Author's Note: Hey! Happy Friday the 13th! Man, this is my favourite day of the year! Why? Because sometimes my birthday falls on it. Not now, but...sometimes. You should like this day, too, because I finished this chapter this morning. Yes I'm still sick, so you can thank that, too.
And, thank you for all the reviews. They are very encouraging and are what keeps this going.
Have I ever mentioned that this is the longest thing that I've ever written?
Anyways, I'm feeling kind of loopy (stupid flu-thing) and I'm going to go get a hot drink. Enjoy. (PS I don't know when the next chapter will be up. I'll try to be quick-ish. But I can't guarantee. So you are forewarned if I disappear until May.)
Days
"Ah, so this is where you've been spending your time these three days past, my love!" A tall, handsome man entered the caravan, bending down to drop a kiss upon Maia's cheek. She smiled, reaching up from her work to give his hand a light squeeze.
"Ay, playing nursemaid to the poor lad. Look at him, poor thing! Can't help himself any more than little Hart could." she half-joked. The man laughed, an easy, open sort of laugh, as Maia patted Jester's hand.
"Jester, allow me to introduce you to my husband. Godric, this is Jester. Jester, meet my Godric."
Jester liked the man immediately. Guessing his age to be perhaps twenty-one, Godric seemed an amiable man with a warm, easy temper. His eyes seemed to dance and twinkle with kindness and wisdom, their colour a deep golden tawny. Light brown hair fell to about his shoulders, and his skin was tanned with the sun.
"Well, I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Jester, after these three days. Maia here's been speaking of you like family!" He tilted his head to the side. "And, by Jove, I could almost swear that the two of you were kin!" He shook his head and laughed. "All the same… well, here's the matter at hand of which I came to speak to you, Jester. Maia has told us about your Jane, and after a bit of…deliberation…amongst ourselves, we've finally agreed to help in the 'rescueage of thine fair lady'." He took a dramatic player's pose. "Ay, we may seem as simple traveling players, winning coin by our humble act, but certain...circumstances," he sobered, glancing at Maia before continuing. The woman had stiffened noticeably, her eyes resolutely focused upon the poultice she was brewing. "Certain circumstances have forced us to take up the fighting and defensive arts, and we've agreed to teach you what we know. As well as assist in the attack itself, of course." Godric finished, touching Maia's shoulder gently. She shook her head slightly, and Godric nodded as though in response to some silent conversation. Jester gulped, unsure, before brushing his curiosity aside.
"I...why, thank you! Are you in earnest? It's certainly more than I could have ever hoped for!"
Godric clapped him on the shoulder.
"Nonsense! Now, once you are well enough to stand, which I reckon shall be soon enough, Wymund -another of our party- and I shall begin instructing you in some of our fighting arts." He grinned, lightening the mood. "And, I must say, you have a very fine shortsword in that pack of yours. Forgive us if it seems as if we were intruding, but we took the liberty to bring your packs onto one of the caravans, along with your tent and bedrolls. We figured that you would most likely wish to keep them within your possession."
"Again... thank you! You have shown more kindness than I could have expected."
Godric smiled.
"Not at all, friend!"
The creak of the door opening made all three of them look up.
"Hullo, Godric, Maia, Jester," Octavia called, shaking rainwater from her head as she stepped in. "Just thought I'd bring the little one around a moment. He's been dying to see his mama and da, I think."
"The little one?" Jester asked, confused. Maia smiled at Godric, as the man reached out for the squirming little bundle in Octavia's arms.
"Hart," Godric murmured, "I'd like you to meet Jester."
A pair of blue eyes mirroring Maia's blinked at Jester from within the blanket, which Godric placed on the cot. Before Jester could utter a word, a beautiful little boy, between the stages of baby and toddler, crawled straight up to him. His eyes were wide and blue like his mother's, and he had a little tuft of brown hair the same shade as his father's. Jester was enchanted.
"Un…ka.." Hart said, pointing a little finger up at Jester.
"How old is he?" Jester asked, spellbound by the little child.
"Just over a year and a half," Godric replied, kissing Maia lovingly. "He's his mama and my pride and joy, that one."
"Un...ka..." Hart repeated, frowning comically as if puzzled by a difficult equation.
"No, love, that's Jester," Maia murmured to her child.
"Je...ta?" Hart repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. He shook his head, waving his arms as infants do. "No un...ka."
The adults laughed.
"Well, bless my soul. The little dear is certainly stubborn," Octavia laughed. "Now, I suppose we ought to let Jester have some more rest, the poor lad. Come on, Godric. Take your little one there... that's right, and let's go and get that supper made and on the table so it can fill some hungry bellies. Maurus has been whining like a beaten dog this past hour, but he's always hungry. Oh, and you sleep, Jester, dear."
The bustling gypsy woman turned, followed closely by Godric and his son.
"She's right, you know," Maia sighed, "Get some sleep. We'll wake you for supper in a few hours. Also, I'm guessing that you'll be having a day or two until you'll be starting those lessons with Godric. So use that time to rest well. Between Godric and Wymund, you're bound to earn a few more bruises."
Jester meant to tell her that one more bruise probably wouldn't hurt anymore, but he was asleep before the words could form in his mouth.
"Higher!" Wymund barked, as Jester feebly raised the staff under Godric's fierce blows, feeling sluggish as his feet slogged through the ankle deep mud. "Strike higher an' harder, towards the chest! Harder, lad! Yer not shakin' his hand, so put some force into it! Drive 'is blows back into 'im!" The gypsy ran a hand through his long chocolate brown hair, pulling it back into a horsetail and picking up his own staff. "Watch," he said, taking a swing at Godric. Maia's husband pivoted, bringing the staff up to meet the attack with a resounding crack, before unleashing his own torrent.
Jester watched, awestruck. He had seen Jane and Gunther sparring with the staves in the yard more times than he could count, but it was nothing to this. The men fought with a raw power that surpassed that of the squires. The crack of wood on wood, the shuffling of feet on the ground, the grunts of exertion as rain and sweat rolled off their brows, dripping into their eyes; Jester found he was holding his breath simply watching them.
"Your turn," Godric panted, pushing a strand of soaked hair from his eyes as he grinned at Jester. Jester swallowed hard, before raising his staff.
He didn't even manage a step before Wymund interfered.
"Stop," Wymund snapped. "Yer grip...its wrong! Spread yer hands apart, lad. Apart! No, like that." He adjusted Jester's hands, but then pointed to his feet. "Now fix yer stance. If I threw a blow at yeh like that, then yeh'd fall over inta the mud! If I'd been an enemy, I'd've hacked yeh down in a heartbeat. So, knees bent, feet staggered. There! Now, start again."
Wymund raised his staff, emitting an onslaught of swift, heavy blows. Wood upon wood, Jester focused on driving the blows back to his opponent, wincing as Wymund's blows occasionally landed upon his fingers.
As the rain fell heavier, Wymund's attack increased in both speed and strength. Jester blinked rainwater from his eyes. He was spattered in mud, and soaked with icy water that sent chills to the marrow of his bones.
"Focus!" Wymund barked over the rain. Jester felt him land a blow on his collarbone, and felt his grip on the staff slip from his frozen fingers. Wymund cursed colourfully.
"Master Jester. I repeat myself. If yeh can't keep a hold of yer weapon, whether it be staff or shortsword, yer dog's meat. Yeh must always keep yer mind present. Focus! Get it through yer thick skull. Expect the unexpected. Guard yer back. Always keep yer feet movin'. Use yer brain as well as yer eyes. Intelligence! Intelligence is key! Yer not strong enough to afford to be stupid, so yeh must think! Focus!" Wymund spat. "Very well. We're done fer the day. See that yer more... prepared tomorrow."
I'm a failure. Jester sighed, watching the man stalk away from the improvised practice ground.
"He means well by it, you know," Godric said lightly. "I know he's tough, but it's for the best in the long run."
Jester scowled, massaging his collarbone. Godric rolled his eyes and tapped Jester with the butt of his staff.
"Come on, you. We should probably go get cleaned up, before Maia sees us and has a fit. She'd never let us back onto one of the caravans." Godric laughed, steering Jester towards the wash caravan. "You go get cleaned up. There should be a pair of clean breeches and a tunic in there. I just have to go check something with Wymund first, regarding our supplies. Be back in a moment."
Jester nodded, stripping off his mud stained tunic as he entered the caravan.
The room was small, filled with clean linens and cloths, and to one side there was a moderate-sized bathing tub. Once more, herbs hung to dry from the ceiling, their distinct aroma rising like a cloud.
Slipping out of his breeches and grabbing a chunk of tallow soap, Jester quickly dipped himself into the water, wincing as the cold liquid made contact with his skin. He took a deep breath before dunking his head, scrubbing meticulously with the soap. Where it touched, the soap stung faintly, the sensation of immaculate cleanliness.
Jester shivered as he came up from under the water, and leant against the coarse wooden slats of the tub, running a hand through his wet hair.
He had been with the gypsies for a total of four days now, and the ease with which he had slipped into their free lifestyle shocked him. He felt as if...as if...
As if I've betrayed Jane by this, he thought sadly, fisting his hand into his hair. They had been apart a week now...
He closed his eyes, picturing her, feeling his heart throbbing. He could just see her, as if she stood next to him. Her green eyes would flash with defiance as her oppressors taunted her, and her red hair would bounce as she threw back a retort. On the inside, how hopeless and abandoned she would feel, as if her world had crumbled around her.
He blinked, returning to the present.
I swear, I will kill Cliff if he so much as touches her, he vowed solemnly, stepping from the tub and snatching a clean pair of clothes. He shrugged into the tunic, the plain wool warm and abrasive against his skin, and pulled on the tan breeches.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Jester?" Godric's voice called, muffled by the thick wood. "Are you finished yet? Maia is eager to have you seated at the table so that she might introduce you to the rest of our company. And she shan't be kept waiting much longer, I wager."
"Coming!"
The aroma of sweetly herbed fish was mouth-watering when Jester entered the well-packed, well-lit caravan. A dozen new faces sat packed around a single rough-hewn timber table, along with Maia and Octavia smiling at Jester and waving towards a seat for him.
"Jester!" Maia scolded playfully. "You've kept us waiting!"
"Not too long, I hope," he replied, as Maia rolled her eyes.
"But long enough, lad," a bearded man interjected. "Far too long, almost, when there are starving bellies to fill."
Octavia slapped the man lightly over the crown of his skull.
"For shame!" The elderly woman frowned. "Please forgive Maurus, Jester. My son is oft known for his grumbling spirit. A trait that won't allow itself to be cured."
"Not at all," Jester said, glancing at the bearded man in confusion. Maurus scowled darkly, curling his lip at Jester before turning to the woman on his left.
"Have I done something wrong?" Jester murmured to Octavia. The woman sighed and shook her head.
"No, there is no fault of your own. Maurus is simply not a very... compassionate soul. He...and shame unto my tongue for admitting this, but he resents your being here." She pursed her lips. "But it is no fault of your own. The coward brings his resent upon himself. Pay it no heed."
Jester grimaced.
"May I ask why he resents me?"
"For a few reasons. The least being, as I said, for he is a coward. And seeing as the rescue of your Jane will most likely result in a confrontation of some sort, his lack of bravery comes through like rust in copper. Self-preservation dictates that he should be opposed to that which places his own life in danger, and he forces himself to detest that which he believes is the root of that danger." She rolled her eyes. "Which is, in his eyes, you. But, as I said, pay it no heed. He is bitter about most things in life. If not for sweet Linota there, his wife, I would swear that the man would shrivel into a sour grape." She sighed, sipping her mead.
"You said he is your son?"
"Ay, that he is. The elder of the two I was blessed with, Wymund being the younger by two year."
Jester caught sight of the training master from across the table, taking a swig of gin as he conversed with the man beside him. He had jet black hair, and an olive tone to his skin.
"Octavia, I confess to being curious. There are many faces which I don't recognize tonight..."
Octavia smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes seeming to laugh.
"Yes, you have not been acquainted with the majority of our party as of yet." She adjusted her headscarf, taking another sip of mead. "Very well. So, you have just had an encounter with my elder son, Maurus. The woman beside him is the sweet red-haired Linota. She is quite the opposite of my son- it yet astounds me that she should fall in love with him, they seem so ill suited!" She laughed. "The woman beside her, well, that is Amice. She journeyed from France with our resident priest, Père Matthieu, some summers ago, and is married to Lucius, the man to her left with the jet-black hair. Yes, him, speaking to Wymund." She pointed, "He's a kind enough man, Lucius is. A bit on the quiet side, but insightful when we have need of his counsel, and a mighty wielder of the bow.
"And of course, you'll have met Wymund today. In all his brusqueness, he has a good heart and means well. Beside him is Père Matthieu. He is an...interesting fellow, though I can't say I agree with all he has to say regarding certain topics. And beside him is Juliana, Wymund's wife. She is our little Italian angel with a voice gifted from Heaven itself. You must hear her sing- there is not a soprano in all of Rome with a voice as pure and sweet as she.
"Beside her is her brother, Ippolito. Italy runs strong within his veins. He is a skilled artisan, perhaps a little moody on occasion, but generally of good spirits. He is married to Eleonora beside him, the one holding the babe, little Caterina, in her arms."
Jester's eyes traced from face to face, watching the light of laughter in eyes and the love between kin- between man and wife, brother and sister, child and parent. It was, in a word, beautiful.
The door to the caravan opened, and two men entered.
"So, finally, Godric, you decide to show your hide, after having a jolly little laugh for making us wait?" Maurus spat. His wife murmured something most likely soothing, but he shook her off, leaping to his feet.
"Peace be on you, Maurus, my son. I won't have you causing unrest under my roof," one of the men spoke. His hair, at one point black, was streaked silver, emitting a halo of luminescence over his lordly face. Black eyes, both stern and understanding, gazed unwaveringly at the disgruntled man from beneath stern brows. Tiberinus, Jester thought, recognizing the authority with which he spoke. And yet, Maurus slammed a fist on the table with a wild cry.
"Peace be damned while we eat with cur and are obliged to do their dirty work for them! I will have none of it!"
"Hush, Maurus. And shame on you, speaking that way," Octavia snapped, glancing at Jester with worried eyes. "Again, please, forgive him, Jester, dear."
Jester nodded, keeping his expression vacant.
"Now, keep your silence Maurus, before you cause yourself more shame and bring judgment upon yourself."
Maurus grumbled something vile.
"The only shame is in his presence! What is he to us? What is his Jane to us?"
There was an angry outcry. Chairs were flung back and voices raised.
"SILENCE!" Tiberinus shouted over the din. "Sir, I am ashamed to call you my own flesh and blood. You call yourself Rom? Ha. You mock the very bloodline. We help, Master Maurus, as we would help kin. As we would help kin, we help in all struggles, and we do so gladly. So. Keep. Your. Peace."
A set of black eyes met with brown, righteous fire, and the gaze was held. Maurus blinked, and suddenly sat back down.
"Enough. This was meant to be a celebration." Tiberinus called. "Carry on, friends, carry on. Enough has been said here."