I, Iago Part 29

"How shall I murder him, Iago?" he demanded.

I ignored that. n.o.body was murdering anyone, any more than we really killed each other in fencing practice.

"He laughed at what he does-did you see that? And did you see the handkerchief?" I added, in genuine amazement.

"Was that mine?"

"Absolutely," I said calmly. "And look what he did with it-he gave it to a wh.o.r.e!" I was about to go on about how clearly Desdemona was as wronged by Ca.s.sio as Oth.e.l.lo was by both of them-therefore giving Ca.s.sio twice as much blame, and putting Desdemona in half as much trouble-but Oth.e.l.lo interrupted me: "I want to kill him slowly. I want to spend nine years doing it." He growled. "A fine woman, my wife! Fair! Sweet! The very model of virtue!"

"Forget about that," I said. "Just let that go."

"I will let it go, and her too-I'll let her go to rot and perish and be d.a.m.ned! She will not live the night! I tell you, Iago, my heart is turned to stone." He smacked his palm against his chest. "I strike it and it hurts my hand."

I was about to point out the irony of a stone-hearted man being eaten up with pa.s.sion. I wanted to see if he had any sense of humor left. If he did, there might be hope for him. But as I opened my mouth, the stony-hearted man crumpled over on himself with a new emotion: grief.

"There is no sweeter creature in the world," he said, his voice cracking.

"Stop this," I begged. "If you love her that much, forgive her. Or at least, confront her first."

"I won't! I'll hang her," he announced. "I must not love a loathed enemy. Of course I'll hang her-but the fact that I'll hang her, and rightfully too, does not mean she isn't a remarkable woman. She could charm the savageness out of a bear-"

But can she charm it out of you? I wondered.

"Oh, but the pity of it, Iago. Oh, Iago . . . the pity of it, Iago."

This was getting tiresome. "If you love her despite it all, then let her be. If she is unfaithful-if she is-you're the only one it touches."

"I'll chop her into pieces!" he shouted to the sky. He grabbed both my arms above the elbows, his face inflamed with pa.s.sion. He was frightening. "Get me poison, Iago," he said. "I'll do it tonight. I'll do it before we're alone together in a room, I won't let her near me, she is so charming she'll unman me. It will be tonight, Iago."

I stared at him a moment in amazement. I had never once wished Desdemona dead, but I had wished her out of my life, and here he was, offering exactly that. By heaven, I'm talented, I thought. This ability of mine was some new weapon that no army had ever thought to nurture and exploit. I was the most valuable man the army had. I could make this man, unflappable in battle and besotted with affection, determined to kill his wife on mere suspicion, and I'd achieved it in less than a day. That was extraordinary. I could do anything. Anything. I could bend any living creature to my will. The world was my oyster: Oth.e.l.lo was intent on killing Desdemona.

Which did not mean I wanted Desdemona to die. I did not. So I could not give him poison; he would use it.

"Do not do it with poison," I said, thinking fast. He himself had said-and it was obvious to anyone who'd seen them-that her presence, her proximity, her touch, still had the power to undo his will. In my omnipotence, I would give her the power to save herself: "Strangle her in her bed," I said.

He would touch her, and he would melt; she might not come out of it unbruised, but she would survive it. He could never touch, actually hold, that flesh he was so enamored of, and destroy it. I had not realized it until today, but he was a man ruled entirely by his pa.s.sions-and s.e.xual pa.s.sion burns hottest of them all. The very thing that made him want to kill her would be the thing that saved her: how sensuous he found her.

"In her bed," I insisted. "The very bed she has contaminated."

Oth.e.l.lo blinked. "Good," he said approvingly. "I like the justice of it. Very good."

An alarm sounded from the fortress walls, announcing a s.h.i.+p approaching the port below.

A loud cannon shot exploded from the water in response.

We looked at each other with the same horrifying thought: the Turks.

And to myself, I thought, Thank G.o.d. My experiment, but a day old, was wearying and maddening; the harsh reality of war would slam everything back into perspective, and we could leave all this madness behind us.

Oth.e.l.lo and I turned and ran up to the Citadel gate together, instinctively reaching for our swords.

Chapter 47.

INSIDE THE CITADEL, we rushed together up to the keep tower. We burst out the door onto the very part of the wall walk where Ca.s.sio had let himself get so drunk a week earlier.

Outside the harbor bobbed a single light galley, with the lion of San Marco flapping on its pennant.

It was not the Turks.

"An envoy from the doge, Captain," said the watch, saluting Oth.e.l.lo.

Oth.e.l.lo almost sagged with relief.

"Thank you," Oth.e.l.lo said, returning the salute. "Iago, I need you." He turned on his heel and headed back into the tower stairwell. I followed.

AN HOUR LATER I was in my bedroom, freshly shaved, in a new s.h.i.+rt and military dress. I stood before Emilia. Her eyes sparkled with tears. The lieutenant's sash was draped across my chest, from left shoulder to right hip.

"You look handsome," she said proudly. She held her hand out toward me and delicately stroked the sash. "It is a pity for Michele, but it should have been yours anyhow."

"Yes," I said. The sash sat well on me. How unfortunate so much madness had been required for this to come out right. I smiled at my wife and held my hands out in invitation. She moved toward me, pressed herself against me, and when I folded my arms tight about her, she embraced me too. Emilia's embrace was the best feeling in the world. "I love you like life," I whispered.

WE MET THE Venetian envoy in a formal audience above the sleeping quarters. The room was devoid of furniture but hung with tapestries made of the best silk I have ever seen outside of Venice. There were three to a wall, depicting glorified European images of the twelve months of the year. They were completely out of place here. February and August were both on rods and could be pushed open to lead into other chambers. I never learned where February led, but August opened up into the general's dining room.

The party that greeted us was six in number: two officials with two attendants each. Their outfits looked almost painfully gaudy and impractical compared to the military dress of the Citadel and the simple peasant garb of the city population.

Whether by design or coincidence, one of the envoys was Desdemona's uncle, Gratiano; not a senator but certainly a patrician, and one who could not have been pleased that his niece had run off with a foreigner. But he greeted Oth.e.l.lo with all signs of good regard, almost more so than his own kinswoman. I could see from Desdemona's face that she was expecting greater warmth from Uncle Gratiano than she received. Well honestly, I thought, you trick the man's brother and run off into danger with a savage. What did you expect?

With Gratiano was a man named Lodovico, another patrician I remembered chiefly from gossip and parties.

Having greeted and kissed the cheeks of, saluted, or ignored all of us in the chamber, the party from Venice now turned to business. Lodovico held out a gloved hand, and an attendant opened a leather file, took out a sealed letter, and handed it to Lodovico, who then handed it to Oth.e.l.lo. "The doge and senators of Venice greet you. This is the letter we were told to give you if you had defeated the Turks by our arrival."

Oth.e.l.lo took the letter and ceremoniously pressed it to his lips. "I kiss the instrument of their pleasure," he said with exaggerated formality. His eyes flickered slyly in my direction, and the poignancy pained me: not so long ago, I had taught him to use that very phrase, and we had laughed like brothers. Now I was horrified to think myself kith to such a madman.

He broke the seal and unfolded the paper. We all watched him, spellbound. His eyes blinked, slowly, once. Then rapidly, several times. Holding the letter out with unbent arms, he pointedly turned away from the rest of us as he studied it. I willed myself to look away from him, and turned toward the visitors, intending to make conversation; Desdemona managed to do so first.

"What's the news from home, cousin?" she asked. She looked even paler than she had this afternoon, and slightly shaken.

"Welcome to Cyprus, sir," I said. "I'm very glad to see you."

"Thank you," Gratiano said, speaking to me rather than to her. She was crestfallen at being shunned. "How is Lieutenant Ca.s.sio?"

Desdemona and I, unexpectedly, exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"He lives, sir," I said, as neutrally as I could.

Both Venetians gave me a curious look; I allowed Desdemona the chance to address her kinsman: "Cousin," she said, taking a step toward Gratiano and laying one hand tentatively on his arm. He looked at it as if it were a small animal. She lowered her voice. "There's been a breach between him and my husband. But you will surely fix it."

"Are you sure of that?" we all heard Oth.e.l.lo mutter, his back still to us.

"Excuse me?" Desdemona said tentatively Oth.e.l.lo immediately began to recite formal greetings from the letter.

"He's just reading something," Lodovico pointed out unnecessarily. "You were saying? A division between him and Ca.s.sio?"

She shook her head. "A terrible one. I wish I could fix it, poor Ca.s.sio is-"

Oth.e.l.lo swore abruptly, his eyes still on the letter, his back still to us.

"Husband?" Desdemona said, notably more nervous. Oth.e.l.lo ignored us all. "Is he angry?" she said quietly to me, sounding desperate.

"I think the letter has upset him," Lodovico said, almost offhandedly. "The Senate is commanding him home, deputing Ca.s.sio to stay in his place."

This was either the worst news or the best news for my plans; in the surprise of the moment, I could not work out which.

Desdemona breathed an enormous sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear it," she said in a confessional tone.

Something snapped in Oth.e.l.lo. He turned abruptly on his heels, threw down the letter, and stared furiously at his wife. "Indeed?" he demanded, as if he were accusing her of something.

"My lord?" Desdemona said, taking a step back on reflex. She looked down, and I could see the fabric of her sleeve tremble.

He took three slow menacing steps toward her. "I am glad to see you mad," he said, mockingly.

She tried to smile but looked near tears. "My sweet Oth.e.l.lo, you mistake-"

He smacked her.

It was very abrupt, and very harsh, without warning-his arm came up, and he backhanded her against her right cheek with all the strength he would apply to a boxing strike. "Devil," he said under his breath, almost casually, and turned away.

Desdemona dropped, too stunned at first to make a sound; I knelt to help her up, out of instinct; Lodovico knelt beside her too.

I put an arm around her, and at my touch, she began weeping. "I did not deserve that," she said.

No, she did not. I felt righteous indignation toward the brute that hit her, that he should be so easily moved to strike out.

Lodovico, seeing I had her weight, stood up sharply and turned to follow Oth.e.l.lo, who had crossed the room. "Good sir," he said, trying to keep himself civil. "n.o.body in Venice would believe what I just saw." Oth.e.l.lo shrugged, insolently meeting Lodovico's gaze. The patrician was astounded. "Apologize to her," he insisted, "she's crying."

"Crocodile tears," Oth.e.l.lo replied contemptuously. Desdemona squeezed my arm to thank me, and then, not quite steady on her feet, took a few embarra.s.sed steps toward her husband, holding her arms out hopefully. "Out of my sight," he said viciously, and turned away.

She took a ragged breath, and then tearfully, almost in a whisper, responded, "I will not stay to offend you." She turned to leave.

Lodovico looked at me in amazement, as if for help; I shook my head and glanced away. "General, I beg you, call her back," he urged as Desdemona reached to part the curtain into the stairwell.

"Madam," Oth.e.l.lo said sharply, not looking at her.

Desdemona immediately turned around with a pleading, hopeful expression. "Yes, m'lord?"

He did not look at her; he looked rather at Lodovico, with an expectant expression. "Well?" Oth.e.l.lo demanded after a moment. "What do you want with her?"

Lodovico blinked. "Who?" he asked. "I?"

"Yes," Oth.e.l.lo said, both ponderous and impatiently. "You. You're the one who wanted me to have her turn back. As you see, sir, she can turn. And she can weep, yes, sir, she can certainly weep, and my goodness, but she's obedient. Go on, then, keep weeping," he said, glancing briefly at her and then back to Lodovico. "So I am commanded home." With a brief, withering glance at Desdemona, he ordered, "Go away, I'll send for you later." Back to Lodovico, entirely civil: "Sir, I will obey the mandate from the Senate, and return home immediately." And back to Desdemona, viciously: "Get out of here!"

Everyone in the room s.h.i.+fted their weight away from him. Desdemona dissolved into fresh sobs and turned back to the heavy curtain; she nearly tore it off its rod as she pushed it away and ran into the darkened stairwell beyond. Immediately civil again, Oth.e.l.lo again returned his eyes to Lodovico. "And yes, Ca.s.sio shall replace me. Please dine with me tonight, Lodovico, and welcome to Cyprus."

He stormed out of the room through the same curtain Desdemona had exited, muttering to himself in a frightening tone.

A FEW ATTENDANTS nervously trailed after him; everyone left in the room looked immediately to me, as if it were my job to make everything all right. I was as stunned as they were. Words had done this. My words. It is terrible to see a woman cry, but her tears would dry soon; the import of the moment would last far longer than her tears.

After a full breath of silence, Gratiano finally burst out, "I cannot believe what I just saw. Is this the n.o.ble Moor the entire Venetian Senate is so enamored of? The general who's famous for his calm in the most dire circ.u.mstances?"

"He is much changed," I said diplomatically.

"Has he lost his mind?" Gratiano demanded. He almost seemed angry that I was not showing more distress.

"It's not for me to judge that, sir," I demurred.

"Iago, he just struck his wife! My kinswoman! In front of all of us!"

I nodded, grimly, my hands clasped together low before me, looking down. "That was not good," I admitted.

"Does he do this all the time?" Lodovico demanded, horrified. Trying to calm himself: "Or did the letter so upset him that he has just lost reason, this moment?"

The dutiful lieutenant, I declined to meet his gaze. "It's not for me to say, sir. I suggest you observe him and see his actions for yourself."

My delivery was perfect; the tone condemned Oth.e.l.lo while the words committed me to nothing. I glanced up when I heard Gratiano sigh; he was staring in the direction Oth.e.l.lo had departed, and he looked, above all, saddened.

"I was an admirer of his, despite the upset with my niece. I'm sorry I was so deceived in him," he said.

I turned to one of the gape-eyed attendants. "Show the gentlemen their rooms," I said. "If you will excuse me, sirs," I said, and headed through the curtain both Oth.e.l.lo and Desdemona had taken. I went a few steps down the stairway, then stopped and leaned against the wall, pressing my cheek against the cooling stone, troubled.

Until that moment, I did not think it was possible for Oth.e.l.lo to actually hurt his wife. I had a.s.sumed his vows were all pa.s.sionate hyperbole, with no danger of execution. I was still confident he would not actually try to murder her, but my a.s.sumption that she was immune to danger . . . I was wrong. It further proved to me that a man of such extreme pa.s.sion was a danger to everyone around him, including those he loved; but I did not like to see a woman weep, and I suspected there'd be more tears, and even wailing, before this ended.

And I knew now how it had to end.

When I began my project, it had been to exercise my sense of vengeful indignation, but the only outcome I had been attached to was the lieutenant's sash. Along the way, however-truly to my shock, absolutely unantic.i.p.ated-I had uncloaked a demon lurking within my friend and general, and that demon, once revealed, had to be removed. I had genuinely hoped Oth.e.l.lo could defeat the beast, but he was falling hourly more under its control. A man who cannot rule himself surely must not be allowed to rule an army. Already Lodovico was musing on that, I could tell. Oth.e.l.lo risked demotion upon his return to Venice-rightfully so. I could never take public credit for unmasking his dangerous animus, but I could nonetheless benefit from it, and I intended to. I would be, from this moment until the moment a new general was invested, the perfect lieutenant.

And then I'd be the first Venetian-born general of the army in at least a century.

While my brother remained nothing but a silk merchant.

THE PLEASURE OF that thought allayed my bruised conscience for making Desdemona teary. I continued down the steps. At the bottom, I heard Emilia's familiar tread coming from the direction of Oth.e.l.lo's room, and realized I had been expecting it.