The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery by Alan Gordon Read Free Book Online Page A

monks, too, I understand. Your sons, I mean, not the dogs.”
    “They have,” she said with pride. “I hear from them once in a while.”
    “When did you last see them?” I asked.
    “In 1195, when my husband decided to devote our lives to Christ,” she said. “Eight—no, nine years ago. They would be eighteen and twenty, now. I miss them. You never stop being their mother.”
    I felt a sharp pang of sympathy.
    “Tell me, what enemies did your husband have before he joined the order?”
    “Enemies,” she mused, frowning slightly.
    “Either from his commercial dealings, or his Guild activities,” I added. “Someone who might carry a grudge to the present day.”
    “The merchants of Marseille were ever a fickle lot,” she said. “Forming alliances only to betray them, undercutting their own families at every turn. But to pursue my husband after he left all that after all this time—no, I can’t imagine any of them would spend a bent penny to do that.”
    “From his Guild activities, then?”
    “He never told me much about them,” she said. “You know how it is—you’re married to one. Although it must be different, being a jester yourself.”
    “I am a Guildmember,” I said. “But we are a married couple just like any other. We each have our secrets.”
    “Of course,” she said. “Still, you’re lucky. It’s much easier being in the Guild than being married to it. The disappearances for months at a time, never knowing what dangers he might be in.”
    “That actually describes life with my first husband,” I said. “He went off on Crusade, and I spent two years praying for his safe return.”
    “Did he return safely?”
    “He did.”
    “Then he had your prayers to thank for his well-being.”
    “It is good of you to say so.”
    “But this jester is your second husband?”
    “Yes. I married him after my first husband died, and then became a jester myself. He was my teacher.”
    “How strange life is,” she said. “I could never have become a troubadour. I sing like a crow.”
    “I like crows,” I said. “They’re mischievous and smart. What was it like being married to a troubadour? I always thought that would be wonderfully romantic.”
    “He wooed me with song,” she said, suddenly a dreamy young girl again. “And after we wed, there were oft times when he would sing only to me, even if there was a crowd of people around.”
    “That must have been lovely,” I said.
    “For a long time, it was,” she said. “But one day, he stopped singing.”
    “To you?”
    “To all,” she said. “He came home from his travels on some business with a cloud over his face. He went into our room and stayed there for three days without saying a word. Then he came out and announced that he was becoming a monk.”
    “Just like that? Had he never shown any signs of this religious fervor before?”
    “Never before,” she said. “He sold all of our possessions, and bundled us off into holy orders.”
    “Why, that’s—” I was about to say something sharp, but she looked at me serenely. Very well, it was not my life. “That must have been a … difficult adjustment.”
    “It was, at first,” she admitted. “But there’s something to be said for having regular order to your life. The Cistercian rules, and the cows’ rules. We know what we are going to be doing every day of our lives.”
    “Who’s stricter, the Cistercians or the cows?”
    “Oh, the cows,” she laughed. “If they don’t get milked or fed on time, they can become quite surly. God is willing to wait for His prayers.”
    “Ah, but His wrath is more powerful than a cow’s.”
    “You’d be surprised,” she said. “If they stampede—One of our order was trampled to death a month ago.”
    “How horrible! Were you close?”
    “She had just joined us,” she said. “No one knew her well. She was a city woman who came to us from a convent, and knew nothing about the real world. She didn’t see the warning