Thirteenth Night

by Alan Gordon

  “Done. Now, how did you find me out? That’s the second time, you know.”

  I closed the sarcophagus and removed the torch. We went outside and I collected my weapons.

  “It was a combination of small signs,” I said as we walked back to town. “Brought to the fore by your appearance here. You smelled of pine when I first met you.”

  Her hand reflexively stroked her beard.

  “I am an old hand at false beards, although that one is quite good, and I finally realized why I recognized that scent. The resin you use to glue it on, am I right?” She nodded. “Then there is that very interesting icon in your upper office.”

  She glared at me and I shrugged.

  “Forgive me, I have been poking my nose into many places it doesn’t belong. But I could not figure out why anyone would want to conceal a mirror, of all things. It’s clear to me now. You use it for assuming your disguise. You slip in and out of there in the guise of an old woman servant, and Claudius remains inside a cabinet.”

  “The sad thing is that it takes very little to make me look like an old woman these days.”

  “Nonsense, Duchess. Then there was the choice of subjects for the icon. Saints Thecla and Pelagia. Both women. Strong and devout women. And women who escaped persecution by disguising themselves as men.”

  She looked away from me. “It was a gift from my husband,” she said without elaborating. We walked on for a time in silence.

  “The gates will be locked by now,” I commented.

  “Since you know so many secrets, I will reveal one more,” she said, and veered off the road into the woods. She led me to a giant oak by a stream. Its gnarled roots overhung the bank. She jumped down lightly and ducked under them. There was an opening there. She took the torch and entered. I followed.

  “Every ruler needs an escape route,” she said as I looked at an ancient stone-lined tunnel. “This once carried water to the Roman garrison. It’s been kept up for other purposes by the House of Orsino. As you might guess, I have found it singularly useful.” She lit a candle that sat on a shelf on the wall, extinguished the torch, and led the way.

  “Brilliant,” I said. “The whole scheme is brilliant. The best part is that having passed yourself off as a man once, no one would believe that you’d ever have the audacity do it again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Why? What led you to this?”

  A strange recounting, hearing her voice come from Claudius’s lips as though she were a ventriloquist hidden behind some screen. “When the men went away and Sebastian sulked inside a cask of wine, I assumed the management of the Duke’s affairs. As it turned out, I had quite a talent for it.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “When they came back, he was impressed but felt that it would be improper for the Duchess of Orsino to run things when the Duke was present. I had no means of asserting my desires other than those of any wife, and those weren’t enough. It was maddening.

  “Then, as a lark for the anniversary of our marriage, I re-created my guise as Cesario. It was quite a success, and I even succeeded in deceiving many of the visiting lords and ladies. My husband was quite…” She paused, and even in the candlelight I could see she was blushing. “He was quite taken with the costume. He found it … exciting. Since his return from the Crusade he had been prone to fits of melancholy such as he suffered when I first met him. This guise aroused him, rekindled much of the fire that was missing from our marriage. I was pleased, so it continued. Eventually, I developed Claudius.”

  “Staying with the Roman emperors for your name.”

  “Yes. Strangely, in this guise, he began talking to me as man to man, speaking of affairs of state and commerce in ways that he never did to Viola. And he found my counsel to be worthwhile. The same words coming from Viola would be completely ignored. So much freedom in a beard, so much power from a little thatch of hair. I thought the arrangement quite intriguing, and when I proposed that Claudius become steward, he agreed.”

  “But how did you find the time?”

  “Oh, it was complicated, but when one is Duchess, one is not expected to do much other than preside over social functions. The raising of my children had been snatched away from me by nurses and tutors, and I was never one for needlepoint. With peace at hand, even the commercial affairs were not that difficult. I recruited Isaac to keep the books, and the estates virtually ran themselves. We have prospered mightily with Claudius as steward.”

  “How many knew of your double life? Isaac, obviously.”

  “Yes. Three servants, one who has been doubling for me under a veil on occasions that demand the presence of both of us. Olivia knows. I felt with her position and her investment in the consortium, she was entitled.”

  “And Sebastian?”

  “No. At least, I’ve never told him, and I’ve asked Olivia to keep quiet. I’m afraid he still resents me for taking over from him. I can’t trust my brother with any secrets.”

  “The good Captain Perun?”

  “Who knows what he knows?” she said. “I’ve never liked the man, but Orsino insisted. He has many sources of information. He may know, others may have guessed over the years, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. I trust my servants, I trust Isaac, I don’t trust Olivia anymore and I’m not sure who my husband may have told. We’re under the villa.”

  The tunnel widened into a chamber with a rough-hewn table and a small cabinet. She opened the cabinet and removed a simple dress and cloak. She began unfastening her tunic, then glanced at me.

  “I’m so used to being alone here, I almost changed in front of you. I realize you theatrical people have loose morals, but do me the courtesy of turning your back.”

  I bowed and faced the wall. The moment I did, her blade was at my neck again. “For your information, I am now very good with a sword,” she said. “My husband tutored me in many of the manly arts. I have risked much tonight in trusting you.”

  “And I risked much in turning my back just now, agreed?”

  “Agreed,” she said, and sheathed the blade. I heard some rustling noises. “You may turn around.”

  Some people age better than others. I should know, I was one of the others. She could no longer pass for a boy, but there was absolutely no reason why anyone should want her to. Her hair was cut short but still a glorious auburn, untouched by gray. She was thicker around the middle than she was when I first met her, but that was an improvement. The face, as ever, was what held one. Not at first glance but upon careful study, upon seeing those eyes capture your own soul in their thoughtful consideration, that mouth with its slightly crooked smile. A few wrinkles here and there, trophies of an interesting life.

  “You may stop staring and say something complimentary,” she instructed me.

  “You look better without the beard,” I said, and she began to laugh, then sat on the bench and put her face in her hands.

  “Oh, God, Feste,” she said. “What I have been through in just one evening with you. Fear, relief, mourning, laughter. I cannot thank you enough for relieving me of the burden of my husband’s possible suicide, yet you thrust a new one upon me with his murder. What can we do? Do you know where Malvolio is?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t even know who he is anymore. But he’s close. He may go after one of us. Be guarded in your conduct. Trust no one. Not even Isaac. Can you tell me about the night your husband was killed?”

  “We had several people to dine.”

  “I know the guest list. Did anything unusual happen?”

  “Apart from Mark falling ill, no. There were no strangers there.”

  “What happened after Mark fell ill?”

  “A bit of pandemonium. We took him up to his room, then I went to fetch the doctor while my husband attended to the guests. It took me some time to find the mountebank—he spends each night ministering to a different slattern. I tracked him down to a stable maid’s loft and dragged him back here.”

  “And where was ev
eryone else?”

  “They had left by that time. My husband likes—used to like—walking up to the cliff every day before sunset. He was hovering about feeling useless, so I told him to go take his walk, that I had everything under control.” She stopped. “That’s the last thing I said to him, go take your walk, everything’s under control. Only it wasn’t. At least not by me. And now there’s just this semblance of control. Olivia will become regent, Claudius will be no more. Viola will be ruled first by her drunken brother’s wife, then by her son when he is old enough. Not exactly the life I would have chosen for myself. But then, how much choice does any woman have?”

  “You’ve had more than most.”

  “Have I?” she said, rubbing a cloth over her face, removing the final traces of her disguise. “I sometimes wonder. It seems to be more the randomness of the Fates than any choices presented to me.”

  “Look back over the last few months. Have you seen any strangers, anyone whose actions seem odd in retrospect?”

  “No,” she said, considering. “Besides yours, of course. What is your plan?”

  “Bobo draws Malvolio’s attention, I set the snares, and the rest of you keep an eye out.”

  “We’ll need more proof, Feste,” she said. “There are forces that would prefer that my husband be a suicide with an estranged wife, the better to control Mark.”

  I thought for a moment. “I haven’t explored the scene yet,” I said. “It’s been many weeks, but there may be some trace of his assailant. Do you wish to meet me there?”

  “All right. Tomorrow afternoon. Both Viola and Claudius have obligations to meet before then. Feste?”

  “Yes, Duchess?”

  “You stopped writing.”

  “Alas, the delivery of mail in my particular life is a haphazard thing. But I have thought of you often. Of all of you. My condolences, Duchess. He was a good man and deserved a longer life.”

  She led me to a ladder and up through a trapdoor into a root cellar. She listened at a door, then quietly brought me into the villa. Malachi was standing there. He started to bow, then saw me and stepped back, a hand going to a knife at his waist. She stopped him with a gesture.

  “It’s all right, Malachi. I will explain everything to you, but first, show the gentleman to the gate.” He motioned me forward, and she added, “With all due courtesy.” He looked at her, then bowed to me. “Thank you, Herr Octavius.”

  “Your Grace,” I said with a bow that equaled Malachi’s. He escorted me to the gate and unbolted it.

  “Am I to understand that we will be getting to know you better, sir?”

  “Perhaps, my good man.”

  “Then permit me to wish you a Happy New Year, sir.”

  “Thank you, Malachi. The best to you and your family.”

  The gate shut behind me, and I looked up at the stars, twinkling brightly on the first hour of the year.

  ELEVEN

  Haec reticere monet stultum, ne forte loquendo secretum prodat quod reticendo tenet. (This tale warns the Fool to keep silent, lest by talking he betray the secret which he might have kept by silence.)

  AESOP

  “He’s what?” cried Bobo, leaping to his feet.

  “She’s what, you mean,” I said smugly, and recounted my adventure of the previous night.

  He stormed around the room, then collapsed onto the bed, laughing uproariously. “It’s superb, amazing,” he pronounced. “By King David, if she wasn’t so far gone in age, I’d say we recruit her for the Guild when this is over. What a waste of talent!”

  “She’s not that old,” I protested. “Early thirties, or somewhere in that area. Anyhow, I told her about the two of us and Malvolio.”

  “Do you think that was wise?” he asked, serious again. “How can we be sure she can be trusted?”

  “Because I know her,” I said simply.

  He threw up his hands in despair. “I am doomed,” he said. “I put my life in your hands, and you throw it away on a pretty face. Was it a pretty face, by the way?”

  “Very.”

  “Well, then it’s probably all right. I firmly believe in surface appearances. What now? You’ve slept through half the day again. I’m beginning to think you’re metamorphosing into an owl.”

  “Reverting to a fool’s schedule, that’s all. I am meeting her, or him, at cliffside this afternoon. Looking for evidence.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll need all we can get. My God, you took a chance on finding his skull crushed like that. How did you know?”

  “I didn’t know, but it made sense given how he fell. If he was murdered, then that seemed the most likely method.”

  “And if he had a good, solid block of a head like most noblemen?”

  “Then I would have apologized and slunk back to the Guildhall to be publicly spanked.”

  He shook his head. “You take risks that I wouldn’t, Herr Octavius. Do you want me to help you search?”

  “No. It might cause suspicion if the two of us were to meet openly like that. If I meet with Claudius, no one will be the wiser. See me back here in the morning.”

  “As you wish. Happy New Year, by the way.”

  “And to you, Brother Fool,” I replied, clasping his hand.

  He slipped out the back way, and I went down to the public room.

  “Happy New Year, Signor Octavius,” bellowed Alexander when he saw me. “And how may we refresh your arid palate this fine day?”

  “Happy New Year, my gracious host. A flagon of cold water and some bread and cheese, if you would.”

  A look of astonishment mingled with disappointment shot across his face, but I held firm to my resolve. At least for one meal.

  I felt giddy after the previous evening. Solid proof for the first time. No more living on hunches. The game was on in earnest. I wondered when the next move would be. And who would make it.

  * * *

  The sun sped westward, and Zeus and I were soon making our way to the northwest gate.

  “Have you seen Signor Claudius pass this way?” I asked a guard.

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, if he does, bid him join me for a ride. I need to turn this beast loose every now and again.”

  “I will, sir.”

  We passed through the gate. The road had been but lightly traveled since the snows came. Not unusual—the northwest road was a traders’ route, and it was a time for staying ensconced near the hearth, not for wandering abroad. The farmers who came in for church used the northern road.

  I kicked Zeus lightly to nudge him along, and he promptly broke into full gallop, charging up the rise as if there were a mare in heat waiting at the top. There wasn’t, and I managed to rein him back to a trot before we overshot our mark and ended up in Capodistria.

  The road veered away from the cliff’s edge and vanished in the trees ahead. This close to the sea they were mostly laurel and holm oak, the last green even now. I directed Zeus to the left, where the rocks jutted out past Hector’s shack. I glanced down, but he was nowhere to be seen, although a thin wisp of smoke rose reluctantly from his driftwood manor.

  Orsino’s vantage was at the apex of a triangle formed by the rock. Behind it, about fifty feet back, loomed the forest, mostly scrub and Aleppo pine at this point with a healthy stand of brush in front. Ample cover for any halfway decent assassin. I tied Zeus to the sturdiest tree I could find and walked carefully to the edge.

  A well-chosen spot. From here, Orsino could see over the barrier islands to the open sea. From here, he and his ancestors saw marauding Normans, subtle Saracens, and, most insidious of all, the merchantmen of Venice who sought to conquer with tariffs and monopolies.

  I looked behind me and saw the ridge rising in the distance, broken only where the river passed through it. There was a small watchtower where ever-present guards looked both inland and out to sea. Toby once boasted that from there he could see all the way to the Marches, but I doubted that.

  The sun was starting to set, turning oran
ge and massive at the edge of the world. All my time in Orsino, and I had never once seen the sun set from the cliffs. It was dinnertime, when jesters make their living or die hungry. So many years looking at audiences through thickened lashes, hiding behind the double artifice of masks and words. Rare to have this moment of isolation, God’s glory on full display, the waves crashing below and the wind whispering through the woods behind.

  “Fool,” I thought it whispered.

  I laughed. Theo, your self-pity is speaking to you again. I reached for my flask, unstoppered it, and placed it to my lips, then spluttered as the unexpected taste of water hit my tongue. I laughed at myself again and thought the wind laughed along with me.

  But it wasn’t the wind. A man laughed somewhere in the woods behind me, and I remembered that I had come because another man had been killed by someone hiding in those woods. I was standing where he stood, completely exposed.

  “Claudius?” I called cautiously. The laughter grew, so like the laughter from my dream that I shivered and glanced about for cover. There was a large boulder, about twenty feet to my left. I took a step, and something went whistling by my ear and out to sea.

  “Stand still, Fool,” said a voice from my past. “I want to see what Time has done to you.”

  The fastest I’ve ever seen a man reload a crossbow was to a quick count of four. I made that boulder in about three and a half, diving into a somersault and rolling behind it in a tight ball. Something clattered off it an instant later.

  “But this is too vexing,” complained the voice. “I miss you once because of the wind and a second time because you won’t hold still.”

  “Who are you?” I shouted. “Why are you trying to kill me?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I know that you are flirting with eternal Hellfire using that weapon.”

  “Really? And why, pray tell?”

  “Crossbows are banned by the Church. Put yours down before it’s too late.”

  There was laughter, genuine amusement, echoing from the trees. The boulder, while providing quick cover, left me too far from the woods to risk another such dash. I slipped my dagger into my right hand and my knife into my left, hoping he’d come into the open, wondering if I could do any damage before he killed me.