Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery (19 page)

We cautiously poked our heads up from the tunnel just in case
anyone was waiting there with a mind to take them off. Then we scrambled out, tossing the torches into the hole and covering it up with the flagstones. We walked into the open streets, trying not to look like two fools afraid for their lives.

“By the way, thank you for the words you said over him,” I said. “Ecclesiastes is always a good choice for preachers and fools. It ends, ‘For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.’ ”

North to the horse’s ear we went, until the walls that separated Blachernae from the rest of the city loomed before us. The complex was nestled on the Sixth Hill, overlooking both the plains beyond the outer walls and a small beach on the Golden Horn. There were two great palaces beyond the gate, one built by the first Emperor Alexios a century ago, and a newer one built by Manuel, who I suppose found the older palace cramped and dingy. The complex had several churches, a private hippodrome, baths, and the usual guard towers, including the Anemas Tower where our new friend Stanislaus lived. Isaakios had turned his renovating eye on this area as well, to the point of constructing artificial islets in the Golden Horn to accommodate his building frenzies. None of these pleased the eye, although a tower built as a monument to himself was impressive, if only to demonstrate the height of his folly. All were watered by aqueducts from the Hydrales River, one of Andronikos’s few positive contributions to the world.

We went around to the servants’ entrance. We were expected, fortunately, although we still spent over an hour being conducted from one room to another by a series of slaves and servants, the haughtiness of the manner increasing with the size of the room.

The last servant to face us, a pinched-face fellow named Euthymios, frowned mightily when we entered his chamber.

“You’re the ones, are you?” he sniffed. “Certainly a scruffy pair, aren’t you?”

“We cannot compare with your magnificence,” I said, bowing humbly.

“No, you cannot,” he agreed. “I am the chief servant to the Emperor. I have been instructed to allow you to perform, much against my wish, but that is neither here nor there.”

“Where is it, exactly?” I asked.

“Before you enter his presence, you must rid yourselves of all weapons,” he continued, ignoring me.

“Most esteemed sir,” I said. “These are not weapons, they are props. They are the tools of our trade. Juggling without sharp implements is merely passing the time. Juggling with knives and swords is entertainment.”

“It’s all right, Euthymios,” came a voice behind him. The chief servant jumped.

In walked Captain Stanislaus, grinning broadly.

“Well done, my friends,” he said. “I saw you at the Hippodrome. Spectacular!”

“Thank you, friend Captain,” I said, bowing.

He turned to Euthymios.

“They will be juggling at the far end of the room,” he said. “These fellows won’t be doing anything dangerous anywhere close. I’ll make certain of that. Besides, they don’t look suicidal.”

“Not in the least,” I agreed. “If I get killed during the routine, I don’t get paid.”

Euthymios put his finger up to the Captain’s face, then pulled it back hurriedly.

“This is your responsibility,” he said.

The Captain growled slightly, and Euthymios skipped backward and out of the room. The Captain turned and winked.

“Now for some advice,” he said. “Stay away from politics.
Laugh when he attempts to tell a joke. Don’t insult anyone yet. You’ll find out whom you can insult safely soon enough. And if I see any piece of metal come within fifteen paces of the throne, I’ll cut you both in half.”

He smiled. We smiled back. He led us to a pair of doors and threw them open.

“The jesters are here, Your Greatness,” he called, and we walked into the largest room yet and bowed low to an immense throne made of solid gold.

Only it was empty. We looked around uncertainly, and a voice called, “Over here!”

Emperor Alexios Angelos the Third lay upon a couch covered with silken cushions, several of them propping up his legs. The Cleopatra of the flute was present, massaging him gently, no doubt producing some therapeutic effect. The Emperor was wearing a simple white robe. His head was bare, the crown resting on a cushioned stand by the throne. Up close, he looked his sixty-odd years, the powerful physique topped with a somewhat blockish head, his long black hair plaited into a thick braid in back.

He was laughing at our bow to the empty throne, and continued as we bowed again in his direction.

“Oh, dear, I’m starting again,” he said, chuckling throughout. “It did me a world of good, you have no idea, my friends. I laughed so hard that I completely forgot the pain in my legs, and that is worth gold to me, do you know? Nothing else has worked so well when they’re like this, and the physicians—God, I hate physicians. Monsters of ignorance, all of them, and I’ve tried all of them. The Jews were the best, although there was this Arab doctor some sultan gave me—some sultan, or son of a sultan, or rival of a sultan currying favor against the sultan, I can’t remember—and he was supposed to be quite good, but my advisers wouldn’t let me use him, said we couldn’t be sure which side he
was on, and I’m not always sure which side my advisers are on, but they are advisers, so what is an Emperor to do, hm? I’ve treated my legs myself, nothing like a good cauterization, but the doctors don’t like that; they just keep forcing cathartics or purgatives or who knows what poisons down my gullet, so there you are.”

“Here we are,” I agreed. “I am thankful if I have been of some comfort to Your Majesty.”

“Oh, but you have. You certainly have. I’ve missed having jesters, used to have a pair of dwarves, quite marvelous little fellows, but they left me; it was so sad. Neither of you are dwarves, are you?”

“No, Your Majesty, but we could perform from a squatting position if that would help.”

He roared. “Squatting. Did you hear that, my dear? She’s a performer too, plays the flute, Egyptian, don’t you know? Plays the Egyptian flute, some reedy little thing, the flute, I mean, not her. Play for them.”

She ceased her ministrations and took a piece of bamboo from a table nearby. She brought it to her lips and produced some of the most horrendous sounds I have ever heard passing for music.

Alexios watched her fondly, waving his hand in a vague approximation of the beat. This went on while my mouth slowly began to ache from the rigidity of the smile I wore for her performance. When she was done, we all applauded, the Emperor because he liked it, and we because it was over.

“There, how do you like that? Was it not superb?” he asked, beaming.

“Extraordinary,” I said. I made a mental note not to play my flute in his presence. I didn’t want to show her up.

“It’s the upper lip that’s the secret, you know,” he continued.
“Both of her lips are gifts from God, but what she can do with that upper one . . . . Well, she’s worth whatever concession I gave the Egyptians for her.”

He looked at Claudius.

“Does your partner speak?” he asked curiously.

“No,” replied Claudius, and he laughed again.

“Well, do something else,” he said. “I have nothing but time for entertainment today, although someone’s bound to come in and report on some boring thing or another. They always do. It’s hard enough being Emperor without having to listen to all that prattling. Isaakios used to actually enjoy that sort of thing, but he thought he was born to this position. Ridiculous fellow, thought he was better than me. I was the older brother, I should have been Emperor first; that’s the way things are supposed to be.”

“I have an older brother,” I said. “Perhaps I should have insisted on his being a fool first. But the honor fell to me.”

“Is it an honor being a fool?” he asked.

“It depends on where I am. In this city there are so many that it becomes commonplace.”

“A city of fools! Yes, it truly is,” he exclaimed.

And you are their king, I thought.

We performed for about an hour. Then the Emperor declared that he needed a nap. He declared this looking straight at the flutist, and she simpered and slunk into his bedchamber.

“I’ll have my eunuch see to you,” he said. “Captain, take them to Philoxenites and see that they are taken care of. I want the two of you here every day.”

“It will be our pleasure, Your Majesty,” I said, bowing. “Have an enjoyable nap.”

He lurched off, and the doors closed behind him.

Captain Stanislaus came over to us.

“Quite good,” he said. “And you kept the cutlery at a safe distance.”

“Of course.”

“Come with me.”

He led us through marble corridors to an office with a view of the Imperial Pier at the Golden Horn. We stepped in to meet our new benefactor.

He looked up from an oaken desk where he had been scribbling something with a quill.

“So these are the fools we saw,” he said. “I am Constantine Philoxenites, Imperial Treasurer.”

He was the bald man Zintziphitzes had smoked out yesterday.

For where God built a church, there the Devil would also build a chapel . . . .
Thus is the Devil ever God’s ape
.

MARTIN LUTHER

I
t is one thing to promise oneself to smite an enemy with one’s own hand. But it is something else entirely to do it in a wellguarded palace with a captain of the Imperial Guard standing a foot away. Not every opportunity has to be seized.
Carpe diem
, in my experience, will only get you through a single day. If that.

So, I swallowed everything, hoping it wouldn’t come back up immediately, and bowed low. The back of my neck felt uncomfortably exposed, but I came back up unscathed.

“Feste, the Fool, and his assistant, Claudius,” announced Captain Stanislaus.

“At your service, my Lord Treasurer,” I said.

“I saw you at the Hippodrome,” said Philoxenites.

“We marked you as well, sir, for the sun did make of your bald pate an heir. We were forced not to look directly at you for fear of being blinded.”

Stanislaus chuckled.

“Amusing, for a lesser sort of mind,” said Philoxenites, clearly unamused. “I hope that you can raise the level of your wit when the occasion demands.”

“It can soar like a stone from a catapult,” I said.

“Then crash back into the earth,” he commented.

“Or smash its target to pieces,” I retorted. “I have every weapon of wit—the blunt, the sharp, the crude, the subtle, the inflammatory, and the poisonous. All at the disposal of my patron.”

“Then you are a mercenary,” he said, pleased. “I can work with a man who likes to be paid.”

I bowed again. He pulled out a small purse.

“The Emperor likes you,” he said, handing it to me. “Otherwise, you would not have been sent to see me. You will be expected at Blachernae in the early afternoon on a daily basis. He’s rarely up before then unless there’s an occasion that demands it. You may be called upon to entertain before guests, or his children, or to fulfill whatever whim possesses him at the time.”

“I understand.”

He stood and looked up at me.

“You’re a tall fellow for a fool,” he observed.

“That’s only because you’re used to seeing dwarves,” I replied. “I am a bigger fool than they, certainly. I had no idea that size mattered so much.”

“If you were half your height, you would double your salary,” said Philoxenites. “The Emperor likes dwarves. They make him feel superior. Captain, step outside for a moment. I would speak with these fools in private.”

Stanislaus looked surprised, but complied with the request.

Philoxenites stepped over to a sideboard with a pitcher of wine and filled three cups, handing us ours himself. He sat on the edge of the desk.

“To the Emperor,” he said perfunctorily and drank.

“To the Emperor,” we chorused. It was good wine.

“You will be reporting to me before and after you see him,” he said. “As long as you are in Alexios’s favor, your payments
will be guaranteed. Bring me any and all conversation that takes place, and I will sweeten the payment.”

“What makes you think I have a taste for sweets?” I asked.

He looked surprised.

“I thought you depended on patrons,” he said.

“I have one now,” I replied. “The Emperor. Having more than one tends to confuse me. Did the dwarves have to report to you?”

“No,” he said. “But they were established long ago. Now they’re gone. I am the one who is established here. Don’t forget that.”

“Then, if I may be so bold, answer me a question.”

“What is it?”

“Was that your regular seat at the games?”

He looked puzzled. “Yes, it was. It has been for years. Why do you ask?”

“I only wonder why someone so established would be seated so far from the Emperor.”

His face darkened, the color of the choler so deep that I thought for a moment he would strike me. Then he calmed down.

“A fair question, Fool,” he said. “I am reassessing my opinion of your wits. The tides that wash against this city come from many directions. They shift and collide so that even the best navigator may occasionally run aground. I am not sure whether the Emperor currently holds me in disfavor. But my seats at the Hippodrome have little to do with that. I frequently carry on the business of the Treasury while there, and it must not be allowed to interfere with the Emperor’s enjoyment of the games. I slave to keep him happy, Fool, do you understand?”

I bowed again. “You are a most loyal follower, sir. That makes me curious as to why you wish me to spy on him.”

“Not so much for what he says, as for what others say to him. He is receiving bad advice from many. Worse, he is following it.
I care for the Empire as well as the Emperor. Where do you hail from?”

“Most recently from the north. But there are few places I have not been.”

“Have you been here before?”

“I passed through many years ago.”

“But not under the name of Feste,” he said. “I would have remembered that.”