The Moneylender of Toulouse (21 page)

Pelardit thumped his chest.

“Our thanks for both,” Jordan corrected himself.

“And ours to you, fellow fools,” I said. “See you later.”

We went our various ways. The sun was low on the horizon as we crossed the Daurade Bridge.

“Count Raimon looks to you for advice already,” said Claudia. “That's convenient.”

“I do give good advice,” I said.

“It showed remarkable perception on his part to see that,” she said. “Of course, you came highly recommended by a dead fool who didn't even know it would be you who would replace him.”

“When you put it that way, it is surprising that the Count would have so much faith in me on such short acquaintance,” I said.

“What you're both saying is that you think he really doesn't trust you,” said Helga.

“Correct, Apprentice,” I said. “That story about Balthazar predicting my arrival is nonsense. A Chief Fool would never reveal so much about the Guild's practices.”

“Then Raimon must have figured that much out on his own,” said Claudia. “The Guild's activities are not completely unknown to the world. And, my goodness, after listening to you in there, I was practically convinced that you were a spy.”

“Which is fine,” I said. “He'll want me close so he can keep an eye on me, and he'll be trying to figure out a way of using me. I want him to use me, because it puts me in a position to bring my influence to bear.”

“Unless he just has you beheaded so you won't be a bother,” sighed Claudia.

“He wouldn't do that,” protested Helga. “Would he do that? Really?”

“Probably not,” I said.

“Then you had better start teaching me faster,” said Helga. “I need to know everything that's in your head before you lose it.”

“Don't fret, dear,” said Claudia. “There really isn't that much in there.”

“Right,” I agreed. “A couple of afternoons at most should do it. Shall we ditch the man following us, just for fun?”

“You already told the Count that we live in Saint Cyprien,” said Claudia. “Let's not make the poor soldier feel bad.”

“You are a sweet and generous soul, my dove,” I said. “Tell you what—if he has to keep watch on us, we'll send Helga out with a cup of warm wine. It's cold today.”

We picked up Portia, who was resentful about being left for so long and let us know it. As we went inside our house, I peeked back out through the doorway. Our follower waited for a while, stepping from side to side and sticking his hands under his armpits for warmth. Finally, he turned and walked back in the direction of the city.

“No need for warm wine,” I said when I climbed into our rooms.

“At least not for any soldiers,” said Claudia, ladling a cup out for me. “Will you be going out tonight?”

Portia scooted over to my feet, looked up smiling, and said, “Papa! Up!”

I scooped her into my lap and bounced her on my knees. She squealed happily.

“No,” I said. “I have all the entertainment I need right here.”

*   *   *

“You've played the Château Bazacle before?” I asked Jordan as we walked there the next morning.

Rehearsal had gone well, but the weather was foul and playing havoc with our whiteface. We wore wide-brimmed straw hats to keep the worst of it away, but streaks of floury paste were still running down our necks onto our cloaks in spite of that protection.

“Bazacle, sure,” said Jordan. “The Guilaberts, unlike the Count, are there year-round. I suppose that's because all of his holdings are local. They're always good for several engagements each year.”

“And Balthazar performed here?”

“Not so much toward the end,” said Jordan. “He said something that put Guilabert out of sorts, I never heard what, so Pelardit and I were more likely to be here than he was.”

“Children?”

“Three, all grown. Two sons, one daughter. There will be some very small grandchildren. We could put Portia to work.”

“Ready to start earning your keep?” Claudia asked our daughter, who was riding contentedly on my shoulders, a tiny cap and bells on her head.

“Ba,” she said, and Pelardit gave her a thumbs up.

“What notables will be there?” I asked Jordan.

“Merchants, some of the newer consuls from the last election, some of the wealthy families from those big new houses near Saint Sernin.”

“Anyone from Saint Sernin itself?”

“I doubt it. The Benedictines don't go in for parties in my experience. And it's the Feast of Saint Thomas today.”

“What about the Count and his coterie?”

“The Count does not deign to dine with millers' sons,” he said grandly. “Even if the miller's son is worth half the town. Count Raimon is more likely to be found in a crumbling tower of a destitute, debt-ridden derelict clinging by his teeth to what's left of his gentility than passing through the gates of Bazacle.”

“Which we are about to pass through,” pointed out Claudia as Helga looked up at the fortifications with her mouth hanging open. “I guess we left our nobility back home.”

“We're fools. We go everywhere,” I said. “Let's go here now.”

Once inside, we saw that the tower with its surrounding outbuildings echoed the octagonal design of the walls. The parapets were patrolled by a few guards rather than manned by many, but there were a pair of barracks, suggesting that the place could become well defended in a hurry.

We were met at the entrance to the tower by Arnaut Guilabert himself, who was taking charge of the arrangements for the dinner.

“Ah, good, the fools are here,” he said. “Hello, Jordan and Pelardit, hello, Senhor Pierre and Domina Gile, hello, little girl, and hello, even littler girl. Let's get a look at that one.”

I pulled Portia off my shoulders and held her in front of me for inspection. He put his face in front of hers and growled, wiggling his eyebrows. She reached forward and touched his nose.

“She likes noses,” I said.

“Who doesn't?” he said, tapping her gently on the nose in response. “Adorable. I love babies. I have three grandchildren now. Grandchildren, Jordan! How could I be old enough to be a grandfather?”

“You're not,” said Jordan. “I think it was very silly of you to even try.”

“Well, glad you brought her along,” said Guilabert. “This means I have six fools at my dinner, and the Count only had five. Come on in, everyone!”

“See, she is earning her keep,” I said to the others.

The Bazacle great hall may have been slightly larger than the Grande Chambre of the night before. Certainly it was more richly decorated, The tapestries, interestingly, did not depict scenes from mythology or history, but showed instead millers hard at work, sawyers turning out planks, waterwheels so realistic that you would swear you could see them move, and sacks spilling forth flour and all the other abundant products of the area.

“You like them?” the lord of Bazacle asked as he saw me looking at them.

“I do,” I said. “Nice to see working people on a heroic scale.”

“Working people are heroes,” he said. “I started in my father's mill just like everyone else, performing every task under the sun to keep it going. That's how you learn about the world.”

“It certainly is one way,” I said.

“I'm putting your curtain and frame over there,” he said, pointing to the opposite end of the hall. “I had them build it out of scrap wood, so don't feel bad about knocking it apart. You! That goes on the sideboard, not the main tables.” A servant scrambled to make the change. “And Pelardit?”

The fool came up to him.

“I want you to do that Cups and Balls trick right in front of me,” ordered Guilabert. “I'm going to figure out how you do it this time.”

Pelardit bowed, and several balls came tumbling out of the sleeves of his motley. He looked at them as if he had never seen them before, then strolled nonchalantly away, whistling.

“I know that part,” Guilabert called after him. “That's misdirection, isn't it?”

“I will wager you a song that by the time he's done, you will be as befuddled as before,” I said.

“Do you know how it's done?” he asked me.

I reached out with an empty hand and produced an apple from behind his ear.

“I know how everything is done,” I said, winking.

I tossed him the apple and went to set up.

The guests started arriving shortly thereafter. Portia was passed from fool to fool, depending on who was performing what specialty, but she was cute enough to merit attention for herself, mostly from the wives.

The crowd was much more convivial than the one at the Count's affair, and there was much less ostentation on display. It was by and large a different group, although I saw with interest that Bonet Borsella was there. It made sense, given his sawmill was at the Bazacle dam, but I wondered about the true nature of his relationship with our host.

Guilabert welcomed everyone from the start, and his wife, rather than making a grand entrance, simply walked in from the kitchen, where she had been attending to some last-minute preparations, and began embracing her friends. She did not glitter with jewels as she had the day before, but seemed all the warmer for their absence.

The dinner was announced, not by fanfare, but by the bringing of soup in giant tureens. We moved about the tables, juggling, singing and, in Pelardit's case, performing magic tricks. When he came to Guilabert, he stopped, and the rest of us drummed our hands on the tables to direct everyone's attention to him. He held his hands up to show they were empty, then proceeded to run through the Cups and Balls at a blinding speed, balls of different sizes and colors appearing and disappearing under the three wooden cups while Guilabert's eyes kept darting back and forth.

Finally, Pelardit looked at our host with an evil grin and indicated that he should choose.

“You think you have me, don't you?” said Guilabert. “Well, this time, I have you.”

He tapped on the right cup. As he did, it split into two, and a yellow chick stood on the table, peeping in bewilderment.

“But how did you—?” exclaimed Guilabert, then he sat dumbfounded as Pelardit lifted the middle cup to reveal a red ball underneath. He tossed it to a young boy on the right, then gently gathered up the chick and offered it to Guilabert, who roared with exasperated laughter.

“You owe me a song, Senhor,” I said.

“But if I sing, I'll drive everyone away,” he called.

“I will teach you one, and everybody must join in the chorus,” I said.

It was a raunchy little ditty that we sometimes sing to the Cups and Balls routine, with a refrain that ends in, “Because I did not have the balls.” Better suited to taverns, of course, but the ladies here were delighted to be scandalized, and sang right along with the men.

We segued into our full repertoire after that, and then there was dessert and more wine.

“Ably done, Fools,” applauded Guilabert as we disentangled ourselves from the collapsed curtain frame. “I must say I envy you, living a life of nothing but merriment. So much better than the toil and trouble that most of us have.”

“Oh, we have our share, Senhor,” I said. “But there are music, magic and mirth to compensate us.”

“You forgot the fourth ‘m,'” he said. “Money. The compensation that actually allows you to eat. Laughter is a wonderful thing, but it is worthless.”

“On the contrary, laughter is priceless,” I said.

“Except that in our case, many of the laughs are cheap,” added Claudia.

“All I am saying is that entertainment is a luxury,” argued Guilabert. “One that we can afford, but a luxury nonetheless.”

“But think of living life without it,” I replied. “It would be the most miserable existence imaginable.”

“But it would be existence still,” he countered. “Imagine living without flour for bread, or mash for beer.”

“You certainly have me on the beer,” I agreed. “In fact, without it filling our audience, many of our laughs would fall flat.”

“I don't mean to belittle your profession, good Fool,” he said. “I just see more value in honest labor than in foolery.”

“I hope that I may prove an honest and valuable fool, Senhor,” I said.

There was a snort from Bonet Borsella, which he covered by some coughing.

“Certainly a hardworking one,” I continued, ignoring it.

“Hardworking?” scoffed Guilabert. “When do you ever rise at dawn, Fool?”

“Never, Senhor!” I said, offended. “Dawn is when a hardworking fool goes to sleep!”

“I stand corrected, Fool,” laughed Guilabert. “And I beg your forgiveness.”

“With all my heart, Senhor,” I said, bowing.

“And with that, I think we should let these hardworking fools eat,” he said. “Applaud their way to the kitchen, my friends.”

And they did as we trooped off to our rewards, Portia waving from atop my shoulders.

“I so love this brief time of the year,” Jordan groaned happily when we had finished eating. “If only I could live off it when Lent begins. I could hibernate like a bear and emerge at Easter, thin and ready to repent.”

“At least we can jest during Lent,” pointed out Claudia.

A maid came in, a pretty little thing with brunette curls. She stepped wide of Pelardit who leered at her.

“If you're done eating, there is dancing now,” she said. “They like to have the juggling going on with it.”

“We'll be right there, Audrica,” said Jordan.

“Oh, are you Evrard's sweetheart?” asked Helga.

“How did you know that?” asked Audrica, blushing.

“I was helping out at the Borsella place,” said Helga. “The cook told me. He's a very handsome man.”

“I'm lucky to have him,” she whispered, looking down at her feet.