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Authors: Alan Gordon

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“Or his lover could have taken them, along with his keepsake of her,” she replied.

“Meaning?”

“Love comes hard to a lonely man,” she said. “What if it left him even harder?”

“His lover killed him?” I asked. “But that still doesn't answer how it was done.”

“Not that she killed him directly,” she said. “But what if she ended the affair? What if she demanded her letters, her tokens, everything that let him have some hope and light in this world without any? She left him alone in that silken bed, and he lay back and died.”

“Of a broken heart?”

“Of poison, self-administered,” she said. “Something unknown to the Fools' Guild, but effective nevertheless. And all of this nervousness among his friends and colleagues is a reaction to what they think is a murder, when it was only a suicide.”

I looked around the room. Apart from the bed, the dominant color was dinge.

“Or maybe the carpenter's thought was correct,” I said.

“What was that?”

“That his friends thought it was suicide, but spread the rumors of
murder so that he could be buried in consecrated ground. Only they spread them too well and drew the unwanted attention of the Lord Treasurer at a most inopportune time.”

“Maybe,” she said. She looked around the room and suddenly pulled her cloak tightly around her. “I felt a sudden chill,” she said. “Good thing I don't believe in ghosts.”

“This would certainly be the place for one,” I said, coming over to hold her.

“Do you believe in them?” she asked.

I laughed softly. “Well, my good wife, I saw one once, a long time ago. But it turned out to be something else entirely. Is there anything else?”

“No,” she said. “Blow out the lamp. We don't want to burn down the place.”

I opened the door so we could see our way by what little moonlight seeped in from the outside, then extinguished the tallow lamp. The smoke, finally gaining an exit, followed us desultorily into the hall.

We crept down quietly. As we passed the door to Vitale's room, I noticed that it was open a crack, but it quickly slammed shut as I turned menacingly in that direction.

Rico hopped down to open the carriage door, sweeping his hat off and bowing as he did so. The ride home was quite pleasant as we snuggled in the dark, watching the city pass by our windows. We were both silent, lost in our thoughts over Bastiani, who died in a room that had about as much light and air as a coffin. They might just as well have left him there, I thought. There wouldn't have been that much of a difference.

NINE

If you wish to know if and when the prisoner will be released or if
he has died, follow the directions indicated below and mark well the
lines. If you see right and left red vertical lines, he will be released.
If you see horizontal lines, count the number. They indicate the
years of imprisonment. If they direct you to the side of the [sign],
he has died.

ââSIGN POSTED OUTSIDE A BYZANTINE PRISON

I
was half serious about wanting to make love to Feste in that dim squalor. I had the urge to bring life into a room that was filled with death, especially now that I had new life growing within me. It was hard to believe that a man could spend so many years either in that room, in the embolum, or walking back and forth between them. It was a death of a life, every day of his existence. It was easy to see how he had made his fortune, for he had spent next to nothing on himself. Yet he had managed to find love, somehow. A miser doesn't invest in a solid oak bed with silk coverlets merely to entertain streetwalkers. A lonely man had happened somehow upon a lonely woman, and a romance was born.

She was no prostitute. I was certain of that. I had met her.

The day before we entered Bastiani's room, I went to Euphy's chambers at Blachernae. My jaw throbbed in protest as I returned to the scene of its buffeting, but I clenched my teeth and forced the merriest smile that I could produce. It came out lopsided.

There was a lull in the chattering of the ladies-in-waiting as they
saw me come in. The Empress did not deign to gaze upon me. My attempts to interject my brilliance into her conversations were rejected. A chord struck upon my lute died without sequel. Finally, I sat dejected in the corner of the room, watching everything happen without me, feeling sorry for myself.

Sometimes your role catches up with your life. Or is it the other way around?

Nature provided me with an excuse to slip out of the room. It had been a while since my last pregnancy, and I had forgotten what a convenient defense the condition provided for social niceties. I remember more than one tedious state dinner back when I was still a duchess during which I graciously begged some ambassador's kindly indulgence and left as the men all nodded knowingly at my husband. Then I would sneak out to the other wing of the villa, put my feet up, pour myself a cup of wine, bundle myself up in quilts, and read to my heart's content. Some of the coziest evenings of my life were spent that way, alone with my books and my child-to-be.

I didn't think I'd be able to duplicate that experience this time. There are advantages to being a fool, but there were also advantages to being a duchess. You can't have it both ways. I was lucky I had each at different times.

I turned a corner and wandered down the corridor that led to the suites of rooms belonging to the Emperor's daughters and their families. Evdokia had the smallest, an endless source of complaint for her. Everything was a source of complaint for her, when it came down to it. She was an overgrown child who still sucked her thumb when she thought no one was looking. Even her children treated her like a child on those rare occasions when she paid attention to them.

She was sprawled across her bed, picking at a bowl of candied figs, when I knocked gently on her doorframe. She sat up, quickly wiping her thumb on the sheets, and scowled when she saw it was me.

“Well?” she demanded haughtily.

“How is Your Grace?” I asked, bowing respectfully.

“What, my mother's fool is concerned for my welfare?” she exclaimed bitterly. “Or have you come to pick at the scab?”

“I need you to cheer me up,” I said.

“Shouldn't the fool be able to amuse herself?” she sneered.

“Actually, I've come to apologize,” I said.

“Really?” she said in surprise.

“The other morning, I said that you needed the most sense knocked into you,” I said. “I was wrong. The person who truly needed that was me.”

“You?”

“Apparently,” I continued. “I myself was unaware of this great necessity until the point was roundly brought home right about here.” I pointed to my jaw, the swelling still obvious under the makeup. Of course, I had left my whiteface a bit thin there just for the emphasis. She sat forward and touched the place gently. The bitter lines on her face smoothed into sympathy.

“I had heard about this,” she said.

“Looking back, it should have come as no surprise that the person with the least sense in the room would be the fool,” I said. “But if a fool was that aware of her foolishness, then she would be no fool and therefore in no need of having the sense knocked into her. So, the fool was true to herself and quite taken aback to be so affronted. And yet, I wonder if the Empress's method is the best one for restoring sense to a fool, for if she had hit me any harder, she would have knocked me senseless.”

“She used to positively thrash us when we were little,” said Evdokia. “We weren't all royal then, so she could do whatever she wanted. Father was off fighting this war or that, and he barely paid attention to us
until we were old enough to marry off. Then he saw us as useful commodities.”

She stood and walked to the window. Her rooms overlooked the outer wall of Blachernae and the great stone bridge that crossed to the other side of the Golden Horn.

“That's where their army will come,” she said. “They'll try and take Galata. If they succeed, they'll try and cross the bridge, and Father will meet them with the Imperial Army and the Varangian Guards, and we will all watch and wave our little silk handkerchiefs, because that's all we silly women know how to do. And then they will make a truce and marry me off to someone suitably noble, no matter how old or decrepit he is.”

“You were complaining of not having a husband,” I said. “Now, you are complaining of getting one.”

“I just want some choice for a change,” she said.

“I sympathize.”

“Do you?” she said, turning toward me. “You're married to that other fool.”

“I am.”

“Was that by choice, or did your parents give you to him?”

“My mother died giving birth to me. My father died when I was thirteen. My marriage was of my own making.”

“You chose to marry a fool,” she mused. “You must love him.”

“I do, milady.”

“I love a man,” she blurted suddenly.

“That is good, milady.”

“But he is in prison.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“And he is married.”

“And that is foolish.”

She stepped toward me, her hand raised. Must run in the family, I thought as I waited for the slap, but she paused.

“It is, isn't it?” she sighed, her hand falling to her side.

“Forgive me, milady, but a fool is expected to speak truthfully. That is why people keep us around.”

“You are kept around by my mother,” she observed.

“I was until this morning,” I replied. “Now, I am not so certain of my imperial status.”

“Will you let me keep you?” she asked.

“Milady, it is a serious responsibility keeping a fool. You must feed her, clothe her, and allow her to ridicule you several times a day.”

“All of that? And what, pray, do I receive in exchange for all of this responsibility?”

“Someone to talk to,” I said simply.

“Like a sister!” she exclaimed, her face brightening. “Only nice, like a sister should be.”

“If you like,” I said. “I never had a sister. But I will be whatever you wish.”

“Good!” she cried, clapping her hands. “You shall be my fool. Irene and Anna don't have fools. Won't they be envious when they see me with you! Come, we shall appear in public together. You shall accompany me on my charitable rounds. Tell my maid to have the carriage brought around.”

“Very good, milady,” I replied, bowing.

It takes a good deal of preparation by a team of servants and slaves for a lady as noble as Evdokia to become charitable. In addition to the driver, there was a brace of Imperial Guards to accompany her, a maidservant to attend her and keep her makeup and hair intact, and a train of three wagons filled with loaves of bread and other foodstuffs along with enough servants to distribute them. There was one person whose
entire function was to shout out praise for the beneficence of milady, so that all within a two-mile radius should know how virtuous and humble she was. And there was me, sitting beside her and pretending to be sympathetic while she prated on.

We rattled down the Mese, citizens scattering before us. At the places we stopped, people gathered in seconds to snatch up the food tossed from the wagons. I noticed that most of the bounty was gathered up by some thuggish-looking men at the expense of those who looked like they actually needed it. I also saw that a number of the ladies jostling each other for the bags of beans and flour looked anything but poor. Silk sleeves poked out of their cloaks, and their shoes were of high quality. Hoarding season had commenced.

I decided not to point out any of this to Evdokia. She was busy basking in her own sun, oblivious to the warning signs around her. I thought for the first time about the prospect of pregnancy during a siege. I had been so caught up with the two events rushing by that I never considered the impact one would have on the other. Hoarding food suddenly seemed prudent, given all that I was going to be eating. I patted my belly to comfort the little one and turned my attention back to Evdokia.

“They really do love me,” she sighed happily as her servant led the crowds in inauthentic cheering. “I will be the most beloved empress in history, you'll see.”

“Empress? How do you propose to manage that?” I asked. “It seems to me that there are a number of people ahead of you.”

“The number is three,” she said serenely. “But the secret of becoming an empress is to have an emperor for a husband.”

“Your sisters are both married to generals,” I pointed out. “You are not only unmarried, but somewhat scandalously divorced from your first husband.”

“He was a brute,” she said. “The only difference between his lovemaking and rape was â¦ well, I can't think of one. If I sought a little kindness elsewhere, who could blame me?”

“The Church,” I said. “Your family. The entire Byzantine Empire. Whichever kingdom you were married into.”

“He was King of the Serbs,” she laughed. “Such a puny little kingdom, completely without morals or manners. I was happy to get out.”

“Yet you remain unmarried,” I said. “How shall you become empress? You can't even take a decent punch from your mother.”

“But I'll outlive her, you just watch,” she declared. “Even a survivor like my mother has to die someday, and she's old and not getting any younger, no matter how much rouge she slathers on that hard leather thing she calls a face.”

“And your sisters?”

“Irene is in disgrace ever since her husband revived his leg injury. Men all over Byzantium are preparing to die for my family, but he won't. He'll never be emperor now.”

“How exactly did he hurt this leg?” I asked.

“That's right, you weren't around here then. It was quite funny, really. The floor under Father's bed had rotted through or something. Michael had gone on ahead of Father, and the whole thing collapsed under him. They say he fell three stories, but Father treated him royally after that, like he had stepped in front of an oncoming arrow or something. And Michael's been lording it over everyone ever since. But you can't be a general and then back down from a good fight. Oh, no, the scales have fallen from Father's eyes when it comes to Michael.”

“And Theodore Laskaris?”

“He's a good man,” she said. “Decent. Honest. Brave. How he ended up in our family is beyond me. But he's such a brave man that he will be right in the thick of battle. Sister Anna is already assembling a team
of tailors to make her mourning attire. No, I shall be empress before them. I am certain of it.”

“It sounds completely uncertain to me.”

She shook her head vehemently. “It has been preordained,” she asserted. “One of Mother's best astrologers was brought in one day. He cast her fortune, but then turned and looked at me with such import that I knew we must speak. I invited him to my room. It turned out that there was a rather interesting ritual involved, and after that, he told me that I would become empress.”

From the satisfied purr in her voice, I had a pretty good guess as to the nature of this ritual.

“Well, that's good enough for me,” I said. “So, who's the lucky fellow destined to be your emperor?”

BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter

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