“You could be lying. I tried to have you killed. Why would you help me?”
“Excellent question. First, I, unlike you, am not a villain, therefore I can be expected to proceed with a modicum of integrity. And, second, I wish to visit revenge on Goneril for how she has treated me, her younger sister, Cordelia, and King Lear. I can think of no better punishment for her than pairing her with the man-shaped tower of excrement that is yourself.”
“Oh, that’s reasonable,” said Oswald.
“Off you go, then. See that Edmund doesn’t show deference.”
“I might slay him myself, for violating my lady.”
“No, you won’t, you’re a coward. Or had you forgotten?”
Oswald started to quiver then with anger, but he did not try to reach for his sword.
“Run along, mate, Pocket’s got a bumload of foolin’ yet to do.”
A randy hand of wind groped the courtyard, sending the sisters’ skirts tossing and snapping their hair in their faces. Kent crouched and clung to his great broad-brimmed hat to keep it from being carried away. The old king held his fur cape tight around him and squinted against the dust, while the Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Gloucester stood by the great gate for shelter—the duke content, it seemed, to let his duchess do the talking. I was relieved to see that Edmund was not in attendance, so I danced into the courtyard, bells a-jingle, song in heart.
“Hi ho!” said I. “Everyone get a proper bonking for the Saturnalia, did they?”
The two sisters looked at me blankly, as if I might have been speaking Chinese or dog, and they had not, overnight, each received rousing repeated bonkings from an enormous donkey-donged nitwit. Gloucester looked down, embarrassed, I suppose, over abandoning his own pantheon for St. Stephen, and a wholly bollocks holy holiday feast. Cornwall sneered.
“Ah,” said I. “Then a crispy biscuit baby Jesus cornu-bloody-copia of Christmas cheer, was it? Silent night, camels and wise men—frankenstein, gold, and myrrh all around then?”
“Sodding Christian harpies want to take away my knights,” said Lear. “I’ve already lost half my train to you, Goneril, I’ll not lose the rest.”
“Oh, yes, sire,” said I. “Christianity is their fault. I forgot that the wind blew out of a pagan sky for you today.”
Regan stepped forward then, and yes, she was walking a bit bow-legged. “Why do you need to keep fifty men, Father? We’ve plenty of servants to tend to you.”
“And,” said Goneril, “they will be under our charge, so there will be no discord within the walls of our homes.”
“I’m of my sister’s mind on this,” said Regan.
“You’re always of your sister’s mind,” said Lear. “An original thought would crack your feeble skull like a thunderbolt, you craven vulture.”
“That’s the spirit, sire,” said I. “Treat them like bins of used nappies and watch them come around. A wonder they’ve turned out so delightful with fathering of that quality.”
“Take them, then, you flesh-tearing harpies! Would that I could drag your mother from her tomb and accuse her of most grievous adultery, for you cannot be issue from my loins and treat me so.”
I nodded and lay my head on Goneril’s shoulder. “Evidently the adultery comes from Mum’s side of the family, pumpkin—the bitterness and stunning bosoms are from Papa.”
She pushed me aside, despite my wisdom.
Lear was losing all control now, trembling as he shouted impotently at his daughters, looking weaker and more slight with every word. “Hear me, gods! If it be you that stir these daughters’ hearts against their father, then touch me with noble anger, and stain not my man’s cheeks with women’s weapons, the water drops.”
“Those aren’t tears on your cheeks, nuncle,” said I. “It’s raining.”
Gloucester and Cornwall looked away, embarrassed for the old man. Kent had his hands on the king’s shoulders and was trying to lead him gently out of the rain. Lear shrugged him off and stormed up to his daughters.
“You unnatural hags! I will have such revenges on you both that the world—er, I will do such things that I don’t even know yet, but they will be horrible—the very terrors of the earth! But I’ll not weep! I’ll not. Even if my heart shall break into a hundred thousand shards, I shall not weep. O fool, I shall go mad!”
“Aye, nuncle, smashing good start you’re off to.” I tried to put an arm around Lear’s shoulders, but he elbowed me away.