Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery Read Free Page B

troubadour and a jongleur. Ambroise was from Evreux, and insisted that jongleur was the proper term. He was about my age, but had been a fool much longer, having started training as a child of six. He had black, greasy hair that he plaited unevenly in back, and he generally smelled of yesterday’s meal and last week’s drunk. Yet, for all that, he had a good voice and a nice touch on the lute.
    The troubadour was Blondel, a golden-haired youth so impressed with his beauty that he must have been surprised he didn’t illuminate the room by himself. He had ingratiated his way into the Lionhearted’s inner circle, perhaps even his bedchamber if rumors were to be believed. His conquests of both sexes were legendary for such a young life. Even now, he was turning his long lashes toward Ambroise so seductively that everyone in the room could not help but feel jealous of the greasy fool. But I knew it was part of the act, the twin poles of beauty and coarseness, the contrast making the harmony more miraculous as a result.
    They finished, and the room burst into applause, which they acknowledged with noble nods. Gradually, the clapping died down, except for one pair of hands that kept on, slowly, methodically, ever louder. They looked at me in surprise as I walked toward their table, continuing the clapping until I sat across from them.
    “Bravo, fellow fools,” I said. “A beautiful performance. A breath of fresh air in a room that needs one badly.”
    “Hello, Theo,” said Ambroise. “We were wondering when you would show up. Thought you’d be joining us for lunch.”
    “Something came up,” I said. “A distraction.”
    “Well, still time to join us,” said Blondel.
    “Did you bring that report?” asked Ambroise.
    I handed him a sheaf of papers from inside my tunic. He took it and squinted at it in the uncertain light.
    “I suppose it will have to do,” he muttered, “You could at least have put it into verse.”
    “Something for you to do on the voyage home,” I said. “If you ever leave this place.”
    “As for that, we’ll all be leaving soon, I should think,” said Ambroise.
    “Thanks to us,” added Blondel. “Now that you’re here, you can drink to our recent success.”
    “I’d love to,” I said. “What success are you talking about?”
    “The truce,” replied Ambroise. “Don’t be dense, Theo. You’ve been right in the thick of things. But we were the ones who prevailed upon Richard to make the deal with Saladin. It’s all worked out beautifully. Richard received the first installment on the money yesterday. Just a few more weeks, and everything will settle down and we can all go home again.”
    “And he gave some to us!” chortled Blondel. “So, you’ll be drinking on our coin tonight. Isn’t it wonderful?”
    “It certainly is,” I said. “Congratulations. I would be happy to drink to your success. There’s only one problem.”
    “What’s that?” asked Ambroise.
    “You haven’t had any,” I said.
    They looked at each other, amused.
    “Now, Theo,” Ambroise admonished me. “We know that you’ve been in the middle of everything working your lute off while we’ve been languishing in the royal retinue, but we have done our share for the Guild. There’s no need to be bitter.”
    “You’ve been in here all day, haven’t you?” I said.
    “Of course,” answered Blondel. “A well-earned respite. It’s work influencing a king as strong as the Lionhearted. Many long, hard nights.” He nudged Ambroise, who chuckled.
    “Listen,” I said, holding up my hand.
    They stopped, Ambroise tilting his head to the side.
    “I don’t hear anything,” he said after a few seconds.
    “Nor do I,” said Blondel.
    “I’m not surprised,” I said. “There are too many walls around here to hear what’s happening outside the city. And the noise has stopped, anyway.”
    “Noise? What noise?” asked Blondel.
    “The screaming,” I said.
    “What screaming?” demanded