"Mistakes will happen in the confusion of a mêlée—and he has paid for his error," was the answer. And Jacqueline knew that none would be held accountable for the treacherous assault.
Now the fool had dismounted and she observed that he was bending over another jester who had been unhorsed. "Why," she murmured to herself in surprise, "Caillette! As good a soldier as a fool. Who among the jesters could have unseated him?"
But her wonderment would have increased, could she have overheard the conversation between the duke's fool and Caillette, as the former lifted the other from the sands and assisted him to walk, or rather limp, to the jesters' pavilion.
"Did I not tell you to beware of the false duke?" muttered Caillette, not omitting a parenthesis of deceptive groans.
"Ah, if it had only been he, instead," began the fool.
"Why," interrupted the seemingly injured man, "think you to stand up against the boar of Hochfels?"
"I would I might try!" said the other quickly.
"Your success with the trooper has turned your head," laughed Caillette, softly. "One last word. Look to yourself and fear not for me. Mine injuries—which I surmise are internal as they are not visible—will excuse me for the day. Nor shall I tarry at the palace for the physician, but go straight on without bolus, simples or pills, a very Mercury for speed. Danger will I eschew and a pretty maid shall hold me no longer than it takes to give her a kiss in passing. Here leave me at the tent. Turn back to the field, or they will suspect. Trust no one, and—you'll mind it not in a friend, one who would serve you to the end?—forget the princess! Serve her, save her, as you will, but, remember, women are but creatures of the moment. Adieu, mon ami!"
And Caillette turned as one in grievous physical pain to an attendant, bidding him speedily remove the armor, while the duke's fool, more deeply stirred than he cared to show, moved again to the lists.