Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery

by Alan Gordon

  “What is it that you are juggling?” asked the deep voice.

  “Apples, I think,” I said. I passed one in front of my mouth and took a noisy bite out of it without breaking the flow. “Yes, apples,” I said, crunching loudly. “Want one?”

  “I have not had an apple in ages,” he said. “Toss one over here.”

  I threw one in the direction of the voice. A second later, I heard him pluck it out of the air. “And one for the Emperor?” he requested. I threw him another, and heard this one caught as well.

  “You’re very deft, my friend,” I said.

  “He’s become my bodyguard,” said Isaakios. “Thank you for the apple.”

  “You may want to have him taste it to make sure it’s not poisoned,” I said.

  “I already did,” said the deep voice.

  “What about the rest of us?” cried another.

  “Dear me, I hope I brought enough,” I said, and started tossing apples around the room to where voices called for them. It took a dozen apples to feed my audience, and all I had left to sustain me through the night was the one I had taken a bite from at the commencement of the routine.

  We sat around, munching in the darkness.

  “What time of day was it when you entered, Fool?” asked Isaakios.

  “Late afternoon, milord. I understand that you arrived this morning.”

  “Yes, along with my friend with the sepulchral voice,” he said. “Interesting place, this tower. I remember touring it once when I first came to Blachernae. Never wanted to go back, although I put my share of prisoners here. None of them in this room, fortunately.”

  “No, sir,” called another. “You are among friends, here.”

  “Perhaps, Fool, you might have some insight into a philosophical debate we were having before your arrival,” said Isaakios. “We were discussing Plato’s allegory of the cave. Are you familiar with it?”

  “I read it a long time ago, milord. Could you refresh my memory?”

  “In it, Socrates posited a cave with prisoners chained so that they could only look straight ahead at a wall. They had no experience of the world outside the cave. All they knew of it was from a parade of shadows cast upon the wall in front of them, made by men behind them carrying objects before a fire. To these prisoners, the shadows were reality.”

  “I remember it now, milord,” I said. “And what was your debate about?”

  “Whether we, as blind men in a dungeon without light, but with knowledge and memories of the world, are better off than Socrates’ unenlightened prisoners. What say you, Fool?”

  “It seems to me, milord, that knowledge is better than ignorance.”

  “Yet, those prisoners did not know that the world could be any better than what they already knew. We do. With this knowledge comes despair. With ignorance comes bliss. I would conclude that we are the worse for our situation.”

  “Then you are the fool, milord, not I.”

  “Your argument being what?”

  “From good old Ecclesiastes, milord. ‘I the Preacher was king over Israel in Jerusalem.’ Just as you were king, milord. And he does say, ‘For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.’ ”

  “So, he agrees with me.”

  “No, milord, for he still concludes that ‘Wisdom excelleth folly, as far as light excelleth darkness.’ So you see, milords, you cannot even begin to compare yourselves to Socrates’ cave dwellers, for you are wise, and your wisdom lights up this wretched space so that no shadows may deceive you. This preacher, they say, was the wisest man who ever lived, and how may a fool such as I even begin to gainsay him?”

  “You’re a bit of a preacher yourself, aren’t you, Fool?” observed Isaakios.

  “Just a seeker of knowledge, like all true fools.”

  “Then I hope that you may find it in your travels.”

  “Thank you, milord.”

  “Did they let you bring any music with you?”

  “I have a lute, milord. Shall I play?”

  “That would please all of us.”

  I needed no eyes for this, of course. I began a soft melody, thinking to sing through the night. But the tune prompted Isaakios to speak again.

  “I owe my life to a fool,” he said.

  “Really, milord? How could one as lowly as me preserve such an exalted person as yourself?”

  “It was during Andronikos’s reign. Were you in Constantinople then?”

  “No, milord, but I have heard tales told.”

  “The worst ones are all true, yet they do not begin to encompass the depravity of that monster. He relied upon auguries of all kinds to guess who would be the man to depose him. One day, the suspicion fell upon me, and he sent his favorite executioner, a fellow with the inappropriate surname of Hagiochristophorites, to arrest me. I was living in the southwest part of the city, then, as far from Blachernae as I could get. I was lying in my bed, oblivious to all danger, when a voice roused me, crying, ‘Awake, Angelos, for the hour of your doom is at hand! Take your sword in hand and strike a blow for your city. Your city will follow you if you do.’ ”

  “Remarkable,” I said.

  “No sooner had I sword in hand than this executioner burst into my courtyard with his attendants. I had no time for armor. I leapt upon my horse and rode at him, shrieking at the top of my lungs. I took him by surprise and cut him in two.

  “And then I galloped all the way down the Mese to the Hagia Sophia, calling to all along the way to join me, telling them what I had done. I stood on the pulpit and confessed my crime, and before I knew it, I was leading a revolution.”

  He sighed.

  “I had thought that the voice came from Heaven,” he said. “That I was chosen to become Emperor through Divine inspiration. And when I became Emperor, I thought that I myself was divinity.

  “But then, one day some years later, one of my fools was entertaining. A fellow named Chalivoures. Did you know him?”

  “I did, milord. A most witty fool.”

  “He was, he was. With a most distinctive voice. I suddenly recognized it as the one alerting me to my oncoming assailant. I tried to thank him, but he denied any knowledge of what I was talking about. I could tell that he was lying. Finally, he allowed me to reward him. I gave him free rein in the Imperial Wine Cellar.”

  “A most generous reward,” I commented.

  “In retrospect, not so generous,” said Isaakios. “He drank himself to death within the year.”

  “A happy death for a fool,” I said. “One I myself might have chosen.”

  “Still, it was quite a comedown to learn that one’s divine inspiration was out of the mouth of a common jester. And a few years later, I was deposed by my loving brother. So much for divinity.”

  “He treated you most cruelly,” said one of the other prisoners.

  “No, he did what I would have done in his place,” said Isaakios. “Indeed, he had my blinding performed by the best of surgeons to ensure my survival. Andronikos would have just done it himself and butchered the job in the process.”

  He stopped, contemplating his fate. I strummed quietly on, and could soon hear snoring from a few of my companions.

  Then I heard a chain rustle as one of them sat up.

  “Someone’s coming,” he said quietly.

  I stopped playing and stood up. I couldn’t hear anything, but I trusted the powers of the blind in this instance. Sure enough, a slow, heavy tread approached the dungeon. Then the bars were removed, the trapdoor lifted, and light from a single torch filled the area.

  I held my hand over my eyes until they adjusted to the sudden return of sight. Around me, the prisoners were rising to their feet. I could see them for the first time. Some were chained, others loose. In the corner farthest from the steps was a robust, redheaded man who could have been anywhere from forty to ninety, accompanied by a larger man with a matted, black beard.

  A pair of massive boots. That was the first glimpse I saw of S
imon as he came into the room. Massive legs, body, head. A torch in his left hand, and in his right was the same giant sword with which he had faced down Stephanos in the Rooster. A lifetime ago, it seemed. A lifetime lasts only as long as a person lives. Mine suddenly seemed too short.

  “I was wondering when you would show up,” I said.

  He looked at me in surprise.

  “Well, fancy meeting you here,” he said. “Good. Saves me a trip.”

  “Who is he?” said a man to my left.

  “One who wishes to kill Isaakios,” I said. “And myself. Answer me a question, good tapster?”

  “Why not?” he said, placing the torch in a crude sconce in the wall. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Are you in fact one of the Knights Templar?”

  “No, no. Merely a uniform I acquired from someone who wasn’t using it anymore. I kept it in my room figuring you’d be sticking your head in sometime. Thought it might give you something else to think about.”

  “It did. You and Stanislaus must have had quite a few laughs on my account.”

  “We’ve laughed about many fools,” he said. “And we’ll have one more to laugh about later.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll be laughing alone,” I said.

  He hesitated slightly, then held the sword in front of him.

  “Is he dead then?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I said. “I hope you were paid in advance. But answer me this: if you’re not a Templar, what are you? Where did you train?”

  “I trained with an old man,” he said. “On a mountain.”

  “The Cult of the Assassins,” I said, nodding. “But now you’re for hire.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Who hired you?”

  “Part of the payment was for my discretion.”

  “Interesting. Oddly enough, I trained with an old man as well.”

  He gripped his sword with both hands, looking calm and relaxed.

  “I’ve met several fools who trained with that old man,” he said. “All of them dead, now. I put little stock in his training.”

  “Point taken,” I said. “But I was his best pupil.”

  “As I was for my teacher.”

  “Excellent. Then we will see whose education is most fit for this match. And remember, my friend, that I will be having the assistance of these fine gentlemen.”

  He laughed as he surveyed the room.

  “And remember, Fool, that in the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king,” he said, baring his teeth. “I have a sword, Fool. All you have for a weapon is that lute, and a sword beats a lute in my book.”

  “True enough,” I said. “But I also have a bucket of slops.”

  I picked it up and heaved its contents at his head. He ducked, as I had planned, and the stream of human waste splatted against the torch set in the wall. The flames sputtered and went out.

  “In the country of the blind, the advantage belongs to those who have lived there the longest,” I said. “Gentlemen, the assassin’s torch is out. You will know him by his smell.”

  Bodies rushed silently by me. I heard heavy chains swung through the air, a sword whistling through the darkness. Something metal hit something metal, and I heard a man cry out in pain.

  “Fool,” whispered the deep-voiced man at my ear. “If you have any weapon at all, give it to me. I will take care of him.”

  I snapped the strings on my lute and slid my hand inside its hollowed body. There was a dagger secured inside, hidden from the probing hands of the Imperial Guards. I handed it to my new ally, and waited.

  There was a thud, a gasp, and a series of gurgling noises that quickly subsided. Then there was silence.

  “He’s dead, milord,” said the deep-voiced man.

  “Well done,” said Isaakios. “My companions, my brethren. I am indebted to all of you. But is this not merely a temporary victory?”

  “I think not, milord,” I said. “They wanted an outside assassin so that no one could say the Imperial Guard killed you. At least, that’s my guess. We’ll try to convince your brother to transfer you back to the Double Column. The attempt on your life should persuade him.”

  “Who are you, Fool?” he asked. “Who do you work for?”

  “I was a friend of Chalivoures,” I said. “Hate to see his efforts go to waste.”

  I don’t know how long we remained there. I could hear the rats as they discovered Simon’s body. I fantasized that they were the same ones who Zintziphitzes once befriended, but that was unlikely.

  We slept in shifts. Blind men keeping watch, imagine that. But they had accomplished what several Guild fools had not, so in this particular place, there was no one I would rather have had as my fellow soldiers.

  I woke as one of them shook me.

  “Someone else is coming,” he whispered.

  We all stood. Footsteps, bars moving, the trapdoor creaking open. Then several Imperial Guards came down with torches and drawn swords. They stood around and looked at Simon’s body. The haft of my dagger was sticking out of the front of his throat. His sword lay beside him.

  “What happened here?” asked an officer.

  Isaakios stood before us, erect and in command.

  “This man was allowed into our cell with weapons,” he said severely. “He has made an attempt upon our very life. We demand to know who is responsible for this outrage.”

  The officer glanced around at his men.

  “Where are the night watch?” he asked.

  Uncertainty, shrugs from the others.

  He looked at the rest of us, settling finally upon me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Quaking, I held my Imperial Order in front of me.

  “Begging your pardon, General,” I squeaked. “I don’t know exactly what happened, it was so dark, but this man, the dead one, he came in shouting for the head of the Emperor, and there was fighting, and I couldn’t tell who did what, I just want to get out of this horrid place, I’m the Emperor’s Fool, he sent me here, he’s expecting me back, he’ll be livid if I’m not there.”

  “Get him out of here,” ordered the officer. “Then we’ll try and sort this mess out.”

  I bowed quickly to the prisoners and was hustled up and out of the Tower of Anemas.

  It was dawn. The storm had passed. The sun was rising across the Bosporos, and Aglaia was standing outside the prison door, waiting.

  “Good morning, Fool,” she said.

  “Good morning, milady,” I replied. “I trust you slept well.”

  “Not a wink,” she said. “I saw Simon go in around midnight. I never saw him come out.”

  “If you want to see him come out, we can wait for a bit,” I said. “It may take a while. He’s rather heavy.”

  She wrapped her arms around me.

  “I guess the Rooster will be needing a new tapster,” she said.

  “I suppose so,” I said. “I was thinking of moving out of there, anyway. I’m tired of the place.”

  She led me back into the palace, where I slept for a whole hour before I had to work again.

  EPILOGUE

  Herein thou hast done foolishly: therefore from henceforth thou shall have wars.

  II CHRONICLES 16:9

  Despite Tantalo’s efforts, the city of Zara could not reach a peaceful accommodation with the Venetians. When the siege commenced, the Christian citizens hung crucifixes over the walls to rebuke their Christian attackers. Nevertheless, the city was taken in November and many put to the sword.

  Aglaia had brought our information about the conspiracy to Philoxenites while I was spending the night in the Tower of Anemas. We believed that he would appreciate the usefulness of keeping Isaakios alive in case the Crusaders followed his son to Constantinople. Always good to have options. The two Imperial Guards who allowed Simon entry to the prison disappeared that same night. A few more residents of Swabian origin quietly vanished over the next few months. When I mentioned this to the I
mperial Treasurer, he shrugged, and the two Varangians in his office looked studiously out the window.

  My wife and I decided to take a set of rooms south of the Blachernae wall, the better to give us the run of the entire city. Palaces are so confining. We continued to entertain our royal clients on a daily basis, but also performed in the various markets, just to keep in touch.

  A letter by way of a sympathetic merchant reached Fat Basil in Thessaloniki. A month later, I saw a stripling youth in muddied motley juggling six rings while balanced on one foot. What made the trick even more remarkable was that the foot was on top of a six-foot pole. His name was Plossus. He was a new graduate of the Guild, and quickly learned the ins and outs of this vast city. He settled near the Hippodrome, and became a great favorite of the factions there.

  A few weeks after that, I heard a commotion as I sat on a low wall, eating some figs. A crowd of children appeared, skipping and dancing alongside a small cart pulled by a pair of brown donkeys. The driver was a dwarf who shouted foul and abusive taunts at the children while hurling handfuls of sweets to them. He noticed me as he passed and nodded slightly.

  He called himself Rico, and his surly exterior was matched by a facility for invective unrivaled in my experience. I liked him immediately. When I introduced him at court, the Emperor took one look at him and virtually bleated with delight, a noise Rico would take and imitate hilariously on many an occasion.

  Rico became the Emperor’s favorite, a position I gave up gratefully. I preferred roaming the squares and taverns, poking around the dark alleyways, making friends in the unlikeliest of places, cultivating my sources of information. One day would find me gossiping with Niketas Choniates on the goings-on in the Senate, another dining at midnight with Father Esaias, trading useful rumors and speculations.

  The Emperor set the dwarf up in Niko and Piko’s miniature palace. We pitched in to clean it up. Aglaia took a deep breath, and vanished with Rico into the escape tunnel with some blankets. They collected the remains of our little colleagues, and we buried them secretly that night. A few days later, we did the same for Zintziphitzes.