The jester did not get far in his renewed journey before he was once more drawn by Fates’s lot to witness more than a man should see. On a plain in front of the castle he saw for the first time something which confirmed that there were indeed forces at work in the world, although he was certain that they had been at work for all time.

There he saw two armies arranged against each other, challenging in a deadly game. From the great distance he could make out lines of men marching to the field from inside the castle. Who was assaulting, he was without a clue. Spurring his horse forward he made haste to the opposing force.

He approached, holding his hands high to suggest no threat, and was admitted under guard to see the general of the army. He met the man at the rear of his army, surrounded by lieutenants.

‘Well met, good King, I come to parley,’ he said, dipping his coxcomb to the King.

‘Well met? Do you suggest that we have met before, fool?’

‘You knew me than as Fool. Are there so many fools in your life that you cannot remember one amid the throng?’

‘Fool? You! I have mind to have you slain where you stand, foul creature!’

‘On what grounds?’

‘The curse which you placed upon my bravest knights, leading them with joy to their deaths.’

‘Death? The knights whom I saw then are no longer riding in the sunlit fields?’

‘Do not play ignorant, you threw your cursed tinkerbells around. What evil had those men done that they deserved death?’

‘No more than any man,’ said the jester, holding one of his silver bells between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Will you accept this?’

‘Never! I am no half-wit. Take your spells far from here!’

‘I shall not give it if you will walk from this field in peace. If not, if you insist on pressing this terrible burden upon the men there below, you shall have no choice but to accept it.’

‘What do you care for these men? You are a nomad, in debt to no one and with no care in the world. What right have you to ask me to forfeit my victory. The blood of many men has drenched the rode to this place and I will not allow them to have died in vain. We will press this assault and take the castle.’

‘Why must you take this castle? Are you aware of whom you fight?’

‘Yes, sir, I am. The armies of this realm have caused me much grief, commanded by a villain. I cannot allow this to go unanswered in this time of strife, and to remove a threat from the world is reason enough for my being here.’

‘The man who made you bleed by proxy is no longer commander of the guards. Indeed, he is no longer in the kingdom.’

‘How do you know this? You have no place in court but to amuse the small of mind.’

‘I saw him leave to go to the South.’

‘There you have it! Many dire tales have come to my ear from that hellish place. If he is there then he certainly seeks bloodshed. The dishonourable villain has fled justice leaving his countrymen to bear my wraith.’

‘It is so. I beg you not to press this course. A peace, lasting and strong, may be forged between—’

No one saw where the arrow came from. One moment the king was in deep discussion with the jester, the next he was dead on the floor and a great cry was echoing from the field as the armies charged.

The dark man leapt onto his horse, galloping away before anyone could level a sword at him. Before he was in full flight he dropped a bell onto the newly dead king. Over the hill he rode, and ran almost squarely into a group of men lead by Michael. They were armed for battle and looked grimly toward their duty.

‘I have neither time nor impulse to speak with you. Stand aside and let us win our freedom,’ shouted Michael as they marched over the crest of the hill and saw the battle below. Raising his sword to the sky Michael signalled the charge and they disappeared.

The jester rode back to the refugees. All the women and those men who did not wish to fight were sitting in tight huddles, a tense atmosphere over the camp. The jester stopped at a distance, watching as the priest moved through the camp, talking to each group one after the other. He seemed to be saying something that they agreed with strongly. He saw the jester, and with a gaggle of followers in tow, he approached.

‘Begone! You are the very reason and cause of this misery. You and that, that barbarian, are in league with dark forces to bring upon them souls to feed upon. You are evil, and you hold no sway in this place.’

The jester sat in silence, watching them with steady eyes. In his mind he was writhing as the world seemed to have toppled from the brink of sanity. His eyes gave nothing away, dark pools of despair. The priest saw he would get no reply. He turned and led the remaining people in the camp away, taking horses and supplies. When they had gone and the camp was empty, the jester stirred cold ashes as the noise of the battle put the birds to flight.