The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery (2 page)

“Your command of langue d’oc is excellent, and any slips in the accent we can attribute to your constant travel,” I continued. “Your performance tonight was generally good. However, in the part where you were hitting me in the face with the broom, you actually hit me in the face with the broom.”

“You can’t fault her for that,” objected Claudia. “She’s standing on top of your shoulders while you’re lurching about the fire.”

“But she knows which way I’m lurching,” I said. “Or she should know. Anything that could throw me off balance could end up sending one of us into that fire, and I know which one I will choose if that happens. Roast Apprentice is an excellent dish for early autumn.”

“Maybe the routine is too hard for her,” said Claudia.

“No, it isn’t,” said Helga. “I made the mistake. When I’m on his shoulders, it’s step left, back, whack, back, right, whack, left, right, whack, forward, whack, back, whack, and jump. I was early on the third whack.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“I’ll rehearse it in the morning,” she said. “After exercises.”

“Yes, you will,” I said. “Now, get some sleep, little one.”

I tossed her her bedroll, and she spread it out. Then she went over to Portia.

“Hug for Helga?” she whispered, and the baby opened her arms wide. Helga embraced her, then lay down on her bedroll and pulled a blanket over her body.

“Good night, Princess,” said Claudia to Helga, kissing her on the cheek.

“Good night, Apprentice,” I said.

Claudia nursed Portia until the babe was full, then handed her to me to burp. The resulting belch was loud enough to wake the horses, and Portia looked around in astonishment, then giggled.

“Good night, little Fool,” I whispered, kissing her. I put her in her cradle and tucked her blanket around her. Claudia kissed her, then rocked her for a few minutes until her eyes closed.

We lay on our blankets, holding each other for warmth.

“You were hard on her,” whispered Claudia.

“Because she’s good,” I said. “Did you notice her imitating you?”

“I sound nothing like that!” she protested.

“No, it must have been someone else,” I said. “Someone else with the exact same voice as you.”

“Hmph. How far is Le Thoronet?” she asked sleepily.

“One day’s journey north,” I said.

“Do you think he’ll agree?”

“We’ll see.”

*   *   *

We woke to the sounds of the stable boys whistling as they mucked out the stalls. Portia was still asleep, so I picked the cradle up gently and carried her outside. Claudia and Helga joined me, and we began our stretches, then moved on to some quick tumbling routines. After that, Claudia began her juggling warm-ups, while Helga picked up her broom and faced me.

“Put down that broom, or there will be hell to pay,” I said.

“You want this broom? Then take it from me,” she cried.

She ran toward me and vaulted onto my shoulders.

“Left, back, whack, back, right, whack, left, right, whack, forward, whack, back, whack,” she chanted as I did the steps, the broom whistling harmlessly past my face. “And jump!”

She landed neatly on her feet as the stable boys cheered. She curtsied to them impishly.

“Again?” she said.

“It’s not necessary,” I said.

“Again,” she insisted.

“Very well,” I said, pleased, and we repeated it. This time, it was even better. I bowed to her, then tossed her her juggling clubs. She sent them into the air in a pattern that accidentally carried her closer to the stable boys.

“Behave, daughter,” I called.

“Of course, Papa,” she replied innocently.

“Oh, to be twelve again,” I said to Claudia. “Our little apprentice is growing up.”

My wife stopped to watch the girl, a sad look in her eyes.

“What is it?” I asked softly.

“It’s Celia’s birthday today,” she said. “She’s eleven. If she still lives.”

“I am certain that she does,” I said.

“I wonder what she looks like now,” said Claudia. “She resembled her father so. I wonder if she thinks of me at all.”

“Of course she does.”

“She must hate me,” said Claudia.

“I doubt that,” I said. “Her last letter sounded quite cheerful.”

“That was months ago. She’s at such a crucial stage in her life, and I’m not there to guide her.”

“And if you were there, you would not be allowed to guide her,” I said. “That was the agreement you made. They might even lock you up as a madwoman if you return.”

She was silent.

“Do you want to go back?” I asked.

“Would you come with me?”

“I have a mission to accomplish,” I said.

“I left my world for yours,” she said.

“By choice,” I pointed out.

“By choice,” she agreed. “Would you ever choose mine?”

“I lived that life once,” I reminded her. “It ended badly. And how would I reenter it? In Orsino, they know me as the jester who ran off with their lady. How could I be anything else but that? Once you choose this foolish world, it is hard to go back to your old one.”

She looked at Helga, who had four clubs in the air and three boys enraptured.

“Look, Mark will be of age in two more years,” I said. “Once your sister-in-law no longer has the regency in her fat greedy hands, we can go back safely. For a visit, at least.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She walked over to Helga, snatched the clubs from above her, and hugged her suddenly.

“Mama, stop,” said Helga in muffled protest.

Claudia held her tightly for a long moment, then released her, smiling gently, and tossed her clubs high overhead. Helga scrambled to make all the catches.

Portia woke up, and Claudia went to attend to her. Helga came over to me, still juggling.

“Why does she always do that?” she complained.

“She’s playing a mother,” I said. “Go pack our gear. I’m going to take Zeus for a run.”

“Can’t I?” she pleaded.

“When your legs can reach the stirrups.”

“I could shorten them.”

“What good would shorter legs do you?”

She pouted. I pulled a carrot out of my bag and walked into the stable. Zeus looked at me suspiciously.

“Want to stretch your legs for a bit?” I asked, taking his saddle from the wain. “It would do you some good before we hitch you up.”

I opened the door and stepped carefully inside the stall, holding the carrot at arm’s length. I let him snatch it out of my hand, then threw the saddle on his back and cinched it quickly before he had time to finish eating. I jumped on and grabbed the reins, then leaned over to untether him.

It was the leaning that nearly undid me. He bucked from the rear, throwing me half off the saddle, then burst through the stable, the other horses watching in envy. The stable boys and Helga scattered in all directions as we galloped through them toward a stone wall some five feet in height. It occurred to me that this might be a good time to try riding him from on top, rather than clinging precariously to his side with my legs as my head dipped toward the swiftly moving ground. I grabbed the pommel, hauled myself back up, then flung myself onto his neck as he jumped the wall.

Much to my relief, there was level ground on the other side. I looked around his neck to see a pasture zipping by us, with another wall coming up all too soon. Zeus gathered himself on the run and jumped, and I had several quick and pessimistic thoughts about my mortality.

Enough was enough. I hauled on the reins until he was at a sedate trot, huffing mightily.

“Back to the wain for you, steed of Satan,” I growled. “And, if you don’t mind, we’ll go through the gates this time, not over them.”

The stable boys, who had had more amusement in this one morning than in their entire lives before it, cheered as I approached, and scrambled forward eagerly to help harness Zeus to the wain. He glared at me.

“I understand entirely, old friend,” I said, patting him on the rump. “Responsibilities are burdensome things.”

I limped over to Claudia.

“Good ride?” she asked as she dressed Portia.

“A little bumpy,” I said. “Good thing I got it out of his system.”

“His? Or yours?” she laughed. “Maybe you should become a trick rider.”

“The trick is not dying,” I said. “Helga!”

“Yes, Papa?”

“You may exercise him tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

The cook ran out with a basket of food for us, an unexpected gift for which we thanked her profusely. She tickled the baby under the chin, kissed Helga and my wife, and winked at me before going back to her kitchen.

Bertrand himself came to see us off.

“Which is the road to Le Thoronet?” I asked him.

“Come, you can see it from the hill,” he said.

We walked past the
maison
to the top of the hill. The valley spread out before us, a patchwork of farms ringed by mountains. He pointed to a road going northwest, disappearing into a forest that clung to the lower slopes.

“The abbey is about eleven miles, as I recall,” he said. “A day’s journey. I am giving you a few sacks of wheat to take them. Tell them to throw in a prayer or two for us.”

“I will, milord, and much thanks,” I said.

We climbed onto the wain, and were off to Le Thoronet.

*   *   *

It was only half a day’s journey northwest. It might have been shorter, but there was not much in the way of an actual village to find. It was more like a series of tiny hamlets and isolated farms. We saw few people, and the few that we saw stared at us in astonishment as we asked for directions.

“I don’t think our pretense for traveling will work so well out here,” commented Claudia with amusement.

“On the other hand, who would they tell?” I replied. “Helga?”

“Yes, Papa?”

“Take a seat at the rear, and keep your bow within reach.”

“Yes, Papa,” she said, clambering over the piles of props and costumes.

“Is this a dangerous place?” asked Claudia, eyeing the forest ahead of us with trepidation.

“Any forest is a dangerous place,” I said. “I would hope that there is so little traffic on this road that banditry would be a bootless profession, but I haven’t lived this long by ignoring simple precautions.”

Claudia said nothing, but reached back, patted the baby, and felt underneath the cradle for her own bow.

The trees closed over us, and I slowed Zeus down to a walk, watching the sides of the road. But we came through without attack. The road climbed once the forest cleared, and the trees took on a regular spacing.

“Olives and chestnuts,” I pointed out. “We must be near the abbey.”

“Can I come with you?” called Helga.

“No, sorry,” I said. “They don’t allow women inside.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the Cistercian Rule,” answered Claudia. “You wouldn’t like them, anyway. They only bathe once a year, and they wear the same robe and cowl all the time.”

“She’s exaggerating,” I said. “They bathe twice a year, not once. But she’s right about the robes.”

“They stink to high heaven,” continued Claudia. “Which may be how they reach God.”

“Eww,” said Helga.

We passed by fields that were being worked by monks in white robes and lay brothers in brown copes, many wearing mittens to protect their hands. A small group of dairy cattle grazed under the watchful eye of one wizened fellow. The road rose ahead of us, and we saw the steeple of the church against the sky.

We passed a lay brother balancing two wicker baskets filled with olives on a pole across his shoulders.

“Greetings, Brother,” I said. “Could you tell me where visitors may set up camp?”

He pointed to a clearing nearby. I guided the wain to it and reined Zeus to a halt. Portia woke and began to cry.

“Right on cue,” I said to Claudia. “You nurse; we’ll set up the tent.”

Once Helga and I had finished that task, I sent her to the stream running in front of the abbey to fetch water. Claudia walked with me while I picked up kindling.

“Will it be safe for us here?” she asked.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” I said. “I would think so.”

“What about them?” she asked, nodding toward the abbey.

“Not a violent group, in my experience,” I said. “But we can trade watches, if it will make you feel better.”

“It would,” she said. “I don’t know why, but I have an odd feeling about this place.”

I glanced at the sky. It was just past noon.

“We’ll eat, then I’ll go pay my respects,” I said.

*   *   *

I don’t like cathedrals, but I have nothing against churches when they are built for worship and not for display. Nothing could have been simpler than this abbey, yet it was beautiful in its simplicity. The construction was without mortar, each stone carved to fit its neighbors perfectly. There were no statues, neither gold nor gilt to catch the eye, and the irregular slope of the ground had forced whatever master builder they had to adjust and innovate rather than force Nature to accommodate his wishes. The building was very much of a piece with the land, and many of the monks and lay brothers seemed old enough to have become of a piece with both.

The entrance was to the right of the church, past a two-story building that I guessed was the chapter house. I rapped on the door. It was opened by a massive man crammed into his robe, looking down at me impassively. He was clean-shaven, as was the custom of the Cistercians, and had an old scar running up his left cheek to his ear. No, to part of an ear. He saw me glancing at it and shrugged slightly.

“What do you seek?” he asked.

“An audience with your abbot,” I said.

“Wrong answer,” he said, shaking his head. “What do you seek?”

“Sorry,” I said. “God’s mercy.”

“May you find it,” he said. “Please come in.”

Everyone has their passwords, I thought. I wondered what it would take for me to get by Saint Peter when my time came.

It occurred to me, not for the first time, that that was not likely to be a problem given my moral state.

“My name is Antime,” said the monk. “I am the cellarer here. Normally, our hosteler would be greeting you, but we have just finished our noon meal and it is permitted to have a short nap afterwards.”