I STUDIED WITH NORBERT for nearly a fortnight, until my wounds finally healed completely. My days were spent juggling, tumbling, and watching him perform in front of the court, and my nights with the telling and retelling of jokes and rhymes.

Step by step, I learned the jester's trade.

Much of it came easily to me. I had been a jongleur and was used to entertaining. And I had always been agile. We practiced forward flips and handstands; in return, I taught him the trick with the chain. A hundred times, Norbert held out his arm, like a bar, at waist height, while I strained to flip my body over it. At first, I hit my head on the straw mat again and again, and groaned in pain. You find new ways to injure yourself, Red, my mentor would say, shaking his head.

Then slowly, surely, my confidence began to grow. I began to clear Norbert's arm, though sometimes falling to my seat. On my last day, I made it over, my feet landing in the precise spot from where I had sprung. I met his eyes. Norbert's face lit up in a monumental smile.

You'll do all right. He nodded.

At last, my education was complete. There was an urgency to things; the image of Sophie was never far from my thoughts. If I had any hope of finding her alive, I had to go now.

At the end of our final session, Norbert dragged over a heavy wooden trunk. Open it, Hugh. It's a gift from me.

I lifted the top and pulled out a set of folded clothes. Green leggings and red tunic. A floppy pointed cap. A colorful patchwork skirt.

Emilie made it, the jester said proudly, but to my design.

I looked at the jester's costume warily.

Norbert grinned. Afraid to play the fool, eh? Your pride's your enemy, then, not Baldwin.

I hesitated. I knew I had to play the role,for Sophie , but it was hard to see myself wearing this outfit. I held the tunic up to me, sizing it against my chest.

Put it on, then, Norbert insisted, smacking me on the shoulder. You'll be a chip off the old block.

I removed a set of bells from the trunk.