others clattered harmlessly to the ground.

Then the mangonels again, this time with a cargo of burning molten pitch. Defenders ducked; some screamed in pain, slapping at body parts. Others ran around with buckets, dousing flames. The smell of tar and sizzling flesh singed the air.

I raised my arm. “Now, men. What is yours is within those walls. Charge!”

Our men raced toward the walls in a mountainous wave of steel, spears, and ladders. Eighty yards. The closer we got, the larger the walls grew. Sixty yards…

I could see the faces of the defenders-ready for our charge, holding fast, waiting for us to come within range.

[397] Fifty yards…

Then, all of a sudden, the cry of, “Tirez!” Fire!

Arrows whooshed down from above. Our warriors stopped in their tracks, arrowheads ripping viciously through their chests and necks. Hands clutched the exposed tips.

Our roar was replaced by a thudding terror, followed by groans and death cries. “Aagh… Aagh… Aagh…”

I stumbled over a Languedocian writhing on the ground, an arrow protruding from his knee. To my left, a man in the skins of a shepherd spun around, his eyes rolled back, holding both ends of an arrow through his jaw. Men fell to their knees, howling in pain, praying, or both.

“Don’t stop,” I heard Daniel shouting. “Get behind your shields. You must make the wall.”

The sweeping advance, narrowed to a crawl, continued. I saw Odo and Daniel and Georges in the first charge. Twenty yards from the wall.

Above us, soldiers stood and fired. Lances were flung in reply. Some defenders clutched at their chests with a yelp and fell over screaming, dropping from the walls.

Dozens of ladders were thrown against the walls, the men climbing up. Defenders reached over to push them off.

“Bring in the cats,” I shouted, as waves of boiling tar splattered down on us, followed by screams and the smell of sizzling flesh. Advancing ranks pressed into us from behind. Those in the front tried to climb the walls but were met with burning pitch and lances. They toppled back into the arms of the men behind them, spitting blood or swatting at their blistering skin.

The tall cats were pushed up to the front. For a moment, they provided a refuge from the smoldering pitch, which sizzled on the moist, stretched skins. Under this protection, men with a ram backed up and battered the gate over and over. Crossbows were fired from directly above. A man next to me, not [398] wearing a helmet, had an arrow pierce the top of his scalp. From behind, the mangonels continued, and an enormous boulder crashed into a tower. A cloud of smoke shot up and when it cleared, the top of the tower was caved in and mangled body parts fell away from it like branches.

Screaming and panic reigned everywhere. “Where is the mead table?” someone staggered by asking, completely befuddled. “God save me,” wailed another, holding in his hand his other arm. In the furor, I lost touch with anyone I knew.

The once-shiny walls of Borée were soaked with mud, pitch, and blood. I had no idea if we were winning or in the midst of being routed.

Many yards away, I spotted Odo leading a charge up a ladder. He wrestled in a tug-of-war with the lance of a defender, then Odo won, pulling his opponent over the edge.

Then another defender reared up and ran the point of his lance into the smith’s leg. I screamed. Odo arched back in pain. He wrenched the lance out of the defender’s grasp and frantically tried to pull the blade out of his leg.

“Odo!” I yelled, but the roar of battle made every shout indistinguishable from the others.

I watched him take two Borée soldiers by the tunics, then fall back against the wall, swarmed over by a wave of men. I tried vainly to fight my way along the wall to get to him, but the line would not yield.

Arrows rained down from above with terrifying force. Men were huddling under shields, starting to cry, realizing they were trapped. Where was Odo?

Those of our men who made it up the ladders were hurled backward or run through as they tried to fight their way forward. I realized we were losing. I could see the will in the men begin to bend.

Then a voice cried, “Look out!” A huge wave of rocks crashed down on us from above. One of the cats collapsed under the weight, pinning the men with the ram.

[399] “The towers themselves are coming down,” someone yelled. “Get back or be crushed.”

But it was not the towers. Stephen’s soldiers were toppling bins of heavy stone over the edge.

The men began to push their own comrades back. I could not stop it. My eyes were singed by pitch; I was coughing amid clouds of dust.

I tried to spot Odo, but he had disappeared.

“Go back, go back!” I heard panic rippling down our line.

“Stay!” I yelled at the top of my voice, and so did Daniel. “Don’t quit the fight now! Don’t give up ground!”

But I realized we had lost. The rear of our line finally broke, men heading away from the walls at a dead run. Then the first ranks, suddenly exposed, fell back. A shout of joy came from the defenders.

Nausea rose in my gut as the men peeled away, running for their lives. They were farmers and cobblers and woodsmen, not trained soldiers.

I trailed the field and scanned for Odo, arrows whizzing by my head. But the smith was nowhere to be found. The ground was piled with bodies. I could not believe our losses. I staggered back, finally out of arrow range. A horrible moaning came from the field, wounded who would soon die. Grown men wept and muttered desperate prayers.

I saw Georges limping on the shoulder of Daniel, both men as white as ghosts.

“Have you seen Odo?” I asked them. They shook their heads and stumbled on.

I turned back toward the castle. Men on the walls were cheering. They were shooting arrows at anything that moved. My best friend was still out there. What was once a blossoming field was now a swamp of blood.

Not a single man had made it over the walls alive.

Not one.

Not Odo.

Chapter 137

WE HAD LOST!

Alphonse hurled down his sword, unable to speak, as were so many others. Georges threw himself onto the ground, spent and drained. Father Leo did his best to comfort everyone, but his face was as desolate as any.

“You men must not let down your guard,” Daniel yelled. “Stephen may send his horsemen to finish the job tonight.”

His warning, however real, seemed a million miles away. Darkness was falling. Mercifully, as if its black cloak offered some reprieve. Our soldiers sat down around fires, exhausted, rubbing salve on their burns and other wounds. Some wept for their friends; others thanked God that they were still alive.

“Did anyone see Odo?” I looked around. I had known Odo since I was a boy. Alois and Georges merely shook their heads.

“He’s a wily sort,” Georges finally said. “If anyone could make it back, it’s him.”

“Yes,” Alphonse agreed, pretending to be optimistic. “He was s-so close in, he probably just d-ducked behind the walls to steal a keg of Stephen’s best mead.”

“Many died today.” Daniel sighed, spreading out a map of Borée. “We can’t spend time on one more.”

“The chatelain is right.” Ox nodded. “Thirty of my men are dead, maybe more.”

[401] I looked in the Languedocian’s eyes. “Your men were brave to join us. But this is not your fight. I release you from your pledge. Go, take the rest home.”

Ox stared back as if insulted. “Who said anything about going home?” He cracked a toothy smile through his beard. “In Languedoc, we say a good fight doesn’t even begin until some blood is on the floor. God gave us all two arms, but hell, one’s just for scratching our balls, anyway.”

Around the fire, we all started to laugh. Then the din subsided. Georges shrugged. “So, what do we do now?”

I looked at the men, face by face.

“Continue the fight,” Alphonse said. “Stephen massacred our town. That’s why we came here, no?”

“You’ve grown a lot of spunk, lad.” Georges sniffed. “But tomorrow it could be you who’s left moaning out there.”

“Keep pounding the walls,” Daniel insisted. “By the river, they are not as fortified. We can hit them with our mangonels all day. Sooner or later, they’ll cave.”

Father Leo cut in, “Maybe soon, word from the King will come?”

“It is autumn,” Daniel pressed. “You were in Antioch, Hugh. You’ve seen that a siege is not determined in one day. Stephen has scorched his own earth. They couldn’t have stockpiled food and water for the entire winter.”

I had to ask: “Is anyone for meeting Stephen’s terms?” I looked around, awaiting their reply. There was only silence.

Finally, Georges picked himself up off of the ground. “I was raised to grind grain, not to soldier. But we’ve all made our choice here. We’ve each lost loved ones. My boy Alo. Your friends, Ox… Odo. What would any of their deaths mean if we turned it in now?”

“Whose death are you speaking of?” a voice barked in the darkness.

We looked up. A huge, hulking shape came forward. At first, I thought it was an apparition.

[402] “Dear God.” The miller shook his head.

The big smith limped stiffly toward our fire. Odo’s skins were torn and smeared with blood. His bushy brown beard was matted with who knew what.

I met Odo’s eyes, which showed the horror that he had faced. I was so exhausted, I could not even get up to give him a hug. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Fucking hard to claw your way out with all those green-and-gold shits piled on top.” He sighed with an exhausted grin. “So, anything to drink?”

I finally got up, wrapped my arms around his shoulders in an adoring hug, and slapped his back. I felt his broad shoulders tense. His arms were covered in burns and one leg was bloody and raw. Someone put a mug in his hand and he drained it in a single swallow. A nod from Odo said, One more.

Then he looked up at us, our incredulous smiles. “It was a bad day today, huh?”

We stared back.

“Well …” Odo swung his bloody leg up, the gash in his thigh causing even Ox to cringe. He took the second mug and poured it all over the wound, sucking back pain. “No mind.” He shrugged at our blank stares. “We’ll kick their asses tomorrow.”

Chapter 138

WE PUMMELED BORÉE again and again over the next few days. Our catapults battered the walls with heavy rocks. Our sturdiest rams pounded at the gates. Charge after charge, ladders were pitched against the walls, only to be thrown aside, and the men on them killed.

The bodies of our fallen comrades piled high outside the walls. I feared we could not take the city. It was too strong, too well fortified. With each repelled charge, the hope of victory faded. Food and drinking water were growing scarce. No answer was received from the King. Our will began to crack.

This was what Stephen had relied on, I realized. All it would take was one mounted strike by his knights against our depleted ranks, and we would be finished.

I called our leaders to the dilapidated grain tower we used for strategy sessions. The mood inside was anxious. Many friends had been left on the field. A somber look was etched on every face, even Daniel’s.

I went up to the hearty Languedocian. “Ox, how many men do you have left?”

“Two hundred,” he said grimly, “of what was once three.”

“I want you to take them, then… tonight, and leave camp. And the Morrisaeys… You, Alois, I want you to take your men too.”

[404] Ox and Alois were stunned. “Give up? Let that bastard win?”

I did not reply. I stood in the center of the group, catching Odo and Alphonse’s eyes, taking in their looks of disappointment and anger.

The Languedocian shook his head. “We came a long way to fight, Hugh, not to run.”

“We too, Hugh,” Alois protested. “We’ve earned our place.”

“Yes, you have.” I nodded. “All of you have.” I turned and faced each one to convey my thanks.

“And you shall have it,” I declared, my voice coming alive. “You shall have the chance that each of your friends sought as they were cut down.”

They stared at me, lost between alarm and confusion. “Oh, shit.” Odo’s jaw dropped. “It’s another of those fucking pretexts.” He looked at me as if he were trying to gauge the weather inside. “We have Emilie to blame for this. What is the plan, Hugh?”

My face gave away nothing.

“We’re going to take this city,” I finally said, “but not as soldiers. I have tried to fight this as a military man, and as a general, but I’m really a fool… And as a fool, even the great Charlemagne would have no advantage over me.”

“I’m not sure this is a revelation I’m pleased to trust my life to.” Ox sent a skeptical gaze my way. “But I’m all ears. Tell us about this pretext of yours.”

Chapter 139

STEPHEN WAS IN THE MIDST of stabbing a piece of breakfast ham, the morning light tumbling into his quarters, when his page called out, “Look, your lordship, to the window, quick. The rabble has fled.”

Just minutes before, the duke had woken in a sour mood. These rebels had proven more resistant than he’d imagined. In wave after wave they came at him; he could not understand their zeal to die. Plus, two weeks ago, Anne had moved to the lady’s quarters. He’d been sleeping alone.

At his page’s call, he hurried to the window. His empty stomach filled with glee. The boy was right! The rebel ranks had thinned, cut by more than half.

Those fucking Languedocians, with their arms as thick as ox legs and their horsehair vests, had fled. All that remained was a measly little force, standing around like chickens waiting to lose their heads.

And there, at the head of them, the green-and-red rooster himself, in full view. With the lance! This decimated rabble of woodchoppers and farmers was no more than mop-up work for his men.

From behind, his aides burst in. Bertrand, the chatelain, followed by Morgaine.

“Look,” Stephen cackled, “the gutless bastards have given [406] up. Look at that stupid prancing cock, standing about as if he still had something to command.”

“You said, when the opportunity arose, the little fool was mine,” Morgaine rasped.

“So I did.” Stephen beamed a gloating grin. “I did promise you that. Tell me, Bertrand, what strength do you estimate they still have?”

The chatelain scanned the field. “Barely three hundred, my liege. All on foot, with limited weapons. It should be no feat to round them up with our horsemen and achieve a quick surrender.”

“Surrender?” Stephen’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, it might be good to extend a hand and save these poor, misguided fools a bit more blood. How does that word sound to you, Morgaine? Surrender?”

“These men are soulless, my liege. We’d be doing God a service by removing their heads.”

“So what are you waiting for?” Stephen jabbed him in the chest. “The little bastard’s lance still makes an ache in your side, does it not? You heard the chatelain’s advice. Let the knights ride with you.”

“Liege, those are my men,” Bertrand interrupted. “They are our castle’s reserve.”

“You know, Bertrand,” Stephen interrupted. “That surrender thing… I’ve never been particularly keen on it. Morgaine makes a case. These men have already forfeited their souls. No reason to keep them fluttering around in this world.”

The chatelain’s stomach sank.

“The holy lance or my dignity-that was his choice, was it not?” Stephen’s eyes lit up. “Now it seems that I will have them both. Won’t I, chatelain? And Morgaine… one more thing. I know how you enjoy your work, but do not forget your real purpose out there.”

“The holy lance, my lord. My thoughts have never strayed from the prize.”

Chapter 140

“LOOK!” A cry of alarm spread among the troops. Several men pointed toward the castle.

The gates of Borée had suddenly opened. We watched, all eyes fixed on the sight, not knowing what would emerge. Then, we heard the rumble of heavy hooves clattering over the lowered drawbridge and saw armored men atop massive crested chargers, trotting in rows of two.

Silently, we watched the deadly battle formation assemble.

No one moved. I knew even the strongest among us debated whether to fight or throw down our arms.

“Positions, men,” I called. The troops remained, eyeing the ever-growing enemy force massing on the ridge. “Positions!” I called again.

Then, slowly, Odo picked up his gigantic club. And Alphonse, taking a deep breath, strapped on his sword. Then Georges and Daniel too armed themselves.

They took their places without saying much. One by one the rest began to fall in. We gathered into a tight formation, like a Roman phalanx, covered by shields. I prayed this final pretext would work.

Alphonse took a breath. “How many of them do you count?”

[408] “Two hundred. All armed to the teeth.” Daniel shrugged. He continued to count as they steadily poured out of the gate and took their places on the field. “Make that three.”

“And how m-many are we?” the boy asked.

“Never mind.” Daniel sniffed, raising his weapon. “What are warhorses and pikes against a good hoe, anyway?”

A stream of grim laughter trickled around the ranks.

“What is this city, just one big fucking garrison?” Odo shook his head.

On the walls, green-and-gold defenders of Borée stood silently, gaining confidence as the ranks of their horsemen grew. Chargers blew and snorted, held back from the charge as knights adjusted their armor and weapons.

When the force was finally set, a sole rider walked his horse out of the gate and took his place at the head of the formation. I expected Bertrand, the chatelain, but it was not.

On his helmet, I saw the outline of a dark Byzantine cross. My blood went still. Once again, I was facing the man who had killed my wife and baby son.

Odo swallowed dryly. He leaned close to me. “Hugh, I know I’ve asked this before…”

“Yes, I think it’ll work,” I told him. “But if it doesn’t… what’s the cost? I always thought you made a better soldier than a smith.”

“And you were a better jester than a general,” he shot back.

I started to laugh, but suddenly my voice was drowned out by a terrifying rumble from across the field.

“Here they come!” Daniel cried. “Shields!”

There was a harried, desperate murmuring. People could be heard muttering their last prayers. I slung the holy lance through a strap across my back and took hold of a heavy sword.

The ground had started to shake. Shouting and cheers erupted from the castle walls.

[409] We linked together in tight formation, our perimeter protected by a wall of shields. The drum of heavy hooves grew closer and closer, like an advancing landslide.

“Hold together,” I yelled. Forty yards… thirty… Then they were on us!

Chapter 141

THE WAVE OF HORSEMEN crashed into our formation with the impact of a hundred-foot crest swallowing up a ship. Sparks and shields and armor flew into the air.

Our ranks staggered backward from the force, shields raised over our heads. Steel came crashing down on us. But the men did not break.

A knight barreled into me, chopping furiously at my shield with an enormous pike. My legs buckled under the heavy blows. All around were the sounds of groans and terror, the chilling clang of iron, shields splitting against the weight of steel, horses neighing, soldiers crying out.

Fighting back, I managed to pin the face of my attacker’s pike against the dressings of an adjacent mount. Then I lashed upward with my sword, praying it would strike something. It pierced the armor just above his knee plate. The knight howled, and his mount bucked. I was able to drag him from the saddle and throw him under the hooves of his own horse.

Our ranks were already two-thirds encircled. Men groaned and dropped in place; the ranks thinned. We could not withstand much more of this onslaught.

“Back,” I shouted. “Now!”

Slowly we started to retreat, still fighting in formation, making our way toward the cover of the woods.

[411] Across the way, I saw Black Cross righting with fury and rage, cutting down men with a single strike, pushing his own knights out of the way. I knew he was trying to get to me.

We made our way back toward the trees. Stephen’s horsemen closed for the kill. We continued to resist in formation. Someone’s blade slashed across my arm. All around, we were being encircled, a noose strangling our ranks. I saw Black Cross steadily approaching, watching me as he came.

Suddenly a roar rose from the woods. The trees themselves seemed to come alive with hide-clad horsemen and club-wielding warriors springing forth out of the green. The knights between us and the woods spun around. All of a sudden they faced a charging enemy from behind. Their horses, caught in the squeeze, tripped and reared, tossing riders off. We began to strike at them, using our swords like battering rams, crumpling armor until it gave and then running the knights through.

Now Stephen’s horsemen were pinched, fighting a renewed foe from all sides. You could see in their darting eyes the terror of this unanticipated shift of fortune. More knights began to be stripped from their mounts, their heavy weapons useless in the closeness of battle among the trees. It was a massacre. A massacre-but not the one they had planned.

Soon, barely half of Stephen’s knights were standing. Many were off their horses, fighting two or three of us at a time in their cumbersome suits of armor. Shouts of exhortation were replaced by pleas for mercy. Some began to cease fighting and put up their hands. Weapons dropped to the ground.

Relief rippled through me. I could not believe it. I was so tired I wanted to sink to my knees.

Then a fearsome voice pierced through me, sharp as any lance. “You rejoice too soon, jester. Before we call it a day, let us see how much power that little stick of yours really has.”

Chapter 142

HIS VISOR WAS UP, a cold expression on his scarred face. I fastened on the hard-set eyes of Black Cross, the man I hated more than any other in this world.

“Twice,” I spat at him.

“Twice what, innkeeper?”

“Twice I have to rid the world of the scum who killed my wife and child.”

I rushed toward him, hurtling my sword at his neck.

The Tafur put his visor down and stood his ground, pinning back my strongest thrust with ease. I hacked at him again and again. Each time he parried my blade.

“You have caused me shame,” Black Cross said. Through his visor’s narrow slits I could see his pupils darting from side to side.

With a ferocious howl, he leaped and swung his blade down on me with the power of a mangonel. I darted backward, the wind from his blade only inches from my face.

The Tafur did not even stop to regain his breath. He swung again, backhanded, aiming to slice through my legs. The mighty force of his blow almost drove my own blade into my thigh.

Slowly I forced his blade upward, but it took all of my strength. I felt like a boy straining against the power of a fully grown man.

[413] “You are every bit the fool your reputation speaks.” Black Cross chuffed. “When I kill you, Stephen will take the lance and the lives of your men. Your severed head will be at the foot of your whore’s bed.”

He sliced at me again, each blow harder to fend off. I darted to the left, trying to catch my breath. Only my speed prevented me from being cut in half. But my quickness was waning. I couldn’t beat Black Cross, I realized.

He butted me, helmet into my forehead. I staggered back, the crash reverberating through my skull. The breath was heavy in my chest. A voice inside me pleaded, Please, God, show me the way.

The Tafur pressed closer and I stumbled, trying to scamper away. I crawled along the bank of the river, knowing my death was only seconds away. Stephen would end up with the holy lance after all.

Black Cross stood in front of me. There was no escaping him now. He put up his visor and let me see his awful, scarred face.

He sniffed. “Your soul is already lost. I only do God’s dirty work by delivering your corpse to Him.”

For a moment I blinked, disoriented, the sun glinting off his armor. I felt in another place, Antioch, staring up at the Turk, sucking in the last, precious breaths of my life.

Once again, the craziest urge took hold of me.

I began to laugh. I did not know at what. That I had come full circle, back to the moment of my death? That despite all my hope, life in the duchy would remain as it was? That I would die in the patchwork clothing of a fool?

Something crazy had come into my head. A line from a stupid joke. I don’t know why it seemed funny to me, but I could not help myself. I was a fool, wasn’t I?

“It sure is deep,” I said. Then I started to laugh again, twisting up my legs and rolling on my side.

“You die witless, jester. Tell me, what image is so funny that you will carry it to your grave?”

[414] “Oldest joke in the book.” I caught my breath. I did not know if it was cunning or total lunacy that was in control. “Two men pissing off a bridge. Each trying to prove to the other who’s bigger. One rolls out his pecker. ‘Bbrrr … this water’s cold,’ he says. ‘Yeah,’ goes the other, ‘and it sure is deep.’ ”

Black Cross looked blank, not understanding. He stood on the bank of the river, ready to dispatch me to Hell.

“It sure is deep,” I said again, this time a renewed certainty in my voice.

It was only a flash, but I was sure I saw on his face the subtle recognition that all was not what it seemed, that he had misjudged something.

Before he could figure it out, I kicked my legs and struck him squarely in the midsection. The blow sent him stumbling to the very edge of the riverbank.

Black Cross struggled to keep his balance. And he did! He smiled disdainfully, as if to say, You little man. That’s all you have?

Then his boots could not hold the ground. He teetered, his armor dragging him backward. And still his look was not of peril but merely annoyance. Little man, little problems.

But then he began to fall. A clang of metal the armor dragging him, picking up speed like a boulder until he rolled, grasping at rocks and weeds, all the way down the embankment and tumbled into the river.

He slid under the surface. I am certain that what flashed through his mind was that he would pick himself up and climb back and finish me off. Moments passed. I could not believe what was happening myself. The Tafur did not rise. A gloved hand broke the surface and thrashed in the air, struggling for something to grasp on to.

More time passed. Air bubbles rose to the surface. His glove flailed back and forth. But the Tafur never rose again. Black Cross was done, drowned, dead.

[415] I forced myself to crawl over to the edge of the embankment. The fighting had wound down. Stephen’s men were kneeling, groaning, hands in the air. Some of our men were beginning to cheer, hoisting their swords above their heads.

Then they were all cheering, jubilant faces reflecting the same incredible thing. We had won! Stephen was defeated. We had actually won!

All around, people came rushing up to me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Finally, tears bit at my eyes, tears of joy and exhaustion. People shouted my name as if I were a hero.

I reached behind me for the holy lance. With whatever strength was left in my body, I thrust it high into the air.

Toward Heaven.

Chapter 143

EMILIE DID NOT hear cheering. Why?

She knew a fierce battle was under way. She’d heard the pounding gallop of horsemen leaving the city, the walls shaking with their strides.

Oh, God, she thought, that could only mean Stephen had attacked. Hugh’s army was now fighting for its life.

Emilie could not bring herself to look out the window of her cell. How could God let this ruthless bastard win? Fight, Hugh, fight. But she knew the odds were against him.

She waited for the roar, close by, announcing victory. It would tell her Stephen’s killers had done their job. That Hugh was dead.

But there was no roar.

After the first rumble of horsemen there was only the clash of metal, the gnashing din of battle, far-off cries. Then, in the distance, a trail of cheers. Why were the ranks on the wall so silent? She finally pulled herself up on her mat.

No cheering… Could Hugh have won? Was it possible?

Suddenly the bolt jangled and the door was flung open.

Stephen was there, his eyes fierce. Two soldiers followed him into the cell.

She forced a smile. “I hear no cheers coming from the walls, my lord. Why do I think the battle has not gone your way?”

[417] “For both of us.” Stephen snorted and seized her arm. “There’s a noose in the courtyard that awaits your pretty neck. Tomorrow morning, you traitorous bitch!”

“You have no right to pass such judgment.” Emilie tried to twist away. “You sentence me to death on what charge?”

“Sedition, abetting the rebels, fucking a heretic…” Stephen listed them with a shrug.

“Have you lost your mind? Is there no honor left in you? Have you bargained everything with the Devil for a piece of metal? That lance?”

“The lance,” Stephen said, his eyes flashing, “is worth more to me than you and your fool, and all the pitiful ‘honorable’ souls left in France.”

Emilie shouted, “You will not beat him, Stephen, whether you hang me or not. He came for you as one man; now an army stands behind him. You cannot stop him, not with all your titles and mercenaries, no matter how many men.”

“Yes, yes, your ruddy little fool. Oh, now you’ve really got my knees knocking.” Stephen laughed.

“He will come for me.”

Stephen shook his head and sighed. “Sometimes I think the two of you actually deserve each other. Of course the fool will come for you, my pathetic girl. That’s precisely what I’m counting on.”

Chapter 144

THE REALIZATION SETTLED over the men that the battle was finally over. No more fighting. No more blood.

They looked around, stunned and elated. Those who had lived sought out friends and embraced them. Georges and the Languedocians, Odo and Father Leo, Alphonse and Alois, farmers and Freemasons, jubilant just to be alive.

I led our men back to the castle walls, exhausted, out of fight. But as conquerors!

The same defenders who had pushed aside our attacks now sullenly watched us, arms at rest. Stephen’s captured knights were pushed to the front, stripped of their armor, and forced to kneel. A cry rose up. Not a cry of victory but a single, steady voice that grew in power until all joined in.

“Submit, submit,” they chanted.

Finally, from a parapet above the front gate, Stephen appeared, dressed in a ceremonial purple cloak. He surveyed our ranks contemptuously, as if he could not believe this ragtag rabble had beaten back his troops.

“What happens now?” I asked Daniel.

“You must talk with him. Stephen has to comply or his knights will lose their heads. He is bound by honor.”

“Go on.” Odo pushed me forward. “Tell the bastard he can keep his fucking grain. See if there’s any ale in there.”

[419] I grabbed the lance. Someone hitched up a mount for me.

“I’ll go with you,” Daniel said.

“I’ll come too,” the miller said.

I looked at Stephen. I didn’t trust this bastard, no matter how deeply he was bound by honor. “I think not.” I shook my head. I had someone else in mind.

We brought up Baldwin. He had long been stripped of his fancy clothes and was dressed in a burlap tunic like any common man. His wrists were bound, his haggard face badly in need of a shave.

“It is your lucky day,” I said, plopping a plumed hat upon his head. “If all goes well, you’ll soon be back in silk.”

“You do not need to dress me up.” He threw off the hat. “You can be sure Stephen will recognize one of his own.”

“Suit yourself.” I nodded solemnly.

We headed forward out of the ranks, Baldwin’s mount tethered to mine. Soldiers on the walls watched us silently approach.

We stopped, out of arrow-shot, forty yards from the wall. Stephen gazed down, barely acknowledging me, as if he had been called away from a meal.

“Black Cross is dead,” I announced. “The fate of your best knights, what’s left of them, awaits your word. We have no more urge for blood. Submit!”

“I commend you, carrot-top,” the duke replied. “You have proven to be as worthy a fighter as you are a fool. I have taken you too lightly. Come, ride forth where I can see your face. I will present my terms.”

“Your terms? It is our terms you are bound to hear.”

“What do I detect, jester? Do you not think me a man of honor? Ride forth and claim your prize.”

“I think you bargain freely, lord, with something you are short of. Do not be offended if I send out my man instead.”

A smile curled on Stephen’s face. “Your man, then, jester. And I will send mine.”

“Shall I go?” Daniel offered.

[420] I shook my head and glanced toward Baldwin. “No… him.”

Baldwin’s eyes bolted wide. A film of sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Here’s your chance.” I pulled his hood over his head. “Show us how your fellow lord recognizes you.”

I untied his horse and gave it a hard slap to the rump, and it bolted forward. The duke, hands bound, tried to gather it under control. As he crossed over into no-man’s-land, he began to shout, “I am Baldwin, duke of Treille!”

A few guards on the wall began to point and laugh.

The duke’s voice became more agitated. “I am Baldwin, you fools. Disregard these clothes. Look at me, Stephen. Do you not see?”

All that could be seen was a lowly-clad figure galloping toward the gates on his horse.

“Here, jester,” Stephen called from the wall. “Here are my terms.”

A chilling whoosh was heard and an arrow struck Baldwin’s chest. The duke keeled back. Then another, and a third arrow cut into him. Baldwin’s body slumped in the saddle. The horse, sensing something was wrong, reversed its course and drifted back toward our ranks.

“There are my terms, fool,” Stephen called from the wall. “Enjoy your victory. You have one day.” Then he wrapped his purple cloak about his shoulders and left, without even waiting for a response.

Daniel rode out to meet the returning horse. Baldwin’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

A parchment was rolled onto one of the arrows in his chest.

Daniel leaped off his horse and, without pulling out the arrow, unfastened the paper bound to its shaft. He read, then looked up. I saw the bitterness in his eyes.

“Lady Emilie is decreed a traitor. We have the day to lay down our arms. Unless we submit, and turn the lance over to Stephen, she will be hanged.”

Chapter 145

THAT NIGHT, I went out into the fields behind our camp, my chest exploding with rage.

I needed to be alone. I headed past the sentries manning our perimeter. What did I care if I was in danger? I wanted to hurl the blasted lance against the castle walls. Keep it, Stephen. My life has been sorrow and misery since I found it!

Behind me, the flames of a hundred fires sparkled in the night, my men dozing or making bets on what tomorrow would bring: fight or surrender.

I began to feel heartened, my shoulders free of strain. Maybe I would see Emilie if I walked close to the walls. Just for a moment, as I passed by the gates. The thought lifted me-that I might see her beautiful face one more time.

I let out a breath, cradling the lance in my palms, staring at the massive walls.

Suddenly I felt a muscular arm around my neck. I gulped for air, the grip tightening. The tip of a blade was pressed into my back.

“Most accommodating, jester,” hissed a voice in my ear.

“You’ve picked a daring place for a murder. If I shout out, you will be meat for our dogs.”

“And if you shout, you would be out a very dear friend, boar-slayer.”

[422] I slowly turned and was face-to-face with the Moor who always guarded Anne.

“What are you doing here, Moor? Your mistress, Anne, is no friend of mine. You’re not welcome either.”

“I come with a message,” he said. “You must listen, just listen.”

“I have already seen your lady’s message, but my wife died in her dungeon.”

“A message not from my lady,” the Moor said with a smile, “but from yours. Emilie. She bids you come with me tonight. I told her no sane man would come back with me through these walls. She said to tell you, ‘That may be, but it will not always be.’ ”

The sound of those words took my breath away. I could hear Emilie’s voice, see her as I set off that day in the jester’s suit to Treille. My spirits lifted at the thought of the brave twinkle in her eyes.

“Do not smile yet,” warned the Moor. “It will be a long shot to save her. Choose two men. Your best. Two whom you would be happy to die with. Then we must go. Inside. Now.”

Chapter 146

I CHOSE ODO and Ox. Who else? They were the two bravest, and they had gotten me this far.

Around midnight, we left, snaking our way through the camp and into the woods without attracting attention. Then we followed the river to where it neared the city walls, away from the main gates.

Through the darkness, I saw the outline of the great cathedral, lit by the flames of sentry fires. We could even hear Stephen’s men talking while manning the walls.

We kept close to the river, approaching a part of the city I did not know. We forded the river at a low point the Moor knew.

Creeping along the wall, we finally reached a spot that seemed to be the exterior of a large stone building many stories high. Narrow window slits were carved in the wall. I had no idea where I was.

The Moor climbed up to one of the narrow slits. He scratched at the opening. A voice whispered back, “Who is there, fool or king?”

In his broken accent, the Moor said, “If fools wore crowns, we’d all be kings. Quick, let us in-or we’ll all be hanging tomorrow.”

[424] Suddenly chunks of the wall began to shift. The slit grew larger, a block at a time, and I could see it was not a window but a tunnel.

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“La porte du fou,” the Moor said, hurrying us through. The fool’s gate. “It was dug during the wars with Anjou as an escape route, but the Anjevins found out and they were waiting there. They slaughtered all who came out. Anyone who went through was said to be a fool. Thought you’d appreciate the touch.”

“Very reassuring.” Odo swallowed uneasily.

“My apologies,” the Moor said. “I would have suggested the main gate, but all these men in green-and-gold surcoats with big swords were standing around guarding it.” He pushed Odo forward.

We crept through the narrow opening. A dim light appeared up ahead. “Come, quick,” I heard a voice say on the other end. I did not know where I was or whom I was heading toward. I prayed this was not an ambush.

The tunnel was not long, only the length of a building. We came out into a torch-lit room, arms assisting us as we jumped.

Those arms belonged to a man in a deep blue robe with a white beard. I immediately recognized him: Auguste, the physician who had healed me after I was attacked by the boar. This was his hospital. People in the throes of disease reclined on mats or leaned half-naked against stone walls.

Auguste led us down a hall into a large adjoining chamber. A study. The walls were lined with heavy manuscripts, scrolls all about.

I had barely enough time to thank Auguste for his help before the physician scurried off, shutting us in. My heart beat nervously.

“What is next?” I turned to the Moor.

“What’s next,” said a voice from the shadows, “is to pray that [425] holy lance of yours has a fraction of the powers it’s said to-if you intend to save the life of the woman you love.”

I spun to see a shape in a hood emerge from a corner. I did not know whether to raise my knife or bow.

I was staring at Lady Anne.