Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery (8 page)

“Will we have a chance to go to the top?” she asked.

“Sometime,” I said. “There’s much to do first.”

“And the holy relics. They say they have most of the True Cross here.”

“That’s what they think. There’s a big chunk of wood at the Church of the Theotakos at Blachernae, supposedly excavated by Helen, Constantine’s mother. She was sainted basically for being conned by some Palestinian tricksters. They also sold her the crosses of the two thieves, the crown of thorns, Mary Magdalene’s jar, the baskets that held the miraculous loaves, the slab on which the dead Christ lay, and that’s just the Jesus stuff. They have all sorts of relics of the saints as well.”

“I hear they have the head of John the Baptist.”

“They do. In fact, they have two. We’ll see them both.”

She looked at me quizzically.

“I thought you were a believer,” she said.

“I am. I just don’t believe in worshiping pieces of dead people.”

We walked on toward the Forum Bovis. Demetrios had lived in an inn near it. As the Mese opened into the great rectangle, we came up against the great Brazen Bull, in which the tyrant Emperor Phocas had, according to legend, been roasted to death. The area was now, appropriately, the main meat market for the city. The beast glowered at us, but did not charge. Claudius looked happily around at the throngs of people streaming through the forum, swirling around one bronze masterpiece after another.

“I do want to see this city,” she said.

“We will,” I promised. “If we live long enough.”

Behold: I have played the fool, and have erred exceedingly
.

I SAMUEL
26:21

D
emetrios lived in a small hostel south of the Forum Bovis. Lived, past tense. His landlady, a large, slovenly woman with wine-stained clothing, snored on a bench in front. When we roused her from her nap, she took one look at my makeup and shouted, “Go away! We’ll have no more of you people.”

“My apologies for disturbing you, Madame,” I said, sweeping my cap and bells off my head and bowing low. “I was merely seeking an old friend who lived here. I had hopes that he might find me some employment. His name is Demetrios.”

“I know who your friend is,” she snapped.

“Then perhaps you could tell me where he is.”

“Perhaps I can’t,” she said, and sat in her chair. I waited for her to speak again. “Vanished,” she said finally.

I waited for her to elaborate. After some minutes of looking at each other, I decided to prompt her.

“Vanished, you said?”

“Yes.”

“When was this?”

“What’s it to you?”

“As I said, I was hoping he could find me some employment. We used to work together.”

“Then you can pay me what he owes me,” she said hopefully.

“We weren’t that close. When did he vanish?”

“Beginning of November. One day he’s here, the next he isn’t, without so much as a by-your-leave. Ten years he’d been living here, and didn’t even say good-bye. Leaving me to sort out his things.”

I had a brief moment of hope. “Do you still have them here?”

She laughed. “Sold them after a month. That’s what we do around here. Got pitifully little for the lot, mostly some hideous costumes of his.”

“You have nothing left?” I said. “What about in his room?”

“Let it in December. Can’t have it going to waste. Now, get on with you.”

I turned to leave.

“Wait,” she called after me. She got up from her chair for the first time and scurried into the building. She returned with a long, thin parcel, wrapped in rags, bulging at one end.

“He left this,” she said. “I couldn’t sell it. It has a cursed look to it. Do you want it?”

“Yes,” I said, my heart sinking as I recognized the shape. I took it from her, and we left as the sun started setting.

We reached the Rooster before dark and went straight to our room. I unwrapped the cloth and held up a scepter with a small figure of a skull at the end of it, decked out in cap and bells.

“Demetrios’s
marotte
,” I said. “Look at the makeup. That was his style, with the red triangles ringing the eyes. He never would have left this behind.”

“Does it shoot poisoned needles like yours?” Viola asked, edging away from it.

I turned it upside down. Nothing fell out. I located the hidden trigger and pressed it. There was a faint click.

“There’s nothing in it, and it hasn’t been used,” I said. “Whoever killed him took him unawares.”

“What did they do with the body?”

“Who knows? The landlady looks like she could sleep through Judgment Day given a decent wineskin, so it wouldn’t have been hard to carry him out. Let’s go see if our new employee found out anything.”

Asan was at a table, digging into some gray slop like it was his last meal. He started as he looked up to see us seated on either side of him.

“Greetings and well met, my little burglar,” I said.

“Hush,” he said, looking around nervously, but the general din of the room drowned us out.

“Any news of Tiberius?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“He’s gone,” he said. “Been gone for months. Must have owed someone badly, because he left in a hurry. His things were still there.”

“Who was he running from?”

He snorted. “Could have been half a dozen men tired of waiting for him to pay up.”

“Any of them likely to kill him rather than take his money?”

“Most of them would want to do both. If he had anything belonging to you, it’s long gone.”

“Any friends? Did he keep a mistress?”

“A mistress?” he laughed. “He was a fool. He was a debtor with aspirations to poverty. What woman would want such a creature?”

“One never knows,” commented Claudius.

“Any friends, then?” I asked.

“That other fool, Demetrios. They used to work together, entertaining the troops at the Great Palace garrisons, sometimes working the Hippodrome. But no one’s seen him in ages, either. Maybe they left together.”

“Maybe. That’s most likely the case. Well, young thief, you are quit of your debt to me. Go and sin no more. Or as little as you can without going hungry.”

We shifted to another table, taking some of the glop with us, washing it down with some brown ale. I craved more colors in my food.

There was a table of soldiers in the inn, and one of them threw me a coin and bade me sing. All in a day’s work. I unslung my lute and launched into something appropriately martial, then segued into something more bawdy. The latter was apparently what they were looking for, so I continued in that vein, Claudius joining in, beating on my tabor. The wine and ale flowed freely, and when I came to the end, several of them clapped me heartily on the shoulders, some taking the time to pummel poor Claudius as well.

Simon was quite happy to have the free entertainment in his place, and even happier that it led to such free-spending inebriation. He came out from behind the bar with a pitcher of ale and plunked down in front of me.

“I should introduce you to these fine fellows,” he said. “This one’s Henry of Essex. He’s a captain with the Varangians.”

I saluted him. He was a flaxen-haired fellow of medium build, with a livid scar crossing from the bridge of his nose down to the bottom of his left cheek. He noticed me marking it, and bellowed, “You should see the other fellow!” I saw his axe leaning against the table, the lamplight bouncing off it.

“Just give me a shovel and show me where to dig,” I replied, and he guffawed.

“This one’s Cnut,” continued Simon, throwing a massive arm around the shoulders of a tall lad of eighteen. A pale down clung to the boy’s cheeks. “He’s also a Varangian, from that Danish city I can’t pronounce.”

“Kjoebenhavn?” I guessed.

Cnut’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

“It’s the only city in Denmark I’ve been to. Let me guess. You’re the third son of a merchant. The diet in Denmark is too bland, so they sent you to Constantinople for seasoning.”

The other Danes at the table laughed and nudged the youth.

“And this is Stanislaus,” said Simon, pointing to the only man at the table not wearing the Varangian armor. “He’s a captain with the Hetairia. He gets to open the Great Gates of Blachernae Palace every morning.”

“And then you’re done for the day?” I exclaimed. “That’s it. I’ve been working too hard. I’m going to join the Hetairia. You’re up at the Anemas garrison?”

“Correct, Fool,” replied Stanislaus, a dark-haired man with a weathered face. Also a foreigner, with an accent similar to Simon’s. “Unfortunately, our commander permits no entertainment at the garrison, otherwise I’d invite you to perform there.”

“We could use some jesting,” said Henry. “It’s been bloody dull around here. Come down to our garrison one of these days.”

“It would be my pleasure. Which one are you at?”

“Hodegon, near the Arsenal, Do you know it?”

“I can find it. What would be a good time?”

He thought, then snapped his fingers. “Saturday afternoon, when my brigade takes its bath. We usually have music there, but if you don’t mind performing for several hundred naked men, we could make it a profitable day for you.”

“Done. I’ve never seen a Varangian unshelled before.”

“It’s an ugly sight, but seeing it en masse should dampen the
blow. I’ll show you the rest of my scars. Well, Simon, time for the real soldiers to depart. We’re up at dawn guarding the Emperor’s ravines. But we’ll be back now that we know you have some real entertainment.”

“My conversation was not good enough for you before?” protested the tapster in mock indignation. “My apologies, my lords and masters, for the ignorant level of discourse to which you have been subjected. I only thought to instruct you with the tales of my life.”

“Yes, tell us again how you fought Saladin blade to blade,” laughed Henry.

“He did?” exclaimed Cnut, and the older soldiers cuffed him affectionately until he managed to get his helmet back on. They exited, all save Stanislaus who sat staring morosely at the pitcher.

“I cannot believe they left some undrunk,” he said. “I’ll need your help finishing it.”

I live for invitations like that. Claudius and I joined him at the table and commenced pouring.

“Long live the Emperor,” I said, raising my cup.

“Long live both of them,” he replied, raising his a little unsteadily. “To the most unholy pair of brothers since . . . since . . ..” He drank. “I can’t think of a good example. No family like the Angeli for treachery, even in this part of the world. God, I wish I was home again.”

“Where’s home?”

He sighed. “A small town near Mainz. Took the Cross and followed Frederick Barbarossa on the last Crusade. You were on that one, weren’t you, Simon?”

“Sure. I have many memories. I remember . . ..”

“We’re not discussing your memories,” interrupted Stanislaus. “We’re discussing mine. We’ve heard your memories more times
than I can remember. What a long walk that was! Men dropping right and left. Even Frederick didn’t make it all the way.”

“But you did,” I said. “And then you ended up here?”

“Like I said, it was a long walk, and I didn’t feel like walking all the way back.”

“And there was this girl . . ..” prompted Simon.

“Shut up. Yes, there was a girl, thank Christ. But then she left me. So, now I’m here, marching around, opening gates, propping up the Emperor when he’s too drunk to stand, clearing crowds, quelling the occasional riot when it gets too close to Blachernae Palace, and watching the throne change hands suddenly. It’s all very entertaining. It’s not a bad life, being a mercenary. The pay is good, and I have a nice farm picked out for when I retire. And none of that silly fighting-for-honor stuff anymore. That’s a farce. Look at my Varangian friends.”

“What about them?”

“Do you realize that the last three emperors have come to the throne by violence against their predecessors, and the Varangians have not lifted a finger to prevent it? God knows that Isaakios was no paragon, but he was all right. Now he’s a blind man resting in comfort at the Double Column, until our current ruler panics at some omen and has him strangled.”

“Have there been any such omens lately?”

He laughed. “Everything’s an omen here, and for every occurrence there are a dozen explanations from a dozen competing soothsayers. This from the heart of Christendom. Give me the Latin church any day. At least it’s consistent. And give me a mercenary over a man of honor. Honor may be bent in any direction, but with a mercenary, you get what you pay for.”

He upended his cup, then poured some more.

“How about you? Where are you from?” he asked.

“Originally? Or lately?”

“Lately.”

“I was working up north, traveling from town to town, until they got bored with me. So, I came here.”

“Someone will probably make an omen out of you,” he remarked. “There used to be some other fools around. Used to see a couple at the games every now and then. Haven’t seen them lately. And the Emperor used to keep a pair of dwarves. Twins. Funniest damn creatures you ever saw.”

“I’ve heard about them,” I said. “They’re not still around?”

“No,” he said. “They took off. Had enough, I suppose, and they were well off. Alexios is very generous when he wants to be. I tell you, my friend, if you could get in there, you could do quite well for yourself, if you’re any good.”

“That would suit me royally,” I said. “How do I go about doing that?”

“Good question,” he said. “There’s no actual Master of Revelry like there used to be, at least not at the moment. There’s this eunuch, Constantine Philoxenites. He’s the Imperial Treasurer, which means he’s the warden of the Emperor’s greed and profligacy. He’s probably the man to know, but he’s a hard one to reach, there are so many layers of bureaucracy surrounding him. I see him every now and then. If you like, I’ll put in a good word.”

“I would be most grateful,” I said.

We finished the wine. He lurched to his feet and looked out the window.

“Dark already,” he said. “Your wine is too good, Simon. Point me home.”

“I’ll walk you,” said Simon, grabbing a cloak. “Good night, Fool. Good night, Claudius.”