A Death in the Venetian Quarter

by Alan Gordon

  “She is in Constantinople,” I said. “She is a jester and is fool to the Empress Euphrosyne.”

  “She’s a fool and carrying a fool’s child,” he wondered. “And you say that you haven’t brought her to shame?” He raised his sword again.

  “Count Sebastian!” shouted a man behind him. The Count whirled to see a gaudily dressed man with a lute slung behind him. He was a plump fellow with long, flowing hair, meticulously curled about his shoulders. But he held a sword with the confidence of a man who knew how to wield one.

  “This fool, dear Count, is a member of the party sent from Constantinople to negotiate terms,” he said. “He is, therefore, protected from any molestation. I believe beheading would come under that heading.”

  “He is negotiating nothing,” said the Count. “He is a common fool.”

  “Then you dishonor yourself in taking a fool seriously,” said the man. “Lay down your sword, or you will have me to contend with.”

  “You’re not wearing armor,” said Sebastian. “It would not be a fair contest.”

  “No,” agreed the fellow. “But the advantage belongs to me, my dear Count. Or are you unaware of my reputation?”

  Sebastian peered more closely at the fellow, then quickly dropped his sword.

  “This isn’t over,” he said to me.

  “Nothing ever is,” I replied. The soldiers released me.

  “Come, Fool,” said my rescuer. “I will escort you back to your companions.”

  I bowed, and we walked away, side by side.

  He sheathed his sword and swung his lute around to his chest. Then he played the inverse of the four-note phrase that I had been playing.

  “And what name are you using nowadays, Theo?” he said softly.

  “Call me Feste,” I said. “Your timing, Raimbaut, was impeccable as always.”

  “But of course,” he said. “Tarry a bit by my tent. There is music to be played, and I think that you will recognize the other musicians.”

  Raimbaut de Vaqueiras in the abundant flesh—a stout fellow in a time of need and one of the most renowned troubadours in the Guild. He had been a fixture at the courts of Orange, Provence, and, for the last decade, Montferrat, where he had become the bosom companion of Boniface. Saved his life on more than one occasion and risked life, limb, and lute following the Marquis into one reckless adventure after another. Raimbaut was in his late forties now, and he pruned the gray from his ringlets fanatically.

  Music sounded from within a tent at the rear of the palace. Raimbaut lifted the flap for me to duck under, and there, strumming by candlelight, were Giraut, Gaucelm Faidit, and my old friend Tantalo.

  “Look what I found,” said Raimbaut. “Had to save his neck from separation once already tonight.”

  “About time you got here,” said Tantalo. “We were getting ready to draw straws as to who was going to swim across the straits to contact you. Have a seat, Theo.”

  The music kept on while the conversation took place. Raimbaut sat by the entrance, raising his voice in song whenever someone came within earshot of the tent.

  “How are things in the city?” asked Tantalo.

  “Gearing for siege,” I said. “What did you expect?”

  “No uprisings on behalf of the child?” exclaimed Giraut. “How disappointing. Young Alexios guaranteed that the city would fall from within the moment his presence became known to it.”

  “Well, Alexios will have to rethink his position,” I said. “The city isn’t even aware that he’s part of all this. They just think it’s a feeble attempt at conquest, and the idea seems to be rallying them. The Emperor has never been more popular than he is right now.”

  “You mean we’ve come all this way on the word of a boy, and the Greeks don’t know he intends to be their emperor?” chuckled Raimbaut. “How droll!”

  “Terribly funny,” said Tantalo. “We may all die laughing in a few days.”

  “What will it take to make the army go away?” I asked.

  “A hypothetical question, or are you asking on behalf of someone?” asked Raimbaut.

  “You have the ear of Montferrat. We can reach the Emperor. Unofficially, I have been asked to find out what it will take to bribe a Crusade.”

  “The boy on the throne, and all the money he promised,” said Tantalo. “And I don’t think that there’s enough money in the city to equal his promises.”

  “But that’s nonsense,” I said.

  “Then there will be war,” said Gaucelm sadly.

  “What will happen if the troops realize that the Greeks just aren’t interested in putting the boy on the throne? Won’t that mean something?”

  “Maybe,” said Tantalo. “But how do we convince them of that? We can’t just accept testimonials from a visiting fool.”

  “Proclaim the boy to the city,” I suggested. “Have them display him on a ship, and tell the people who he is. There will be a crowd on the Akropolis anytime you go by. You’ll see what kind of reaction he’ll get, and that should remove the wool from the eyes of your soldiers.”

  “Interesting idea,” said Tantalo. “Raimbaut, bring it up with Boniface.”

  “Done,” said Raimbaut. “But I’ll put it in terms of trying to raise the populace in revolt. He’ll like that.”

  “Is there anything else?” asked Tantalo. “We can’t be away from our patrons for too long.”

  Quickly, I sketched in the events in the Venetian quarter.

  “Curious,” said Tantalo. “What does that have to do with us?”

  “You’re with the Venetians,” I said. “Who are their contacts in the quarter?”

  “I don’t know,” he confessed frankly. “The Doge plays his own game and doesn’t share even half of what he knows with his allies. As far as I’ve seen, there has been no contact with the quarter since our arrival, but it’s likely that anything that was arranged was done so beforehand. We’ll keep our ears open.”

  “Very well. Play on, my colleagues, and perhaps we’ll give a joint performance after peace comes back to the land.”

  “I hope that we won’t have to wait too long,” said Giraut.

  Raimbaut walked me the rest of the way back to my camp.

  “I fear the worst,” he said. “Too many soldiers have endured too much for too long just to walk away without a battle. Peace is the least thing in their thoughts.”

  “Work on them, Raimbaut. We’ll see what happens.”

  I was not present at the morning’s parley, but I heard about it as we rode to the dock afterward. Rosso brought the Emperor’s puzzled concern over the arrival of the Crusaders and his offer to help provision them for their journey to the Holy Land. Conon de Bethune spoke for the Crusaders, venting poetically tinged defiance. Rosso reminded them of the Pope’s renunciation of the Crusaders and his assurances to the Patriarch that he did not want this conquest. Conon declared that they were God’s own army and would prevail.

  “And they believe that,” marveled Rosso as we boarded our galley. “The ease of their battles reinforces that belief at every step. Do you know how many it took to rout Stryphnos and his five hundred? Eighty knights! They cut through the camp like a hailstorm and achieved total victory without losing a man.”

  The trip across the Bosporos was quick and quiet. They let us off north of the Golden Horn so that Rosso could ride immediately to Blachernae. We passed by the Galata Tower, ducking under the great iron chain that barred entry into the harbor, then crossed the great stone bridge at the rivermouth.

  I went straight home to reassure Aglaia that I was still alive. She flung herself into my arms, weeping unreservedly. I told her of my adventures.

  “Oh, and your brother sends his regards,” I said. I confess that I secretly enjoyed the look of amazement produced by those words.

  ELEVEN

  “Whoever could get hold of this youth,” said the marquis, “would be well able to go to Constantinople … for this youth is the rightful heir.”

  —ROBER
T DE CLARI, THE CONQUEST OF CONSTANTINOPLE

  “Sebastian’s a Crusader?” she said in shock.

  “In the thick of it, spoiling for a fight. So much so that he tried to pick one with me.”

  “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

  “No, dearest. And, by the way, he didn’t hurt me, either.”

  She paced the room, ignoring me.

  “He must have really gotten on Olivia’s nerves this time,” she mused. “Otherwise, she’d never have consented to his leaving.”

  “He didn’t hurt me, either,” I repeated.

  “I can see that, husband, so don’t belabor the point.” She stopped, snapping her fingers. “Olivia must have a new lover. Of course, that’s it. She sent him off to give herself a clear field.”

  “Entirely possible. Just like David and Uriah, only she’s David.”

  “Could she want him dead?” she wondered. “Olivia’s not that cruel. There’s no reason for it. She already has the regency. She has nothing to gain from his death.”

  “It may be simply that he wanted to go,” I said. “He missed out on the last Crusade. Perhaps his ambition to have some adventure overwhelmed any opposition at home. Or that he nobly volunteered to lead the tribute the town owed Venice so that someone else could stay home. Whatever the case may be, he’s here.”

  “The idiot,” she murmured. “He’ll throw himself into the van and get himself killed.” She turned to me. “We’ve got to stop this.”

  “Ah. Now that your brother’s involved, you don’t mind me risking my life.”

  “That isn’t fair!” she protested.

  “You objected to my risking it for people I don’t know. Many of them, I suspect, are someone’s brother or father. Or even father-to-be, although they’ve taken so long getting here that the only fathers-to-be are probably cuckolds. Still, I was prepared to risk my life stopping this war before I knew your brother was involved. I don’t object to continuing on.”

  “Because this is what fools do,” she said slowly.

  “Yes.”

  “All right, lesson learned,” she conceded. “I thought that we had left the master-pupil part of our lives behind.”

  “Everyone needs a refresher course once in a while,” I said. “Even me. I’ll try to temper my suicidal tendencies with cares toward impending fatherhood. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What’s been happening here?”

  “Today was the Feast of the Robe of the Holy Mother over at the Hagia Soros. It was the first time that I had seen that particular relic. Kind of a ratty old thing, but I suppose it’s seen better days.”

  “Although not Biblical ones. That was one of the fake relics brought back by Constantine’s mother.”

  “Well, don’t tell Euphy. She takes it very seriously. She practically flattened the Bishop in her haste to take over the ceremony. She held the robe over her head and launched one prayer after another calling upon the Holy Mother to smite the enemies across the waters.”

  “Mary never struck me as the smiting type.”

  “Never underestimate the wrath of a woman. All the other ladies joined Euphy, of course, and great was the weeping and gnashing of teeth thereof.”

  “Sounds like quite a party. Well, despite my longstanding fear of wrathful women, I’m going to chance taking you to bed, if that is agreeable.”

  She held out her hand.

  “Every opportunity left to us, say I,” said she.

  A pair of Varangians pounded on our door in the morning. This didn’t worry us, as Will and Phil wouldn’t have bothered with the courtesy. It was Henry and Cnut with an altogether different sort of summons.

  “Come on, Feste, you’ve been challenged,” called Henry from the courtyard when I looked out the window. “Throw on your motley and grab your lute. The honor of the city is at stake.”

  “But I haven’t eaten yet,” I protested. “And why should I be up before noon?”

  “No sympathy here,” said Cnut. “We’ve been up since cock’s crow. But perform well, and you shall eat and drink on our company’s coin for a fortnight.”

  “A week, boy, a week,” Henry corrected him hurriedly. “But make haste, Fool, and give your lady a kiss from each of us.”

  “How many of you are there?” called Aglaia from our bed.

  “Just the two of us, Mistress Fool,” replied Henry.

  “Then fetch more Varangians, good Captain, for two kisses is inadequate payment for parting us! I demand a company’s kisses.”

  “A squadron now, and another when I return,” I said. “I won’t be leaving the city’s walls today.”

  I made good my payment, threw on my motley and makeup, slung my lute around my neck, and joined our friends. We took off at a quick march toward the Akropolis.

  “Who has called me out?” I asked, tuning my lute on the run.

  “Well, it wasn’t you specifically,” said Henry. “The Crusaders have sent ten ships floating by the seawalls. They are parading some puny boy back and forth on the deck of the Doge’s vessel and are proclaiming him Emperor. And some overdressed minstrel on the prow is demanding the best voice in the city to engage in a singing duel. Naturally, we thought of you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Well, Alfonso, that troubadour friend of yours, left town, so you were the next best choice.”

  “I’m less flattered than I was before. But should I be Constantinople’s champion? I’m not even from here.”

  “Neither are we,” said Cnut. “But we’ll die defending these walls just the same. All you have to do is sing.”

  We ran through the Great Palace and climbed a ramp to a tower near the lighthouse. It was a hot, clear day on that third of July, and I could see all the way across to Chrysopolis and Leander’s Tower. About fifty yards out was half a tithe of the Venetian fleet, the Eagle and another of the great roundships along with a gaggle of smaller vessels filled with archers.

  On the raised foredeck of the Eagle stood the young Alexios. It was the first time I had ever seen the lad. He inspired neither awe nor confidence, being merely a beardless boy with barely enough strength to support the armor he wore. A servant stood surreptitiously by to steady him on the rolling vessel. I doubted that the youth would ever lift a sword himself in the promised battle, and the crowd gathering on the Akropolis behind me seemed much of the same opinion. That section of the city actually rose higher than the walls defending it, and the masses had their first good view of their putative conqueror.

  The Eagle’s bowsprit extended a good fifty feet beyond the bow. At the very tip of it sat Tantalo in his best checkered tunic and cape, his feet dangling some sixty feet over the water.

  There was a blast of trumpets and drums, and a herald stepped forward and bellowed, “Behold, citizens of Constantinople, your true Emperor, Alexios, son and rightful heir of Isaakios the Second, who was basely deposed by the Devil who now pretends to the throne!”

  “What’s he talking about?” said a man on the rise behind me.

  “That’s Isaakios’s boy,” replied his companion. “They’re saying he should be Emperor because of what happened to Isaakios.”

  “But that was years ago,” objected the first. “The boy took his time, didn’t he?”

  “Had to grow up first.”

  The second man cupped his hands and yelled, “We don’t want any Venetian boy prostitutes on the throne. Send him back to the Doge’s bedchamber.”

  This brought hoots of laughter from the Greeks as well as guffaws from the Varangians posted on the seawalls.

  It was hard to read the expressions of the Crusaders from so far away, but Alexios seemed to sag a little. The officers surrounding him remained stoic, but the regular soldiers and sailors seemed surprised, even dismayed. They had been led to expect cheering, perhaps an immediate armed uprising. Instead, jeers and catcalls greeted them, their first taste of how daunting a task truly faced them. They had already seen the size and strength
of the fortifications around the city. The idea of actually storming them had been suppressed by the hope that they wouldn’t need to, but now it was foremost in their minds.

  Then there was a brief chord, and we looked back to see Tantalo standing easily at the tip of the bowsprit, lute at the ready.

  “Have you brought your champion, Greeks?” he called. “I espy motley amidst the armor. Is a fool the best you could find in this vast city?”

  “The best fool in all Christendom,” I shouted back. “Shall we match wits in song?”

  “With that voice?” scoffed Tantalo. “A nightingale will not consort with a crow.”

  “Yet when the battle is over, the nightingales lie dead on the field while the crows hop about, pecking at their eyes. I am for you, signore. My gage is in my hand.” I held up my lute to the cheering of the throng behind me.

  “A tenso, is it?” cried Tantalo, using the old troubadour word for these trials by song. “Very well, I accept.”

  There was cheering by the Crusaders, albeit without the enthusiasm of the home crowd. Tantalo had a distinct advantage in this contest. He had had his entire journey to prepare for it, while I would have to improvise my offering on the spot in whatever style he chose. I waited, hoping he would pick a verse that I could match easily.

  He began.

  “O Greek,

  I speak

  Of your prospects which are bleak.

  You face a foe

  On fields of woe

  With an army oh so weak.

  Your fleet won’t float.

  Your very fittest boat

  Is far from young

  And now has sprung

  A mighty leak.

  If you take the field

  Then you soon shall yield

  For the shield

  That you wield

  Is antique.

  By sword and drum

  In Kingdom Come

  Your future you will seek.”

  He finished with a flourish and looked at me expectantly.

  “Bastard,” I muttered.