Prologue in Epitaph
Sitting in the road, lulled into a macabre calm by the gentle noise of the hanging man, the jester was nearly asleep. He was looking intently at the ground from beneath his hood, and no one in the outside world could tell if he was alive or dead. He stayed thus for many long hours, while the sun rode the sky and he pondered the words of the madman. War had been spoken of, but war of what nature, for no war had been fought nearby that was certain, and for other types of conflict they rarely instigate such violence as was seen by the man now hung from the gallows-tree. He sat in though, thinking long on any things until a sound form one arm of the spliced road made him look up and think once more about the world around himself.
Coming up the road was a caravan of bright wagons, all decked in floral ribbons and great billowing reams of silk. The jester waited as the eclectic troupe approached, and he heard bells from within the great construction, and voice many loud and joyous voices singing to the heavens and the earth about everything and nothing in a great song of life. The jester stood, mostly for fear of not being seen by the absent driver of the leading wagon, but also in interest at what was approaching him.
The first wagon rolled past, the brightly painted sides speaking of the nature of the occupants. A travelling troupe of players they were, and to judge by the sound they would travel and play until the very twilight of the world even though no man may stop them and hear a play.
A mask of red and gold looked at him over a beak nose. The jester looked up into its eyes, and the man hidden therein leapt from his place upon the wagon to the roadside beside the jester. He looked him up and down, running his hands through the air a few inches from the jester’s clothes. The man spake no words and the jester stood watching his antics. He stood patiently as more and more bemasked players came from the wagons which rolled as though by some strange sentience, into a circle around a broad tree-stump on the road side. A creature in a mask of weeping joy skipped in long strides to stand beneath the hanging tree, looking in fanciful sorrow at the corpse still swaying in the breeze. After his homage had been paid the masked man ran and jumped upon the tree stump, surrounded in seconds by the whole throng of bright people. As one they ceased their wild chatter and looked at the jester who stood impassive in the masked gazes of the group.
A tall man in a black mask made in the guise of the moon’s dark side began a low rumble and the group swayed and joined him in increasing pitch until a small person in a white cloud mask was making such noise that the jester could not give it ear. Silence fell suddenly and he was ushered to sit before the stump, and thereon a cloth of blue was laid to act as a stage and the jester knew he was to be given a show.
A man vaulted onto the makeshift stage and proceeded with a show of physical movements to make it seem as though his person was being subjected repeatedly to battering by an invisible force. When finally his thrashing was over he was joined by a creature whom he held in obvious awe, his masked face bowed in supplication to the person standing before him in radiant glory, gold against the blue of the stage and the dark of the night. The golden creature raised her arms high and made a movement to the heavens to cast far the air near her chest. Once more the man bowed by her feet was crushed by a boot of some silent giant, and in his crushed prostrate pose he wailed in whispers to the sky. A dark shroud was flung far across the stage, and in a mishap which caused the jester more concern than the nature of the piece he was watching it’s dark folds enveloped the entire stage, man and all. He watched intently as the masked man leapt form the shroud as though nothing untoward had occurred, looking in mock horror at the place on his stage where once the golden entity stood. In grief he fell to his knees and looked long at the ground until from the darkness behind the stage a man dressed all in black made entrance and cast off the bowed head of the masked man. The jester watching knew it was no more than a black bag over his head in some ingenious manner, but the show was of such unlooked for import that he hastily thanked the players and passed them each a bell from within his pouch. They took the gifts with the good humour those who know no better before skipping and dancing away to the wagon and striking up a merry tune with which to travel into the night.
The jester watched them go, once more wondering on the nature and disguise of the misfortunes which were hounding the world as dogs to the heels of the butcher.
