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Authors: Alan Gordon

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“Interesting idea,” said Tantalo. “Raimbaut, bring it up with Boniface.”

“Done,” said Raimbaut. “But I'll put it in terms of trying to raise the populace in revolt. He'll like that.”

“Is there anything else?” asked Tantalo. “We can't be away from our patrons for too long.”

Quickly, I sketched in the events in the Venetian quarter.

“Curious,” said Tantalo. “What does that have to do with us?”

“You're with the Venetians,” I said. “Who are their contacts in the quarter?”

“I don't know,” he confessed frankly. “The Doge plays his own game and doesn't share even half of what he knows with his allies. As far as
I've seen, there has been no contact with the quarter since our arrival, but it's likely that anything that was arranged was done so beforehand. We'll keep our ears open.”

“Very well. Play on, my colleagues, and perhaps we'll give a joint performance after peace comes back to the land.”

“I hope that we won't have to wait too long,” said Giraut.

Raimbaut walked me the rest of the way back to my camp.

“I fear the worst,” he said. “Too many soldiers have endured too much for too long just to walk away without a battle. Peace is the least thing in their thoughts.”

“Work on them, Raimbaut. We'll see what happens.”

I was not present at the morning's parley, but I heard about it as we rode to the dock afterward. Rosso brought the Emperor's puzzled concern over the arrival of the Crusaders and his offer to help provision them for their journey to the Holy Land. Conon de Bethune spoke for the Crusaders, venting poetically tinged defiance. Rosso reminded them of the Pope's renunciation of the Crusaders and his assurances to the Patriarch that he did not want this conquest. Conon declared that they were God's own army and would prevail.

“And they believe that,” marveled Rosso as we boarded our galley. “The ease of their battles reinforces that belief at every step. Do you know how many it took to rout Stryphnos and his five hundred? Eighty knights! They cut through the camp like a hailstorm and achieved total victory without losing a man.”

The trip across the Bosporos was quick and quiet. They let us off north of the Golden Horn so that Rosso could ride immediately to Blachernae. We passed by the Galata Tower, ducking under the great iron chain that barred entry into the harbor, then crossed the great stone bridge at the rivermouth.

I went straight home to reassure Aglaia that I was still alive. She flung herself into my arms, weeping unreservedly. I told her of my adventures.

“Oh, and your brother sends his regards,” I said. I confess that I secretly enjoyed the look of amazement produced by those words.

ELEVEN

“Whoever could get hold of this youth,” said the marquis, “would be well able to go to Constantinople â¦ for this youth is the rightful heir.”

âROBERT DE CLARI,
THE CONQUEST OF CONSTANTINOPLE

“S
ebastian's a Crusader?” she said in shock.

“In the thick of it, spoiling for a fight. So much so that he tried to pick one with me.”

“You didn't hurt him, did you?”

“No, dearest. And, by the way, he didn't hurt me, either.”

She paced the room, ignoring me.

“He must have really gotten on Olivia's nerves this time,” she mused. “Otherwise, she'd never have consented to his leaving.”

“He didn't hurt me, either,” I repeated.

“I can see that, husband, so don't belabor the point.” She stopped, snapping her fingers. “Olivia must have a new lover. Of course, that's it. She sent him off to give herself a clear field.”

“Entirely possible. Just like David and Uriah, only she's David.”

“Could she want him dead?” she wondered. “Olivia's not that cruel. There's no reason for it. She already has the regency. She has nothing to gain from his death.”

“It may be simply that he wanted to go,” I said. “He missed out on the last Crusade. Perhaps his ambition to have some adventure overwhelmed any opposition at home. Or that he nobly volunteered to
lead the tribute the town owed Venice so that someone else could stay home. Whatever the case may be, he's here.”

“The idiot,” she murmured. “He'll throw himself into the van and get himself killed.” She turned to me. “We've got to stop this.”

“Ah. Now that your brother's involved, you don't mind me risking my life.”

“That isn't fair!” she protested.

“You objected to my risking it for people I don't know. Many of them, I suspect, are someone's brother or father. Or even father-to-be, although they've taken so long getting here that the only fathers-to-be are probably cuckolds. Still, I was prepared to risk my life stopping this war before I knew your brother was involved. I don't object to continuing on.”

“Because this is what fools do,” she said slowly.

“Yes.”

“All right, lesson learned,” she conceded. “I thought that we had left the master-pupil part of our lives behind.”

“Everyone needs a refresher course once in a while,” I said. “Even me. I'll try to temper my suicidal tendencies with cares toward impending fatherhood. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

“What's been happening here?”

“Today was the Feast of the Robe of the Holy Mother over at the Hagia Soros. It was the first time that I had seen that particular relic. Kind of a ratty old thing, but I suppose it's seen better days.”

“Although not Biblical ones. That was one of the fake relics brought back by Constantine's mother.”

“Well, don't tell Euphy. She takes it very seriously. She practically flattened the Bishop in her haste to take over the ceremony. She held the robe over her head and launched one prayer after another calling upon the Holy Mother to smite the enemies across the waters.”

“Mary never struck me as the smiting type.”

“Never underestimate the wrath of a woman. All the other ladies joined Euphy, of course, and great was the weeping and gnashing of teeth thereof.”

“Sounds like quite a party. Well, despite my longstanding fear of wrathful women, I'm going to chance taking you to bed, if that is agreeable.”

She held out her hand.

“Every opportunity left to us, say I,” said she.

A pair of Varangians pounded on our door in the morning. This didn't worry us, as Will and Phil wouldn't have bothered with the courtesy. It was Henry and Cnut with an altogether different sort of summons.

“Come on, Feste, you've been challenged,” called Henry from the courtyard when I looked out the window. “Throw on your motley and grab your lute. The honor of the city is at stake.”

“But I haven't eaten yet,” I protested. “And why should I be up before noon?”

“No sympathy here,” said Cnut. “We've been up since cock's crow. But perform well, and you shall eat and drink on our company's coin for a fortnight.”

“A week, boy, a week,” Henry corrected him hurriedly. “But make haste, Fool, and give your lady a kiss from each of us.”

“How many of you are there?” called Aglaia from our bed.

“Just the two of us, Mistress Fool,” replied Henry.

“Then fetch more Varangians, good Captain, for two kisses is inadequate payment for parting us! I demand a company's kisses.”

“A squadron now, and another when I return,” I said. “I won't be leaving the city's walls today.”

I made good my payment, threw on my motley and makeup, slung
my lute around my neck, and joined our friends. We took off at a quick march toward the Akropolis.

“Who has called me out?” I asked, tuning my lute on the run.

“Well, it wasn't you specifically,” said Henry. “The Crusaders have sent ten ships floating by the seawalls. They are parading some puny boy back and forth on the deck of the Doge's vessel and are proclaiming him Emperor. And some overdressed minstrel on the prow is demanding the best voice in the city to engage in a singing duel. Naturally, we thought of you.”

“I'm flattered.”

“Well, Alfonso, that troubadour friend of yours, left town, so you were the next best choice.”

“I'm less flattered than I was before. But should I be Constantinople's champion? I'm not even from here.”

“Neither are we,” said Cnut. “But we'll die defending these walls just the same. All you have to do is sing.”

We ran through the Great Palace and climbed a ramp to a tower near the lighthouse. It was a hot, clear day on that third of July, and I could see all the way across to Chrysopolis and Leander's Tower. About fifty yards out was half a tithe of the Venetian fleet, the Eagle and another of the great roundships along with a gaggle of smaller vessels filled with archers.

On the raised foredeck of the
Eagle
stood the young Alexios. It was the first time I had ever seen the lad. He inspired neither awe nor confidence, being merely a beardless boy with barely enough strength to support the armor he wore. A servant stood surreptitiously by to steady him on the rolling vessel. I doubted that the youth would ever lift a sword himself in the promised battle, and the crowd gathering on the Akropolis behind me seemed much of the same opinion. That section of the city actually rose higher than the walls defending it, and
the masses had their first good view of their putative conqueror.

The
Eagle's
bowsprit extended a good fifty feet beyond the bow. At the very tip of it sat Tantalo in his best checkered tunic and cape, his feet dangling some sixty feet over the water.

There was a blast of trumpets and drums, and a herald stepped forward and bellowed, “Behold, citizens of Constantinople, your true Emperor, Alexios, son and rightful heir of Isaakios the Second, who was basely deposed by the Devil who now pretends to the throne!”

“What's he talking about?” said a man on the rise behind me.

“That's Isaakios's boy,” replied his companion. “They're saying he should be Emperor because of what happened to Isaakios.”

“But that was years ago,” objected the first. “The boy took his time, didn't he?”

“Had to grow up first.”

The second man cupped his hands and yelled, “We don't want any Venetian boy prostitutes on the throne. Send him back to the Doge's bedchamber.”

This brought hoots of laughter from the Greeks as well as guffaws from the Varangians posted on the seawalls.

It was hard to read the expressions of the Crusaders from so far away, but Alexios seemed to sag a little. The officers surrounding him remained stoic, but the regular soldiers and sailors seemed surprised, even dismayed. They had been led to expect cheering, perhaps an immediate armed uprising. Instead, jeers and catcalls greeted them, their first taste of how daunting a task truly faced them. They had already seen the size and strength of the fortifications around the city. The idea of actually storming them had been suppressed by the hope that they wouldn't need to, but now it was foremost in their minds.

Then there was a brief chord, and we looked back to see Tantalo standing easily at the tip of the bowsprit, lute at the ready.

“Have you brought your champion, Greeks?” he called. “I espy motley
amidst the armor. Is a fool the best you could find in this vast city?”

“The best fool in all Christendom,” I shouted back. “Shall we match wits in song?”

“With that voice?” scoffed Tantalo. “A nightingale will not consort with a crow.”

“Yet when the battle is over, the nightingales lie dead on the field while the crows hop about, pecking at their eyes. I am for you, signore. My gage is in my hand.” I held up my lute to the cheering of the throng behind me.

“A
tenso,
is it?” cried Tantalo, using the old troubadour word for these trials by song. “Very well, I accept.”

There was cheering by the Crusaders, albeit without the enthusiasm of the home crowd. Tantalo had a distinct advantage in this contest. He had had his entire journey to prepare for it, while I would have to improvise my offering on the spot in whatever style he chose. I waited, hoping he would pick a verse that I could match easily.

He began.

“O Greek,
I speak
Of your prospects which are bleak.
You face a foe
On fields of woe
With an army oh so weak.
Your fleet won't float.
Your very fittest boat
Is far from young
And now has sprung
A mighty leak.
If you take the field
Then you soon shall yield
For the shield
That you wield
Is antique.
By sword and drum
In Kingdom Come
Your future you will seek.”

He finished with a flourish and looked at me expectantly.

“Bastard,” I muttered.

“He's good,” said Henry begrudgingly.

“Is it too late to send for Alfonso?” I asked.

“Come on, Feste,” urged Cnut.

I stepped to the edge of the tower, trying to get the interior rhymes together as I struck the opening chord:

“My word.
I've heard
Of lyrics less absurd
From drunken boys.
And braver noise
From the roisterings of a bird.
The field is yours;
We'd rather stay indoors,
And watch you fall
Before this wall.
That is assured.
Enjoy your final meal,
And then come sup on steel,
âTil you feel
That this zeal
Is cured.
You praise your boat
Because it can float.
Well, friend, so can a turd.”

Howls from the Varangians. Henry clouted me so hard on the back that I would have gone over the edge of the tower but for Cnut's quick grab.

Not exactly a proper troubadour sentiment from either of us, but this wasn't a musical tournament at Fecamp or the Courts of Loveâit was a declaration of hostilities. And I was a fool, not a troubadour. The higher Tantalo would go in his songs, the baser would be my reply.

Tantalo bowed to me from his perch.

“Well sung, Fool,” he shouted. “We'll call it a draw for now. The challenge will be renewed when Alexios sits on the throne.”

“He sits there now,” I replied.

“I like that,” he said. “You ask no quarter, and you give none, as we say in Venice. Well, I must bid you farewell. As Odysseus said to the Cyclops, remember my name!”

A rock sailed over our heads, splashing well short of the
Eagle.
Others followed, the crowd surging forward with glee and vituperations. The fleet's oars bit the water as the aspiring Emperor was hustled below decks. The ships pulled slowly away, back to the safety of Skutari.

Only rocks were thrown. No one facing a siege was about to waste a vegetable.

“All right, Cnut, I'm going to feed this poor fool,” said Henry. “Keep an eye to the north, lad. If you see more than ten ships, sound the alarum.”

BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter

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