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CHAPTER I
THE KING’S FOOL

I remember the beginning of it as though it were yesterday. My brother André had sent me to the armorer’s to have some broken links mended in his gear. I was standing near the forge watching Le Brun send the sparks flying from his anvil and marveling with what strength and ease he was able to turn the stubborn bits of steel, when a man appeared at the door and with a smile bid us the time of day. There is nothing strange in that, to be sure. But yet the manner of his saying it struck us both, for his tone held a kind of sharpness as of mockery. I looked around quickly. Le Brun eased off the stroke as it came down. With a scowl upon his brow he leaned his weight upon the hammer. His big chest heaved as he glared towards the door.

“I agree, stranger,” he said. “It is a fair day.” He waved with his hand. “You will find the inn about half a league further down the road.”

It was a strong hint for the man to be on his way, but he took no more notice of it than if Le Brun were a child. Three quick steps and he was beside the bellows with the smile broader than before.

“Do I look like a man who could eat in an inn?” he demanded. At the same time he pointed to his clothes which were indeed only rags. He took the soiled cap from his head and threw it on the floor. Then, without a word he placed the palm of his hand upon it and turned the swiftest somersault that you could imagine. When he was standing upright again, he gazed into our faces with an expression as though he had performed the cleverest trick in the world.

“Look here!” growled the armorer with a frown. “You were here yesterday. I gave you a piece of silver to get rid of you. You are back again. Do you think——”

The fellow threw his hand in the air.

“Of course I am back again,” he cried. “Is it a crime for me to want to pay my debt?” With that he fumbled in the lining of his coat and brought forth a shining piece of gold. “There!” he called, flinging it on the anvil till it rang. “You have three times and more the sum you gave me!”

The slow-witted Le Brun looked at me and I at him. Both of us were sorely puzzled. The armorer shook his head.

“A beggar one day—a rich man the next,” he began. “There is but one conclusion——”

“Ah!” interrupted the other. “Do not say the word. It is ugly and I’d rather say it for you. The long and short of it is that you take me for a thief.”

“Gold doesn’t grow on trees,” remarked Le Brun darkly. “Listen, sir stranger,” he said advancing a step, “have you no honest calling?”

I thought the fellow would flare into a rage, but to my surprise he threw back his head and laughed a long trilling laugh almost like the song of a bird. When he ceased, he laid his palms on his hips and bowed mockingly at us.

“I told you yesterday that I was a fool,” he said. “I am the same today—a king’s fool. Look!” He put his hand into his coat again and drew out a silly-looking cap, which he placed over one ear, and a bauble with tiny bells. He shook it with the glee of a child. The more it tinkled, the broader grew his grin. As though he was actually captivated by the sound, he began to caper about and finally struck into a quickly moving dance.

He stopped as suddenly as he began. Then he bowed once more.

“Now,” he exclaimed, “can you tell me, sirs, where I can find a position?”

“—as a fool?” I asked with a smile.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Why,” I replied, “by what I have seen you are clever enough to amuse the King of France himself.”

He jerked his head around and shot a look at me. For one second I saw a flash of hate and anger. In the next a wise smile curled about his mouth.

“Strange words,” he muttered and repeated it. “Strange words to fall from the lips of a Norman lad. Have you all grown so weak? There was a time when the gentry of Normandy thought the only way to amuse the King of France was with spears and swords and battle-axes, not with such toys as these.”

He spoke slowly and with a half smile, but under it lay a sting that cut me to the bone. I cast a sidelong glance at Le Brun who stood scowling as black as night, but withal puzzled. He was no good hand at solving of riddles nor in the sifting of double meaning statements. His way was with a cuff or blow, and there an end to it.

“Is this a jest, sir Fool?” I asked. “Would you have the Norman barons arm themselves and fight when there is no need for it?”

For a reply all that he did was to break into a long low whistle and toss the bauble into the air. When it came down, he caught it with great deftness and twirled it about in his fingers. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

“There was a meeting at Rouen——” he said and curled his brows, as though I ought to understand the rest.

“I know that,” I replied quickly. “There was a meeting of the Norman barons at Rouen——” Here I stopped and eyed him closely. “Such things were better left to themselves. For all I know, sir Fool, to give you a short answer, I may even be talking to a King’s spy.”

The man tossed his head to one side and uttered a little painful laugh.

“The Black Prince of England,” he went on as though he would brush my objection aside, “has left Bordeaux. He is ranging along the western coast of France. There is no one to oppose him. Not a soldier of the King is within a hundred leagues. He is toppling over one castle after the other——Suppose,” he said closing one eye and looking at me cunningly, “the King of France were to rush towards the west to destroy him? Would any of you Normans come to his aid?”

It was a question far too deep for my boyish brain. Besides I knew that silence was the beginning of caution, so I flung my hand in the air as though the affair were of no importance to me.

“From what I have heard,” I said, “the Black Prince is well able to care for himself.”

I saw an expression of contempt gather on his face.

“The meeting at Rouen was a blow to your country,” the man went on with more perseverance than ever. “A good dozen of your finest blood lost their lives. It’s a good thing,” he added with biting scorn, “that you were not there yourself!”

I was growing angry.

“Why?” I demanded.

“Because,” he replied with cutting deliberation, “you would not have had the courage to raise an arm in your own defence!”

The hot blood stole slowly to my neck and face. I saw out of the corner of my eye that the armorer was rolling his sleeves up over his elbows, while one hand reached out for the hammer that lay alongside the anvil.

“Have you come here to pick a quarrel?” I demanded.

“As you wish,” he said and spat derisively upon the ground.

It was a challenge flung into my teeth. I was but a lad, of course, but for all that of big bone and strong from the life which I had lived in the open. My opponent was a man full grown and, from what I had just seen, as quick and slippery in his actions as an eel. For the moment in my wrath I took little heed of these things but knotted my fists together and advanced towards him.

I thought that if I could strike the first blow I could settle him once for all and so end his insolence. With a lunge that ought to have carried him off his feet I made at him. To my surprise I beat only into the empty air. The fellow had slipped to the one side with a light gliding motion that for quickness fairly took my