Thirteenth Night

by Alan Gordon

  “Such wit in the face of Death. I admire it. But an exception was made for the killing of infidels, and I think you fall into that category as far as Rome is concerned.”

  “I am as good a Christian as you,” I shouted.

  “Then you should be the one worrying about your immortal soul.”

  I peeked around the side and a bolt struck just above my head, sending a spray of rock chips into my face.

  “Who are you?” I called again.

  “Don’t be tedious, Feste. I know you all too well, and you know me. An older man than I was but a wiser one, too.”

  “How dieth the wise man? As the fool,” I shouted.

  “Brave words. Even the fool can cite Scripture for his purpose. Here’s one for you: Like a thorn that goes up into the hand of a drunkard is a proverb in the mouth of fools. We will all die, Fool, but many will die before me, I promise you that. And they all live behind those formidable walls, waiting for Death. But Death was waiting for you to return. And as a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly. Let that Proverb be your motto now.”

  Man knows his Proverbs, I thought, trying to guess where he would emerge. I heard slow, measured footsteps moving through the brush, and I clutched my weapons tightly, wanting one clear shot.

  Then Bobo screamed, “Run, Feste!” Never one to miss a cue, I fled to the woods at my left, diving through a gap in the brush and rolling behind the thickest tree I could find. I heard a struggle some distance off, then a cry and the sound of someone crashing through the forest away from me. Then silence.

  I waited. The sun hid its face behind the outlying islands, and I waited, listening for anything, hearing nothing. Finally I moved in the direction of the struggle I had heard, weapons at the ready. I stepped carefully, soundlessly, pursuing the man who had summoned me here. I left my sword in its scabbard—the forest was too thick for swordplay, and it wasn’t my best weapon. On open ground, the crossbow gave him the advantage. But in the woods with a knife, I would prevail over the Devil himself. No one was going to stop me.

  And no one did. It took me fifteen minutes to cross sixty feet, but I made it unchallenged. Malvolio was long gone, but Bobo was still there, lying on his back, staring at the treetops, bleeding from his scalp, the blood vividly staining the white lead. I took him for dead, but the eyes rolled in my direction and he smiled weakly.

  “All right, you convinced me,” he whispered. “He’s here.”

  “Can you walk?” I asked.

  “Not sure. That fortune-teller may have been an optimist.” I helped him up, and he fell to his knees, clutching his head.

  “Come on, my horse awaits you.”

  “Damn it, I botched everything,” he groaned. “I had him. Another step, and he would have been mine. And then I wasted my breath saving your life.”

  “Appreciate it, thanks. Why were you following me?”

  We staggered out of the woods and I nearly dragged him the rest of the way to Zeus.

  “Father Gerald’s orders,” he gasped. “‘Make sure the old reprobate stays alive,’ he told me. ‘If he wanders off by himself, follow him. I don’t want him running headlong into any nooses. He’s more valuable to me than the whole lot of them.’ So, I’ve been playing protector. Rotten job I’ve done of it.”

  “I’ll be happy to debate that point when you’re feeling better.”

  Zeus looked at us with his usual benevolence, but my glare must have been something fierce for he suffered the two of us to mount without a fuss. I pulled Bobo’s hands around my waist. He clasped them weakly, and I added one of mine in a grip that made him flinch. I flicked the reins lightly and Zeus stampeded back to town.

  Claudius was riding up the road as we approached and pulled up on seeing us.

  “What happened?” she said.

  “Malvolio tried to kill me,” I said. “My colleague stopped him but got his head knocked for his pains.”

  “Bring him to the villa,” she said immediately. “I’ll fetch the doctor. Tell Malachi to put him up in the east wing.” We passed back through the gates and split up.

  Malachi took one look at Bobo and, to his credit, carried him straightaway to a room and a clean bed. I handed off Zeus to an apprehensive groom and followed. When I arrived, Bobo was slipping in and out of consciousness, his breathing shallow. A maid came in with a bowl of water and a cloth and started wiping away the blood. The blow had fallen on the very top of his head.

  “Must have been a tall man who struck him,” commented Malachi.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “I didn’t see him.”

  Bobo shouted suddenly and grabbed the maid’s wrist. She shrieked and dropped the cloth as he sat up, staring wildly about the room. Then he saw me and lay back.

  “Apologies, dear lady,” he said. “Pray continue, only leave my face on. I would prefer to die a fool.”

  “Live to see the doctor,” I urged him.

  “I’ve heard about this doctor,” he muttered. “He may finish the job that bastard started.”

  “Will he jest until he’s buried?” whispered Malachi.

  “Why should that stop him?” I answered.

  The doctor appeared in the doorway, looking around the room uncertainly until we all pointed at the patient. He nodded briskly and sat beside the bed, peering at the wound.

  “Fellow looks much too pale,” he observed, and Bobo laughed, though it obviously hurt. The doctor dressed the wound and bandaged his head.

  “He’s lost some blood,” he said when he was done. “These blows to the head are tricky. He could live, he could go like that. If the wound swells, I may have to let it a bit. Too bad this didn’t happen in the spring. My leeches have all died, and I can’t replace them until after the thaw.”

  “A doctor who cannot even keep a leech alive?” cried Bobo. “I am certain for the grave. Doctor, when a leech is ill, what do you use to treat it?”

  “In the meantime?” I interrupted, mostly to prevent apoplexy on the part of the doctor.

  “Watch over him. If his breathing becomes shallow and irregular, send for me. Give him as much wine as he desires.”

  “This, I like,” whispered Bobo. “They keep an excellent cellar here by all report. A marvelous physician. I take back everything I’ve said about him.”

  “Hush,” I implored him. “If you don’t behave, I’ll let him operate on you.”

  “No need, no need,” said the doctor hastily. “Let Nature take its course.”

  “It always does,” I said, and he left. I sat by the bed. “Now, how do you feel? Really.”

  “I’ve survived the doctor. Always a good sign. I’m just afraid that if I fall asleep, I’ll die.”

  “Nonsense,” I said, a bit too heartily. He took my hand and held it.

  “Stay with me,” he begged. “Tell me your stories. Sing a ballad that I don’t know.”

  And that’s when I became truly afraid. A jester cares nothing for the last rites of either half of the Church, but when he wants songs to ease his way, that’s serious. I sang into the night, softly for an audience of one. He occasionally mouthed the words of the ballads he knew, or smiled at the punch lines he didn’t know or encountered again as old friends. Finally, he drifted into sleep, and I sat by the bed, listening to his breathing. It was slow, but regular.

  “You should get some rest, too,” said Viola, standing in the doorway.

  “How long have you been here?” I whispered, rubbing my neck.

  “I’ve lost track. I’ve been listening to you sing, a long-absent pleasure. And I wanted your advice on this situation. Should we alert the town now that we know he’s here? At least tell Captain Perun.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t know who to trust outside of this room.”

  She was silent, mulling it over. “You think the Captain is in league with him?” she asked.

  “Maybe. He may even be him.”

  “But surely y
ou would have recognized him if that was the case.”

  “I didn’t get a good look, I just heard his voice.”

  “Then you should move in here where you’ll be safe.”

  “No. That would alert too many prying eyes.”

  “It would seem that part of your plan has failed. He knows who you are.”

  “True, damn it. I’ll consider it. I can still move more freely about the town as Octavius than as Feste.”

  “So be it. But the offer stands. Get some sleep. We’ll watch him.”

  I bowed. “Many thanks, Milady. For everything.”

  I left Zeus there for the night and borrowed a torch to light my way back to the Elephant. The guard at the gate recognized me and let me through without challenge. All was quiet. It must have been close to midnight, and even the most determined revelers were sleeping it off somewhere.

  No signs of life in the Elephant, though a chorus of snores resonated from the back rooms. I drew my sword before ascending the stairs. The hallway was deserted. I stepped quickly past each doorway until I reached my room, then laughed quietly at my nerves. The room was empty.

  Except that on the bed there lay a pair of yellow stockings, cross-gartered.

  A few minutes later, I was banging at the gate of the villa, clutching my belongings. A sleepy and irritated Malachi emerged.

  “Good morning,” I said cheerfully. “Tell the Duchess I’ve changed my mind.”

  When sunrise came, I peeked into Bobo’s room. He saw me and lifted a hand in greeting.

  “How’s the patient?” I asked.

  “One night to the good,” he said hoarsely. “My head is killing me.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “New Year’s resolution.”

  “Ah. I usually get the shakes the second day.”

  “Same here. Take a look at this.” I tossed a crossbow bolt onto his blanket. He examined it curiously.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “At the cliffside where we were attacked.”

  He sat bolt upright in surprise, a move he immediately regretted as pain shot through him. He collapsed back onto the pillows.

  “If you continue to risk your life like this,” he said slowly, “then I won’t guarantee its length.”

  “Never asked you to. Besides, I figured our visitor wouldn’t be returning to that spot so soon. What do you think about that bolt?”

  “It’s a crossbow bolt. What am I supposed to think?”

  “You’re the one from Toledo.”

  “Oh, and suddenly I’m an expert on arms,” he grumbled. Nonetheless, he peered at it more closely. “All right, look at this.” He indicated the tip, which was diamond-shaped and came to a nasty little point. “That’s called a bodkin point. Splits the links in chain mail from a hundred paces. You weren’t wearing chain mail, were you?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Well, my boy, this would have gone right through you and landed in Genoa. As to where it came from, I haven’t any idea. They’re easy enough to make. This could have come from a foundry anywhere from Toledo to Damascus.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it back from him.

  “I just thought of something,” he said. “There’s another kind of bolt that has a square head. It’ll knock a knight in plate right off his mount, and then it’s turtle soup for everyone. Maybe that’s how he did in Orsino.”

  “A broken skull and no one with him,” I said. “And you could pick the bolt up when the coast is clear. Or tie a string to one end and pull it back. Of course, a well-thrown rock would have done the trick.”

  “Or one from a sling. But with a crossbow, you’re less likely to miss. It could be his weapon of choice. A coward’s weapon.”

  “He may be many things, but I doubt he’s a coward.”

  He looked at me oddly. “One would almost think you admired the man,” he said.

  “Not in the least. But I am impressed with his cunning. This is a kind of madness, this revenge. How long has he been planning it? The disguise, the information, the infiltration. It’s all quite brilliant.”

  “And then he missed you when he had a clear shot.”

  “No. He missed me intentionally. The first shot was just to toy with me. It would have been less amusing if he killed me without taunting me first.”

  “Maybe,” he said, still skeptical. “Still, there was something odd about last night. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’ll sort it out when my brain starts working again.”

  “Use it now. What did he look like?”

  He closed his eyes. “I came up behind him. He wore a monk’s cowl, a brown one. He was moving into a position where he could shoot you when I yelled. He whirled and struck me with the crossbow. I saw a black beard, trimmed to a triangular point, a mustache coming down on both sides to join it. No clear look at the face—the sun was behind him and the hood concealed most of it. Then I saw stars in daylight, and then I looked up at the treetops for a long time. I’m sorry, that’s not very helpful.”

  “Could it have been any of our candidates?”

  “The beard didn’t match any of them. In fact, our esteemed representative of the Holy Father is beardless. Either Malvolio is none of them, or whoever it was put on the beard for the festive occasion of spitting you.”

  “Maybe he did. Maybe he needs me to see him as Malvolio was for the revenge to be complete. I wonder if it’s worth checking the monastery.”

  “Probably not. If he was there, which I doubt, then he’s cleared out. He’s probably gone to ground until he makes his next move. And what will yours be? Will you become Feste now?”

  “Not just yet.”

  “Why not? There’s not much point in the disguise if he knows who you are.”

  “Maybe not. But something tells me I should keep it a while longer. If I abandon Octavius, then the whole town will know why, and we’ll never catch him.”

  He looked at me for a long moment. “If we scare him away, then we may save some lives. Have you considered that?”

  “Yes. For the near future. But he will return eventually. He can only hibernate for so long before the madness drives him out again. Octavius remains.”

  He closed his eyes. “The way we play with peoples’ lives without their knowledge. It frightens me sometimes.”

  “Get some rest. We’ve let it out that you were injured in a drunken fall and are recuperating here. No one will be shocked by the news. Would you like me to bring Fez here?”

  “Good God, I had forgotten him! He’ll never forgive me. Please, if you would be so kind. And I will try and think some more, since I’m of no use for anything else.”

  I collected Fez from the hostel and dragged him to the villa. As I was doing so, I was hailed by Captain Perun riding by.

  “Well, merchant, a steed more suitable to your stature,” he said. “I’ve seen many a speculator ride in on a horse and ride out on an ass.”

  “Very good, Captain. Perhaps we should race again for the amusement of the town.”

  He scowled. “Your time here is dwindling. Have you concluded your business yet?”

  “No, but I am making progress. Thank you for inquiring.”

  “Yes, I know. You now reside in the Duke’s villa by a clever ruse.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Recruiting that fool to gain entry for you. What does one pay a man to have his head broken?”

  I looked at him, amazed. “Are you so cynical that you would suspect a mission of mercy?” I asked him.

  He smiled, a hideous sight. “I don’t believe in mercy,” he said. “Remember that if you are still here five days from now.” He turned and rode off.

  TWELVE

  The way of a fool is right in his own eyes.

  PROVERBS 12.15

  I spent much of the day searching the docks, the taverns, and the brothels for men with triangular beards but to no avail. It was a large town where a man could lose himsel
f without difficulty or pay to have his location kept quiet.

  I stopped by the Elephant around noon to explain my change of accommodations to Alexander and to settle my account. Sir Andrew and Sir Toby were there and hailed me to their table.

  “Where’ve you been hiding yourself?” asked Toby. “You’ve missed all the festivities. Did you bathe for nothing, or did one of our village maids clasp you to her bosom for the New Year?”

  “No such luck,” I replied, laughing. “I’ve merely moved. I received a very kind invitation to stay at the Duke’s villa.”

  “Well, well, your fortunes are improving,” applauded Sir Toby. “And how is Mark?”

  “I haven’t seen him yet,” I confessed. “But I am told he is somewhat better.”

  “I visited him this morning,” volunteered Sir Andrew. “He’s clearly on the mend, but I hope they keep him inside until spring. These winter winds could only precipitate a relapse.”

  “Nonsense,” scoffed Sir Toby. “Just the thing for him. Get him out in the brisk air with his friends, put him on a horse. It’s all of these smothering women that hamper the cure. He’s being coddled to death. What about Viola? How fares the lady?”

  “I was only allowed to pay my respects for a moment,” I said.

  “And how did sh, sh, she…” Sir Andrew broke off in a fit of stammering.

  Toby laughed and clapped him on the shoulders, nearly shattering the poor knight. “Still afraid of her after all this time,” he said, guffawing. “Fought a duel with her once, back when we all thought her a man. Funniest damn thing I ever saw, two terrified swordsmen thinking they were meeting their doom. And then we found out he had battled a maid! God, that clown Feste reenacted it virtually every night for a year and we never ceased laughing.”

  “Really, Toby, why can’t you stop dwelling on the past?” muttered Sir Andrew.

  “Because it’s worth dwelling on,” replied Sir Toby. “It was the best part of our lives, that time. It was the time I fell in love, and I choose to dwell there.”