Commedia della Morte (31 page)

“Where do we look for lodging?” Photine asked. “I don’t know where the markets are these days.”

“Feo will manage for us,” said da San-Germain. “He’s made inquiries in Saint-Vallier and Vienne about the most advantageous places for us to consider, and how to find them. He knows where he is going.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Don’t you?” da San-Germain asked calmly.

Photine turned to him, umbrage stiffening her posture. “Why did he do that? I didn’t give him the task of … of…”

“No; you had so many things claiming your attention that I suggested it to him. You have enough to deal with.” He did not add that Roger had also used their time in the towns and cities to learn what he could about conditions in Lyon, but not for the reception of the players; Roger had asked about the political prisoners. “I have an obligation, as your patron, to see that your way is smoothed as much as is possible. Isn’t that part of our agreement?”

She peered at him, measuring his candor against her pique; then she allowed her attention to be claimed by a procession of tradesmen holding aloft signs declaring their right to sit with the officials of the Revolutionary Assembly, and to cast votes at odds with their Guilds. “Look! Why do you suppose they’re marching?”

“As a sign of disagreement with Guild policies, I would assume, since that is what their banners say,” da San-Germain observed.

She turned to watch the marchers as the carts rolled on. “Why would they want to vote contrary to the wishes of their Guilds?”

“Would you like me to turn around so you can ask them?” His manner was wholly unruffled, and his offer genuine.

After taking a moment to think, Photine said, “No; we’d lose track of the rest, and that could be awkward. You don’t know where we’re going, do you?” There was a note of spite in her question as she settled back on her seat, but remained edgy, staring around her as if she expected to be confronted by angry townspeople at every turn.

Feo led the troupe around the swell of the hill toward the west, passing two streets of shops, some of which were open, some of which were boarded up with bits of smashed windows on the flagstones in front of them. He slowed down as he approached a square with a statue of two medieval knights fighting from the backs of warhorses, their swords at a perpetual clash, in front of an empty church bearing the marks of fire along its facade on the north side of the oblong; there were a pair of inns on the south, one a large pile three centuries old, the other a more elegant, smaller building from the time of the Sun King. The troupe went toward the pair of inns, halting in front of the older building. Feo drew in his wagon, set the brake, and jumped down from the box, making his way back toward the carts, giving instructions to the drivers as he went. When he reached the team of mules, he called out, “This is the Place des Chevaliers. The Revolutionary Tribunal allows performances here, or so the Guards told me. They recommend the Jongleur. The tumblers and clowns stay there at Carnival.”

“Very good,” said Photine. “If they will take us.”

“Roger will make the arrangements for us,” said da San-Germain. “As soon as we’re installed here, I’ll go get us a license for performances. Would you think five performances to start with will suffice?” da San-Germain asked as he got down from the driving-box and held up his arms to assist Photine to descend.

“Why do you bother to inquire of me?” she countered, a trace of petulance in her voice. “You have made up your mind already what will suit your purpose, and, as you remind me, you are our patron. Though I would prefer six.”

Da San-Germain remained at ease. “Then six it shall be.”

“If they won’t interfere with your plans,” she flung at him.

He realized that denying this would only lead to more rancor, so he said, “Yes, I have my own reasons for being here—you’ve known that since we left Padova—but that doesn’t mean I want to put your troupe at a disadvantage. I would like to see you given the attention and praise you seek, because you are greatly gifted and your troupe is a fine one. You gained many admirers in Avignon; you will do the same here as well.”

Photine looked away from him as she allowed him to lift her out of the driving-box and onto the paving-stones of the square. “The Deux Canards and the Jongleur,” she said, looking at the two sign-boards hanging over the entries to the inns, taking the time to scrutinize their fronts. “I suppose it should be the Jongleur, though it’s older than the Deux Canards; it has more rooms, and the stable looks larger.”

“It also appears to be more hospitable to players and other entertainers,” da San-Germain remarked, and saw Roger approaching, his driving-coat spattered with bits of mud.

Feo nodded to Roger. “You agree with the Guards, then? The Jongleur would seem to be preferable?”

“It would, especially since the Guard recommended it,” said Photine quickly so that da San-Germain could say nothing that might seem to demean her. “We’ll need space in the stable and enough rooms for us all.”

“Of course,” said Roger, and added in an undervoice, “Madame, if you can spare a moment for your son? He has been restive for the last hour and wants to go to a tavern before you have settled into your quarters.”

“Oh, dear,” Photine murmured. “I’ll have a word with him,” she said more loudly, and set off toward the wagon in which he rode, her cloak flapping around her like a thundercloud.

Roger watched her go. “She seems discomfited.”

“Yes,” da San-Germain agreed. “I wish I knew why.”

“She’s jealous,” said Roger.

“Perhaps,” da San-Germain allowed. “She says she fears that the Guards here may be looking for me, and that troubles her, but I don’t think that’s the whole of it, nor is jealousy.” He was silent for a long moment, then said, “The Jongleur. Get ten rooms if they can spare them, and stalls for the animals.”

Roger ducked his head and went off toward the older, larger inn.

“What do you want me to do?” Feo inquired.

Da San-Germain was a little surprised at the question; Feo was used to the routine of travel with the troupe. “Ready the wagons and carts to be stabled.”

“Nothing else?” Feo studied da San-Germain’s features, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts.

“Not just at present. Why do you ask?”

“I just thought … since you have your own intentions here in Lyon … that there might be something … more … that you would like me to do?” His hesitation was more from uncertainty than tact.

“There may be, but not quite yet. Our first task is to get rooms, then we will unload the wagons and carts, as always.” Da San-Germain glanced over the actors as they came out of their wagons and began to move about to loosen their joints. “We need to be more settled before I go to the Revolutionary Tribunal.”

“Beyond what your man is doing?” Feo asked. “By the time you reach the Tribunal, if you leave now, Roger will have arranged for everything.”

Da San-Germain took a long breath. “If we seem too eager, that may cause suspicion on the part of the Revolutionary Tribunal, to say nothing of the Revolutionary Court and Assembly, which could lead to the kinds of scrutiny we would all like to avoid. I will apply for the performance license when we are fully registered in our rooms and our vehicles and animals are in the stable. That way there can be no question about our intentions, or that we are a known commedia company, not a rabble of rogues and vagabonds.” He drew out a leather purse from under his driving-coat. “Roger knows how much we can pay to the innkeeper. We’ll take the rooms for eight days. If we need to be here longer, then we’ll pay the additional amount then. For now, I have more than enough for the license.”

“You will pay the extension fee after the troupe has collected money from their audiences?” Feo suggested.

“It would be better for us all if it seemed that way,” da San-Germain told him, his eyes dark caverns in his expressionless face.

Feo held up his hands. “Whatever suits you, Ragoczy.”

Da San-Germain shook his head. “What suits me is that the troupe should be housed and fed, and the animals stalled, groomed, and fed. After that I can tend to other things.”

“Those that are your true purpose for being here?” Feo asked with cherubic innocence.

“Once we have a license to perform, then, yes. Until then, I have a duty to the troupe, and I will attend to it.” Da San-Germain offered Feo a slight bow.

“Of course,” said Feo, and turned away. “I’ll see to the wagons and the horses, then the carts and the mules.”

It was over an hour later when Roger met da San-Germain at the front of the Jongleur; he had changed his coat to one more suitable to calling upon the Revolutionary Tribunal; da San-Germain had also put on more appropriate clothing—his black wool hammer-claw coat, a waistcoat of dull-red damask, and buff-colored unmentionables were fashionable enough to gain the attention of almost any civil servant—and donned a bicorn hat edged in tricoleur rosettes. He went to the front of the Jongleur, pulling on black Florentine gloves as he went. A few minutes later, Feo led up two saddled horses for them.

“Madame has ordered dinner in an hour—not that that means anything to you.” He held the stirrup for da San-Germain as he mounted the handsome blue roan gelding. “Shall I tell her you will take your meal elsewhere?”

“If you would,” said da San-Germain, gathering up the reins and waiting while Roger got up on his mouse-colored mare.

As they put their horses in motion, Roger said quietly to da San-Germain in Byzantine Greek, “Feo is becoming insolent.”

“More cheeky than insolent, I think,” da San-Germain remarked, and added, “He masks his worry with jests.”

“That may be so,” said Roger. He rode in contemplative silence beside da San-Germain; when they reached their destination, Roger took the blue roan’s reins while da San-Germain sought out whomever was in charge of issuing licenses.

The offices of the Revolutionary Tribunal were located in what had been the church of Saint-Jean le Moin; the Department of Public Safety occupied half the six-hundred-year-old building; the Revolutionary Tribunal had the other half; the central aisle provided the two bureaucracies a neutral ground where citizens could move without hindrance. Three clerks stationed in the aisle directed newcomers to the proper destination. The sanctuary had been converted into a kind of waiting room, the old wooden choir had been taken down and cabinets and shelving put up in its place, and most of the nave was filled with desks for the men who worked there.

After waiting nearly an hour, da San-Germain spoke to one of the secretaries of the Revolutionary Tribunal, who drew up a provisional license for six performances. “One of our officers will have to attend a rehearsal to ensure that your play is not seditious in any way. I will inform you when the officer will visit.”

“Sooner rather than later would be preferable,” said da San-Germain. “We have come all the way from Avignon—the troupe is eager to play.” He held out two gold coins. “We would appreciate any assistance you can supply.”

“I understand,” said the secretary, accepting the coins. “Tomorrow or the next day—is that soon enough?”

“Certainly. Will you require the full staging, or will a rehearsal in the stable-yard be sufficient for your officer?”

The secretary considered the question. “A full staging would be best.”

“In that case, we will need two hours’ notice to set up our stage and ready our costumes,” said da San-Germain, with another cordial gesture; he thought back to the venality of the royal court half a century ago and decided that the only thing the Revolution had changed in that regard was the recipients of the bribes.

“I will inform our officer of that.” He stamped the provisional license and indicated the half of the church given over to the Department of Public Safety. “Once you have your actual license, you will need to arrange for Guards to be present at your performances, to keep the crowds from untoward acts. They will make sure no cut-purses or other thieves take advantage of the gathered throng, and will serve to quell any riot that might disrupt your play.”

Although da San-Germain found this disquieting he said with complete affability, “A wise precaution in these turbulent times. Will you tell me how much we will have to pay for the Guards’ protection?” He folded the license carefully and slid it into the inside breast-pocket of his coat.

“That I don’t know. The Department of Public Safety will make the determination; it is their area of concern. Once you have your license, the Committee for Public Safety will decide how many Guards will be needed, and for how long. One of the Deputies will inform you, and the Department, how much you will be charged.” He gave a thin, meaningless smile and bade da San-Germain a good morning.

Riding back to the Jongleur, they heard trumpets sound the mid-day; almost at once, activity increased around them as the people hurried to complete their morning tasks before going in for their dinners. Da San-Germain held his gelding to a strict walk, letting those on foot eddy around them like flood-water; Roger trailed behind him to make it easier for those on foot to pass them in the narrow streets. By the time they reached the Place des Chevaliers, the square was largely empty; only a single groom came to claim their horses.

“Where do the players dine?” da San-Germain asked as he and Roger stepped in the main door.

The young man behind the desk pointed to the closed door on the right. “In there.”

“Thank you,” said da San-Germain, and turned to Roger, speaking in Hungarian. “I’ll go inform Photine of the conditions of our license. If you wish to get yourself a shoat or a goose to eat, please do, and take it to whichever chamber has been assigned to us.”

Roger gave a nod of compliance. “Is there anything you will require of me during the next hour?”

“I doubt it,” said da San-Germain. “If I do, I’ll find you in the room, will I not?”

“Yes,” said Roger, and moved away toward the inn’s kitchen.

Da San-Germain paused a moment, then opened the door and stepped into the smaller dining room. He bowed slightly to the troupe, then went to the far end of the table where Photine was sitting, removing the provisional license from his coat pocket and holding it out to her. “A provisional license for six performances. You’ll have to do a full performance for an officer of the Department of Public Safety before it will be official, but that should be no problem.”