I, Iago Part 14

Chapter 23.

AT DINNER, I learned three things about Michele Ca.s.sio. First: he was good at math, something he wanted all of us to know. Second, he did not partake of wine, something he did not want us to notice-but his gla.s.s remained untouched all evening. Third, he embodied every stereotype I'd ever heard about the men of Florence: he was an attractive, charming fop.

His face was handsome, in a cla.s.sic, even rugged, Roman-soldier way. He had excellent teeth and beautiful long lashes. He was tall, broad-shouldered and slim-waisted; his carriage was immaculate; his dress was amended with niceties far more expensive than a soldier's purse could probably afford. He was exceptionally charming to Emilia and Desdemona, holding Desdemona's chair for her and offering a discreet comment on the sweetness of her perfume. He greeted both ladies by pressing three fingers to his lips and then opening his hand toward them; he then kissed both ladies' hands in an extravagant, Florentine manner and smiled at them both within an inch of decency's limit. I did not know Desdemona well enough to read her, but Emilia-Emilia, of all women, who was never charmed by any gallant of Venice-seemed charmed by him. He uttered Florentine small talk with a Florentine accent and it made my wife-my wife-giggle. Perhaps her giggle was politely veiled mockery, but perhaps it wasn't. And anyhow, when had I last elicited a giggle from her? What could I do to make her giggle that way later, more intensely than her pa.s.sing giggle now? For a moment I was distracted, worriedly inventing an answer.

Michele was not a soldier masquerading as a fop, but quite the other way around: the man, at twenty-three years, had never seen battle. He had only served in a sleepy garrison along the borders of Terraferma. Yet I cannot deny it: when he entered the room, his whole bearing suggested grandeur; his jerkin looked sculpted onto his body, and his sword hung at his side with some inexplicable extra gallantry (until Brabantio's majordomo requested he remove it).

Oth.e.l.lo had heard from me, for years now, of the rivalry between Venice and Florence. Even as political allies, we enjoy hating each other: Florence is the only city-state in Europe that comes close (but not very close) to the cultural richness of Venice, and naturally feels the need to demean La Serenissima, as if that could somehow make them superior. We return the favor by demeaning them. Over decades this has calcified into absurdity. In Venice we have "fool Florentine" jokes, and I am sure the Florentines have "fool Venetian" jokes, although no doubt those are not as funny. Lest you think my nativity gives me bias, consider this: Florentines from Machiavelli right up to Giannotti have been preoccupied with the study of Venice, while no Venetian writers of note have expressed the slightest interest in examining Things Florentine (except for Marco Foscari back in '27, who didn't like them anyhow). The men of Florence all were prissy, overdressed, effeminate, lacking manly valor despite their pretty looks, and valuing their tailors above their armorers. Even more than the Venetians, I mean. The extra feather in Michele's hat-a long, curling ostrich feather dyed bright blue-was to me the embodiment of his native frivolity. On the other hand, he was proper, almost stiff, within his gallantry, as if he were playing an overwrought part at which he was very familiar and well rehea.r.s.ed.

IT WAS INTERESTING that he did not touch the wine. More precisely, he put his gla.s.s to his lips at just the right moments-toasting our host's health, and so on-and even wet them, but took in so little that the serving boy never once refilled his gla.s.s.

"Michele has come to us to a.s.sist in strategy against the Turks, in our Cyprus defense," Brabantio explained. He said this directly to me. I realized, with a shock of displeasure, that he was explaining it only to me because Oth.e.l.lo already knew it. How, and why, did the general know something I did not? I was his constant aide, far more than was Lieutenant da Porto; he made no decision without at least thinking aloud in my presence. And now Venice had imported some Florentine to work beside the general, and I knew nothing about it?

I smiled tightly. "The general did not mention it," I said.

"Surely I did, Iago!" Oth.e.l.lo said, about to ladle some soup into his mouth. He set the spoon back down in the bowl. "Do you not remember we were talking about needing new defenses in Famagusta? And moving men back there, now that our Terraferma border is more secure again?"

"Of course I remember those discussions, General," I said, trying to sound casual, and trying not to obviously pitch my volume in Michele's direction. "I was your chief adviser in these matters. But I do not recall your wanting to bring in a specialist for anything. What are you, sir, an engineer?" I asked the Florentine.

"A strategist," Michele corrected me with a complacent smile. "I studied under Marco Sapegno and wrote a text that has been quite highly regarded, on the matter of transporting men and materiels most efficiently over land, as compared to over water."

I almost laughed out loud; Oth.e.l.lo, recognizing the expression on my face, gave me a warning scowl in which I sensed some shared amus.e.m.e.nt. "How remarkably useful to our particular scenario," I said. "May I a.s.sume you wrote this text specifically in the hopes of gaining General Oth.e.l.lo's attentions?"

Michele sat even more upright than he already was, and his face registered surprise. "Not particularly; what makes you ask?"

"There are few armies but Venice's that need such a particular accounting of resources," I said. "It is not as if you were, say, writing a manual on the use of cannons, which could be of use to nearly every army in the world."

"I was aware that Venice might find my talents useful," the young man said, with that same smile. "But Genoa would too, as well as Spain. I did not write the article for Venice, but I am very happy to present it to Venice."

"So. You are a theoretician," Oth.e.l.lo said congenially. It's a good thing he said it then, or else I would have done so in a less congenial tone. "You study and comment on what you have learned by studying, and then you pa.s.s the information on to men of action like myself and Iago here, to act on it."

Michele's face reddened, hearing in the words a slight that Oth.e.l.lo did not mean (but which I would certainly have meant, were I the speaker). "That is one way to look at it," he acknowledged. "Although I pride myself on being a disciplined soldier as well. I am in fact finis.h.i.+ng my training here in Venice."

"So I have heard," Oth.e.l.lo said. Another thing I myself had not heard. "Well, Iago and I will look over your text tomorrow, and I am sure when you are ready for actual soldiering, I would be happy to have you in my unit. Although you will not be able to dress like . . . that." There was a gesture toward the ostrich feather. As an outsider, Oth.e.l.lo said it without malice, as a simple statement of fact; as Venetians, the rest of us around the table exchanged barely suppressed snickers. Even Brabantio, bless him.

"I want to read this article as well," declared Brabantio. "Then I can report to the Senate. Tomorrow we shall all four convene to review it. I work from home tomorrow, so come at ten, and we will examine it then."

MICHELE WENT WITH US back toward the a.r.s.enal; like myself and Emilia, he was staying at the Dolphin. His departure from our hosts was elaborate and full of complicated gestures involving both of his wrists, most of his fingers, and at one point an elbow; he showered so many compliments on Desdemona's beauty that she looked embarra.s.sed by the time the gondola finally pulled us away from the beautifully sculpted water gate.

"You know she will wed a member of the Venetian aristocracy," Oth.e.l.lo informed Michele as soon as we were out of earshot of Ca'Brabantio.

"Who?" Michele said absently, then immediately smiled and bowed his head. "Ah, the lady Desdemona. Yes. I am from a t.i.tled family myself and I know how these things work."

"She cannot marry you," Oth.e.l.lo insisted conversationally, with satisfaction. "Even if you are good stock. You are not good Venetian stock."

Michele gave the general a quizzical, polite smile. "But I have no interest in the lady," he said. "I hope I did not appear to be paying court to her."

"No more than you were courting my wife," I said archly.

"Your wife?" Ca.s.sio's eyebrows shot up.

"Iago!" Emilia laughed and batted me with her fingers. Emilia was not the finger-batting type. "Pay no mind to him, sir. He is jealous of me."

"I would be too, if I had such an exquisite lady to call my own," Ca.s.sio said gallantly. "But please know, Ensign Iago, I have no designs on the lovely Emilia, and I admit I did not realize she was your wife."

In the gondola's s.h.i.+mmery lamplight, Oth.e.l.lo, Emilia, and I all tried to read one another's expressions without being read ourselves.

"You thought she was the general's mistress," I said, with a rueful smile. "Did you not?"

"I apologize if I have offended somehow," Ca.s.sio deflected and turned his attention solely to Emilia, kissing his fingers and then gesturing toward her with them. "In Florence we take enjoyment in the presence of attractive women."

To my immense grat.i.tude, in the wavering torchlight from the bow of the gondola, Emilia gave me a knowing look, and kissed me on the cheek.

Our lovemaking that night was exquisite.

Chapter 24.

MICHELE Ca.s.sIO WAS, INDEED, excellent at math. He had calculated things precisely that it was my duty to know in general. His attention to detail was almost cowing-albeit it was abstract detail, idealized detail, theoretical armies and numbers and s.h.i.+ps and harvests and bags of burlap. But given the Platonic ideal of people and objects he was working with, he had thought through a great deal. There was some kind of working brain behind that handsome face and bobbing blue ostrich feather.

Over the course of two dull hours, in Senator Brabantio's study, Michele read aloud his own text, in which he listed the exact amount of weight each soldier's provisions should weigh (a.s.suming no man cheated and brought extra-such an a.s.sumption did not enter into his figuring), and how that would affect the speed of a boat when freighted, compared to the speed of a wagon train over various terrains, adjusting for the extra but varying weight and ma.s.s of, for example, horse feed or ballast for the s.h.i.+ps. His algebra was quietly elegant. While he said nothing revolutionary, he reaffirmed what Oth.e.l.lo, Oth.e.l.lo's civilian superintendent Marco Salamon, myself, and the Senate had suspected: that we should keep all our cavalry on Terraferma and move only men to Cyprus.

But his calculations also showed us that we should move them with more supplies than we would have antic.i.p.ated. The extra tonnage, freighted, would in the end cost us less resources and manpower than sending an extra s.h.i.+p later with additional supplies.

At the risk of sounding ungracious, that was the only thing of value we gained in two hours of narcotic verbiage.

FAR MORE INTERESTING than listening and responding to Ca.s.sio's figures, to me at least, was our one interruption. Brabantio's majordomo knocked and, upon invitation, opened the door, carrying on a tray a large silver box, like a casket or a Byzantine reliquary. "This arrived for your daughter, sir," the majordomo said dryly. "Will you accept it on her behalf? The gentleman awaits personally in his gondola for an answer."

Brabantio rolled his eyes and made a grunting sound. His manner suggested this sort of thing happened nearly every day. I noticed Oth.e.l.lo tense and crane his head to get a better look at the thing.

"Let me see it." Brabantio sighed. "I need a respite from all these calculations."

The majordomo set it on the desk before the senator. I barely suppressed a gasp. The casket had gold chase-work on it, and the gold outlined a stylized pepper tree, which had become the emblem of a certain childhood friend of mine.

That casket was from Roderigo.

"Aha," Brabantio said dryly, holding up the gift and examining it from all sides, as if he were a farmer checking the health of a piglet. "That spice merchant again, I see." He handed the casket back to the majordomo. "Of course we won't accept this. The man is not even a patrician, for the love of angels, why does he think I would let him near my daughter?"

I felt Oth.e.l.lo's bright black eyes swivel in their sockets toward me; I met them with my own and as compa.s.sionate a look as I could muster. Inside, though, I was strangling sad bemus.e.m.e.nt: poor Roderigo, now the richest citizen-merchant in all Venice, still pined for women he would never have.

I also felt a shamed kind of relief: n.o.body here knew the wooer was a friend of mine. Brabantio had just made it plain that in these rarefied circles I had stumbled upward into, Roderigo's efforts were fit for mockery, not sympathy. How should I interact with him when our paths next crossed, as they unavoidably would, at some social event? I found him increasingly tiresome as the years went by, but the ties of childhood instilled a very deep loyalty.

A FEW NIGHTS LATER, Oth.e.l.lo and I were invited once again to Senator Brabantio's for supper. Emilia was not invited, and Desdemona did not join us-but several other senators did, as well as Zuane da Porto, Oth.e.l.lo's lieutenant, and Marco Salamon, Oth.e.l.lo's civilian counterpart.

Military and civilian have always been rigorously intermeshed in Venice. The commander in chief must answer to a committee of twenty civilians, all patricians in various government committees. The army is lousy with senior senators and retired military men, all functioning as "commissioners," who constantly watch over all things military. To prevent disgruntled officers from surrept.i.tiously forming private militias capable of threatening the state, patrician superintendents are designated to shadow every officer, from captain general to paymaster. Remarkably, this baroque arrangement has always worked well for Venice, and over the course of nearly a millennia n.o.body has ever managed, or even seriously attempted, a coup. When the army, Senate, n.o.bles, and richest merchants are all in bed with one another, it creates a marvelous unanimity of purpose. However, it also creates a stupefaction of endless meetings.

The subject today was the refortification of Zara against a Turkish incursion. Zara, just across the northern Adriatic from Venice, was the linchpin of the Dalmatian coast. If the Turks were to seize it, they would be in an alarmingly secure position to attack Venice, the Italian peninsula, and Hungary. It was a very small city, but its famed defenses and location gave it enormous strategic significance. Giulio Savorgnan, who governed there, had sent a long list of what the city required to withstand a Turkish siege. So we would be taking with us lots of explosive devices, artillery, munitions and other arms, baskets and buckets and bricks and carbon and iron, masons, physicians, and of course plenty of hangman's rope to deter deserters.

"Where is our young Florentine?" I asked, pleased by his absence. "Is not this sort of reckoning his specialty?"

"Ca.s.sio's servant sent word that he was indisposed tonight," Brabantio said.

"We have no real need of him," Oth.e.l.lo said. "This is not an abstract conversation but the making of specific plans, involving real men and real oceans and real stones."

Ca.s.sio's servant? I wondered. Michele Ca.s.sio had a servant, staying with him in the enlisted men's barracks? Even if he were from a wealthy family, I found this arrangement odd, but n.o.body else around the table noticed. So I said nothing and joined the conversation with full attention, as we established the size of the force Oth.e.l.lo would be taking with him to Zara, and which officers-in addition to da Porto and myself, of course. We pulled out charts and maps and diagrams, and discussed what specific part of the fortress wall required amendment; we established from where the rock would come; what best route to take to get there; whom to hire for carving and whom for smithing. We attended to details that went unnoticed in Michele Ca.s.sio's meticulous arithmetic: the political leanings of the local masons and their guilds, the religious tensions between Catholics and the Orthodoxy, which families with direct kins.h.i.+p ties to Venice lived on the landward side of the walled city. . . .

THE MEETING ENDED LATE. It had been too long since I had been entirely in male company attending to military matters, and even if the senators were not military men themselves, they understood and appreciated the three of us who were.

Oth.e.l.lo, da Porto, and I went by gondola through the close ca.n.a.ls of Castello, debarking near the Salizada dei Pignater Bridge. We had then only a short walk along a street that was (thanks to its proximity to the a.r.s.enal) almost as redolent with brothels as was the Rialto. Oth.e.l.lo was preoccupied with the results of the meeting, and wore silence like a cloak.

I walked to Oth.e.l.lo's left, da Porto to his right; as we pa.s.sed beneath one open balcony full of laughing half-dressed women and drunken half-dressed men, something caught my eye, and I glanced up over my left shoulder. One of the brunette wh.o.r.es, her nipples plum-colored in the lamplight, was wearing a soldier's cap with a bright blue ostrich feather stuck into it.

I looked away shocked, and then looked back again.

The tall, broad-chested young Adonis who was fingering the plummy nipples was none other than Michele Ca.s.sio.

He was far too drunk to have recognized me-or so I thought, until our eyes met. My own eyes widened in amazement, and I stopped abruptly. Oth.e.l.lo took another preoccupied step or two before realizing he had lost his ensign. He stopped, turned to face me, da Porto behind him.

"Iago?"

I snapped my eyes away from Michele and down onto the cobbled street. "I'm sorry, General, I thought I lost a buckle. I heard something clatter on the pavement. It must have been a noise from within." Before he could look up and notice Ca.s.sio, I began to stride purposefully in the direction of the a.r.s.enal gate. "That was a very useful evening," I said.

"Indeed," Oth.e.l.lo said. (Da Porto almost never spoke.) "Now we need only establish a departure date, and debate whether or not you will bring your charming wife with you." He grinned and in the dark, nudged me playfully. "I am sure you do not want to leave her here with the likes of that Ca.s.sio around."

"Oh, General," I said pleasantly, unruffled. "I may be a jealous husband, but I am confident Emilia is not Michele Ca.s.sio's kind of woman."

THE NEXT MORNING, I entered Oth.e.l.lo's office in the Sagittary unannounced, a privilege I'd earned. I surprised young Michele Ca.s.sio in earnest whispered conversation with him. Their conversation ended abruptly, almost guiltily, upon my entrance. I felt a twinge of unease as I realized something was being hushed, but I a.s.sumed Ca.s.sio's embarra.s.sment was due to my seeing him on the wh.o.r.ehouse balcony.

"Good morning, General," I said. And nodding to the other, "Sir."

"Iago," Oth.e.l.lo said, welcoming. "Ca.s.sio and I have been adjusting some figures for the packing of supplies on the s.h.i.+ps to Zara. Your arrival is fortuitous."

"My arrival is predictable," I said, trying to sound offhand. "This is when I appear every morning except Sundays. It is my duty to oversee the provisions of the s.h.i.+ps, so I am very glad you did not go too far into your discussions without my presence."

Oth.e.l.lo looked bemused. "You are peevish this morning, Ensign. Did you not sleep well?"

"What new information have you got for me, General?" I said. "If there are extra supplies to be ordered, I must delegate my staff to obtain them at once." I made no attempt to smile at Ca.s.sio. "Are you coming with us, sir?"

"No, no," Oth.e.l.lo said. "Michele is staying here, he has some bit of his training to finish yet-funnily enough, Iago, it is his artillery he must improve upon. I would leave you here to train him if you were not so indispensable to me, but as it is, of course, you are coming with me."

The pleasure and relief I felt at this declaration almost embarra.s.sed me. "Thank you, General," I said at once; sensing something more was needed, I turned to Ca.s.sio and added, "Artillery practice requires precision, which seems to be your strength in many ways, so I am sure you will excel at it quickly enough. And by the time we return, I believe you shall be an officer. But what has happened to your feather, sir?"

Ca.s.sio automatically reached up toward his cap for the blue feather. The quill was broken two-thirds of the way up, and the end of it flopped over like a wounded limb. "It was a dancing accident," he said smoothly. With his Florentine elegance he managed to say this without sounding ridiculous.

"How does one break a feather in a dancing accident?" asked Oth.e.l.lo, amused.

After a blink, Ca.s.sio explained, "I doffed it to a lady I was partnered with, and it was crushed by the gentleman beside me losing his balance and falling against me suddenly. The feather gave way under his weight but was pinned at such an angle that there was some damage done. I have replacements, of course." He said this with a rea.s.suring smile, as if we might be concerned he didn't.

"Why haven't you replaced it, then?" I asked. "You are point-device in your accoutrement, it seems unlike you to let a broken feather linger in your cap."

This time the hesitation was longer. "To be honest, I have not been back to my quarters since the accident occurred," he said.

"Oh, ho!" Oth.e.l.lo said with a hearty chuckle. "I thought I smelled stale wine upon your breath when you came in. You have a secret life as a carouser, do you not, Michele?"

Ca.s.sio reddened. "Nothing interferes with my duty or my commitment here, General," he insisted.

"Your clothes are very neat for having been out all night," Oth.e.l.lo commented, with a gesture.

"Perhaps they were not on him for much of the evening," I postulated dryly.

Realizing he was going to be merely teased, not punished, Ca.s.sio reddened further and allowed himself a small sheepish smile. "The gentlemen are astute in their observations," he said.

Oth.e.l.lo turned to me with a grin, his gesture still pointing toward Ca.s.sio. "This Michele is a strange fellow," he said in a conspiratorial tone. "He is so careful to appear proper but then he has nude dancing accidents when none of us are looking. Ha!"

"I would attribute it to his bachelor life," I said. And with a meaningful look at Michele, I added, "I am sure his blue feather has survived plenty of dancing accidents before this one."

"I am a bachelor and I don't have that life," Oth.e.l.lo said.

"Or that feather," I pointed out.

"That must be it." Oth.e.l.lo chuckled. "Michele, get rid of the feather and do not replace it. It encourages uncouth behavior for an officer, and you will be an officer very soon."

Ca.s.sio instantly s.n.a.t.c.hed the feather from his cap, pulling the cap off his head along with it. "Of course, sir," he said awkwardly and fumbled to pull the feather loose. It was the first time I had ever seen a Florentine fumble. Venetian despite myself, I enjoyed bearing witness to it. He replaced the cap.

"Give it to me," Oth.e.l.lo said sternly, of the feather. Ca.s.sio did so.

With a sudden grin, Oth.e.l.lo reached up and poked the damaged quill into his own curly hair. "Let's see if it brings me your luck with ladies." He laughed.

I smirked; Ca.s.sio managed a nervous little chuckle. Oth.e.l.lo pulled out the quill and tossed it on his desk. "Enough of this silliness," he said. "Michele, you will observe and honor every detail of what we discussed?"

"Of course, General," Ca.s.sio said, immediately the smooth and polished Florentine again.

Again I winced with a twinge of unease. I longed to know what they were referring to, but I was too proud to ask.