A Death in the Venetian Quarter (14 page)

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Authors: Alan Gordon

BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter
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“He's mine,” I said. “Or I am his. I'm never sure what the relationship is. But he will carry no rider but me.”
“Get down, Fool, or I will have your head!” screamed Stryphnos.
“Do it, Fool,” commanded Rosso. “I want to see what happens.”
“Certainly, milord,” I replied, and swung myself down from the saddle. “Now, my Lord Admiral, you must place your foot in the stirrup, thus—”
“Get out of my way,” he snarled, shoving me aside. He vaulted onto Zeus, which might have been impressive if he hadn't previously lost his armor, and seized the reins. The next moment, he was flying through the air. He landed in a particularly prickly bush, screaming in pain and frustration.
“Nice aim, old fellow,” I said, slipping Zeus a pair of carrots. He snorted at the naval posterior, then held still as I mounted him.
Stryphnos finally extricated himself from the bush and shook his fist.
“The Emperor will hear of this!” he blustered.
“Yes, you really should mention it during your account of how you let yourself be taken by surprise and ended up losing five hundred
knights and horses,” I said. “The affront to your dignity caused by my steed should be of the deepest concern to the Emperor. Constantinople is that way. Try not to sink any more boats on your way home, my Lord Admiral.”
Our party resumed its northward journey, not without casting a few smirks behind us.
“You have made an enemy there,” commented Rosso.
“I doubt it,” I said. “He has no more power. I would bet that he doesn't even try to go back. I wonder how many Crusaders it took to rout his troops?”
“How did you get your horse to do that?”
“I don't get him to do that. He does it on his own. When I first saw Zeus, I was told that only a fool would ride such a creature. We've been together ever since.”
 
An hour's ride brought us to the palace at Skutari. This was a summer palace, a place for parties and assignations amidst the cool breezes from the north. It was not built to withstand a siege, the reason being that if an army of Turks or Arabs had pushed this far through Anatolia, it was high time to flee to the safety of the walled city across the Bosporos.
The palace was a modest building with only a hundred or so rooms. The grounds, normally home to exotic birds and perfumed plants, were filled to the bursting point with one pavilion after another, the bright cloths surmounted by competing standards. Atop the tallest tower of the palace flew the flags of Montferrat, Champagne, and Venice.
The Crusaders, unlike the troops under our brave Lord Admiral, knew a little bit about maintaining a watch. As our party approached the palace gates, mounted patrols of Flemish knights in full armor appeared at our flanks to escort us in.
“And they're riding our horses,” a Guardsman observed bitterly. “Rubbing our faces in it.”
A nobleman stood at the gate, wearing an outlandishly plumed hat that he doffed with great ceremony as we entered.
“Hail, noble vassals of the usurper!” he greeted us in langue d'oc.
“Hail, oath-breaker and excommunicate,” replied Rosso smoothly in the same tongue. “And how is your esteemed mother, Charles?”
“Nicolò?” laughed the other. “I should have known they would send you. My mother is as ornery as ever, thank you. Come, we have a tent and food prepared.”
We were taken to a corner of the grounds where an ornamental fountain still burbled merrily in a grove of cedar. A meal was laid out on an oaken table.
“Enjoy your repast, gentlemen,” said the Frenchman. “We have found the local provender to be quite tasty. We hope you will as well.”
“We are overwhelmed by your hospitality,” said Rosso dryly.
“Imperial silver,” said one of the guardsmen, holding it up for inspection. “And look at the food. They're wallowing in the spoils before they've even won.”
“Bravado, my friends,” said Rosso. “Ignore it. No doubt they are eating scant portions themselves, but they want to put on a display for us. I suggest that you take advantage of it.”
He sat at one end of the table and dug in. I followed him. I had a sinking feeling that lavish meals were not going to be too frequent in the near future, so I should grab what I could get while I could get it. One by one, the others joined us. We ate in silence—it didn't seem to be a good time for jesting, so I let it alone.
When we were done, I picked up my lute and rose.
“Where are you going?” asked a guardsman.
“He's going to wander the grounds and play his lute,” said Rosso sagely. “Isn't that right, Fool?”
“Precisely,” I replied. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
I strummed gently as I walked, occasionally plucking a particular phrase of four notes. The soldiers camped on the grounds varied greatly in rank and nationality, but I noticed that the closer I got to the palace, the higher the rank. The commanders, I assumed, were inside the palace itself.
As I passed by the far end of the palace, a knight stood abruptly and looked in my direction. I did not look at him but continued to stroll along. I played the signal phrase again and waited for a response.
The response I got was not the one I was expecting. He drew his sword, screamed, “Bastard! Where is she?” and charged.
My response was to flee. Fortunately, it isn't difficult to outrun a man in armor. I quickly sought out a group of soldiers roasting a side of beef over a fire made from some ornamental trees recently chopped down.
“Excuse me, good sirs,” I begged them. “Your comrade has taken offense at the sight of me for reasons I know not. I know my face is not the comeliest, but that shouldn't be cause for taking my head off.”
“Strange,” said a captain. “Does he know you?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Bastard!” screamed the knight as he staggered toward me.
“I am certainly not that,” I protested.
“Feste!” he screamed.
I stared in shock. He came into the light and put his visor up.
“Sebastian!” I exclaimed.
“The same, Fool,” he growled. “Prepare to meet your maker.”
“Wait!” I cried, darting behind the soldiers who were now laughing at my plight. I kept them between us. It became a ridiculous little game as I dashed in and out. Finally, he ran out of breath, giving me an opportunity to get a better look at him.
There was a time when he and my wife could pass for each other,
but that was long ago. Their shapes had taken different paths since then, thanks to drink in his case and childbirth in hers. Still, those were her eyes looking out from that visor, and the same auburn hair. But the expression on the face I saw now was far from the loving one I was used to seeing.
“What is this about, Count?” asked the captain.
“This fool carried off my sister,” panted the Count. “He has despoiled her honor. Now, honor demands an accounting.”
“Sounds reasonable,” said a soldier, and I suddenly found myself pinned between two of them.
Sebastian raised his sword and slowly advanced.
“Good Count,” I pleaded.
“Save it,” he barked.
“Would you make your sister a widow?” I cried.
He stopped.
“Or your unborn niece fatherless?” I continued. “Sir, I have loved and honored your sister as much as any man in this life. You know me, Count. Have you ever known me to do anything as tawdry and despicable as to bring one such as her to shame? I swear to you that we are man and wife in the eyes of God, the Church, the law, and the world.”
“My sister has married a fool,” he said in astonishment. “Where is she now?”
“She is in Constantinople,” I said. “She is a jester and is fool to the Empress Euphrosyne.”
“She's a fool and carrying a fool's child,” he wondered. “And you say that you haven't brought her to shame?” He raised his sword again.
“Count Sebastian!” shouted a man behind him. The Count whirled to see a gaudily dressed man with a lute slung behind him. He was a plump fellow with long, flowing hair, meticulously curled about his
shoulders. But he held a sword with the confidence of a man who knew how to wield one.
“This fool, dear Count, is a member of the party sent from Constantinople to negotiate terms,” he said. “He is, therefore, protected from any molestation. I believe beheading would come under that heading.”
“He is negotiating nothing,” said the Count. “He is a common fool.”
“Then you dishonor yourself in taking a fool seriously,” said the man. “Lay down your sword, or you will have me to contend with.”
“You're not wearing armor,” said Sebastian. “It would not be a fair contest.”
“No,” agreed the fellow. “But the advantage belongs to me, my dear Count. Or are you unaware of my reputation?”
Sebastian peered more closely at the fellow, then quickly dropped his sword.
“This isn't over,” he said to me.
“Nothing ever is,” I replied. The soldiers released me.
“Come, Fool,” said my rescuer. “I will escort you back to your companions.”
I bowed, and we walked away, side by side.
He sheathed his sword and swung his lute around to his chest. Then he played the inverse of the four-note phrase that I had been playing.
“And what name are you using nowadays, Theo?” he said softly.
“Call me Feste,” I said. “Your timing, Raimbaut, was impeccable as always.”
“But of course,” he said. “Tarry a bit by my tent. There is music to be played, and I think that you will recognize the other musicians.”
Raimbaut de Vaqueiras in the abundant flesh—a stout fellow in a time of need and one of the most renowned troubadours in the Guild. He had been a fixture at the courts of Orange, Provence, and, for the
last decade, Montferrat, where he had become the bosom companion of Boniface. Saved his life on more than one occasion and risked life, limb, and lute following the Marquis into one reckless adventure after another. Raimbaut was in his late forties now, and he pruned the gray from his ringlets fanatically.
Music sounded from within a tent at the rear of the palace. Raimbaut lifted the flap for me to duck under, and there, strumming by candlelight, were Giraut, Gaucelm Faidit, and my old friend Tantalo.
“Look what I found,” said Raimbaut. “Had to save his neck from separation once already tonight.”
“About time you got here,” said Tantalo. “We were getting ready to draw straws as to who was going to swim across the straits to contact you. Have a seat, Theo.”
The music kept on while the conversation took place. Raimbaut sat by the entrance, raising his voice in song whenever someone came within earshot of the tent.
“How are things in the city?” asked Tantalo.
“Gearing for siege,” I said. “What did you expect?”
“No uprisings on behalf of the child?” exclaimed Giraut. “How disappointing. Young Alexios guaranteed that the city would fall from within the moment his presence became known to it.”
“Well, Alexios will have to rethink his position,” I said. “The city isn't even aware that he's part of all this. They just think it's a feeble attempt at conquest, and the idea seems to be rallying them. The Emperor has never been more popular than he is right now.”
“You mean we've come all this way on the word of a boy, and the Greeks don't know he intends to be their emperor?” chuckled Raimbaut. “How droll!”
“Terribly funny,” said Tantalo. “We may all die laughing in a few days.”
“What will it take to make the army go away?” I asked.
“A hypothetical question, or are you asking on behalf of someone?” asked Raimbaut.
“You have the ear of Montferrat. We can reach the Emperor. Unofficially, I have been asked to find out what it will take to bribe a Crusade.”
“The boy on the throne, and all the money he promised,” said Tantalo. “And I don't think that there's enough money in the city to equal his promises.”
“But that's nonsense,” I said.
“Then there will be war,” said Gaucelm sadly.
“What will happen if the troops realize that the Greeks just aren't interested in putting the boy on the throne? Won't that mean something?”
“Maybe,” said Tantalo. “But how do we convince them of that? We can't just accept testimonials from a visiting fool.”
“Proclaim the boy to the city,” I suggested. “Have them display him on a ship, and tell the people who he is. There will be a crowd on the Akropolis anytime you go by. You'll see what kind of reaction he'll get, and that should remove the wool from the eyes of your soldiers.”

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