I, Iago Part 30

"Iago," she said breathlessly when she saw me, and hurried to me. She threw her arms around me; I could feel her trembling. "You will not believe what-"

"I do believe it. I was there, I saw it," I said.

She shook her head, clutching me, pressing her face against my neck. "Not the slap. She told me about that. It's worse. He came storming into her room afterward, and the way he spoke to her . . . Please help her." She released me, grabbed my hand, and rushed me into Desdemona's room.

There were candles lit all around the periphery of the room. It was large, but spare; a bed, a few chests to hold her gowns, pegs on the walls for Oth.e.l.lo's clothes; a table for her jewelry. Emilia had lit incense, the soothing smell of sandalwood and jasmine intended to calm the lady, but it was not working.

Desdemona's pale face was splotchy red and wet, and a bruise was reddening where Oth.e.l.lo had struck her. It was the least attractive I had ever seen her. She sat on the floor, her back against the bed, knees drawn up toward her face like a frightened child.

"Lady," I said, moving toward her. "Are you all right?"

"I do not know." She sniffed. "I've never been spoken to that way." Emilia knelt down beside her on the other side, and stroked her hair.

"What's the matter?" I asked, gently laying a hand on her arm.

"Iago, you will not believe how he just spoke to her, he called her a wh.o.r.e. It was atrocious, it was heartbreaking," Emilia declared.

"Am I? Iago?" Desdemona asked between hiccupping tears.

" . . . Are you what, sweetheart?" I said, voicing more affection toward her than I had ever felt. It was an instinctual reaction to a fragile girl in pain; I'd have been as kind to a stranger on the street in need of solace.

She looked sickened. "The . . . the word she said my husband said I was."

"He called her a wh.o.r.e," Emilia repeated with brisk disgust. "A drunk beggar would not use that kind of language to his mistress."

Had I said anything to Emilia that would get me in trouble right now? I didn't think so. "Why did he do that?" I demanded, looking shocked.

"I do not know," Desdemona said, tearing up again. "I'm sure I'm not one." She turned to rest her head against Emilia's bosom for comfort.

"Don't weep," I said solicitously, patting her head. "Please don't weep. Oh, heaven," I muttered under my breath. I wished I were anywhere but here. I thought it was only Emilia's tears that undid me; I learned at this moment I was wrong.

I wanted to apologize to her for revealing what a monster her husband really was, but my apology would accomplish nothing; it would not make him less a monster. The truth would have come out eventually in any case; I was doing her a favor to help her see it so quickly, before she had devoted a lifetime to him. Her uncle was here to protect her from Oth.e.l.lo's wrath, and she would soon be Venice-bound. How fortunate this happened now, rather than some few years in the future when she might find herself not only far from home but stranded alone with him somewhere.

While I was musing on this, Emilia was fuming: "She turned her back on every gentleman in Venice, she left behind her father and her country and her friends, to be with this man-and now he calls her wh.o.r.e?"

"Shame on him," I said with vigor. Did they have any inkling how things had come to this? "What's happened that he'd think that of her?"

"Heaven knows," said Desdemona, moaning. She turned away from Emilia and tried to wipe her face dry with her hands.

"I bet my life," Emilia declared, her face livid with anger, "that some nasty little jabbering sycophant slandered her to get ahead somehow."

I looked at her in bald alarm, my stomach churning with a panic I had not felt once before in all of this. Did she know? Was she accusing me? She stared right at me with fury on her face.

"Do not be ridiculous," I said, feeling faint and sounding, to my own ears, breathless. "There's no such man."

"If there is, G.o.d forgive him," Desdemona said mournfully.

"Let the hangman forgive him!" Emilia declared. "Let him rot in h.e.l.l!" She stood up, too agitated to remain seated. She began to pace around the bed. "Why would he call her wh.o.r.e? Who could she possibly be whoring with?"

I relaxed a little. If Emilia did not know Ca.s.sio was the suspected paramour, then she'd have no reason to a.s.sociate this with my ascension to lieutenancy. The panic in my stomach lessened slightly.

"He interrogated me about Michele," Emilia went on. The knot of panic tightened again. "But I put that ridiculous premise to rest." The knot loosened. "Besides-when does she ever see anyone? Where does she wh.o.r.e herself? And when? And how? Oth.e.l.lo has been gulled by a villain. And by all the sainted angels," she went on, her voice rising as her righteousness exploded, "if I had a whip I'd lash the wh.o.r.eson myself!"

"Emilia," I said sternly. "We are indoors; lower your voice."

"Oh, be quiet!" she snapped back. "I'll wager it was the same malcontent who drove you mad thinking I was sleeping with Oth.e.l.lo!"

"Do not be stupid," I said brusquely. But she was, in a sense, correct: I was the one who'd made myself suspicious then, as much as I'd made Oth.e.l.lo suspicious now.

"Please help me, Iago," Desdemona said, grabbing my hand. "What should I do to win him back? Be a good friend and go to him for me. I don't know how I lost him. I've never deceived him, or abused him, I've never even looked at another man."

There was another wave of tears. Oh, I wanted to get away from there. She was so pitiful, so desperate, so genuine. I patted her wrist.

"I cannot say"-she took in a loud, rasping breath-"I cannot say . . . wh.o.r.e." She gasped; for a moment I thought she would vomit on me. "It sickens me just to say the word, I could never do the deed!"

I put an arm around her and rocked her slightly. There was nothing I could do, to make any one of us feel any better in this moment. "Please calm yourself," I said gently. "It's just his mood tonight. The business with the letter offended him, and he's taking it out on you."

She sniffed and looked up hopefully at me. "If that's all it is . . ."

"I'm sure that's it," I said, as rea.s.suringly as I could manage. I felt more than saw Emilia give me an appreciative, approving smile. I desperately needed her smile at that moment.

From down the corridor, a cornet sounded the call to supper. "There now," I said. "Go in to eat, your uncle will be there to keep an eye on you, and I'm sure your husband will mend his att.i.tude. Never cry. All things will be well." I kissed her on the crown of the head, and stood up.

Emilia moved swiftly across the room to me; she wrapped her arms around me, squeezed me tightly but briefly to her, and kissed my cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. "G.o.d blesses you for that." I felt a wave of unease. Thank G.o.d, I thought, thank G.o.d you do not realize.

I FOLLOWED SLOWLY behind the women, needing time, ever more time than I ever had, to sort through my thoughts and plans. That brief moment of fear I'd felt, thinking Emilia suspected me of something nefarious-that had unnerved me. I knew to the depths of my soul that nothing I did was errant, that in the greater sense, I acted out of righteousness, however vengeful and indirect it seemed. But I also knew that I could not explain that to her while she was so emotional, and I hoped I would never have to.

I was ready to end this now. Immediately. Oth.e.l.lo had proven himself to be beyond redemption. That happened when he struck his wife. I was content to leave it all to Gratiano now. I trusted him to remove Oth.e.l.lo's t.i.tle, and take his kinswoman home again to safety . . . Oth.e.l.lo's behavior was so extreme, so far beyond any wrong that I had done or even schemed of, that truly I no longer considered this my project. The complaints now rested with the state of Venice. Let the Serene Republic put to bed the demons I had waked- I WENT BACK UP that same stairway and turned a corner that would take me to the officers' dining hall. I was leaning my weight forward to take a step, when a sound well known to any soldier made me stop: somebody to my left had just drawn a dagger from its sheath. Immediately I found myself staring at a new, well-oiled blade, the business edge right at my throat and gleaming in the lamplight. It was held with a notable lack of soldierly confidence, however, which could only mean one thing.

"Good evening, Roderigo," I said. I had entirely forgotten his existence. "Is something wrong?"

The blade was lowered with a jerk, and my childhood friend stepped out of the shadows, into the corridor itself. He was furious. He grabbed my collar with one hand and poked the dagger against my collarbone, hard enough that it hurt even through my leather jerkin.

"You have not been honest with me, Iago," he growled.

I tried to give him a disdainful look. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, as if the sound came from somewhere else. The attack itself hardly accounted for this; I knew I could disarm him easily if I had to. What frightened me was the rude remembrance that I had a rogue actor in my drama, and the realization that he could do a lot of damage.

"What are you talking about?" I asked with incredulity.

"Every day, all week, you've put me off with some excuse or other!" He was so upset, I was reminded of my darling-faced six-year-old friend. But the six-year-old had not been armed. "I'm sick of it, I'm through with it, you're obviously-"

"Will you be quiet a moment and listen to me, Roderigo?" I said urgently, in the voice that had served me so well with him our first decade of friends.h.i.+p.

"I've listened too much already," Roderigo shot back, waving the dagger in my face. He rested it once more against my collarbone. "And your words have precious little to do with your actions, anyhow."

I made a hurt expression. "That is unfair."

"It may be unfair but it's the truth," he spluttered. "The jewels I gave you to deliver to Desdemona would have half corrupted a nun by now, but for all your claims that she delighted in them, I've yet to receive one moment of her time or attention."

Well, yes. Roderigo's jewels. I was admittedly amoral regarding Roderigo's jewels. I had been stowing them away to give Emilia, on the grounds that Roderigo wouldn't miss them and Desdemona wouldn't want them. In fact, I had afforded Roderigo priceless pleasure by letting him imagine what might become of Desdemona's appreciation.

But I had wanted the jewelry for Emilia because I'd feared I could never afford such finery for her. Now that I was a made man, I did not, in truth, need what Roderigo had so trustingly given me. If I had to, I would just give it all back. But only if I had to.

"Very well," I said, in a placating voice.

"No, it is not very well," Roderigo snapped. "If I did not know you better, I'd think you were leading me."

"Very well," I repeated, sounding slightly desperate. I glanced down at the dagger with exaggerated nervousness.

"I'm telling you it is not very well!" Roderigo nearly shouted in response. I gave him a warning look and gestured at his clothing: he was dressed as a common soldier, and he knew as well as I did that he'd be in trouble if he was found in the general's personal quarters. "Listen to me," he hissed, lowering his voice but pulling my ear nearly to his mouth. "I will make myself known to Desdemona. If she returns my jewels, I will stop hounding her, I'll even apologize for what I've done so far. But if she does not return them"-here again, with a complete lack of confidence, he waved the dagger under my nose-"I will seek satisfaction from you!"

"Very well," I repeated, holding up my hands, as if I were afraid he'd have the b.a.l.l.s to use the dagger. "You have spoken, and I've heard you!"

"And I mean what I say!" Roderigo announced, shaking the dagger, trying so obviously to feel dangerous.

I could not continue to pretend to be afraid of him when I wasn't. Instead, I chucked him on the shoulder nervously and lowered my voice to speak conspiratorially: "Why, now I see there's mettle in you, Roderigo. I really was not sure before. Give me your hand." I gently pushed the dagger down from my clavicle and reached to take it from his grip. "Your complaint is entirely understandable, but I've only acted in your interest here."

"I fail to see any evidence of that," Roderigo said, jerking his hand away from mine and returning the dagger to its very disagreeable spot near my throat. He was a danger because he had no idea what he was doing. He could slit my throat almost without meaning to, if he lost his calm again.

"I agree it does not look like that," I said quickly. "Your suspicion is not without judgment. But, Roderigo, if you have purpose, show me tonight, and if you haven't gotten what you want by tomorrow night, I'm yours to kill."

He frowned and looked uncertain. Then he grabbed me by the collar again and jerked me toward him-nearly impaling me on the dagger without realizing it; I deflected a wound by s.h.i.+fting my body perpendicular to his grasp. "Well, what is it?" he demanded. "Is it reasonable, or is this some new nonsense scheme of yours?"

"Listen to me," I said. "There is a special commission come from Venice, to replace Oth.e.l.lo with Ca.s.sio."

As soon as I said these words aloud, a horrid realization struck me: the Senate, not knowing Ca.s.sio had been demoted and I was his replacement, had promoted him instead of me. What if, because his demotion and my elevation had been ordained by a man who was clearly not rational . . . what if they undid all that I had worked to gain? What if they replaced Ca.s.sio as lieutenant and made me once again an ensign? They were in essence doing that already by putting Ca.s.sio in charge of Cyprus. d.a.m.n that Oth.e.l.lo-why could he not maintain a veneer of sanity until the Senate had been properly informed that Ca.s.sio was shamed and I was elevated? Now I would have to get Ca.s.sio demoted a second time, and the one weapon I had to use against him-drunkenness-well, he would not make that mistake again.

Roderigo was gaping at my news. "Is that true?" he demanded. I nodded. He thought a moment. "That means Oth.e.l.lo and Desdemona are heading home to Venice." He gave me a warning look. "If I do not get satisfaction here, I most certainly will when we're all back home."

"No, no, you misunderstand," I said. "Oth.e.l.lo's being sent to Mauritania and Desdemona goes with him. The only way to keep him here is by some accident, like the removing of Ca.s.sio."

"What do you mean, 'the removing of Ca.s.sio'?" Roderigo asked. I felt his grip on my shoulder soften.

"By making him incapable of taking Oth.e.l.lo's place," I said. Roderigo still looked cautious. Knowing he would not be capable of it-but that he would be willing to try, and thereby do just enough damage-I explained impatiently, "By knocking his brains out."

Roderigo involuntarily let go of me. "You would have me do that?" he demanded, fl.u.s.tered. I knew the man so well, I could tell exactly what ingredients made up his mood right now: he was morally offended, but this was offset by the manly thrill that I-his soldier friend-would think him capable of such an act. Roderigo was the perfect man to do a job I just this moment realized needed to be done.

"If you want to do yourself a favor, then yes, I think you should consider it," I said dryly. I once again reached for his right hand; he let me take it this time, and I very firmly lowered it so the dagger was nowhere near me. "You should know, Roderigo, I heard something from one of the envoys, something touching your business very directly. I am unclear on all the particulars, but it has something to do with Ca.s.sio's family and the pepper trade." Roderigo's eyes widened in alarm. "I just heard it tonight, and I planned to tell you more as soon as I could get better information in private. I know how much of your trade you had suspended to come along to Cyprus-"

Roderigo looked horrified. "The wh.o.r.eson," he whispered. "I know exactly what it's about. His family must be the one trying to buy the loyalty of my Egyptian connections."

I was grateful to him for so conveniently informing me what lie I was to tell him. "I can get you details within the hour. Speaking of wh.o.r.es, Ca.s.sio spends a lot of time with one, named Bianca, and he'll be eating at her house tonight," I said. "He doesn't yet know about the honor the Senate has given him. I can show you the place and you can jump him anywhere between her house and the fortress. I'll follow him and back you up if you need help; between the two of us, he won't stand a chance. All right?" I said it as casually as I could, hoping to impress upon him that it is not such a momentous thing to plot a man's death.

I was confident he would not kill Ca.s.sio. I knew he did not have the skill, even if he thought he had the stomach. The goal was not to murder Ca.s.sio, but to render him useless as a soldier. "Roderigo," I said, patting him arm briskly. "Do not stand here looking amazed. I'll find the envoy who had the news, and meet you in an hour with the details. But it's suppertime now, and I have to make my excuses at the high table first, so please put away your dagger and let's get on with our evening-time's wasting."

Roderigo gave me a surly look. "I want to hear more about this pepper business."

"And you will," I a.s.sured him. He sheathed his dagger.

Chapter 48.

I HAD TO HOPE Roderigo's fear of Ca.s.sio-that he was secretly enmeshed in the Alexandrine black market in pepper-posed a serious threat to Roderigo's livelihood. Even this would not compel Roderigo to kill Ca.s.sio, but it would compel him to think he was up to trying. That's all I needed. Then everything would work itself out well: If Roderigo distracted Ca.s.sio, I could safely attack Ca.s.sio from behind, and wound him in some way that would end his soldiering days without endangering his life-a sliced calf tendon, for example. I knew my skills and dexterity, especially in the dark; I could strike and then disappear unseen. Ca.s.sio might strike Roderigo and hurt him a little, but I knew I could get to Ca.s.s...o...b..fore he reached Roderigo.

If Roderigo suffered some small wound? That was no catastrophe. First, it would make a good yarn to tell his sons, when he finally managed to sire some; second, he had it coming to him for being foolhardy enough to come along to Cyprus. Nothing he could say against me would be taken seriously when it was revealed he was personating a soldier. He would likely get just a hand-slap from Lodovico, who would be preoccupied with demoting Oth.e.l.lo. Roderigo would be furious at me, so I would have to return all his jewels, and try to convince him the story about Ca.s.sio trying to buy the loyalty of Roderigo's Egyptian contacts was an honest misconception on my part.

Meanwhile, Ca.s.sio would be too wounded to remain in the army, and Oth.e.l.lo would prove himself too unstable to remain in office. That left the new Lieutenenat Iago in an enviable position.

Yes, this was most tolerable.

WE MET AT MIDNIGHT, half a block from Bianca's pitiable house; Roderigo, having feasted on his own terror since I'd seen him, had convinced himself he had to put the Florentine down.

"Stay nearby, because you and I both know I'll probably blunder at it," he said, his hand on the sheath of a new sword. It matched the dagger he had used earlier. Roderigo had heavily armed himself since arriving in Cyprus.

"I will be right beside you if you need me, brother," I said and offered him my hand. The memory of our secret childhood handshake overtook my muscles, and I found myself initiating the ritual; Roderigo followed along with me, and a light danced briefly into his eyes that made me confident he could go through with this.

I felt myself the most magnificent theater-prompter. All the actors were in their proper places, and all would do exactly as I intended, at the moment I intended; then the actors would become the audience, for the desired effect would not be what any one of them expected.

"Do not think too much about it," I said to Roderigo as I slipped away into the shadows. "It's but a man gone."

"But a man gone," Roderigo echoed, trying to look brutishly casual, and failing.

We waited for Bianca's door to open, Roderigo standing in the market square, ghost-lit by candlelight that came from several windows of surrounding houses, myself secluded. As we waited, I admit, I had the thought that the most convenient thing for me now would be if by some strange chance, Ca.s.sio and Roderigo killed each other off. It would simplify everything. Then I could keep the jewels, and be certain of my military status, and never have to worry about either of them realizing they had been made fools of, and by whom, and plot to take revenge.

Such a fantasy does not mean I planned for it to happen that way, or even truly wished it to.

"I hear him coming," I whispered loudly toward Roderigo as the door to Bianca's cottage opened. There he was, back-lit, the ostrich feather bobbing.

"I see him!" Roderigo hissed. I prayed he would not make too much a fool of himself. He backed a few steps in the small plaza, as if this would somehow make him invisible.

Ca.s.sio, in a chipper mood from dinner, s.e.x, and wine, had his guard down as he strode through the dim campo, in the direction of the fortress. I felt sickened watching him: here even in his deepest disgrace, his pretty face a.s.sured that he would have a pleasant enough life, and now on top of that he was about to be made the military ruler of Cyprus, for no good reason but that he'd helped a madman and a pretty ingrate to elope. The man could not even duel correctly. Oh, I hated him in that moment. I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone. I knew Roderigo would not succeed in even scratching him, but for a moment, I really wished my friend could take the Florentine's head off.

"Die, you villain!" Roderigo screamed. He leapt toward Ca.s.sio in the dark and brought his sword down with energy and a complete lack of precision, nowhere near Ca.s.sio's body.

Ca.s.sio-however much I liked to think of him enfeebled-was a trained soldier. His instincts were quick and accurate, and he had already drawn his own sword, engaged it with Roderigo's, and disarmed the Pepper King. He raised his sword again, prepared to kill.

I leapt out from the shadows and lunged at Ca.s.sio from behind. I intended a lengthwise cut down the back of his leg. I had not been in battle for months now, had not actually tried to damage human flesh. Perhaps I hesitated.

In the moment between my leaping forward and my reaching Ca.s.sio, Ca.s.sio himself raised his sword and then arced it so that it sang through the black night air of the campo to slice with thick, breathless meatiness into Roderigo's midriff. I heard a sickening shriek as my sword began its downward slash at the back of Ca.s.sio's knee. I tightened my grip on my hilt and slammed the blade down the length of Ca.s.sio's lower leg, somehow skirting all the blood. He fell screaming to the floor of the campo, and I dropped my sword and fled down the small side alley where I'd been hiding, his screams of pain echoing behind me.

I had to find a light and return again immediately, as if I'd just discovered them. And I had to keep them apart. Most of all, I had to see how badly Roderigo was hurt. I could not think clearly what I needed to do beyond that.