Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery (12 page)

We came back to the Rooster with no apparent tail, had a quiet dinner for a change, and retired for the evening.

“I’ll take first watch,” I said, settling into position.

“I’ll let you,” she said sleepily. “So, now we know what we’re up against. I should be terrified. But I think I’m more nervous about our performance at the Hippodrome. How many people will be watching us?”

“If it’s full, about a hundred thousand.”

“Oh, is that all? Silly me to be nervous. Why, I’ve played to literally dozens of people at a time.”

“Just make your gestures grand, Duchess. Otherwise, it’s exactly the same.”

“Who says I married beneath myself?” she sighed. “A few months with you, and I’m a Grand Duchess.”

“Keep that one,” I said, and she smiled as she fell asleep.

I often found myself up at this hour. Normal for a jester returning from an evening of entertaining. Too tightly strung to fall asleep, yet too exhausted to move. My mind loosened by wine. I did my stretches silently in the moonlight, while my beloved breathed deep nearby. I watched her, wanting her to be a woman again, to be Viola, my wife, and wondering when we would have time for each other.

So we had the why of it at last. Someone had killed six of my colleagues. Friends. Lover, briefly, in one case. Bad idea, getting involved like that, but I had returned from the last Crusade Beyond-the-Sea only slightly scathed, and in the full flush of my survival had wanted her embrace. I never knew why she wanted mine. But then the lesser king who was my assignment ended his own dalliance in the city, and off I went. I couldn’t say goodbye—she was a street performer back then, and we’d only find each other at sunset. I left a hurried note for her, and that was
the last contact I had with her. I trusted that she would understand. Now, I would never know if she had.

Those were fine times for fools back then. Isaakios was Emperor, always one for entertaining. He had deposed Andronikos, who was a true horror, so Constantinople was beholden to him no matter how badly he ran the place. He had married a Hungarian princess for the political alliance, which was not unusual. She was nine at the time, which unfortunately also was not unusual. By the time she grew to womanhood, he had long given way to licentious parties with all manner and combinations of women, which was the least unusual for a Byzantine emperor. It could have been worse. Andronikos would have had no compunction about taking a child-bride into his bed.

Niko and Piko came to the city then, and there was a witty fool named Chalivoures to whom we reported. He indulged himself in the Emperor’s leavings, which probably led to his own early demise a year or two later. It was one long party, was old Constantinople, and now the century’s passed, the city’s falling apart, Isaakios is a comfortable but blind prisoner, and all the fools are dead.

Except for me, my bearded duchess, and an old man who lives in a drain.

Now, I had to find my way into the Emperor’s chambers, sort out the powers surrounding him, figure out which one was organizing the assassination, and then . . .

Well, then what? Did the failed efforts of my colleagues mean that I had to follow the same course and succeed? Maybe the assassination of the Emperor would be in the Guild’s interest, depending on who would ascend to the throne.

Which would mean that the deaths of my colleagues would go unavenged.

But vengeance was not part of my mission. I was hoping that it would be a gratifying corollary, but the Guild’s goals came before any personal ones.

And if that meant that six of us had died in vain, then so be it. That’s the way of the world sometimes.

I was getting ready to wake Claudius when I heard a faint noise in the hallway. I held my knife up, waiting. In the streak of moonlight coming through the window, I saw a hand reach through the lower part of the doorway and feel around until it encountered the twine stretched across. Then a foot came in, stepping carefully over it.

I held the knife in the moonlight so that the blade reflected it into the face of Asan. He blinked once when it hit his eyes, then several more times when he saw the source of the reflection.

“Good evening,” I said.

“Um, just checking to see everything’s all right,” he said quickly.

“Very considerate of you,” I said. “Everything’s fine here. I trust that it will remain so.”

“Certainly,” he said. “Well, I’ll be off to bed, then.”

“Good night,” I said politely.

“Can’t blame a fellow for trying,” he muttered as he left.

“Keep the day job,” I called after him.

Claudius stirred. “Is everything all right?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Another nocturnal visit from Asan. Your turn to watch. Good night.”

I wanted to finish checking out the residences of my late colleagues, so in the late morning we crossed the Lycos and walked north. We crossed the northwestern branch of the Mese, picking our way through the fast-moving carts and wains with some difficulty.
As we reached the other side, there was a sudden commotion nearby.

Dozens of Imperial Guards fanned onto the street, using their bronze shields to force the pedestrians to the sides of the road. I pulled Claudius into the shelter of a doorway, and we watched as the guards then halted the equestrian traffic, driving back the riders with whips and clubs. In a remarkably short time, they had cleared a wide space leading to a bronze statue of some ancient emperor whose name had long been forgotten, standing in full armor, his left hand beckoning beyond the walls to the north.

“Take my advice and start cheering,” called a captain. “You don’t want her angry.”

A reluctant huzzah poured from the crowd, which became more enthusiastic as the guards began poking the quieter ones with clubs. Soon we heard the clopping of several horses, and murmurs of, “There she is! The Empress approaches!”

A team of four matched white mares trotted around the corner, pulling a white chariot covered with intricate gold decorations. The charioteer was garbed in a garish getup that combined red leather with all manner of dyed feathers, yet the sword he carried was huge, and his arms looked perfectly capable of swinging it through anyone who chose to ridicule it. I chose not to. You have to pick your moments.

The Empress Euphrosyne lay back on a seat covered with red silk cushions. She had introduced the scandalous custom of appearing unveiled in public, and she now flaunted her still potent charms to the world. She wore a gold tunic with fitted sleeves covered with raised embroidery and uncut gems. Her collar was wide, made of several rows of beads of faience. Over it she wore a necklace that looked to be a string of pierced gold coins. Her hair was braided in a complicated pattern and covered with a golden crown shaped as a two-tiered skullcap with a small golden
cross on top, a lattice of hanging drop pearls dangling from either side. Still more gems swung from her ears, encircled her waist, and gleamed from her golden shoes. Even the falcon resting on her left wrist was adorned, its leather hood encrusted with the precious stones.

The procession halted in front of the statue. The Empress whispered something to an adviser who rode on horseback by the side of the chariot. He nodded, and she stood.

“So, you think to betray us, do you?” she cried, addressing the statue. “No longer satisfied with your own glory, you must drag your descendants down so that you may appear even greater. Well, we can’t have that, can we? I will give you one chance. Lower that hand that invites our enemies from the north, and I will let you alone.”

She waited, her arms folded. There was no word from the crowd. Even the horses were still. This went on for an impressively long time.

“Very well,” she said finally. “You brought this upon yourself.”

She nodded to her driver, who stepped down from the chariot and drew his sword. He swung it once over his head, then brought it down in a streak of light. The statue’s offending arm clattered to the ground.

She turned to face the uncomprehending crowd.

“So shall all of our enemies be punished,” she cried. “Doom to those who oppose our city!”

“Long live the Empress, our gracious protectress,” prompted the guards, and the crowd took up the cheer somewhat uncertainly.

She basked in her assumed glory. The driver boarded the chariot, took up the reins, and was about to turn it around when a harsh dissenting voice began screaming from a rooftop.

“Strumpet!” it cried. “Strumpet! Strumpet! Strumpet!”

It was a small, dark bird that someone had apparently trained for the occasion. Many in the crowd burst into laughter, quickly stilled by the raised clubs of the guards. The threat didn’t appear too serious, as many of the guards were stifling smiles as well.

The Empress turned a shade of red darker than the considerable amount of rouge already covering her face. Slowly, she removed the hood from her falcon. She whispered something to it, then loosened the jesses.

The falcon shot straight through the air. There was a squawk and a spray of blood and feathers from the rooftop, then silence. The falcon returned, dripping gore, and settled on its mistress’s waiting wrist. She held it up to her face and kissed it gently. Some of the blood got onto her mouth. I don’t think she noticed. Or perhaps she didn’t care.

The chariot turned and retraced its route. The guards disappeared. Normal traffic resumed.

“I wonder where I could get one of those talking birds,” I remarked. “Might be fun to work it into the act.”

“I want a falcon,” declared Claudius. “She may be insane, but she’s insane with style. Has she always been like this?”

“I didn’t see her when I was here last,” I said. “But this behavior is completely consistent with the stories I’ve heard.”

“But I’ve heard she also practically runs the place,” said Claudius.

“That’s been true on and off,” I said. “She’s been in and out of favor. One of her more blatant adulteries was once brought to the Emperor. Alexios was too frightened of her to confront her directly, so he had her servants tortured to get the details. He had her lover dismembered, and his head brought to her in a sack. Then he threw her into a convent for a while. But now she’s back.”

“And the city statues have been trembling ever since,” said
Claudius. “Do you think it would be worth trying to warn the Emperor through her?”

“Possibly,” I said. “Zintziphitzes said they don’t see each other much nowadays, but she certainly would have an interest in keeping him alive. He’s the source of her power. There’s a problem with that, however.”

“What is that?”

“She won’t have a male fool. That was why Thalia was so important.”

We walked on, Claudius thinking.

“May I suggest something obvious?” she said.

“Yes?”

“Present appearances to the contrary, I have been known to be a woman. Why not let me become fool to the Empress?”

“Not a chance, Apprentice. You’re not ready.”

She stopped.

“When
will
I be ready?” she asked. “I’ve been training for months. You haven’t let me perform since we’ve come to town.”

“I need you watching my back right now. And as for the length of time, Guild training takes years.”

“For the children they recruit,” she snapped. “I am no child, Feste. I deserve a little credit for everything I’ve done with my life.”

“You’re not ready,” I said. “And I’m not going to send a novice into the lion’s jaws. Especially when she’s married to me.”

“You’re protecting me.”

“We protect each other.”

We walked on in silence. Not a companionable silence at that particular moment.

Thalia had a couple of rooms in a house near the seawall fronting the Golden Horn. Her former landlord was out front mending a fishnet when I inquired about her.

“And who are you?” he asked suspiciously.

“An old friend of hers,” I said.

“She had a lot of old friends, didn’t she?” he said, winking. “Very friendly girl was our Thalia. They’d be dropping by at all hours, you know. If I wasn’t so sure she did it for free, I would have run her out for keeping a bawdy house.”

“Do you know where she’s gone?” I asked.

“Not a clue. Ran off with some sailor is my guess. I didn’t even notice. She was paid up through the end of the month, and it wasn’t unusual for her not to come home for several days at a time, if you know what I mean. Not to mention keeping Her Battiness amused.”

“What about her belongings?”

“Oh, some relative came by and picked them up,” he said.

“Who?”

“Some cousin. Don’t remember his name.”

“Well, there’s a trip wasted,” I said. “If you see her, tell her I said hello.”

We walked off.

“That will be difficult,” commented Claudius. “As you never told him your name.”

“Didn’t I? How careless of me. So, this one is different.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “They came back for her things. I wonder why.”

“She must have found something. Maybe they tortured her and learned what it was, then had to come back for it.”

My voice sounded strangled, even to myself. Claudius looked at me with compassion.

“It may have been a quick death,” she said. “We can’t know. I’m sorry, Feste. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

“It was a long time ago,” I said. “I don’t know that it was love. But I cared for her. What could she have found?”

“Is there any point in going to the dwarves’ house?” she asked. “We’re probably too late to find anything.”

“That may be the one place where something could still be turned up,” I said. “You’ll see why.”

The Emperor Isaakios Angelos had so adored Niko and Piko that he built them a palace. It was an exact replica of the palace at Blachernae, except that it was about twelve feet high. All of the columns, arches, friezes, and so forth were recreated in miniature, with marble blocks the size of a child’s hand.

“How wonderful!” exclaimed Claudius as we walked by it.

“You see why it hasn’t been occupied by anyone since then,” I said. “Now, I need you to go in and search the place. I’ll set up across the square and create a distraction.”