Fool's Paradise

He pushed her against the pump. “Water, churl! Ply the pump, and with a will!” Slapping one hand against the other, he whispered, “Cry out!”

Elizabeth responded with a weak, but passable cry of pain.

He grinned. “Good! Not a star performance, but ‘twill suffice. Now, pump. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a pump before.”

“Of course I have,” she whispered back, grasping the worn handle firmly. “I’ve just never done it myself.” As she pulled it up and down, Elizabeth dreamed of pitchers of warm, sweet rose water that Charlotte used to bring to her room. How she would love a bath right now! A hot, lavender-scented bath before a cheerful fire! And with someone to scrub her back—someone with warm, gentle hands

like…. Glancing guiltily at Tarleton, she banished her

wanton thoughts.

Bending down under the gush of glittering water, Tarleton doused his head, shaking the drops out of his hair with a contented sigh.

“Your hair looks like a bird’s nest, boy!” he observed, his deep voice echoing off the grimy plaster walls of the inn yard. After grabbing Elizabeth by the neck, he shoved her head under the tap just as he had done himself. Icy water streamed into her eyes and trickled down her shirt collar.

“Now, shake your head,” he whispered, while she was still sputtering her surprise. “Let’s smooth you up a bit.” Elizabeth’s tormentor smiled into her clean face. He lightly ran his fingers through the shorn golden stubble. There was a faint glint of humor in his eyes as he regarded his handiwork. “‘Tis plain as the nose on your sweet face that I’m no lady’s maid.”

Swallowing hard, Elizabeth prayed her features did not betray her racing heart. “I wish I had my comb and brushes,” she mumbled.

“Fine ladies have combs, but not guttersnipes and prentice boys,” Tarleton replied in a strange husky voice.

Tarleton donned his coxcomb hat and tied the strings firmly under his chin. It was the cap that changed his appearance, Elizabeth realized. With his curly brown hair concealed, Tarleton the jester looked every inch a rogue and goblin, especially when he grinned so wickedly and wiggled his dark eyebrows. No wonder she failed to recognize him on their unusual meeting!

“Ready, boy?”

Looking with apprehension at the back door of the inn, Elizabeth shivered then nodded. Loud, boisterous male voices came from inside. Tarleton took both her hands in his strong, reassuring ones.

“Frightened?” he asked her gently.

She nodded again.

“Good,” he continued lightly. “‘Tis healthy to be frightened just before a performance. Don’t worry, chuck. ‘Tis a little like losing your virginity—the first time you’re scared to death and don’t enjoy it, but it gets better each time after that.”

Elizabeth gasped at his frankness, but he allowed her nc time to respond. Before she knew what was happening, Tarleton pulled her through the door into the humid, smoky taproom.

“Room! Pray, masters all! Give me room to rhyme! We’ve come to show activity upon this pleasant time. Activity of youth…” Tarleton whirled and pranced, pointing to the quaking Elizabeth. “And activity of age…” He bowed deeply to the stinking assembly. “And such activity as ne’er been seen on this stage! I am Tarleton, jester to Her Most Gracious Majesty, and to her loving subjects!”

“Aye, Tarleton! Give us a jest!” cried a gravelly voice from the back of the dim room. “Tell the one about the pig, the sheep and the farmer’s daughter!”

Without pausing a moment, Tarleton grinned devilishly, then launched into the most ribald story Elizabeth had ever heard. She kept well back in the shadows and reminded herself that she was a boy, who should not be blushing. Tarleton’s crude story was greeted by a loud round of approving cheers and whistles. Immediately he told another tale, which was even more bawdy than the first.

What manner of man was this jester? Elizabeth wondered as she listened with bewilderment. When they were alone, Tarleton was polite and well-spoken with Elizabeth. Now he was someone else entirely—someone she didn’t know at all.

Next in the repertoire was a tavern song concerning the life of a lustful boy, and how he hung on the gallows for it. Afterward Tarleton executed a short jig, pulling a giggling serving wench into his arms, much to the additional loud cheers of the patrons. Spinning around suddenly, Tarleton grabbed Elizabeth by the wrist, pulling her into the center of the room. She could feel her heart hammering against her breast.

“Good masters, your patience is my prayer. Gently to hear and kindly to judge this player! ‘Tis my new prentice, Robin. Give us a song, lad, about the wench with the rolling eye!” With that introduction, he gripped her around the waist, and plopped her on top of the nearest table.

Girding herself with resolve, Elizabeth wet her lips and began. “She had a dark and rolling eye/And her hair hung down in ring-a-lets.”

Fixing her gaze on a spot just above the smoking fireplace, Elizabeth forced herself to forget the velvet-gowned heiress of that morning. Now Lady Elizabeth Hayward of Esmond Manor was a ragged jester’s apprentice. What would she be by the journey’s end?

At the conclusion of the last verse, the patrons of the Blue Boar clapped and banged their leather jack mugs heartily.

“Sing it again, sweet Robin!”

Elizabeth could scarcely believe her ears. Some loutish churl on the side by the counter was ordering her to entertain him again—and he was calling her “sweet” in the bargain! She glanced over at Tarleton, but he acted as bad as the rest, grinning and clapping at her.

“Sing again, Robin Redbreast!” her erstwhile protector commanded. He grinned impishly, challenging her to go through with it.

Elizabeth ground her teeth. All right, you shag-eared jester! I’ll show you just how good I can be for this ragtag mob! Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth threw the bawdy lyrics back into their pockmarked faces.

Her second rendition was received even better than the first. At the end of the rousing last chorus, Tarleton swept her off the table. Then he pushed her head down, forcing her to bow to the unwashed rabble while he bantered to them, something about “Robin is a little slow and hasn’t learned his manners yet!”

Despite the sordid surroundings, the rough company and the type of song she had just performed, Elizabeth surprised herself by grinning as she accepted the lusty applause for her debut. The rowdy noise was an intoxicating wine to Elizabeth.

“What’s the news, Tarleton?” an old woman’s shrill voice asked.

While Tarleton recounted the comings and goings of the gentry in a witty and scandalous manner, Elizabeth retreated again to her shadowed spot in the corner, where she observed the scene more closely. She saw Tarleton’s audience hang on his every word, especially his colorful description of a particularly gruesome execution, which had taken place in Coventry a month before. Elizabeth’s stomach lurched at the gory details, and she was glad she had nothing in it to lose.

“And now, say I, let us drink a toast to my mistress!” Tarleton snatched a mug of ale out of the paw of the nearest man and held it aloft. “Here’s a health unto Her Majesty, and confusion to her enemies!”

“And so say all of us!” the innkeeper quickly rejoined, looking anxiously around the room, in case there might be a Queen’s man among the company.

“She’s Great Harry’s true daughter, fiery hair and all!” croaked an old man from the inglenook. “And so I say, here’s to good Queen Bess!” There was a general cheer, and a great deal of slurping as the loyal citizens drank deeply to show their affection for their ruler.

Looking pleased with himself, Tarleton pulled Elizabeth out of her corner. “The evening grows apace, good friends, so my prentice has a sweet song to sing ye to your rest.” He lifted her back onto the tabletop, and whispered, “The Greenwood Tree,” to her.

Closing her eyes to blot out the uncouth surroundings, Elizabeth concentrated on her song of love and of warm summer days. The crowd in the taproom grew surprisingly hushed as her clear voice rose above them.

Tarleton felt his throat tighten as he listened. In his mind’s eye, he saw Elizabeth sitting sweetly under a thick, greenleafed tree, her billowing satin skirts spread out on a carpet of tiny white-faced daisies, and her golden hair, long once again, spilling down over her tight bodice. He saw himself with his head pillowed in her soft lap; his eyes closed as he listened to her sing this very song, just for him. He clenched his jaw. You are even a greater fool than you profess to be!

Loud cheering and applause greeted Elizabeth’s last note. This time, she hopped lightly off the table and executed her own graceful bow. Then she turned to Tarleton with a smile that was half defiant and half pleased. Tarleton rewarded her with a wide grin.

“Our play is done and that’s all one!” Tarleton bowed elaborately to the audience as if they were the finest lords and ladies in the land. A smattering of silver coins rained down on him.

“Look lively, Robin!” Tarleton stooped to retrieve them. “‘Tis your fortune at your feet!”

Obediently Elizabeth dropped to her knees and began gathering up the money. The floorboards were sticky to the touch; dirt and dried food filled the cracks between the planks. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. Feeling light-headed, she passed her hand across her brow. Tarleton, noting her pallor, was at her side, pulling her to her feet.

“Landlord! Food! Food for the inner man…and my pale-faced boy!” he called, hauling Elizabeth through the crowd to a small wooden booth in the back corner.

Elizabeth sank down with relief against the rough planking of the seat.

“There now, lad! What say you?” Doffing his cap and rumpling his damp hair, Tarleton slid onto the bench opposite her. In the guttering candlelight, he looked like the devil’s own helper with a dark curl falling casually across his forehead and his white teeth gleaming at her.

Now that their performance was over, Elizabeth suddenly felt limp. She was hungry and bone tired.

“How, now, chuck?” Tarleton reached across the pitted table and lifted her chin so she was forced to look into his dancing dark eyes. His thumb brushed against her lower lip, sending a spark shooting through her veins. “You were a success! Look you!” He spilled out the money on the table. “‘Tis a fair take, I warrant you. Much better than I expected. “Twas your sweet voice that pleased them!”