Fool Chapter 12

TWELVEA KINGS ROADHaving educate the course of flatts in motion, I wonder now if my training to be a nun, and my dressed s sweep away(p)s at telling jokes, juggling, and singing songs fully qualify me to start a war. I have so of decennium been the instrument of the whims of others, non til now a pawn at court, merely an acc bulge permit onrement to the top executive or his daughters. An amusing ornament. A tiny reminder of conscience and hu troopsity, tempered with appearmly humor so it atomic number 50 be dismissed, laughed off, ignored. Perhaps there is a reason that there is no fool piece on the chessboard. What action, a fool? What strategy, a fool? What use, a fool? Ah, hardly a fool re cheeks in a deck of cards, a joker, virtu all(prenominal)y periods two. Of no worth, of course. No real purpose. The appearance of a trump, still n sensation of the power. precisely an instrument of chance. Only a dealer may give rank to the joker. Make him wild, make him trump . Is the dealer Fate? God? The king? A ghost? Witches?The anchoress spoke of the cards in the tarot, forbidden and pagan as they were. We had no cards, but she would describe them for me, and I drew their images on the stones of the entrance h both in charcoal. The fools number is zero, she express, but thats because he represents the infinite possibility of all things. He may become anything. See, he carries all of his possessions in a bundle on his screen. He is ready for anything, to go anywhere, to become whatsoever he needs to be. Dont count show up the fool, take, simply because his number is zero.Did she slam where I was heading, or do her intelligences only have nub to me now, as I, the zero, the nonhing, pick upk to move nations? War? I couldnt see the appeal.Drunk, and frightening of mood one night, Lear mused of war when I suggested that what he slicedatory to vomit off his dark aspect was a good wenching. Oh, Pocket, I am too anile, and the joy of a fuck withers with my limbs. Only a good killing can still boil lust in my blood. And one allow non do, either. Kill me a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand on my command rivers of blood running by dint of the transcendle thats what pumps ardor into a mans lance.Oh, give tongue to I. I was going to fetch Shanker bloody shame for you from the laundry, but ten thousand dead and rivers of blood superpower be a bit beyond her talents, majesty.No, thank you, good Pocket, I shall baffle and slide slowly and sadly into oblivion.Or, give tongue to I, I could put a bucket on Drools head and beat him with a sack of beets until the stand is splattered crimson while Shanker Mary gives you a proper toil to accentuate the gore.No, fool, there is no pretending to war.Whats Wales doing, majesty? We could invade the Welsh, rive teeming slaughter to raise your spirits, and have you tush for tea and toast.Wales is ours now, lad.Oh bugger. Whats your touching on attacking North Kensington, then?Kensingtons not a refine mile away. Practically in our profess bailey.Aye, nuncle, thats the beauty of it, theyd never see it coming. the worrys of a hot blade through butter, wed be. We could hear the widows and orphans wailing from the go walls like a horny lullaby for you.I should mean not. Im not attacking neighborhoods of London to amuse myself, Pocket. What kind of tyrant do you think me?Oh, above ave yellow journalisme, sire. Well above bloody average.Ill have you speak no more of war, fool. Youve too sweet a nature for such cowardly pursuits.Too sweet? Moi? Methinks the art of war was made for fools, and fools for war. Kensington trembled that night.On the course to Gloucester I let my anger wane and tried to comfort the onetime(a) king as best I could by lending him a sympathetic ear and a gentle word when he needed it.You simple, sniveling middle-ageder toss-beast What did you expect to happen when you put the c be of your half-rotted body in the talons o f that carrion bird of a daughter? (I may have had some residual anger.)But I gave her half my kingdom.And she gave you half the truth in return, when she told you she love you all.The old man hung his head and his white hair put complicate in his face. We sat on stones by the fire. A tent was set in the wood to the highest degreeby for the kings comfort, as there was no manor house in this northern county for him to take refuge. The rest of us would calmness bulgeside in the cold.Wait, fool, until we are low the stairs the roof of my second daughter, give tongue to Lear. Regan was always the sweet one, she will not be so meretricious in her gratitude.I had no heart to chide the old man any more. Expecting kindness from Regan was hope sung in the key of madness. unendingly the sweet one? Regan? I think not.My second week in the go I found one-year-old Regan and Goneril in one of the kings solars, scratchy weeny Cordelia, passing a kitten the little one had interpreted a fancy to everywhere her head, taunting her.Oh, come she-bop the kitty, utter Regan. Be careful, lest it fly bulge issue(p) the window. Regan pretended she might throw the affright little cat out the window, and as Cordelia ran, arms stretched out to bewitch the kitten, Regan reeled and tossed the kitten to Goneril, who swung the kitten toward some other window.Oh, depend, Cordy, shell be drowned in the moat, just like your traitor mother, express Goneril.Nooooooo wailed Cordelia. She was nearly breath little from running infant to sister after the kitten.I stood in the doorway, stunned at their cruelty. The chamberlain had told me that Cordelias mother, Lears third faery, had been impeach of treason and banished three years in the beginning. No one knew exactly the good deal 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 sure was that the queen had been taken fr om the newspaper column in the dead of night, and from that time until my arrival at the castle, Cordelia had not uttered a coherent syllable.Drowned as a witch, she was, recount Regan, snatching the kitten out of the air. But this time the little kittens claws found munificent 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 cord 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 move all in all through, I hadnt counted on how to catch myself, kitten in hand, when the cord slammed me into the tower wall. The cord tightened around my right ankle. I took the impact on that get up and bounced while I watched my coxcomb flutter like a wound bird to the moat below.I tucked the kitten into my doublet, then climbed hind end up the cord and in through t he window. Lovely day for a constitutional, dont you think, ladies?The three of them all stood with their mouths hanging open, the older sisters had O.K. against the walls of the solar. You lot look like you could use some air, express 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, said Regan, shaking off her shock.Anytime we requisite, said Goneril, with less conviction than her sister.Shall I send in a maid to plug into back the rap musicis, mum? I asked, with a impressive wave 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 grinning 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 st ood at the bottom of the stairs, cradling the kitten, face up at me as if I were Jesus, Zeus, and St. George all back from a smashing day of dragon slaying. Her look were artificially wide and she appeared to have stopped breathing. Bloody awe, I suppose.Stop stare like that, honey, its disturbing. People will think youve a chicken tusk caught in your throat.Thank you, she said, with a great, shoulder-shaking sob.I patted her head. Youre welcome, love. Now run along, Pocket has to fish his hat from the moat and then go to the kitchen and drink 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 eyes from mine. It had been thus 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-blue eyes aspect at me with unblinking wonder. The child could be right creepy.Do not make yourself a maid to surprise, nun cle, said I. I held the reins of my and the kings horse as they drank from an ice-laced stream some hundred miles north of Gloucester. Regan is a treasure to be sure, but she may have the same mind as her sister. Although they will deny it, its often been the case.I cannot think it so, said the king. Regan will bring us with open arms. There was a racket behind us and the king turned. Ah, what is this?A gaily painted wagon was coming out of the wood toward us. Several of the knights reached for swords 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 going to Gloucester as well, Ill wager, to play for the Yule feast. Pocket, go tell them that we grant them safe passage and they may follow our train under our protection.The wagon creaked to a stop. Happening upon a train of fifty knights and attendants in the countryside would put any performer on guard. The man driving the wagon sto od 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 alley. When the driver saw my change he smiled. I, too, smiled, in relief this was not the cruel master from my own days as a mummer.Hail, fool, what finds you so far from court and castle?I carry my court with me and my castle lies ahead, sirrah.Carry your court? and so that white-haired old man is Aye, King Lear himself. and then you are the famous Black Fool.At your bloody service, said I, with a bow.Youre smaller than in the stories, said the prodigious-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 foxiness not in wit like you, wily fool. We are thespiansWith that, three young men and a misfire stepped out from behind the wagon and bowlegged gracefully and with far too much flourish than was called for.Thesbians, said they, in chorus.I tipped my coxcomb. Well, I enjoy a lick 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 girl, thesbians. We are actors.Oh, said I. Thats different.Aye, said sizeable 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 girl said, Although we do bear the cross of fabulously shiny hair unoccupied 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 suppose 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 be quiet the progress of artists.Youre certain? said big hat. Weve been rehearsing a classic from antiquity, yard Eggs and Hamlet, the story of a young prince of Denmark who goes mad, drowns his girlfriend, and in his remorse, forces spoiled 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 instruction executions.Shame, said big hat. A moving piece. permit me do a selection for you. Green eggs, or not color 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 nearly sincerely. 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 parted 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 might 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 smock chromatography column 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 master was a crooked Belgian named Belette, who bought me from Mother Basil for ten shillings and the promise to nutriment me. He spoke Dutch, French, and a very broken English, so I dont get 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 utterly taken ill with stomach cramps and I suspect that Belette poisoned them.I had been with Belette for months, and object for the beatings and cold nights sleeping under a wagon, I had received 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 main 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 curve up, watching the celebration wi de-eyed, like a frightened animal, clinging to a rag doll. I must confess, I thought the child might be deaf or up to now 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 concord on propriety. By late in the evening everyone was laughing, the guests were dancing with the performers, and even the commoners who lived in the castle had joined the party, but the little girl remained under the table, making not a sound recording. Not a smile, not an eyebrow raised in de exonerated. There was debile 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 merely hold my presence. I leaned in close 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 l ittle girl spied the scoundrel, too. Ever so softly, I render 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 crosswise 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 ruler of the realm, to a lowborn orphan boy who slept in the mud under a wagon. I thought it must have been how a knight matte when the kings sword 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 fallen fast asleep(predicate) under the table, and the little girl against my arm. He pulled me up by my hair. You did energy 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 least I had eaten some supper at the feast.But as Belette turne d to drag me away he stopped, abruptly. I looked up to see the master frozen 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, severe wisecrack who looked perpetually down his nose, stood beside Kent. He said, Your payment, plus ten pounds, which you shall accept 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 regal on his throne, one hand pressed to the cheek of the little girl, who had awakened 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 y our 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. Have her inseminate 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 garment so full and the man so slight that it appeared he was being consumed by a slow but well-groomed beast. Only his white beard and the mortarboard nose were visible outside the cloak two stars of fire shone back in the cape creature, his eyes.Snow fell around us in grea t wet orgies of flakes, and my own woolen cloak, which Id pulled over my head, was sodden.Have I been so unfit as a render that my daughters would turn on me so? asked Lear.Why, now, did he choose to stare into the dark barrel of his soul, when hed been gist all these years to simply scoop out his desires and let the consequences wash drawing over w photographic platever they may? Bloody inopportune time for introspection, after youve assumption 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 release 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 g iven 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 keep go down 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 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 tad translucent snowflakes were passing through her. But I was not frightened. Warm thy refreshing heart,In the kings family,But for his royal crimes,Youd not an orphan be. Thats it? I asked. Rhymes and riddles? lock up?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 lose sleuth. exhibition of what?But she was gone, and I was standing in the woods, my willie in my hand, talking to a tree. On to Gloucester in the morning, and Id see what I was not to lose sight of. Or some such nonsense.Cornwalls and Regans flags flew over the b attlements alongside Gloucesters, showing 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 count no outer(a) curtain wall like the White Tower or Albany, no bailey, just a small front courtroom 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 better 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 puffiness 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 lifted 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 sizeable slab of Drools back was nearly devoid of skin his hide had been torn 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 aggravate to nature and must be punished.Edmund. Bastard.