by Alan Gordon
“No,” I said in chagrin.
“It may be that Fabian was involved, a conspiracy of clerks. Only with you investigating, it was too dangerous to let him live. So, he was killed. And now you’re on the verge of proclaiming the second coming of Malvolio to the world. Everyone will be jumping at shadows for the next ten years, which would suit Milady just fine. Where was she at the time of Fabian’s death? Can she account for herself?”
It fit. All of it.
“All right, it’s plausible,” I said grudgingly. “But you have no proof.”
“I learned that at the hands of the master,” he said, bowing in my direction. “All I am saying is that it makes a better explanation than the return of a vengeful steward. If Malvolio truly carried that hatred, he would have reappeared years ago. Why now?”
“You mentioned a motive for summoning me. What is it?”
“One more leap of faith, if you will. It may have come from Olivia.”
I thought about that. “You think she suspected Viola but couldn’t pursue her directly?”
“Precisely. So, she sent you an anonymous message, knowing you would arrive eventually and go after the murderer.”
“That assumes she knows the true nature of the Guild.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think we’re that secret a society anymore. She’s a smart woman, sitting at the center of her web, reeling in whatever rumors get trapped in it. It’s a possibility.”
I looked out the window, over the wall to the river. Devoid of traffic. No ships other than the fishing boats. He was right, there was no commerce this time of year.
“I’ve missed everything,” I said. “How could I have been so blind?”
“You mean you don’t know?” he said, chuckling sympathetically.
I looked at him in dismay, tears blurring my vision.
“I’m sorry, but it’s clear that you’re in love with her. Probably have been from the moment she walked into town disguised as a boy. She was more like one of us than one of them, wasn’t she? But you had to carry out the plan, like a good fool, so you did. And now, you’ve come back to save her. She probably saw this when you revealed yourself and has been playing on it ever since. It’s your move, by the way.”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t been paying attention,” I said, wiping my eyes and sitting down at the board. “Where did you move last?”
“The bishop.”
“What?”
He indicated the piece with his finger. I stared at the board in confusion and followed the diagonals.
“The bishop, to be sure,” I said. “And I see you’ve pinned my queen. Apt, very apt.” I knocked over my king angrily. “Look at me, I’m losing to a man with a broken head.”
He laughed gently. “That’s more like it,” he said. “Now, what do we do? If it isn’t Malvolio, then it really doesn’t involve the Guild. We could just abandon the assignment and sneak out of here with dignity.”
“No,” I said. “There’s still a murderer to catch. A murderess, I should say.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “Then maybe you should find out more about Aleph.”
I stood and held out my hand. He grasped it. “I’m sorry for involving you in all this,” I said. “I have managed to get us both lodgings in what may be the most dangerous place in Orsino for us. Will you be all right?”
“I think so,” he said. “She thinks we’re looking for Malvolio. She won’t try anything right under her own roof. Be careful out there.”
I nodded and left for the stables.
Zeus looked up at me expectantly as I walked up with his saddle. “Come on, old Greek,” I said. “We have work to do.”
FOURTEEN
Even when the fool walks on the road, he lacks sense.
ECCLESIASTES 10.3
I managed to hold Zeus to a slow trot as I worked my way up the riverside, past the baths, past the wharves, up to where the fresh water first meets the salt. Normally, one could take a ferry across to the south road, but this winter had been long and cold enough to ice over all but a narrow channel in the middle. Which Zeus promptly jumped the moment I gave him a little slack.
I let him fly on the open road, past snow-covered fields and occasional flocks of sheep or goats huddling together, scraping the ice away, searching for frozen clumps of weeds. The ridge was further from the sea on this side of the river, and the farms provided no cover as far as I could tell. I wasn’t being followed, nor did I worry about it. Any threats lay ahead.
The south road clung to the shore, and the wind whipped up the salt spray so that I was chilled beyond the already frigid air. I was deeply grateful when the farms petered out and the forests reclaimed dominance, providing some respite from the wind, though these trees were planted, dormant groves of olive awaiting spring. I slowed Zeus down to a trot and started scanning the woods on either side of me.
No signs of recent travel, but I was looking for something older. Though I was not a woodsman by training, I have slept under enough trees to know them by name and inclination. I didn’t know what precisely I would find, but I would know it when I saw it. I traveled some five or six miles in this fashion, studying the slightest break of a branch, the most casual disturbance of fallen leaves, but found nothing. Judging my travels sufficient, I turned Zeus around and trotted back to town.
Which gave me time to think about the accusation of love that had been tossed in my direction by Señor Bobo. A strange idea to a jester, long used to concealing his feelings not only from others but from himself, yet apparent to my observant colleague. Such are the perils of strolling around sans makeup. I cursed my traitorous face.
I have sung about love, joked about love, composed lengthy poems of courtship for stricken swains with coin to spare, reenacted the wooings of the mighty and the meek. But love for myself—well, there’s not much I can do when it happens. A cat may look at a king and a fool may love a duchess, but only the cat will be satisfied. I had a job to do when she first strode into Orsino in boyish attire, and I had one to do now.
“What say you to this affliction, Old Greek?” I asked my steed. “If the legends have but a kernel of truth to them, then you’ve had much vaster experience with it than I. Is it worth the trouble?” Zeus snorted, which was his answer to everything I said. Nevertheless, a good answer.
“Well, let it be,” I said to him and the wind, and we rode on in silence broken only by the muffled thuds of his hooves in the snow.
A solitary horseman was waiting as we neared the river. It was Perun, his hand resting gently on his sword, perhaps caressing it, although that may have been my imagination. I made certain my own hands stayed in sight, not wanting to give him the slightest excuse for offense.
“I thought of sending a man to follow you,” he said. “But then I realized which horse you were riding and gave up. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“My brother, you mean?” I replied.
He shrugged. “Very well, your brother.”
“Alas, no. But since I am alone, you’ve already guessed that. Will you ride with me back to town? I assure you that you will find nothing down that road, and it’s too bitter a day to venture forth. And night approaches.”
He sighed. “I will send a man out in the morning,” he said.
“Please, spare him. There is truly nothing to find. There is less to me than meets the eye, believe me.”
“What meets the eye is always deceptive, Herr Octavius. I would employ only blind men in my service, but they are such poor marksmen.”
I laughed for the first time that I could recall in his presence. The horses carried us back to Orsino in an almost companionable silence, and he saluted me as we went our separate ways.
I returned Zeus to the villa’s stables and gave him a good currying to his surprise and pleasure. A willful, cantankerous beast. Clearly, we were made for each other. When I entered my room, I saw a note in a supremely neat hand requesting my company at the Duke’s chess table.
; I found him in the Great Hall, well remembered from formal occasions. The Duke’s chair, elaborately carved from a massive piece of ebony, sat on a raised platform. Mark was sitting by the base of it, staring out the long, slender window into the courtyard.
He stood and returned my bow and motioned me to the table, an ornate affair of alabaster and black marble, with pieces carved from ivory and ebony. The castles were elephants with siege towers.
“Will you play black or white?” he asked.
“Rather than impose on your hospitality, let us leave the choice to fate,” I said, and took a pawn from each side and hid them behind my back. I held my fists in front of him. He tapped the left and played white.
“Your German is quite good, Milord,” I commented as we played. “You must have your mother’s gift for tongues.”
“Do you know my mother?” he asked.
“We’ve only been introduced,” I said. “But her talent for languages is of great repute. Ah, I see what you’re doing.”
“But can you stop it?” he crowed.
I scanned the board, then held out my hand.
“Skillfully done, Milord.”
He took it and pulled me closer.
“You’re very good,” he whispered. “You let me win with much more subtlety than that fool did this afternoon. Now, let’s play a real game. And don’t worry. If you beat me, I promise not to have you beheaded.”
I grinned. “Then it’s my turn to play white.”
We reset the board and began anew. He was an excellent player for his age and managed in a short time to erase whatever vantage the white pieces gave me. We ultimately drew.
“Much more fun,” he pronounced. “I wish people wouldn’t treat me with so much deference.”
“Unavoidable, I’m afraid. Until you are of age and assert yourself, people will approach you with care.”
“Maybe I should assert myself now,” he mused, sitting back on his chair. I shrugged. He looked sadly at the board.
“My father gave me this,” he said. “It was a present when he returned from the Crusade.”
“He was gone a while, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. And now he’s gone for good. It’s too short a time to have a father. I did not want to be Duke yet.”
“My sympathies, Milord. There’s nothing I can say to comfort you, except that such a man has certainly gone to Heaven. Be grateful for the times you had together. Think of the best of them when you miss him the most.”
“He took me to Venice, once,” he said, brightening. “And then to Rome. I had never been overseas before. We saw everything. I even met His Holiness!”
“And think of all the sons who never traveled with their fathers. My father traveled the world seeking spice and would be gone for years at a stretch. You’ve probably spent more time with your father in your short life than I did in my long one.”
“That is true,” he said. He yawned, looking again like the boy he was. “I must get my rest. I’m trying to get my strength back enough to be in the Play.”
I stood and bowed. “May I thank you for your splendid hospitality, Milord.”
“You probably should thank Mother for that,” he said. “I’ve guessed that she’s the one responsible. But it’s fine with me. A fool and a chess player as gifts for Christmas. Good night, Herr Octavius.”
“Milord,” I said, and with one last bow left the room.
“You’re very good with him,” whispered Viola. I had spotted her passing a doorway during the game and guessed that she had observed the whole interlude.
“He’s a fine boy,” I said.
“And you’re a good chess player. You let him draw the second game, didn’t you?”
“I confess it.”
“And yet that time he didn’t catch on. You have more facets than a diamond, Feste. Do you have children of your own?”
Something in my face must have closed shut, for she immediately backed off.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to pry. I’ve just realized that there’s so little I know about you.”
“As it should be, Duchess,” I said lightly.
She shook her head. “No, it shouldn’t be. You came to help us when you were called. You didn’t have to come, but you did.”
“I did have to come. There was no other choice.”
“That says quite a lot. When this is over, we will sit down and have a good, long talk. Perhaps a game of chess. And please, Feste, don’t hold back when we play.”
“Milady,” I said, bowing. She brushed my cheek lightly with her hand, then turned and left.
And what was this? May a Duchess look at a fool? Or love a cat?
* * *
In the morning, I sought the only creature who truly understood me. I fed him, saddled him, and rode through the northwest gate. Looking back, I saw Perun standing on the wall, watching me. He waved. I waved back. It occurred to me that I only had two more days of protection from his challenge.
Zeus took his usual pace up the hill but uncharacteristically slowed as we approached the point where the path to the cliffs veered off. I urged him along the road instead. He seemed nervous about entering the woods. I could hardly blame him. I was nervous, too.
I slowed Zeus to a walk and commenced my search. The road was wide enough to accommodate a good-sized wain, though none had been by recently if I was any judge of tracks. I was surprised that Perun’s patrols didn’t extend this far, but perhaps he limited his bailiwick to the town’s walls during the winter. Only a fool would be out traveling this time of year, and such would be left to the Lord’s protection, for he scarcely deserved Perun’s. The sun was over the eastern ridge, and the light was filtering through the trees at a high angle. There was little wind, and the brush and evergreens closer to the cliffside had prevented much in the way of drifting. The road was as well preserved as an amateur woodsman and tracker could possibly desire.
I spent the better part of the journey examining the sides of the road, looking for suitable locations to wait in ambush. I recalled halfway through that it was not so very long ago that I had been attacked from these very woods. The sound my sword made as I drew it from its scabbard seemed absurdly loud in the emptiness. I can’t say that it gave me any comfort.
About five miles in, a branch hung at an unnatural angle. I reined in Zeus and dismounted cautiously, sword at the ready, hoping I wouldn’t have to use it. It was a recent break, and the surrounding brush also showed evidence of some disturbance. I squatted down to examine the ground. The snow lay smoothly. Too smoothly, in fact. I took a few steps past the brush into the wood proper and saw a crude path made recently in the snow, a profusion of footprints with two shallow grooves running through it such as would have been made by a pair of heels dragging. The smooth snow separated this track from the road, and there were slight ridges at the sides of it, where the brushing had been slightly less meticulous.
“Have you come about the dead man?” screeched a voice from my left. I whirled, pointing my sword in its direction.
He looked at me, more amused than threatened. “I am unarmed,” he said more gently. “And a peaceable man. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to another person.”
“I didn’t hear you approach,” I said apologetically, sheathing my sword. He was clad mostly in blankets, draped over his shoulders and belted haphazardly around the middle. On his feet were sandals, stuffed with rags. An ineffective way of keeping out the cold, I thought, but he seemed to pay it no mind. The hair and beard were long and matted enough to afford a little extra warmth. His eyes, which were the only feature I could make out clearly, were blue and gentle. As for his age—all I could do was estimate the length of the beard and add sixteen. Maybe thirty, maybe fifty. Only a shave and a bath would reveal it.
“Yes, I would very much like to see this dead man of yours.”
“Oh, he isn’t my dead man,” he replied. “But there is one about, and you’re the first
person come by since he came on the scene. I thought he might be yours.”
“Not necessarily,” I said.
“But you were looking for something. Will a dead man do?”
“Quite possibly. Let me take a look at him, and I’ll be able to answer you better.”
“This way, then,” he said, and turned. I reached out and stopped him. He looked at me quizzically.
“If you don’t mind, walk uphill from these tracks,” I requested. He nodded and continued on. I followed, leading Zeus by the reins. This was an old section of forest, with trees reaching high into the heavens and little undergrowth. Enough sun fell through the branches to let us pick our steps with confidence, although he looked as if he knew the woods well enough to do it blindfolded.
“How did you find him?” I asked.
“The screaming,” he said shortly. I waited for him to elaborate. “I was praying in my cave, off a ways yonder. Then I heard it.”
“I take it you’re a hermit?”
“Neither by choice nor by inclination, but recent circumstance has made me one.”
“Would I be correct in guessing that you are one of the Perfect?”
He laughed quietly. “No, my friend, I am one of the Flawed. My name is Joseph, by the way.”
“I am Octavius of Augsburg. Forgive me, I did not mean to be facetious. But you are a Cathar?”
“A name given to us by others. They call us Cathars, Patarines, Bogomils, damned Manicheans, any appellation they can attach before they light the pyre. They burn us because they think it spills no blood. I’ve seen burnings. It isn’t true.”
“What do you call yourselves?”
“The Good Men. Which is about as arrogant as anything else, when you come to think of it. But it provides us with a worthy goal, if nothing else. By the way, would you happen to have anything to eat that you could spare?”
I rummaged through my saddlebags. “A bit of bread and cheese, if you like.”