Thirteenth Night (5 page)

As I passed by other shipyards along the Grand Canal, I saw boat after boat being constructed at a frenzied pace, many with broad bows that could handle the easy loading of horses. All connected with the encampment I had seen earlier, I surmised. I passed by a series of wooden footbridges to the Castello at the eastern end of the city, where I took a room for the night at an unprepossessing sailors' hostel. Once inside, I wrote a brief note to Domino and gave it to a boy with instructions to find the fool at the Ducal Palace along with a small penny for his pains, then journeyed to the Rialto.

Under the portico of a church near one end of the drawbridge several tables stood in a row. Behind each table a fat man sat, glumly surveying the passing traffic. Behind each fat man stood a small, thin man holding a ledger and a large, armed man holding an iron chest. The fat men were the most important people in Venice. They were its bankers and controlled the loans to the government, the letter of credit, occasionally even actual money. I presented my letter of credit to the keeper of the Guild's account. He read it impassively, then motioned to his assistants, who placed the strongbox and the ledger onto the table.

“How do you want it?” he asked.

“What do you recommend?”

“That depends on where you're going.”

“Zara, perhaps Spalato.”

He nodded and began placing a small pile of silver in front of me, carefully noting the amount in his ledger. “Some Venetian coin, some Genoan, a few Pisan. Silver's pretty much silver the world over. Do you want to weigh it?”

“I wouldn't dream of insulting you. Should I take some gold?”

He shook his head. “Too unsteady right now. No one's chancing it. Stick with silver, it won't fail you.”

I thanked him and walked back to my room.

*   *   *

As I lay down to catch a nap, I heard someone tapping lightly on the door. I drew my knife, stepped to one side of the doorway, and asked, “Who is it?”

“Stultorum numerus…,”
came a whisper from the hall.

“… infinitus est,”
I responded, and pulled open the door.

Domino stared at me for a moment, then squealed, “It
is
you!” and leapt into my arms. He hugged me tightly, then drew back and looked at me critically. “Well, you haven't aged much.”

“Neither have you,” I replied tactfully. He looked hearty for all of his sixty-odd years and was magnificently attired in his customary black-and-white motley, with an ermine cape that he swirled imperiously about him as he entered the room. I've often wondered if I could live the life of a big-city fool, mostly when I was sitting in some tree hollow with the wind and the rain beating down, sewing yet another scrounged bit of fabric onto my own threadbare costume. I figured it had to be decades since Domino last picked up needle and thread himself.

“What liars we both are, Theo,” he said as I closed the door. “I'm practically in the grave and I look it. Thank God I'm in a profession where I can wear makeup. I'd hate to have my natural face afflicting the world. By the First Fool, Our Savior, it's good to see you again. It's been years. How long will you be in Venice?”

“Just until tomorrow. I sail on the
Ursula.”

“Sail? At this time of year? What can you be thinking about? And what is that hideous growth doing on that divine face of yours?”

“I'm traveling incognito. And I must say you certainly have a fine way of arriving at a clandestine meeting.”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” he huffed. “I am Venice. I come and go as I please. If I'm seen wandering into a hostel in the Castello, they'll merely say, ‘There goes Domino off to another assignation with a sailor.' But if I took off my makeup and motley, the news would be in the Doge's ear within minutes.”

“My apologies.”

“Accepted. Now, why are you sneaking around here?”

“What have you heard about the death of the Duke Orsino?”

He sat down and stroked his chin, thinking. “Interesting that you bring that up. We've heard about it, of course. Perhaps two weeks ago. No one wept at his loss, I can tell you that, but it did seem to take people by surprise, which leads me to believe that it didn't originate from around here.”

“Why would Venice want to see him dead?”

“He was considered a strong and capable man. Venice doesn't like strong and capable men when they rule across the Adriatic. They have this nasty tendency to be independent. Orsino would have opposed our upcoming adventure quite fiercely.”

“Which adventure?”

“You mean you haven't heard?” he said in astonishment. “What have you been doing at the Guildhall, stuffing your ears with wax? I've been sending reports almost weekly.”

I mumbled something about living in the tavern, and he glared indignantly.

“A fine thing, loafing about in a stupor while the world is about to undergo a genuine sea change. Sea change, yes, that's exactly the word.”

“You mean the Crusade that's being launched.”

“Pfaff!” he said, or something to that effect. “My dear, you have no idea about the marvelous scam that's being perpetrated here. A swindle of historic proportions. The Count of Champagne and Geoffrey de Villehardouin decide in the best French tradition to retake the Holy Land, either directly or by way of Egypt. Everyone thinks it's wonderful. The Pope gives his blessing, which is exactly what you would expect of a pope. They gallop off to Venice and say can you take us to Beyond-the-Sea? When? says us. How's next spring? says them. Fine, says us, and how many will be going? They puff out their chests and say thirty-three thousand valiant sons of France and their beloved steeds. And the Doge, who benefits from being blind, never blinks and with a straight face says, ‘Very good. That will be eighty-five thousand marks in silver, payable prior to departure.' And to our astonishment, they agreed straight away!” He chuckled. “Oh, Theo, how we all laughed when they left. There's not eighty-five thousand marks in silver in Europe. And now, they can't even raise the men. So as a result of all of this, the Doge has an army of frustrated Frenchmen camped by the lagoons, and they all owe him money.”

He shuddered suddenly. “It's horrible, Theo. Christian soldiers tricked into mercenaries. Enrico Dandolo turned out to be more than anyone expected when they elected him Doge. They thought, ‘He's over ninety and blind, he won't last long,' and now he's on the verge of taking over the world.”

“What do you mean? They're not invading Palestine?”

“Of course not, you idiot. Venice has been trading quite nicely with the Muslims, thank you very much. No, they have much bigger ideas.”

“I see. They want control over the whole Adriatic. Zara, Spalato, Durazzo, Orsino, the lot.”

“Oh, but you're not thinking grandly enough, Theo. Forget your background, be greedy.”

I shook my head. “Tell me.”

He leaned forward and whispered, “Constantinople.”

“What?”

“Yes, Venice is so in love with its Byzantine past that it seeks to recapture it. Think of it, Theo. For the very first time, a Crusade against Christians. Our French patsies pay off their debt with the plunder, Venice rules the seas, maybe the Church is reunited under Rome.” His face fell and for the first time he looked his age. “I'm doing everything I can to stop it, but this is too big for the Guild to fight. Greed and zealotry are powerful enough forces by themselves but when combined … There's an army ready to wage battle and a debt to be paid and they have the momentum now.”

He sighed. “Well, enough about my little problems. I've been very depressed lately. Probably the time of year. Nothing's more useless than a jester during Advent. I can't wait for Christmas. I'm preparing the festivities, of course. We don't do a full Feast of Fools here, but we do a nice little Festival of the Ass, and I'll have my usual responsibilities for the New Year. So, you're off to investigate the death of Orsino. I remember, you were involved in that part of the world once. Charming story, I still sing it every now and then. Was the verse yours as well?”

“Yes, mostly.”

“I thought as much. It has your style. Do you at least have time for a dinner's worth of gossip? There's a nice little inn just across the bridge.”

I agreed, and we ambled arm in arm to a house near the Arsenal that had several steaming kettles suspended over a fireplace that filled an entire side of the room. Over a pitcher of wine and a hearty fish soup we dished the dirt. When I brought up the threat from Rome, he pounded his fist on the table and shouted, “Never!” The room fell silent as they realized who was there, and he did a quick, imperious bow with such intricate flailings of his arms that he immediately became tangled in his cloak. His efforts to extricate himself set the room to paroxysms of laughter, which peaked as he finally collapsed to the ground. It was a signature move of his, and I applauded along with the rest of the diners when he finished.

“Should be enough of a distraction,” he muttered as he sat down again. “Dear boy, you've upset me with your news. By all that is laughable, I shall fight for the Guild here, you can count on it. I'm owed a few favors, and I know a few secrets. I might as well cash them in now. I'm too old to use them for anything else. I'll start with the wives, that's always the best way. My reputation in this city is so debauched that the men trust me absolutely to pay court to their ladies. If I get them on our side, the men will surely follow.”

He fell silent, a bit morose. “I'm so tired, Theo,” he said quietly. “I've been training my replacement, and there's just so much to learn. This could be such a remarkable city, the closest thing to an Athenian democracy since, well, Athens, but this latest leap into folly…” He trailed off.

“Your replacement? Nonsense, you have years left.”

“No, I haven't. Father Gerald, bless his calculating mind, sent me an assistant. Everyone here thinks he's my little rearboy, which should help him down the road. I'm teaching him how to gossip with the ladies. He's a talented lad, but there are so many nuances and shifting alliances. It's positively Byzantine, which isn't surprising. You have to know how to tell the Dandolos from the Tiepolos from the Zianos and a hundred other families besides. I'll hold on until I can get them to support the Guild, but then it's off to the farm with Domino.”

“You've earned a peaceful retirement.”

“Have I?” he mused. “There's so much to do, it seems impertinent to just quit in the middle. But that's life, a never-ending middle. It's only stories that have endings.”

“Sometimes not even them.”

“No, I suppose not. Well, young Theo, help this old fool to his feet. I've drunk rather too much from the twin cups of nostalgia and introspection, and I want to embrace you one last time.”

I pulled him out of there and we walked for a while until we came to the bridge that led out of the Castello. We stood for a while, watching the shimmering light play along the gleaming marble.

“There's no witty way to bid farewell to true friends, Theo,” he said. “One night is not enough, but that's how it goes. Wander back this way, and comfort me with your success. There are songs I've never taught you, bits of business and cunning effects that maybe you can pass on to the young fools so that I may live on in them.”

“You live on, Modesty,” I reassured him. “Your legend is secure.”

“But you should have seen me in my prime, Theophilos.”

“You mean there was a time when you were even more brilliant?”

He smiled and embraced me, then crossed the footbridge. I watched him until he disappeared. He was a legend, I thought as I made my way back to the hostel. His work behind the scenes brought the great reconciliation of Pope Alexander and the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa. Whoever was the Doge at the time got the credit, but that's how we work. A legend within a secret society. Would that guarantee his immortality? Did it matter? I wondered if I would be remembered as well in Guildlore.

*   *   *

In the morning I gathered my bags and walked to where the
Ursula
was docked. The Master Caulker emerged as I arrived, having inspected the work of his guild and finding it satisfactory. The sailing master paid him and he left. A sleepy priest staggered up and perfunctorily blessed the ship and crew. The sailing master paid him and he left. A representative of the Doge then strode up to inspect the crew and their armor. The
Ursula
carried about thirty men. I lined up with them and presented my sword when the official came to me. He sniffed disdainfully.

“Don't travel much by sea, do you?” he commented. I confessed that I did not. He pointed at my weapon. “By the time you get a chance to use that, it will be too late. The idea is to stop them before they board. Do you have a bow?”

“No, but I can use one well enough.”

“You'd better get one. I'll let you off because you're only a passenger, but I'll remember you.”

He walked off, and we boarded. I went into the hold to visit Zeus. He was tethered inside a makeshift stall filled with straw, and it was clear that whatever goodwill had been imparted to him by de Bernadone had long gone. I went aft on the lower deck and stowed my gear, then up top to see our departure.

A longboat with twenty-eight men pulled us from the wharf into the harbor. The side-rudders were carefully lowered and a large, triangular cotton sail was raised on the forward mast. It bulged slowly outwards, and we began to move eastwards.

The pilot, a Venetian who knew the harbor inside and out, maneuvered us slowly through the channel until we passed the bar at San Nicolò. The cotton sail was lowered, and several small canvas sails were hoisted up. Our speed picked up, and we were in the Adriatic.