Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery (14 page)

Another club struck me. I spun around. Claudius stood there, hands behind her back, an innocent expression on her face. I continued to look around futilely as the bathers roared.

“Very well. This is the last time,” I warned them. “ ‘When Olaf was . . .’ ” I spun and caught the club just before it connected. Claudius stood frozen in the follow-through.

“So, you wish to play games, do you?” I sneered. “Catch this.”

I hurled the club at her. She caught it and returned it even faster.

I picked up the two clubs that had fallen at my feet. I threw them, one at a time. She caught them and returned them, then added three more, and we had our basic pattern. The soldiers applauded.

“Claudius, my friend, there is something amiss here,” I cried.

“What is that, Feste?” she replied.

“The Varangians have a policy of blindfolding their entertainers.”

“So they do.”

“No doubt because of what happened to poor Actaeon.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed, then paused for a beat. “Who’s Actaeon?”

“A great hunter, according to the Greeks, who chanced to come across the goddess Artemis just as she had begun her bath. She’s that one over there,” I said, managing to point out a particularly voluptuous statue while still tossing the clubs.

She glanced over to where I had pointed.

“Nice,” she said. “No wonder they made her a goddess.”

“I don’t think that’s how it worked back then,” I said, flipping the clubs behind my back just to vary the routine a little.

“So, she’s naked; he’s a hunter. I bet I know what happened next,” she said, leering. Several of the Varangians cheered.

“I bet you don’t. She was one of those virgin goddesses.”

“That’s what she told Actaeon, anyway,” said Claudius.

“It was the truth. And so angry was she at being caught in her shame that she turned him into a stag for her to hunt.”

We stopped the clubs, Claudius staring in shock. Then she went over to the statue and gave it a good hard slap. The soldiers applauded, then laughed as she did a delayed take from the pain in her hand.

“I’d say the same must have happened to these men,” she called out. “It looks like a stag party’s going on.”

“In any case, I’m not going to take any chances,” I said.

“What are you going to do?”

I produced a blindfold from my pouch and tied it around my eyes.

“Is being blind an improvement over being a fool?” she called.

I held up my clubs.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

“I never am,” I said, and started juggling. It’s not a hard trick to do. Juggling is more a matter of timing and feel than seeing. Besides, there were tiny slits in the blindfold. Not that I needed them.

I caught the clubs to the applause of the crowd, and bowed.

“You see, gentlemen?” I said. “I could do the entire performance blindfolded if need be.”

Then I turned, took a step, and fell into the water.

Simple humor, but it worked. I kept my head above water so the makeup would stay more or less intact and pulled myself back onto the platform.

Claudius brought my lute to the platform, and I slung it on and strummed a few chords. Then I launched into an old English ballad that was applauded by the English portion of the group when I was done.

“What about us?” called Cnut, who was floating just in front of me.

“Join me, my Danish cousin,” I replied, switching to his language. “Let us ride the sea king’s steed to Byzantium; let us not drive the plough through the field, let us plough with the watery bow . . ..”

They all joined in. The song does sound better in the original, fellow fools, and it was one I had known from my own childhood. I had rarely sung it in the last thirty years, and it was a pleasure to revisit it. I looked at the Northmen, so far from home, and thought of paths not taken.

We finished in due course to much cheering. As we packed up on the side, the guards hauled themselves out, dried themselves off, and were in full armor in a matter of seconds.

“Company, dismissed!” shouted Henry. He turned to me. “Excellently done, my friend. Feel free to use the bath before you go. There may still be a patch of clean water in there somewhere. I’m glad we caught you before we left. We’re rotating out of here.”

“Where are you going?” I asked as he handed me a small purse.

“Off to the Double Column,” he said, sighing. “Leaving the city and crossing the waters to guard a blind man. A full brigade being detailed to guard a blind man who reclines in a prison that’s more like a palace. Imagine that.”

“Isaakios? Since when does he rate that kind of security?”

“Ever since the child Alexios escaped,” he replied. “Even though that was the Emperor’s fault for being lax. He never should have taken the boy with him. Now he thinks his brother
arranged the whole thing, blind or not. So we guard him to prevent any further plotting.”

“Then God speed and protect you,” I said. “It was a pleasure. Have me in for your return. I can do an entirely new set of songs. English and Danish.”

He clasped my hand, and beckoned to the musicians who followed him out.

“Aren’t they going to get paid?” asked Claudius.

“I don’t think they are done performing,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Well, that was fun, anyway. How did I do?”

“Splendidly,” I said. I started to peel off my motley.

“I don’t think this is the time or place,” she said, glancing around.

“I am taking a bath,” I said. “Sorry you can’t join me. I need you to go check on the horses and pay for another week of stabling.”

“When do I get to bathe?” she protested.

“I will borrow a tub from Simon and carry the water myself,” I said. “Be good, and I’ll scrub your back.”

She picked up her gear. “How long before I become a full-fledged fool?” she asked.

I shrugged. “You are progressing remarkably well.”

She bowed briefly. “Thank you, Master. I’ll see you back at the Rooster.”

“Give my love to Zeus,” I said.

I spread my motley out to dry and jumped in, scrubbing vigorously, still keeping my head above the water. Then there was an enormous splash nearby.

“Damn, this feels good,” exclaimed Simon, floating on his back about twenty feet away. Unclad, he revealed a physique that matched any of the soldiers, with a fair number of scars to boot.

“You really have been to the wars,” I observed.

“As have you, I see,” he replied. “What happened to that leg? Looks like you caught an arrow.”

“No war,” I said. “I was accompanying a duke and his retinue on a hunt. Someone saw my motley through the brush and mistook me for a large, colorful bird. He was quite the marksman, unfortunately. I was laid up for months.”

The truth was more interesting, of course, but I saw no need to tell that story.

“How about those?” he said, pointing to some old wounds on my side.

“This was from a jealous mistress when I stopped courting her,” I said.

“And the other?”

“From her husband.”

He guffawed. “Truly, I had no idea jesting was so dangerous,” he said. “Are you one of those Guild fools?”

“Not I. They’re not to my taste. Too many stupid little rules, and you have to pay them for the privilege. My income is uncertain enough without sending part of it to a pack of meddlers who don’t do a damn thing for it.”

He zipped by me with a few powerful kicks.

“I need to do this more often,” he said.

“Does your leg hurt you much?” I asked sympathetically.

He ducked under, scrubbing his hair and beard, then surfaced.

“An Arab spear did that on the plains of Arsuf in ’91,” he said. He pointed to some other scars on his left arm and shoulder. “These I got at Acre, end of ’89, but they didn’t slow me down any. It was that spear that gave me this limp. But it was a blessing. Many of my mates never made it back, but I survived, and learned the local wines well enough during my recuperation there to set up shop here. Now I get bathing privileges as the official tapster
to the Varangians, and good seats at the Hippodrome as long as I bring a few wineskins with me.”

“Wine sellers are worthy of any honor man can bestow upon them,” I said. We climbed out and dried ourselves off.

“Does your friend not bathe?” he asked as we dressed.

“He has a physical deformity that he’s a little sensitive about,” I explained.

“That would be no problem here,” scoffed Simon, pouring wine from the single cask still containing any into a pair of cups. “You saw this group. A parade of the mutilated. A soldier without a scar is a soldier who has never seen battle.”

“It’s more than a scar. I don’t want to pique your curiosity any further on the matter. Perhaps he might borrow a tub back at the Rooster?”

“No problem. There’s one in my room you can use. Just make sure you pour the water out the window afterward.”

“Very kind of you. Your noble health, milord,” I said in salute, and we finished the cups, rinsed them in the bath, and loaded the barrels back onto the wagon.

I did not go back with him then, choosing instead to find a money changer in the Forum Amastrianum who could give me a gold histamenon for some of the silver, electrum, and bronze I had collected. I did not want to be barred from the Hippodrome for having the wrong coin.

Claudius had not yet returned from the stables when I got back to the Rooster. Peter, the butcher, had come back from his labors with a pair of suckling pigs, and Simon was setting up a fire in a small brazier in back to roast them. I was looking forward to dinner. I must say that I was enjoying my time in Constantinople despite the tasks that lay before me. I don’t often work in the larger cities, and the variety of the meals alone more than compensated for the length of the journey here.

It was indulgent of me to dwell on my appetite. It was also careless. I should have noticed before I entered my room that someone was in there waiting for me. But I just blithely walked in and dumped my bag on the floor before looking up to see the cowled figure standing in the corner, out of view from the hall.

I whirled to face him, not going for a weapon just yet. He had his hands in view, the only part of his body that I could see.

“Greetings, Holy Father,” I said softly. “Have you come to shrive me?”

“
Stultorum numerus
,” he whispered.

“Some Latin blessing?” I asked. “An incantation? A curse? I have little Latin, Father, not having been educated properly in my misspent youth.”

“You speak it well enough,” came the whisper again. “
Stultorum numerus
.”

I didn’t reply. The Guild had been compromised enough in this city, and I was not about to exchange passwords with a face I could not see. I stood there, idly scratching my ear.

“No need to go for your dagger, Theo,” said the voice. He stepped into the light and pulled the cowl down.

And I nearly dropped dead on the spot.

“What’s wrong, Theo?” asked Thalia, smiling. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh
.

JOB
2:10

M
y feet were rooted to the ground as Thalia moved toward me. My mouth went dry, and my heart raced fast enough to compete in the Hippodrome.

She had a feline grace that she used to full advantage, mimicking cats of all kinds, tame and wild. When she walked, it was a series of undulations, yet the green eyes would remain fixed on her target. She could keep that stare steady no matter what contortions she put her body through, something I had witnessed in both public and private performances. Right now, those eyes were locked on mine.

“I promise you I’m not a ghost, Theo,” she said. “I’m very much alive. Flesh and blood, still warm. And I’ll prove it to you as soon as you give me the password.”

She closed the distance between us, gliding across the floor so silently that it almost gave the lie to her denial of incorporeity. Then her arms slipped around my neck, and she gazed up at me.

“Give me the password, Theo,” she whispered.

“
Infinitus est
,” I managed to choke out, and she hugged me tightly and pressed her lips against mine.

“All right, that’s proof enough, my good monk,” I protested, dislodging her as gently as I could. “If I had known the Church was that friendly, I would have rejoined years ago.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” she said, her eyes brimming. “I was beginning to think they’d never send anyone.”

“I think we’re even in the disbelief category,” I said. “We thought you were dead months ago. Along with the others.”

“I almost was,” she said, pulling me into the room. She sat on the pallet and patted the place next to her. I sat down, my body obeying her before my mind told it what to do.

“How much do you know?” she asked.

“I know that there’s a plot against Alexios,” I said. “That there is an assassin waiting for a particular event to take place before he makes his move. And that’s about it.”

“Where did you hear that?” she asked. “I didn’t think any of us had managed to get the word out.”

“Zintziphitzes,” I said.

She nodded. “So that’s where Tiberius got it from. I never knew. But I should have guessed. I didn’t know the old fool still had his sources.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Niko called a meeting. We usually just met in passing, because the Emperor and Euphy . . .”

“Euphy? You call the Empress Euphy?”

“Yes, I do. Don’t interrupt, Theo. They don’t get together much, so I wasn’t working with the twins regularly. But we would pass messages to each other and to Demetrios and Tiberius. And when something like this came up, we all got together.”

“Did it come up often?”

“In this city? There’s always someone plotting something. That’s what the meeting was about. Whenever there’s a potential
overthrow, we get together and try to figure out if the city is better off with the current Emperor or the claimant. Then we act accordingly.”

“I thought the Guild stayed out of the Byzantine succession.”