Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery (27 page)

“Don’t say that,” she said, sitting up and putting her arms around me.

“And it’s more than just this,” I said. “I get the sense that this may be part of some greater plot. Somewhere at the bottom of all this is a threat to the Fools’ Guild. We’ve been operating behind the scenes for centuries without anyone being much the wiser, but our little secret band of manipulators is no longer a secret. First Malvolio infiltrated us; now we’re being cut down one by one here.”

“Except for Thalia,” she reminded me.

“Those scars were real, and they weren’t self-inflicted,” I said. “Say what you will about the rest of her story, there’s no question someone stabbed her in the back.”

“Probably a jealous woman,” muttered Aglaia.

“Peace, good wife,” I said. “You have nothing to fear on that score. You are far superior to her in every respect.”

“Including foolery?” she asked.

I kissed her. “Yes, including that. She can outdo you in tumbling, but that’s about it.”

We stood up and looked around. Still nobody watching us. All we could see were some cattle herders who had been there before we came, and a group of soldiers guarding some kind of construction activity.

“Varangians,” I said, catching sight of their colors.

“Isn’t that Henry?” she said as we walked in that direction.

“So it is,” I said. “I wonder when he got back.”

The Englishman hailed us from the top of another hill. The soldiers who we had most recently seen bathing were standing around, watching teams of prisoners linked by chains at their necks. The prisoners were attacking the hill with shovels, heaving the dirt into wagons. When a wagon became full, it was hauled over to a nearby ravine and emptied of its cargo.

“Hello, Feste,” said Henry, coming over to join us. “What have you there? Looks like a woman under all of that whiteface.”

“It is indeed, good Henry,” I replied. “Meet Aglaia, my wife and colleague.”

“Wife!” he exclaimed. “I had no idea you were married.” He doffed his helmet and bowed. She returned the salute. He looked at her closely.

“I would almost swear that we’ve met before,” he said. “Aglaia’s your name?”

“It is,” she replied. “But Aglaia has never met Henry, and Henry has never met Aglaia. You must be confusing me with another fool.”

“That must be it,” I agreed. “So, what brings you back into town so soon? It was just a few days ago that you were rotating out to the Double Column to guard Isaakios.”

“Ah, they finally decided to stop coddling the old fellow,” he said ruefully. “They’re moving him to the prison at the Anemas Garrison tomorrow so they can keep a closer eye on a blind man. Since it’s in Blachernae, it falls under the jurisdiction of the Imperial Guard. I tell you, it’s no way to treat an emperor, deposed or not.”

“It certainly isn’t,” I agreed.

“So, instead of cushy, meaningless guard duty at the Double Column, we get to stand around in the heat and watch these prisoners work.”

“And what exactly is it that they are doing?” asked Aglaia.

“Well, milady,” he said, scratching his head. “What they are doing is digging up this hill, the one we are standing upon, and taking the dirt, and dumping it into that ravine.”

“I see,” she said. “Thank you for that explanation.”

“Oh, that’s not an explanation,” he said. “That’s just what they’re doing. What you wish to know is why they are doing it.”

“Not every fool is in whiteface, I see,” she said, smiling.

“What comes of hanging around you lot,” he said, smiling back. “Well, one fine day, as it was told to me, the Emperor was riding back from a hunt, and passed by this very spot.”

“Oh, happy spot, to be passed by such an Emperor,” I said.

“It was not a happy day for the spot, as it turned out,” continued Henry. “He had had a bad hunt, and was in a foul mood. His eye fell upon that ravine over there. He said, ‘I do not like that ravine.’ He then saw this hill.”

“The one we are standing upon,” said Aglaia.

“Indeed, milady. And he said, ‘I do not like that hill much, either.’ And then, being the all-powerful monarch that he is, he gives an order to have the hill leveled, and the dirt used to fill in that ravine, thus killing two birds with one stone.”

“Thus does tyranny make the world flat,” I said. “And you get to stand around and watch it happen. Fortunate old you.”

He spat.

“It’s ridiculous,” he said softly. “There are walls to rebuild, ships to construct, troops to train. The empire is falling apart, and he has us doing this. Do you know why? Because when it’s done, he’s going to have more vineyards put in, because the imperial imbibing requires more wine than there is in all of Byzantium.
I tell you, the old Emperor wouldn’t have treated us like this. But that’s why Alexios does, because the Varangians were Isaakios’s favorites.”

“That’s too bad,” I said.

“So, how is it with you? Last I saw, you were getting ready to play the Hippodrome.”

“I did well. The Emperor liked me so much that I am now a regular visitor at Blachernae.”

“What happened to Claudius?”

“Vanished. I suppose he got tired of being treated like a servant.”

“Hm,” he said. He glanced at Aglaia for a moment, then shook his head. “Say, did you happen to see who won the guards’ footrace?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Sorry, it wasn’t a Varangian. An Imperial Guard named Lasparas.”

“I knew it!” he crowed. He turned and shouted up the hill. “Hey, Cnut! Come down here. You owe me money, boy!”

Cnut came strolling down the hill.

“What for?” he said.

“Lasparas won the footrace at the Hippodrome.”

Cnut’s face fell, and he dug into his pouch and threw a coin to Henry.

“I can’t believe I keep losing like this,” he said. “I’m going to have to give up betting at this rate.”

“It might be a sound policy,” I agreed. “How long has it been since you’ve won one?”

“Must have been nearly a year ago,” he said.

“Right,” agreed Henry. “When Simon won that footrace on the Mese.”

“Simon used to race?” I said. “I never would have guessed.”

“Like the wind,” said Henry. “We used to bet on him regularly.
Well, a pleasure to see you both. I’d invite you to perform at the baths again, but seeing as you have a lady partner now . . . unless she could do the act blindfolded.”

“I’ll have to practice that for a while,” said Aglaia. “Well met, good Henry.”

We walked off.

“Good thing I’m wearing whiteface,” she commented. “I swear I was blushing underneath.” She stopped and looked at me. “What is it?”

I grabbed her by the shoulders.

“When I told you Simon was a Templar, you said something was odd about that. What was it?”

She thought back.

“I was almost asleep,” she remembered. “But I remember you saying that, and I said you wouldn’t expect to see a Templar here.”

“Why not?”

“The Templars are set up along pilgrim routes to the Holy Land. We have a couple in Orsino. Constantinople was never one of their stops, because pilgrims usually go by sea once they reach Italy or Dalmatia. The Byzantines prey upon pilgrims, so they avoid Byzantium like the plague. I suppose he could have just retired here, but I thought it was an odd choice. The ones I’ve met generally retire near active Templar sites.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” I said excitedly.

“Why is this important?” she asked.

“A year ago, Simon was running races,” I said. “Now, he walks with a limp.”

“So, he hurt his leg,” she said.

“Yes, but when? When I was bathing, after you had gone to see about the horses, he joined me. We compared notes about our scars.”

“Men,” she shuddered.

“He told me that his limp was the result of a spear thrust during the Crusades. But he couldn’t have been winning footraces a year ago if that was the case. So, he’s lying about how he got it.”

“Why?”

“Did you hear the one about the man who challenged a dwarf to a duel?”

She looked at me, realization dawning.

“How does it go?” she asked softly.

“He was in over his head. The little bastard stabbed him in the leg.”

“Niko,” she breathed. “It must have been. But we have no way of proving this. And how does it tie in to the plot to kill Alexios?”

“It doesn’t,” I said triumphantly.

“Now, you’ve really lost me. Why not?”

“Because there never was a plot to kill Alexios. We’ve been chasing around after something that doesn’t exist and never has. That’s why we haven’t been followed.”

“Wait a minute. If there’s no plot, why were all the fools killed?”

“I didn’t say there wasn’t a plot. I said, there was never a plot to kill Alexios.”

“But there is a plot?”

“Yes.”

“A plot worth killing that many people?”

“Yes.”

“And who is this plot against?”

“The Emperor.”

She stood there, fuming.

“As someone once said, ‘That, that is, is,’ ” she said. “There is not a plot against Alexios, but there is a plot against the Emperor.”

“Correct.”

“I am thinking about plotting against you right now,” she said. “Alexios is the Emperor, is he not?”

“Last time I checked.”

“I give up. Exactly what are you talking about?”

“What were Zintziphitzes’ words when he repeated the conversation he overheard?”

She closed her eyes and summoned up the conversation. “ ‘This will be interesting. I’ve never killed an emperor before.’ ”

“Very good. Think about that for a moment. Not
the
Emperor,
an
emperor.”

“But that’s silly,” she protested. “How many emperors . . .” Then she stopped.

I smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“There are two emperors,” she said. “That that is, and that that was. The man who kills Isaakios will be killing an emperor. That’s what you’re talking about.”

“Correct, my love. And I think that man is Simon. I don’t know if he’s acting for the Knights of the Temple, or if he’s working for someone else, but he’s in place, waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Waiting for Isaakios to be moved to a place where Simon has access. The Varangians are still protective toward Isaakios despite their avowed loyalty to the current Emperor. There’s no way they would plot against him. So, arrangements had to be made to remove Isaakios from their hands. Only Alexios has been dragging his feet on that. He only made up his mind to do it today.”

“But Isaakios is being moved into another prison. How does that make it any easier to get at him?”

“Because the prison at the Anemas Garrison is controlled by the Imperial Guard. They owe Isaakios no loyalty.”

Aglaia thought for a moment.

“Zintziphitzes said the conversation came from Philoxenites’ box at the Hippodrome,” she said. “Philoxenites wasn’t there on the day it happened. Simon delivered wineskins to the games, so he could have met someone there easily. And if he was meeting an Imperial Guardsman in an empty box, nobody would suspect anything because the guards are supposed to be patrolling there.” She snapped her fingers. “When we first met Stanislaus, it was at the Rooster. Kind of a long way to go for a drink. We thought he was checking us out for Thalia.”

“But first someone had to tell him we were there. And he knew about Asan’s death. I thought he had heard about it from Thalia, but maybe his source is Simon. Considering that he told her he was having me watched to see who was trying to kill me, and not only is there no one trying to kill me but no one else watching for anyone trying to kill me, then that was a lie. And since he’s been one of the people urging Alexios to transfer Isaakios to Anemas, that makes him a prime candidate for this conspiracy.”

“Captain Stanislaus, the loyal soldier.”

“He’s loyal, all right. But not to Constantinople.”

“To whom, then?”

“He came through with Frederick on the last Crusade. He came back here rather than go all the way home. I’m guessing he’s still working for the Swabians.”

“Still, we have no proof. We have evidence of some lies, but nothing we can use to convince anyone.”

“The only proof we can get is to catch them in the act and stop them.”

She looked at me.

“In order to catch them in the act, you are going to have to be with Isaakios,” she said.

“Yes. I have some ideas on how to do that.”

“I have a feeling I’m not going to be happy about any of them.”

“Probably not, but if I’m right, we don’t have much time. Isaakios arrives at the garrison tomorrow.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go get Thalia.”

“Why?” she asked indignantly. “What can she do that I cannot? And how can you trust her to do anything?”

“I want to find out if I can trust her. If I can, then I can use her. Bring her to Father Esaias’s church. Use the password—don’t let her know you’re just an apprentice. Tell her it’s urgent, and make sure she doesn’t leave any word for Stanislaus.”

“All right,” she said.

“Viola?”

“Yes, Feste?”

“She carries four knives. Keep her hands in sight.”

“All right.”

I hurried down the river to Saint Stephen’s. It was late afternoon, and the penitents had yet to gather. Father Melchior was standing inside the entrance. He nodded when he saw me and motioned me toward the steps to the crypts.

“I am expecting two of my colleagues to join us,” I informed him. “Two women.”

“Very good, my son. I shall escort them down when they arrive. You are expected. Go right on in.”

I went downstairs to the altar, knocked on the secret panel, and entered when it slid open. Father Theodore was standing just inside, sword in hand. He brought me to Father Esaias, who was sitting on a chair, sipping from a jeweled goblet. He beckoned me forward, and I knelt in front of him.

“Greetings, my son,” he said. “How may I help you in your hour of need?”

“O Ghostly Father,” I said. “Teach me that I may go to prison.”

The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and down
.

KEATS,
ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE