A Death in the Venetian Quarter (13 page)

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Authors: Alan Gordon

BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter
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“Because you gave me water,” I said. “Because you grieve. And because I think that you fear for your life.”
She stepped back and tried to close the gate, but I had already stepped forward into the interior yard.
“Why are you here?” she cried.
“I wish to help you,” I said. “You are alone here. That old man couldn't stop even someone so weak as me. For whom do you grieve, lady?”
“It does not concern you. Go away.”
“Was it a husband? I know what it is like to lose a husband.”
“My husband lives,” she spat.
“A brother? I have a brother, and I once thought him lost forever. It was the darkest day of my young life.”
“No. Go away, please.”
“A lover, then,” I said softly, and she stood stock still. “I have hit the mark at last. Well, a lover's loss is painful, milady, especially when the marriage left over is loveless. This is where jesters become profoundly useful, in my experience, whether for song or for story, or even
just sitting and listening. Will you avail yourself of my services, lady? You'll find me reasonable for a fool.”
“Is that what you do?” she said scornfully. “You seek out those in sorrow and prey upon them? You are like a carrion bird, Fool, feasting on corpses.”
“No, lady,” I said. “I do not feast on the dead. I provide sustenance for the living.”
“Then seek your fortune elsewhere, Fool. I am not among the living.”
“You feel that way in the midst of your sorrow,” I said. “But people have this funny way of surviving in spite of themselves. It is our nature to want to live. Are you killing yourself, milady? Are you starving yourself to death? I saw more bone than flesh in that wrist. It runs against the fashion of this city to be so thin.”
“Who are you?” she asked. “You are visiting no brother. You have come here to plague me.”
“I have come here, but only to help,” I said. “I do not know your name, but I know the one you mourn. And I know he lies beneath the ground with a purple kerchief in his hand.”
She backed away from me, trembling, raising that bony hand to point at me.
“Stand back!” she hissed. “What are you? How could you know that? You have been conjuring with my life, you witch!”
She turned and fled inside, slamming her door behind her. The gardener stood and approached me, holding his hoe menacingly.
“You had better leave,” he said. “I don't know what you said to her, but I saw her face.”
I bowed and backed out of the yard. He closed the gate and locked it.
I still didn't know her name. I had gone to see a woman to satisfy
myself that she was neither a whore nor a witch and had instead been accused of being a witch myself. So much for the sympathy of one woman for another.
I walked slowly back down the hill. I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. I did a little of both, as I recall, but I forget in what order.
When the emperor of Constantinople learned of it, he sent good envoys to ask them what they sought where and why they were come there …
—ROBERT DE CLARI,
THE CONQUEST OF CONSTANTINOPLE
 
T
his was all very well and good, but there was still a war to worry about. While we were concerned with an insurrection from the Venetian quarter, we still needed to find some way to bring about a reconciliation between the Crusaders and the Greeks, no matter how absurd a prospect that may have seemed. While the Venetian fleet remained firmly ensconced at Skutari, we spent the next few days running around the city, gathering information, sounding out prospects from different quarters and interests, and generally doing what the Guild expected us to do.
Blachernae was relatively calm. The focus on the oncoming war had set aside most of the internal rivalries, even among the squabbling sisters.
“And Evdokia has truly taken her beau's advice to heart,” said Aglaia on the evening of the last day of June. “She's been quite the angel of mercy, making bandages, donating her jewelry to raise money for provisions, even volunteering to care for her brother-in-law when her sister needs to rest.”
She was keeping up the constant chatter while I dithered about the room, packing my gear. I had received a summons that afternoon. We
looked up from a quick meal to see Will and Phil standing at our threshold. Despite being in full armor, they hadn't made a sound climbing our stairs.
“I don't recall inviting you in,” I said, rising to my feet.
“I don't recall giving a damn,” replied Phil.
My three colleagues rose as well, hands inching toward weapons, wondering what angle of throw might put a dagger anywhere useful.
“Look, Will,” said Phil. “They think we want to fight.”
“Aw, how cute,” said Will. “Four fools, armed in motley. That stuff won't even keep the breezes out.”
“It's quite comfortable in summer,” said Plossus. “Try it sometime.”
“No one is fighting anyone,” I said. “They're just messenger boys. Never kill the messenger. Especially when he's bigger than you.”
“True enough,” said Phil cheerfully. “The message is this: You are to join a delegation to the invaders. Bring your horse and meet at the Imperial Wharf tomorrow at dawn.”
“And when I get there?”
“Talk to your contacts,” said Phil. “Get the story as to what they really want. As our mutual friend knows, any man has a price.”
“Unless he's a fool,” added Will.
Then they left, laughing at their own jokes. Always the mark of an amateur.
So, I packed while Aglaia blathered on about one thing or another, finally driving me to the point of exasperation.
“What, my dear wife, has put you into this senseless volubility?” I asked.
She looked at me, hurt.
“I was only trying to distract you,” she said.
“Do I need distracting?”
“Maybe not,” she said, “but I do.”
I sat next to her on the bed.
“You've been moody ever since we left Bastiani's place,” I said. “What is on your mind?”
“Let's see,” she said. “There's a war, and you're about to ride off into the thick of it. Could that be it?”
“I'm going with a delegation to parley,” I said. “There'll be no fighting.”
“You're going in as a spy,” she replied. “You're in such an ambiguous position that either side might decide to kill you. It's dangerous.”
“Of course, it's dangerous. Half of what we do for the Guild is dangerous, and the other half is acrobatics and juggling sharp objects. You knew that.”
“Yes, I knew that.”
“And in the sixteen months that we have been husband and wife, we have both walked knowingly into deadly situations. What makes this one any different?”
“That we are no longer just husband and wife but father and mother as well. That changes things. At least, it does for me. Doesn't it for you?”
“I don't know,” I admitted. “I guess I hadn't really thought about it.”
“Then think about it now!” she snapped. “You need to learn about being a parent, Feste. Let me teach you something. The hardest thing a mother will ever do is tell her child his father is dead. And I am speaking from experience, as you very well know.”
She waited for me to say something, but I was silent.
“We're fools,” she continued. “I joined the Guild willingly, knowing what was entailed. I wonder now if you joined our marriage the same way.”
“What would you have me do?” I asked. “Run away?”
“Is suicide part of your mission?”
“Sometimes,” I said.
“You bragged about having a knack for surviving,” she said, looking away. “You rejoiced when we came to this city that I was with you to watch your back. Now, you don't think enough about surviving, and you go where I cannot. This is not what I married you for and not why I decided to have your child.”
I slipped my dagger into my sleeve.
“I have no choice,” I said. “If we don't bring about some kind of truce, then many will die.”
“Many will die anyway. There will come a point where you will recognize that you cannot stop what is happening. When you do, I want you to recognize that you do have a choice. And then I want you to choose me.”
“Over the Guild's directives?”
She shrugged. “I gave up everything in my life to be with you,” she said. “When will it be your time to return the favor?”
“Did you tell your first husband all of this when he rode off on the Third Crusade?”
“Yes,” she said. “He chose to ignore my wishes. Called me a silly girl for worrying about it. Then he left me and I sat at home worrying about him for the next two years while raising a child and running a city. That did wonders for our relationship.”
“We're fools, and we're here. I can't just up and leave in the middle of everything.”
“There's always everything, and you're always in the middle of it, no matter what you do. Can't the Guild put us somewhere that will only require us to juggle and make bad jokes instead of risking our lives? At least, until our child is grown? What do they do for other couples?”
“Frankly, there aren't that many. I have no idea what the Guild policy is. Look, let me get through the parley. It shouldn't be much trouble. Then we'll talk about this some more.”
“I'm tired of talking,” she grumbled. She lay down, her back to me.
I closed my bag and curled up next to her. I reached around her waist and patted her belly.
“I want to see this one grow up, too,” I whispered.
“Then make sure that you live,” she said.
“I'll do my best,” I promised.
 
Before dawn, I arose and walked up to a stable near the Rhegium Gate. Only the stable's farrier was up, heating up his charcoal for the day's shoeing.
“Feste himself,” he said when he saw me. “You'll be wanting Zeus, I hope.”
“The god incarnate,” I replied. “Let him be brought unto me.”
He picked my saddle from a hook on the wall and threw it to me.
“Bring yourself unto him,” he said. “I don't go near that beast when I don't have to.”
I lugged the saddle over to Zeus's stall, wondering what exactly I was supposed to be getting for my stabling fee.
“Good morning, sire,” I said cheerfully as I entered his stall.
He was staring at his hay balefully but perked up when he saw the carrot in my hand. He snatched it away in a blink, leaving only a trace of orange on my fingertips, then looked at me expectantly. I held another carrot in front of him, then pulled it away.
“First this,” I said, showing him the saddle. He deigned to let me strap it on him, then refused to budge until I gave him the promised fee. I led him outside and mounted.
The Imperial Wharf was at a landing by the Golden Gate, jutting into the Sea of Marmara. The boat was a small galley, and I could feel my land-loving steed tense as he saw it. The sight of other horses being led into its hold assuaged him somewhat, but he would allow no one other than me to touch him.
After securing him in the makeshift stall that had been rigged in between the rowers' benches, I went up on deck to meet my new traveling companions.
There were the expected high toadies of the Emperor, some officers from the Imperial Guard, and one interesting choice, Nicolò Rosso. He was a Lombard and an experienced courtier. He was frequently called upon when foreign diplomats visited Blachernae, more often than not to smooth over some gaffe of the Emperor. He was a confident man with an elaborate mustache that required constant maintenance. As the oarsmen pulled us away from the landing, he stood in the prow, trimming it carefully while a servant held a mirror before him. He saw my reflection and arched an eyebrow at it.
“I heard you would be joining us,” he said. “I'm not sure that I understand why.”
“I'm not sure that I understand either,” I said. “Perhaps the Emperor thought some entertainment would help things.”
“If you can tell a joke good enough to stop a war, then you will earn your place in Heaven,” he said. “If not, I suggest you leave the negotiating to your betters.”
“I'd be happy to,” I said. “But if you decide you need me, give me a yell and I'll dance in and do a few routines.”
He sniffed and went back to his grooming.
I saw no point in entertaining the high and mighty, so I spent our crossing cheering up the oarsmen down in the hold. It made the time pass for all of us and gave me a chance to work with a drummer. A steady beat does wonders for a song.
We arrived at the Asian shore at a mercantile dock that had been skipped by the Crusaders. An Imperial Guardsman immediately brought his horse onto land, mounted and galloped north to bring word of the proposed parley. The rest of us stretched our legs, careful not to stray too far inland in case a hasty getaway was needed.
“Mind you,” said one of the oarsmen, “if they send some galleys after us, we're captives right away.”
“They won't bother,” said another. “We're small fry. Why chase minnows when there's big fish swimming inside the city walls?”
The Imperial Guardsman returned around noon. We had safe passage to Skutari and would camp on the grounds of the palace that evening. They would hear the parley in the morning.
We brought our horses and supplies up from the hold. Zeus required three carrots before assenting to carrying me. He was angry about being cooped up in the hold. The galley left, with the understanding that they would meet us at Skutari on the morrow. That would also give them a chance to assess the Venetian fleet from up close.
The entire party consisted of twenty men, including servants and one fool. The journey wasn't long—Skutari was a league north of Constantinople, and we had landed maybe half a league south. Yet it seemed like an eternity as we passed one burning farmhouse after another.
About halfway there, a man suddenly leaped out of some bushes and frantically waved his arms. The soldiers in the party immediately drew their weapons.
“Wait!” cried the man, and we recognized him. It was Michael Stryphnos, sans horse, sans armor, sans army.
“My dear Lord Admiral,” said Rosso. “Whatever are you doing? When we last saw you, you were leading five hundred knights across the straits. Are they also hiding in the bushes?”
“We were taken by surprise,” blurted Stryphnos. “One of their patrols came upon our camp and scattered us. I must report back to the Emperor.”
“And where are your men? Are they following you into retreat?”
“I don't know,” said Stryphnos. “Let me have a horse.”
“You had five hundred horses,” said a captain with the Guard. “Are they now learning French commands?”
“Give me a horse, I command you!” shouted Stryphnos. “I have influence in Blachernae.”
“Not anymore,” said Rosso.
The man looked despairingly about at our party, finally settling on me.
“A fool rides while an admiral walks?” he protested.
“An admiral is supposed to be on a ship,” I said. “Why don't you—oh, that's right, you don't have any more.”
He stormed up to me.
“Give me that horse,” he said.

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