Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery (10 page)

“There are still the armies,” she replied. “And the walls.”

“The walls were badly in need of repair,” I said. “And they weren’t being patrolled overmuch. The troops at the Anastasian walls were being paid so irregularly that they were thinking of deserting. Something is going horribly wrong in this city.”

“Does it have something to do with the disappearance of the fools?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Part of what we do is maintain the peace. Without the fools, there’s one less source of good advice or well-intentioned manipulation. But I can’t think that whatever is happening here came about because someone decided to eliminate five jesters and a troubadour.”

I stood, stretched, then bent over backward until I could touch my heels. She watched me with amusement.

“Does that help you think?” she asked.

I thought for a moment. “No,” I concluded, and straightened up.

“Where to?” she asked. “Do you want to check out Thalia and the dwarves?”

“No,” I said. “They all lived up by Blachernae. We’ll do that tomorrow. Let’s go by the Hippodrome and find out what one has to do to be admitted to perform there.”

We walked along the seawalls, cutting north just before the Bukoleon Harbor. There was a marble grouping of a bull and a lion, looking out to sea. They were the most vigilant creatures we had seen since we had come to the city.

We came up on the southern end of the Hippodrome, the great curving facade with its huge marble arches, easily six hundred feet in width. The hill on which it was perched sloped sharply away from this end, forcing whatever ancient architect had been responsible to support it on massive columns. Under the shelter of the stadium was an immense stable set into the hillside, complete with its own set of smiths, carpenters, and chariot builders. It was here that I chose to make my approach, rather than through the public entrance at the north end.

While protecting the city was apparently not a current priority of the Emperor, entertaining it still was. Horses were being led everywhere, exercised, shod, curried, examined for any trace of injury or illness. It took some time to locate the man I had to see, but by dint of constant shouting and pointing, we were able to locate him. He was a massive fellow, with arms as thick as my body, and a trunk as thick as the Pillar of Arkadies, or so it seemed. He was heavily bearded, and what little face was uncovered was grimed by the smoke from the blacksmiths’ fires. He wore a thick leather cap and leather breeches. At the moment, his
torso was bare, and large rivulets of sweat left streaks in the soot covering him. He looked at us without expression.

“My name is Feste, the Fool,” I shouted. “This is my assistant, Claudius. I am told that you are the man to see about our performing in the Hippodrome.”

“You were told right. My name is Samuel. Who sent you?” he asked in a deep rumble.

“I sent myself,” I said. “But I used to work with Demetrios and Tiberius. They can provide good report of my talents.”

He frowned at the mention of the other fools. “They’ve not been around in months,” he said. “How do I know you’ve worked with them?”

“Would you like me to give you a brief demonstration?”

He nodded. I pulled off my cloak, threw it to Claudius, and went through a quick juggling routine, there being too much noise for music or banter to have much effect. He watched without reacting until I was done.

“Fine,” he said. “As long as you have the entry fee, you can come for the games in three days.”

“What’s the fee?”

“A gold histamenon to me, in advance, plus ten percent of what you make inside.”

“That’s a bit steep for one performance.”

He smiled. “The rates vary. If you become established here, it’s just the percentage.”

“Fair enough. What’s the occasion for the games?”

“Some relative of the Emperor has a birthday. The usual excuse. There’ll be chariot races, some acrobats, musicians, a man who says he can fly, and now you.”

“I’ll see you in three days.”

“How can he charge us so much?” sputtered Claudius in protest as we emerged into the street.

“Because he can,” I said. “It’s not unusual, or even that outrageous. They only want the best performers, and any jester who can’t raise the entrance fee from fooling in the markets is probably not worth seeing.”

We came upon a small square that had a number of stalls selling fruits, nuts, and spices to the neighborhood. A crowd was gathered before a street preacher, who stood on a boulder and harangued them for their instruction, or at least their entertainment. He was an old man and clearly not of the main church, for he lacked the rich vestments one would expect even of a lesser deacon in this city. He wore a long, tattered wool robe, patched in many places. He was clean-shaven and bald to boot, and his dome was so perfectly round that his head could have been used for a football.

He was quoting extensively from the Gospel of Matthew, picking out parts of the parables and sermons and applying them quite effectively to both the audience and the mere passersby. Some clerical folk crossed the square, minor functionaries from the vast Byzantine bureaucracy on some taxing mission, and he immediately pointed to them and cried, “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye devour widows’ houses, and for pretense make long prayer: therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation!”

The bureaucrats frowned and scuttled on, while the crowd laughed. I wondered if there were any Pharisees in the crowd. This being Constantinople, it was quite possible.

He then singled out the spice sellers and screamed, “For ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cumin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law: judgment, mercy, and faith. These ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.”

“He’s quite good,” commented Claudius as we walked by. “I wonder if he knows anything outside of Saint Matthew.”

He must have heard us, for the moving finger pointed my way. I prepared a retort for whichever denunciation of jesters he might summon up, but when he caught my eye, he merely said, “And you, Fool, ere you twist in everlasting Hellfire, I bid you remember the instructions of Saint Luke, chapter one, verses three and four. Live by them, and you shall find salvation.”

I stared at him, at the finger still pointing at me at the end of his long arm, and could think of nothing better to do but stick out my tongue in reply.

“I apologize, Fool,” he cried. “Mark ye, my brethren, here is a Holy Fool indeed, for he speaks only in tongues!”

The crowd laughed. At my expense, they laughed. It galled me.

Claudius looked at me curiously.

“Are you going to let him get away with that?” she asked.

“Come on,” I said roughly. I seized her by the arm and dragged her out of the square into a nearby tavern. We sat down at a table in the corner.

“Well, that was disappointing,” she commented. “I was waiting for a comeback, something good. And what did he say that was so devastating that it quieted you? What was the verse?”

“Luke, chapter one, verses three and four,” I said.

She thought. “I can’t even remember how it goes. It’s just some introduction, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. “ ‘It seemed good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all things from the very first, to write unto thee in order, most excellent Theophilos, that thou mightest know the certainty of those things, wherein thou hast been instructed.’ ”

Her eyes grew large.

“He knows your Guild name?” she said. “Who is he?”

“I think that was Zintziphitzes.”

Her eyes narrowed again.

“You told me that Zintziphitzes was an ugly, hairy man,” she said. “That man, while certainly no beauty, was completely devoid of hair.”

I leaned forward and tugged gently on her false beard.

“Hair doth not make the man,” I said. “I want you to do something for me. Go back into the square, and when he is done preaching, go ask him to join us for a meal. Tell him Genesis, chapter twenty-seven, verse eleven.”

“That one I know,” she said happily, and she left.

Two cups of wine later, she returned, preacher in tow. He had a staff that he leaned on, and was a shriveled man compared to the robust simian of my memory. But his eyes were keen and mocking still, and fixed me with that same quick appraising leer that I saw every time I thought about him.

“A good choice of verse,” he said. “ ‘Behold. Esau, my brother, is a hairy man, and I am a smooth one.’ ”

“Here’s another one for you.
Stultorum numerus
,” I said quietly.

“None of that Guild nonsense,” he said, laughing. “I left them long ago, and I left foolishness when I came to preach the Word.”

“Well, then,” I said, motioning for him to sit with us. “If it would not compromise your hallowed state to be in this tavern, allow me to buy you a meal and some wine.”

“If publicans and harlots were good enough for Our Savior, then this place is good enough for me,” he said, sitting. “Verily, this is my flock.”

I bought enough for the three of us, and he dug in with a will.

“Preaching must stir the appetite as well as the soul,” I observed.

“The body must have its sustenance,” he said. “And collections are uncertain in the open air.”

“Why don’t you preach in an actual church?”

He gave a quick, derisive burst of laughter. “A Guild member asking that. For the reasons you would expect. The Church here is just as corrupt and worthless as the one in Rome.”

“And when did you see the light?”

He leaned back. “About three years ago. In the middle of working the nobility at the Hippodrome. I was brilliant. I had just finished reciting a long, satirical poem that incorporated the names of a hundred people sitting there. Funniest thing since Aristophanes, or at least since the
Timarion
, and completely improvised on the spot. There was gold raining down upon me, enough to keep me going for years. I was at the top of my game, and as I scooped it up, I heard a voice in my head say, ‘Render unto Caesar . . . .’ And that was it. Made my whole existence to that point meaningless. I went to church, prayed, dumped the gold into the poor box, and began preaching. I recommend it. You should try it.”

“I’ll pass, thank you.”

He leaned forward. “You can’t be a fool forever, Theo.”

I leaned across the table until my face was an inch from his. “First, the name at the moment is Feste. Second, the difference between your fooling and mine is that the Fools’ Guild has a higher purpose, one you abandoned a long time ago. So, don’t preach to me, Saul of Tarsus. I’ve been doing God’s work a lot longer than you.”

He smiled. “Competing for God’s favor, are we? The Guild is trying to save the world, and I’m trying to save a few souls. Who has been more successful? Which is more realistic? Where does it get you?”

“In this city, dead.”

He stopped smiling.

“I was wondering who the Guild would send,” he said slowly. “I thought it might be you, if you still lived.”

“Instruct me, preacher, with your perfect understanding. Who is responsible for the deaths of the fools in Constantinople?”

“I suppose, in a way, that I am,” he said, and resumed eating. Claudius drew in her breath, then let it out slowly.

“Could you explain that in a way that won’t make it necessary for me to kill you?” I requested, my right hand resting on the handle of the knife in my boot.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” he said. “Bastard. I didn’t kill them, of course. But I think I inadvertently set events in motion that led to their deaths.”

“Explain.”

“I will, but not here.”

“Why didn’t you contact the Guild after you heard?”

“I tried to, but that troubadour was in too much of a hurry. He didn’t know me, and wouldn’t stop to listen to the ravings of an old man. And by the time I heard he’d returned, I guess they got to him as well. I saw his horse up for sale in the Amastrianum. After that, I decided to lie low for a while.”

He wiped his bowl clean with the last piece of bread and then stood.

“Put your cloak on and your hood up,” he said. “No one followed us in here, but I don’t want to chance being seen with a fool outside. Give me a moment’s lead, then follow me.”

He walked out. I threw my cloak over my motley, and we followed him.

His route took him back toward the Hippodrome. Claudius and I walked separately. I made damn certain that no one was following us this time. Just as the stadium loomed over us, Zintziphitzes ducked into an alleyway that neither of us would have
noticed otherwise. We stopped at the entrance and looked down it. It cut between two stonecutting shops and had no apparent outlet other than the one in which we stood. Zintziphitzes stood at the end of it, waving merrily.

“I don’t like the smell of this,” said Claudius.

“Now, now,” I admonished her. “He’s an old man. He’s bound to smell a little bit.”

“He had Guild training once. That means he knows how to kill.”

“Among other things. But why would he want to kill us?”

“I’m just bringing up a possibility.”

“Fine, Apprentice. No reason not to be careful.” I walked into the alley.

“This is your idea of careful?” she muttered, but she followed me, glancing behind her.

“Well done,” commented the preacher. “Time for me to let you in on a few secrets.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

“The other fools always envied my ability to get information,” he said modestly. “I had the most intimate details at my beck and call, and all of the freshest variety. The Hippodrome was my personal theater. And there was a reason for that.”

He reached down and pulled up a pair of large flagstones, revealing a hole that a slender man could enter. He then lowered himself into it.

“Come on,” he said.

We looked down inside. There was a tunnel, going toward the Hippodrome. Zintziphitzes fumbled in the darkness, and a small flame came up. He was holding a candle.

I lowered Claudius, then jumped down. The hole was about five feet deep. I pulled the flagstones into place, which forced me into a crouch.

“I normally do this in the dark,” said the old fool. “However, one must be more accommodating when one has guests, don’t you think?”