by Alan Gordon
“No one is fighting anyone,” I said. “They’re just messenger boys. Never kill the messenger. Especially when he’s bigger than you.”
“True enough,” said Phil cheerfully. “The message is this: You are to join a delegation to the invaders. Bring your horse and meet at the Imperial Wharf tomorrow at dawn.”
“And when I get there?”
“Talk to your contacts,” said Phil. “Get the story as to what they really want. As our mutual friend knows, any man has a price.”
“Unless he’s a fool,” added Will.
Then they left, laughing at their own jokes. Always the mark of an amateur.
So, I packed while Aglaia blathered on about one thing or another, finally driving me to the point of exasperation.
“What, my dear wife, has put you into this senseless volubility?” I asked.
She looked at me, hurt.
“I was only trying to distract you,” she said.
“Do I need distracting?”
“Maybe not,” she said, “but I do.”
I sat next to her on the bed.
“You’ve been moody ever since we left Bastiani’s place,” I said. “What is on your mind?”
“Let’s see,” she said. “There’s a war, and you’re about to ride off into the thick of it. Could that be it?”
“I’m going with a delegation to parley,” I said. “There’ll be no fighting.”
“You’re going in as a spy,” she replied. “You’re in such an ambiguous position that either side might decide to kill you. It’s dangerous.”
“Of course, it’s dangerous. Half of what we do for the Guild is dangerous, and the other half is acrobatics and juggling sharp objects. You knew that.”
“Yes, I knew that.”
“And in the sixteen months that we have been husband and wife, we have both walked knowingly into deadly situations. What makes this one any different?”
“That we are no longer just husband and wife but father and mother as well. That changes things. At least, it does for me. Doesn’t it for you?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Then think about it now!” she snapped. “You need to learn about being a parent, Feste. Let me teach you something. The hardest thing a mother will ever do is tell her child his father is dead. And I am speaking from experience, as you very well know.”
She waited for me to say something, but I was silent.
“We’re fools,” she continued. “I joined the Guild willingly, knowing what was entailed. I wonder now if you joined our marriage the same way.”
“What would you have me do?” I asked. “Run away?”
“Is suicide part of your mission?”
“Sometimes,” I said.
“You bragged about having a knack for surviving,” she said, looking away. “You rejoiced when we came to this city that I was with you to watch your back. Now, you don’t think enough about surviving, and you go where I cannot. This is not what I married you for and not why I decided to have your child.”
I slipped my dagger into my sleeve.
“I have no choice,” I said. “If we don’t bring about some kind of truce, then many will die.”
“Many will die anyway. There will come a point where you will recognize that you cannot stop what is happening. When you do, I want you to recognize that you do have a choice. And then I want you to choose me.”
“Over the Guild’s directives?”
She shrugged. “I gave up everything in my life to be with you,” she said. “When will it be your time to return the favor?”
“Did you tell your first husband all of this when he rode off on the Third Crusade?”
“Yes,” she said. “He chose to ignore my wishes. Called me a silly girl for worrying about it. Then he left me and I sat at home worrying about him for the next two years while raising a child and running a city. That did wonders for our relationship.”
“We’re fools, and we’re here. I can’t just up and leave in the middle of everything.”
“There’s always everything, and you’re always in the middle of it, no matter what you do. Can’t the Guild put us somewhere that will only require us to juggle and make bad jokes instead of risking our lives? At least, until our child is grown? What do they do for other couples?”
“Frankly, there aren’t that many. I have no idea what the Guild policy is. Look, let me get through the parley. It shouldn’t be much trouble. Then we’ll talk about this some more.”
“I’m tired of talking,” she grumbled. She lay down, her back to me.
I closed my bag and curled up next to her. I reached around her waist and patted her belly.
“I want to see this one grow up, too,” I whispered.
“Then make sure that you live,” she said.
“I’ll do my best,” I promised.
Before dawn, I arose and walked up to a stable near the Rhegium Gate. Only the stable’s farrier was up, heating up his charcoal for the day’s shoeing.
“Feste himself,” he said when he saw me. “You’ll be wanting Zeus, I hope.”
“The god incarnate,” I replied. “Let him be brought unto me.”
He picked my saddle from a hook on the wall and threw it to me.
“Bring yourself unto him,” he said. “I don’t go near that beast when I don’t have to.”
I lugged the saddle over to Zeus’s stall, wondering what exactly I was supposed to be getting for my stabling fee.
“Good morning, sire,” I said cheerfully as I entered his stall.
He was staring at his hay balefully but perked up when he saw the carrot in my hand. He snatched it away in a blink, leaving only a trace of orange on my fingertips, then looked at me expectantly. I held another carrot in front of him, then pulled it away.
“First this,” I said, showing him the saddle. He deigned to let me strap it on him, then refused to budge until I gave him the promised fee. I led him outside and mounted.
The Imperial Wharf was at a landing by the Golden Gate, jutting into the Sea of Marmara. The boat was a small galley, and I could feel my land-loving steed tense as he saw it. The sight of other horses being led into its hold assuaged him somewhat, but he would allow no one other than me to touch him.
After securing him in the makeshift stall that had been rigged in between the rowers’ benches, I went up on deck to meet my new traveling companions.
There were the expected high toadies of the Emperor, some officers from the Imperial Guard, and one interesting choice, Nicolò Rosso. He was a Lombard and an experienced courtier. He was frequently called upon when foreign diplomats visited Blachernae, more often than not to smooth over some gaffe of the Emperor. He was a confident man with an elaborate mustache that required constant maintenance. As the oarsmen pulled us away from the landing, he stood in the prow, trimming it carefully while a servant held a mirror before him. He saw my reflection and arched an eyebrow at it.
“I heard you would be joining us,” he said. “I’m not sure that I understand why.”
“I’m not sure that I understand either,” I said. “Perhaps the Emperor thought some entertainment would help things.”
“If you can tell a joke good enough to stop a war, then you will earn your place in Heaven,” he said. “If not, I suggest you leave the negotiating to your betters.”
“I’d be happy to,” I said. “But if you decide you need me, give me a yell and I’ll dance in and do a few routines.”
He sniffed and went back to his grooming.
I saw no point in entertaining the high and mighty, so I spent our crossing cheering up the oarsmen down in the hold. It made the time pass for all of us and gave me a chance to work with a drummer. A steady beat does wonders for a song.
We arrived at the Asian shore at a mercantile dock that had been skipped by the Crusaders. An Imperial Guardsman immediately brought his horse onto land, mounted and galloped north to bring word o
f the proposed parley. The rest of us stretched our legs, careful not to stray too far inland in case a hasty getaway was needed.
“Mind you,” said one of the oarsmen, “if they send some galleys after us, we’re captives right away.”
“They won’t bother,” said another. “We’re small fry. Why chase minnows when there’s big fish swimming inside the city walls?”
The Imperial Guardsman returned around noon. We had safe passage to Skutari and would camp on the grounds of the palace that evening. They would hear the parley in the morning.
We brought our horses and supplies up from the hold. Zeus required three carrots before assenting to carrying me. He was angry about being cooped up in the hold. The galley left, with the understanding that they would meet us at Skutari on the morrow. That would also give them a chance to assess the Venetian fleet from up close.
The entire party consisted of twenty men, including servants and one fool. The journey wasn’t long—Skutari was a league north of Constantinople, and we had landed maybe half a league south. Yet it seemed like an eternity as we passed one burning farmhouse after another.
About halfway there, a man suddenly leaped out of some bushes and frantically waved his arms. The soldiers in the party immediately drew their weapons.
“Wait!” cried the man, and we recognized him. It was Michael Stryphnos, sans horse, sans armor, sans army.
“My dear Lord Admiral,” said Rosso. “Whatever are you doing? When we last saw you, you were leading five hundred knights across the straits. Are they also hiding in the bushes?”
“We were taken by surprise,” blurted Stryphnos. “One of their patrols came upon our camp and scattered us. I must report back to the Emperor.”
“And where are your men? Are they following you into retreat?”
“I don’t know,” said Stryphnos. “Let me have a horse.”
“You had five hundred horses,” said a captain with the Guard. “Are they now learning French commands?”
“Give me a horse, I command you!” shouted Stryphnos. “I have influence in Blachernae.”
“Not anymore,” said Rosso.
The man looked despairingly about at our party, finally settling on me.
“A fool rides while an admiral walks?” he protested.
“An admiral is supposed to be on a ship,” I said. “Why don’t you—oh, that’s right, you don’t have any more.”
He stormed up to me.
“Give me that horse,” he said.
“He’s mine,” I said. “Or I am his. I’m never sure what the relationship is. But he will carry no rider but me.”
“Get down, Fool, or I will have your head!” screamed Stryphnos.
“Do it, Fool,” commanded Rosso. “I want to see what happens.”
“Certainly, milord,” I replied, and swung myself down from the saddle. “Now, my Lord Admiral, you must place your foot in the stirrup, thus—”
“Get out of my way,” he snarled, shoving me aside. He vaulted onto Zeus, which might have been impressive if he hadn’t previously lost his armor, and seized the reins. The next moment, he was flying through the air. He landed in a particularly prickly bush, screaming in pain and frustration.
“Nice aim, old fellow,” I said, slipping Zeus a pair of carrots. He snorted at the naval posterior, then held still as I mounted him.
Stryphnos finally extricated himself from the bush and shook his fist.
“The Emperor will hear of this!” he blustered.
“Yes, you really should mention it during your account of how you let yourself be taken by surprise and ended up losing five hundred knights and horses,” I said. “The affront to your dignity caused by my steed should be of the deepest concern to the Emperor. Constantinople is that way. Try not to sink any more boats on your way home, my Lord Admiral.”
Our party resumed its northward journey, not without casting a few smirks behind us.
“You have made an enemy there,” commented Rosso.
“I doubt it,” I said. “He has no more power. I would bet that he doesn’t even try to go back. I wonder how many Crusaders it took to rout his troops?”
“How did you get your horse to do that?”
“I don’t get him to do that. He does it on his own. When I first saw Zeus, I was told that only a fool would ride such a creature. We’ve been together ever since.”
An hour’s ride brought us to the palace at Skutari. This was a summer palace, a place for parties and assignations amidst the cool breezes from the north. It was not built to withstand a siege, the reason being that if an army of Turks or Arabs had pushed this far through Anatolia, it was high time to flee to the safety of the walled city across the Bosporos.
The palace was a modest building with only a hundred or so rooms. The grounds, normally home to exotic birds and perfumed plants, were filled to the bursting point with one pavilion after another, the bright cloths surmounted by competing standards. Atop the tallest tower of the palace flew the flags of Montferrat, Champagne, and Venice.
The Crusaders, unlike the troops under our brave Lord Admiral, knew a little bit about maintaining a watch. As our party approached the palace gates, mounted patrols of Flemish knights in full armor appeared at our flanks to escort us in.
“And they’re riding our horses,” a Guardsman observed bitterly. “Rubbing our faces in it.”
A nobleman stood at the gate, wearing an outlandishly plumed hat that he doffed with great ceremony as we entered.
“Hail, noble vassals of the usurper!” he greeted us in langue d’oc.
“Hail, oath-breaker and excommunicate,” replied Rosso smoothly in the same tongue. “And how is your esteemed mother, Charles?”
“Nicolò?” laughed the other. “I should have known they would send you. My mother is as ornery as ever, thank you. Come, we have a tent and food prepared.”
We were taken to a corner of the grounds where an ornamental fountain still burbled merrily in a grove of cedar. A meal was laid out on an oaken table.
“Enjoy your repast, gentlemen,” said the Frenchman. “We have found the local provender to be quite tasty. We hope you will as well.”
“We are overwhelmed by your hospitality,” said Rosso dryly.
“Imperial silver,” said one of the guardsmen, holding it up for inspection. “And look at the food. They’re wallowing in the spoils before they’ve even won.”
“Bravado, my friends,” said Rosso. “Ignore it. No doubt they are eating scant portions themselves, but they want to put on a display for us. I suggest that you take advantage of it.”
He sat at one end of the table and dug in. I followed him. I had a sinking feeling that lavish meals were not going to be too frequent in the near future, so I should grab what I could get while I could get it. One by one, the others joined us. We ate in silence—it didn’t seem to be a good time for jesting, so I let it alone.
When we were done, I picked up my lute and rose.
“Where are you going?” asked a guardsman.
“He’s going to wander the grounds and play his lute,” said Rosso sagely. “Isn’t that right, Fool?”
“Precisely,” I replied. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
I strummed gently as I walked, occasionally plucking a particular phrase of four notes. The soldiers camped on the grounds varied greatly in rank and nationality, but I noticed that the closer I got to the palace, the higher the rank. The commanders, I assumed, were inside the palace itself.
As I passed by the far end of the palace, a knight stood abruptly and looked in my direction. I did not look at him but continued to stroll along. I played the signal phrase again and waited for a response.
The response I got was not the one I was expecting. He drew his sword, screamed, “Bastard! Where is she?” and charged.
My response was to flee. Fortunately, it isn’t difficult to outrun a man in armor. I quickly sought out a group of soldiers roasting a side of beef over a fire made from some ornamental tre
es recently chopped down.
“Excuse me, good sirs,” I begged them. “Your comrade has taken offense at the sight of me for reasons I know not. I know my face is not the comeliest, but that shouldn’t be cause for taking my head off.”
“Strange,” said a captain. “Does he know you?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Bastard!” screamed the knight as he staggered toward me.
“I am certainly not that,” I protested.
“Feste!” he screamed.
I stared in shock. He came into the light and put his visor up.
“Sebastian!” I exclaimed.
“The same, Fool,” he growled. “Prepare to meet your maker.”
“Wait!” I cried, darting behind the soldiers who were now laughing at my plight. I kept them between us. It became a ridiculous little game as I dashed in and out. Finally, he ran out of breath, giving me an opportunity to get a better look at him.
There was a time when he and my wife could pass for each other, but that was long ago. Their shapes had taken different paths since then, thanks to drink in his case and childbirth in hers. Still, those were her eyes looking out from that visor, and the same auburn hair. But the expression on the face I saw now was far from the loving one I was used to seeing.
“What is this about, Count?” asked the captain.
“This fool carried off my sister,” panted the Count. “He has despoiled her honor. Now, honor demands an accounting.”
“Sounds reasonable,” said a soldier, and I suddenly found myself pinned between two of them.
Sebastian raised his sword and slowly advanced.
“Good Count,” I pleaded.
“Save it,” he barked.
“Would you make your sister a widow?” I cried.
He stopped.
“Or your unborn niece fatherless?” I continued. “Sir, I have loved and honored your sister as much as any man in this life. You know me, Count. Have you ever known me to do anything as tawdry and despicable as to bring one such as her to shame? I swear to you that we are man and wife in the eyes of God, the Church, the law, and the world.”
“My sister has married a fool,” he said in astonishment. “Where is she now?”