Thirteenth Night

by Alan Gordon

  “Ha!” snorted Sir Toby. “The man is inhuman. I’ve never seen him eat or drink anything. He disappears into that office and emerges the following morning. If he didn’t have such an aptitude for business, you’d think he was a damn anchorite.”

  “You’re not far off the mark, Sir Toby,” said Isaac. “He is a deeply religious man and spends much of his time in solitude and prayer. Although it is not my faith, I respect him as a learned and holy man. If you wish, I will try and arrange an appointment for you. Not today, of course. He will be at prayer at some chapel right now.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow. Shall I come by your office?”

  “Please do. I am at the north end of the market. If Claudius is not there, we shall discuss your business until he arrives. After your services, I should think. Around noon? Good, it is agreed. My turn to toast, gentlemen.” He lifted his cup. “To peace and to prosperity, for one cannot exist without the other. To long lives and noble deaths. To the Duke who is past and the Duke who is present. May he reign as well as his father did.”

  We drank again, and Sir Toby refilled our cups, slopping some wine on the table, which he mopped up ineffectually with his sleeve. “My turn,” he said, and he raised his cup high. “To women!” he shouted. “To Agatha’s future husband, whoever he is, and to the marvelous wench who still shares my bed for reasons she alone knows. To Maria!”

  “To Maria,” echoed Sir Andrew. “And now it’s my turn.” He lifted his glass, then looked puzzled. “Dear me, you’ve done all the good ones. To the Church, the Pope, and whatever’s left to toast.”

  We finished the pitcher, and the three got up to leave. As the Jew settled with Alexander, I tapped Sir Andrew on the shoulder. He glanced at me quizzically.

  “I would like to visit your laboratorium,” I whispered. “I, too, am a student of the Four and the Three and the Two.”

  “Wonderful!” he said fervently. “It’s been so long since I’ve had an intelligent conversation about it. Later in the week, if you plan to be here that long.”

  “I do.”

  “Then come by in the afternoon. In the mornings, I search for the Stone.”

  I promised that I would, then the three left. Alexander emerged from the doorway and began cleaning the table while I finished the last of the wine.

  “How did the late Duke die?” I asked casually.

  He shook his head sadly. “Fell from the cliffs overlooking the town. You can see them from the beach if you go seaside.”

  “Accident or suicide?”

  He drew in his breath sharply. “That’s a sinful thing to say, sir, and I suggest you not repeat it in town. No, there was no question it was an accident. There was a man who saw it.”

  “Really? Astonishing. Who was it?”

  “Old Hector. He lives in a shack at the end of the beach. Pans salt, collects driftwood, spreads his nets in the tidal pools. Drops off a bucket of crabs here once a week, so I usually send Agatha out there with a bottle of something to keep off the chill. Anyhow, he saw the Duke fall, so it was an accident.”

  “Why was the Duke up there at all?”

  “Oh, he always goes there towards sunset. Looks across the sea for ships or looks across the town. Master of all he can see. And where did it get him? Dead on a slab like everyone else. But a good man while he was alive.”

  “Did he always go alone?”

  “Usually either the Duchess or that steward fellow would walk with him. Kind of a daily ritual. But that day he was alone, as it happened. Why are you so curious about it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I shrugged. “It’s the news of the town. I just wanted to hear the latest gossip, and that’s as good a story as any. It also helps a man of my profession to know who’s in charge here. Is Claudius the man to see?”

  “If it involves business, I’d say so. And there’s Fabian. He manages the Countess’s estates, and she’s next to the Duke as far as being rich and all.”

  “Good to know. Now, may I rely on your discretion as to a particular matter?”

  He sat down across from me and leaned forward. “Depends what you’re asking for. I don’t keep a bawdy house here.”

  “Content yourself, good barkeep. I shall not scandalize you. I only wish your aid in finding a particular person, should he arrive here. My brother, in fact. We had arranged to meet in Orsino come the New Year, but my affairs were settled early enough for me to get a head start. He’s about my height, a year younger, and when I last saw him sported black hair and a beard. However, that was three years ago and he may be gray, bald, clean-shaven, or one-legged by now, for all I know. He may be traveling under an assumed name, as well. His given name is Heinrich.”

  Alexander shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Why so secret?”

  “Because of our competition. A certain Venetian colleganza would be most unhappy if we succeeded, and the stakes are high enough that they may try to interfere. I sense that you are a man of honor, and I am counting on you.”

  He stood up beaming. “Well, there’s counting, and there’s accounting, if you take my meaning. I’ll keep my ears peeled in the meanwhile.”

  I thanked him, then decided to stretch my legs before curfew was called.

  I passed through the gate and found the north road. Without thinking, I wandered up the hill and found myself in sight of the Duke’s villa. It was perched on the highest point in the town, giving view to the harbor and the outlying estates. It was a grand, sprawling, stone structure, with three levels to the main house and lengthy wings on either side. The east wing had been started when I was last here and still seemed incomplete at the far end. The front gates were open, and servants were distributing food and coins to the poor. I watched as the haughtiest of the servants shooed away an excessively thankful woman. He appeared to be the chief almoner. I approached him.

  “Here you are, Merry Christmas,” he muttered, thrusting a roast joint into my hands. I handed it back.

  “Save it for someone who needs it,” I replied. “Is the Duchess at home?”

  He looked at me for the first time, sized up my merchant’s costume, and sneered. “The Duchess is not receiving visitors. She is in mourning, as you have no doubt heard.”

  “I have, and I wished to pay my respects. I knew the late Duke many years ago.”

  He looked at me again. “I don’t know you,” he said.

  “Nor I you. The Duke’s man was named Valentine, as I recall. His steward was Curio, and I don’t recall the chief servant, but he was an older man and I suspect has either died or been pensioned since then.”

  “Dead, five years ago. His name was Malachi, as is mine. I am his son.”

  “My belated condolences on the loss of your father. I hope you are up to his standards of service.”

  “Frankly, sir, I have surpassed them. The Duchess is not receiving anyone. Good evening.”

  He closed the gates, and I heard the bars fall into place behind them.

  “And a Merry Christmas to you,” I murmured. There being nothing else I could accomplish, I returned to the Elephant and collapsed into a profound sleep.

  FIVE

  The life of the world is only play,

  and idle talk, and pageantry.

  KORAN, LVII, 20

  The snow came during the night, a heavy one, covering the streets to about mid-shin. Force of habit woke me at dawn. Force of habit left me singularly unrested. Alexander kindly let me borrow some blankets from the unoccupied rooms, and within them I had made myself a burrow with just the slightest crack to let the air in. My jaw, unaccustomed to being bearded, itched. Perhaps some quilt-dwelling mite had made its way into my whiskers. I resolved to wash it if I could find some hot water on this cold day.

  There was a soft but heavy thudding going on outside. I dressed and opened the shutters to behold a strange sight. On the other side of the wall, the market was bustling, but with animals outnumbering the people. Cattle, horses, goats, and sheep flooded the square, with dogs ni
pping at their hooves and children dancing fearlessly among them. I blinked with astonishment, then remembered what day it was and hustled downstairs to fetch Zeus over to the church.

  Outside of the Feast of Fools, the blessing of the animals on Saint Stephen’s Day is my favorite ceremony. It is the acknowledgment, the recognition of those simple creatures who give us their lives. I was especially glad to see the goats getting their fair due. The Gospel of Matthew to the contrary, there was many a time when I was poor and hungry and found hospitality in a goat shed. Nothing like cuddling up to some warm goats on a cold night. And if you’re lucky, you can sneak off with a cupful of milk before the farmer discovers you. On the other hand, sheep have never done me a bit of good. I shall rewrite the parables someday, get them to make more sense.

  I worked my way through the milling herds to a cluster of horsemen. I nodded cheerfully to the Captain, who scowled back. A beautiful little girl of perhaps eight years trotted up on a white mare. The horse was grandly festooned with ribbons and dried flowers. The girl was dressed simply but elegantly in a white cloak trimmed with ermine. She was hatless and wore a wide-eyed expression of the utmost solemnity. She took her place at the head of the riders and waited with the rest of us.

  The doors of the old church were flung open, and the Bishop himself came out to beckon us in. “Horses first!” he shouted. The girl rode carefully up the steps. We followed at a respectful distance.

  “Who is she?” I asked a farmer riding next to me.

  “Celia, the daughter of the Duke,” he answered, then caught himself. “No, I mean the sister of the Duke. I keep forgetting the old man’s dead.” The old man was younger than me, but I decided not to mention that fact.

  The Bishop bowed to the girl. She nodded and to the crowd’s delight had her mare bend a foreleg to him. The crowd cheered. The Bishop took her reins and led her to the altar. There before the plain wooden cross he sprinkled holy water over a barrel, blessed it, thrust his hand in, and scooped out some oats. He held them up to the mare, who lapped them greedily, then threw another handful over both horse and rider. She guided her mount off to one side, and one by one we approached to have the ceremony repeated.

  I looked to the front pews and recognized two of my dinner companions seated with a heavily rouged woman that, with a start, I recognized as Olivia. Nature no longer did all. Seated next to her then was Sebastian, looking stout and unhappy, and the crowd of children fidgeting on his right were theirs.

  I looked across the aisle to the Duke’s pew to see a woman in black, veiled to the point of opacity, watching the girl rider. Viola, still trim, still with the bearing of a youth. Next to her was a severe-looking man, with long flowing brown hair streaked with gray and a beard as grizzled as mine. He beamed as he watched Viola’s daughter, then settled back into a frown when he saw me looking in his direction. Claudius, I guessed. I did not see the young Duke. I turned my attention back to the Bishop.

  He smiled when he saw me. “Good morning, traveler. Did the inn meet with your approval?”

  “Yes, indeed, your Holiness. We both thank you for your recommendation.” He turned his attention to Zeus, who looked at him balefully.

  “In the name of the ass, and of the ass and the colt, and of the white horse that is to come, I bless thee in the name of Our Savior and Saint Stephen,” he intoned. He held out his hand fearlessly. Zeus sniffed it suspiciously, then gobbled up the oats. We were dusted with a few more, then followed the other riders back outside.

  “Now, good souls!” shouted the Captain. “Three times around the church.”

  We took off at a reasonable gallop, skidding and colliding as we turned the corners. I remembered that local custom had turned the traditional three circuits into a friendly race. I was interested to see what Zeus could do when challenged. The first two laps we ran together, with the weaker or more cautious horses drifting to the rear of the pack. Some couldn’t handle the corners and slid into the adjoining buildings or lurched into the crowd. Miraculously, there were no fatalities, although one soldier pitched over the side of an unfinished wall of the nascent cathedral. From his laughter, I gathered he landed uninjured or was too drunk to care.

  As the third lap began, the Captain was a length ahead of the rest of us as some fierce wagering went on in the market. I gave Zeus his head just to see what would happen. He shook it happily and shot past the pack until just the Captain was ahead of us. He glanced back, saw us gaining, and spurred his mount onward.

  “Go, you wretched beast!” I yelled. “I give you a bushel of apples if you win!”

  The crowd roared as we rounded the last corner neck and neck. The Captain spurred his stallion so hard that blood ran down its flanks. He thrashed it with the reins, cursed it and its lineage. I took the opposite tack and let go of the reins. The crowd scattered as we hurtled into it, and Zeus was first by a head.

  It took us to the other side of the square to rein in our steeds. I was breathing harder than Zeus was. The Captain looked at him appraisingly.

  “Faster than he looks,” he said. I nodded, still out of breath. “And you weren’t wearing armor. That gave you an advantage.” I nodded again. “But not for this.” His sword flashed under my chin before I could even blink. “You’ve cost me a small fortune today, merchant.”

  “Good Captain,” I gasped. “This was merely sport. This is a holy day, a festive day. I intended no disrespect. I just wanted to see what the animal could do.”

  Slowly, too slowly for my taste, he returned his sword to its scabbard. “It would be a sin to challenge you on a feast day. And there are several more to follow. So, my sportive merchant, you are safe for now. I suggest that you complete your business here by Twelfth Night. Otherwise, you will take up my gage and meet me in combat.” If a man on a horse could be said to storm away, the Captain did so.

  I was angry at myself for drawing this unnecessary attention. Until I knew who all the players were, it was foolish to make enemies. Then again, he was a man who didn’t need much of an excuse.

  Some happy winners offered to buy me a meal and drink in honor of my triumph. I decided to let them. We trudged back to the Elephant. I sent Newt out to purchase some dried apples for Zeus, then sat down to lunch and conversation. I quickly gathered that the Captain was not much beloved in the town, which was hardly surprising.

  “At least when the old Duke was alive, he held him in check,” said a farmer. “He’s getting out of control, now.”

  “Hush, you don’t know who’s listening,” advised a dockhand.

  “Am I in any real danger?” I asked.

  They shrugged. “He had wagered pretty heavily on winning today,” said the farmer. “But that’s hardly a matter of honor. Just stupidity. It wouldn’t benefit him to challenge someone over money.”

  “Doesn’t he still owe fealty to the young Duke?”

  “Of course,” said a blacksmith. “But the Duke’s a child, and he’s been sick. Captain won’t accept orders from Claudius or the Duchess, and they haven’t made anyone regent yet.”

  “The boy’s ill? I hadn’t heard.”

  “Nothing to hear. He’s always been sickly, and the cold took him badly this year. And the shock of losing his father, they say.”

  “No, he was taken ill even before that,” said the dockhand. “I heard that from one of the cooks when she was down buying fish.”

  “Dear me, this is frustrating,” I said. “My business requires someone in authority. I hope any arrangements I make will be valid after the regent’s appointed.”

  “It depends on the regent,” said the farmer.

  “Well, I’m going to stretch my legs,” I said. “Thank you again for your generosity.”

  “Thanks for beating the Captain,” said the dockhand, grinning. “Even if I hadn’t bet against him, I would have enjoyed seeing him taken down a peg or two. Watch your back, friend. And I’ll keep an eye on it as well.”

  I shook everybody’s hand and left.

&nb
sp; * * *

  Zeus had gorged himself on dried apples and looked sleepy and almost pleased to see me. I patted him on the neck.

  “You are the unluckiest horse I’ve ever known,” I told him. “Even when you win, you bring me misfortune. Let’s walk off our meals.” I saddled him and rode along the docks until I reached the beach where I first landed.

  The winds had pushed the snow towards the town wall, leaving the beach relatively clear. As we left the town behind, the cliffs rose to our right, climbing to well over a hundred feet.

  I didn’t remember any “old Hector” from my stay in Orsino, but he may not have been so old then. I gathered he was one of those beached mariners who couldn’t tear himself away from the sea and eked out whatever living he could from its edges. It couldn’t have been much, I realized, as I came upon a shack that was not much bigger than a coffin, hammered together from odd bits of driftwood. Some ratty nets were piled on one side, and some large pans lay nearby. A small boat was perched upon some ill-made trestles. The boat itself was such a misshapen vessel that I would have been afraid to sit in it on land, much less take to the crashing waves.

  I saw a wisp of smoke rising past the shack and followed it down to a small fire. A wisp of a man squatted by it, covered with blankets that were in such a shredded state that he might as well have been wearing the nets for all the good they were doing. He had a small fish spitted over the flames and was eyeing it with more resignation than appetite.

  “Greetings, Tatterdemalion,” I said, alighting from Zeus. “I seek a sage named Hector.”

  “You found him,” he said. “What’s that word you called me?”

  “A term of respect, given to the elders in my part of the world.”

  “Ah. Thought it might be something insulting. Have you brought something to drink, pilgrim?”

  I reached into Zeus’s saddlebag and pulled out a jar of wine and half a loaf of bread. He opened the jar, inhaled deeply, and nodded.

  “From the Elephant,” he said. It was a statement, not a question. “You’ve got time to waste and thought you’d amuse yourself by bothering me for some stories.”