The Malacia Tapestry (23 page)

The Cellar of the Small Goldsmiths was built into an old ruined triumphal arch. I sat outside and was served wine and meat, speaking to no one, although there was a cheerful meeting of fellows at the next table. As I was leaving, and they were singing and bellowing, one of them leaned over to pluck my sleeve.

‘You must have a solemn philosophy, cavalier, to keep so straight a face with your wine!'

Looking down at him, I said, ‘There you are correct, sir. Henceforth, I mean to pursue pleasure as a serious business.'

‘Have you not heard that Tvrtko and his army are leaving Malacia? The plague makes too long strides among his men. Is not that worth celebrating?'

I hit my fist in delight. ‘Then Bengtsohn's scheme succeeded!'

In delight, I told them who I was. All had seen me soar over the Bucintoro. All insisted on buying me drink. But I cut short the carouse, haunted by thoughts of Armida, Bedalar, and my father. For once, I preferred to be out of jollity.

As I walked down the street, the laughing voices faded, although there were other taverns, other voices. At the door of one stood a woman, singing as sweetly as a bird, with dark-red lips and a black skin. I turned in the direction of Caylus's chambers. Suppose that Bedalar were there …

Under the archway of his house, a hag in black stood in the shadows selling paper-charms, small birds, shields, flowers, buglewings, boats, animals. The tissues fluttered in a draught blowing through the archway. Behind her, she had lit a smouldering charcoal enchanter's fire; wisps of smoke rose from a tibia and sprinkle of chicken bones. On impulse, I bought a paper shield before I mounted the wide stair.

No answer came from Caylus.

I pushed open his door, vexed that he was not here after what he had said. I needed company.

In his chambers all was quiet. Something told me that the room in which I stood had but recently been vacated – some vibrance in the air, a disturbance in the golden motes floating between window and rug. Sunlight created its pattern on an area of floor by Caylus's couch. In the air, a scent was discernible, faint but luxurious; I stood in a reverie, as still as the room itself. I knew that odour.

Once I said Caylus's name aloud. I remained in the middle of the gold-flecked room, the door still open, cries from the street coming to me distantly. I looked about, bewitched by the flowers and the room's recent passion. Bedalar …

Here were Caylus's few books, his many sporting engravings, his altar, his table with a flask and two empty glasses on it, his fernery, his foils, his water-clock, his couch, covered by a rumpled, silken spread. On top of the spread lay an amber object no bigger than a butterfly's wing.

By a trick of the mind, the sight of this little item made me realize that as well as lust a faint scent of patchouli floated in the chamber.

I recognized the object before I picked it up. The tortoiseshell glowed in slatted light, its two little horns thrusting upwards like the retractile eye-stalks of a snail. It was a plectrum of rare design. I let it rest in my hand.

Caylus's time had been better occupied than mine! Dragging up a chair, I put the plectrum in the middle of the table and sat down. Sprawling there, taking up Caylus's quill and ink, I composed an ironic quatrain to greet his return, whether alone or no. I slipped the quatrain under the plectrum.

Dear Caylus! Those discordant Age hath laid

Aside lack games harmonious as hers –

As, mute while she a wilder Music stirs,

Her mandoline in shadow lies unplayed
.

At the door, I turned to survey the empty room, with sunlight imprisoned among the shadows. Walking slowly downstairs, I found the old hag still under the archway by her smouldering fire. I returned the paper shield to her.

Disconsolate, I headed towards Kemperer's tailor.

At a haberdasher's shop, a frumpy matron was standing in the doorway holding up lace to the light. A figure behind her called my name.

As I started looking in past the female obstacle, a horseman rode down the street, crying that the Ottoman army was in retreat, moving away through the south-west marshes. The Tuscady cavalry was hastening their retreat. The Powers of Light and Dark had again saved Malacia for their own purposes.

Propelled by this cheering news, I entered the shop. And there stood Bedalar, dressed in a smart city gown with hairstyle to match. Lovely though she looked, her pleasure at seeing me made her even more inviting. She introduced the frumpy person as her chaperon, Jethone; there the reverse was true;
her
displeasure at seeing me rendered her even less inviting.

‘We were about to call upon my brother Caylus, but have been detained by a quest for a certain fine piece of lace.'

‘It must be from Flanders,' said the chaperon.

‘It must be
in
Flanders, judging by how long we've searched here,' Bedalar said.

‘You are being impertinent, miss.'

With secret signals of desperation, Bedalar said, ‘And there are more shops along the street.'

‘Lace hath charms to suit the savage breast,' I said, stroking my chin. ‘As it happens, Miss Bedalar, I have just come from your brother. I was sorry to leave, since he has such respectable company with him, but urgent business calls me to my father. However, I will willingly escort you to Caylus, in order to be of assistance to your companion, if you like. Then I shall have to take leave of you immediately, but your brother would have charge of you until Jethone arrives.'

She blinked a little and, with straight face, said, ‘Perhaps I should not intrude. Who is this respectable company with my brother?'

‘Oh, a priest of the Religion and a couple of rather severe-looking schoolmen.'

‘Then I'll stay here and advise Jethone, thank you.'

The harridan said, ‘I could manage comfortably without your comments, miss, thank you all the same. If you will go straight to your brother's house with this gentleman, I will join you there in five minutes.'

To me she said, ‘And mind you deliver her to her brother immediately. How many priests?'

‘One only – but very emaciated.'

With heartfelt protestations about my intention not to let Bedalar out of my sight, I grasped her arm and whisked her from the shop. Jethone, lace in hand, watched us until we were round the corner. A minute more and we were under the archway, up the stairs, and standing in that silent scented room, our arms about each other. It was all accomplished on the instant.

‘I thought I'd die of boredom,' she said. ‘That old crow makes a religion out of lace.'

‘You look faint, dear Bedalar. Let me arrange you on this sofa and feel your pulse.'

‘My pulse?'

‘And not only your pulse, for this is a case where a more thorough examination would be in order.'

‘Perian, your secret engagement to Armida –'

‘Ssh, it's a secret!' I sealed her mouth with mine. Her arms came round my neck to make me captive. As I climbed on the couch with her, I could tell from the way she disposed her limbs that she was herself well disposed.

So it proved. Amid our kisses, my exploratory hand found that she had the warmest of welcomes. Soon we had lost the scent of the world about us in pursuit of our own quarry. Her yielding acceptance of me sent me into raptures. She unthinkingly granted me more than Armida.

At last we lay quiet, her fair head pillowed on my arm, smiling at each other.

‘Perian, what sort of person are you really? You play the dashing man-about-town, but I know there's more to you than that.'

‘I play all roles. They are all me.'

‘I mean, beneath the roles. Your true self. This is fun, just a piece of joyous naughtiness – I could no more resist seizing the instant than you could, for men and women are much alike there. But now, I'm fond of you – but I wonder if we should have done it for Armida's sake. She's my friend, and I feel I betray her.'

‘We don't need to tell Armida. If she doesn't know, she's not hurt. Loving you makes no difference to my feelings for her.' I sat up in bed; catechism is not my favourite hobby.

Bedalar persisted, sitting up by me. ‘We'll feel constrained when we meet in her company. I'm so stupid, I don't understand. And what about Guy, who says he loves me? For his sake, I should not have slipped up here with you. I'm a hussy!'

‘It's only a half-hour's pleasure, Bedalar. Don't make a tragedy of it. Guy won't know either, unless you tell him.'

‘There, you say it again – don't tell them. That means it's wrong, doesn't it? I love this cosy loving, Perian, don't mistake me, but I hate having secrets, hate feeling guilty. Don't you feel guilty?'

‘Stop it, you sumptuous hussy – we live in a decadent age!' She tried to look into my eyes, but instead I began putting my tongue to one of her generous nipples.

‘You see, you swive with me, Perry, but you keep your mind closed to me. That's not real love … Or maybe you have not learned yet to open your mind to others – even to Guy – so that no one knows who you are … Oh, that's lovely – do the other one … Perry, love … Do you know who you are yourself?'

‘By the bones, woman, be quiet and enjoy!'

She was falling back with eyes half-closed, the folds of her body flowering towards me. ‘Its just – after the night on the mountain – the thought of you so near … I could hear you with Armida … I wanted to see you unclothed … And I longed to find out what you were really like … Unclothed under the smart talk.'

Bursting into laughter, I jumped up and did a jig about Caylus's room, returning to climb astride her pillowy stomach. I smacked her hip.

‘There now – you've seen me unclothed and I'm nothing to be ashamed of. Stop the silly chatter, stir me up, and see me in action again. The Turks may be in retreat but I'm ready for a fresh advance.'

With sudden energy, she kissed the banner of my attack. ‘Seeing that you're such a hero today, helping to chase away the Ottoman …'

‘I'm always a hero; soon I shall be twice a hero, playing Albrizzi.'

‘No, Perian, you know what I mean. Not just pretending, but going up in the air on that charger as you did, to defeat the Turks. That was a brave thing.'

Sometimes, as I often say, the gods and men see eye-to-eye. As she spoke, bold fanfares sounded from the direction of the square, so much more virile than the twangling of a mandoline. The triumphal occasion would be properly marked without doubt.

‘You're right, Bedalar, my beauty. It's your fortune to have me, so don't question it. This is an occasion, I am a hero, and we must celebrate.'

‘We are celebrating,' she said, taking firmer hold of me.

Later, I wrote another quatrain, a companion-piece to the one I had left for her brother, and flung it negligently to her, as if I tossed off poetry all the day.

Dear Bedalar, of all girls I have laid

Yours is the music that most wildly stirs

Me; while no marring discord joy defers,

Your instrument must never lie unplayed
.

It had not quite the flair of the first quatrain, yet was more deeply felt.

A Young Soldier's Horoscope

Charmed Malacia! In the wildernesses beyond its fortress walls, in dreary chasm, tangled forest, or endless mountainside, the forces of many kinds of evil struggled for supremacy. Within our winding streets serenity seemed to prevail.

The conclusion of the week of festival was marked by an improvised pageant celebrating the withdrawal of swart Tvrtko and his forces, in which I was lionized almost to exhaustion. The flight of the buglewing from our calendar coincided also with the return of Armida from her exile in Juracia. On the evening of the day before Bengtsohn summoned us to resume work with the zahnoscope, I received an unexpected invitation to visit Armida at the Hoytola mansion; perhaps my increasing celebrity had softened her father's heart.

I presented myself early next morning. Debonair though I was, the brute at the gate, as ugly as his two guard dogs put together, regarded me with as much favour as Stefan Trvtko himself would have received, supposing him to have manifested himself there with cannon, a dromedary, and assorted plans for bastinado. While the brute delayed me, I tried to recall something witty de Lambant had said about surly porters driving inconstancy from the door.

At last I was allowed in, and shown to a cool hall. Knowing it was the custom of the Hoytolas to observe breakfast as sumptuously as in Constantinople, I hoped to join their meal, but coffee alone was served to me as I awaited my lady.

A row of marble busts set on pillars confronted the visitor. The gentlemen portrayed were universally severe, as if finding immortality conducive to migraine. I tried to set my face into their mould. I was glad to be summoned to Armida's palazzo, although my stomach produced whining noises loud enough to make passers-by suspect I had a lap-dog smuggled under my shirt.

As I sipped my coffee, a maidservant came along the corridor closing jalousies, giving me a glance now and again. I could not help returning her glance; she was a cuddlesome-looking girl. Then I reminded myself where I was and how I intended to marry honourably. In the matrimonial estate, rolls with servant-girls would be out of the question. So would rolls with Bedalar.

So I fell into a happy day-dream. Armida and I were married, and her loving father set us up in a splendid little town house with views of the Toi. We took chocolate for breakfast, and invited our friends round freely. And we engaged a delightful little maidservant, industrious and cuddlesome …

My reverie was broken by the appearance of Armida herself, looking as lovely as in my vision and wearing a super-tunic with a kirtle beneath, the tight sleeves of which emerged from the wide sleeves of the tunic. On her dark head was a little lace cap or shadow. Stripes fled up her tunic from toe to head as she approached through barred patches of sunlight.