An Antic Disposition by Alan Gordon

heartfelt felicitations on this occasion of peace, if I may be so bold. A great day for Denmark.”
    “Let us hope so,” replied Valdemar. “Do you know these fellows, Fool?”
    “I recognize the one by your side,” said Gerald, marking a slender, spry-looking man. “Esbern the Quick, is it not?”
    “Esbern Hvide to you, Fool,” said Esbern.
    “Of course, sir,” said Gerald. “Well met, young Esbern. How is your family?”
    “They are well, thank you, Fool,” replied Esbern. “My brother Axel is back from Paris.”
    “Is he here?” asked Gerald. “I would enjoy seeing him again. His conversations are always on such a high plane that I end up dizzy after them. Has he finished his studies?”
    “Finished, and entered the priesthood,” said Esbern. “Before, he was just an annoying brother, but now he’s become quite the sanctimonious pain in the ass.”
    “He already has his sights set on a bishopric,” laughed Valdemar. “I told him he’s not old enough yet. Do you know what he said?”
    “That you’re not old enough to be a king?” guessed Gerald. Valdemar roared with laughter, joined by the others.
    “But, good sir,” said Gerald, turning to the third man. “I do not believe that I have had the pleasure. I am Gerald the Fool.”
    “Fengi of Slesvig,” said the other man. He was short and remarkably hairy. There was something about the glowering eyes that reminded Gerald of someone.
    “I know who you are,” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “’You’re Ørvendil’s brother. You look like him done in miniature.”
    “Bastard of a fool,” muttered Fengi as the other two laughed.
    “He makes up for his stature with his greatness of heart,” said Valdemar, throwing his arm around him. “I would rather have him at my side on a battlefield than any man I have met. He has saved my life on more than one occasion.”
    “Then welcome, milord,” said Gerald. “I do not apologize for my jibes, for they are how a fool shows respect, as well as how he makes his living. But let me perform nonverbally for you.”
    “What can you do with that?” asked Valdemar, pointing to the staff. “This?” replied Gerald, spinning it rapidly with his right hand. “Anything I like. Observe.”
    He kept it spinning as he passed it from hand to hand, then behind his back. He then placed it upright on the hard clay floor. He put his right hand on top and grabbed it firmly in the middle with his left, then jumped lightly, ending upside down in midair, supporting himself with the pole. He breathed in, exhaled, then pushed up with his right hand so that he was now balanced in a one-hand stand, his feet pressed against the ceiling.
    Valdemar and Esbern clapped, while Fengi nodded approvingly.
    “Can you fight with that?” he asked as Gerald dropped back to the floor.
    “If I had to,” said Gerald. “Generally, it comes in handy deflecting thrown vegetables, which means I have used it far too often.”
    Fengi took a knife out of his belt. “Could you block a thrown knife?”
    “If I saw it coming, yes,” replied Gerald calmly. “It’s just like a thrown carrot, only sharper. Care to essay a throw?”
    “Put up your weapon,” commanded Valdemar. “We don’t want to damage our host’s property.”
    “Oh, I am no man’s property but my own,” said Gerald. “I am a free fool. If I choose to have a warrior’s knife thrown at me, then it is a fool’s choice.”
    He stood facing Fengi, holding the staff vertically with both hands near the middle, separated slightly.
    Fengi weighed his knife for a moment, looking at Gerald, then put it back in his belt.
    “I don’t know whether you’re a brave man or a foolish one,” he said. “There’s a fine line between the two,” said Gerald. “In the heat of battle, it can be crossed many times in either direction. Let us hope that no man will have to put it to the test again in our lifetimes.”
    “Amen,” said Valdemar. “I believe that was