Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery Read Online Free Page B

through the flurry of clubs between us. “You think they’re all dead.”
    “Most likely.”
    “What exactly are we supposed to do when we get there?”
    “Find out what happened. Make Constantinople a safe place for fools again.”
    “If someone’s out to kill fools, then he’ll try to kill you.”
    “Most likely. That’s one of the reasons the Guild is sending me.”
    “Because they don’t like you?”
    “No, Apprentice. Because I have a talent for survival. Besides, I’ll have you watching my back.”
    “Won’t they try to kill me as well?”
    “Perhaps. But you’ll have me watching your back.”
    “What if they go after both of us at the same time?”
    “Then we use Routine Eleven. Which we should practice some more.”
    It was mid-May, the year of our Lord 1202, when we left Orsino. A week’s ride brought us to Durazzo and the Via Egnatia, which was still a good road these many centuries after the Romans built it to carry their armies east to conquest. Many armies have used it since, not all of them heading east and not all of them Roman. The people who build roads sometimes forget that they run both ways.
    The ride east was almost without incident, but the incident that did take place was significant. We were riding through the most mountainous part of the journey to Ochrid when I motioned to Viola to rein her horse to a slow walk.
    Two men blocked the road ahead of us. They wore scraps of armor, leather and iron, pieced together by thongs and cords, gleaned from whatever battlefields they had fled. Each had a short sword and a long knife at his waist.
    “We’re in trouble,” I muttered.
    “There’s only two of them,” said Viola softly.
    “It’s not the two in front that I’m worried about,” I replied. “It’s the five coming up behind us.”
    “Oh,” she said, glancing behind her. “We’re in trouble. How do we get out of it? Fight our way through?”
    “A fool only fights when he can’t talk his way out of something. We’ll try that first.”
    “And if it doesn’t work?”
    “Routine Eleven. Follow my lead.”
    We trotted up to the two men in front, as the others, attired similarly, closed around us. I held up my hand in greeting.
    “Hail, noble sirs!” I called in Greek. “You look in need of entertainment. How fortunate for you that we came by!”
    Most of them looked at me blankly. One of the two in front muttered to the other in Bulgarian, then addressed me in heavily accented Greek.
    “What are you that dresses so strangely?”
    “A jester, good sir. A Christian who travels Christian lands to bring joy to Christian souls such as yourselves. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Feste, Lord of Misrule. Juggler, mimic, storyteller, and magician.”
    He gestured at Viola. “And this other one. He is no fool.”
    “My faithful servant, Claudius. A mute, alas, but a stout fellow. Are you gentlemen perhaps pilgrims?”
    He laughed, then translated my comment to the others who laughed in turn. Well, laughter is what we seek in my profession, but I wasn’t sure that this was the right kind. The leader said something, and our interpreter turned back to me.
    “It must be life of great wealth, being fool.”
    I shrugged. “I have lived in castles and slept in caves. At the moment, I am looking for work.”
    He translated, and the leader laughed and barked something.
    “He say, so are we,” explained the interpreter. “Until then, we collect toll for road.”
    “How much is the toll?”
    He smirked. “How much do you have?”
    “Alas, no money. We can share what little provision we have, if that would suit your needs.”
    Viola gave me an anxious glance.
    “Or,” I continued as the two in front grumbled to each other, “may I suggest some entertainment to brighten your dreary day?”
    The leader pointed at me and said something.
    “He say, if you are jester, why do you carry sword?”
    “This rusty old thing?” I exclaimed in surprise. “Merely a prop, my dear