Fool Chapter 8

EIGHTA wrestle FROM FUCKING FRANCEHunter was right, of course, he wasnt able to feed Lears train. We imposed on villages a capacious the way for get along with and quarter, just north of Leeds the villages had suffe redness bad harvests and they could non bear our appetites without starving themselves. I tried to foster full cheer among the k nights, while keeping distance from Lear I had non forgiven the old man for disowning my Cordelia and move away Drool. Secretly I relished the soldiers complaints about their lack of comfort, and do no real effort to conk out their rising resentment for the old king.On the fifteenth day of our march, out office of Lint-upon-Tweed, they ate my horse.Rose, Rose, Rose would a horse by any other chance on taste so sweet? the knights chanted. They thought themselves clalways, hurtle such jests while spraying roasted microchips of my mount from their greasy lips.The dull always witnessk to be clever at the seagulls expense, to roundho w repay him for his cutting wit, besides never be they clever, and often are they cruel. Which is why I may never own things, never care for anyone, nor show desire for anything, lest some ruffian, thinking he is funny, take it away. I have secret desires, deprivations, and dreams, though. Jones is a fine foil, but I should the likes of someday to own a monkey. I would dress him in a tiny jesters suit, of red silk, I think. I would call him Jeff, and he would have his own scepter, that would be called Tiny Jeff. Yes, I should very a swell deal like a monkey. He would be my friend and it would be forbidden to murder, banish, or polish off him. Foolish dreams?We were met at the gate of Castle capital of New York by Gonerils ste struggled, adviser, and chief toady, that intimately pernicious twat, Oswald. Id had transaction with the rodent-faced muck-sucker when he was but a footman at the egg white Tower, when Goneril was still princess at court, and I, a humble jongleur, w as piece wandering naked amid her royal orbs. But that tale is best left for another time, the scoundrel at the gate impedes our progress.Spidery in appearance as well as disposition, Oswald lurks even when in the open, lurking beingness his natural state of locomotion. A fine black fuzz he wears for a beard, the same is on his steer, when his blue tartan tam is humbled at his heart, which it was not that day. He neither subscribed his hat nor bowed as Lear approached.The old king was not pleased. He stopped the train an arrow-shot from the fortification and waved me forward.Pocket, go see what he wants, express Lear. And ask why there is no fanfare for my arrival.But nuncle,24 utter I. Shouldnt the captain of the make be the one Go on, fool A point is to be made about respect. I send a fool to meet this rascal and put him in his place. free no dashs, remind the dog that he is a dog.Aye, majesty. I rolled my eyes at tribal chief Curan, who al more or less laughed, and t hen stopped himself, seeing that the kings anger was real.I pulled Jones from my satchel and sallied forth, my jaw set, as determined as the prow of a warship.Hail, Castle capital of New York, I called. Hail, Albany. Hail, Goneril.Oswald verbalise nothing, did not so much as remove his hat. He looked past me to the king, even when I was standing an arms length from him.I say King of damn Britain here, Oswald. Id suggest you pay proper respect.Ill not lower myself to speak with a fool.Primping little slit wanker, innit he? said the puppet Jones.Aye, said I. Then I spotted a guard in the barbican, looking cut down on us. Hail, Capn, seems someones emptied a privy on your drawbridge and the steaming pile blocks our way.The guard laughed. Oswald fumed.Mlady has instructed me to instruct you that her fathers knights are not welcome in the castle.That so? Shes actually talking to you, then?Ill not have an exchange with an impudent fool.Hes not impudent, said Jones. With proper inspir ation, the lad sports a woody as stout as a mooring pin. Ask your lady.I nodded in agreement with the puppet, for he is most wise for having a brain of sawdust.Impudent Impudent Not impotent Oswald frothing a bit now.Oh, well, why didnt you say so, said Jones. Yes, hes that.To be sure, said I.Aye, said Jones.Aye, said I.The kings rabble shall not be permitted in the castle.Aye. That so, Oswald? I reached up and patted his cheek. You should have ordered trumpets and rose petals scattered on our path. I turned and waved the advance to the train, Curan spurred his horse and the column galloped forward. Now get off the bridge or be trampled, you rat-faced little twat.I strode past Oswald into the castle, pumping Jones in the air as if I was leading cadence for war drummers. I think I should have been a diplomat.As Lear rode by he clouted Oswald on the head with his sheathed sword, knocking the unctuous steward into the moat. I felt my anger for the old man lose a notch.Kent, his disgu ise now completed by nearly three weeks of hunger and living in the outdoors, fell in behind the train as I had instructed. He looked lean and leathery now, more like an older version of Hunter than the old, overfed knight he had been at the White Tower. I stood to the side of the gate as the column entered and nodded to him as he passed.Im hungry, Pocket. All I had to eat yesterday was an owl.Perfect fare for witch finding, methinks. Youre with me to Great Birnam Wood tonight, then?After supper.Aye. If Goneril doesnt poison the lot of us.Ah, Goneril, Goneril, Goneril like a distant love chant is her name. Not that it doesnt summon memories of burning urination and putrid discharge, but what romance worth the memory is devoid of the bittersweet?When I first met her, Goneril was but seventeen, and although betrothed to Albany from the age of twelve, she had never seen him. A curious, round-bottomed girl, she had spent her entire life in and rough the White Tower, and shed develope d a colossal appetite for knowledge of the outdoor(a) world, which somehow she thought she could sate by grilling a humble fool. It started on odd afternoons, when she would call me to her chambers, and with her ladies-in-waiting in attendance, ask me all manner of questions her tutors had refused to answer.Lady, said I, I am but a fool. Shouldnt you ask someone with position?Mother is bushed(p) and Father treats us like porcelain dolls. Everyone else is afraid to speak. You are my fool, it is your duty to speak truth to power.Impeccable logic, lady, but truth be told, Im here as fool to the little princess. I was new to the castle, and did not want to be held accountable for telling Goneril something that the king didnt wish her to know.Well, Cordelia is having her nap, so until she wakes you are my fool. I so rewrite it.The ladies clapped at the royal decree.Again, irrefutable logic, said I to the thick but comely princess. Proceed.Pocket, you have traveled the land, tell me, w hat is it like to be a peasant?Well, milady, Ive never been a peasant, strictly speaking, but for the most part, Im told its wake early, work hard, suffer hunger, catch the raise, and die. Then get up the next morning and do it all again.Every day?Well, if youre a Christian on Sunday you get up early, go to church, suffer hunger until you have a big meal of barley and swill, then catch the plague and die.Hunger? Is that why they seem so wretched and unhappy?That would be one of the reasons. But theres much to be said for hard work, disease, run-of-the-mill suffering, and the odd witch burning or virgin sacrifice, depending on your faith.If they are hungry, why dont they just eat something?That is an excellent idea, milady. Someone should suggest that.Oh, I shall make a most excellent duchess, I think. The people will praise me for my wisdom.Most certainly, milady, said I. Your father wed his sister, then, did he, love?Heavens no, mother was a Belgian princess, why do you ask?Hera ldry is my hobby, go on. once we were inside the main curtain wall25 of Castle Albany, it was clear that we would go no farther. The main keep of the castle stood behind yet another curtain wall and had its own drawbridge, over a dry toss rather than a moat. The bridge was lowering even as the king approached. Goneril walked out on the drawbridge unaccompanied, wearing a gown of green velvet, laced a bit too tightly. If the intent was to decrease the rise of her bosom it failed miserably, and brought gasps and guffaws from several of the knights until Curan raise his hand for silence.Father, welcome to Albany, said Goneril. All hail good king and loving father.She held out her arms and the anger drained from Lears face. He climbed down from his horse. I scampered to the kings side and steadied him. Captain Curan signaled and the rest of the train dismounted.As I straightened Lears cape about his shoulders, I caught Gonerils eye. bemused you, pumpkin.Knave, said she under her brea th.She was always the most fair of the three, I said to Lear. And certainly the most wise.My overlord means to accidentally hang your fool, Father.Ah, well, if accident, theres no fault but Fate, said I with a smiling pert and nimble spirit of mirth that I am. But call then for a refreshful of Fates fickle bottom and hit it good, lady. I winked and smacked the horses rump.Wits arrow hit and Goneril blushed. Ill see you hit, you wicked little dog. passable of that, said Lear. Leave the boy alone. Come give your father a hug.Jones barked enthusiastically and chanted, A fool must hit it. A fool must hit it, hit it good. The puppet knows a ladys weakness.Father, said she, Im afraid weve accommodation only for you in the castle. Your knights and others will have to make do in the out bailey.26 Weve quarters and food for them by the stables.But what about my fool?Your fool can sleep in the stable with the rest of the rabble.So be it. Lear let his eldest lead him into the castle like a milk cow by the nose ring.She truly loathes you, doesnt she? said Kent. He was busy wrapping himself slightly a pork shoulder the size of a toddler his Welsh accent actually sound more natural through the grease and gristle than when clear.Not to worry, lad, said Curan, who had joined us by our fire. Well not let Albany hang you. Will we, lads?Soldiers all around us cheered, not sure what they were cheering for, beyond the fact that they were enjoying the first full meal with ale that theyd had since leaving the White Tower. A dwarfish village was housed inside the bailey and some of the knights were already wandering off in search of an alehouse and a whore. We were outside the castle, but at least we were out of the wind, and we could sleep in the stables, which the pages and squires had mucked out on our arrival.But if were not welcome in the great hall, then they are not welcome to the talents of the kings fool, said Curan. Sing us a song, Pocket.A cheer went up around the camp Sing Sing SingKent raised an eyebrow. Go ahead, lad, your witches will wait.I am what I am. I drained my flagon of ale, set it by the fire, then whistled loudly, jumped up, did three somersaults and laid out into a bear-flip, wherefrom I landed with Jones pointed at the moon, and said, A ballad, then?Aye came the cheer.And ever so sweetly, I crooned the lilting love song Shall I Shag My Lady Upon the Shire? I followed that with a bit of a narrative song by way of a troubadour usance The Hanging of Willie Wagging William. Well, everyone likes a story after supper, and by the one-eyed balls of the Cyclops, that one got them clapping, so I slowed it down a bit with the solemn ballad, Dragon Spooge Befouled My Bonny Bonny Lass. Bloody inconsiderate to conk a train of fighting men fighting back tears, so I danced my way around the camp while singing the shanty Alehouse Lilly (Shell Bonk You Silly).I was about to say good night and head out when Curan called for silence and a roa d-worn herald wearing a great golden fleur-delis on his chest entered the camp. He unrolled his scroll and read.Hear ye, hear ye. Let it be known that King Philip the 27th of France is dead. God rest his soul. Long live France. Long live the kingNo one long lived the king back at him and he seemed disappointed. Although one knight did murmur So? and another, Good blinking(a) riddance.Well, you British pig dogs, Prince Jeff is now king, said the herald.We all looked at each other and shrugged.And Princess Cordelia of Britain is now magnate of France, the herald added, rather huffy now.Oh, said many, realizing at last at least a glancing relevance.Jeff? said I. The bloody frog prince is called Jeff? I strode to the herald and snatched the scroll out of his hand. He tried to take it back and I clouted him with Jones.Calm, lad, said Kent, taking the scroll from me and handing it back to the herald. Merci, said he to the messenger.He took my bloody princess and my monkeys name said I, taking another swing with Jones, which missed its mark as Kent was dragging me away.You should be pleased, said Kent. Your lady is the Queen of France.And dont think shes not going to rub my nose in that when I see her.Come, lad, lets go find your witches. Well want to be back by morning in time for Albany to accidentally hang you.Oh, shed like that, wouldnt she?