I, Iago Part 15

Chapter 25.

EMILIA, BY OTh.e.l.lO'S DECREE, was to remain in Venice. He announced it would be a brief but tedious posting, and surely a lady as lovely and lively as my wife had better ways to spend her time. I cannot say I appreciated this sentiment.

We had an unremarkable sea crossing to Zara. Once encamped there, the enlisted men did nearly all the work. It was hard labor, without glamour: doubling the thickness of one segment of the city wall surrounding the city. Zara is a virtual islet lying snug against the Dalmatian coastline; it is connected to the mainland by a narrow land bridge. The wall of the land gate too was to be fortified.

I could not tell what purpose there was to Oth.e.l.lo's presence. This undertaking seemed unworthy of his attention. There was nothing for him or us, his staff, to do. The other officers liked the calm; the general and I both chaffed at it. At least I had access to the library, in the mayoral palace where the officers were housed. I practiced reading Greek. My weekly letters to Emilia must have been a bore; each week I simply told her what I had been reading.

But Oth.e.l.lo was distracted and spent hours a day alone in his office. My duties required me to keep record of what supplies were used; he went through a remarkable amount of paper, quills, and ink. I waited for him to tell me what he was using them on, but he shared nothing with me.

I was not used to that from him.

THERE WAS A regular sea-courier service between Venice and Zara. About once every ten days, a vessel would arrive in port, discharge cargo and messages, take on new forms of each, and sail out the next day.

One day I saw Oth.e.l.lo's domestic page carrying a small packet out of the palace, heading in the direction of the nearest harbor gate. I was curious; Oth.e.l.lo had mentioned nothing that required reporting back to Venice-nor had he given me a hint about his newly forged writing habits.

I followed the lad; he went down to the s.h.i.+p bound for Venice and handed the packet to a red-bearded mariner. The mariner gave him a similar packet in return. I tailed the boy back up the slope, toward the palace, and saw him head to Oth.e.l.lo's office. A moment later, he came back out, now empty-handed.

I wondered what was in both packets, of course. But more than that, I wondered why the general never mentioned either to me.

Several weeks in a row went by this way: the boy, with the packet; the red-bearded mariner, the other packet. Never a word from Oth.e.l.lo.

And so one day when I followed this page boy from the palace toward the harbor, I overtook him in a narrow street, in such a manner that I most unfortunately tripped him; in tumbling, he dropped the packet.

"How very clumsy of me," I apologized effusively and reached at once for it, to hand it back to him; my sole purpose was to read the label on it.

For Michele Ca.s.sio, it read, The Dolphin Inn, Castello District. Confidential.

THE BOY, NOT noticing my distress, accepted the package and hurried down toward the harbor gate.

I stood a moment in the alleyway, willing the sun to continue warming me, for I was suddenly cold all over. There was some collusion between my general and that intruder, some secret I was being excluded from, some intensely significant secret that was operational right now. The thought dismayed me on several levels, but mostly it was personal. Whatever it was, I was excluded from it-and far worse than that, a womanizing Florentine who could not hold his drink, but could keep his hair immaculately coiffed-he somehow deserved Oth.e.l.lo's confidence. About what, for the love of all saints? In what arena of life that Oth.e.l.lo valued could Ca.s.sio possibly provide a service I could not better provide?

My distress was so severe I felt dizzy. I wished Emilia were with me now, to gently tease away my uneasiness, give it some practical interpretation, or at least distract me with a loosened bodice.

I WENT BACK to the mayoral palace. Fencing practice was still on, and Oth.e.l.lo was in the yard. I kept my displeasure to myself, geared up, and for only the second time since I had known him, bested Oth.e.l.lo at the sword. He was very pleased for me.

We dined in private that evening, and it was as it had ever been between us, our conversation familiar, lively, far ranging, and comfortable.

And as was always true of our discourse, army matters intermingled with the personal.

"The captain of the refectory," Oth.e.l.lo said-his preferred way of referring to the head cook-"he tells me we must requisition more wheat, the laborers are going through it as if . . . as if they were laboring."

"I will add it to the list of supplies," I said. "I must requisition more paper as well; your office is going through an enormous amount of leaves."

"Really? The calamari is very good tonight, no?"

"Excellent. It reminds me of a recipe Michele Ca.s.sio described once."

"Perhaps he has been to Zara himself."

"We're also using a lot of ink," I said.

"Is ink expensive?" Oth.e.l.lo asked disinterestedly.

"Not the kind we use."

"That's good," he said, looking up from his dinner with a smile. "Then it should not be hard to get it, eh?"

"It's strange that we are going through so much ink and paper."

He shrugged. "You know the Senate is obsessed with forms and inventories-"

"Yes, of course, but for some reason, during this posting, that proclivity of the Senate's is suddenly using more paper and ink than before."

Oth.e.l.lo sat back in his chair and smiled at me admiringly. " 'Proclivity,' " he echoed. "You are very good with words, Iago."

"Michele Ca.s.sio thinks I use too many of them." I gave him a very direct stare.

He met my gaze unflinchingly, looking warm and open as ever. "That's because he is Florentine, and they are always jealous of how superior Venetians are. Eh? You taught me that, brother," he said with a grin. "You are teaching me to be an excellent Venetian."

"Not if you're modeling yourself on me, General. I am a terrible Venetian."

"Why do you say that?" he asked, reaching for the wine.

"Venetians lie. They lack candor. They keep secrets from their closest friends."

Oth.e.l.lo grimaced thoughtfully. "Then I would have to say, you are much better than most Venetians. Would you like some wine?"

Not even the tensing of an eye muscle.

"Is this wine from Florence?" I asked, holding up my gla.s.s.

"No, in fact, it is the last of the stock from Rhodes," he said. "The excellent wine I promised you as we prepared to retreat? I could not give it to you on the s.h.i.+p. This is it. This is the last bottle. You are the only person I know who deserves to share it with me."

How could he be so openhearted, and yet so full of guile?

"I thank you," I said. When he had poured me a gla.s.s, I held it up for a toast. "To bad Venetians. May neither of us ever be one."

"I will drink to that, brother!" The general laughed, and drained his gla.s.s.

Somehow this open, trusting, and trustworthy man was suddenly so skilled at keeping secrets that he could lie by omission to me, all day, every day, without a shred of guilt. I was almost sickened thinking of it. And yet, before supper was over, he had taught me the Egyptian lullaby his mother used to sing to him; I reduced him to gasping fits of laughter, describing the incident with Galinarion's hen; we arm wrestled, and although his arms are twice as broad as mine, I won, because I knew a trick-which I showed him, to his delight.

By the time I went to bed that night, my alarm at the secret correspondence with Michele Ca.s.sio had almost abated.

ALMOST. BUT NOT QUITE. I was unnerved by how unlike myself I managed the situation: for some reason I did not dare to ask Oth.e.l.lo about it directly. I was frightened of what the answer might be. But I was burning with anxious curiosity to understand. So-very much unlike myself-I took a route indirect.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK, the day before the next courier s.h.i.+p was due in port, I let myself into Oth.e.l.lo's office while he was at fencing practice. Zuane da Porto was napping somewhere. Zuane spent more and more of his time napping; I was eager for him to retire so I might officially take his place, as I was already performing most of his duties (in addition to my own).

I went to the desk, determined if necessary to search every drawer-even the hidden drawers, which I knew about and had access to-to discover what Oth.e.l.lo was writing to Ca.s.sio.

But I did not have to search at all. Lying plainly on the leather desktop was a letter filling three sheets of paper with Oth.e.l.lo's square, inelegantly clear handwriting. I was startled by frightened elation as I realized the secret correspondence was right here, I could read it now and know now what conspiracy with Ca.s.sio was being kept from me . . . but as I regained my wits and prepared to read, I heard the door open. I had time to glance at only the first line before looking up to see who'd entered.

That first line read: My beloved Desdemona.

"Iago," said the general from the doorway.

Chapter 26.

WE WERE BOTH acutely ill at ease, and silent for a moment.

"General," I said at last, and pointedly turned away from the desk.

"Iago," Oth.e.l.lo said again, with a tone almost of pleading in his voice now. "I see you have discovered my Achilles heel."

"Do you refer to your epistolary romance with Senator Brabantio's daughter?" I said, still turned away from him.

He laughed, but there was discomfort in the laughter. "I am in love with the lady, Iago, and she with me."

"But you cannot have her, and so you are torturing both yourself and her with an exchange of letters," I said coldly. "Torture yourself if you must, but you are being unfair to the lady."

"Iago, when you met Emilia, could you help but express your feelings to her?"

I turned to meet his gaze. "General, forgive me, but it is not a fair comparison. I courted her because I knew she would be a suitable and obtainable wife."

Oth.e.l.lo stared at me levelly. "Iago, remember for a moment how it was when your heart first fell for Emilia." He paused.

"Yes?" I said.

"Take a moment-this is an order from your general-take a moment and tell your logical, practical mind to shut the h.e.l.l up. Ask your heart what it knows- remember exactly how it felt."

I did, because I respected him and wanted to continue to respect him. I did not want a beautiful patrician whelp to spell the ruin of a friends.h.i.+p that meant so much. And yes, remembering that first moment with Emilia was a pleasant memory, a very pleasant memory, and I enjoyed the flood of emotion that came with it. Oth.e.l.lo, seeing the s.h.i.+ft of mood on my face, nodded with satisfaction.

"If she had suddenly said to you, I am the daughter of a senator, and you can never have me, would you have turned and walked away from her?"

I tried to answer sharply, but could not. "My heart goes out to you, that you have these feelings," I said. "I do understand, completely, the impulse to indulge them. But there can be no happy ending to this romance."

"If it must end in heartbreak, let the heartbreak come later," he said evenly.

"How do you communicate with her?"

"I send the letters, sealed, to a friend."

So he was not going to tell me of Ca.s.sio's involvement.

"Ah," I said.

"A friend who dines quite regularly at the senator's home. He always finds a way to give my letters to Desdemona and to receive letters from her, which he then sends to me."

My confused, baleful emotions got the better of me. "What you are doing will be considered an outrage if you are ever found out. You are too useful to the state to be demoted, but everybody else will suffer for it. Desdemona will be shamed, Brabantio labeled a laughingstock, and Ca- your friend whipped or even jailed for his conspiring with you both."

Oth.e.l.lo froze for a moment, then took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "As always, Iago, I appreciate your bluntness and your honesty. Your advice, almost without exception, is unerring and useful to me, from military concerns to Venetian table manners. But in this case, I must make my own judgment." I stared at him in disbelief, and he added, with an attempt at levity, "You are not going to reveal me, are you?"

"Of course not," I said impatiently. "I am not upbraiding your actions in themselves; I am warning you that they will come to an unhappy end."

He smiled the familiar, soothing Oth.e.l.lo smile that said we were brothers under the skin. "I appreciate that, Iago." He took another deep breath and sighed. "I do know, of course I must know, that this is folly. It cannot end in marriage, and I would never besmirch her by taking her as mistress. But indulge me in simple enjoyment of a few hours' secret forgetfulness each week, will you not? You have Emilia's letters to distract you. Allow me my own distractions."

"What happens when we return to Venice?" I asked. "Have you thought that far ahead, great strategist that you are?"

"When we return to Venice, it shall be just as it is now," he a.s.sured me, relaxing as he sensed my anger abating. "I shall send her letters from a chaste distance, and she shall return letters chastely to me. And we shall do that until it grows old and ceases to entertain us, regardless of whom her father marries her off to. If it is an arranged marriage, surely her arranged groom cannot begrudge her having an admirer who never even touches her. Consider my conduct toward her in person, Iago. The Florentine Michele Ca.s.sio has touched more of her person than I have, by kissing her along the hand and wrist. And that spice merchant Brabantio dislikes, he has pressed his suit in ways I would never dream of."

"So this is a harmless flirtation? You will not shame the lady, nor bring trouble on your own head?"

He smiled. "You are a good man to care about these matters, Iago. Yes, I promise you, happily I promise it, I will not shame the lady. And now please come outside with me and let us exorcise, with exercise, the tension we have built up in this room just now."

I followed him out into the bright Zaran sunlight, knowing he was lying to me. To me only. Not to Ca.s.sio or to Desdemona. He was, in fact, lying to me with Ca.s.sio and Desdemona. Two people we had never heard of six months ago were now in collusion with my general and closest friend. The duplicity with Desdemona I could understand-that was s.e.x. But Ca.s.sio? Why Ca.s.sio? What was Ca.s.sio to him, or he to Ca.s.sio, that he should lie to me?

Chapter 27.

WE RETURNED TO VENICE within three months. As I disembarked I took an appreciative deep breath of mild Venetian springtime air, which did not smell like vinegar and filthy men, but instead like all the scents I'd missed without ever thinking of them. I was very glad to be home.

As soon as I was off the boat, before I had even gotten my land-legs, I stationed myself at the trestle table set up on the tar-smudged dock, to oversee the tedious task of releasing each soldier from service. All I could think about, as the paymaster and I worked through the rolls, was the scent of Emilia's skin. Three months without her had been so difficult. I could hardly focus on the ritual of paperwork and leave-taking required of me. Two hours later, finished with the clerical drudgery, I went directly to Oth.e.l.lo's office at the Saggitary for official leave.

Here I found Oth.e.l.lo, frowning in disbelief at Lieutenant da Porto.

"Tuscany?" he was saying as I stuck my head in. "Come in, Iago, come in." And back to the lieutenant: "What on earth is there to interest anyone in Tuscany?"

"I have a daughter there, and I have missed her growth and the birth of my grandchildren," the man said peaceably. "I will sit under olive trees and drink wine and watch children play, and then I will die. It will have been a good life."

It was the longest statement I had ever heard the laconic fellow utter.