Fool(57)

 

“Aye, like you’d never do such a thing, ‘Top of the morning; grim weather we’re having; I’ve started a bloody war!’”

 

“Edmund has his own war.”

 

“See, you did it again.”

 

“I was coming to tell you when I found the girl ghost having a go at Drool. Then the lout leapt out the window and the rescue was on. The ghost implied that the bastard might be rescued by France. Maybe he’s allied with bloody King Jeff to invade.”

 

“Ghosts are notoriously unreliable,” said Kent. “Did you ever consider that you might be mad and hallucinating the whole thing? Drool, did you see this ghost?”

 

“Aye, I had a half a laugh wif her before I got frightened,” said Drool, sadly, contemplating his tackle through the steamy water. “I fink I gots deaf on me willie.”

 

“Laundress, help the lad wash the death off his willie, would you?”

 

“Not bloody likely,” said she.

 

I held the tip of my coxcomb to stay any jingling and bowed my head to show my sincerity. “Really, love, ask yourself, What would Jesus do?”

 

“If he had smashing knockers,” added Drool.

 

“Don’t help.”

 

“Sor-ry.”

 

“War? Murder? Treachery?” reminded Kent. “Our plan?”

 

“Aye, right,” said I. “If Edmund has his own war it will completely bollocks up our plans for civil war between Albany and Cornwall.”

 

“All well and good, but you didn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you just slay the bastard?”

 

“He moved.”

 

“So you meant to kill him?”

 

“Well, I hadn’t thought it through completely, but when I sent his dagger at his eye socket I believed that there might be a fatal outcome. And I must say, although I didn’t stay to revel in the moment, it was very satisfying. Lear says that killing takes the place of bonking in the ancient. You’ve killed a multitude of chaps, Kent. Do you find that to be the case?”

 

“No, that’s a disgusting thought.”

 

“And yet, with Lear lies your loyalty.”

 

“I’m beginning to wonder,” said Kent, sitting down now on an overturned wooden tub. “Who do I serve? Why am I here?”

 

“You are here, because, in the expanding ethical ambiguity of our situation, you are steadfast in your righteousness. It is to you, my banished friend, that we all turn—a light amid the dark dealings of family and politics. You are the moral backbone on which the rest of us hang our bloody bits. Without you we are merely wiggly masses of desire writhing in our own devious bile.”

 

“Really?” asked the old knight.

 

“Aye,” said I.

 

“I’m not sure I want to keep company with you lot, then.”

 

“Not like anyone else will have you, is it? I need to see Regan before my bastard ear piercing poisons our cause. Will you take her a message, Kent—er, Caius?”

 

“Will you put on your trousers, or at least your codpiece?”

 

“Oh, I suppose. That had always been part of the plan.”

 

“Then I will bear your message to the duchess.”

 

“Tell her—no, ask her—if she still holds the candle she promised for Pocket. Then ask her if I may meet her somewhere private.”

 

“I’m off, then. But try to manage not to get murdered while I’m gone, fool.”

 

 

 

“Kitten!” said I.

 

“You poxy little vermin,” said Regan, in glorious red. “What do you want?”

 

Kent had led me to a chamber far in the bowels of the castle. I couldn’t believe that Gloucester would house royal guests in an abandoned dungeon. Regan must have somehow found her own way here. She had an affinity for such places.

 

“You received the letter from Goneril, then?” I asked.

 

“Yes. What is it to you, fool?”

 

“The lady confided in me,” said I, bouncing my eyebrows and displaying a charming grin. “What is your thought?”

 

“Why would I want to dismiss father’s knights, let alone take them into my service? We have a small army at Cornwall.”

 

“Well, you’re not at Cornwall, are you, love?”

 

“What are you saying, fool?”

 

“I’m saying that your sister bade you come to Gloucester to intercept Lear and his retinue, and thus stop him from going to Cornwall.”

 

“And my lord and I came with great haste.”

 

“And with a very small force, correct?”