by Alan Gordon
“Speaking of which, there’ve been a couple of Varangians following us since we left the quarter.”
“I know,” I said without looking around. “It’s Will and Phil. You go on ahead. I’ll see what they want.”
All Varangians are deadly by training, but these two Englishmen were deadly by nature. Philoxenites had found this predilection for violence useful for his own needs. Although I had stayed on the eunuch’s good side during my tenure in the city, I always received an apprehensive jolt whenever I encountered them. And I’m a fairly dangerous fellow myself.
I waited for them at a crossroads, standing at a safe distance from anyone who could have been waiting in ambush in a doorway somewhere. Plossus had moved on, but I assumed he had taken a position from which he could keep an eye on me. I assumed that Will and Phil were aware of that as well.
All of this just for a quick conversation.
“Well met, Englishmen,” I said.
William, who was large and burly, nodded pleasantly. Philip, who was larger and burlier, spoke.
“The man who pays all of us would like to see you,” he said.
“He will,” I replied.
“You were supposed to report to him when you found out anything.”
“When I find out something, I will,” I said.
Philip shook his head. “He thinks, knowing you, that you’ve already found out something, but that you’re holding back from him for your own reasons.”
“I haven’t found anything that concrete,” I said. “Suspicions, mostly.”
“He’ll like those,” said William. “He’s a suspicious man himself.”
“How urgent is it that I report to him?” I asked.
They looked at each other, amused.
“Do you see us standing here?” asked Philip.
“I do.”
“Do you think we waste our time on messages that aren’t urgent?” asked William.
“I suppose not. Thank you for taking the trouble. Is it customary to tip you?”
William’s face flushed angrily. He took a step forward, but Philip stopped him.
“There are limits, Fool, to our forbearance,” said Philip pleasantly. “Don’t test them any further.”
“My abject apologies,” I said. “Tell your master I shall see him in the morning.”
Plossus swung down from a nearby rooftop as I turned into the courtyard by my home. Rico’s cart and ponies were already tied up in front of it. He and my wife already had dinner prepared when we entered.
“Plossus may have solved your how,” I announced.
“Really?” she said.
“He thinks the murderer was already in the room, possibly our mystery woman. She induced him to take the poison, waited for the rest of the building to fall asleep, and left, taking the poison with her.”
“After first barring his door from the inside,” she said. “How do you account for that?”
“Yes, Plossus,” I echoed, turning on the poor boy with my hands on my hips. “How do you explain that?”
He slumped dejectedly onto a stool.
“I had forgotten about that,” he admitted.
“As did the great Feste, it seems,” said Rico. “Well, I have some small news to share. I was performing down at the Akropolis and saw one of those silky fellows walking by.”
“Dark hair, about thirty, watching everything at once?” I guessed.
“That’s the one,” said Rico.
“Ranieri,” said Plossus. “And Feste saw him there yesterday. Why does he keep going to the Great Palace?”
“Were you able to follow him?” I asked.
“Alas, I was in mid-ballad. I could not leave my adoring public in suspense. Besides, I wouldn’t have been able to keep up with him on foot at the pace he was going.”
“And you, my love?”
“I’m looking into a few things,” she said vaguely. “I’ll let you know when I have a better idea of what’s going on.”
“All right. I’ve been summoned to a meeting with Philoxenites in the morning.”
“How much are you going to tell him?” asked Aglaia.
“I’ll tell him about the weapons cache, but that we need more time to know who is behind it. We know about Ranieri, but there has to be more to it than him. Tomorrow night, Aglaia and I will go back to Bastiani’s room. Rico, will you be our coachman?”
“Certainly, milord,” said the dwarf, bowing low.
“Plossus, fetch our horses and get hold of a decent-looking coach. We’ll meet back here mid-afternoon.”
“I have a suggestion,” said Aglaia.
“What is it?”
“I think Plossus and Rico should stay here until this is over,” she said. “We don’t know how much Ranieri suspects us, but if he does, he may come after us. There’s safety in numbers.”
“I can take care of myself!” said Plossus indignantly.
“That sentence can be chiseled onto the markers of many a fool’s grave,” said Rico. “She’s right. There are four backs to watch here, so eight eyes will be needed to watch them. Besides, we’re coming back here for dinner every night, anyway. You’ll eat better with us, boy.”
“Then it’s agreed,” I said. “Only keep the noise down at night. Milady needs her rest more than ever.”
“Because God knows when I’ll get it after the baby comes,” muttered Aglaia.
“I’ll be there to help,” I protested. She just rolled her eyes and went back to her meal.
When I arrived at the palace the next morning, I was met by Will and Phil and taken immediately to the eunuch’s office. He was standing by the window, looking across the Golden Horn.
“God’s chosen vessel is with his army,” he said. “Standing at the edge of the water, waiting for the enemy to brave the straits. But the enemy will not do so until they are finished raiding Skutari for supplies.”
“How long will that take?” I asked.
“A few days, I think. They have comfortable quarters, room to exercise their horses, and all the time in the world. In the meantime, the Emperor will become anxious about being outside the safety of these walls. He dashed heroically northward, like a little boy charging the sea, only to scamper back when the tide comes in again. I predict that the great Alexios will be back in the palace within two days, safe in the arms of his Egyptian.”
He turned back to me.
“Which gives you ample time to tell me what you’ve learned about Bastiani’s death,” he said.
“About his death, very little,” I replied. “It may have been from natural causes, but Lord knows the other silk merchants have been spooked by it. But I don’t know if it’s because they killed him, or because they’re afraid the death will draw the attention of some outsider.”
“And that’s it?” he said.
“No. We found a cache of weapons, large enough to arm a squadron or two.”
“That’s more like it,” he said, sitting. “Where did you find it?”
“In Bastiani’s storeroom.”
“But he was …” he began, perplexed. Then his face cleared. “Someone put them there after he died.”
“Yes. But I need more time to find out the full extent of the plan behind all of this. I have the other fools helping me, so we should come up with something fairly soon.”
“All right,” he said. “However, there is another task that I need you for. Something that just came up.”
“What is it?”
He drummed his fingers on his desk, looking back out the window. “You were right to warn me about the threats to my other conduits to the Venetians,” he said. “One of them has disappeared. They say that he fled the city, but no one knows for certain. The other is now too frightened to do anything for me.
“There is a delegation forming at the behest of the Emperor, ready to seek parley with the Crusaders. They’ll hurl defiance, make all the appropriate noises, and try and frighten them away.”
“That won’t work,�
�� I said.
“I know it. So, I want you to go with them, then slip off and make contact with your people there. Find out what the Crusaders want to go away. Or what they want to make peace.”
“You trust me to do this?” I said, a bit surprised.
“I don’t trust anyone in this city,” he said bitterly. “But I distrust you less than most.”
“Thank you, I suppose. When does the delegation leave?”
“In a few days. I’ll send word.”
“Very good, milord,” I said, bowing. “And milord?”
“Yes, Fool?”
“I distrust you less than most as well.”
He laughed, a rare occurrence for him.
“That almost counts as friendship around here,” he said. “Now, get out before I change my mind and have you killed.”
EIGHT
Fools make a mock at sin.
——PROVERBS 14:9
A clatter of hooves and wheels approached the courtyard. As I looked out our window, an enclosed coach pulled by two horses burst through the entrance, Plossus frantically reining the steeds in. The vehicle stopped just before crashing into the house.
I went out to tie up the horses while Plossus climbed carefully down, staggering as he hit the flagstones. He pulled out a large handkerchief and mopped his brow.
“You could have warned me,” he said.
“About what?” I said innocently.
“About what? About this devil incarnate, this four-hooved fiend, this demon in a horse’s shape.”
“Hello, Zeus,” I said, patting the nose of the shaggy gray malevolence that continued to buck in the traces. “Did you frighten my young friend?”
“Frighten?” groaned Plossus. “The beast is the terror of the stables. It took a team of giants to wrestle him into harness. Am I to understand that you have actually ridden this creature?”
“Oh, Zeus is just a sweetheart once he gets used to you,” I said. “And he’s the fastest thing on four legs in this city.”
“That I can well believe,” said Plossus. “For he took this carriage down the Mese at a pace that would have left Hermes coughing up dust. Pedestrians scattered, soldiers took cover, and I swear I saw the Bronze Bull in the Forum Bovis leap back to avoid being trampled into pennies.”
“Yet you lived to tell the tale,” I said. I produced a pair of carrots and gave one to each horse. The second was a sorrel mare who cast a bemused glance in Zeus’s direction. “My Lady Hera seems none the worse for the experience.”
“Your wife’s horse was superb,” he said. “She has no equal for equine equanimity. I see now that each horse takes after its rider.”
“I’ll accept the compliment on her behalf, and forgive the insult on mine,” I said. “Nice carriage. Where did you get it?”
“Borrowed it,” he said vaguely. “The owner probably won’t even notice it’s gone until it’s already back.”
“Good work. All right, we’ll see you later.”
“Right. Good luck,” he said, then he stopped. “I just remembered something I wanted to tell you. I saw one of our wandering silk merchants this morning.”
“Ranieri again?”
“No. This time it was our drinking partner of yesterday.”
“Viadro? Where did you see him?”
“Staggering around the seawalls near the Petrion Gate,” he said. “Below the Fifth Hill. He looked drunk.”
“He’s been drinking a lot, it seems.”
“I said he looked drunk,” said Plossus. “However, having just seen your masterful performance of last night, I can say with confidence that he was only pretending to be drunk. Badly.”
“Really? Any idea of where he was going?”
“He was staggering along the base of the wall, occasionally haranguing a shopkeeper or arguing with a guard.”
“Spying out the defenses of that section, perhaps.”
“That occurred to me as well,” said Plossus. “He got into such a debate with a Varangian at the tower by the gate that several other Varangians had to interrupt their repair work to come separate the two. That’s when he turned and saw me watching. I hailed him and walked over to where he was standing, and he started into the drunk act with me. He lacks even a scintilla of your talent, my master.”
“Thank you. Did you learn anything from him?”
“No, which was more proof that he was acting. A real drunk would have given up something.”
“All right. I don’t know how it fits in with everything else, but we’ll add it to the puzzle.”
I summoned the rest of our band of players from the house. Aglaia was unrecognizable, even to me. She had covered her short auburn hair with a long, curly, raven-black wig and had made her face up according to the fashion of the young and unmarried ladies of the town. She wore a blue silk gown with delicate beadwork across the front and had draped a hooded cloak over everything. She looked at me, then suddenly giggled and flounced like a sixteen-year-old girl.
“I’m convinced,” said Plossus in admiration. “In fact, I’m positively smitten.”
“Which is why Rico is our coachman,” I said. “I need someone who can keep his five wits in one head.”
“And here I am,” said the dwarf, emerging from the house carrying a horsewhip and an apple. He tossed the apple to Plossus. “Put this on your witless noggin, lad.”
“Are you quite sure about this?” said Plossus as he took off his cap and bells and placed the fruit on top of his head.
Rico shrugged, then suddenly cracked the whip in a smooth forward motion. The top half of the apple flew off, leaving the remainder wobbling on Plossus’s head. The lad reached up gingerly and removed it, wiping the juice from his hair.
“Nicely done,” I said as Aglaia applauded.
“First time for everything,” chuckled Rico as he climbed onto the driver’s seat and took up the reins. Plossus keeled over in a dead faint, then waved good-bye from the ground as I helped my wife into the carriage.
The horses had watched the exhibition with interest. Zeus looked back at the dwarf sitting serenely with the whip coiled by his side, then looked at me.
“Give us a smooth ride, my friend,” I instructed him. “You don’t want to make Rico unhappy.”
I hopped into the carriage, closed the door, and we were off.
We reached the Venetian quarter as the sun was setting. Rico stopped the carriage about fifty paces from the alley leading to Vitale’s house. I stepped out, cloaked but still in motley and makeup, and ran to the front door.
Vitale opened it, then smiled when he saw me.
“It’s tonight, isn’t it?” he whispered eagerly.
“It is, my good landlord,” I replied, handing him some silver. “Now, here is your payment. This buys your silence and no interruptions. You are to remain down here, and you are not to address my master at peril of your wretched hide.”
“Is he that close about it?” asked Vitale.
“You will not see him, and you will never see him, or you may never see anything else,” I said. “Is that clear?”
“Oh, dear,” he muttered. “I’d better go to my room and lie down for a bit.”
“That would be the best course,” I said and dashed back to the carriage.
A short time later, I emerged as a clandestine aristocratic libertine, escorting a cloaked maid who muffled her giggles with her hands as we entered the building. As we passed by the second landing, I noticed John Aprenos looking curiously out of his room, but I didn’t meet his eye. I heard sawing from that direction.
Aglaia continued the giggling until we reached Bastiani’s room. I closed the door behind us, dropped the bar, and listened. Nobody was eavesdropping from the hall.
“It would have been easier if Plossus played the lord,” she commented softly. “It would have saved you the quick change.”
“I didn’t want him playing any more scenes with you,” I said.
“You’re jealous!” she said in wond
erment.
“I am not. I’m just feeling old when he’s around. I’m remembering all the things I could do when I was his age.”
“I daresay that you can still do just about all of them,” she said with a merry look in her eyes. “And by way of proving it, as well as maintaining the illusion we have created, I am fully prepared to make love to you right here.”
“Hmm, tempting,” I said. “As much as I respect your devotion to authenticity, I’ll pass. I dislike getting into debauched characters as an act. I truly don’t want to do it in reality.”
“Suit yourself,” she sniffed. “Keep an ear by the door, good Fool, and I’ll have a look around.”
Vitale had cleaned up the chamberpot and spread some rushes by the bed, but the room was otherwise as it had been during my first visit. A wick stuck in a dish of tallow burned fitfully and threw off a foul-smelling smoke that became trapped at the ceiling.
“What a dismal existence he had,” she said. “I’m revising my opinion. If I had to spend my life in this room, I might consider suicide.”
“This was only where he slept,” I pointed out. “And made love. He spent most of his time making money at the embolum.”
“That such a skinflint could be involved in such a luxurious item as silk is beyond me,” she said. “And that any woman would have consented to meet him in such a squalid setting …”
“She was a prostitute. He paid her. Prostitutes don’t complain about location. She was probably happy to do it in a real bed for a change.”
“I don’t think she was a prostitute,” she said.
“Why?”
“I have my reasons,” she said.
“A woman’s reasons?”
“A woman’s. And a fool’s. You would understand the latter, being a fool, but you’ve never been a woman.”
“As a matter of fact, I once portrayed a courtesan in Toulouse so successfully that—”
“Stop!” she commanded. “Listen to me. A rose once bloomed in a dung heap. I think, odd as it was, that this was love.”
“Explain.”