I was paddling in the briny, cold sea the morning I heard the slow, solemn ring of the 'Death Bell' coming from the castle. As all true Morrigans know, it is only rung when either a member of our Royal Family dies or one of their Nobles. There are very few exceptions to this, other than when a great hero of our land is slain in battle, and the time when the Queen's pet monkey, Albert, suddenly died after choking on a particularly large walnut which it had attempted to swallow whole, complete with its hard shell. Some will remember the lavish State funeral for Bertie, the Queen literally feinting in grief at one point, her Ladies rushing to her aid with silk cushions and smelling salts. I remember the King then also passing out, but in his case due to laughing too much. As you will all know, our King is a man who enjoys many things, but none so much as humour.
Old Jack Nob, the Royal Jester, was middle aged when our King ascended the throne as a young man. For over thirty years his foolery entertained the King and his Court at Yuletide, New Moontide, Harvesttide.....in fact the frequent Tides that mark out the pattern of our year. It is said that barely a night passed when Jack did not perform his Jesting within the Royal Household, and not only at grand balls and banquets but more often, in private audiences for his beloved King. I am told that after being dressed in his night wear, by his personal valet, Tightcrutch, the King loved nothing better than to retire to his bed chamber, where upon Jack The Jester would suddenly jump out from behind a large, heavy curtain, or crawl from under the King's bed, and entertain him with such a display of foolery that the King's laughter would steadily grow to loud roars which then echoed around the entire upper floor of the castle.
At least Jack Nob made old bones and was spared either the suffering of cruel torture many endure at the hands of cruel despots, or some slow, creeping disease eating away at his body like an insatiable rodent. His last performance was in front of a vast gathering of noble gentleman and ladies, all attending the King's 50th birthday party. As always, Jack's masterful foolery was met with much laughter, and his reward as always, was to hear the resounding claps and whistles of his delighted audience.
The King was proud to own the most funny Jester in his entire Kingdom. Even though of low birth, Jack enjoyed a very privileged life within the castle, free to enter any rooms bar those of the Queen and her Ladies. He was given the luxury of always having one day off a month, where upon he would usually lie in bed all day, playing on his flute (Lady Leisa.....please contain your urge to wilfully misinterpret that last sentence!). He was allowed to even dine on the same food as the King and Queen (always given their left overs, which he liked to consume late at night in the privacy of his quarters, accompanied by a good ale).
The aristocracy is a club a few might visit but never belong to. Men of lower, even poor birth, who have made great strides by the invention of their minds or by having great business success, are often invited to Royal occasions. Whether it is the genius of a man in the arts or sciences or simply that a man has accrued vast wealth, he will become of great interest to the King and his nobles. But only a man of great vanity will imagine that either by bestowing his knowledge or his wealth upon the King and his Nobles, he will in time be raised to that nobility and thus enjoy not only the privileges of high birth, but be party to those most private intrigues that take place behind all Royal house holds and grand mansions. And yet, dispite his lowly status as a fool, Jack became like a member of the Royal Family, all be it as some kind of pet, loved by the King as the Queen loved her pet monkey, Bertie. But to be loved at all by an aristocracy born to conquer, rule and never show anything beyond disdain for the masses, is rare indeed and yet strangely it is often a prerogative enjoyed by fools. I have mused on this and can only conclude that if a man can make a King laugh by the degree of his stupidity, he then poses no threat, no devious hidden and perhaps sinister motive. The job of a fool is to provide nothing more than innocent entertainment, and by doing so he may become acceptable to a King in a way no other outsider can be.
Jack's final performance before the King and his courtiers was I am told as entertaining as always. Though slowed by age and long unable to perform backward somersaults while farting - in perfect tune - the National Anthem of Morrigan, he was still able to balance two apples on his long, ski slope nose while bending backwards and moving his hips and large stomach in the fashion of a belly dancer. This exhibition of his foolery would always end with his vast, baggy pants at his ankles, by which time the King would usually be crying with laughter. It was while performing this particular jape that the old Jester sadly met his death. Leaning as far back as he could he then completely fell backwards on to the stone flagged floor of the banqueting hall. The two apples on his nose dropped and bounced a little before rolling off in different directions, with the Queen's fox terrier, Lupin, racing from her lap and chasing one of the apples at great speed, as if hunting down a fleeing rabbit. For a moment, as Jack began to writhe on the floor, gasping for breath and his eyes bulging, there was silence among the gathered nobility. But the King, convinced Jack was merely pretending to be in the throes of death, began to giggle and then in his deep and commanding voice to shout, 'Thou merry man, that you may think to fool us thus, imitating the arrival of death itself upon thy person. We are not taken to shock and tears by this artful jesting, but further to the humour of it'. The entire hall then exploded into laughter.
As the King finished speaking, Jack lay still upon the cold stone floor, his eyes wide open, staring up at the great and beautifully carved stone arches supporting the high roof of the banqueting hall, but he did not see them or the perfectly crafted little gargoyles that decorated them, depicting the faces of evil gnomes, and ugly Trolls. The old Jester's eyes, though open, were unmoving, un seeing, locked to death. The laughter began to fade, again there was silence. The King, looking puzzled, rose from his mighty dining chair, walked from his table, carrying his gold goblet of wine with him, and standing at the feet of his Jester he made a great sigh. 'Come now Jack', began the King, this time with a more serious note to his voice, 'This folly has run its course, our good humour upon it spent. Now rise to us and show your King and his court more of your merry jests'. Still there was no movement or sound from the Jester and the assembled gentry began to feel restless, if not annoyed at being made to wait like their King for Jack to suddenly spring to his feet and continue to entertain them with his foolery. By now vexed at Jack's refusal to end this perceived mockery of death, the King gave him a light kick to one of his splayed legs, this in turn made the little bells on Jack's right jester boot emit their well known tinkle, but still the Jester lay still upon the floor. The King grew angry, throwing the wine from his goblet over the Jester's pale face and greying lips, then shouting loudly, 'Rise man, dammit, this is no more an entertainment to us. Rise or by God I will have your merry head axed from your merry neck!'. It was at that moment, when even this had no effect upon the Fool, that the King realised his beloved Jester was dead. He stood rigid, feeling his body muscles tighten, coursing with blood, and then the opposite, as if his body was drained of blood and his muscles would not even hold him upright. The King felt dizzy, sick, but did all in his power not to exhibit this physical manifestation of his shock. He knelt down to the floor, gently lifted Jack's head in his arms and rocking a little back and forth, he raised his own head upwards to the grand arches high above him and he began to wail. Tears rolled from his eyes, down his face, through his bearded chin, before dropping on to Jack's cold, still face.
The courtiers lowered their heads and the hall remained still save for the Queen's Fox Terrier, Lupin, who having retrieved one of the fallen apples, trotted proudly past the corpse of the Jester, carrying his bounty between his teeth so as to present it at the feet of his mistress.
Aileron stood from the High banqueting table and politely but firmly asked for the hall to be emptied. His guards moved forward, gently ushering the assembled nobles and their Ladies towards the two vast doors. The queen also took her leave, speaking only to her dog with, 'Come Lupin dear, let us away from this nonsense' and then tutting to herself as she went, annoyed at the King for showing such emotion at the death of a mere Fool.
Before long there was only the King and Aileron remaining in the vast banqueting hall, the King still on his knees, still holding the head of his dead Jester and still crying bitterly. Aileron also found expressions of emotion unpleasant, he was, after all, a solider, a strategist, a man who spent his life fighting but always by a plan and never by the folly of raw emotion. He had learnt long ago to lead by strength, not feelings. He would appear almost as indifferent to his family and friends as he was to his enemies, the only difference being that he killed his enemies and while deeply loving his family and most trusted friends, he knew that to display more than a passing smile, an occasional, approving hearty slap on the back, may well lead him to where the King was now, on his knees, crying. The perfect strategic mind of Aileron, always anchored to logic and an even temperament, understood that emotions can cause havoc and thus had no place for a man whose life was given over to leading a mighty army.
'Sire' began Aileron, 'Shall I have a couple of my men remove the Jester to the embalmers house?'. 'No, No!', barked the King, 'He is not some large parrot to be stuffed and put on display!'. 'Well, he was your Majesty's Jester' answered Alieron in the slow and calm voice he always spoke in, 'Logically it would be a fitting conclusion to the Fool's life'. Angered by Aileron's coldness, the King asked him to leave his presence, 'As your Majesty desires' replied the always indifferent knight, he then bowed, turned and walked briskly away, his metal boots and armour clanking as he went. While other Knights wore soft velvet suits, bedecked with jewels, when attending Royal evening occasions, Aileron always remained in his battle armour. Another thing he had learnt was that your enemies can strike at any moment and at close quarters. This was not a man to ever be taken unaware. Drunks in the Tavern joke that Aileron both sleeps and bathes in his armour.....we will never know.
I am told that the King spent the entire night on the floor of the grand banqueting hall, clinging to his lost Jester and sobbing until no more tears would come. At dawn his personal valet and other attendants finally managed to prise him away from old Jack, and on to his bed chamber. After a long but restless sleep, the King awoke and began summoning a variety of servants and nobles to address the business of the Jester's funeral. The queen was furious when she heard Jack was to be given such a grand send off. She marched to the King's private rooms and told him he wouldn't need to replace the Jester as he himself had turned into a complete fool! The King became red with rage and shouted back at her with, 'Well if your bloody monkey can have a State Funeral then my dear Jester is getting one too!' They were still shouting at each other half an hour later, with the King finally threatening to have the Queen imprisoned in his deepest dungeon, unless she desisted from interfering in his funeral plans for Jack. Realising her husband was not to be swayed, she finally swept from his quarters, slamming the door as loudly as possible behind her and taking her rage out on Lupin, by kicking his bottom with such force that he became air bound and flew along the long corridor adjacent to the Royal suites - a missile of speeding white curls - before landing abruptly and face down in a large and empty flower vase on the window sill at the end of the corridor. Unable to free himself, the poor dog whimpered endlessly until finally rescued by a maid servant, who could only get him out by smashing the vase with a hammer. Rather than being grateful to the maid for her act of mercy, the Queen was outraged that a Royal vase had, in her own words been, 'So wantonly vandalised' and thus she dismissed the unfortunate maid instantly from the castle, withholding her pay and threatening her with death should she return.
The King was greatly vexed as the day approached to lay Jack Nob to rest. At every cut and turn the queen still tried to stop him from giving the Court Jester a State Funeral. Craftily she summoned Peckfast, The Lord Chancellor, and got him to remind the King of the ancient laws pertaining to State Funerals, that namely a common man cannot be buried in the Catacombs set aside only for those of Royal and noble birth. Reluctantly, but scared to induce the Queen's wrath, Peckfast did as she commanded, all be it in a grovelling manner; his lisping, whispery voice when in the presence of the King, always so unctuous. 'But what about the bloody monkey....he is buried in the damn catacombs!' roared the King after Peckfast, bowing and scraping, pointed out to him that under article 17. 1. subsection 5 of the laws pertaining to State Funerals, no commoner may be buried within 6 miles of either a King or an aristocrat. Peckfast then gave a long winded explanation, stating that the Book Of Law made no references to animals, beasts or insects with regard to State Funerals presumably because no noble would normally want to have a pet buried in such an ostentatious manner. 'So what you are saying Lord Chancellor is that according to the Law, never mind a monkey, a damn rat could have a State Funeral, but not my Jester?' asked the King as he paced in anger. 'Well, theoretically, yes Sire' replied Peckfast nervously, adding, 'Though if one wished to be pedantic, from the point of view of our other great book of Morrigan, entitled, 'Etiquette', while not illegal to bury either animals, beasts or insects within the sacred grounds reserved only for the most noble of human beings, it would certainly be frowned upon your Majesty'. 'Really' said the King, 'Pity you didn't show the Book Of Etiquette to the damn Queen when she insisted that bloody monkey had a State Funeral and was buried among nobles who trace their ancestry back to King Arthur and the Knights of The Round Table'. The Lord Chancellor did not respond and the King dismissed him by angrily flicking a wrist and hand in the direction of the door.
Summing up, by the day of Jack's funeral, the Queen had made sure the lowly Jester would, apart from the presence of a King, be denied all the pomp and ceremony of a State Funeral. Jack's make shift coffin, laid on a rusty wheeled wagon, pulled by a single donkey, and lead by the chicken farmer it belonged to, slowly made its way along a dusty lane, leading to the Commoners cemetery on a hill over looking the sea. And in great contrast, following this old wagon was a vast carriage of gold, with Knights slaying dragons sculpted upon it and on it's roof a large model of a crown and sceptre, in pure, solid gold. Within this magnificent carriage, pulled by four silken black stallions with out rider guards, sat the King alone and lost in thought.
An old, fat druid with dementia gave a long and almost incoherent eulogy at the graveside, his voice falling to great depths and then suddenly rising to great heights. On and on he went about the meaning of life and the life to come, but sadly he had nothing to say about the life of the Jester he was burying, because quite simply he had never met Jack in life.
The wind from the sea grew ever stronger and large, ominous clouds swept towards the land. Becoming lost in his own performance the old druid ended up standing right at the edge of the freshly dug grave. He began chanting and looking to the heavens as if for some sign of the God he prevailed upon to take Jack into his care. Swaying in the growing strength of the wind, the druid's voice became drowned in the ever more forceful gusts combined now with waves roaring and crashing on the jagged rocks not far behind the cemetery wall. It started to rain heavily, and with the Druid so unsteady on his feet the King wondered if the old man might actually fall into the open grave. Two of the King's personal guards each took an arm of the Druid and pulled him back....'Oh dear me,' announced the druid, 'Is it time to stop now?'. 'Yes' replied the King, handing the old man a gold sovereign and telling him to take his leave.
Three burly grave diggers stepped forward to lower the crude, oblong constructed coffin slowly into the ground. It wasn't easy in the bellowing wind, the incessant drumming of the boiling, angry sea and the rain blown horizontal, and with great force into their cold faces. 'Make sure it's the right way round', shouted the King, 'Mind his head must rest to the East'. One of the gravediggers looked up, 'Yes Sire' he acknowledged and the inscribed wording on the oblong coffin was checked to make sure Jack's corpse faced East in his grave. Unlike at his moment of death and for many hours following it, the King did not cry at his Jester's funeral, but rather stood looking and feeling lost. As the coffin was lowered the King stepped forward and threw Jack's bright red jester hat after it into the seemingly endless depths it was slowly disappearing into. Although such a grey and gloomy day, the metal inscription plate on the coffin briefly caught the light as the coffin was lowered, and then it was gone, gone from all light for ever more.
The King turned, leaving the grave diggers to their duties and with a heavy heart he walked slowly back with his guards to his golden carriage.
Since that time our King has laboured under the loss of his Jester. His temper is quick, he is impatient and disinterested in the business of Kingship. Fuggles, (the general castle Jester), was mooted as a possible replacement by the King's Privy Council, but the King would have none of it, declaring Jack to be irreplaceable. Nobles of the Royal Court have sent out notice to each village in the Kingdom that any man, between the ages of 18 and 55 who is of low birth and known for idiotic tendencies must report to the Castle cellars, where they will be assessed and any showing promise will be dragged before the King and told to perform in an absurd manner before him. So far, not one has managed to make the King smile, let alone laugh.
These are sad times for our beloved land, for there is danger that a King robbed of laughter, and thus drawn to a bitter and overwhelming darkness of mood, will be vulnerable to those from other lands who seek to depose him. If after reading this, any commoner feels he has the attributes of an absolute fool then it is your duty to offer yourself up to the service of being the King's Idiot.
Please note, women may not apply for this vacancy simply because few woman are ever capable of making such complete Fools of themselves as their male counterparts.
The Death Of A Jester....
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Last edited by Zapper on Sun Apr 20, 2014 3:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
