Fool (english)

clapping her hands lightly in anticipation.
    “Yes, go,” said the king. “But you may only watch.”
    Regan streamed out of the hall after her older sister, her raven hair flying behind her like a dark comet.

    “You’re my fool, Pocket,” said Cordelia, taking my hand. “Come, help me. I’m teaching Dolly to speak French.” The little princess led me away. The old king watched us go without another word, one white eyebrow raised and his hawk eye burning under it like a distant frozen star.

ELEVEN – A SWEET AND BITTER
    FOOL
    G oneril dumped me on the floor as if she’d suddenly found a bag of drowned kittens in her lap. She snapped open the letter and began reading without even bothering to tuck her bosoms back into her gown.
    “Milady,” said Oswald again. He’d learned from that first whipping. He acted as if he didn’t even see me. “Your father is in the great hall, asking after his fool.”
    Goneril looked up, irritated. “Well, then, take him. Take him, take him, take him.” She waved us away like flies.
    “Very well, milady.” Oswald turned on his heel and marched away. “Come, fool.”
    I stood and rubbed my bum as I followed Oswald out of the solar. Yes, my backside was bruised, but there was pain in my heart as well. What a bitter bitch to cast me out while my bum still burned with the blows of her passion. The bells on my coxcomb drooped in despair.

    Kent fell in beside me in the hall. “So, is she smitten with you?”
    “With Edmund of Gloucester,” said I.
    “Edmund? She’s smitten with the bastard?”
    “Aye, the fickle whore,” said I.
    Kent looked startled and folded back the brim of his hat to better see me. “But you bewitched her to do so, didn’t you?”
    “Oh, yes, I suppose I did,” said I. So, she was only immune to my charms by means of dark and powerful magic. Ha! I felt better. “She reads the letter I forged in his hand even now.”
    “Your fool,” Oswald announced as we entered the hall.
    The old king was there, with Captain Curan and a dozen other knights who looked like they’d just returned from the hunt-for me, no doubt.
    “My boy!” Lear called, throwing his arms wide.
    I walked into his embrace, but did not return it. I found no tenderness in my heart at the sight of him, but my anger boiled still.
    “Oh joy,” said Oswald, his disdain dripping like venom in his voice. “The prodigal git returns.”
    “See here,” said Lear. “My men have yet to be paid. Tell my daughter I will see her.”
    Oswald did not acknowledge the old man, but kept walking.
    “You, sir!” roared the king. “Did you hear me?”
    Oswald turned slowly, as if he’d heard his name carried in faintly on the wind. “Aye, I heard you.”
    “Do you know who I am?”
    Oswald picked a front tooth with the nail of his small finger. “Aye, my lady’s father.”
    He smirked. The rascal had cheek, that I will give him, that or a burning desire to be catapulted cod over cap into the afterlife.
    “Your lady’s father!” Lear pulled off his heavy leather hunting gauntlet and backhanded it across Oswald’s face. “You knave! You whoreson dog! You slave! You cur!”
    The metal studs on Lear’s glove were beginning to draw blood where they struck Oswald. “I am none of these things. I will not be struck by you.” Oswald was backing toward the great double doors as Lear worried at him with the glove, but when the steward turned to run Kent threw out a leg and swept him off his feet.
    “Or tripped, neither, you tosser!” said Kent.
    Oswald rolled into a heap at the foot of one of Goneril’s guards, then scrambled to his feet and ran out. The guards pretended they’d seen nothing.
    “Well done, friend,” said Lear to Kent. “Are you the one who brought my fool home?”
    “Aye, he is, nuncle,” said I. “Rescued me from the darkest heart of the forest, fought off brigands, pygmies, and a brace of tigers to bring me here. But don’t let him talk his Welsh at you, one tiger was vanquished in a sluice of phlegm and mortally beaten with consonants.”
    Lear looked closely now at his old friend, then shivered-guilt’s chill claws scuttling across his spine, no doubt. “Welcome, then, sir. I thank thee.” Lear handed Kent a small purse of coin. “Earnest payment for your service.”
    “My thanks and my sword,” said Kent, bowing.
    “What is your name?” asked Lear.
    “Caius,” said Kent.
    “And whence do you hail?”
    “From Bonking, sire.”
    “Well,