by Alan Gordon
I took the washbasin and a cloth and began scrubbing the makeup off his face. “Then he staged the attack on the cliff to throw me off the scent. Brilliantly done, sir. I heard Malvolio’s voice from your own mouth, and the minor injury you inflicted upon yourself added to your bona fides. It also gained you entry into the Duke’s villa, the very heart of your enemies.” It was done. A bald, clean-shaven man glowered at me from the chair. The crowd gathered around.
“It could be him,” ventured Maria.
“It’s him,” said Olivia. “I think.”
“I really can’t say,” said Sebastian.
“Well, there are ways to find out for sure,” I said. “We can send to the Guild for someone who knows the real Bobo. Or perhaps we could call on the skills of the good Captain. You could use that other room you mentioned.”
“Delighted to be of help,” said Perun.
“Please,” said Bobo. “I can prove to you I had nothing to do with any of this. Brother Fool, may I catechize you now?”
“Be my guest.”
“First, at the cliffs, did you not find me lying on my back, with my head bleeding?”
“I did.”
“Did you find the crossbow which I supposedly used to attack you?”
“I did not.”
“Very good. How did it vanish from the scene if I used it to attack you? Second, was I not in the Duke’s villa from then on?”
“You were.”
“Malachi, please remove that blade from my throat and answer me this: Did I ever leave that room from the time I was brought in until just now?”
“You did not,” replied Malachi, the blade remaining in place.
“Then I conclude: It was impossible for me to have killed Fabian or arrange the fire at the play, because I never moved from that spot. Or are you accusing me of sorcery as well?”
“I never said you killed Fabian,” I said mildly. “Nor did I ever say that you acted alone.” Glances shot around the room again, then bounced back in my direction.
“It is clear that you had to have had a confederate. There was more than one set of footprints at the site of Bobo’s abduction and murder. Someone struck you on the head to enhance the deception, ran away with the crossbow, then used it to kill Fabian. The confederate had to have been someone with the knowledge that Viola and Claudius were one and the same, because he knew he could guarantee the Duke’s isolation by the simple expedient of poisoning Mark.”
“Poison?” gulped Mark.
“Yes, Milord. Nothing fatal, just enough to make you ill for some time. But it had to be poison, because no one else at the meal suffered any consequences from the food.”
“Go on, Feste,” he commanded.
“It goes back to the events of fifteen years ago,” I continued. “Another wronged man. One who has undoubtedly picked up a little knowledge of Greek fire and herb lore in his studies, who was of Orsino’s inner circle, who was in fact sitting right next to Mark at that fatal dinner.…”
“Please,” said Sir Andrew. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
He was standing behind Viola, a knife at her throat.
“When did he recruit you, Sir Andrew?” I asked. “When you were imprisoned in the Crusade? Later on, with some promise of hidden knowledge of the Elixir of Life?”
“Andrew! What on earth is this about?” cried Sir Toby. “I thought we were all friends.”
“F-f-friends?” stammered Andrew. “You left me there for a month! They tortured me, you know. Wanted to know what I knew, but I never knew anything because none of you bothered telling me. And it was a month because Orsino was haggling over the ransom. For God’s sake, I wanted to die in there. Friends! You’ve been sponging off me for fifteen years, and what have I gotten in return? Couldn’t find poor Andrew a bride, could you? I lost Olivia, and not once did someone think to toss me the slightest bone of a girl, not once.”
“Andrew,” cried Mark. “Why did you try to kill me?”
“He didn’t,” I said. “That fire was meant for Jesus. For Sebastian. You pulled Mark out in the nick of time, after you found out he was taking over the role, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he shouted. “I saved you, Mark. I would never let any-thing happen to you. I would have been a real father to…” He stopped short and screamed, “No closer! I will kill her.” Perun, who had been edging along the wall, stopped. A drop of blood slowly crawled down Viola’s neck. She winced and stayed as still as she could.
“You killed that boy, didn’t you?” accused Olivia. “Because he would have known how you arranged the fire. You stabbed a child in the heart, Andrew?”
“I had to,” he mewled. “I won’t go to prison again. I’ll kill her if you try and stop me from leaving here.”
“Excuse me, but I haven’t finished my lecture,” I said.
“Really, Feste, this is hardly the time,” protested Sir Toby.
“Oh, but it is,” I replied. “Timing is one of my great skills. Behold!” With a flourish, I produced my marotte from my bag. “Observe, mesdames et messieurs! The jester’s scepter. The French, bless them, have a separate word for it, La Marotte.” I shook it, and the tiny bells on its cap tinkled merrily. “Most useful for defending one’s person from thrown vegetables. Regard the head, Sir Andrew.” He gawked at it. “See the skull beneath the makeup, grinning at us all. There is one more tradition associated with fools. Death, Sir Andrew, the greatest mocker of them all, the Fool who brings all men down to the same level.” I began shaking it over my head in a peculiar rhythm. “You’ve studied much ancient lore, Sir Andrew. There are secrets of smiths, of midwives, and of fools. Ours are rarely invoked, for it is a poor fool indeed who resorts to such drastic measures. But Folly walks hand in hand with Death and may call upon him in dire emergency. It would be a terrible thing to die unconfessed, noble knight. For the love of Mark, spare his mother or I will pronounce your doom.”
His hand shook but stayed where it was. “Very well, then. Just as the setting sun marks the end of the day, so the descending skull marks the end of your days. Watch it closely, Sir Andrew. It will be the last thing you ever see.”
I began waving it back and forth, slowly lowering my arm to point in his direction. He couldn’t take his eyes off of that little skull with the tiny green diamonds under each eye. He peered over Viola’s shoulder, his mouth hanging open.
“Kill her, you idiot!” screamed Malvolio. “Kill her now!”
The marotte came level. The knife fell from his hand, and he staggered back, clutching his throat, coughing violently. The expression? Horror? More like an accusation, but whether it was directed at me, Malvolio, or the whole assemblage was too difficult to say. He stumbled over a low stool and fell backwards. It was his final stumble.
Perun rushed forward, sword at the ready, but there was no need. He bent over the dead knight, then looked at me. “Neatly done,” he said. “How did you do it?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t say I would reveal every secret I knew, Captain. Oh, by the way. You challenged an Augsburgian merchant to a duel tomorrow. The merchant is no longer here. Would a postponement, a permanent one, be acceptable?”
He drummed his fingers on his sword, looking at the Death’s head on my marotte.
“Perun!” shouted the Duke. The Captain turned, startled, as the boy strode up to face him. “This fool is under our protection. No harm shall come to him from you or anyone directed by you. Need I remind you where your loyalties lie?”
Perun was silent for a few seconds. Then he bowed. “Not at all, Milord. There is no need for concern. There is no honor in dueling fools.”
“None whatsoever,” I agreed. “Thank you, Milord. Now, if I may prevail upon the Captain to escort Malvolio to his new quarters, we can then conclude. I will visit you in the morning, Senor. I’ll bring a chessboard.”
He grinned wolfishly. “You’ll lose again, Feste. You can’t beat me.”
“I think I just did,” I said. They carried him away.
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“What now, Feste?” said Sebastian. “Are you going to sing us something to finish?”
“I am finished, Count,” I replied. “I am a bit weary, so I will, with your permission, remove myself. But you have some work to do. The world is changing too rapidly to delay appointing a regent any longer. The boy will rule like his father all too soon. I urge you to set aside your squabbles and choose now.” I swept my gear into my bag, leaving the icon, and turned and bowed.
“Milord and Miladies, mesdames et messieurs, good night.”
SEVENTEEN
Mock on, mock on—’tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.
WILLIAM BLAKE, “MOCK ON”
In my dream, I juggled once again with an unseen partner in the forest. Then the trees parted like a fog in an unexpected gale, and Death walked towards me, tossing the clubs harder and harder, the grinning skull gleaming under the cowl, pure white broken only by green diamonds under each eye.
* * *
I woke with a cry, sitting up so hard I nearly wrenched my back. A figure stood in the doorway, holding a lit candle on a dish. Still between dream and reality, I gaped at it in terror.
“Are you all right?” asked Viola, entering the room.
“What’s the hour?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Late. Near dawn, I think.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Olivia is now the regent until Mark is considered of age by vote of the leading families. Claudius is no more.”
“What about Isaac?”
“He becomes the steward for both the Duke and the Countess. That was my price for going quietly. May I?” She indicated my marotte, lying on a table by the bed, its head not far from where mine had rested. I nodded, and she picked it up gingerly. “Is it safe?” she asked.
“At the moment.”
She turned it in her hands, inspecting it from every angle. “I give up,” she said finally. “How does it work?”
“The staff has a thin tube inside, with a spring that catches near the handle. It shoots a small metal dart. Poisoned, of course. I can hit any target I want within fifteen paces. I put it into the back of his throat.”
She shuddered. “How close was I to dying just then?”
“From me, not very. From him, too close for me.”
“Did you know he was going to do that?”
I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. “I hoped he would do something. I didn’t think he would do that.”
“How did you know he was involved?”
“Little things. The most glaring, and I curse myself for not seeing it sooner, was when he rode into the square on the Feast of Saint John. He had been out looking for the Stone, or so everyone thought. But he wouldn’t look for the Stone after the snow had fallen. He told me so himself. And that was the morning my colleague was killed, according to what Joseph told me when he led me to the body. By the way, did you resume his food supply?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Even a holy man cannot live on prayer alone. I believe that Andrew used this quest for the Stone as an excuse to go out every day and wait with Malvolio for Feste to appear. Only I came in by boat, and they got poor Bobo instead.”
“When did you realize this?”
“When I saw him holding Lucius’s body. I saw the loneliness of the man, the desperation. I thought of how he, as well as Malvolio, was left out of the general happiness of our original adventure. The fire, the poisoning of Mark—these are the tricks of an alchemist. When I exposed you as Claudius, I watched his face. Many were surprised. He wasn’t. I don’t know when he stumbled onto your secret, but he knew. None of this would have been enough to accuse him, but I went ahead and did it anyway.”
She shook her head sadly. “Poor Andrew. I cannot find it in my heart to hate him, even knowing what he’s done.”
“Who’s Aleph?” I asked.
She looked up, startled. “How did you know…” she began, then stopped. “Am I to have no secrets at all?” she protested.
“I am sure there are many more,” I said. “But who’s Aleph? We saw it in Isaac’s ledger. Why was he given so much money, and why did he pay it back months later?”
“Aleph is a colleganza of the powerless,” she said. “Jews, slaves, and wives. We borrowed from the Duke’s funds, speculated on ships, returned the principal, and kept our profit. Every now and then, a slave would purchase his freedom, or a woman would find the wherewithal to flee her marriage. As for the Jews, they store away and prepare for the winter.”
“A worthy cause,” I said.
“You see much that others don’t,” she observed. “I’ve been trying to decide whether or not I forgive you.”
“For exposing Claudius?”
“No, you had to do that. It was inevitable. I was fooling myself to think that it could last, but there was no graceful way to end it. But I was thinking of something else. I’ve been seeing things that I didn’t notice before, either.”
“Such as?”
“A shipwreck with no wreckage. The survival not only of a pair of twins but of their belongings, washed up intact on shore. And at every turn, there was you, dashing madly about. Knowing what I know now, I no longer believe in fairy tale romances. Well? What about it? Come, Feste, I’ve never known you to lack for words. Tell me how you manipulated my feelings.”
“Did you love him?” I asked, my voice sounding harsh to me.
“How much choice did I have?” she said. “I was thrown into this bizarre situation, not knowing whether my brother was dead or alive, wondering how I would survive. And then I fell in love with my benefactor. Who wouldn’t?”
“But did you love him?”
“I was tricked into it.”
“Did you love him or no?” I persisted.
“Yes,” she snapped. “I loved him. But I would like to have had the choice myself.”
“You did,” I said. “What would have happened to you if you never came here? Have you ever considered that? Your parents were dead. You would have been dependent on Sebastian. Do you really think he would have let you have your own choice of husband? Assuming that I had something to do with this, you still ended up marrying a wealthy, powerful man whom you loved for himself, and you had a good, long life together. How many could say the same?”
“And the seed for his murder was planted at the same time, thanks to that arrangement.”
I could not answer. She buried her face in her hands.
“I’m sorry, Feste. He could have died sooner a thousand different ways. But he died this way, and once again you came galloping in to change my life forever. They won’t even let me raise my own children, now. I am deemed too strange—untrustworthy even though all that I have done was for the benefit of Orsino. Now, I can do nothing. I shall sit in a comfortable room with a large window overlooking the sea and be paraded out for state occasions and do needlepoint for the rest of my life. And you won’t even be staying around to entertain me, will you?”
“I don’t think that would be possible under the circumstances.”
She began crying softly.
“There’s one more thing,” I said hesitantly.
She looked up.
“Venice attacks in the spring. They seek dominion over the Dalmatian coast. I cannot advise you what course you should take, whether to fight or to negotiate, but you should know that it’s coming. You may be able to work through Isaac. He has Venetian contacts. He may even be their spy.”
“Of course he’s a spy,” said Malvolio, standing in the doorway. He looked haggard, perhaps the result of some time with Perun, and was still wearing a dead fool’s motley. He held up a crossbow and leveled it in Viola’s direction. “Look what I found. Move away from the bed, Feste, and leave your sword there. Or I will kill her.”
I moved, my back to the window.
“Your problem, if I may be so bold as to venture some criticism after that brilliant
performance of yours, is that you think too small. Do you really think that I would undertake to assail this town with just a whimpering simpleton to aid me? I had others. One is Perun’s lieutenant, who was kind enough to assist my escape. I have quite a talent for corruption, you know.”
“Let her go,” I said.
“Maybe, maybe not. The scandal made when the Duchess is found in the Fool’s bed would be delicious. But I really wanted to pay my respects to you before I left. You, after all, were the original author of my humiliation.”
“You deserved it.”
“Why, Feste?” he protested. “For falling in love with a countess? Was that such a crime? Or did it just not fit in with your grand design? If it was a crime, then you are the greater criminal, Fool, for you desired an even greater prize.”
“What is he talking about?” whispered Viola.
“Haven’t you told her, Feste? My, my, all that grandiloquence about telling the truth, and you can’t even tell her that you love her. But that isn’t surprising, is it? That’s the way of your cowardly little guild, running your second-rate conspiracies all over the Mediterranean. Believe me, Duchess, if I had the time I could tell you all about the secret workings of this organization. They put the Templars to shame. But I digress.”
“Still working for the Saracens?” I spat at him.
“Politics,” he said dismissively. “Was that the problem? Really, Feste, the whole history of this world is of one nation conquering another. What does it matter who wins? You know, the irony is that I was willing to let the whole matter drop at the time. Oh, well, I said, chalk it up to experience. But then, one sunny day, I chanced upon a troubadour singing that charming little ditty you concocted. There I was, immortalized as one of the great dupes of all time. It was the last song he ever sang, believe me, and now, I’ve come to have the last word. A parting shot, if you will.” And he shot.
