Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery (26 page)

“Really? That is interesting. So, you think someone else from here reported it to him before you did.”

“Yes.”

“Probably Stephanos. He works for him.”

“Stephanos didn’t report to Esaias until later. So, he had to have heard about it from somebody else here.”

I didn’t want to tell him Esaias had heard about it from me. Simon would have decided that I had done it. The last thing I needed now was another person after me.

There was a roar and applause from the Russians as the Pecheneg won the first game. The fellow was excited and fairly drunk, and agreed readily when they proposed a rematch. The trap was set.

“Maybe Father Esaias knew because he gave the order to have Asan killed,” I said. “Maybe he found out the lad was running his own games somewhere and not sharing the proceeds.”

“Maybe,” said Simon doubtfully. “Usually, though, when Esaias makes an example out of people, their bodies are found somewhere open to view so the general public can learn from the errors of others.”

“Isn’t it wonderful how a priest will take the time to give moral instruction to his flock?” I asked. “Well, good tapster, I am at a loss to explain it. But I will sleep on it, and if anything occurs to me, then I will share it with you in the morning. And so I bid you a good night.”

“Good night, Feste.”

I went upstairs, barred the door, shuttered the windows more firmly, and had the first uninterrupted sleep I had had in days.

Philoxenites’ matched set of Varangians met me at the Blachernae Gate and diverted me to his office before I could see the Emperor. The eunuch looked displeased, but you might, too, if you were a eunuch.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this other fool?” he asked.

“I didn’t know about her until yesterday,” I said. “The Emperor told me, and I went to look her up.”

“I want to speak with her.”

“Then speak with her,” I said. “But remember that she is the Empress’s fool, and the Empress may not take kindly to interference with her staff.”

“Bring her here later.”

“She doesn’t work for me, you know.”

That brought him up short.

“Isn’t she a Guild fool?” he asked.

“No,” I said honestly. She was just an apprentice, after all. “But she is an ally. I really cannot tell you more just yet. Shall we attend to His Majesty? I do have work to do today.”

He was less than satisfied, but assented.

Alexios was in a good mood. I noticed that the flutist was looking a little worn out, which may have been the reason. A trio of artisans was demonstrating the Emperor’s newest toy, a mechanical music maker that played melodies on a variety of golden chimes, silver cymbals, tuned mahogany blocks, and even some plucked strings on a harp-shaped frame. The whole apparatus was played by the turning of a bronze crank at one end, and the effect was both mystical and merry. The Emperor limped around it with a childlike look of amazement, and was so pleased by the effects caused by turning the crank that he did it over and over again, marveling at the combinations of sounds produced. His enthusiasm was such that the inventors became apprehensive that their creation might not withstand his repeated efforts. No doubt the flutist could sympathize.

“Look, Fool,” he called. “It does the work of a dozen musicians. Is it not magical?”

“Indeed, milord,” I replied. “And I can only thank my foolish stars that it cannot sing and tell stories as well, or I might be out of a job.”

“What do you say, my friends?” he asked. “Can you duplicate Feste?”

“That is something that only can be done by the Creator,” one of the inventors said humbly. “We may duplicate music because that is something created by Man.”

“And yet I am an artificial fool,” I said. “For I am a self-made jester. Surely such minds as yours can reproduce the effort.”

“It is beyond our capabilities,” said the inventor.

“Then, Your Majesty, I submit that these fellows are not so clever after all. For a man as stupid and low as I am can still make himself into a fool, yet these geniuses cannot even do that much.”

“There are many things that cannot be duplicated by machines, and I thank God for it,” commented the Emperor. He looked fondly at the flutist, who managed a weak smile.

“Now, Feste, I have something to tell you,” continued Alexios.

“What is it, milord?”

“Something that will amuse you for a change.”

“I am always at the service of entertainment.”

He sat back on his throne, grinning broadly.

“You’ve been challenged to a duel,” he said.

B
lachernae Palace had its own hippodrome—smaller than the main one, of course, but covered so that the Emperor could have his entertainment no matter what the weather. It only had space for a thousand of his closest friends, along with their army of servants and an actual army to watch over everyone. Horse racing was an oddity there. The oval was not long enough for horses to build up any speed, but the turns were dangerously sharp. I don’t know if horses ever get dizzy, but this would certainly be the place to see it.

The Imperial Box was kept in constant readiness, for Alexios frequently acted upon his whims. On this occasion, he and Euphrosyne actually sat together, talking as if they hadn’t seen each other for months.

Word of my trial by ordeal had sped around Blachernae, and all of the immediate family plus assorted cousins piled into the place, along with many of the advisers I had seen before. This was my first glimpse of the three daughters, who sat behind their parents. Anna and Irene chatted happily with their husbands, while Evdokia sat sulkily by and scouted the adjoining seats for marriage prospects.

The Empress was guarded by her charioteer, who smirked at Stanislaus from across the box as only a man with superior muscles may do. The Captain waved at him cheerfully, but kept scanning the spectators, watching for any suspicious behavior.

Then there was a brief fanfare, and I was shoved into the middle of the arena. I stumbled as I came in, which took me through a series of irregular somersaults and handsprings until I crashed into the wall just in front of the Emperor and Empress, which sent me backward through a few more. I then stood up, brushed myself off with as much dignity as I could muster, and then bowed.

Another fanfare, and my challenger zoomed into view, dancing, cartwheeling, flipping, doing all of the tricks I had shown her to perfection, and adding a few of her own invention. Aglaia bowed to the box, and then turned to me and bowed again. I returned the bow as she came up. She saw me bowing, and responded with another, augmented with a series of graceful flourishes of the arms. I saw this, and tried to duplicate it, but my arms got tangled up with each other, and in the process of trying to separate them, my right leg somehow became wrapped up in them until I looked like a human knot.

Aglaia watched me until I succeeded in restoring my limbs to their proper positions. Where Thalia had been feline in her performances, Aglaia used her shorter height to be more mouselike. Her expressions shifted rapidly and constantly, and where Thalia undulated, Aglaia scampered. She suddenly dashed by me and gave me a good, solid kick in the rear; she was standing safely out of reach before I could even blink.

I growled at her, becoming the bear to her mouse, and started lumbering after her, grabbing at her clumsily. But she ducked under my arms and darted around me, giving me another swift kick for my reward. We continued in this fashion for a short
time; then I stopped, breathing heavily, wiping the sweat from my brow. She stood apart from me and laughed.

I walked over to my bag and pulled out a club. She stopped laughing and eyed me warily. I pulled my arm back to throw it at her. She motioned for me to stop, then reached into her bag and pulled out two clubs, waving them menacingly at me. I countered by producing two more. She matched with her third, and we each started juggling.

“How stands the duel so far, milord?” I called to the Emperor.

“It’s a close match,” he pronounced. “She’s very good.”

“How say you, milady?” asked Aglaia.

“I stand by my champion,” declared Euphrosyne. “But this fellow is a talented fool. You work very well together.”

“There’s a reason for that,” said Aglaia. “Empress, may I present my husband, Feste?”

“My Lord Emperor, may I present my wife, Aglaia?” I added.

Alexios looked at Euphrosyne, and they burst into laughter.

“Did you know about this, my dear?” he roared.

“Not an inkling,” she said, gasping. “How marvelous!”

“Now, there are a number of advantages to having a jester for a wife,” I said.

“And for a husband,” said Aglaia.

“For one thing, many marriages are undermined because one spouse suspects the other of being a fool,” I said.

“But in ours, we know it for certain,” said Aglaia. “So, there’s nothing to worry about. And, whenever we have a disagreement . . .”

“Which we never do,” I interrupted.

“Yes, we do.”

“Do not!” I shouted.

“Whenever we have a disagreement,” she repeated, glaring at me.

“We never . . .”

“Or an interruption,” she shouted angrily, “then as fools we may freely do things that are forbidden to normal people.”

“Like what?” asked the Empress.

“Like throwing clubs at each other,” she said, and the duet began.

“And knives,” I added, bringing them into the routine.

“And swords!”

“And axes!”

And the arena was filled with sharp objects flying through the air, and we beamed at each other through it all, husband and wife at last.

We performed acrobatics, improvised couplets, played our instruments, and entertained for well over two hours. Aglaia was Viola Unbound, the intangible restraints of society along with the very real restraints of Claudius’s costume left behind in the transformation. We filled the space with laughter, and there was no saying where Feste’s contributions left off and Aglaia’s began.

The principal couple enjoyed themselves royally. We even noticed them holding hands, much to the astonishment, even the consternation, of their family. And I think I even saw Philoxenites chuckle once, which was a triumph as far as I was concerned.

We finished to great applause, and Alexios was feeling so good that he actually invited Euphrosyne to lunch with him. She accepted happily, and all rose as they left the box.

“That was quite possibly the most fun I have ever had,” said Aglaia as we packed up.

“I was thinking as we performed that this is the fourth guise I have seen you use since I’ve known you,” I commented.

“And?”

“And I was thinking how lucky I am to have such an ever-changing woman. Most husbands need mistresses for variety.”

“Mm. Well, I think the plan worked. Everyone knows we’re married and under the joint protection of Euphy and her husband. My virtue should be unassailable, now.”

“Damn.”

“Why?”

“I was hoping to assail it later.”

She grinned.

“I have the afternoon off,” she said. “Would you like to see my room?”

We took a walk afterward. Away from Blachernae, away from intrigue, away from an Emperor we were trying to protect, away from the desperate scheming around him. We crossed the Lycos, and soon the city noises faded behind us and the lowing of cattle reached us from a nearby farm.

“This is such a bucolic setting,” commented Aglaia. “Too bad there’s that enormous wall blocking the horizon.”

There was a low, grassy foothill before us. Beyond it, the meadow gave way to the rise of the Xerolophon and the Pillar of Arkadios surmounting it. I spread my cloak on the grass and stretched out on it, watching the cattle wander about. Aglaia sat next to me.

“You seem preoccupied,” she observed. “Strange mood for a man after lovemaking.”

“Preoccupied? How can you tell?”

“You weren’t checking to see if anyone was following us.”

I looked back toward the north.

“Was anyone following us?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “I’m sure of it.”

“Good. Thank you. I’ve been thinking about our situation, but I haven’t come up with anything new. How about you?”

“Well, there’s one thing,” she said hesitantly. “I don’t think it’s worth much, but Euphy’s been shopping her unmarried daughter around pretty aggressively.”

“Evdokia wants a husband. It’s nice of her mother to take an active interest.”

“I was wondering if it could be more than that,” she said. “She wants a qualified male heir for the empire. Maybe if she finds the right man for Evdokia, she will have no further use for Alexios. Maybe that’s the event everyone is waiting for.”

“Maybe,” I said.

She lay back and sighed.

“I don’t think much of the idea, either,” she said. “I also found out that Captain Stanislaus used to be her bodyguard and official statue-whacker.”

“And occasional bedmate, I suppose.”

“Definitely.”

“I wonder if he was Thalia’s lover at the same time, or if that came later.”

“At the same time, I heard. That’s why Euphy persuaded her husband to take him on. She was angry at Stanislaus. But she threw the Egyptian lass into the deal.”

“Interesting. It also gave her another set of eyes and ears on her husband, if Stanislaus was reporting back to her. But I’m still not sure what it all means.”

We lay there quietly for a while, watching clouds.

Accomplishing nothing.

“Do you know why we’re not being followed?” I asked irritatedly, sitting up and looking back at Blachernae.

“Why?”

“Because whoever is plotting this knows we’re not even close,” I said. “Zintziphitzes was killed because he was a threat. Asan
was killed, and I don’t know why. But we’ve been so misdirected that it’s not even worth keeping an eye on us, much less killing us.”

“I guess from that perspective not being killed is kind of insulting,” she replied.

“We have somehow been led down the garden path to a wrong tree, which we are now barking up. And I have this feeling that we’re going to be too late.”