Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery (7 page)

“And that is what you are? An entertainer?” asked the priest, if that was what he was.

“I have many talents,” I said. “But being a fool has kept me in my cups for many a year.”

“Then let me counsel you,” he said. “They call me Father Esaias. I run this neighborhood. I watch my flocks very carefully, especially by night.”

“When the fleecing is done.”

“Exactly. I have no interest in entertainment. In fact, I have very little sense of humor, and what amuses me, many find terrifying. The last time I laughed was when an overly ambitious young cutpurse went beyond his assigned territory. He was found hanging by—well, the details aren’t important.”

“Not at all.”

“So, as long as I see you doing your little tumbling routines in the markets, I will have no need to bring God’s wrath down
upon you. But interfere with any of our activities, or try your luck without our permission or our participation in the proceeds, then I will laugh at your antics myself.”

“I understand entirely. And if I need further religious instruction, where may I find you in my hour of need?”

“At the church, my son. Saint Stephen’s, down toward the river.”

I reached into my purse and handed him a coin.

“For the orphans, Father.”

He stood, took it, and glided out of the inn.

“That was well done,” commented a man to my right. He held out his hand, and I took it. “Peter Kamantares.”

“Feste, the Fool, at your service. My manservant, Claudius.”

Claudius nodded politely, her mouth full.

“Does everyone here end up working for him?” I asked.

“When times are good, there’s no need. Some of the fellows here prefer the night.”

“You are not one of them, I take it.”

He shrugged. “Times have not always been good. But I work in the slaughterhouse. There’s always a demand for fresh meat in this city.”

He introduced us to some of the other residents of the inn. There was Michael, a huntsman; Asan, a small, lithe fellow who had the look of a pickpocket if ever I saw one; Stephanos, a burly, heavily bearded man who I certainly would want on my side in a fight; and a table full of Russians who kept to themselves. Peter told me they had rowed across the Black Sea in a boat filled with furs, sold them at a huge profit, and then drank, whored, and gambled their way to the Rooster, where they now had too little coin to resupply their way back.

The fire was down to embers. I stood, stretched, and bade our new companions a good evening. Simon was wiping the cups with
a rag that looked far from clean. I leaned on the counter and beckoned to him.

“If by chance you see another fool by the name of Tiberius, tell him I’m in town.”

He scowled. “What would you with that rascal?”

“He owes me money,” I said. “A considerable sum. He is truly what drew me back to this city.”

“Join the club,” replied Simon. “He owes half of Constantinople. There’s been plenty looking for him, but he’s vanished.”

“When?”

“I couldn’t say exactly. Sometime before Christmas. He used to come in here a lot. I made the mistake of letting him drink on credit. I won’t make that mistake with you.”

“I won’t give you cause, my dear sir. Tapsters are my closest friends in the world.”

“No need for friendship, Fool. Just pay up front, and we’ll get along fine.”

I lit a candle and led Claudius upstairs.

The room was not even the third best room, if I was any judge of quality. The pallet was a pile of moldy straw with a ragged sheet thrown over it, and I had the distinct feeling that we would not be the only creatures sharing it this evening. Viola laid out our bags as far from it as she could, which in the space allotted us was maybe three feet away.

“Could we go back to the woods?” she asked.

I held a finger to my lips and listened at the doorway. There was no actual door, just another sheet tacked onto the lintel for privacy. I took a length of twine and fastened it across the entrance about a foot from the ground.

“Keep your disguise on,” I whispered. “Do you want first watch or second?”

“I’ll take first,” she said.

I stretched out on the pallet. She came over and hauled my boots off, then sat down for me to return the favor. She pulled a blanket from her bedroll and huddled on the other side of the doorway.

“You told Simon that story to give you an excuse to go looking for Tiberius,” she whispered as I blew out the candle. “I like that. I never thought I could fall in love with someone who could lie as proficiently as you do.”

“Thank you, milady.”

“How long will we have to keep watch in this lovely hostel?”

“At least for the first few nights.”

A little bit of moonlight came through the window, enough for me to discern her eyes gleaming from the corner, like some nocturnal rodent watching me for an opportunity.

“You realize, of course, that if I am to remain in male garb, that we will have to forgo conjugal relations,” she remarked.

“I thought you were tired of riding.”

She gave a quick, quiet bark of laughter, fortunately still in Claudius’s voice. I closed my eyes.

I am a light sleeper, partly by nature, partly by training. Something stirred my dreams enough for me to lurch to my feet, knife in hand, before I was entirely awake. My eyes, when they had finally adjusted to the dark, saw Claudius, sword drawn, sitting on top of a dark form.

“What have we here, my good man?” I asked.

“A rat, sir,” she replied. “A veritable vermin.”

“Isn’t this my room?” protested the man. I pulled the sheet over the doorway and lit the candle. It was Asan, one of the fellows from the evening table. He was dressed in dark clothing, and had smeared his face with charcoal.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to wash your face before bed?” I asked him.

He muttered something that reflected upon my mother. I chose to ignore it, and knelt down by his head, my knife resting on his neck. He became still.

“You’re a poor excuse for a burglar,” I said.

“Can’t blame a fellow for trying,” he replied.

“Oh, yes, I can. Now, my first inclination is to slit your throat and be done with it, but I’d hate to be thrown out of a place when I’ve already paid for two weeks in advance. I suppose I could turn you over to the authorities.”

“But I have the feeling that you’d rather have no contact with the guard if you can help it,” said Asan hurriedly.

“I wasn’t talking about them,” I said sharply. “Father Esaias might be interested in this little incident. The Rooster is off-limits, isn’t it?”

“How did you know that?” he whispered.

I cuffed him. “You’re a puppy,” I said. “I was picking pockets when your mother’s milk was still wet on your lips. You think I don’t know this city? Maybe I’ll just give you to Esaias and be done with you.”

“Please, sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he babbled.

I cuffed him again, and he shut up.

“What say you, Claudius?” I asked. “Shall we let him live?”

“I don’t see what use he could be to us,” said Claudius slowly. “He bungled this job.”

“No, no, I’m no good at nightwork, but I can pick pockets, and I’m a good lookout, and I can find you anything you want here.”

I raised my hand, and he quieted. I lowered it.

“As it happens, I am looking for someone,” I said. “A fool like myself. His name is Tiberius.”

“I know him!” he said excitedly. “You see? I’m useful!”

“I’d like to know where he is,” I continued. “Find him, and
there may even be a little something in it for you. Although continued existence seems ample profit under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll have word for you by sundown tomorrow.”

“Search him, then let him go,” I commanded.

She rummaged through his clothing, found no weapons, and then let him stand, her sword constantly at his chest.

“Until tomorrow, my friend,” I said. “Go get some sleep. And wash that face. Our landlord may not appreciate the mess on his fine linens.”

He slunk into the hallway. I leaned outside the doorway and watched him until he entered his room.

“Well done,” I said to Viola. “Only use your knife next time. Swords are a liability when there’s no room to swing them.”

“All right. Shall we assume that’s it for the evening?”

“Not at all. Get some sleep. It’s my turn to keep watch.”

We left the Rooster at midmorning, a jester’s normal working time. I took only my working bag with me, leaving most of my gear behind. I left my sword as well. We could afford to appear less belligerent now that we had made it inside the city walls. Viola kept her sword. It was the day’s plan that I would do the performing, and she would keep an eye on the crowd.

“Is that our entire plan?” she asked.

“No,” I replied. “But I have to establish myself immediately. A fool who does not care about entertaining is clearly a spy. At some point, we’ll go search out where my colleagues dwelled.”

The road from our immediate neighborhood carried us south, following the gentle rise of the Xerolophon toward the southwest branch of the Mese. Bakeries on both sides of the road scented the air until we could stand it no longer and bought enough bread for two meals. Although the road was more or less straight,
the side streets twisted and turned in a labyrinth of passages, houses of stone and brick crammed together, the upper floors projecting over the streets, greedily seizing every possible square foot while blocking the sun from reaching the pedestrians.

People swarmed everywhere. Constantinople is the crossroads of the world, and every nation sent its representatives to seek their fortunes, or to seek someone else’s fortune. Franks, Vlachs, Pechenegs, Turks, Russians, Alans, and Latins all scurried about, speaking Greek with varying proficiencies and in a profusion of accents.

Our road met the Mese in the Forum of Arkadios. The pillar erected to the memory of that emperor overlooked us, a pile of immense, squared stones stacked to over a hundred feet. They say there had once been a statue of Arkadios himself on top, but an earthquake had sent it plummeting long ago.

There were pillars all over the city, as various emperors and their wives competed for posterity. Many in this superstitious time would observe which personage’s representation was struck down by one calamity or another and try to interpret what it portended. Some of the more cynical would merely place elaborate wagers on which statue would be the next to topple.

A small squad of soldiers marched by, their body armor almost cylindrical in shape, enormous single-edged axes carried casually over their shoulders. Their standard was a dragon, spewing flames on a blue field. A few of them were chattering as we passed.

“They were speaking English,” exclaimed Viola in astonishment.

“The Varangian Guard,” I explained. “A lot of them are English. They first came after the Norman Conquest. More have come since then, especially after the Crusades stranded a few. Very devoted to the emperor, at least until he’s been overthrown. Then they’re very devoted to the next emperor.”

Another squad passed us, consisting of extremely tall, fair-haired men, similarly attired.

“Those are also Varangians?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“But they weren’t speaking English. I don’t recognize that language.”

“Danish,” I said. “Those who aren’t English are usually from the north. They send them down here for experience.”

“You speak Danish?” she asked.

“Fluently.”

“Strange,” she said. “Why would you need that language? I thought you spent most of your career around the Mediterranean.”

“I don’t need it. It was thrust upon me by accident of birth.”

“You’re Danish?”

“Originally.”

“But how did you end up . . .?”

“Second anniversary, Duchess. Here’s a likely spot. Let’s get to work.”

The market was in full haggle as farmers in from the outlying regions vended their produce, huntsmen sold freshly killed venison from their bloodied carts, and woodsmen stood before stacks of, well, wood. The smaller children ran screaming around the forum, dashing fearlessly around and occasionally under the hooves of the passing horses, while the older ones watched their parents’ goods. A clump of them saw me and scampered over expectantly. I arranged them in a largish circle with as much pomp as I could muster, then shook my head in mock dissatisfaction and rearranged them several more times. Then, I pulled out five balls and sent them flying, occasionally sending a ball at one of the children and catching the return toss.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Claudius drift over to a
nut seller and engage in some spirited negotiation, which conveniently provided her with a good view of my performance and the crowd that gathered.

I continued for an hour, working knives and torches into the juggling, pulling out my tabor and flute and playing both simultaneously, singing a number of silly songs, and finishing with a lengthy encomium to their glorious city, thanking the crowd for their most gracious and heartfelt welcome. Then I picked up the scattered coins thrown in my direction. All bronze—this was not the wealthiest of forums, but when one is new in town, one should start at the bottom.

“Thank you, good people,” I shouted. “Should you desire further entertainment, leave word at the Rooster for Feste, the Fool.”

I picked up my gear and walked out of the market. I ventured a few hundred feet down the Mese, then turned onto a side street where I saw a likely tavern. A few minutes later, Claudius sat by me and silently held out a cloth bag filled with nuts. I took some.

“You weren’t followed,” she said. “I didn’t see anyone in the crowd who looked unduly interested.”

“I wouldn’t have expected it the first day,” I said.

“What shall we do after lunch?”

“Let’s go look at Demetrios’s room. It’s time to revert to our other function.”

“So, in this case function follows forum.”

I winced. “I don’t think you’re quite ready to go solo, Apprentice, but keep trying.”

We walked together down the Mese. Claudius glanced wistfully back at the Pillar of Arkadios.