Fool Chapter 3

THREEOUR DARKER PURPOSE15Well this is a d owny lot of goose turn out if Ive ever shew it, said I. I sat on the bastards back, cross-legged, reading the letter hed written to his father. And my lord must understand how unjust it is that I, the issue of consecutive passion, is shorn of respect and position while deference is given my half(a) pal, who is the product of a bed made of handicraft and drudgery.Its true, said the bastard. Am I not as true of shape, as sharp of mind, a Youre a whiny little wanker,16 is what you are, said I, my brashness perhaps spurred by the weight of Drool, who was session on the bastards legs. What did you think you would possibly gain by giving this letter to your father?That he might relent and give me half my brothers title and inheritance.Because your capture was a better b forth than Edgars? Youre a bastard and an idiot.You could not know, little man.It was tempting indeed, to clout the knave across the head with Jones, or better, slit his t hroat with his own sword, moreover as much as the king might favor me, he favors the order of his power more. The murder of Gloucesters son, no matter how deserved, would not go unpunished. alone I was fast on my way to fools funeral anyway if I let the bastard up in the lead his anger cooled. Id sent Shanker Mary away in hope that any wrath that fell might pass her by. I needed a threat to stay Edmunds consecrate, but I had none. I am the least powerful of all almost the court. My except influence is raising others ire.I do know what it is to be deprived by the separatrix of birth, Edmund.We are not the same. You are as common as field dirt. I am not.I could not know then, Edmund, what it is to flip my title exuviate as an insult? If I call you bastard, and you call me fool, privy we answer as men?No riddles, fool. I cant sense of smell my feet.Why would you want to feel your feet? Is that more of the debauchery of the ruling class I hear so much about? So blessed are y ou with access to the fleshs pleasures that you have to word ingenious perversions to get your withered, inbred plumbing to come to attention need to feel your feet and whip the stable boy with a dead rabbit to cipher your scurvy, libidinous itch, is it?What are you on about, fool? I cant feel my feet because theres a great oaf sitting on my legs.Oh. Quite right, sorry. Drool, lift off a bit, but dont let him up. I climbed from the bastards back and walked to the laundry doorway where he could call for me. What you want is property and title. Do you imagine that you will get it by begging?The letters not begging.You want your brothers fortune. How much better would a letter from him convince your father of your worth?He would never write such a letter, and besides, he does not play for favor, it is his already.Then perhaps the problem is moving favor from Edgar to you. The right letter from him would do it. A letter wherein he confesses his fidgetiness with waiting for his inh eritance, and asks for your help in usurping your father.Youre mad, fool. Edgar would never write such a letter.I didnt say he would. Do you have anything written in his hand?I do, a letter of credit he was to grant to a wool merchant in Barking Upminster.Do you, sweet bastard, know what a scriptorium is?Aye, its a place in the monastery where they copy documents bibles and such.And so my accident of birth is the remedy of yours, for because I hadnt even one parent to lay claim to me, I was brought up in a nunnery that had just such a scriptorium, where, yes, they taught a boy to copy documents, but for our Cimmerianer purpose, they taught him to copy it in exactly the hand that he parent on the page, and the one before that, and the one before that. Letter to letter, stroke for stroke, the same hand as a man long gone to the grave.So you are a skilled forger? If you were raised in a nunnery how is it you are a fool and not a monk or a priest?How is it that you, the son of an ea rl, must plead mercy from under the arse of an enormous nitwit? Were all Fates bastards. Shall we compose a letter, Edmund?Im sure I would have become a monk, but for the anchoress. The closest to court I would have come would have been praying for the forgiveness of some nobles war crimes. Was I not reared for the unworldly life from the moment Mother basil found me squirming on the steps of the abbey at Dog Snogging17 on the Ouze?I never knew my parents, but Mother basil told me once that she thought my mother might have been a madwoman from the local village who had drowned in the river Ouze shortly after I appeared on the doorstep. If that were so, the abbess told me, then my mother had been touched by God ( deal the Natural) and so I was given to the abbey as Gods special child.The nuns, most of whom were of noble birth, second and third daughters who could not baffle a noble husband, doted on me like a new puppy. So tiny was I that the abbess would carry me with her in her apron release, and thus I was given the name of shift. Little Pocket of Dog Snogging Abbey. I was much the novelty, the only(prenominal) male in that all-female world, and the nuns competed to see who might carry me in their apron pocket, although I do not remember it. Later, after I learned to walk, they would stand me on the table at meal metre and have me parade up and down waving my winky at them, a unique appendage in those feminine environs. I was seven before I realized that you could eat breakfast with your pants on. Still, I always felt separate from the rest of them, a different creature, isolated.I was allowed to sleep on the floor in the abbesss chambers, as she had a woven rug given her by the bishop. On cold nights I was permitted to sleep under her covers to keep her feet warm, unless one of the other nuns had joined her for that purpose.Mother Basil and I were constant companions, even after I grew out of her marsupial affection. I attended the masses and prayers with her every day from as long as I could remember. How I loved watching her shave every morning after sunup, stropping her razor on a leather strap and carefully moolah the blue-black whiskers from her reflection. She would show me how to shave the little spot under your nose, and how she pulled aside the skin on her neck, so as not to nick her Adams apple. But she was a stern mistress, and I had to pray every three hours like all the other nuns, as well as carry water for her bath, meat cleaver wood, scrub floors, work in the garden, as well as gravel lessons in maths, catechism, Latin and Greek, and calligraphy. By the time I was nine I could read and write three languages and recite The Lives of the Saints from memory. I lived to serve God and the nuns of Dog Snogging, hoping that one day I might be ordained as a priest myself.And I might have, but then one day workmen came to the abbey, stonecutters and masons, and in a matter of days they had built a cell off of one of t he abandoned passages in the rectory. We were going to have our very own anchorite, or in our case, anchoress. An acolyte so devoted to God that she would be walled up in a cell with only a small beginning through with(predicate) which she would be passed food and water, and there she would spend the rest of her life, literally part of the church, praying and dispensing knowledge to the people of the village through her window until she was taken into the bosom of the Lord. Next to universe martyred, it was the most holy act of devotion a person could perform. mundane I crept out of Mother Basils quarters to check on the progress of the cell, hoping to somehow bask in the glory that would be bestowed upon the anchoress. But as the walls rose, I saw there was no window left to the outside, no place for the villagers to receive blessings, as was the custom.Our anchoress will be very special, Mother Basil explained in her steady baritone voice. So devout is she that she will only l ay eyes on those who bring her food. She will not be distracted from her prayers for the kings salvation.She is the rout out of the king?No other, said Mother Basil. The rest of us were terminus ad quem by payment to pray for the forgiveness of the Earl of Sussex, who had slaughtered thousands of innocents in the last war with the Belgians and was bound to toast on the coals of Hell unless we could fulfill his penance, which had been pronounced by the Pope himself to be seven million Hail Marys per peasant. (Even with a dispensation and a half-price voucher purchased at Lourdes, the earl was getting no more than a thousand Hail Marys to the penny, so Dog Snogging was becoming a very rich monastery on his sins.) But our anchoress would answer for the sins of the king himself. He was said to have perpetrated some jolly-good wickedness, so her prayers must be very potent indeed.Please, Mother, please let me take food to the anchoress.No one is to see or speak to her.But someone has t o take her food. Let me do it. I promise not to look.I shall consult the Lord.I never saw the anchoress arrive. The rumor simply passed that she was in the abbey and the workmen had set the stones somewhat her. Weeks went by with me begging the abbess to allow me the holy duty of feeding the anchoress, but it was not until one evening when Mother Basil needed to spend the night alone with young sister Mandy, praying in underground for the forgiveness of what the abbess called a Smashing Horny Weekender, that I was allowed to attend to the anchoress.In fact, said the Reverend Mother, you stay there, outside her cell until morning, and see if you can learn some piety. Dont come back until morning. Late morning. And bring tea and a couple of scones with you when you come back. And some jam.I thought I would burst, I was so excited when I first made my way down that long, dark hallway carrying a coat of cheese and bread, and a flagon of ale. I half expected to see the glory of God s hining through the window, but when I got there, it wasnt a window at all, but an arrow loop, like in a castle wall, cut in the shape of a cross, the edges tapered so that the broad stone came to a point at the opening. It was as if the masons only knew one window they could put in a thick wall. (Funny that arrow loops and sword hilts, mechanisms of death, form the sign of the cross a symbol of mercy but on second thought, I guess it was a mechanism of death in itself.) The opening was barely wide enough to pass the flagon through the plate would just fit through at the cross. I waited. No light came from inside the cell. A single candle on the wall across from the opening was the only illumination. I was terrified. I listened, to see if I could hear the anchoress reciting novenas. There wasnt even the sound of breathing. Was she sleeping? What kind of sin was it to interrupt the prayers of someone so holy? I put the plate and ale on the floor and tried to peer into the darkness o f the cell, perhaps see her glow.Then I saw it. The obscure sparkle of the candle reflecting in an eye. She was sitting there, not two feet from the opening. I jumped back against the far wall, knocking over the ale on the way.Did I frighten you? came a womans voice.No. No, I was just, I am forgive me. I am awed by your piety.Then she laughed. It was sad laughter, as if it had been held a long time and then let out in almost a sob, but she was laughing and I was confused.Im sorry, mistress No, no, no, dont be sorry. Dont you dare be sorry, boy.Im not. I wont be.What is your name?Pocket, mum.Pocket, she repeated, and she laughed some more. Youve spilled my ale, Pocket.Aye, mum. Shall I fetch you some more?If you dont want the glory of my bloody godliness burning us both down, you better had, hadnt you, friend Pocket? And when you come back, I want you to tell me a story that will make me laugh.Yes, mum,And that was the day that my world changed.Remind me, why is it were not just m urdering my brother? asked Edmund. From whimpering scribblings to conspiracy to murder in the course of an hour, Edmund was a quick study when it came to villainy.I sat, quill in hand, at the table in my small flat above the great gatehouse in the outer wall of the castle. I have my own fireplace, a table, two stools, a bed, a cupboard for my things, a bunco for my coxcomb and clothes, and in the middle of my room a large cauldron for heating and pouring boiling oil upon a siege force through gutters in the floor. But for the clanking of the massive chains when the drawbridge is raised or lowered, it is a cozy den in which to pursue slumber or other horizontal sport. Best of all, it is private, with a thumping big bolt on the door. Even among the nobles, privacy is rare, as conspiracy thrives there.While that is an attractive course, unless Edgar is disgraced, disinherited, and his properties willfully given to you, the lands and title could pass to some countenance cousin, or wo rse, your father might set about trying to sire a new legitimate heir.I shuddered a bit then along with, Im sure, a dozen maidens about the kingdom at the mental vision of Gloucesters withered flanks, bared and about the business of making an heir upon their nubile nobility. They would be clawing at the nunnery door to escape the honor.I hadnt thought of that, said Edmund.Really, you, not think? How shocking. Although a unsophisticated poisoning does seem cleaner, the letter is the sharper sword. If I gave the scoundrel proper rope, perhaps he could hang for both our purposes. I can craft such a letter, subtle, yet condemning. Youll be the Earl of Gloucester before you can get dirt shoveled on your fathers still twitching body. But the letter may not do all.Speak your mind, fool. As much as Id love to silence your yammering, speak.The king favors your father and your brother, which is why they were called here. If Edgar becomes betrothed to Cordelia, which could happen before the morrow well, with the princesss dowry in hand, therell be no cause for him to resort to the treachery we are about to craft around him. Youll be left with your fangs showing, noble Edmund, and the legitimate son will be all the richer.Ill see he is not betrothed to Cordelia.How? Will you tell him horrid things? I have it on good authority that her feet are like ferryboats. They strap them up under her gown to keep them from flapping when she walks.I will see to it that there is no marriage, little man, dont you worry. But you must see to this letter. Tomorrow Edgar goes on to Barking to deliver the letters of credit and Ill return to Gloucester with my father. Ill let the letter slip to him then, so his anger has time to fester in Edgars absence.Quick, before I waste parchment, promise youll not let Edgar marry Cordelia.Fine, fool, promise youll not tell anyone that you ever penned this letter, and I will.I promise, said I. By the balls of Venus.Then, so do I, said the bastard.All right, then, said I, dipping my quill in ink, although murder would be a simpler plan. Ive never cared for the bastards brother Edgar, either. Earnest and open-faced is he. I dont trust anyone who appears so trustworthy. They must be up to something. Of course, Edmund hanging black-tongued for his brothers murder would make for a festive chandelier as well. A fool does enjoy a party.In a half-hour I had crafted a letter so wily and peppered with treachery that any father might strangle his son at the eyeshot of it and, if childless, bastinade his own bollocks with a war hammer to discourage conspirators yet to be born. It was a masterpiece of both forgery and manipulation. I blotted it well and held it up for Edmund to see.Ill need your dagger, sir, said I.Edmund reached for the letter and I danced away from him. First the knife, good bastard.Edmund laughed. Take my dagger, fool. Youre no safer, I still have my sword.Aye, which I handed you myself. I need your dagger to razor the seal off that letter of credit so I may affix it to this missive of ours. Youll need to break it only in your fathers presence, as if you yourself are only then discovering your brothers black nature.Oh, said Edmund.He gave me the knife. I performed the deed with sealing wax and candle and handed the stain back with the letter. (Could I have used one of my own knives for the task? Of course, but it was not time for Edmund to know of them.)The letter was barely in his pocket before Edmund had drawn his sword and had it leveled at my throat. I think I can assure your silence better than a promise.I didnt move. So, you lament being born out of favor, what favor will you court by killing the kings fool? A dozen guards saw you come in here.Ill take my chances. unspoiled then the great chains that ran through my room began to shake, rattling as if a hundred suffering prisoners were shackled to them rather than a slab of oak and iron. Edmund looked around and I scampered to the far side o f the room. Wind rushed through the arrow loops that served as my windows and extinguished the candle I had used for the sealing wax. The bastard spun to face the arrow loops and the room went dark, as if a cape had been thrown over the day. The golden form of a woman shimmered in the air at the dark wall. The ghost said,A thousand years of torture rule, The knave who dares to harm a fool.I could only see Edmund by the glow of the spirit, but he was moving crablike toward the door that led out onto the west wall, reaching frantically for the latch. Then he threw the bolt and was through the door in an instant. Light modify my little apartment and I could again view the Thames through the slits in the stone.Well rhymed, wisp, said I to the empty air. Well rhymed.