The Malacia Tapestry (27 page)

Laughing, Armida said, ‘Then I dread to think how miserly you will be while playing Phalante.'

‘What I am saying, my peach, my prize, is that by the trifling adjustment of my hat, I have plumbed the wells of Folly or scaled the mountainsides of Truth. Besides all that, what does it matter if my real self is sometimes lost to view?'

‘Have you yet attempted to impersonate a modest person?' Armida asked.

Proverbially, it is only the wicked who lead busy lives. Yet next morning saw a full day ahead. In an hour or two, Otto Bengtsohn would be working with his zahnoscope at the Chabrizzi Palace; I was not required in the morning but had to go in the afternoon and play a scene with Letitia. This morning, I resolved to see Pozzi Kemperer again and persuade him to let me play Phalante as a cavalier; for that interview I would be suitably dressed. I needed to see that the tailor had cloth for my coat. In the evening, I would leave my friends to amuse themselves while I visited my sister; she would help me to arrange everything necessary for the ancestral hunt at Juracia. There was the horse problem, too. Mandaro kept a cob; but its nature, like its master's, was too clerical for the chase.

Perhaps Kemperer would lend me a plumed tricorne-hat.

Allowing the town cocks to rouse me, I rose and dressed myself in calf-boots, the heavy sash, the long cravat, the wooden sword, and other martial adornments. I sang as I dressed.

‘
Oh, there are times when we defy what has to be.

The Malacians being wanton worship chastity …
'

Every so often, I glanced down into the street below, where bustle already attended the long morning shadows. Apprentices were darting hither and yon with food and drink; bales of timber were being delivered to the carvers' workshops, laundry-women were about, and the fishermen with their guttural cries. The milk cart rumbled along the alley, pulled by an ox with silver bells on its horns, and driven by a horned lizard-man.

A soldier elbowed his way among the crowd. He strolled through a slice of sunshine and happened to catch my gaze as he glanced up. He was wearing a plumed tricorne which corresponded to the pattern I coveted.

He passed on. I was plagued by envy. Here was I in my garret, penniless, with loves and ambitions above the miserable stratum of life into which I had been pitched – loves, ambitions, yes, and talents! – and there was that swaggering fellow, doubtless with gold in his pocket, doubtless making for an assignation with some voluptuous lady. Otherwise, why should a cavalry captain be up and on foot at this tradesmanly hour of day?

I dispersed my discontent with song. Dressed at last, hatless, I went down to the street and bought a pastry stuffed with sliced meats and peppers from a friendly baker.

Munching, I cut through the flea-market to walk under the ruinous arcades of Desport Palace and see the Night Guard dismiss in the square. Acquaintances greeted me at every turn. I saw Letitia's uncle Joze, swinging along painfully on crutches, but he did not see me.

At one end of the arcades, I leaned against a pillar where a countrywoman sat with her basket of flowers. The sun shone on me, and it was pleasant to watch the smart movements of the Malacian City Guard; they filled me with military thoughts as I broke my fast.

Close by were two magicians, paying no attention to the parade. They had appropriated an alcove where, among their private filth, they muttered over a great bronze globe – whether of this world or the next I could not guess. Their two corrupt boys played barefoot by them. In the shadowy background, among tarpaulins, a sacrificial goat stared up at a pine growing in riven masonry.

One of the magicians had a malign, stupid face. It stretched sideways like a toad's, smiling as he turned his head and beckoned to me with one finger.

I pretended I had not seen the gesture. Stepping back, I barged into a passer-by. I felt a shoulder thrust angrily in my back. So gallant was my mood that by impulse I whirled about, drawing my wooden sword.

I confronted the cavalier I had seen from my window, plumed hat and all.

His hand went to his sword-hilt. Even as he did so, his eye flashed from my eye to my sword. At sight of it, his grim expression relaxed; he stretched out his arms.

‘Spare me!' he said. ‘I know not how to parry such a blade.'

I could not help but laugh. He was a handsome little figure, solid, trim, no more than two years my senior. I envied him his curly, brown moustache, the ends of which were uncompromisingly waxed. His eyes were dark and moist, which I took for a sign of untrustworthiness. That unreadable deep brown never means well. Perhaps for that reason, I raised my wooden point till it was at his throat. He made no move to defend himself.

As we held the dramatic tableau, I could see his history: a well-bred family, a boy accustomed to having his way, an indulgent father, women, a sure career in the military, a good place in the mess, loyal friends, a stable of sound horses, courage, chivalry, ennobling wounds, medals, promotion, a rich marriage, connections at court, honours, the future in his hands. It was not for a wooden sword to gainsay such a destiny. I lowered my point.

No doubt he'd grow fat and gouty in another ten years.

Our
tableau vivant
was broken by the toad magician. He was crippled under his greasy black gown. He crawled across the paving to us, thrusting up one hand on a stringy brown arm, crying to us, ‘Take heed, you young masters, take heed. There are no accidents. Stars make character, character makes destiny.'

As we backed away from him, the single finger came up again, reaching for our chins.

‘You twain, young masters, are unknowingly involved in one bed. That bed bodes no good, and mischief is about to befall you both. As for you –' here he turned his cat gaze to me –'the waters will close over your head unless you swim more surely, and the Dark One will take you!'

I put up my sword and ran, and the cavalier ran too, pacing beside me.

‘The old reptile lies,' shouted the cavalier. ‘I have less than no inclination to climb into your lice-ridden palliasse.'

‘Nor I into your scurvy bed, with its plaguing crabs. Sooner into a river-bed!'

We halted round the first corner, glaring at each other. It was wonderful how he had run and kept his hat on.

He smiled again, showing a row of white teeth as good as any actor's, and thrust out his hand.

‘I never heed the words of whores or soothsayers. There's a great world beyond words of which they know nothing. I am Captain John Pellegrino san Lasionio of the Tuscady Heavy Horse, black sheep of the san Lasionio family of Dakka. And I have to admit that I had you under observation.'

‘I am the actor Perian de Chirolo, last scion of a great scholarly family, but with no patience to be a scholar. Equally, I am a soldier only in dress.'

‘As a professional soldier can easily observe … But of course your camouflage in would take anyone else.'

‘By that same token, I can tell you are the black sheep of your family. And I've no more heard of the san Lasionios than you have of the de Chirolos. Why should you have been observing me? I envy you only your splendid headgear – what of mine could you envy?'

At that, his manner became downcast in a superb way, and he began to pace forward, casting his gaze at his boots. As I fell in beside him, he said, ‘I chiefly envy your manifest armistice with the world. In what a carefree way did you stroll along the arcade, eating your rations and enjoying the day. For me, this is a day of fateful decision, and the omens give me no joy.'

It came to my mind that he might be deciding to give away a surplus mount, and was looking for a suitable recipient; and at once I was persuading my father to stable it in his deserted yard, and Beppolo was grooming it and buying hay at a reasonable price, and friends – and Armida – were there watching me leap into the saddle, smiling and waving.

‘According to the soothsayers, every day is a day for decision.'

He flashed me a look, half-comic, half-despairing, and smote his chest.

‘Let me declare myself. For the first time, I who always laughed at women's wiles am in love. Enfiladed by love.'

With a hollow laugh, I said, ‘Come, Captain, did my casual manner so easily deceive you? Every day of my life, I am in love. Women are so beautiful, so agreeable, how could it be otherwise? I have a fit of marriage on me for the most beautiful, the most agreeable – and the most damned expensive – of them, and so I must forego all the rest, as I am honourable. So it is only my ability as an actor which conceals most perfect inner turmoil.'

He dismissed my words with a gesture.

‘I do not act. I am a man of action. Now I'm embattled in a world of love whose strategies I always despised.'

‘Don't despise it – cultivate it.'

‘I despise it. I'm a soldier, not a coxcomb. Yet today I'm in the ambush I laughed about yesterday. For the one I love – oh, why do I parade my woe? – the one I love above even my honour is already married, and to such a mean and lecherous old fart that her every hour is misery. If ever there was a wedding of Greek fire and pipe-clay … yet she clings to it from the sweet goodness of her heart … Can a man love too much, de Chirolo?'

I thought about it. ‘I've seen men love other people's marriages, believing it was the woman they wanted.'

‘You live a decadent life, I can see. Malacia's rotten. But for her I'd be thankful my regiment is leaving … No, I mean no insult: I'm just out-flanked, ground between slow-turning wheels. Come, let's walk awhile.'

‘You like to walk? As a cavalry officer, you must prefer riding. You must live and breathe horses.'

As we strolled northwards, he said, ‘I love her and I swear she truly wears my colours. Yes, yes, she breaks her heart for my sake, yet she is too loyal to leave this antique satyr of hers.'

‘There are plenty of women to be had without antique satyrs. Yet it's true that all have some other character defect. The lady I love has a domineering father who –'

I was steering him in the general direction of Kemperer's, but he cut me short by stopping and grasping my arm fiercely.

‘My case is desperate, understand that. I'm no playboy. I'm in charge of the force sent by the dukes of Tuscady to relieve Malacia. Tomorrow I must lead my force across the mountains northwards, to harry Stefan Tvrtko's rear. I
must
decamp tomorrow. I've lingered as long as possible on one excuse or the other, sent off my adjutant on so many false errands he must think me mad – which I am. Tomorrow morning at first light, we muster and ride or my career's done. So by tonight it's imperative I have definite pledges from my love. She must come to me tonight or my campaign's lost, and I dread to press her too hard for fear of wounding that gentle heart. You can aid me, de Chirolo, if you will.'

‘A wily attorney could help you more.'

‘No, you're my necessary reinforcement, de Chirolo. I need a scout, and it must be someone not of the regiment. That's sound tactics.' He appraised me with a bold, savage face. The ends of his moustachios vibrated.

‘The crippled magician suggested that we would do each other no good. Find someone else.'

‘I'd best speak out. I know more of you than I have so far revealed. You are not the rank-and-file fop you pretend, de Chirolo. I observed your brave ascent by balloon from the Bucintoro, astride that black stallion with silver hooves. Since then I've had further reconnaissances made. I know that you are intimate with the dear lady who has taken my heart captive.'

Terrible fears, neglected omens, apprehensions, rushed into my mind. I would have drawn my wooden sword, but for his steel one.

‘Captain … then we are deadly rivals! You are the young gallant of whom my Armida is always talking.'

He stared at me unblinkingly. ‘I have no Armida on my roll-call. The lady to whom I refer visited your quarters only yesterday – I refrain, as a gentleman, from inquiring what transpired there. My adjutant kept her movements under observation from a distance. That lady is the divine Singla, the chaste and beautiful commander of my affections.'

‘Yes, yes, I see …' Through my relief, I thought, beautiful, yes, that La Singla is. The other adjectives are the illusory coinage of a man who has wasted his years among whores. Armida would not desire a man like this; but I see how he might be La Singla's meat.

‘You begin to follow my line of approach?'

‘What have you to say about La Singla?' It was my turn to begin walking. He fell into step beside me.

As san Lasionio poured out his admiration for La Singla – and how banal another man's protestations of adoration sound – I tried to work the matter out. By my side was the very rogue that Kemperer was making the fuss about. He had delivered himself into my hands, much as La Singla herself had done the previous day. What a sheepish black sheep!

Just as I was wondering how the situation could be turned to my advantage, the captain began to resolve that question as well.

‘My divine Singla has briefed me on you, de Chirolo. I know that you have the trust of her old tyrant of a husband. Even now, you are probably going to visit them both, while I must to my duties – the regiment has much preparation before departure. Here's the procedure. I require a great favour of you – well, a small one really, between gentlemen – I request you to take a despatch to her, privily. You may not believe this, but I fear that repulsive old man to whom she's chained. He is capable of spreading lies that would stain my rank and honour. Go to her, inform her that I stand on the brink of despair for her decision.'

He paused. The plume of his tricorne trembled in sympathy with his moustache.

‘Say on.'

‘Her decision means life or death to me. She must determine today whether to continue entrenched with her dotard of a husband or to embark on a new life with me and the regiment. That's my ultimatum. Will you impress it on her?'