Fool Chapter 12

TWELVEA KINGS ROADHaving set the pedigree of events in motion, I wonder now if my training to be a nun, and my polished sk unfortunates at telling jokes, juggling, and sing male childgs fully qualify me to stick a war. I reserve so often been the instrument of the whims of former(a)s, not even a pawn at homage, merely an acc revealrement to the female monarch or his daughters. An amusing ornament. A tiny reminder of conscience and humanity, hardened with enough humor so it can be dis confused, laughed off, igno sanguine. Perhaps there is a reason that there is no lollipop piece on the chessboard. What action, a fool? What strategy, a fool? What use, a fool? Ah, precisely a fool re positionings in a deck of cards, a joker, sometimes two. Of no worth, of course. No real purpose. The appearance of a trump, but n 1 of the power. Simply an instrument of chance. except a dealer may consume value to the joker. Make him wild, make him trump. Is the dealer Fate? God? The pouf? A speck? Witches?The anchoress spoke of the cards in the tarot, forbidden and infidel as they were. We had no cards, but she would describe them for me, and I drew their images on the st singles of the antechamber in charcoal. The fools itemize is zero, she verbalize, but thats because he represents the infinite disaster of every(prenominal) things. He may go anything. See, he carries all of his possessions in a bundle on his back. He is ready for anything, to go anywhere, to be make sense what ever he needs to be. Dont count start the fool, Pocket, simply because his number is zero.Did she know where I was heading, or do her record books only h honest-to-god up meaning to me now, as I, the zero, the nothing, canvask to locomote nations? War? I couldnt travel to the appeal.D persistk, and dire of mood one night, Lear mused of war when I suggested that what he demand to cast off his dark aspect was a good wenching. Oh, Pocket, I am too over-the-hill, and the joy of a fu ck withers with my limbs. Only a good killing can still boil passion in my blood. And one give not do, either. Kill me a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand on my command rivers of blood runnel by dint of the fields thats what pumps dismissal into a mans lance.Oh, express I. I was qualifying to communicate Shanker Mary for you from the laundry, but ten thousand dead and rivers of blood aptitude be a bit beyond her talents, majesty.No, thank you, good Pocket, I s dorm room sit and slide slowly and sadly into oblivion.Or, tell I, I could edit a bucket on Drools head and beat him with a clear of beets until the floor is splattered crimson while Shanker Mary gives you a suitable tug to accentuate the gore.No, fool, there is no pretending to war.Whats Wales doing, majesty? We could assail the Welsh, perpetrate enough slaughter to raise your spirits, and oblige you back for teatime and toast.Wales is ours now, lad.Oh bugger. Whats your feeling on attac female monarch North Kensington, so?Kensingtons not a mile a agency. Practically in our own bailey.Aye, nuncle, thats the beauty of it, theyd never see it coming. Like a hottish blade through butter, wed be. We could hear the widows and orphans wail from the castle walls desire a horny lullaby for you.I should call up not. Im not attac power neighborhoods of London to amuse myself, Pocket. What kind of tyrant do you think me?Oh, above average, sire. Well above bloody average.Ill rich person you direct no more of war, fool. Youve too sweet a nature for such dastardly pursuits.Too sweet? Moi? Methinks the art of war was made for fools, and fools for war. Kensington trembled that night.On the road to Gloucester I allow my anger wane and tried to relief the old king as best I could by add him a sympathetic ear and a gentle word when he needed it.You simple, sniveling old toss-beast What did you expect to happen when you put the do by of your half-rotted carcass in the talons of that carrion bi rd of a daughter? (I may have had some residual anger.)But I gave her half my kingdom.And she gave you half the notwithstandingice in re overrule, when she told you she loved you all.The old man hung his head and his white tomentum fell in his face. We sit on stones by the fire. A encamp was set in the wood nearby for the kings comfort, as there was no manor house in this northern county for him to take refuge. The rest of us would sleep break throughside in the cold.Wait, fool, until we be beneath the roof of my stand by daughter, verbalize Lear. Regan was always the sweet one, she will not be so shabby in her gratitude.I had no heart to chide the old man any more. Expecting kindness from Regan was hope sung in the place of madness. Always the sweet one? Regan? I think not.My second week in the castle I effect young Regan and Goneril in one of the kings solars, teasing little Cordelia, passing a pussy the little one had taken a fancy to over her head, taunting her.Oh, surveil know the kitty, tell Regan. Be careful, lest it fly out the windowpane. Regan pretended she office thrust the terrified little cat out the window, and as Cordelia ran, arms stretched out to grab the deliver, Regan reeled and tossed the kitten to Goneril, who swung the kitten toward another window.Oh, calculate, Cordy, shell be drowned in the moat, just like your traitor mother, verbalize Goneril.Nooooooo wailed Cordelia. She was nearly breathless from running baby to sister later the kitten.I stood in the doorway, stunned at their cruelty. The chamberlain had told me that Cordelias mother, Lears triplet queen, had been accused of treason and banished trine years onward. No one knew just the circumstances of the crime, but there were rumors that she had been practicing the old religion, others that she had committed adultery. All the chamberlain knew for reliable was that the queen had been taken from the tower in the dead of night, and from that time until my r eaching at the castle, Cordelia had not uttered a coherent syllable.Drowned as a witch, she was, verbalise Regan, snatching the kitten out of the disseminate. But this time the little kittens claws found royal flesh. Ow You little shit Regan tossed the kitten out the window. Cordelia loosed an ear-shattering scream.Without thinking I dived through the window after the cat and caught the braided corduroy with my feet as I flew through. I caught the kitten about five feet below the window as the cord burned between my ankles. Not having thought the incite completely through, I hadnt counted on how to catch myself, kitten in render, when the cord slammed me into the tower wall. The cord tightened around my right ankle. I took the impact on that shoulder and bounced while I watched my coxcomb flutter like a wounded bird to the moat below.I tucked the kitten into my doublet, then climbed back up the cord and in through the window. Lovely twenty-four minute of arc period for a const itutional, dont you think, ladies?The three of them all stood with their mouths hanging open, the older sisters had backed once against the walls of the solar. You solidification look like you could use some air, verbalize I.I took the kitten from my doublet and held it out to Cordelia. Kittys had quite an adventure. Perhaps you should take her to her mum for a nap. Cordelia took the kitten from me and ran out of the room.We can have you beheaded, fool, verbalize Regan, shaking off her shock.Anytime we want, said Goneril, with less conviction than her sister.Shall I send off in a maidservant to tie back the tapestry, mum? I asked, with a grand shake to the tapestry Id loosed from the wall when I leapt.Uh, yes, do that, commanded Regan. This instantThis instant, barked Goneril.Right away, mum. And with a grin and a bow, I was gone from the room.I made my way down the spiral stairs clinging to the wall, lest my heart give out and send me tumbling. Cordelia stood at the bottom o f the stairs, cradling the kitten, looking up at me as if I were Jesus, Zeus, and St. George all back from a smashing day of s oak upon s personateing. Her look were unnaturally wide and she appeared to have stopped breathing. Bloody awe, I suppose. infract staring(a) like that, lamb, its disturbing. People will think youve a yellow(a) bone caught in your throat. convey you, she said, with a great, shoulder-shaking sob.I patted her head. Youre welcome, love. Now run a foresighted, Pocket has to fish his hat from the moat and then go to the kitchen and drunkenness until his hands stop shaking or he drowns in his own sick, whichever comes first.She backed away to let me pass, never taking her look from mine. It had been frankincense since the night I arrived at the tower when her mind first crept out from whatever dark place it had been living before my arrival those wide, crystal- hot eyes looking at me with unblinking wonder. The child could be right creepy.Do not make yours elf a maid to surprise, nuncle, said I. I held the reins of my and the kings cater as they drank from an ice-laced stream some hundred miles north of Gloucester. Regan is a reckon to be sure, but she may have the same mind as her sister. Although they will cut across it, its often been the case.I cannot think it so, said the king. Regan will receive us with open arms. thither was a racket goat us and the king turned. Ah, what is this?A gaily rougeed estate car was coming out of the wood toward us. Several of the sawhorses reached for leaf blades or lances. Captain Curan waved for them to stand at ease.Mummers, sire, said the Captain.Aye, said Lear, I forgot, the Yule is nearly on us. Theyll be dismission to Gloucester as well, Ill wager, to play for the Yule feast. Pocket, go tell them that we grant them safe passing and they may follow our train at a lower place our protection.The wagon creaked to a stop. fortuity upon a train of fifty knights and attendants in the countr yside would put any performing artist on guard. The man driving the wagon stood at the reins and waved. He wore a grand purple hat with a white plume in it.I leapt the narrow stream, and made my way up the road. When the driver saw my motley he smiled. I, too, smiled, in relief this was not the cruel see from my own days as a mummer.Hail, fool, what gambles you so far from coquette and castle?I carry my court with me and my castle lies ahead, sirrah.Carry your court? Then that white- blured old man is Aye, King Lear himself.Then you are the famous Black Fool.At your bloody service, said I, with a bow.Youre small than in the stories, said the spoiled-hatted weasel.Aye, and your hat is an ocean in which your wit wanders like a lost plague ship.The mummer laughed. You give me more than my due, sirrah. We mete out not in wit like you, wily fool. We are thespiansWith that, three young men and a young woman stepped out from tail assembly the wagon and bowed gracefully and with far too much flourish than was called for.Thesbians, said they, in chorus.I tipped my coxcomb. Well, I enjoy a put to work of the lily from time to time myself, said I, but its hardly something you want to paint on the side of a wagon.Not lesbians, said the female child, thesbians. We are actors.Oh, said I. Thats different.Aye, said big hat. Weve no need of wit the plays the thing, you see. Not a word passes our lips that hasnt been chewed thrice and spat out by a scribe. unburdened by originality are we, said an actor in a red waistcoat.The fille said, Although we do bear the cross of fabulously shiny hair Blank slates, we are, said another of the actors.We are mere appendages of the pen, so to speak, said big hat.Yeah, youre a bloody appendage, all right, I said under my breath. Well, actors then. Smashing. The king has bade me tell you that he grants you safe passage to Gloucester and offers his protection.Oh my, said big hat. We are only going as far as Birmingham, but I s uppose we could double back from Gloucester if his majesty wishes us to perform.No, said I. Please, do pass through and on to Birmingham. The king would never impede the progress of artists.Youre certain? said big hat. Weve been rehearsing a authorised from antiquity, Green Eggs and Hamlet, the story of a young prince of Denmark who goes mad, drowns his girlfriend, and in his remorse, forces regretful breakfast on all whom he meets. It was pieced together from fragments of an ancient Merican manuscript.No, said I. I think it will be too esoteric for the king. He is old and nods off during long performances.Shame, said big hat. A lamentable piece. Let me do a selection for you. Green eggs, or not green eggs? That is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to eat them in a box, with a fox Stop said I. Go now, and quickly. War has come to the land and rumor has it that as soon as theyve finished with the lawyers, theyre going to kill all the actors.Really?Aye, I nodded most si ncerely. Quick, on to Birmingham, before you are slaughtered.Everyone jump on, said big hat, and the actors did as directed. Fare thee well, fool Then he snapped the reins and drove off, the wagons wheels bouncing in the ruts of the road.Lears train move and watched as the team pulled the wagon by at a gallop.What was that? asked Lear when I returned.Wagonload of knobs, said I.Why do they hurry, so?We commanded it so, nuncle. Half their troupe is ill with fever. We want them nowhere near your men.Oh, good show, then, lad. I thought you efficiency be missing the life and were going to join their troupe.I shuddered at the thought. It had been a cold December day like this when Id first come to the egg white Tower with my mummer troupe. We were decidedly not thespians, but singers, jugglers, and acrobats, and I a special asset because I could do all three. Our see to it was a crooked Belgian named Belette, who bought me from Mother Basil for ten shillings and the obligation to fee d me. He spoke Dutch, French, and a very broken English, so I dont know how he managed to secure the White Tower for a performance that Christmas, but I was told later that the troupe that was supposed to have performed had suddenly taken ill with stomach cramps and I suspect that Belette poisoned them.I had been with Belette for months, and except for the whackings and cold nights sleeping under a wagon, I had certain little but my daily bread, the occasional cup of wine, and the skills of knife-throwing and sleight of hand as it could be applied to purse cutting.We were led into the great hall at the tower, which was filled with nobles reveling and feasting on platters of food such as I had never seen. King Lear sat at the center of the briny table, flanked by two beautiful girls about my age, who I would later find out were Regan and Goneril. Beside Regan sat Gloucester, his wife, and their son Edgar. The intrepid Kent sat on the other side next to Goneril. Under that table, at Lears feet, a little girl was curled up, watching the celebration wide-eyed, like a frightened animal, clinging to a rag doll. I must confess, I thought the child might be deaf or even simpleminded.We performed for perhaps two hours, singing songs of the saints during dinner, then moving on to bawdier fare as the wine flowed and the guests loosened their hold on propriety. By late in the evening everyone was laughing, the guests were leaping with the performers, and even the commoners who lived in the castle had joined the company, but the little girl remained under the table, making not a sound. Not a smile, not an eyebrow raised in delight. There was light there behind those crystal-blue eyes this was not a simpleton but she seemed to be staring out of them from afar.I crawled under the table and sat next to her. She scarcely acknowl marchd my presence. I leaned in c sustain and nodded toward Belette, who stood by a column near the center of the hall, leering lecherously at the young girls who frolicked about him. I could see the little girl spied the scoundrel, too. Ever so softly, I sang a little song the anchoress had taught me, with the lyrics changed a bit to adapt to the situation. Belette was a rat, was a rat, was a rat, was a rat,Belette was a rat, was a rat, was a rat, was a rat,Belette was a rat who ate his tail. And the little girl pulled back and looked at me, as if to see if I had really sung such a thing. And I sang on Belette was a rat, was a rat, was a rat,Belette was a rat, was a rat, was a rat,Belette was a rat, who drowned in a pail. And the little girl cackled a broken, little-girl yodel of a laugh that rang of innocence and joy and delight.I sang on, and ever so softly, she sang with me, Belette was a rat, was a rat, was a rat,Belette was a rat And we were no longer alone under the table. There was another pair of crystal-blue eyes, and behind them a white-haired king. The old king smiled and squeezed my biceps. And before the other guests noticed that the king was under the table, he sat back up on his throne, but he reached down and lay a hand across the little girls shoulder and the other upon mine. It was a hand reached across a vast chasm of reality from the highest position of swayer of the realm, to a lowborn orphan son who slept in the mud under a wagon. I thought it must have been how a knight felt when the kings make touched his shoulder, elevating him to nobility.Was a rat, was a rat, was a rat, we sang.When the party died down and noble guests hung drunk over the tables, the servants piled onto the floor before the fire, Belette began to move among the revelers and tap each of his performers, calling them to gather by the door. I had go asleep under the table, and the little girl against my arm. He pulled me up by my hair. You did nothing all night. I watched. I knew there was a beating in store for when we got back to the wagon, and I was prepared for it. At to the lowest degree I had eat en some supper at the feast.But as Belette turned to drag me away he stopped, abruptly. I looked up to see the master set in space, a sword-point pressed into his cheek just below his eye. He let go of my hair.Good thought, said Kent, the old bull, pulling his sword back, but holding it steadily aimed, a hands breadth from Belettes eye.There was a sound of coin on the table and Belette couldnt help but look down, even at the peril of his life. A doeskin purse as big as a mans fist lay before him.The chamberlain, a tall, surd chap who looked perpetually down his nose, stood beside Kent. He said, Your payment, plus ten pounds, which you shall study as payment for this boy.But said Belette.You are a word from your mortality, sirrah, said Lear. Do go on. He sat straight and over-embellished on his throne, one hand pressed to the cheek of the little girl, who had wake up and was clinging to his leg.Belette took the purse, bowed deeply, and backed across the hall. The other mummers of my troupe bowed and followed him out.What is your name, boy? asked Lear.Pocket, your majesty.Well, then, Pocket, do you see this child?Yes, majesty.Her name is Cordelia. She is our youngest daughter, and henceforth shall be your mistress. You have one duty above all, Pocket. That is to make her happy.Yes, majesty.Take him to Bubble, said the king. bind her feed and bathe him, then find him new clothes.Back on the road to Gloucester, Lear said, So, what is your will, Pocket? Would you be a traveling mummer again trade the comfort of the castle for the adventure of the road?Apparently, I have, nuncle, said I.We camped at the stream, which froze over during the night. The old man sat shivering by the fire with his rich fur cloak wrapped around him the set so full and the man so slight that it appeared he was universe consumed by a slow but well-groomed beast. Only his white beard and the hawk nose were visible outside the cloak two stars of fire shone back in the cape creature, his eyes.Snow fell around us in great wet orgies of flakes, and my own woolen cloak, which Id pulled over my head, was sodden. pay back I been so unfit as a father that my daughters would turn on me so? asked Lear.Why, now, did he choose to stare into the dark barrelful of his soul, when hed been content all these years to simply scoop out his desires and let the consequences wash over whomever they may? Bloody inopportune time for introspection, after youve given away the roof over your head. But I did not say so.What would I know of proper fathering, sire? I had no father nor mother. I was reared by the Church, and Id 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 fucks sake, Lear, Im a jester, not a bloody wizard. If youre going to reenforcement diving into the muck of your regrets then Ill 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(prenominal) 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. Im off to bed. Sleep in my tent, tonight, Pocket, out of the cold.Aye, sire. I was touched by the old mans 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.Ill be in after Ive had a wee, said I. I walked to the edge of the fires light and beside a great bare elm was relieving myself when a blue light shimmered in the forest before me.Well, thats a woolly tuft of lamb wank, said a womans voice, just as the girl ghost stepped out from behind the tree upon which I was weeing.Gods balls, wisp, Ive almost peed on youCareful, fool, said the ghost, looking frighteningly solid now just a spook translucent snowflakes were passing through her. But I was not frightened. untoughened thy grateful heart,In the kings family,But for his royal crimes,Youd not an orphan be. Thats 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. Theres dark deeds afoot at Gloucester, fool. Dont leave out sight.Sight of what?But she was gone, and I was standing in the woods, my willie in my hand, public lecture to a tree. On to Gloucester in the morning, and Id see what I was not to lose sight of. Or some such non sense.Cornwalls and Regans flags flew over the battlements alongside Gloucesters, present 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 line 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 friendI 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, youll wear my hair off.I clouted the oaf on the back with Jones and he yowled. Ouch. Dont 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 raise 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 Drools back was nearly devoid of skin his hide had been rupture and scabbed over and torn again by a vicious lash.Ive 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.