A Death in the Venetian Quarter Page 12

  From the satisfied purr in her voice, I had a pretty good guess as to the nature of this ritual.

  “Well, that’s good enough for me,” I said. “So, who’s the lucky fellow destined to be your emperor?”

  “You’ll see him today,” she whispered eagerly. “Our last stop.” The procession wended its way toward the Great Palace complex at the tip of the peninsula. We stopped at the immense doors of the Chalke Prison, just beyond the entrance to the complex. These were wooden doors, hastily installed after the Emperor Isaakios Angelos had the bronze ones removed and packed off to another church that he favored. He then had the building converted from a church to a prison.

  Now, he sat somewhere inside the prison he had created, guarded by the same Varangians he had once commanded and favored. That he was still alive and guarded so sympathetically was in large part due to the efforts Feste and I made the previous year.

  The warden, a toadie of the Emperor’s who the Varangians barely tolerated, came to greet her when we arrived, bowing obsequiously and calling for the keys in a most grandiose manner. He unlocked a massive iron padlock securing a gate at the end of the entryway, and a slave pushed it open.

  Where once there had been chapels, there were now large communal prison cells, crammed with a mixture of the politically disfavored and disciples of Father Esaias. I knew more of the latter than the former, thanks in part to my unsavory profession, but also because many of those who had displeased the Emperor had done so before my arrival. I winked at a pickpocket who had occasionally helped us out on some matters, and followed Evdokia down the center aisle.

  The status of prisoners rose as one approached the former location of the altar. The cells became less crowded, and I could see that some of them contained some comfortable couches and sideboards laden with roast chickens, bottles of good wine, sweetmeats, and other delicacies. The only thing lacking was light, as oil was a commodity precious above all others. The few lamps that burned marked the quarters of the most influential prisoners.

  Evdokia stopped before a darkened cell and beckoned to me.

  “Though the Alexios who sits on the throne in Blachernae rules all Byzantium, there is another Alexios here,” she said softly. “And he rules my heart, little Fool. My love? Do you hear me?”

  And so came my first encounter with Alexios Doukas. I heard him before I saw him, as a deep rumble came from a far corner of the cell.

  “Is that you, empress of my heart?” he said, and I was put in mind of the caressing growl of a sleepy lion. “Hold the torch so that I may gaze upon your splendor.”

  Her servants hurried up with a pair of torches and stood on either side of her while she posed prettily for his perusal.

  “Did a goddess of antiquity come to walk among mortals again?” he cried. “Is the very simulacrum of Helen standing before me? I must not look directly upon her, for fear that I may be blinded by her radiance.”

  “Oh, get on with it,” muttered one of his cellmates.

  He stepped out of the darkness. I had anticipated a handsome, virile man, one that would cause a young woman to take leave of her senses. I was surprised to see that the home of the croaking compliments was a decrepit, hairy man of sixty, the coarseness of his beard a match for his rough voice, his hair thick, matted, and greasy. He looked like one of those elderly bears that travel with circuses, jammed into a tiny cage and covered with sores, let out only to dance clumsily about a ring before being whipped back to its jail.

  Yet Evdokia looked at him with swoony adoration. She loved him sure, did the little princess, and she eagerly thrust her fingers between the bars for him to bend down and brush his lips across them.

  “I’ve brought you something,” she giggled.

  “What is it, my pet?” he sighed. “Wine to help me pass this sorrow of long separation? Meat to sustain me when I can’t have my fill of your beauteous visage?”

  “Something even better,” she said. “Music! Come, Aglaia. Put your fingers to your strings.”

  I began playing softly upon my lute. A look of disappointment flashed across his face, and the momentary frown caused his bushy eyebrows to meet just over his nose.

  “But I need no music other than the celestial song of your voice,” he said, and she melted against the bars. I kept playing anyway. It’s what I get paid to do, and I didn’t think her voice was so celestial, unless the dominant sound in the heavens is whining.

  “I am in agony,” she cried. “Agony when we are apart and agony when I see you suffering behind these cold bars.”

  “But these are merely earthly barriers, such as mortals may encounter,” he replied. “Our passion is greater than any prison. You must be patient, my sweet. Our deliverance will soon be at hand. God’s own army has arrived, and one way or another, I shall be liberated. I am sure of it. Until then, you must wait for me and no other besides me.”

  “And we will be together forever!”

  “As long as this heart beats, it is yours,” he said, pounding his chest with both hands to make the cliche even more obvious.

  This land once produced Hero and Leander, lovers for the ages. To think that it now produced these paragons of corruption: the Emperor’s least favored daughter and Alexios Doukas, lover for the aged.

  They pressed their faces against the bars and began whispering to each other. Something he said made her blush, a talent I did not know she possessed. Something else caused a wicked giggle to burst from her, but he frowned and she immediately turned serious.

  This went on for some time. Finally, she pulled herself away from the cell, with much fervent casting of glances and blowing of kisses. He made as if to weep, standing at the bars and watching her tearfully depart, but I glanced back as we left and saw him standing there, dry-eyed. He caught me looking and quickly turned away.

  Evy had a knack for falling for the wrong men. I couldn’t see what she saw in this one. It was clear to me that he was using her to try and worm his way back into political favor and freedom, but she was blind to his motives. And to his looks as well. Normally, when she went after a specimen that hideous, there was at least one compensatory factor that was all too obvious. But that wasn’t likely in this case, unless she had bribed the warden to allow the two of them some privacy together, which I suppose was possible. Still, he was a hairy beast, and an old one at that. Perhaps at close range he exhibited some allure that wasn’t evident to me at ten paces. I decided to maintain that distance in all future encounters.

  Evy was unusually somber after her visit to Chalke. My attempts to rouse her from her torpor were met with sighs and stares that went beyond me and across the Bosporos.

  “There is so much misery and sadness in the world,” she mused.

  “Yes, milady.”

  She started slightly, apparently unaware that she had spoken aloud.

  “You think I am daft, wanting him, don’t you?”

  “I am not one to judge, milady. I married a fool.”

  “Well, I don’t care what anyone thinks about him. He is noble of heart, and that is worth all the good-looking young men in the world.”

  I agreed with the sentiment, certainly. I just thought that it was misapplied as to Doukas.

  “You’re probably wondering what we whispered about,” she continued.

  “It is not my place to wonder, milady.”

  “He was saying that in this time of crisis, I should put aside my selfish pursuit of him and devote more time to the caring of others in any way that I can. Is that not a beautiful thing to say?”

  “It is indeed, milady.”

  “Back to Blachernae,” she commanded her driver. “Charity begins at home, Aglaia.”

  “Very good, milady. Will you be needing me further today?”

  “No, little Fool. Your company has been most supportive. Will you be my fool again tomorrow?”

  “If you wish it, then I will.”

  I leapt down from the carriage at the Forum Amastrianum. I was curious about the m
ystery woman that Feste and Plossus had seen. I thought that a woman might reach another woman better than any man could do. In fact, I thought I could do most things better than any man could do, but that’s me.

  I wandered along the seawall by the Golden Horn, passing the Mi-taton Mosque. This was set aside for the Moslem traders who stayed in their own quarter, which was west of the Venetians. I stopped by a spice merchant of my acquaintance and picked up a little local gossip. I came away with nothing more useful than a small box of cinnamon, which he gave me at a friendly markup.

  The faithful were being called to prayer, unrolling their mats and facing east. A woman in front of me joined them, and as she sank to the ground I heard a tinkling of bells. I glanced at her ankles, which had become exposed despite the heavy black cloak she wore to conceal them, and saw the source of the sound: tiny bells around her ankles. It was the Egyptian flutist who shared the Emperor’s bed when he desired it. It never occurred to me that she was religious at all, but the present circumstances were enough to put the fear of God into anyone.

  I had directions to the woman’s house from Plossus. The Fifth Hill was one of the steeper hills in the city, and the winding roads that cut through the lower slopes quickly had me sweating through my motley. I found myself winded, and only then I remembered that walking in this summer heat was not the best thing for a woman in my condition.

  I tried to remember what it was like when I was having my first two children. I had a vague sense that I didn’t do anything active while pregnant in Orsino’s villa. I wasn’t allowed to do anything. I was carried everywhere and propped up with cushions whenever I sat. As a result, I nearly lost both my children and nearly died in the process.

  Well, this one would be different. My little fool needed her exercise, and Lord knows that my training for the Guild had put me into the best physical condition of my pampered life. I took a deep breath and marched up the hill.

  The houses, placed anywhere there was room, were a jumble of odd angles, frequently underpropped to prevent them from sliding right off the hill. Our unknown lady was more fortunate. There was a momentary plateau, as if the road itself had paused to rest and gather itself before attacking the summit. From here I could see that I was close to the monastery of the Church of the Pammakaristos, a modest but beautiful structure of brick and stone. The brick and stone had been hauled up the hill by slaves so that monks could pray to God—and for the emperor who owned the slaves. I suppose the monks thought that by living closer to heaven they wouldn’t have to pray so loudly. Or maybe they just liked the view.

  I located the stone wall and iron gate that shielded the lady’s house from the rare passer-by. I wanted Plossus’s stilts, but lacking the height to see over the wall, I sank to a bug’s level and tried to peer under the gate.

  It was a pleasant dwelling, a two-story marble structure with a simple colonnade in front, giving ample shade while allowing the breezes through. There was an elderly gardener tending to a patch of vegetables.

  “Ho, good sir!” I called. He didn’t react, choosing to continue weeding a plot of beans.

  “Gentle gardener, there is one at the gate who needs watering,” I said. “I feel myself wilting as I speak. Would you give comfort to a weak pilgrim?”

  He moved on to an herb garden, watering it liberally.

  “He’s deaf,” said a woman’s voice.

  I looked toward the house and saw her standing at the front door, looking out from the shade.

  “Then, good lady, may I make the request of you? I am on my way to visit my brother, who is a monk at the monastery above us, but I misjudged the distance and need to refresh myself before I continue.”

  She hesitated, then turned back toward the house. I thought that she was ignoring me, but she came out moments later with a full bucket and a ladle. She came to the gate and unlocked it.

  She was cloaked and veiled, even in this heat. I thought of the first time I set eyes on the woman who would eventually marry my brother. Olivia had been in mourning for her own brother at the time, but had so taken to mourning that she had made it a thing of beauty. This woman, on the other hand, slumped under the weight of her garments. When her hand emerged from the cloak to pass me the ladle, I saw a wrist that was practically a bone picked clean.

  I drank, then handed the ladle back to her.

  “God bless you, lady,” I said. “Will you have something of mine in return?”

  “I ask nothing of pilgrims,” she said.

  “No payment, lady,” I said quickly. “And forgive me for the offense of the implication. But may I sing something for you, or entertain you in some other fashion? I see that you are bereft. I know not whom you lost, but I am sorry for it, and would bring you some comfort.”

  “Your words are comfort enough,” she said. “I thank you for them. Now, we are even. Go in peace.”

  “They say you are a gentlewoman,” I said. “May I know your name, so that I know whom to pray for?”

  “Will you pray for me?” she said, surprised. “Why should you?”

  “Because you gave me water,” I said. “Because you grieve. And because I think that you fear for your life.”

  She stepped back and tried to close the gate, but I had already stepped forward into the interior yard.

  “Why are you here?” she cried.

  “I wish to help you,” I said. “You are alone here. That old man couldn’t stop even someone so weak as me. For whom do you grieve, lady?”

  “It does not concern you. Go away.”

  “Was it a husband? I know what it is like to lose a husband.”

  “My husband lives,” she spat.

  “A brother? I have a brother, and I once thought him lost forever. It was the darkest day of my young life.”

  “No. Go away, please.”

  “A lover, then,” I said softly, and she stood stock still. “I have hit the mark at last. Well, a lover’s loss is painful, milady, especially when the marriage left over is loveless. This is where jesters become profoundly useful, in my experience, whether for song or for story, or even just sitting and listening. Will you avail yourself of my services, lady? You’ll find me reasonable for a fool.”

  “Is that what you do?” she said scornfully. “You seek out those in sorrow and prey upon them? You are like a carrion bird, Fool, feasting on corpses.”

  “No, lady,” I said. “I do not feast on the dead. I provide sustenance for the living.”

  “Then seek your fortune elsewhere, Fool. I am not among the living.”

  “You feel that way in the midst of your sorrow,” I said. “But people have this funny way of surviving in spite of themselves. It is our nature to want to live. Are you killing yourself, milady? Are you starving yourself to death? I saw more bone than flesh in that wrist. It runs against the fashion of this city to be so thin.”

  “Who are you?” she asked. “You are visiting no brother. You have come here to plague me.”

  “I have come here, but only to help,” I said. “I do not know your name, but I know the one you mourn. And I know he lies beneath the ground with a purple kerchief in his hand.”

  She backed away from me, trembling, raising that bony hand to point at me.

  “Stand back!” she hissed. “What are you? How could you know that? You have been conjuring with my life, you witch!”

  She turned and fled inside, slamming her door behind her. The gardener stood and approached me, holding his hoe menacingly.

  “You had better leave,” he said. “I don’t know what you said to her, but I saw her face.”

  I bowed and backed out of the yard. He closed the gate and locked it.

  I still didn’t know her name. I had gone to see a woman to satisfy myself that she was neither a whore nor a witch and had instead been accused of being a witch myself. So much for the sympathy of one woman for another.

  I walked slowly back down the hill. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. I did a little of both, as I reca
ll, but I forget in what order.

  TEN

  When the emperor of Constantinople learned of it, he sent good envoys to ask them what they sought where and why they were come there …

  —ROBERT DE CLARI, THE CONQUEST OF CONSTANTINOPLE

  This was all very well and good, but there was still a war to worry about. While we were concerned with an insurrection from the Venetian quarter, we still needed to find some way to bring about a reconciliation between the Crusaders and the Greeks, no matter how absurd a prospect that may have seemed. While the Venetian fleet remained firmly ensconced at Skutari, we spent the next few days running around the city, gathering information, sounding out prospects from different quarters and interests, and generally doing what the Guild expected us to do.

  Blachernae was relatively calm. The focus on the oncoming war had set aside most of the internal rivalries, even among the squabbling sisters.

  “And Evdokia has truly taken her beau’s advice to heart,” said Aglaia on the evening of the last day of June. “She’s been quite the angel of mercy, making bandages, donating her jewelry to raise money for provisions, even volunteering to care for her brother-in-law when her sister needs to rest.”

  She was keeping up the constant chatter while I dithered about the room, packing my gear. I had received a summons that afternoon. We looked up from a quick meal to see Will and Phil standing at our threshold. Despite being in full armor, they hadn’t made a sound climbing our stairs.

  “I don’t recall inviting you in,” I said, rising to my feet.

  “I don’t recall giving a damn,” replied Phil.

  My three colleagues rose as well, hands inching toward weapons, wondering what angle of throw might put a dagger anywhere useful.

  “Look, Will,” said Phil. “They think we want to fight.”

  “Aw, how cute,” said Will. “Four fools, armed in motley. That stuff won’t even keep the breezes out.”

  “It’s quite comfortable in summer,” said Plossus. “Try it sometime.”