The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery (13 page)

“Roncelin, Eudiarde!” he cried. “I am here!”

The Viscount and Viscountess of Marseille bowed to the King of Aragon as he strode toward them.

“Your Highness, my brother,” intoned Roncelin as he took the pitcher and poured wine into the goblets. “Marseille bids you welcome.”

He handed one goblet to Pedro, one to his wife, and raised the third.

“Our house is yours!” he said, and they tilted their heads back and drank. The room applauded, and the musicians launched into a celebratory dance.

“Now, that is a very handsome man,” observed Claudia as Helga stared unabashedly at the king, her mouth hanging open. I tapped the girl on the noggin with one of my clubs.

“You’re here to work, not to drool, Apprentice,” I said. “Start juggling. And every club you drop is another meal you cook on the way to Montpellier.”

Pedro took Eudiarde’s arm and led her grandly to the head table, taking his place at the center. Roncelin trailed them awkwardly, and there was a momentary confusion as to who was supposed to be sitting where that was quickly smoothed out by the seneschal.

The blessing was given by the archbishop in full ecclesiastical finery, his miter rivaling the king’s breastplate in gaudiness. Then the dinner began, the servants ladling fish stew into bowls and keeping the wine coming. I signaled Helga to take Portia from me, shook my left arm awake, and began some serious juggling that carried me about the room to the head table. No one thinks you’re listening when you have five clubs in the air, but the conversation taking place was meant to be heard by the entire room.

“My wife sends her love and greetings,” said Pedro blandly.

“And how fares our former sister?” asked Roncelin. “I am surprised that she chose not to accompany her husband so soon after her nuptials.”

“She regrets that she cannot be with us,” said Pedro. “But travel would be unsafe in her current condition.”

“Oh, dear,” said Roncelin sympathetically. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing of concern,” said Pedro. “She is with child.”

There was applause from the rest of the table.

“Already!” exclaimed Eudiarde. “But you were only just married.”

“God has chosen to bless my life,” said Pedro. “He recognized the value of my settling down and repenting my wanton youthful ways, and has rewarded me with the continuation of my line. It will be a son, I have no doubt.”

“To the future King of Aragon and Count of Montpellier,” said Roncelin, lifting his cup in salute. “Long may your lineage thrive.”

“And I am hoping to add to that,” said Pedro.

“More children would be a multiple blessing,” said Roncelin.

“Children?” laughed Pedro. “I was thinking more in the line of adding territories.”

The music kept playing, but the other conversations ceased as the diners turned their full attention to the king, who was sopping up his remaining stew with a piece of bread.

“Territories?” queried Roncelin nervously. “Whose territories?”

“Those that the infidel has kept from their true destiny,” said Pedro. “God has chosen me to be His steward here on earth, and I would be a most neglectful steward indeed if I allowed His lands to be under the sway of those worshippers of false prophets.”

“Do you propose to go to Jerusalem, then?” Roncelin asked, trying not to seem hopeful.

“Neither Jerusalem nor the Holy Land,” said Pedro. “At least, not yet. I believe that there are lands and Christians to be rescued closer at hand.”

“Certainly, there are lands bordering your own…,” Roncelin began.

“The Balearics,” interrupted Pedro. “Majorca and Minorca. Rich prosperous islands under the thumb of the Mohammedans.”

“Islands,” said Roncelin.

“Those things in the middle of the water, milord,” Pantalan called out helpfully from one end of the table.

“No, those are called boats,” I called from the other.

“The things that don’t float, I mean,” he said.

“Those are called boats that sink,” I said.

“Quiet,” commanded Roncelin, glaring. He turned back to Pedro. “Well, the Balearics. Worthy quest. Best of luck with it.”

“I’ll need more than luck,” said Pedro, holding his goblet up to be refilled. He drank, and then sighed. “Ah, marriage. Such a joy. It has taught me a valuable lesson.”

“What lesson is that?” asked Roncelin.

“Never marry a city without first checking its port,” he replied. “Consider Montpellier. Good location, decent income, but no harbor worth a damn. You have to unload your ships onto barges, and it’s still miles up a shallow river before you get there. I let my judgment be clouded by love. Well, you of all people know what that’s like, my brother.”

“Of course,” said Roncelin warily as Eudiarde gulped down her wine. I had lost track of how much she had drunk, but I was sure that there was going to be either an outburst or a collapse soon. Maybe both.

“They have to ship everything through Narbonne,” continued Pedro. “But I’ve never liked the Narbonnese. No family there, at least not yet. I was thinking now that I’ve added Montpellier to my holdings that maybe I could throw that trade your way.”

There was a rustle of excitement among the merchants at the table. One of them caught Roncelin’s eye and nodded slightly.

“I am sure that could be arranged to our mutual satisfaction,” said Roncelin. “We thank you for your consideration.”

“It is nothing,” said Pedro. “Are we not family? Do we not show our love for each other in every possible way?”

“Every possible way?” repeated Roncelin. “What do you want?”

“Want? Your love is enough,” said Pedro.

“Well, then we thank…,” Roncelin began.

“Now, I would like you to show that love publicly when I am in Rome,” continued Pedro.

“Rome?” said Roncelin.

“Minor city in Italy, milord,” called Pantalan. “I think the Pope lives there.”

“Take him away,” said Roncelin irritably, and there was a minor ruckus down at that end of the room as the servants threw the fool out, his protestations echoing down the stairs.

“Why are you going to Rome?” asked Roncelin. “And what does it have to do with me?”

“I am inviting you to be present at my coronation,” said Pedro.

“Coronation? But you are already the king. Everyone knows—”

“Everyone knows nothing!” shouted Pedro. “I am God’s anointed messenger, sent to carry out His will, and I cannot even scrape together enough ships to make a decent escort on these little social calls. Great plans cost money, my brother, and your fat merchants do not adequately recognize their moral obligation to my cause. So, I am going to Rome to be anointed and crowned by the Vicar of Christ himself, and then I will go forth and do God’s bidding with proper support from my flock. And I am inviting you to be present at this tremendous honor.”

“We could visit Rome?” breathed Eudiarde. “Travel? Leave this place?”

“It would be a great sacrifice to leave my responsibilities to my people,” said Roncelin.

He glanced down the table as he spoke. The merchant who had caught his eye before had a brief whispered conversation with his brethren, then shrugged and nodded again.

“But our love for you is greater than those responsibilities,” continued Roncelin hesitantly.

“Then it is done,” boomed Pedro. “Let’s have some music! Something jolly. And let that pretty lady who juggles so deftly come where I can see her better.”

I bounded up, batting my eyes at him. He broke into laughter.

“Not you,” he growled. “That one.”

Claudia came up.

“Milord, allow me to introduce you to my wife,” I said as she bowed.

“Wife,” he repeated, sounding disappointed.

“Yes, milord,” she said. “And may I be so bold as to congratulate you on your ascendance to matrimony. It is a holy sacrament, sanctified by God. May you be blessed forever in His sight.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, sighing. “Let me see you perform. I have never seen a woman juggle before.”

“All woman juggle,” she said, launching into her patter. “Say this club is marriage…”

She had matters safely in hand, so I wandered about the room. Helga came up, the baby asleep in her arms. “Who is the merchant who is pulling the strings of the viscount?” she asked.

“I would guess the head of the Anselme family,” I said. “We’ll have to ask Pantalan. Damn him for getting thrown out and leaving us on our own.”

“That king certainly doesn’t act like a man who just got married,” she said, watching Claudia keep her clubs between her and Pedro.

“Kings don’t behave any differently than the rest of us,” I said. “They just get away with it more. Keep Portia with you at all times.”

“Why? Is she in danger?”

“No, but you may be,” I said. “If Pedro wants to dally with a female fool, and Claudia is unavailable, he might look your way.”

“But I’m only twelve!” she protested.

I patted her shoulder. “Just keep holding Portia,” I said. “She’ll protect you.”

I kept working the room, but heard nothing of use. Toward the end of the evening, Laurent signaled me to join him by the entrance. We walked into the hallway and he led me to a small room that served him as an office.

“I trust that you will be seeing Pantalan tonight,” he said, unlocking a drawer with a key from a bunch at his waist and pulling out a handful of coins.

“I will.”

He sorted through them, then handed me four pennies.

“One for each of you,” he said.

“Then there should be five,” I said.

“How so?”

“The baby. She earned her keep tonight.”

He flipped me one more. “Only because I like babies,” he said.

“Thank you, milord,” I said, bowing.

“Am I to understand that you will be leaving Marseille in the morning?” he asked, sitting down at the desk and motioning me to a chair across from him.

“You are remarkably well-informed,” I said.

“One overhears things when one is a servant,” he said.

“Especially when one is trying to overhear things,” I said.

“Just so,” he said.

“Well, there’s no reason to hide it,” I said. “We go to seek our fortune in Montpellier next.”

“Do they lack fools in Montpellier?” he asked.

“On the contrary, there is a surfeit, but it takes a professional such as myself to point that out to them.”

“I wonder if they will appreciate the information,” he said. “Well, since you are going, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to deliver something to a friend of mine.”

“What sort of something, and what sort of friend?” I asked.

“A letter,” he said.

“Are there no couriers you can use?”

“Not leaving tomorrow.”

“What’s in the letter?”

“It’s personal,” he said. “It will be sealed.”

“And who is its intended recipient?”

“My counterpart there. His name is Léon, the seneschal to the Countess. It would have the advantage of gaining you a valuable connection upon your arrival.”

“That would be useful,” I said. “Very well. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” he said. From the desk he took a piece of parchment that had already been written upon, then dipped a quill in a jar of ink and jotted down a few lines that I couldn’t make out, blotted them, then folded the parchment in thirds. He turned to take a candle from a shelf behind him, and I slipped my hand into my pouch. He turned back to melt some wax onto where the folded edges met, then pressed a signet ring into it. When it hardened, he handed it to me.

“Have a safe—,” he began.

“Two pennies,” I said.

“What?”

“Two pennies more for the extra weight.”

“What weight?” he scoffed. “A piece of parchment will add nothing to your wain.”

“The weight of the responsibility,” I explained. “It sits heavily on a fool’s shoulders.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he muttered, handing the coins to me.

“A fool’s blessing upon you for your generosity,” I said, pressing his hands fervently between mine as he did so.

“What is that worth?” he said, extricating his hand from mine.

“Two pennies,” I said, tossing them into the air and catching them.

We returned to the dinner, which was at its end. My wife was at the other end of the room, her virtue successfully defended. Pedro was in intense conversation with Anselme, having sniffed out the real power in the room, and Roncelin sat moodily as his wife berated him loud enough for all to hear. The subject seemed to be his inability to provide her with children. The guests were practically fleeing the room.

We quietly gathered our gear and slipped out, waving to the poor musicians who were forced to play to the bitter end. Pantalan was waiting for us by the wharf, skipping pebbles across the harbor’s waters.

“Roncelin is one of the sorriest excuses for a man I have ever seen,” he said, fuming. “Not one smile the entire night. And to throw me out! The nerve. What does he think he is, a viscount? Please tell me that he got drunk, picked a fight with Pedro, and got beaten to a pulp.”

“No, no, and no,” I said. “Let’s go back to your place. We need to pack for tomorrow.”

When we were done packing, I tossed Pantalan his share of our payment for the evening.

“A penny,” he sighed. “The price of my humiliation. Who paid you?”

“Laurent,” I said. “And he asked me to deliver a letter to Montpellier for him.”

“Really? That’s odd.”

I pulled it out of my pouch.

“It’s sealed,” said Helga.

“You know, a friend of mine was once asked to take a sealed letter somewhere,” I said. “His curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to break the seal and see what was inside. It turned out to be a warrant for his execution.”

“I suppose he decided not to deliver it after that,” said Helga.

“You suppose correctly, Apprentice.”

“So, open it.”

“Ah, but what if it is a letter that we do want to have delivered?” I asked her.

“Then you can deliver it—Oh, but what about the seal?”

“There’s the problem,” I said. “Fortunately, seal-stealing is a specialty of mine. Observe.”

I reached into my pouch and pulled out a small lump of clay.

“Make sure that it’s quite moist before you put it in your pouch,” I said. “Then, you can use it to make an impression of a seal or key.”