Fool(50)

 

“What would I know of proper fathering, sire? I had no father nor mother. I was reared by the Church, and I’d not give a hot squirt of piss for the lot of them.”

 

“Poor boy,” said the king. “As long as I live, you shall have father and family.”

 

I would have pointed out that he had himself declared his crawl to the grave commenced, and that given his performance with his daughters, I might do better to go forth an orphan, but the old man had rescued me from the life of a slave and wanderer, and given me a home in the palace, with friends and, I suppose, family of a sort. So I said, “Thank you, majesty.”

 

The old man sighed heavily and said, “None of my three queens ever loved me.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lear, I’m a jester, not a bloody wizard. If you’re going to keep diving into the muck of your regrets then I’ll just hold your sword for you and you can see if you can get your ancient ass moving enough to fall on the pointy part so we can both get some bloody peace.”

 

Lear laughed then—twisted old oak that he was—and patted my shoulder. “I could ask nothing more of a son than he give me laughter in my despair. I’m off to bed. Sleep in my tent, tonight, Pocket, out of the cold.”

 

“Aye, sire.” I was touched by the old man’s kindness, I cannot deny it.

 

The old man tottered over to his tent. One of the pages had been carrying hot stones into the tent for an hour and I felt the heat rush out as the king ducked inside.

 

“I’ll be in after I’ve had a wee,” said I. I walked to the edge of the fire’s light and beside a great bare elm was relieving myself when a blue light shimmered in the forest before me.

 

“Well, that’s a woolly tuft of lamb wank,” said a woman’s voice, just as the girl ghost stepped out from behind the tree upon which I was weeing.

 

“God’s balls, wisp, I’ve almost peed on you!”

 

“Careful, fool,” said the ghost, looking frighteningly solid now—just a tad translucent—snowflakes were passing through her. But I was not frightened.

 

“Warm thy grateful heart,

 

In the king’s family,

 

But for his royal crimes,

 

You’d not an orphan be.”

 

 

 

 

 

“That’s it?” I asked. “Rhymes and riddles? Still?”

 

“All you need for now,” said the ghost.

 

“I saw the witches,” said I. “They seemed to know you.”

 

“Aye,” said the ghost. “There’s dark deeds afoot at Gloucester, fool. Don’t lose sight.”

 

“Sight of what?”

 

But she was gone, and I was standing in the woods, my willie in my hand, talking to a tree. On to Gloucester in the morning, and I’d see what I was not to lose sight of. Or some such nonsense.

 

 

 

Cornwall’s and Regan’s flags flew over the battlements alongside Gloucester’s, showing they had already arrived. Castle Gloucester was a bundle of towers surrounded by a lake on three sides and by a wide moat at the front—no outer curtain wall like the White Tower or Albany, no bailey, just a small front courtyard and a gatehouse that protected the entrance. The city wall, on the land side of the castle, provided the outer defenses for stables and barracks.

 

As we approached, a trumpet sounded from the wall announcing us. Drool came running across the drawbridge, his arms held high. “Pocket, Pocket, where have you been? My friend! My friend!”

 

I was greatly relieved to see him alive, but the great, simple bear pulled me from my horse and hugged me until I could barely breathe, dancing me in a circle, my feet flying in the air as if I was a doll.

 

“Stop licking, Drool, you lout, you’ll wear my hair off.”

 

I clouted the oaf on the back with Jones and he yowled. “Ouch. Don’t hit, Pocket.” He dropped me and crouched, hugging himself as if he were his own comforting mother, which he may have been, for all I know. I saw red-brown stains on his shirt back, and so lifted it to see the cause.

 

“Oh, lad, what has happened to you?” My voice broke, tears tried to push out of my eyes, and I gasped. The muscular slab of Drool’s back was nearly devoid of skin—his hide had been torn and scabbed over and torn again by a vicious lash.

 

“I’ve missed you most awful,” said Drool.

 

“Aye, me too, but how happened these stripes?”

 

“Lord Edmund says I am an insult to nature and must be punished.”

 

Edmund. Bastard.