The Moneylender of Toulouse (20 page)

And I staggered through the curtain clutching a wineskin, blinking uncertainly until I caught sight of Jordan.

“What country is this?” I demanded.

“Why, you are in Toulouse, good fellow,” he said.

“Toulouse, is it?” I squinted at the opulence of the room. “Not bad, not bad at all. Where's my room?”

“Your room, Senhor?” exclaimed Jordan. “Where do you think you are?”

“At the pilgrims' hostel, aren't I?” I said. “I tell you, friend, if the hostels in Toulouse are this fancy, then the Count's place must be truly magnificent.”

“My good fellow, I'm afraid…” started Jordan, but then Claudia and Helga burst through the curtain in mid-squabble and we were off and running.

The first performance after Advent is always strange for a jester. The shock of a live audience after cooling our heels for a month gave our performances an energy that would be flagging come summertime. But here in our Toulousan debut, the timing was sharp, the clubs flew high and fast, as did little Helga, and by the time we had finished our new repertoire with Jordan and Pelardit, the room was weak for laughing. We took our bows moving backwards, and took the frame down with us when we collectively stumbled into it.

Desserts were served, and Oldric came up to us.

“Well done,” he said, tossing me a small purse. “I'm told there is food waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“Our thanks, Senhor,” I said as we bowed. “We are at your disposal.”

A maid led us to the kitchen, where the servants were scavenging anything not devoured by the Count's guests. There was enough for even Jordan to pronounce himself sated. He slipped a few extra pieces into his pouch for his family, then looked behind me guiltily.

I turned to see Oldric standing there.

“Senhor, what may we do for you?” I asked.

“You and your wife come with me,” he said.

I glanced at the others. Jordan looked worried.

“Helga, finish packing our gear,” I said. “We will be back shortly.”

“I hope,” muttered Claudia as we followed Oldric. “What do you think this is about?”

“No idea,” I replied.

Oldric took us up a flight of steps to a door with guards on either side, and knocked softly. It opened, and he stood back to let us in, then closed it behind us.

Count Raimon the Sixth sat behind a broad oaken desk.

“I want to talk to you,” he said.

CHAPTER 9

He pointed to a pair of chairs in front of the desk.

“Sit,” he said.

We sat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bernard, Count of Comminges, take a seat off to the side. No one else was present.

Raimon looked at us thoughtfully. His eyes lingered appreciatively for a moment on my wife, then rested at length on me.

“You've been to Toulouse before,” he said.

It wasn't a question.

“Yes, Dominus,” I replied.

“But not under the same name.”

“No, Dominus. I am flattered that you remember me under any name.”

“With a snip of a boy who fancied himself a king,” he continued as if I hadn't spoken at all. “Named Denis. Whatever happened to him?”

“He died a year later,” I said. “Riding accident.”

“May his soul rest in Heaven,” he said, crossing himself. “He was on pilgrimage, and you were his entertainment.”

“I was one part of his entertainment,” I said. “He found many other entertainments while he was here.”

“As many do,” he agreed. “But he found absolution before his death.”

“He did, Dominus,” I said. “Twice, if you count the Crusade.”

“Twice fortunate soul, then,” he said. “Why did you change your name?”

“People are more interested in seeing a new fool than one they have seen before,” I said. “I change my name every few years or so to take advantage of that.”

“Interesting,” he commented. “I suspect it also throws any creditors off your scent.”

“I have left some places in haste,” I confessed with a grin. “Some people don't appreciate a good joke.”

“I think that you will find Toulouse quite tolerant of humor,” he said.

“Apart from the Bishop,” I said.

“The Bishop?” he said in surprise. “What has my good friend Raimon de Rabastens done to displease you?”

“He's banned the Feast of Fools,” I said. “I was hoping to arrive here with a splash, and the Church has taken away my puddle.”

“That's Rome's doing, not Raimon's,” said the Count. “He's pliable enough when you get to know him. So. Fresh from a tour of Montpellier and Marseille, correct?”

Ah. There it was.

“Correct, Dominus,” I said.

“And did you truly perform for a viscount, a countess and a king in that journey?”

“To be precise, Dominus, we both performed before King Pedro and Viscount Roncelin, but only my wife appeared before Countess Marie.”

“That figures,” muttered Comminges.

“Of course,” I said, looking directly at him for the first time. “You were Countess Marie's husband before she married King Pedro. They say she wore you out.”

He glowered, and the Count chuckled.

“She would wear any man out,” he said. “Beautiful but quite demanding. We were happy to cede her and Montpellier to Pedro.”

“More than happy,” agreed Comminges, and Raimon chuckled again.

“So, you saw Pedro and Marie in Montpellier…” continued Raimon.

“No, Dominus,” I interrupted. “We saw King Pedro in Marseille, dining with Viscount Roncelin.”

“Now, that is interesting,” said Raimon, leaning forward. “Tell me about that.”

“The king sailed into the harbor one sunny day in early October with four ships,” I said. “The Viscount held a welcoming dinner. We performed.”

“And in the course of this performance, did you happen to hear any of the conversation between these two great lords?” asked Raimon.

“A fair amount,” I said. “I assume you want the meat, not the appetizers.”

“You read my desires correctly, Fool.”

“The king sought financing for a pair of ventures he had in mind,” I said. “The first was to continue on to Rome to be formally anointed as king.”

“Pompous ass,” said Raimon. “The second?”

“To raise a fleet to invade the Balearics.”

“The Balearics,” he repeated, leaning back again. “So he's still on that. Good. Let him have them. They'll keep him occupied for a while.”

“My wife was supposed to do that,” said Comminges.

“Apparently, she's finally met her match in King Pedro,” I said. “He left her pregnant to go off on this expedition.”

“We have heard about that,” said Raimon, turning to my wife. “The blessed event is about two months away, is it not?”

“As far as she can tell,” answered Claudia.

“And her mood?”

“Sour,” said Claudia. “She's big with child, abandoned by her handsome new husband, and resentful of the world in general.”

“That's my Marie,” said Comminges.

“What does she think the child will be?” asked Raimon.

“She thinks a girl,” said Claudia. “Though one never can be certain.”

“If she bears a daughter, Pedro won't be happy,” said Raimon to Bernard. “He'll be open to some arrangement. We should look into betrothing her to my son to strengthen the alliance. Let us send a generous gift to the newborn.”

“Your son is eight years old, Dominus?” I asked.

“That is not your concern, Fool,” snapped Raimon. “I was nine when my father married me off for the first time. If it benefits Toulouse, it will be done.”

“I was not criticizing, Dominus,” I said. “Merely voicing my curiosity.”

“You might want to put a muzzle on that tongue of yours,” he said.

“Then I would be a poor excuse for a jester, Dominus,” I said. “May I say something further?”

He looked surprised, but indicated that I should continue.

“I suspect that nothing I have told you is news to you,” I said. “No doubt I have merely confirmed what your own spies have already told you, which is part of your reason for asking me here.”

“And the other part?”

“To gauge whether or not I am working for Marseille, Montpellier or Aragon.”

He looked at me again, his eyes narrowing.

“Not such a fool after all,” he said. “Who do you work for?”

“For you today,” I said. “Tomorrow, for whoever pays me for that performance.”

“Then you can be bought?”

“Lacking a regular patron, I earn my way where I can, Dominus,” I said. “We are hoping to stay here, however. It seems like a fine place to raise a family.”

“That talented girl is your daughter?”

“Yes, Dominus,” I said. “And we have a baby girl as well. It does make the travel wearisome.”

“Did you know Balthazar?” he asked.

“I met him during my previous journey here,” I said. “A most worthy fool.”

“He was at that,” he said. “Balthazar used to presume to give my father and me advice. Unorthodox, but usually on target. I once said to him in jest, what will I do if you ever die? He took the question quite seriously. He told me that if it happened, I shouldn't be surprised if a new fool turned up about four or five months later. And that if I valued his advice, I should make this new fool a friend as well.”

“Very considerate of him to clear the way for a strange jester,” I said.

“And I find it interesting that you arrive, and that the two fools who have been here for years immediately defer to you,” he said.

“Respect for my superior abilities,” I said. “Excuse my lack of modesty.”

“I think that I may begin respecting them as well,” he said. “We will have you perform for us again, Senhor and Domina Fool.”

We stood and bowed.

“One request, Dominus,” I said as I straightened.

“Yes?”

“We live in Saint Cyprien. A pass for the gates would be useful to jesters who frequently entertain at night.”

“Oldric has them in hand as we speak,” he said.

We bowed again.

“Balthazar said it would take four or five months for the new fool to arrive,” he said as we moved toward the door. “It took you six.”

“An unexpected obstacle on the journey,” I said. “Nothing we couldn't overcome, but not a story to interest a count.”

“Then I shall not ask to hear it,” he said. “Good evening, Fools.”

Comminges let us out. Oldric was waiting in the hall, a pair of scrolls in his hand.

“A count as your doorman, a Master of Revels as your guide,” he said. “You have risen far today. Here. One for each of you, with my signature and seal.”

“You are most kind, Senhor,” I said, bowing as we took them.

“Kind, nothing,” he said, leading us back to the Grande Chambre. “You have done me credit today. Here are your companions. Good day, Fools.”

We bowed one more time as he left.

“You have returned,” said Jordan. “And in one piece, too. What was that all about?”

“Tell you outside,” I said. “Everything packed?”

“Yes, Dominus,” said Helga, passing us our bags.

“Let's go.”

We left, acknowledging the waves of the servants inside and the guards outside. Jordan and Pelardit were whistling happily, their share of the proceeds jingling in their purses.

“So?” inquired Jordan when we entered the city.

“He was pumping me for information,” I said.

“And you avoided giving it to him through clever badinage, eh?”

“No, I told him everything I knew,” I said.

“What?”

“Oh, it was just gossip from the other courts we came through,” I said. “Nothing of value to us, so no harm in singing like a bird.”

“If you say so,” said Jordan. “He did seem to enjoy our antics.”

“Everyone did,” said Claudia.

“I was particularly good, I thought,” said Jordan, puffing up with pride.

“You were,” I said. “Now, we need to line up our next performance.”

“Done and done,” said Jordan. “I was about to tell you. A servant came up and requested our presence at another dinner tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” I said. “Where?”

“You're going to like this,” he grinned. “The Château Bazacle. A command performance before the Guilaberts.”

“Most excellent,” I said. “How large a party?”

“Oh, he likes to outdo the Count,” said Jordan. “Just to show he has money. The food should be outstanding.”

Pelardit kissed the tips of his fingers exquisitely in agreement.

“Good,” I said. “Same openings, but we should bring in some different material. Pelardit, we should do ‘The Mirror.' We have similar builds.”

Pelardit nodded, beaming.

“And can the two of you perform ‘The Sailing-Master and the Seasick Crusaders' with us?”

“I have some notes on that somewhere,” said Jordan. “It's been a while.”

“Then you be the Englishman,” I said. “Fewer lines to remember. Pelardit can be the drunken Pisan, my wife the Toulousan, and Helga the first mate. Let's meet midmorning at your place to go over it once.”

“Very well,” said Jordan.

“Is your wife feeling better?” asked Claudia.

“She is, and thanks for asking,” said Jordan. “That tissane of rue helped immensely.”

“I am glad of it,” said Claudia.

“Shall we celebrate today's triumph?” asked Jordan, looking longingly at a tavern as we passed.

“We have to go retrieve Portia,” said Claudia.

“But I might put this pass to the test and come back later,” I said. “Time for this jester to start working the taverns.”

“Then if our paths cross, I will buy you a drink,” said Jordan. “You have kept your word about the Count's dinner, and given me some extra laughs to boot. My thanks for both.”