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.“What do you mean?” “What I have said; you may enter the lists as my champion if you will arrange it for me.” She continues to smile, but the light in her eyes has nothing to do with wit.“You mean jester against jester?” I cannot fathom her purpose.“Battling for your favor?”“Yes, almost,” says Gertrude.“You and one of the players will meet on the lists of honor tomorrow, to achieve my favor.” She tosses her head.“In the afternoon.”“If it is what you wish, my Queen, it will be done,” I say, but with great uncertainty.“I will speak to the players tonight.”“You must,” Gertrude insists, no longer bothering to laugh.“I desire it.”I bow deeply, and make some trivial comment that causes many of the courtiers to laugh again; then I back away, leaving the place clear for Mect.This one time, I wish Oduvit were entertaining now; he would deride the notion of a tournament so completely that the Queen would have to withdraw her order or face unendurable ridicule.But Oduvit is belowstairs, his mead-sodden body shaking as with ague.“I warned you,” whispers Mect before he rushes forward to present himself to the courtiers at the high table.As Mect cavorts and recites outrageous ribald verses, I keep to my place, no longer hungry, and quite unable to laugh with the rest.I watch the Counsellors and courtiers and I wonder who among them is my enemy, and why? And I ask what reason Gertrude has to treat me this way? What have I done to deserve her scorn? Alas, I find no answers in any of their faces, and the Male Goddess will not reveal their souls; I pass the evening in growing apprehension which I dare not express.FAVOR“A worthy steed,” Gertrude approves as she puts her hand on the massive head of the bear hound I have chosen from among the oldest and laziest of the huge dogs; his long, pink tongue lolls, and he licks her hand generously, and she wipes her hand on her skirt afterward.Mect blows a cow’s horn for fanfare, which hardly holds the dog’s attention, so indifferent has he grown with years.The court has assembled in the largest of the courtyards within the walls.Benches have been hastily set in place, and a dozen servants hurry about putting up poles to mark the field of honor.It is a breezy day and pennants flap from the courtyard eaves and the players’ wagons.“This is ridiculous,” complains Hieronymous as he watches Guilaume don the sham armor of players.“What is the Queen trying to do?” “Direct the gaze of the court away from herself,” I say, which is the answer I have arrived at after a sleepless night.“She is too much watched and does not wish to be.By bringing attention to this ludicrous contest, she frees herself of scrutiny and the wagging tongues that plague her.Now that she is seen to be courted by such as we, other suitors will be less noticeable.” I have her kerchief tied around my arm over my armor as a favor for battle.Hieronymous makes an impatient gesture.“Surely something less…preposterous than this would serve her purpose.”“Possibly,” I tell him.I have donned the leather armor Hamlet had made for me, and I feel sweat on my back already.“But in making this a joust for her favor, it paints all such dalliance in this spirit of tomfoolery, and—”“A-a-h,” Hieronymous sighs in satisfaction.“Adroit, very adroit.Yes, a clever solution to her troubles with gossip and rumors, I would think.She is a very canny woman, this Queen Gertrude.Who would not chuckle at her flirtations after such an episode as this one?”“Or who would dare not chuckle?” I ask quietly.Hieronymous smiles at Guilaume, the player who is to face me.“The donkey will not move faster than a walk, no matter what you do.So try to remain in the saddle until Yorick is close enough to strike you with his jester’s staff.”Guilaume does his best to look pleased, but is not very successful.“I will do it,” he says faintly.He is hardly older than a page; a stripling, not yet grown.“And take care not to strike Yorick with your baton.Let him strike you in order to win.He is to be the victor today, for the Queen’s amusement,” adds Hieronymous.“Just drop your baton when you are touched.Then we can get back to rehearsing The Spinsters of Hamburg.” It is the farce they will present tonight.Guilaume, who is to play the youngest of the three spinsters, stretches out his hand as if expecting it to be kissed.“Lord preserve me, good sir, from rogues like you,” he exclaims in high, girlish tones.“None of that,” Hieronymous tells Guilaume sharply, “You are to be the challenging knight.Be sure you do your role.”“It is more fit for Italian clowns than for players,” scoffs Guilaume.“Do it, and be pleased that we have done a service for the Queen,” says Hieronymous sharply.He ties the last of the mock-armor to Guilaume’s back.“Come.It is time we were about this japenapery.’”“All right,” says Guilaume, straightening up and reaching for the baton he is to carry against me.He pauses and glances down at me.“Two passes, and you strike me down.That is what we decided.”“If the animals will co-operate,” I remind him, “If they will not, I will strike when I can.Let us hope that we do not have to end it so quickly that the Queen asks for a second bout.” “Do you think she would?” asks Hieronymous, distressed at the notion.“She might,” I answer, sensing that Gertrude is determined to have as much amusement from this as she can.“Watch her, and gauge what you do by her actions.If she is laughing, all is well.”“Yes,” agrees Guilaume, holding out his hand to me.I slap my palm to his—neither of us wish to endanger our fragile gauntlets with a strong grip—and touch the visor of my helm.“Fortune favors the brave.” “So it does,” says Guilaume, “but how does she view the ridiculous?” I shrug.“Well, do the best you may, for the Queen.”We allow Hieronymous to escort us out into the sunlight for this travesty of a tourney.Mect sounds his cow’s horn in greeting, and I see the bear hound raise his large head from his paws at the sound.Hieronymous has appointed himself herald.He strides to the Queen and bows in imitation of Polonius’ elaborate style.“A contest for the favor of Queen Gertrude, between Sir Yorick of Elsinor and young Squire Guilaume of Bruges.” He signals to Mect for another honk
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