{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_39385/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_39385","id":"gutenberg_39385","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39385","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Novels","Courage -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales","Princes -- Juvenile fiction","Swords -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE JESTER'S SWORD\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON\n\n\n\n\n_The JESTER'S SWORD_\n\n\n\n\nThe Johnston Jewel Series\n\nBY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON\n\n\nEach, small 16mo, cloth, decorated cover and frontispiece, with\ndecorative text borders _75c._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLIST OF TITLES\n\n      THE RESCUE OF THE PRINCESS WINSOME: A Fairy Play for\n          Old and Young.\n\n      KEEPING TRYST: A Tale of King Arthur's Time.\n\n      *IN THE DESERT OF WAITING: The Legend of Camelback\n          Mountain.\n\n      *THE THREE WEAVERS: A Fairy Tale for Fathers and\n          Mothers as Well as for Their Daughters.\n\n      THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART.\n\n      *THE JESTER'S SWORD.\n\n*Also bound in full flexible leather, with special tooling in gold,\nboxed\n\n_$2.00_\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    THE PAGE COMPANY\n    53 BEACON STREET, BOSTON, MASS.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n_THE JESTER'S SWORD_\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHow Aldebaran, the King's Son, Wore the Sheathed Sword of Conquest\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON\n\n_Author of \"The Little Colonel Series,\" \"Big Brother,\" \"Joel: A Boy of\nGalilee,\" \"In the Desert of Waiting,\" etc._\n\n[Illustration]\n\n    BOSTON\n    _THE PAGE COMPANY_\n    Publishers\n\n\n\n\n    _Copyright, 1908_\n    BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY\n    (INCORPORATED)\n\n    _Copyright, 1909_\n    BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY\n    (INCORPORATED)\n\n    _All rights reserved_\n\n    First Impression, June, 1909\n    Second Impression, August, 1909\n    Third Impression, October, 1910\n    Fourth Impression, November, 1911\n    Fifth Impression, November, 1912\n    Sixth Impression, January, 1916\n    Seventh Impression, August, 1917\n    Eighth Impression, April, 1920\n\n\n\n\n    TO\n    John\n\n\n\n\n      \"_To renounce when that shall be necessary and not be\n      embittered._\"                     R. L. STEVENSON.\n\n\n\n\n_The Jester's Sword_\n\n\nBECAUSE he was born in Mars' month, which is ruled by that red war-god,\nthey gave him the name of a red star--Aldebaran; the red star that is\nthe eye of Taurus. And because he was born in Mars' month, the\nbloodstone became his signet, sure token that undaunted courage would\nbe the jewel of his soul.\n\nNow all his brothers were as stalwart and as straight of limb as he, and\neach one's horoscope held signs foretelling valorous deeds. But\nAldebaran's so far out-blazed them all, with comet's trail and planets\nin most favourable conjunction, that from his first year it was known\nthe Sword of Conquest should be his. This sword had passed from sire to\nson all down a line of kings. Not to the oldest one always, as did the\nthrone, though now and then the lot fell so, but to the one to whom the\nsigns all pointed as being worthiest to wield it.\n\nSo from the cradle it was destined for Aldebaran, and from the cradle it\nwas his greatest teacher. His old nurse fed him with such tales of it,\nthat even in his play the thought of such an heritage urged him to\ngreater ventures than his mates dared take. Many a night he knelt beside\nhis casement, gazing through the darkness at the red eye of Taurus,\nwhispering to himself the words the old astrologers had written, \"_As\nAldebaran the star shines in the heavens, Aldebaran the man shall shine\namong his fellows._\"\n\nDay after day the great ambition grew within him, bone of his bone and\nstrength of his sinew, until it was as much a part of him as the strong\nheart beating in his breast. But only to one did he give voice to it, to\nthe maiden Vesta, who had always shared his play. Now it chanced that\nshe, too, bore the name of a star, and when he told her what the\nastrologers had written, she repeated the words of her own destiny:\n\n\"_As Vesta the star keeps watch in the heavens above the hearths of\nmortals, so Vesta the maiden shall keep eternal vigil beside the heart\nof him who of all men is the bravest._\"\n\nWhen Aldebaran heard that he swore by the bloodstone on his finger that\nwhen the time was ripe for him to wield the sword he would show the\nworld a far greater courage than it had ever known before. And Vesta\nsmiling, promised by that same token to keep vigil by one fire only, the\nfire that she had kindled in his heart.\n\nOne by one his elder brothers grew up and went out into the world to\nwin their fortunes, and like a restless steed that frets against the\nrein, impatient to be off, he chafed against delay and longed to follow.\nFor now the ambition that had grown with his growth had come to be more\nthan bone of his bone and strength of his sinew. It was an all-consuming\ndesire which coursed through him even as his heart's blood; for with\nthe years had come an added reason for the keeping of his youthful vow.\nOnly in that way could Vesta's destiny be linked with his.\n\nWhen the great day came at last for the Sword to be put into his hands,\nwith a blare of trumpets the castle gates flew open, and a long\nprocession of nobles filed through. To the sound of cheers and ringing\nof bells, Aldebaran fared forth on his quest. The old king, his father,\nstepped down in the morning sun, and with bared head Aldebaran knelt to\nreceive his blessing. With his hand on the Sword he swore that he would\nnot come home again, until he had made a braver conquest than had ever\nbeen made with it before, and by the bloodstone on his finger the old\nking knew that Aldebaran would fail not in the keeping of that oath.\n\nWith the godspeed of the villagers ringing in his ears, he rode away.\nOnly once he paused to look back, when a white hand fluttered at a\ncasement, and Vesta's sorrowful face shone down on him like a star.\nThen she, too, saw the bloodstone on his finger as he waved her a\nfarewell, and she, too, knew by that token he would fail not in the\nkeeping of his oath.\n\n'Twas passing wonderful how soon Aldebaran began to taste the sweets of\ngreat achievement. His name was on the tongue of every troubadour, his\ndeeds in every minstrel's song. And though he travelled far to alien\nlands, scarce known by hearsay even to the folk at home, his fame was\ncarried back, far over seas again, and in his father's court his name\nwas spoken daily in proud tones, as they recounted all his honours.\n\nYoung, strong, with the impetuous blood begotten of success tingling\nthrough all his veins, he had no thought that dire mishap could seize\non _him_; that pain or malady or mortal weakness could pierce _his_\narmour, which youth and health had girt about him. From place to place\nhe went, wherever there was need of some brave champion to espouse a\nweak ones cause. It mattered not who was arrayed against him, whether a\ntyrant king, a dragon breathing fire, or some hideous scaly monster\nthat preyed upon the villages. His Sword of Conquest was unsheathed for\neach; and as his courage grew with every added victory, he thirsted for\nsome greater foe to vanquish, remembering his youthful vow.\n\nAnd as he journeyed on he pictured often to himself the day of his\nreturning, the day on which his vow should find fulfilment. How wide\nthe gates would be thrown open for his welcome! How loud would swell the\ncheers of those who thronged to do him honour! His dreams were always of\nthat triumphal entrance, and of Vesta's approving smile. Never once the\nshadow of a thought stole through his mind that it might be far\notherwise. Was not he born for conquest? Did not the very stars\nforetell success?\n\nOne night, belated in a mountain pass, he sought the shelter of a\nshelving rock, and with his mantle wrapped about him lay down to sleep.\nUpon the morrow he would sally forth and beard the Province Terror in\nhis stronghold; would challenge him to combat, and after long and\nglorious battle would rid the country of its dreaded foe. Already\ntasting victory, he fell asleep, a smile upon his lips.\n\nBut in the night a storm swept down the mountain pass with sudden fury,\nuprooting trees a century old, and rending mighty rocks with sword\nthrusts of its lightning. And when it passed Aldebaran lay prone upon\nthe earth borne down by rocks and fallen trees. Lay as if dead until two\npassing goat-herds found him and bore him down in pity to their hut.\n\nLong weeks went by before the fever craze and pains began to leave him,\nand when at last he crawled out in the sun, he found himself a poor\nmisshapen thing, all maimed and marred, with twisted back and face all\ndrawn awry and foot that dragged. One hand hung nerveless by his side.\nNever more would it be strong enough to use the Sword. He could not even\ndraw it from its scabbard.\n\nAs in a daze he looked upon himself, thinking some hideous nightmare had\nhim in its hold. \"That is not _I_!\" he cried, in horror at the thought.\nThen as the truth began to pierce his soul, he sat with starting eyes\nand lips that gibbered in cold fear, the while they still persisted in\ntheir fierce denial. \"This is not _I_!\"\n\nAgain he said it and again as if his frenzied words could work a miracle\nand make him as he was before. Then when the sickening sense of his\ncalamity swept over him like a flood in all its fulness, he cast\nhimself upon the earth and prayed to die. Despair had seized him. But\nDeath comes not at such a call; kind Death, who waits that one may have\na chance to rise again and grapple with the foe that downed him, and\nconquering, wipe the stigma coward from his soul.\n\nSo with Aldebaran. At first it seemed that he could not endure to face\nthe round of useless days now stretching out before him. An eagle,\nbroken winged and drooping in a cage, he sat within the goat-herd's hut\nand gloomed upon his lot, and cursed the vital force within that would\nnot let him die.\n\nTo fall asleep with all the world within one's grasp and waken\nempty-handed--that is small bane to one who may spring up again, and by\nsheer might wrest all his treasures back from Fortune. But to wake\nhelpless as well as empty-handed, the strength for ever gone from arms\nthat were invincible; to crawl, a poor crushed worm, the mark for all\nmen's pity, where one had thought to win the meed of all men's praise,\nah, then to live is agony! Each breath becomes a venomed adder's sting.\n\nMost of all Aldebaran thought of Vesta. The stroke that marred his\ncomeliness and took his strength had robbed him of all power to win his\nhappiness. It was written \"by the hearth of him who is the bravest she\nshall keep eternal vigil.\" As yet he had not risen above the level of\nhis forbears' bravery, only up to it. Now 'twas impossible to show the\nworld a greater courage, shorn as he was of strength. And even had her\nhoroscope willed otherwise, and she should come to him all filled with\nmaiden pity to share his ruined hearth, he could not say her yea. His\nman's pride rose up in him, rebellious at the thought of pity from one\nin whose sight he fain would be all that is strong and comely. Looking\ndown upon his twisted limbs, the pain that racked him was greater\ntorture than mere flesh can feel. Although 'twas casting heaven from\nhim, he drew his mantle closer, hiding his disfigured form, and prayed\nwith groans and writhings that she might never look on him again. So\ndays went by.\n\nThere came a time when, even through his all-absorbing thought of self,\nthere pierced the consciousness that he no longer could impose upon the\ngoat-herds' bounty. Food was scarce within the hut, and even though he\ngroaned to die, the dawns brought hunger. So at the close of day he\ndragged him down the mountainside, thinking that under cover of the dusk\nhe would steal into the village and seek a chance to earn his bread.\n\nBut as he neared the little town and the sound of evening bells broke on\nhis ear, and lighted windows marked the homes where welcome waited other\nmen, he winced as from a blow. This was the village he had thought to\nenter in the midst of loud acclaims, its brave deliverer from the\nProvince Terror. Then every window in the hamlet would have blazed for\nhim. Then every door would have been set wide to welcome Aldebaran, the\nroyal son of kings, fittest to bear the Sword of Conquest. And now\nAldebaran was but the crippled makeshift of a man, who could not even\ndraw that Sword from out its scabbard; at whose wry features all must\nturn away in loathing, and some perchance might even set the dogs to\nsnarling at his heels, in haste to have him gone.\n\n\"In all the world,\" he cried in bitterness, \"there breathes no other man\nwhom Faith hath used so cruelly! Emptied of hope, robbed of my all, life\ndoth become a prison-house that dooms me to its lowest dungeon! Why\nstruggle any longer 'gainst my lot? Why not lie here and starve, and\nthus force Death to turn the key, and break the manacles which bind me\nto my misery?\"\n\nWhile he thus mused, footsteps came up the mountainside, a lusty voice\nwas raised in song, and before he could draw back into cover, a head in\na fantastic cap appeared above the bushes. It was the village Jester\ncapering along the path as if the world were thistledown and every day a\nholiday. But when he saw Aldebaran he stopped agape and crossed\nhimself. Then he pushed nearer.\n\nNow those who saw the Jester only on a market day or at the country fair\nplying his trade of merriment for all 'twas worth knew not a sage was\nhid behind that motley or that his sympathies were tender as a saint's.\nYet so it was. The motto written deep across his heart was this: \"_To\nease the burden of the world!_\" It was beyond belief how wise he'd grown\nin wheedling men to think no load lay on their shoulders. Now he stood\nand gazed upon the prostrate man who turned away his face and would not\nanswer his low-spoken words: \"What ails thee, brother?\"\n\nIt boots not in this tale what wiles he used to gain Aldebaran's ear\nand tongue. Another man most surely must have failed, because he shrank\nfrom pity as from salt rubbed in a wound, and felt that none could hear\nhis woeful history and not bestow that pity. But if the Jester felt its\nthrobs he gave no sign. Seated beside him on the grass he talked in the\nlight tone that served his trade, as if Aldebaran's woes were but a\nflight of swallows 'cross a summer sky, and would as soon be gone. And\nwhen between his quirks he'd drawn the piteous tale entirely from him,\nhe doubled up with laughter and smote his sides.\n\n\"And I'm the fool and thou'rt the sage!\" he gasped between his peals of\nmirth. \"Gadzooks! Methinks it is the other way around. Why, look ye,\nman! Here thou dost go a-junketing through all the earth to find a\nchance to show unequalled courage, and when kind Fate doth shove it\nunderneath thy very nose, thou turn'st away, lamenting. I've heard of\nthose who know not beans although the bag be opened, and now I laugh to\nsee one of that very kind before me.\"\n\nThen dropping his unseemly mirth and all his wanton raillery, he stood\nup with his face a-shine, and spake as if he were the heaven-sent\nmessenger of hope.\n\n\"Rise up!\" he cried. \"_Knowest thou not it takes a thousandfold more\ncourage to sheathe the sword when one is all on fire for action than to\ngo forth against the greatest foe?_ Here is thy chance to show the\nworld the kingliest spirit it has ever known! Here is a phalanx thou\nmayst meet all single-handed--a daily struggle with a host of hurts that\ncut thee to the quick. This sheathed sword upon thy side will stab thee\nhourly with deeper thrusts than any adversary can give. 'Twill be a\ndaily 'minder of thy thwarted hopes. For foiled ambition is the\nhydra-headed monster of the Lerna marsh. Two heads will rise for every\none thou severest. 'Twill be a fight till death. Art brave enough to\nlift the gauntlet that Despair flings down and wage this warfare to thy\nvery grave?'\"\n\nSuch call to arms seemed mockery as Aldebaran looked down upon his\ntwisted limbs, but as the bloodstone on his finger met his sight his\nkingly soul leapt up. \"I'll keep the oath!\" he cried, and struggling to\nhis feet laid hand upon the jewelled hilt that decked his side.\n\n\"By sheathed sword, since blade is now denied me,\" he swore. \"I'll win\nthe future that my stars foretold!\"\n\nIn that exalted moment all things seemed possible, and though his body\nlimped as haltingly he followed on behind his new-found friend, his\nspirit walked erect, and faced his future for the time, undaunted.\n\nHis merry-Andrew of a host made festival when they at last came to his\ndwelling; lit a great fire upon the hearth, brewed him a drink that\nwarmed him to the core, brought wheaten loaves and set a bit of savoury\nmeat to turning on the spit.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" he laughed. \"They say it is an ill wind that blows good to\nnone. Now thou dost prove the proverb. The tempest that didst blow thee\nfrom thy course mayhap may send me on my way rejoicing. I long have\nwished to leave this land and seek the distant province where my\nkindred dwell, but there was never one to take my place. And when I\nspake of going, my townsmen said me nay. 'Twas quite as bad, they vowed,\nas if the priest should suddenly desert his parish, with none to\nshepherd his abandoned flock. 'Who'll cheer us in our doldrums?' they\ndemanded. 'Who'll help us bear our troubles by making us forget them?\nThou canst not leave us, Piper, until some other merry soul comes by to\nset our feet a-dancing.' Now thou art come.\"\n\n\"Yes, _I_! A merry soul indeed!\" Aldebaran cried in bitterness.\n\n\"Well, maybe not quite that,\" his host admitted. \"But thou couldst pass\nas one. Thou couldst at least put on my grotesque garb, couldst learn\nthe quips and quirks by which I make men laugh. Thou wouldst not be the\nfirst man who has hid an aching heart behind a smile. The tune thou\npipest may not bring _thee_ pleasure, but if it sets the world to\ndancing it is enough. And, too, it is an honest way to earn thy bread.\nCanst think of any other?\"\n\nAldebaran hid his face within his hands. \"No, no!\" he groaned. \"There\nis no other way, and yet my soul abhors the thought, that I, a king's\nson, should descend to this! The jester's motley and the cap and bells.\nHow can _I_ play such a part?\"\n\n\"Because thou _art_ a king's son,\" said the Jester. \"That in itself is\nample reason that thou shouldst play more royally than other men\nwhatever part Fate may assign thee.\"\n\nAldebaran sat wrapped in thought. \"Well,\" was the slow reply after long\npause, \"an hundred years from now, I suppose, 'twill make no difference\nhow circumstances chafe me now. A poor philosophy, but still there is a\ngrain of comfort in it. I'll take thy offer, friend, and give thee\ngratitude.\"\n\nAnd so next day the two went forth together. Aldebaran showed a brave\nfront to the crowd, glad of the painted mask that hid his features, and\nno one guessed the misery that lurked beneath his laugh, and no one knew\nwhat mighty tax it was upon his courage to follow in the Jester's lead\nand play buffoon upon the open street. It was a thing he loathed, and\nyet, 'twas as the Jester said, his training in the royal court had made\nhim sharp of wit and quick to read men's minds; and to the countrymen\nwho gathered there agape, around him in the square, his keen replies\nwere wonderful as wizard's magic.\n\nAnd when he piped--it was no shallow fluting that merely set the rustic\nfeet a-jig, it was a strange and stirring strain that made the simplest\none among them stand with his soul a-tiptoe, as he listened, as if a\nkingly train with banners went a-marching by. So royally he played his\npart, that even on that first day he surpassed his teacher. The Jester,\njubilant that this was so, thought that his time to leave was near at\nhand, but when that night they reached his dwelling Aldebaran tore off\nthe painted mask and threw himself upon the hearth.\n\n\"'Tis more than flesh can well endure!\" he cried. \"All day the thought\nof what I've lost was like a constant sword-thrust in my heart. Instead\nof deference and respect that once was mine from high and low, 'twas\nlaugh and jibe and pointing finger. And, too\" (his voice grew shrill\nand querulous), \"I saw young lovers straying in the lanes together. How\ncan I endure that sight day after day when my arms must remain for ever\nempty? And little children prattled by their father's side no matter\nwhere I turned. I, who shall never know a little son's caress, felt like\na starving man who looks on bread and may not eat. Far better that I\ncrawl away from haunts of men where I need never be tormented by such\ncontrasts.\"\n\nThe Jester looked down on Aldebaran's wan face. It was as white and\ndrawn as if he had been tortured by the rack and thumbscrew, so he made\nno answer for the moment. But when the fire was kindled, and they had\nsupped the broth set out in steaming bowls upon the table, he ventured\non a word of cheer.\n\n\"At any rate,\" he said, \"for one whole day thou hast kept thy oath. No\nmatter what the anguish that it cost thee, from sunrise to sunsetting\nthou hast held Despair at bay. It was the bravest stand that thou hast\never made. And now, if thou hast lived through this one day, why not\nanother? 'Tis only one hour at a time that thou art called on to endure.\nCome! By the bloodstone that is thy birthright, pledge me anew thou'lt\nkeep thy oath until the going down of one more sun.\"\n\nSo Aldebaran pledged him one more day, and after that another and\nanother, until a fortnight slowly dragged itself away. And then because\nhe met his hurt so bravely and made no sign, the Jester thought the\nstruggle had grown easier with time, and spoke again of going to his\nkindred.\n\n\"Nay, do not leave me yet,\" Aldebaran plead. \"Wouldst take my only\ncrutch? It is thy cheerful presence that alone upholds me.\"\n\n\"Yet it would show still greater courage if thou couldst face thy fate\nalone,\" the Jester answered. \"Despair cannot be vanquished till thou\nhast taught thyself to really feel the gladness thou dost feign. I've\nheard that if one will count his blessings as the faithful tell their\nrosary beads he will forget his losses in pondering on his many\nbenefits. Perchance if thou wouldst try that plan it might avail.\"\n\nSo Aldebaran went out determined to be glad in heart as well as speech,\nif so be it he could find enough of cheer. \"I will be glad,\" he said,\n\"because the morning sun shines warm across my face.\" He slipped a\ngolden beam upon his memory string.\n\n\"I will be glad because that there are diamond sparkles on the grass and\nlarks are singing in the sky.\" A dew-drop and a bird's trill for his\nrosary.\n\n\"I will be glad for bread, for water from the spring, for eyesight and\nthe power to smell the budding lilacs by the door; for friendly\ngreetings from the villages.\"\n\nA goodly rosary, symbol of all the things for which he should be glad,\nwas in his hand at close of day. He swung it gaily by the hearth that\nnight, recounting all his blessings till the Jester thought, \"At last\nhe's found the cure.\"\n\nBut suddenly Aldebaran flung the rosary from him and hid his face within\nhis hands. \"'Twill drive me mad!\" he cried. \"To go on stringing baubles\nthat do but set my mind the firmer on the priceless jewel I have lost.\nMay heaven forgive me! I am not really glad. 'Tis all a hollow mockery\nand pretence!\"\n\nThen was the Jester at his wit's end for a reply. It was a welcome sound\nwhen presently a knocking at the door broke on the painful silence. The\nvisitor who entered was an aged friar beseeching alms at every door, as\nwas the custom of his brotherhood, with which to help the sick and\npoor. And while the Jester searched within a chest for some old garments\nhe was pleased to give, he bade the friar draw up to the hearth and\ntarry for their evening meal, which then was well-nigh ready. The friar,\nglad to accept the hospitality, spread out his lean hands to the blaze,\nand later, when the three sat down together, warmed into such a\ncheerfulness of speech that Aldebaran was amazed.\n\n\"Surely thy lot is hard, good brother,\" he said, looking curiously into\nthe wrinkled face. \"Humbling thy pride to beg at every door, forswearing\nthine own good in every way that others may be fed, and yet thy face\nspeaks an inward joy. I pray thee tell me how thou hast found\nhappiness.\"\n\n\"_By never going in its quest_,\" the friar answered. \"Long years ago I\nlearned a lesson from the stars. Our holy Abbot took me out one night\ninto the quiet cloister, and pointing to the glittering heavens showed\nme my duty in a way I never have forgot. I had grown restive in my lot\nand chafed against its narrow round of cell and cloister. But in a word\nhe made me see that if I stepped aside from that appointed path, merely\nfor mine own pleasure, 'twould mar the order of God's universe as surely\nas if a planet swerved from its eternal course.\n\n\"'No shining lot is thine,' he said. 'Yet neither have the stars\nthemselves a light. They but reflect the Central Sun. And so mayst thou,\nwhile swinging onward, faithful to thy orbit, reflect the light of\nheaven upon thy fellow men.'\n\n\"Since then I've had no need to go a-seeking happiness, for bearing\ncheer to others keeps my own heart a-shine.\n\n\"I pass the lesson on to thee, good friend. Remember, men need laughter\nsometimes more than food, and if thou hast no cheer thyself to spare,\nwhy, thou mayst go a-gathering it from door to door as I do crusts, and\ncarry it to those who need.\"\n\nLong after the good friar had supped and gone, Aldebaran sat in silence.\nThen crossing to the tiny casement that gave upon the street, he stood\nand gazed up at the stars. Long, long he mused, fitting the friar's\nlesson to his own soul's need, and when he turned away, the old\nastrologer's prophecy had taken on new meaning.\n\n\"As Aldebaran the star shines in the heavens\" (_no light within itself,\nbut borrowing from the Central Sun_), \"so Aldebaran the man might shine\namong his fellows.\" (_Beggared of joy himself, yet flashing its\nreflection athwart the lives of others._)\n\nWhen next he went into the town he no longer shunned the sights that\nformerly he'd passed with face averted, for well he knew that if he\nwould shed joy and hope on others he must go to places where they most\nabound. What matter that the thought of Vesta stabbed him nigh to\nmadness when he looked on hearth-fires that could never blaze for him?\nWith courage almost more than human he put that fond ambition out of\nmind as if it were another sword he'd learned to sheathe. At first it\nwould not stay in hiding, but flew the scabbard of his will to thrust\nhim sore as often as he put it from him. But after awhile he found a\nway to bind it fast, and when he'd found that way it gave him victory\nover all.\n\nA little child came crying towards him in the marketplace, its world a\nwaste of woe because the toy it cherished had been broken in its play.\nAldebaran would have turned aside on yesterday to press the barbed\nthought still deeper in his heart that he had been denied the joy of\nfatherhood. But now he stooped as gently as if he were the child's own\nsire to wipe its tears and soothe its sobs. And when with skilful\nfingers he restored the toy, the child bestowed on him a warm caress out\nof its boundless store.\n\nHe passed on with his pulses strangely stirred. 'Twas but a crumb of\nlove the child had given, yet, as Aldebaran held it in his heart,\nbehold a miracle! It grew full-loaf, and he would fain divide it with\nall hungering souls! So when a stone's throw farther on he met a man\nwell-nigh distraught from many losses, he did not say in bitterness as\nonce he would have done, that 'twas the common lot of mortals; to look\non him if one would know the worst that Fate can do. Nay, rather did he\nspeak so bravely of what might still be wrung from life though one were\nmaimed like he, that hope sprang up within his hearer and sent him on\nhis way with face a-shine.\n\nThat grateful smile was like a revelation to Aldebaran, showing him he\nhad indeed the power belonging to the stars. Beggared of joy, no light\nwithin himself, yet from the Central Sun could he reflect the hope and\ncheer that made him as the eye of Taurus 'mong his fellows.\n\nThe weeks slipped into months, months into years. The Jester went his\nway unto his kindred and never once was missed, because Aldebaran more\nthan filled his place. In time the town forgot it ever had another\nJester, and in time Aldebaran began to feel the gladness that he only\nfeigned before.\n\n_And then it came to pass, whenever he went by, men felt a strange,\nstrength-giving influence radiating from his presence,--a sense of hope.\nOne could not say exactly what it was, it was so fleeting, so\nintangible, like warmth that circles from a brazier, or perfume that is\nwafted from an unseen rose._\n\nThus he came down to death at last, and there was dole in all the\nProvince, so that pilgrims, journeying through that way, asked when they\nheard his passing-bell, \"What king is dead, that all thus do him\nreverence?\"\n\n\"'Tis but our Jester,\" one replied. \"A poor maimed creature in his\noutward seeming, and yet so blithely did he bear his lot, it seemed a\nkingly spirit dwelt among us, and earth is poorer for his going.\"\n\nAll in his motley, since he'd willed it so, they laid him on his bier to\nbear him back again unto his father's house. And when they found the\nSword of Conquest hidden underneath his mantle, they marvelled he had\ncarried such a treasure with him through the years, all unbeknown even\nto those who walked the closest at his side.\n\nWhen, after many days, the funeral train drew through the castle gate,\nthe king came down to meet it. There was no need of blazoned scroll to\ntell Aldebaran's story. All written in his face it was, and on his\nscarred and twisted frame; and by the bloodstone on his finger the old\nking knew his son had failed not in the keeping of his oath. More regal\nthan the royal ermine seemed his motley now. More eloquent the sheathed\nsword that told of years of inward struggle than if it bore the blood\nof dragons, for on his face there shone the peace that comes alone of\nmighty triumph.\n\nThe king looked round upon his nobles and his stalwart sons, then back\nagain upon Aldebaran, lying in silent majesty.\n\n\"Bring royal purple for the pall,\" he faltered, \"and leave the Sword of\nConquest with him! No other hands will ever be found worthier to claim\nit!\"\n\nThat night when tall white candles burned about him there stole a\nwhite-robed figure to the flower-strewn bier. 'Twas Vesta, decked as for\na bridal, her golden tresses falling round her like a veil. They found\nher kneeling there beside him, her face like his all filled with starry\nlight, and round them both was such a wondrous shining, the watchers\ndrew aside in awe.\n\n\"'Tis as the old astrologers foretold,\" they whispered. \"Her soul hath\nentered on its deathless vigil. In truth he was the bravest that this\nearth has ever known.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Note: Obvious punctuation errors repaired.","title":"The Jester's Sword: How Aldebaran, the King's Son Wore the Sheathed Sword of Conquest","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":5590}