fool's errand

FOOL’S ERRAND



By



Scott Ferrara









My Dearest Sister Vivian,





I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I miss you and mother terribly, but my time in the holy city has brought me great joy. I can feels God’s presence, like it was emanating from the very stones of Rome. I wish Lionel were here to read this letter. His loss in the air over Germany was a great shock. I’ve been thinking a lot about Lionel recently. As you know I am but a humble acolyte doing my translations from the Old Latin in the Vatican archives. I sought to escape thoughts of my little brother falling in flames from the sky. I also know that both mother and father do not approve of your upcoming marriage to that American flyer from Texas I believe he’s from. They have cut you off and out of their lives. Father is the hardest heart. He will not forgive you for marrying what he sees is below our station. But with Lionel gone, myself pledged to God, Our father loses any hope of a male heir. He put his hopes in you to at least continue the line with someone proper, and English.

I know this is painful, And please Dearest Sister, understand the language and the urgency of my letter. In my studies I have come across scores of ancient confession, transcripted from heretics dating back to the dark ages.

Mind you the confession itself was fragmentary, but it dates back to the times of Emperor Lucius which is most curious. Lucius was eager to expand his influence throughout the empire especially our Fair Isle. There he met resistance to his demands of tribute. By a war leader known as Artorius. The forces of the emperor were repulsed.

Years after a wandering bard was captured and tried for heresy. Rather than fight any charge he gleefully submitted himself to the trials and begged to be burned at the stake. With this as a frame I shall do a rough translation of the lost and fragmented document.



The Fragments



I wanted to make my confession simple and accurate, Although neither is likely and I can’t simply guarantee the veracity of the words you are about to hear. The truth comes difficult to a creature like me. The truth loses its charm only if it is spoke plainly. But I shall attempt to do so. I was a knight of the round table after all.



Merlin’s father was a demon of that there can be no doubt, his mother was a druid priestess and one wise in the old ways. Sometimes being one of the few who wasn’t taken in the end makes me doubt my convictions in a merciful God. Now as Gods go, I like Rome’s all it demands is some obedience and you are spared eternal hellfire. Obedience comes second only to truth as the most difficult virtue. All you must do is confess to whatever petty evils you have done and safe in the knowledge of Mute Gods forgiveness. Then you can stroll safe and secure from the cathedral knowing that the lighting that would have struck you otherwise. Had it not have been averted by a few choice words to a celibate go between. I feel that as methods of avoiding eternal pain go that one has its peculiar merits. I also prefer my gods mute.



My name for the scholars who will no doubt be translating this from the Latin is Dagonet. I was Arthur’s jester and keeper of the secrets of the descent. I sang, I danced but more importantly I had the ears of the Arthur’s court. Merlin made me from scraps of fallen knights and pieces of wandering bards that fell to brigands in secluded woods in Cornwall or Wales. When I say I was built I am not being hyperbolic. Nor am I being extravagant or metaphoric, as we wandering Minstrels tend to be. I have the face of a Cornish Knight, the legs of a Welsh peasant, the body of a monk, the arms of brigand, the ears of midwife and my tongue well…..

I say made because I was created for one single and unique purpose. My mouth was to be the sepulchre for a forked tongue. The tongue was a vile organ which belonged to Merlin’s father. Merlin knew it to be a dangerous thing. It was prone to tales of ribald knights and lurid ladies in waiting. It also held Merlin’s true name. He needed to imprison the tongue because that name was the last word it spoke. And if the winds heard that name Merlin would be at the mercy of all the other incubi. But I am of course ahead of myself.



I was created to play the fool, Knighted by Arthur on a whim, I was to be the target of ridicule from knights like Kay the dullard, Gawain the thick, and Lancelot the Lech.

Although I liked Lancelot. He was kind in his way. He would talk with a gentle condescension that comes from rivaling perfection and making it blush. Occasionally the other knights would clash steel with me. It was those times I felt like part of the Fellowship and I felt the uncomfortable seeds of virtue start to grow. Luckily Merlin knew how to keep those weeds from his garden.



Lancelot you see he was the problem and the fulcrum on which the whole kingdom hinged. For he was the master pawn in a war a war between Merlin and his sister Lady of the Lake. The two suckled at the bosoms of a human mother and as the twins matured startling differences arose between them. Both were gifted in the old ways, the ways of the earth, sun, moon, the sky, fire and the waters.



The Lady of the Lake had raised Lancelot to be the greatest knight ever. And she did a fine job with King Ban’s son. She raised him in the waters and trained him against knights of Shells. He learned courtly manners in a palace of sand and even I must admit he was a sheer pleasure to behold. Even if both my eyes came from separate beings. A fact that might explain my apparent madness. It also may explain current trial for heresy.



Merlin of course had the sight, occasionally coupled with wisdom. He knew that virtue is a curse unto itself since it can be undone by a very simple truth. Ideals are the easiest things to fall short of. And as strong as you are, as fast as you are, gossip is stronger and faster.



A lie can be a powerful thing if treated with respect and consistency. And hence my career at court was born. I was created during the time when Arthur and the knights were about to battle the holy Roman Emperor Lucius. Lucius challenged Arthur’s right to rule but would’ve settled for a tithe. As most despots do.



The real patriarch of Camelot was a demon bard named Talesin, whose name meant radiant brow. He was the father of our esteemed Merlin. Begot during a rite of the Goddess. Everyone ran about naked in those days during rituals. I’d often see Merlin whisk his mind back there when my reports on the gossip at court would get too lengthy. Which it often did. My tongue would spin a poem of knightly valor and honor as my ears would hear Sir Whoever buggering a kitchen wench.



It figures the one time I tell the truth. The truth is definitely the most confusing of the virtues. The truth has caused much more hurt than has been a salve in soothing painful words. I never won a joust or a duel but my words have pierced hearts and severed heads. The court was my jousting field and my field of honor. None of the knights, not even Lancelot could challenge me there. The knights with all their gleaming chain mail, sharp swords, and blunt maces were mere toys as they broke against my iron wit. Arthur knew this and kept me at court to teach the knights the often forgotten virtue of humility.



I ask forgiveness. Although, I don’t expect it. And the fire from which you will purge my heresy or is it hearsay I forget; regardless the fire shall acclimate me well to my place in the next world. What doomed the greatest most just and fair nation in the world. And obviously much more fair nation then Emperor Lucius’ Rome.



There were few in the castle, both Lancelot and Guienvever were away. Nimue entombed Merlin.



All the knights were questing for the grail. It was only Arthur, Kay, and myself in the castle.



Arthur was pensive, he had heard the gossip about his young wife and the handsome Lancelot but these were rumors and he as king was above them. I was summoned to his chamber. He was weary. Arthur was never weary then. The world had never weighed on him as it did that night. With a shrug I tumbled and sang and sung him the tale of his battle against the giants of Geen. He couldn’t raise a smile, and then I asked the question that would doom us all.



What troubles you my lord?



“ Fool . ” he said sadly “ I need no game and I need no song. And please kind sir no jest ”



“ What would you have me do sir? ” I replied cautiously.

“ Speak plainly ” He said his voice near a stammer.



“ As always, “ I replied, “ My Lord ”



“ Does my wife love me, Dagonet ”



“ We all love you my lord. ”



“ Not as a king, but as a man. ”



“ I would not know the contents of a persons heart, especially the queen’s.”



With that he drew Excaliber from its scabbard and with a stroke brought it to my neck.



“ Does she love me AS A MAN!” he screamed at me. His eyes mad with hurt and doubt and



jealousy.



I paused gauging my answer, then I spoke. “ You are a king, and as such you have no parallel on this world. But you are not your own. As a man in this world is his own. His own body, his own blood, only his soul to God.”

“ DOES SHE!” He lifted me off the ground. Tears streaming down his cheeks soaking his bearded. “ I feel like a man,” He shouted

“Yes ‘tis true.” I answered.



“ Hurt and bleed like a man”



“ Of that I can attest my Lord” I answered.



“ And I will die like a man.”



“ True my lord, but you are a king” He dropped me and I fell to the ground. “ No one can love you



as a man , My lord, because you are more than a man. You are chosen by God to be above these things.



Love, my king is the apple in the Garden of Eden; for a king to possess love is to know all and be cast



from paradise. ”



There was a silence between us, and with a gesture from his hand I turned to leave.



“ You know I envy you fool, to be loved as you are.”



“ Envy is a sin that doesn’t well suit a king.”



“ Neither is the love of his wife.” He said to me as the door slowly shut behind me.



Soon after his suspicions were realized and the kingdom decayed from the inside. Like an overripe apple in an untended orchard. The worm called Mordred had eaten to the core. And with that the Lady of the Lake won the contest with Merlin. And I shouted Merlin’s true name to the winds because I knew then all was lost.



End of Fragment



That my dear sister I hope would be of interest to you. And if even a fraction of it is true.



Love my dear sister is the most transcendent and miraculous thing we humans share. And we can



even pity kings who live without it.





Love Your Brother,



Roger