Queen's Own Fool by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online Page B

just being silly, and so hurriedly explained, my voice raw from screaming. “A year ago I saw my parents drown. I would have drowned myself, had the Lord not saved me.”
    Pious Mary glared at the others before turning back to me. “You are safe here, Nicola. No one would dare harm one of the queen’s own house.”
    My panic faded and I sat back in the tub. Gradually I relaxed as the Maries scrubbed at my hair and chattered, sometimes in French, sometimes in their own strange-sounding Scots tongue.
    I began to drift into sleep.
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    Jolly Mary’s voice roused me. “You’d best get dried off and dressed now,” she said, offering a hand to help me out of the tub.
    The drying towels were so soft and sweet-smelling it was like rubbing rose petals over my skin. The velvet gown Pious Mary loaned me was very long and loose, but the silken hose were lovely. I had never had any but woolen before. However, they had no shoes that came near to fitting me.
    â€œI have just the thing,” I said, finding my sack next to the pile of my discarded clothes. I pulled out the last pair of boots Papa had ever made me. I had worn them but once before, when the nuns had taken me to a special mass for my parents. The boots had been too big for me then, and I had not tried them on since. But now they fit me nicely, snugged on over the new hose.
    Regal Mary turned her nose up at the boots. “Peasant wear!”
    But the others agreed they would do until proper shoes might be cobbled for me. However in my heart I doubted even the queen’s shoemaker could make me anything half so fine.
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    Then the Maries brought me into a carpeted room where the walls were hung with rich tapestries. Two large canopied beds stood side by side. On a small table were several sets of inlaid combs and brushes.
    â€œSit here, Nicola,” Pious Mary said, gesturing to a stool by the table. Then she tutted to herself as she stood over me, working out the snarls in my hair. “I will put it into a proper style in the morning.”
    At first I swore at each pull, crying out, “Mon Dieu!” And “Assassin!” And even “Mother Mary!” which, under the circumstances, with all the Maries around me, was almost laughable. But at each swear, Pious Mary gave me a sharp rap on the head with the brush. “Do not take the Lord‘s—or His Mother’s—name in vain.”
    At last, the tangles being mostly untangled, Pious Mary stood me in front of a mirror. I was startled, for I had never seen myself, except in a pond. I looked entirely different from that Nicola. My cheeks were now baby pink, not with blushes or with Nadine’s paints, but with scrubbing. My hair, in two long plaits, shone an antique gold, instead of the dirty yellow I knew so well. And the dress made me look like a courtier. I ran my hand down the skirt.
    â€œAm I ... in the least pretty?” I asked, remembering what the queen had said.
    â€œA fool does not need to be pretty,” Regal Mary said with another sniff. “Mostly they have humps and bumps, crossed eyes and bad teeth.”
    â€œShe is not that kind of fool, and well you know it!” Pious Mary picked up her embroidery frame again. “Those are God’s own fools. It is a sin to laugh at them, poor helpless creatures.”
    Helpless creatures? I thought of the dark angel-faced dwarf letting go a fart in Uncle’s face. She had not seemed helpless then.
    â€œOh, la! You make every occasion a lecture, ” Pretty Mary grumbled.
    Jolly Mary whispered in my ear as she dabbed me with some perfumed oil that smelled like lavender. “You are very pretty. Especially cleaned up. They are just jealous, you know. Jealous that the queen has a need of more wit than theirs.”
    A wiser fool would have kept silent at that and simply held the compliment to herself. But I was not wise yet. “If I am to be the wit, then why are you all here?