“Just as I could use yours now,” Brabantio said, striding to Priuli’s left side and bowing as Othello had. “Pardon me, but I am consumed by a personal crisis, Your Grace. It can be dealt with swiftly, but I cannot turn my attention to other matters until you have helped resolve it for me.”
Priuli frowned at him. “What’s the matter?”
“My daughter—” Brabantio began. He took in a deep breath and made a choking sound. “My daughter . . .” He could hardly speak. “She’s been stolen and corrupted and raped and bewitched.”
At the reference to witchcraft, Othello’s face twitched. He met my eye and gave me a look I was long familiar with: our look of private merriment. This was the sort of comment we ought to laugh about later over a shared bottle.
But it was a patrician daughter’s virginity at stake, and such hymens, hard to come by, were increasingly rare and therefore very valuable. “We will punish him, Brabantio.” Priulu grimaced. “We shall get her back and you may do whatever you desire to the transgressor, whoever he is. But now—”
Staring triumphant daggers at the general, Brabantio bowed deeply. “I thank Your Grace most humbly,” he interrupted, then stood again and pointed across the doge’s face to indicate Othello. “Here is the man!”
Priuli looked up between them, following the velvet sleeve of Brabantio’s accusing arm. Othello gently raised his eyebrows.
The doge sighed heavily. “Well,” he said to heaven, “that’s unfortunate.” He pushed aside Brabantio’s arm and turned in his seat to look more directly up at Othello. “What have you to say, General?”
“There’s nothing he can say but confess to it!” Brabantio shouted.
Othello bowed his head to Priuli, then looked up to acknowledge the senators around the table. “My lords,” he began, glancing at me as if for reassurance. “Excuse my roughness, I am a soldier, and you know I am not good at giving speeches. It is true that I have married this man’s daughter.” Ignoring the shocked responses around the tables, he continued levelly, “I have done this with her willingness and without the aid of any witchcraft. I am amazed the good senator thinks me capable of such powers.”
“If it wasn’t witchcraft, it was potions!” Brabantio shouted across the doge at him. “She is the shyest, quietest virgin in all of Venice. I remember her response to you the first night she saw you—she was terrified of you. If you haven’t taken her by force or magic, at the very least you’ve tricked her somehow.”
As the rest of the Council sat staring in amazement, Priuli looked up again at Othello. “The senator sounds quite certain in his accusations, General. Did you force her? Did you—” His own hesitation revealed he shared Othello’s opinion of what he spoke next, “Did you employ witchcraft to seduce her? Or is this a love match?”
Brabantio opened his mouth to shout some more, but the doge, without looking back, held up a commanding hand to silence him.
Othello smiled with absolute confidence at the doge. “Send for the lady herself from my apartment, and hear what she has to say. If she speaks against me in any way, take away my office. Take away my life.”
“Someone fetch Desdemona,” Priuli said.
Othello gestured to me. “Ensign, take them, you know which building.”
Surprised to be addressed, I bowed. I was not pleased about the assignment but followed after the guards at once. Roderigo, still in Brabantio’s entourage but forgotten by him now, lurked near Cassio in the shadows. He was staring at me pleadingly. I held up one finger in a subtle gesture of reassurance, then went down the stairs with the doge’s men. As soon as I was outside I regretted doing that. I should have signaled him to go home, I thought. The poor fellow had had enough upset for one evening.
WE TOOK A gondola back along the southern shore of the city to the Arsenal. At the gate, I hesitated. I was not eager to break in on a new bride awaiting her husband’s return. Especially this bride.
“Men should not go in to her just now,” I said to those who had escorted me. I pointed to the southern end of the terrace. “Let me get my wife; we lodge just there at the Dolphin.”
EMILIA, OF COURSE, would be asleep. I had not seen her since hours before the feast. I wondered if she’d waited up for me—it was so late now, nearly dawn. I wondered if she’d heard the news about Cassio and the lieutenancy. I wondered, most of all, if she knew about the elopement.
If she did know, and had not told me . . . then I could never trust her again. This mawkish drama was imprudent—including my share in it. It was usurping the far more urgent matter of the Turks at Cyprus. I wished I’d never told Roderigo anything.
With a lamp provided from the gatehouse, I sprinted across the campo to the inn, up the steps to our rooms, and opened the door quietly, my heart beating strangely hard in my ribs. I wanted her to be ignorant of everything. I wanted her to care nothing for it. I wanted her all to myself.
For a moment, I had that. She had fallen asleep in her best gown, a blanket wrapped loosely around her, seated on her wooden stool with her head and back against the wall. On the table before her was a small bouquet of flowers, which she must have bought at some expense. She had covered the table with the brightest cloth she owned. She had set up a celebration for me to come home to . . . and I had not come home.
All the rest could wait for a moment. I placed the lamp by the door and crossed to Emilia as softly as my boots allowed it. I knelt beside her, resting my head on her lap. Gently I reached up and felt for the curve of her cheek, cupped my palm against it.
She awoke with a start. “Oh!” she said, then realizing it was me, I felt the cheek pull back into a smile, and she rested a hand on my head. “Hello, my conquering hero. What time is it? I waited hours, I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
At least I still had this, this lovely woman, the gem who had been there before anything else, even before Othello. I looked up at her, smiling, and then rose to my feet, her hands clasped in mine. “Emilia,” I said, “I need you to do something right away. Are you fully awake? I require your attention.”
“Of course,” Emilia said, standing. “What is it?”
“Tell Desdemona to come with us to the doge’s palace.”
She gave me a confused frown, which made me happier than I had been in hours. “Why me? Why not one of her women? Or her father?”
“She’s nowhere near them at the moment,” I said. Lest she was being disingenuous, I studied her face for a trace of excitement. There was none.
“What do you mean? Where is she?” She shrugged the blanket off of her; it slid to the floor around her feet.
“At the Sagittary,” I said.
She understood at once: her eyes and mouth opened wide. “Oh, Iago!” she said, shaking her head. “Oh heaven, are you serious?”
“They eloped tonight.” Pause. “With Cassio’s assistance.” Her eyes widened even more with that declaration. “Emilia, do not stand here gaping. Her father and Othello are with the doge at this moment; the doge has summoned her at once to clear Othello of rape charges, and I do not—”
She threw open the door and was already running down the stairs.
I grabbed the lamp and caught up with her. The porter let us into the Arsenal, and together we ran into the Sagittary.
But I stopped outside Othello’s bedroom. “Explain to her, and I’ll wait here,” I said, and offered her the light.
Emilia nodded and went inside.
I WAITED IN DARKNESS. I heard the sound of female voices within, delicately running up and down a trilling scale. I tried to think what I should do now. Any hope I’d had of Othello being punished for eloping was about to be squashed: not only would Desdemona avouch that it was a mutual affection, but the Turks had just rendered Othello absolutely necessary to the Republic. If Othello were removed from office, young Cassio would suddenly be in charge of most of the army as it was preparing to go off to meet our mortal enemy. Not even Brabantio would want to see that happen.
What, then? How could
I, without endangering the army, demand satisfaction from Othello for his duplicity? From Cassio, for usurping my place?
The door opened and Emilia came out, motheringly embracing Desdemona in one arm. The senator’s daughter looked so pale and fragile, I felt pity for her—this privileged, bewitching young liar. She looked at me, shy and sheepish.
“Good Ensign,” she said quietly. She clutched something against her: Othello’s prized kerchief, with the strawberries embroidered into it.
I smiled reassuringly and took the lamp from my wife. “Emilia has explained the situation?” I said.
She nodded.
“Are you able to travel to the palace?”
She blushed slightly and looked down. “Yes, Ensign, thank you for your solicitude. I suppose I should be grateful this is happening now. It would have been even more awkward tomorrow morning.”
“I think it already is tomorrow morning,” I said. I wondered if she had ever seen her father enraged, if she had any idea what she was about to have to face.
WHEN WE REACHED the palace we were ushered up the steps to the Council chamber. On the stairs, Desdemona—looking much smaller than Emilia— nervously reached up and grabbed my hand, pressing her lips together between her teeth. I smiled, squeezed her hand gently, nodded, trying to calm her. “It will be fine,” I promised her. “Just speak the truth.” Again I regretted telling Roderigo anything.
We entered.
I ASSUMED THAT while waiting for us for nearly an hour, they had moved on to the far more urgent matter at hand: the Turks. But Brabantio was raging again when we entered. Othello had not moved, remaining at the doge’s right side; Brabantio had propelled himself to the other side of the table, near the door, so that his back was to us as we came in. He stopped at the sound of our entrance and swirled around. He looked as though he might vomit when he saw his daughter, hurriedly dressed, her mussed hair falling down her back.
The entire table murmured greeting—
“Be quiet!” Brabantio brayed at them, turning back around. “Let her speak! If she admits she was in any way voluntary in this, I’ll cut my own heart out in front of you.”
Desdemona looked alarmed at this declaration; Emilia, still holding her hand, squeezed it. Again Brabantio turned to her.
“Come here, my girl,” he said, trying to contain his voice, to sound parental and affectionate. “Where in this room does your allegiance lie?”
Desdemona took a moment. I saw her exchange looks with Othello, but nothing was revealed in either face. They were veterans of hiding their feelings before others.
“Father,” Desdemona said, taking a step toward him. His face lit up with triumph. But after that one step, she stopped, and moved no closer to him. “You know I have a duty to you: you gave me life and raised me, gave me education and taught me to respect you, and I do. But, Father—” And here she walked right past him, holding out her hand toward the Moor on the far side of the table. Brabantio followed her movement with his head. “Here’s my husband,” she said, reaching Othello.
Finally Othello smiled and held out his hand to embrace hers. She kissed him briefly on the lips, to the voiced shock of the entire room; then she turned back toward Brabantio.
“Just as my mother parted from her father to marry you, so I do likewise in my marriage now. My duty lies with my husband.”
Everyone was staring at Brabantio. I sidestepped from behind him and slipped farther into the room so I might better see. He looked as if he would be sick. His breathing was harsh. Othello calmly placed an arm across the front of Desdemona’s shoulders.
“God be with you,” Brabantio finally said, in a voice of tortured resignation. He cleared his throat and said, “Please, Your Grace, move on to the state affairs.”
There was a respectful pause, and then the doge reached for a paper that lay before him on the table. The other councilors likewise reached for papers near to them. “Regarding the number of galleys,” Priuli began, “these numbers do not agree—”
“It’s a good thing you’re an only child!” Brabantio let cry again, his face relit with choking fury. “If you had any siblings, I’d whip them skinless just to punish you by proxy!” His voice was choked. He turned away. “I’m done, my lord,” he promised Priuli miserably.
The doge lowered the papers. The senators did likewise. “Brabantio, I understand your grief. I would be heartbroken too, if it were my daughter deceiving me so. But there is no wisdom in mourning a mischief that’s been done. If you are wronged and do nothing but sulk about it, you wrong yourself even further.”
If you are wronged and do nothing but sulk about it, you wrong yourself even further. I must take that to heart, I thought.
Brabantio waved this away as if the doge’s words were an annoying insect. “I beseech you, sir,” he mumbled, “on to the affairs of state.”
This time, the doge did so with purpose. He picked up the paper again and began to speak even as the councilors were reaching again for theirs. “Our intelligence is unreliable. We have three differing reports of Turkish warships anticipated, but we know the Turks plan to attack Cyprus, and Othello, you know the place best. We have a unit stationed there and a rector I have full faith in, Montano, but he is no general. I must deprive you of a honeymoon and send you there immediately.”
Othello released Desdemona and bowed to the doge. “I would expect no other orders. I am the general of the army before I am anything else, even a new-made husband.” Desdemona beamed at him. At least you know your place, I thought. “But since I am a new-made husband, I humbly ask the state to house my wife well in my absence. The Sagittary is not fit for a woman, especially one of her breeding.”
The doge shrugged. “Let her stay at her father’s while you are away,” said Priuli.
Brabantio swung back around to face them. “Oh, no,” he said bitterly. “I won’t have it.”
“Nor I,” Othello said.
“Nor I,” said Desdemona. “It would be unbearable for Father, and I would not hurt him further. But more than that, Your Grace, please hear me,” and here she turned to the doge and broke from Othello’s side to kneel at the princely chair.
The doge looked down at her and made a gesture for her to rise. “What would you, Desdemona?”
Desdemona stayed kneeling, face and eyes averted. “I married Othello to be with him all the time. That means in war as well as peace. Let me go with him to Cyprus.”
Tonight was a night these sleep-deprived senators would be talking about for years to come—for decades, if their age allowed them.
I glanced at Emilia; she was watching with the fascination I had found so disagreeable since she’d become moonish about the secret love affair. I looked next at Othello, in the wan hope that he might not want Desdemona with him.
But his feelings were obvious. “Please, my lord, let her have your approval. You have heard it yourself: the request comes from her, not from me. Her presence will not affect my work, just as my ensign’s wife’s presence has never distracted him.”
The doge glanced around the room, then shrugged again. “It’s all one to me whether she stays or goes; your choice. But make the choice immediately, Othello, because you are sailing before sunup.”
Othello put his hand on his heart and bowed to the doge and then the table. “Of course, milords,” he said.
“We’ll reconvene here at nine tomorrow to determine further steps,” the doge announced wearily. “Othello, leave an officer behind to follow in a day or two with orders and supplies.”
Othello smiled. “Please, Your Grace, let that be Ensign Iago, the best man in my service.” He gestured grandly toward me; again taken by surprise, I almost smashed my hand against my chest before bowing my head. I wanted to sneak a look at Michele Cassio but stopped myself. “He’s the most trustworthy man I’ve ever worked with,” Othello continued. “In fact, Iago—let Desdemona come with you to Cyprus. You may bring Emilia to keep her company.”
“Let it be so,
” the doge said. Looking exhausted, he said, “And good night to all of you.”
The other senators—all in robes hanging over their nightdresses—began to push back their chairs, collect their papers, and make toward the door.
“Brabantio,” Priuli, standing, called out over the tired hubbub. Unwillingly, Brabantio moved toward him. “Good Brabantio, I hope in time you can appreciate what you have in your son-in-law.”
Brabantio looked appalled by the use of this term. He turned away from Priuli without speaking. The doge wished good night to the general and his bride, and then exited with his attendants through a private door that led back toward his own quarters.
THERE WAS AN AWKWARD, quiet moment in the chamber now. Roderigo was still there in the shadows, unnoticed by everyone, perhaps mistaken for a guard; Emilia had moved from the doorway to let the senators exit, and waited now near it, eyes shining. I stood near her, watching the three other people left in the room: Othello, Desdemona, and Brabantio.
Chapter 34
DESDEMONA LOOKED IMPLORINGLY at her father. I could not see Brabantio’s face from where I stood as he drew near them.
“I have one thing to say to you, Moor,” Brabantio said, his voice dripping contempt. “She deceived me. She may deceive you just as easily.”
Desdemona’s face fell.
“I trust her with my life,” Othello answered evenly.
Brabantio turned and walked heavily out of the room. When he had disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell, Othello and Desdemona both heaved sighs, and turning to each other, kissed. I looked away.
“Iago, my friend,” Othello said. I made myself look back. “I’m leaving this beautiful woman in your care, and Emilia’s. Bring her with you as soon as you can.”
I, Iago Page 24
