Fool School Read online

  "There you two are! I'd hoped to see you again."

  Ahead is the open side of the aletent, and the barmaid whose voice it was. Scurrying behind the bar, she produces my recorder and returns it to me. I am whole again.

  I tell her I will soon find thruppence for her kindness when I have such money, which is three days' pay for a barmaid, and manage a muddy wink. Everyone is satisfied. I wonder whether Rabin's come back to his tent yet. I hope I don't see him again.

  I suggest we bathe in the saltwater of the bay, cleanse ourselves of mud and whatever else is dirtying us. As we march together to the sea we find what seems a laundry parade. The line of washer-women washing directly in the bay is something incredible to the eye, it's all bonnets and white flags of sheets and raw, bare arms churning against tin washboards--or, for the poorer women, pairs of rough rocks. Surprisingly, aside from seagulls, the sound I hear from many is weeping. Not the romantic weeping of maids in love, nor the heavy bawling of mourning, but a strange intermittent gasp.

  "Pray thee, mum," says Malcolm to one as we pass, "why do you weep?"

  "Ach, don't worry your sweet head of it, my one, it's the soap does it," she answers, and this is satisfactory. I know nothing of lye, only that it burns the knuckles through after too much washing. These are the poorest women in Brystow or they wouldn't be washing, and their work is apparently a true pain to them.

  We skirt the range of beach where the lye has seeped thoroughly into the sea and find a flat rock that leads into the algae and kelp of Brystow Bay. From here the upper reach of England becomes Brython Wales, and there is no clear line by land, only one side of the bay and the other.

  Stripping, we wade in. There's no ice yet, but good blood of Christ it's cold. I am cursing and blaspheming in my own mind. I will need to confess, this isn't my way.

  The nearest washer-women offer to wash my muddy clothes, but I have no money. I say so.

  We wade in, dressed. Crusted mud dissolves in the waters of the bay. I feel cleansed. The water causes my body to shake and shiver, and this seems to loosen my hatred. I want Malcolm to feel the same way.

  "Have no hatred for any man," I say to him, he's letting himself descend thigh-deep into the kelp below the stones, we're some yards from shore. "Only love." I come up beside him and wrap my arms around him, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, hiccoughing once in the freezing October water. His body is very hot.

  "You know what I've been thenking of?" he asks. I shake my head. "I like the way that ring of birches feels girting hem. D'you thenk, if we've found the bob and a penny to pay her, she'll give us leave to attend to 'em?"

  It's very strange, but I have completely forgotten my body in my stress and insanity. It's been so far from my mind, even when I've worn the switch circle. But my Malcolm hasn't forgotten, he's too pure in his fire to relinquish any part of his life, he's a column of conflagration, he keeps spreading from tree to tree in the dark forest, blazing alight. I brace a hand around him and amuse him somewhat, but even though Wolfweir wouldn't know, I don't take him all the way.

  Back on shore, we dry ourselves with handfuls of autumn leaves and dress for the day. It's noon and we've missed half a day of jesting, so we quick-march back into the fair, playing tunes, wearing the switch circles. We begin searching for an opportune spot, eventually lighting far inland, near a fine foods emporium that'll cook manor-house fish and very decent game for you. They're under a silk tent hemmed like a rich man's pillow, they have a tank with live perch, it's actually charming me, this emporium. It's the earl's cook, I think.

  Most of the people buying fish and game are traveling with their wives, so "Rybbesdale" is off. Too dirty. I whisper to Malcolm that I desire to recite, these nobles of the regime will appreciate fine stories better than bawdy songs. He tells me to go ahead and try. I stand in the middle and take several deep breaths, men and women in finery pass, and I'm afraid I'll be reciting to an empty crowd.

  I begin.

  "There was, in the time of Arthur of Camelodenum, a declaration," I say.

  People do notice me, they slow in case I should say something interesting.

  "It was so declared that all noble and graceful men should come to Camelodenum and declare themselves knights of the Round Table, to be sent on mighty quests undertaken for the glory of England."

  My voice sounds accented to me, I'm very French, I can hardly understand myself. My voice is nasal and whiny, and I'm very concerned.

  "This declaration was spread to all corners of the isles, and eke to Normandy and Brittany and Burgundy," I continue. "And from all corners knights came. Norman knights, Welsh knights, Angles and Umbrians and many Saxons and Jutes and Bretons. The declaration reached Scotland, the highlands and the lowlands, to Caithness and to the Shetlands, but from Scotland not a single knight came."

  Malcolm glances at me. I'm constructing the story from memory, and much of it is new to both of us.

  "But in the mountains of the highlands, there was a boy who had dreams. He strode through his parents' house filled with visions, and could be brought to do no work. From hiring fair to hiring fair he went, his head in the clouds, and at each he'd be hired for a day's work only to lean on fences, dreaming of far-off places."

  We've attracted a crowd now, a wealthy crowd, and I push on aggressively.

  "The boy--"

  "His name was Duncan Donalvane," throws in Malcolm, and I run with it.

  "Duncan went with a girl, the most beautiful in all of Scotland, and everybody declared she could do better than a halfwit lad with no eye for honest work," I say.

  "But aye she was thoroughly in love weth hem, crown to sole, head to heel, and not for a king's jewel box would she nae do ennatheng he'd ask," Malcolm adds. I shudder at the jewel box. Too much like a Jew's latchbox.

  "So when Duncan came to her one day and asked her to sew him a flag of Scotland, she bought red cloth and yellow cloth and set to work at her sewing without question, out of love," I say. "And produced a great flag of Scotland. And when he asked her to buy him a horse, she bought the horse--"

  "And dinna once ask why he should need it, out-of-work as he was," says Malcolm.

  I realize that we haven't mentioned something. "What she didn't know was that the declaration of Arthur had reached his ears--"

  Malcolm nudges me and hisses, "Dinna give it away," but I've already done so.

  "And Duncan's dreams had taken his thoughts far from Scotland," I go on relentlessly. "Indeed in his mind, he was already gone from there. And when Duncan took his girl's hand in his and declared that he was leaving Scotland to join King Arthur at the Round Table, she believed he would leave forever."

  "What she dedna ken," Malcolm picks up, "was that, buried in his dreamer's heart, was true love for her. He believed that she understood hem, understood that he knew what was rumored of hem in town by his kin, that he was no hard worker, that he was useless to the town, a lump, a worthless theng. He believed she knew his worth, that he meant to prove himself, that she would wait for hem. But in her heart, she felt nothing but his rejection, and vowed to heal her newly-broken heart with a new man."

  "And Duncan Donalvane took an ax and trimmed a long tree of its branches, tied the flag to it, mounted the horse his girl had purchased for him, with no saddle, for neither could afford one, and rode south past Hadrian's wall into England. He asked his way to Camelodenum and came to King Arthur's company, where a Christmas court was being held.

  "It was the custom then for Arthur and Guinevere and the famous knights to wait for some great event to happen before beginning the feast, for in those days great events could be counted on to happen at any great gathering. Long tables were laden with fine victual," I continue, "and two great boars were baked with apples and forest berries, and there were sufficient in attendance that the boars would be picked clean once the feast had finished. But for now, they were waiting for a great story."

  Malcolm: "It was into such an array of Christ's-Mass cheer that po
or saddleless Duncan rode, his tree-trunk lance weighing his weak shoulder down, the flag flapping foolishly, and when he rode his scrawny pony--" Malcolm and I share a look--"ento the crowd surrounding the Round Table and the feast tables, the mirth and laughter at his piddling poor penniless appearance was considerable." We both recall Weatherford's lesson on the importance of alliteration.

  Me: "Duncan declared before the assembled audience that it was in his heart to become a noble knight and to prove his worth. He spoke fairly to the crowd, saying that he was nothing but a poor Scotsman with no particular skill, but that he believed in love, a pure love that came from Christ, and that he wanted to serve beside King Arthur."

  "It was with merriment," Malcolm picks up, "that Arthur rose from his seat and bade Duncan come forward. 'Es there nae of my knights would take this one on as a squire and teach hem the ways of knighting? For though his cloth and horse be but poor, I feel hem to be blessed before God, and a man possessed of the Holy Spirit.' "

  I have to pee really bad, but I can't stop or even hesitate. "It was Cadoc the monk who rose and spake that Duncan could serve him as a knight." I really have to pee. "And Arthur asked the assembled guests--" Oooo, it's bad--"whether this would be so, the first Scot in King Arthur's Round Table take it Malcolm" and I run down the road until I find some opportune and unguarded bushes and remove the switch circle and relieve myself. I sprint back. It's lucky I'm a man, I think.

  ". . . the monastery was bathed in such light that it seemed hem that all of the angels of heaven were descended upon hem, and before Duncan the clouds parted and a vision et came to hem," Malcolm says.

  "It was a vision of a castle upon an island in the sky," I pick up. I remember how we discussed that there should be a clever vision, and I remember Perille's dream. "There below the castle lay the land of Strathclyde, from whither Duncan had come, and as the vision, um, neared, a series of clouds led up to the foot of the castle as a set of stairs. And from the castle's roof rose an image of a key, bedizened with pictures of scenes of the Bible, and a voice came and spake that this was the Key to Heaven, if only Duncan could find it."

  "Cadoc knelt," says Malcolm, and I find the crowd is gathering in earnest now, "and declared dutifully to the, em, monks assembled that he was due to depart with Duncan Donalvane to Strathclyde, to pursue the vision."

  "Because of the state of war between the Angles and the Scots," I say, "the monks girded themselves with armor, and Cadoc chose for Duncan a breastplate of English iron--" Malcolm gives me a grin--"and a pair of better-quality greaves, and a helmet cap of iron, and a mantle of the colors of Cadoc's house, but Malcolm--I mean, Duncan--placed his flag of Scotland beneath the mantle, so that the red and the yellow draped out the back."

  "Et was many days the knight and squire and canons rode, girt as they were, past the Wall and ento the fair and snell-cold land of Strathclyde, and beyond, through the great city of Glasgow, up the mountains of the Highlands, and beyond, as far as any man may go without a ship to take him farther."

  "Good," I whisper to Malcolm. He grins again.

  "And at the langest, farthest point, at the northern shore, Duncan dismounted, knelt and prayed. And from the shore rose a stair of clouds, and from those clouds a rain and mist fell, and at the top was an island floating in the air above the sea. And atop the island, a castle."

  "Cadoc led the way to the castle," I say, "his horse picking its way cautiously up the Raining Stair, requiring urging at every step. But Duncan's horse climbed without hesitation."

  "And at the top, a drawbridge lowered to meet them, and behind stood a great bold knight dressed in blue," says Malcolm.

  "A plume of blue stretched from his helm. Pauldrons painted purpur perused his--"

  "Not perused," Malcolm hisses. "P--pre--ferget it."

  "His shoulders," I say, stumbling. "A blue hauberk, blue helm, blue halters on his horse."

  "Good," Malcolm whispers.

  "And the blue knight left his visor down, so none could see his face."

  Malcolm picks it up: "The blue knight spoke thusly: 'For what purpose have ye come? Know ye what land this castle overlooks?' "

  He waits for me to come up with something, but I'm as stumped as the audience. What land does the castle overlook? It can't be something too obvious . . .

  Malcolm takes a breath and goes on: "Cadoc spake, and in ringing tones remarked that et was the castle in which the Key to Heaven resided. To which declaration the blue knight spread his arms and laughed mightily in good humor. And he said Cadoc knew naught of the truth of the matter."

  Now I can add: "Up strode the canons on foot, and the three knelt and the first said it was the castle of the Kingdom of Heaven. Again the blue knight laughed and remarked that this was more to the spirit of the matter, but was still not the correct answer. The second canon spake and declared that the castle overlooked the land of the Scots, and this drove the blue knight to rage--"

  Malcolm leans over and hisses that this was the answer he'd planned on giving Duncan, and I shake and say I have other plans.

  "And the blue knight declared that this was far from the best answer. The third canon spoke of the rain and the ocean and said that it was the Castle of the Ocean, and that this was the cause of the blue color of the knight's array. The blue knight declared that this was closer to wisdom than any of the other guesses, but was not yet the whole of the matter."

  "Duncan dismounted," says Malcolm, and I wonder whether he's guessed my intention. "And knelt, and said that this castle was the work of Christ, and that it overlooked all of the Isle of Britannia, from the northmost of Shetland to the southmost of Wight, from the shores of Swansea to the bay of York, and et was the castle of God's hand on Earth, ruling over this island where all men may live side by side without hatred, but with only love for every man. And the blue knight raised a hand in friendship to Duncan, and said he had hit the heart of et."

  That's actually a little better than what I had planned to say. I'm lucky to be Malcolm's man, he's wise.

  I say: "Cadoc rode up to face the blue knight, and asked if he wouldn't remove his helm, but he would not. And Cadoc asked in what way the Key to Heaven could be obtained, as it was shewn him in the vision. And the blue knight said they must joust.

  "Cadoc first dismounted and, with the three canons before him, knelt and prayed for God to guide his hand to the Key to Heaven for the glory of King Arthur. Then he mounted, and Duncan his squire lifted up the lance and shield, and the blue knight was eke all prepared, and in the courtyard of the floating castle they tilted. The boy squire Duncan covered his ears in preparation for a great crash of splintered lances, but it never came. Instead Cadoc rode through the blue knight as if he were nothing but mist."

  The crowd reacts. We're affecting them.

  Malcolm: "Four times Cadoc telted, and three times again, but not once did he connect with the blue knight. But again and again the form of the blue knight stood, silhouetted before the walls of the floating castle, and each time he became mist as Cadoc passed, and he was found elsewhere in the courtyard."

  "In the end," I pick up, "Cadoc threw down his lance and threw down his shield and dismounted and declared that something was out of place, that no man may turn to mist when struck, that if the blue knight had the Key to Heaven, that he must reveal it, so that it could be fought for evenly."

  I'm still talking, I have it all figured out, when Malcolm breaks in and throws everything to sixes and sevens: "And the blue knight lifted the lance, tilted at Cadoc, broke through his shield and straight through his heart."

  Gasps from the audience. Nobody was expecting it, least of all me, because Cadoc isn't known to die in the Arthurian romances, he's expected to--well, he's not a thoroughly developed character perhaps, but nobody's ever heard of Cadoc dying.

  I recover and begin inventing: "The blue knight dismounted, and Duncan ran to Cadoc's side and found his last breath departing him. In fury and tears Duncan charged the blue knight and threw fis
ts at him, but though he could make contact, none of his blows were strong enough to sting the knight. In all his strongest voices Duncan demanded that the blue knight explain himself. And the blue knight said that he would."

  I gear up for a big speech. I'll have to make this good.

  " 'In this world,' quoth the blue knight, 'we are awash in opportunities to spend ourselves in hatred and violence. When the strong meet the meek, it is the strong who take, and the meek who lose.' "

  " 'But,' " Malcolm jumps in, " 'this is contrary to the word of Christ, who taught us that the meek will gain in the next life. That is, for us to be meek in this life, is not the same as being defenseless. It's, ehm, it's--' "

  He's flailing a little here. I rush in.

  " 'It's the role of the knight to defend the meek in this life--' "

  "Yes!" says Malcolm.

  " 'That the meek might attain their promised, um, promises in the next life. For a knight to lower his arms in the face of a foe, leaving more-meek men maundering for mercy, this is nothing but base cowardice and poor judgment, and no knight of the Round Table in the service of God may display such traits. For the defenders of the meek to lower their guard in the face of an unknown enemy--' " I imagine this will resonate with those older people who remember the Viking incursions and the base conduct of old King Æthelred, who often surrendered, " 'is to condemn the meek who need protection.' "

  " 'For the knight,' " says Malcolm, " 'es the servant of God, and in a world of danger and difference, it is en the will of God that we move toward harmony. Thus must those who fight, the king and his knights and barons, keep ready for battle at all times, and in doing so discourage their enemies from the temptation of forays and pillages. May those men who strive, the farmers, and those who worship, the priests, keep faith and attend Mass, that the protection of the king and his knights not be in vain. Let kings not pay the kingdom's wealth to invaders, but instead stand ready to meet them in force. In this way, overseen from this castle, the land of Britannia and all its people may be maintained as a place of free travel and peace until the return of God's kingdom on earth. For there is no one of the small kingdoms of this land who lays claim to God's love exclusively, but the whole of the island, for God has separated it from the rest of Christendom as a bastion of, of--' "