Wallace, Anno Domini MMVI 
Two teamsters, bloodied and covered in soot from the bombards, carried the limp body of the jester into the tent. “We got ‘im, Brother. He was askin’ fer you, ‘n’ babblin’ some, but ‘e’s gone quiet.”
“Bless you for your efforts,” murmured Mendel, squinting in the lamplight to make out the nature of the fool’s injuries. The child in the other bed moaned and tried once more to turn over.
“Poor li’l guy got broke up somethin’ bad…but guess he kinda started out that way,” added the other, shouldering Magnifico’s full weight to lay him gently on the cot. “Take good care o’ him, Brother. ‘E’s got balls, fer sure, beggin’ yer pardon, Brother.”
With a practiced eye, Mendel inspected and began to clean the gaping wound where the Vasar spear had penetrated his friend’s side. “Who would have guessed that the Bugs could sail a ship? That was clever of them, but Sir Dane tells me you pushed them right into the river.”
“Aye, that we did,” said the taller of the two, grinning. “Master Clown here gave us the ol’ one-two, heave-ho, singin’ while they chopped at ‘im, ‘n’ into the drink they went! You shoulda seen it.”
“I’ll have to be content with cleaning up after it,” said the monk absently. “The spear came out cleanly, praise be. Leave us.” Folding his hands, he began to pray after the Gospel:
“Alioquin propter opera ipsa credite amen amen dico vobis qui credit in me opera quae ego facio et ipse faciet et maiora horum faciet quia ego ad Patrem vado, et quodcumque petieritis in nomine meo hoc faciam ut glorificetur Pater in Filio.”
The fool’s eyes snapped open, and his lips formed the Savior’s name.
“What in Our Lord’s descent into Hell were you doing out there, my son?” said Mendel, pushing at the entrance wound now, willing the flesh to knit.
“I believe, Brother, that it is called the Hambone. A syncopated–oof!–five-accented rhythm in a 4/4 signature, accompanied by the judicious shaking of what the less reputable of poets might call my moneymaker.”
“Don’t make me administer Extreme Unction on your skull, Magnifico! I mean, what did you hope to accomplish with such a stunt?” Mendel kept talking to distract his patient while the aqua vitae went into the wound.
“Not fade away, Brother,” said Magnifico through clenched teeth.
“Well, your tradesfolk saved the district from being overrun. You were ventilated for your trouble,” the monk said crossly as he dabbed away the wasted liquor. “Do not pass out yet.”
“Rudie can’t…fail,” gasped the clown cryptically, tuning paler even than his smeared greasepaint. “Let no one say that I failed to accomplish diddley. Brother!” he exclaimed, grasping for Mendel’s shoulder. “I…I want.” His eyelids fluttered.
“What? Let the spell work. What is it you want?”
“Candy,” came the clown’s reply as his eyes closed and his breathing became regular.
Brother Mendel rolled his eyes, crossed himself, and laid a hand on the forehead of his sleeping friend. “Benedicamus Domino.”
