[Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal Read Free Page B

bailiwicks at the expense of the other officials in the room, leading to arguments and accusations that were settled with tact and skill by the count, hangover and all. In between, I offered snide commentary, while Comminges, Foix, and Sabran ogled the maidservants as they passed through. Then came merchants with offers and complaints, members of the clergy with requests and complaints, and commoners with petitions and complaints. In the midst of the latter, one of Peire Roger’s underlings came up and whispered something to him. The viguier’s eyebrows rose slightly, and he left the Grande Chambre with the underling. A few minutes later, he came back and cleared his throat. The count looked at him.
    “Dominus, there is a man here from Paris,” said the viguier.
    “What sort of man?” asked Raimon.
    “A nobleman, from his dress and manner,” said the viguier. “More than that, I would not venture to guess on such short acquaintance.”
    “Is he here on the king’s business?”
    “No, Dominus.”
    “Do we know anything about him at all?”
    “No, Dominus. He says he traveled all this way to see you.”
    “Well, in that case, did you have him searched thoroughly?”
    “Of course, Dominus,” said the viguier, looking slightly offended. “He has no more weapons than befit his appearance.”
    “Fine, let’s see what he wants,” said Raimon. He glanced at his guards. “Keep an eye on him.”
    “Right,” said Sancho.
    The underling left, and came back with the Parisian, who had a man of his own. The visitor appeared to be my age, maybe younger, and was shorter than me by a head. His clothes were travel-stained, but he wore a magnificent red cloak lined with black miniver, which he twirled about him as he swept in front of the count and bowed low. He had clearly practiced the cape-twirling.
    “Your Gracious Sovereign of Toulouse,” said his man, stepping forward and offering a bow equal to that of his master. “May I present my lord and master, Baudoin. I am his humble companion, Hue.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” said Raimon, nodding and gesturing to them to straighten up. “Welcome to Toulouse.”
    The Parisian’s man muttered something to him, and Baudoin held out his arms as if he expected to be embraced.
    “Thank you,” he said with a thick accent, and he continued to stand in that position as the count looked on, amused. “Well?” said Raimon finally. “What is your business here?”
    “But this is Baudoin,” explained Hue, pointing to his master.
    “Yes, I understand that part,” said Raimon. “But I assume he came here from Paris because he wants something. What is it?”
    “This is Baudoin,” insisted Hue. “This is your brother.”

Chapter 2
    T here was silence in the room, the expressions ranging from shock to dismay to a bemused smile on the face of the count.
    I cannot abide silence.
    “No, no, no, no, no!” I cried, stepping forward and shaking my marotte menacingly at them. “I will not have this! Not after I have worked so hard for so long!”
    “What on earth are you going on about?” demanded the count.
    “Why, the threat to my employment,” I said, turning to him. “Tell them, Dominus, that the position of Court Fool has already been taken.”
    “You have my permission to tell them yourself,” he said, nodding toward them.
    “What are they saying?” asked the putative brother in langue d’oïl.
    “I am saying that you are a shabby excuse for a fool,” I answered him in the same language.
    “What did you call me?” he screamed, reaching for his sword. He stopped as the shiny but scary ends of four halberds surrounded him.
    “I haven’t called you anything yet,” I said, standing safely behind the guards. “I am still trying to figure out what you are. A fool would have more wit than to draw steel in a strange castle. A pretender would have enough ambition to learn the language of the realm to which he pretends. An adventurer would have more style. I