Fool (english)

Caius?”
    “Will you put on your trousers, or at least your codpiece?”
    “Oh, I suppose. That had always been part of the plan.”
    “Then I will bear your message to the duchess.”
    “Tell her-no, ask her-if she still holds the candle she promised for Pocket. Then ask her if I may meet her somewhere private.”
    “I’m off, then. But try to manage not to get murdered while I’m gone, fool.”
    “Kitten!” said I.
    “You poxy little vermin,” said Regan, in glorious red. “What do you want?”

    Kent had led me to a chamber far in the bowels of the castle. I couldn’t believe that Gloucester would house royal guests in an abandoned dungeon. Regan must have somehow found her own way here. She had an affinity for such places.
    “You received the letter from Goneril, then?” I asked.
    “Yes. What is it to you, fool?”
    “The lady confided in me,” said I, bouncing my eyebrows and displaying a charming grin. “What is your thought?”
    “Why would I want to dismiss father’s knights, let alone take them into my service? We have a small army at Cornwall.”
    “Well, you’re not at Cornwall, are you, love?”
    “What are you saying, fool?”
    “I’m saying that your sister bade you come to Gloucester to intercept Lear and his retinue, and thus stop him from going to Cornwall.”
    “And my lord and I came with great haste.”
    “And with a very small force, correct?”
    “Yes, the message said it was urgent. We needed to move quickly.”
    “So, when Goneril and Albany arrive, you will be away from your castle and nearly defenseless.”
    “She wouldn’t dare.”
    “Let me ask you, lady, where do you think the Earl of Gloucester’s allegiance lies?”
    “He is our ally. He has opened his castle to us.”
    “Gloucester, who was nearly usurped by his eldest son-you think he sides with you?”
    “Well, with Father, then, which is the same thing.”
    “Unless Lear is aligned with Goneril against you.”
    “But she relieved him of his knights. He ranted about it for an hour after his arrival, called Goneril every foul name under the sun, and praised me for my sweetness and loyalty, even overlooking my throwing his messenger into the stocks.”

    I said nothing. I removed my coxcomb, scratched my head, and sat on some dusty instrument of torture to observe the lady by torchlight and watch her eyes as the rust ground off the twisted gears of her mind. She was simply lovely. I thought about what the anchoress had said about a wise man only expecting so much perfection in something as its nature allows. I thought that I might, indeed, be witnessing the perfect machine. Her eyes went wide when the realization hit.
    “That bitch!”
    “Aye,” said I.
    “They’ll have it all, she and Father?”
    “Aye,” said I. I could tell her anger didn’t arise from the betrayal, but from not having thought of it first. “You need an ally, lady, and one with more influence than this humble fool can provide. Tell me, what do you think of Edmund the bastard?”
    “He’s fit enough, I suppose.” She chewed a fingernail and concentrated. “I’d shag him if my lord wouldn’t murder him-or come to think of it, maybe because he would.”
    “Perfect!” said I.
    Oh Regan, patron saint of Priapus, the most slippery of the sisters: in disposition preciously oily, in discourse, deliciously dry. My venomous virago, my sensuous charmer of serpents-thou art truly perfection.
    Did I love her? Of course. For even though I have been accused of being an egregious horn-beast, my horns are tender, like the snail’s-and never have I hoisted the horns of lust without I’ve taken a prod from Cupid’s barb as well. I have loved them all, with all my heart, and have learned many of their names.
    Regan. Perfect. Regan.
    Oh yes, I loved her.
    She was a beauty to be sure-there was none in the kingdom more fair; a face that could inspire poetry and a body that inspired lust, longing, larceny, treachery, perhaps even war. (I am not without hope.) Men had murdered each other in competition for her favors-it was a hobby with her husband, Cornwall. And to her credit, while she could smile as a bloke bled to death with her name on his lips, she was not tight-fisted with her charms. It only added to the tension around her that someone was going to be shagged silly in the near future, and how much more thrilling if his life hung by a thread as he did the deed. In fact, the promise of violent death might be to the princess