Thirteenth Night (11 page)

“Come, demons, you can do better than that,” scolded Fabian. “By heaven, if only that drunken oaf Feste were here to see this. He could teach you a thing or two about falling down.”

I had decidedly mixed feelings about being invoked in that manner.

The demons finally trooped through the mouth of Hell. Jesus made another bland and pretty speech and followed them.

“Sir Andrew? Where's Sir Andrew?” shouted Fabian.

“Here I am!” shouted the spindle-shanked knight, galloping into the square precariously perched on an equally emaciated pony. The beast stopped abruptly, pitching its rider headlong into the choir. Fortunately they seemed to be expecting something of that kind, for several, in the spirit of the season, cleared a space for him to fall.

He stood up, reassembled his wardrobe, and limped over to an impatient Fabian.

“My apologies,” said Sir Andrew. “You were going to tell me my cue.”

“Your cue was to be here an hour ago,” snapped Fabian. “Everyone else, in town and out, managed to be here, but not Sir Andrew. Oh, he was a-traipsing through the woods looking for his little stone so he could live his little life past his days. Demons!” he shouted suddenly, and Sir Andrew jumped, looking frantically about for them while the choir roared with laughter. The demons emerged. “Now, Sir Andrew, when they enter the mouth, I want some kind of smoke and flame.”

“Certainly,” said Sir Andrew. “I can give you red smoke, black, or a nice yellow I've been working on. The flame, unfortunately, will not lend itself to being anything other than flame-colored.”

“Red would be fine. And then the second time will be when the Count enters. Count Sebastian?”

“Morning, Andrew,” waved Sebastian from the mouth of the devil. “Coming for the mince pie tonight?”

“Yes, thank you,” replied the knight. “I'm trying to do all twelve nights this year. Maybe my luck will change.”

“Good. Come with me to the Elephant after this. I need something to take the chill off.” He turned and went back into Hell.

I noticed Isaac watching from in front of his office. He caught my eye and beckoned to me. I walked over to join him, and we watched the rehearsal from the entry to his offices.

“It's not much shelter, but the wind is blowing from the north,” he commented. “A sorry spectacle, don't you think?”

“Oh, I expect they'll be up to speed by Twelfth Day. And audiences tend to be very forgiving about this kind of thing. How do you like it? I supposed it has little meaning for one of your faith.”

He examined me as he had that first night in the Elephant. “How am I supposed to answer that? As one of my faith, I would never criticize any aspect of your faith.”

“I speak only out of curiosity. As a Jew, you must find it insulting. All of your prophets and patriarchs condemned to Hell, only to be redeemed centuries later by someone you do not believe in.”

He laughed. “As a Jew, one comes to tolerate such insults. One must, if one wishes to continue to live in a Christian world. There are worse insults than this. At least this play considers us worth redeeming. Look, that must be Moses.”

I turned and watched a man dressed much as Isaac was, with a false beard and a pair of stone tablets under his arm. “Lord, Thou knowest all with skill,” he shouted. “The law of Sinai upon the hill! I am Moses…”

“He declaims well,” I commented.

“Note the horns,” Isaac pointed out. I squinted, and was just able to make them out buried in the curly wig.

Isaac glanced at me sideways, gauging my reaction. “Another tradition?” I asked.

He shrugged. “A trick of the light.”

The Angel was raised again to deliver the Epilogue. As he completed it with, “And to Heaven wend,” the choir launched into something I didn't recognize.

“What is that?” I wondered aloud.

“The Twenty Fourth Psalm,” answered Isaac. “In Latin.”

“You understand Latin?” I asked, slightly surprised.

“Of course,” he answered. “I travel to many Christian lands. I do not speak ever native tongue. But all the educated gentry speak Latin. An agreement made in Latin in Constantinople will be honored in Latin in Bruges, and anywhere in between. A most useful language for commerce.”

“You must speak all the languages of commerce.”

He laughed. “Latin, Hebrew, Arabic, and double entry. I know them all. Are you sure you had no word for me from Venice?”

“None.”

He sighed. “The wind seems to be blowing from that direction. Around here they say surely no Christian will attack another Christian. Not being a Christian, I lack their faith.”

“Does your own faith sustain you?”

“Of course. And the faith of the Muslims sustains them. And what is remarkable is that when we all profit from successful trading, we all seem to be able to live together just fine. Perhaps that's the answer.”

“Yet Our Savior drove the money changers from the Temple.”

“They seem to have resettled in the Church. And they seek to reclaim Jerusalem. Why? For its holy sites or its strategic location? For whichever reason, too many people have died for it, and too many more will follow. But such is the way of the world.”

“A cynical view.”

“Is it? My late master sallied off to the last Crusade and was away from his wife and family for two years. Many of our best men went with him, and many did not return. He came back and dedicated part of his plunder to that pile of marble over there, displacing several dozen families in the process. Why did he do it? To buy his place in Heaven after earning one in Hell?”

“I am shocked that you could be so critical. The man employed you despite your faith. How many other princes of the realm would deign to do so?”

“Should I praise him for being neutral instead of hateful? Or because his greed outweighed his Christian scruples? I am grateful to find steady employment. I would be more grateful if I were permitted to own property and my own business. But such is the way of the world.”

The rehearsal came to a close. The participants began to scatter while Fabian yelled suggestions and criticisms that were largely ignored. A substantial number moved in the direction of the southeast gate. I thought of the Bishop's invitation and found I had a powerful desire to join them at this particular occasion.

“I'm going to the Elephant for the blessing of the wine,” I said. “Will you join me?”

“Respectfully, I must decline. We bless the wine on a different day. I will offer a prayer for your brother's safe return when I do.”

I bowed, which pleasantly surprised him, and to the Elephant did wend. It may not have been Heaven, but with both wine and a bishop, it was the closest thing in town.

*   *   *

I entered as the Bishop was completing the blessing over a large cask, surrounded by Sir Toby, Count Sebastian, and Alexander. The cask was tapped and cups were passed around to the assembled worshipers.

Milling around, I found myself near the Count. I quickly introduced myself as Octavius before he could have a chance to remember me as anyone else. Fortunately, he had a head start on the blessings due to some earlier imbibing and was plunging headlong into the morose.

“Merchant, eh?” he said. “Traveler, I suppose.”

“Quite a bit.”

“Lucky. Get to see the world. Thought I was going to see the world once. Got as far as here.”

“This seems to be a pleasant enough spot.”

He laughed, a short, bitter barking noise. “Oh, it's lovely. Stay for the summer when it's at its peak. Glorious. Every summer, exactly the same. The town, that is. The people?” He quaffed his cup and filled it from a pitcher. “They keep getting older.” He downed about half of the next one. “Never marry young,” he said suddenly.

“I am not the right man to take that advice.”

“Why? Not married?”

“Not young.”

He squinted at me, and I tilted my head back and drank to conceal my face with the cup. It was good wine.

“Were you on the last Crusade?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Neither was I. Wanted to go. I was young and full of righteous vigor. ‘You stay,' says his own puissant self, the Duke. ‘Someone must stay and see to the ladies. Look after your sister for me.' And off he gallivants, and all the best folk with him, while I'm stuck with the women and children. Doing my little administrative tasks, and not many of those. His steward took care of most of them.”

“Claudius?”

“No, he came later. Another fellow, old geezer. And then he dropped dead, and my sister without so much as a by-your-leave takes over. Did a good job. I'm not criticizing, but now, not only am I left behind with the women, but a woman's running everything. Then the men come back, and they're all heroes. ‘Oh, fine job watching the town, Sebastian. And I hear your sister helped. Well done, lad.'”

He finished the cup, filled it again. I decided not to keep pace.

“I'm a Count, you know.”

I nodded.

“By marriage.”

I nodded again.

“It was all very well at the time. Swept me off my feet. Didn't even realize what was happening, then it turned out she wanted my sister all the time. Not after, of course, but she thought Viola was me, or I was her, or something. It all happened so quickly. I married a woman who thought I was someone else. Married after only one day's courtship. I was seventeen. And I've been here ever since. With my older wife. And her money and her title. Don't marry young. I know, I know, you're old, but you can tell others about me. Make me into a cautionary fable for adventurous youths. Tell 'em to go ahead and have the goddamn adventure, even if it kills them. I have to take a piss.” He rose abruptly and staggered out.

Another cask was tapped, and another after that. There was a toast from Alexander, and a toast from Sir Toby, and then from several other distinguished citizens. We continued toasting one another into the night. At some point we stopped, but for the life of me I can't remember when.

S
EVEN

Those women who paint their cheeks with rouge and
their eyes with belladonna, whose faces are
covered with powder … whom no number of years
can convince that they are old.

SAINT JEROME,
LETTERS

 

I staggered downstairs mid-morning. It took me several long moments when I awoke to remember where I was, why I was there, and who I was supposed to be. Alexander grunted pleasantly at me, and Newt hustled in with a bowl of porridge. Then I remembered what day it was.

“Come here, lad,” I said as he turned to leave. He looked at me, comprehension and dismay spreading slowly across his face. I grabbed him briskly by the shoulder, spun him around, and gave him a good hard swat on the behind. He yelped.

“Long life and joy to you, Newt,” I said. Alexander applauded.

“Well done, sir,” he said. “I did not say anything because I did not know if they had that custom where you're from.”

“They do,” I said. “And I suppose Agatha's too old for it.”

“Around here, she is.”

It was the Feast of the Holy Innocents, when the children are spanked for luck. I decided to limit my practice to the one house for practical reasons and reminded myself to pick up some small gifts for Agatha and Newt.

“I seem to have overslept,” I said to Alexander.

“You and the rest of the town,” he answered. “I think we crammed them all in last night.”

“You seem none the worse for wear.”

“It's the one night of the year I won't touch a drop. It gets too crazed. I must say the choir sounded in fine form.”

“Yes. Maybe you should send them a barrel before they do the play. It will improve the performance.”

“You should join them, sir. Your voice was as good as any.”

“Really?” I said, covering my chagrin. “I don't even remember singing.”

“Oh, yes. After you had a few, of course. You seemed to know all the songs, and a few others, besides.”

“I've spent far too much of my life in taverns. What language did I sing in?”

“German, I suppose that was. Sounded like it, anyway.”

Well, thank Christ for that. Bad enough I reveal my foolish side by singing, but at least I kept the accent intact. I made my usual post-hangover resolution to stop drinking so much, though I expected that I would have my usual success achieving it.

I had no fixed plan for the day, which fit in nicely with my lack of a fixed plan for the entire journey. Another tilt at the Duchess's gate seemed pointless. Perhaps I should pay my respects to Sebastian and Olivia. And it was about time I started doing a little night work.

There was a flock of children running wild through the square, playing tag and gleefully spanking one another as hard as they could. Several were sliding along an icy patch near the wall, the object being to stay on one's feet as long as possible before crashing into a large pile of snow at the end. A large group of them crowded against another part of the wall, screaming with laughter. I had a sudden instinct as to the cause and sauntered over to the edge of the crowd.

He was completely bald, and his whiteface covered his scalp. There were red and green triangular markings around his eyes that echoed the pattern of his motley. In his right ear was an enameled earring depicting a death's-head. On the fourth finger of his right hand was the ring I last saw in Father Gerald's study. His eyelids were painted a deep crimson, very much in evidence as both eyes were closed. What made this significant is that, closed or not, he was having no difficulty keeping four clubs hurtling through the air.

“Do you know why I have my eyes closed, children?” he hollered.

“Why?” they responded.

“Because I'm afraid to look,” he said, and they shrieked as he opened one, gasped with fright and shut it tight again. The clubs continued their gyrations uninterrupted.