The Jester: Performance (1)
Episode 16: Grand Arrival
The white jester’s wagon, now pulled by a snow-white horse with a tall, white, feathery headdress, passed slowly under the arch of Palisade’s north gate. As soon as the wagon was clear, a small rocket shot from its roof, climbing fifty feet into the air before exploding its payload, showering sparkling confetti over the hundreds of citizens milling about the gate square. Surprised shouts and appreciative “oohs” and “aahs” greeted this display, and all eyes turned to the strangely dressed man standing on the wagon’s front seat.
Drawing the horse to a stop, he bowed theatrically to the crowd, dropping the reins into the hands of a young man who had climbed up beside him. With a bound, the jester stood upon the wagon’s roof, arms outstretched, turning completely around in a slow circle, garments swirling, as if showing off his new outfit. No one in Palisade had ever seen a jester like him before.
As a physical specimen, he was not much to look at. He was heavyset, probably a good thirty pounds overweight, but active and spry like a much lighter man. Despite the white face paint obscuring his features, he seemed reasonably good-looking.
All eyes, however, were on his attire. He wore a snug, patchwork leotard that matched the colors of his wagon. Gold thread stitched together rectangles of sea green or white, some tilted at odd angles, tricking the eye. A golden belt of silk knotted on his left side wrapped around his waist, and from it hung a thin, divided skirt of sea green, white, and gold. On his feet were long, pointed shoes of golden leather, and on his head sat a strange cap with three down-curving cloth horns in a diamond pattern of white, sea green, and gold.
“Good evening, citizens of Palisade!” his voice boomed across the square. Shouts, clapping, and laughter rose around him. “This Harvest Festival, your glorious and mighty King Alfons—long may he reign!—” Cheers erupted at his naming of the king, disintegrating into a repetitive, “Alfons! Alfons!”
In the relative quiet that followed half a minute later, the jester continued, “The king has graciously invited me to perform for him in his palace!” More cheers rang out, but they faded when the crowd realized they could not attend his command performance.
“And who am I?” the jester asked. “I am the incomparable and indefatigable Dance the Jester!” Now the crowd chanted his name. “And we will have a good time tonight! Care to Dance?” He capered about the wagon’s roof, cavorting and laughing and pretending to lose his balance off the side, eliciting worried shouts and even a scream from a young girl in the crowd below him.
“My lute!” he shouted above the din. “Where’s my lute? Bring out my lute! These people deserve a song!” Another ovation filled the square with clamor.
The wagon’s back door opened wide, and a beautiful woman, red hair piled high on her head and wearing a skin-tight green dress, flounced down the steps carrying his instrument. The crowd made way for her as she sauntered to the front, where the driver pulled her up and lifted her to join Dance on the wagon’s top. She handed the lute to him and began to wave and blow kisses to the crowd. The men ate it up while many women looked on in envy. The jester took the opportunity to tune the instrument.
Dance held out a hand to her, drawing her to the center of the wagon, where she would feel more comfortable. “This exquisite creature is the charming and talented Red!” The crowd roared in appreciation, an ovation that lasted longer than the earlier cheers for the king and his jester. Red beamed and waved and blew kisses from every corner of the wagon’s top.
The jester held out his hands to still the crowd. “Just last month, she beguiled all the men of Blayne, performing to standing-room-only crowds night after day after night! And she has agreed to sing for us this evening just as she will sing before King Alfons! Give us quiet! The magnificent Red!”
He strummed the introduction, and Red sang her signature song, a sad, old ballad about a handsome gentleman who fell for another. It ended with a repetition of the chorus:
Why must I be so unlucky in love?
What did I do to deserve such sorrow?
Who will hear my sad petition above
Granting me a happier tomorrow?
As the last sound of voice and lute died away, the crowd exploded in a sustained outburst of applause, whistles, and cries of acclaim. Red curtsied and waved many times, but the growing mass of onlookers kept cheering. She tried to hush them, and Dance soon joined her, waving his arms in a ceasing signal. They ignored him and continued their deafening acclaim.
Dance handed Red the lute and, with exaggerated movements, crossed his arms and tapped his foot, glaring at the audience and wagging his finger. His pantomime worked. They settled down quickly, chuckling. “You are very naughty people!” he reprimanded them in an unnaturally shrill voice, fists on his hips like an old shrew. “All this noise might draw the constables! They might think we’re starting a riot!” They laughed.
After they quieted, he continued, “And your cheers will certainly go to her head!” He pointed at Red. “Yes, she’s good but not that good!” Red came up from behind him and whacked him over the head with the lute. The crowd roared with laughter as he fled, hands over his head, and she chased him twice around the perimeter of the wagon top, her green eyes flashing.
They stopped on opposite ends of the wagon, her glaring at him, breathing heavily, and him flinching at her every feint with the lute. He fell to his knees and began bowing, arms before him, pleading for forgiveness. Red stepped toward him, and he backed away, uncertain. Slowly, she reached out an arm and patted his head. He yipped like a dog, tongue lolling out, and then he rolled over as if to have his belly scratched. She aimed a kick at him and stomped away. The crowd loved it.
Dance stood shakily and brushed his hands, rearranging his clothing and hat. He smiled and bowed. “Ladies and gentlemen, we regret we must move on up to the Palace! We don’t want to be late for our date with the king, do we?”
The audience shouted, “No!” with a few wiseacres calling, “I dare ya!” and “Who cares?”
“So, then,” the jester continued, drooping and looking dejected, “we must leave you and climb the hill. Thank you for your kind welcome to this fair city! Here’s our final treat for you!”
During Dance’s farewell speech, the young man had lifted two small buckets onto the roof in exchange for the lute. Red handed one to Dance and kept the other for herself. They reached in and took out handfuls of paper-wrapped candies, flinging them over the crowd as the young man gently started the wagon moving toward the broad avenue that wound up to the palace.
As they went, they could hear excited calls, exclaiming, “It’s real Satelen taffy, mama! Green like his clothes!” and “I got a penny!” or “Look! Mine came with a tenner!” Many children began running after them, calling for more.
By the time they reached the avenue, their buckets were empty. Dance showed the children the empty bucket and shrugged. “Wish us luck!” he cried and waved at them as the wagon pulled away.
Mardans joined Dinae at the front of the wagon, sitting above Aran as he added speed to ascend the hill. She was fanning herself, but she wore a grin. “I think that went well,” he said, sharing her smile.
“That was more than fun,” she replied. “I loved it!”
A note:
One might wonder how Mardans and Dinae could remain upright and not fall off the wagon’s roof while it was moving (albeit slowly). The answer is quite simple: A low metal railing ran along the roof’s perimeter, allowing a performer to tuck his or her toes under it and keep a semblance of balance. The Kingdom of Margonne did not maintain a bureaucratic equivalent to OSHA (Occupational Safety and Health Administration). They had discovered something called “common sense.”
Loved the character interaction of Dance and Red. It was as if I was there in person.