I, Iago Part 16

I knew the Moor's face so well, I intuited what he was thinking: such a man had been a mercenary? Had risen to first lieutenant? Oth.e.l.lo had not so promoted him and never would have. Da Porto had been a.s.signed to him in the midst of a political crisis; he had accepted da Porto without appraising him. Indeed, Oth.e.l.lo had hardly noticed him. Da Porto had made himself so entirely replaceable that in function if not t.i.tle, he had consistently been replaced-by me. I did not dislike da Porto but still my heart leapt as I understood his meaning. He was retiring. This meant my advancement. That I should be first lieutenant to the general of the entire army! If only my father could have known.

THE GENERAL DISMISSED da Porto and was about to begin a final review of the Zara project with me, but a rap on the door interrupted us. The boy minding the door stepped inside and solemnly announced the arrival of Michele Ca.s.sio. Before he could control the instinct, Oth.e.l.lo glanced at me. I looked away. If he would not admit to having a secret with Ca.s.sio, then I would not admit to knowing about it.

With Oth.e.l.lo's permission, Ca.s.sio stepped into the room and saluted us both with his right hand. In his left, he held a now-familiar parcel. I felt my stomach tighten.

"Greetings, Michele," Oth.e.l.lo said with his usual warmth. "It is good to see you in person after so long an absence."

"As it is to see you, General, Ensign," Ca.s.sio said, now bowing like a courtier. The gesture brought his right hand down toward his bent knee and his left hand up behind him. I could not contain myself: I reached, as if playfully, for the packet of letters and plucked it from his hand. "And what is this?" I asked.

Fast as a whip, Ca.s.sio straightened, looking at me and then at Oth.e.l.lo in alarm.

Oth.e.l.lo was absolutely calm. For a long moment, he examined me, making no move to get the parcel from me. In fact, he clasped his hands behind him. "I appreciate your attentiveness to my well-being, Ensign," he said. "I also appreciate how much you trust my judgment in certain matters." Smiling, he released his hands from behind his back and held out one of them toward me.

Unhappily, I handed him the letters. There was nothing else I could have done with them but show them to Brabantio, which I would never do. I did not want to reveal Oth.e.l.lo's weakness; I wanted it to go away. I particularly wanted it to go away if it gave Ca.s.sio a special tether to Oth.e.l.lo that I did not have.

"Thank you, Michele," Oth.e.l.lo said. "Please return tomorrow for instructions in this matter. And congratulations upon becoming an officer. We will celebrate at the great feast of San Marco."

Ca.s.sio's Florentine cheeks flushed as mine paled. Yes, he had finished his training; yes, he was now an officer, albeit of nothing in particular. This untested gallant was now technically my equal in the army. I found this annoying, but allayed the annoyance with the cheering thought that a lieutenancy loomed before me.

Ca.s.sIO DISMISSED, OTh.e.l.lO and I finished our work, and I left at last well after dark had fallen. I hoped Emilia would be waiting for me with a loosened corset and clean sheets. Losing myself in her arms, her thighs, her smile . . . my limbs s.h.i.+vered with antic.i.p.ation.

And there she was, even more wonderfully prepared for a homecoming than I'd fantasized, in nothing but her s.h.i.+ft, her long auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. I slammed the door behind me and lifted her so high in my arms, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against my chin. Without a word, I carried her to our bed, and it was hours before our mouths said more than our bodies. We could have children now, I thought as I entered her the first time. With a lieutenant's salary, with a lieutenant's quarters, we could manage it. Little Emilias and little Iagos running around as visible proof of our love for each other-I almost fainted with pleasure and pa.s.sion at the thought. I kissed my wife ferociously. This beautiful, clear-eyed, charming woman-my wife. How could a man be so lucky?

THE NEXT MORNING, as we prepared to go to breakfast, I was not feeling so enamored of her. She told me, with a sparkle in her eye, that she knew about the letters being pa.s.sed between Oth.e.l.lo and Desdemona-who now considered her a bosom friend, because she was the only woman to whom Desdemona could safely share her delight about the secret correspondence. As wife of Oth.e.l.lo's closest confidant, Emilia was trustworthy, sympathetic, safe.

"So everyone except Oth.e.l.lo's closest confidant had been taken into confidence on this matter," I growled.

"That is a silly way to look at it," Emilia said. "You sound jealous, Iago. Are you jealous of me? I am sure Desdemona would be happy to gush about her faraway paramour to you as well."

"I do not much want to hear about it," I said. "And may I point out, Emilia, that he is no longer far away. They are in the same city now. They will frequently be at the same house, dining at the same table. How do you expect that will go?"

"I think that will depend on how discreet everyone chooses to be," Emilia retorted, and added pointedly, "including you."

I sat up straighter, nearly huffing. "Are you implying I would give them away?"

"Not deliberately," Emilia said in a placating voice. "But subtlety and nuance are not your strengths, Iago. I know how you feel about secrets and lies, and I understand if this situation discomfits you."

"You were never an admirer of secrets and lies, either, yet you seem quite taken with the whole thing."

She paused, and then nodded. "I admit that over the past few months, I have grown to appreciate that society may be not only mocked but undercut. I know both Oth.e.l.lo and Desdemona. A good man, and a good lady. They are very fond of each other. They are not allowed, by the conventions of our society, to even attempt an open courts.h.i.+p."

"I agree with you that is most unfortunate for both of them," I said impatiently. "And I agree it is the fault of our ridiculous culture that they are suffering for that."

"But you see, Iago, they need not simply rail against the injustice of it," Emilia said, moving to stand before me, and then kneeling down so she could look up into my face. "They may at least express their regard. They relieve their hearts in words, if not actions. Thank heaven there is another outsider who is willing to defy the conventions of Venetian society."

My stomach clenched. "What do you mean, another outsider?" I demanded, sitting up straighter.

"Michele Ca.s.sio, of course," Emilia said. "He and Oth.e.l.lo are both foreigners here. It is only natural one of them should have a sympathy for the other's plight."

I shook my head and stood up; she rose with me. "Emilia, Michele Ca.s.sio is a Florentine. He is every bit as attached to cla.s.s distinctions and n.o.ble exclusivity as any Venetian, perhaps more so. He and Oth.e.l.lo have nothing in common." I pushed her away gently and went to stand by the window, looking down onto the campo outside the a.r.s.enal gate. "If Ca.s.sio is pa.s.sing notes for them, it is not out of sympathy for Oth.e.l.lo's plight. The man goes whoring almost every night. He does not appreciate what Oth.e.l.lo feels for Brabantio's daughter."

"Iago!" Emilia laughed. "What makes you say something so appalling about one of your fellow officers?"

"Please do not refer to him that way," I said through clenched teeth. "The man is a fop. He is an intemperate, womanizing, Florentine fop. Oh, yes, he puts on a very elegant show of being proper and gallant, I know, I remember, I have seen it," I said. "I have also seen him on the balcony of a bawdy house, half-undressed, with a naked wh.o.r.e in his arms, and I've seen him the next morning with wine on his breath-"

"He does not even drink, Iago!" Emilia said with a sharp laugh. "Are you so threatened by this gentleman that you feel the need to fantasize about him?"

"He does not drink in good society, because he cannot handle it," I corrected her sharply. "He is a sot, I'm telling you. He refrains from drink at dinner parties because he knows he would make a fool of himself once he started."

"Has he confessed this to you?" Emilia demanded, amused, and took my seat.

"I deduced it within a week of meeting him," I said. "Allow me some credit for observation, Emilia."

"Iago," Emilia said. She took a breath and then spoke in the lower tones of her mellifluous voice. "Be reasonable for just a moment. I too am a native of this place that is so full of artifice. I recognize insincerity a ca.n.a.l's length away. And Michele-"

"You recognize Venetian insincerity," I interrupted. I could not bear hearing my wife speak sweetly of that man. "He is not Venetian. He has his own language of duplicity, at which you are not fluent."

She sighed again, stood up, and made a gesture of frustration. "There is no talking to you, then. I do not know what has caused you to have such a terrible feeling toward the gentleman. He is unfailingly pleasant every time I have encountered him. He has been a constant breath of fresh air here in your absence, and he is the only agreeable male to sit at Brabantio's table these past three months. He is doing a favor to your friend and to my friend, and we should be grateful to him for that, we should not defame him."

I crossed my arms.

"Iago, my darling husband, listen to me," she pressed on. "Brabantio likes him. The other senators like him. The upper echelons of our own cla.s.s like him. He has made an excellent name for himself in Venice in a very short time."

"Why are you telling me this?" I demanded. "Why do I need to know this? When did I ever care about someone's reputation?"

"It is pleasant to see them embrace somebody who is unlike them," Emilia said. "It causes me to realize that we need not be just like them, and yet we may still be respected by them. By all these patricians who currently only let you near them because you're with Oth.e.l.lo. If you would make the effort to be, occasionally, charming, you would find yourself admired by the entire patriciate of Venice-for your own merits, not because you are Oth.e.l.lo's man. I know you, Iago, I know that is important to you."

I stared at her, resenting her accuracy. "Emilia, it was our mutual dislike of such people that brought us together. How can you now be encouraging me to become their sycophant?"

"Not a sycophant! Just civil!" she countered. "To be given as much as you deserve." She gestured around our small apartment. "You are the right-hand man to the leader of the army, and they stable us in here."

"Ca.s.sio's rooms are surely worse than these," I said.

She shook her head once. "Not anymore. He charmed the quartermaster of the a.r.s.enal at a dinner party six weeks back, and now he has a suite of rooms in the Sagittarius."

Now I resented Ca.s.sio even further. But worse, now I questioned my wife's judgment. "You want me to become a fawning would-be courtier in order to give you a nicer bed to lie in? Is that what you, Emilia, are telling me?"

"I did not mean to anger you, Iago. I'm sorry. I find it peculiar that you take such offense to what I am saying when I know you have ambitions."

"You," I repeated, "you, Emilia, my wife, you of all people I have ever known, you are admiring a guileful fop for his ability to gull people into giving him things he has done nothing to deserve. Do I have that right?" I could feel the tendons in my neck standing out. Emilia looked amazed at my wrath.

"I am saying," she said carefully, "that there is no virtue in refusing to be pleasant to people who can help you to your just deserts."

"I do not need their help," I snapped. "I have my own merit. I do not have to charm to have merit. I already have merit. With my merit, I earn what I deserve. There is an integrity to that, which n.o.body I know-except, I thought, you and perhaps Oth.e.l.lo-has any understanding of."

"I know and love that about you, Iago. I admire it about you enormously. I am only saying-"

"I know well enough what you're saying." I stormed toward the door, grabbing my cloak from the peg. "I am going out now, I need to clear my head."

Chapter 28.

I HAD NO IDEA where I was headed. Native custom and the need for a long walk took me toward my old neighborhood, even toward my old house. Not wanting to arrive there, I diverted down a back alley with no particular intention except to avoid paying a visit to my brother. Rizardo was not somebody I could turn to for advice, encouragement, or soothing.

I realized I was at the back gate of Pietro Galinarion's home, the man whose egg Roderigo and I had stolen all those years ago. The richest patrician in our neighborhood-although not, from what I'd heard, as rich as Roderigo himself was these days.

I wondered how Roderigo was doing. Was he still leery of his professional rival from Florence? (How ironic, we had something in common.) The last I had heard of him was Brabantio's demeaning refusal of his proffered gift to Desdemona, before we'd left for Zara. Hopefully he was on to some new unconquerable lady by now. He must have had plenty of admirers-he was handsome and rich, and this was Venice.

I heard men's voices laughing within Galinarion's courtyard. There was a sound, and a small leather ball landed on the other side of the iron gate, near my feet.

"Well now you've done it, uncle!" I heard a man's cheery voice cry out. Feet moved nearer to the gate, until I could see them, and the runner: he was wearing very fine clothing and presumably the latest style of collar-I'd never seen such a protruding ruff before. He was looking for, then reaching for, the ball. He noticed me. He looked familiar, but I could not place him. Until I could: It was Zanino, one of my fellow cadets from the a.r.s.enal. He saw me through the grating of the gate, and his eyes widened.

"Iago Soranzo!" he cried out with gusto. Immediately he reached up to unlatch the tall gate. It was really not so tall, now that I was no longer ten years old. "Iago, my old friend, what a tremendous surprise! I knew your brother lived in this campo but I did not expect to see you here! What a pleasure! Come in and meet my uncle Pietro!" He already had the gate open, had grabbed my arm, and was nearly hauling me into the yard. "He's heard about your exploits at the Academy for years! And of course everybody knows you are an aide-de-camp to General Oth.e.l.lo."

I had last seen Galinarion when I'd stormed out of a masquerade ball during Carnival, the night after I'd met Emilia. Now I thought of Emilia's words from an hour earlier. Galinarion was precisely the sort of man she wanted me to be able to charm. I was nauseated by the thought of it.

On the other hand, I wanted to please her if I could. That is the plague and weakness of a devoted husband. Here was a safely private opportunity to experiment.

So when I was introduced to the senator this time, as his bulk lolled in a couch whose wooden legs were brushed with late-morning dew, I bowed deeply and expressed my heartfelt pleasure at being in the presence of so grand a gentleman. Likewise I showed pleased surprise that my beloved colleague Zanino was his blood-kin. "I did not realize patricians trained for the artillery," I said.

"Oh, we had no intention of sending him into the service." Galinarion coughed from his velvet couch. "His parents simply wanted to get him out of the house for the worst of his p.u.b.escence." Zanino laughed agreeably. "But come, young Iago, would you care for a drink?"

The enormous man and his gangly nephew were both tipsy, hours before noon. I tried to imagine a life in which I could possibly allow myself to get drunk before noon. What did such lives consist of? The memory of Emilia's angling for larger rooms by ingratiating myself to such as these made me briefly clench my teeth. "I follow a soldier's schedule, Senator, and never drink before sundown, but thank you for the kind offer."

"I hear Lieutenant da Porto is retiring," Zanino said, playing with the ball. He tried to interest a very old, tired-looking black dog into chasing the ball, but the dog was not interested. Zanino threw the ball anyhow, and then went after it himself.

We had returned but the day before; how quickly word spread! "Yes," I said, pleased. "Da Porto is retiring."

"You'll be taking over his position, I suppose?" Zanino said, eyes blazing with admiration.

"I suppose," I said, with what I hoped seemed a casual smile. "There is no guarantee, of course; it is up to the general."

"But the general adores you, everyone knows that!" Zanino said, throwing the ball again; this time it hit a piece of statuary, a nymph trying to flee a satyr.

It delighted me to hear that this was part of the general gossip of the city, at least among those who, like Zanino, fancied themselves military insiders. "I have my hopes," I confessed. "I am married to a beautiful woman, and I would certainly like to give her more than just an ensign's quarters."

"Why only hopes? Are you at all concerned he will not pick you?" Galinarion said, making a feeble attempt to sit up a little higher.

I bowed my head with more humility than I really felt on this matter. "There is no way to know what the general will choose to do. I believe I am the best man for the post, but should Oth.e.l.lo find another more skilled or more experienced, I shall accept his decision."

"I will talk to him about it," Galinarion declared, oozing lordliness.

Few things would appeal to Oth.e.l.lo less than a drunken senator telling him what to do. "Thank you, Senator," I said, forcing myself to smile.

"I will ask some of my friends to speak to him as well."

"I am even deeper in your debt, Senator," I said, forcing the smile to broaden.

"Aha! I have it!" Galinarion said, extremely pleased. "My friend Facio is not only a senator but also deeply involved with the military, and I believe he knows the general well. I will instruct him to speak to Oth.e.l.lo on your behalf. Perhaps you know him? Senator Brabantio?"

Despite myself, I laughed at the poetic irony of this, managing to pa.s.s the laughter off as gleeful grat.i.tude. "That, I do believe," I said, "would clinch it for me."

OTh.e.l.lO'S CIVIC SUPERINTENDENT, Marco Salamon, possessed a rare shrewdness regarding the use of civic celebrations. No city or nation on earth loves a festival as well as Venice does. The Serene Republic creates festivals, spectacles, masquerades, and feasts for any occasion her denizens can think of. To observe the confluence of San Marco and Oth.e.l.lo's return from Zara, the city planned a celebration with spectacles, fireworks, and lots of feasting.

Salamon proposed that the supper feast in the Doge's Palace be transformed into a "Ceremony of Merit," at which Oth.e.l.lo would announce promotions and medals before an array of patricians, citizens, and carefully chosen commoners, thereby demonstrating to the Venetian population that the army was an exciting and rewarding enterprise. Oth.e.l.lo agreed, mildly amused by Venetian culture once again.

"This will not seduce anyone into joining the ranks," he said to me in a conspiratorial tone after Salamon had left us.

"I doubt Salamon cares about that," I replied, equally conspiratorial. "He wants to make an impression on the patricians of the city. He wants to coax them to take an interest in the civil posts they are supposed to be volunteering for."

Having Oth.e.l.lo's leave, that same day Salamon approached the admiral of the navy, the captain of the cavalry, and the captain of the artillery, who all agreed to invent some promotions or awards of merit within their own branches. And so the feast plans rapidly expanded into a sprawling fete, so enormous its planned location was moved from the doge's public dining room to the cavernous Great Council chamber.

EVERY NIGHT OF the week that spanned from our return to the Ceremony of Merit, Oth.e.l.lo dined with Brabantio, and Desdemona sat at table with them. Usually Emilia and I were invited along; sometimes we were not. I preferred the nights we were not. When we were present, it was unnerving to watch Oth.e.l.lo and Desdemona, knowing-as Brabantio could not know-all that was unsaid. Every moment between them was in code; I did not know the code but I knew that it existed, and I knew that Brabantio did not know even that much.

Emilia beamed, watching the two of them pretend to be casual with each other. Her joy disturbed me. The thoughtlessness of the two people I most admired and loved, one rendered foolish by his infatuation, the other rendered foolish by her delight of that infatuation-these were the silly dramas and romances of the Venetian patriciates, and we, the ones upon whose backs and shoulders the Serene Republic leaned, should not stoop to such absurdity. I was never the praying sort, but I prayed daily that the two chaste lovers would cease their obsession with each other, so that Oth.e.l.lo would return to his soldier's life. But their mutual regard grew every day until I was amazed Brabantio could not see it in the glowing of their faces.

THE AFTERNOON OF the feast day, Oth.e.l.lo and I were in his office, reviewing the latest plans for refortifying Famagusta. As always, these were fairly risible.

"I suspect we shall have to go ourselves to see it," Oth.e.l.lo said.

"I wonder if anything about the fortress will actually resemble what we have been told," I mused.

"I have seen-" Oth.e.l.lo began, but stopped abruptly as his office door jerked open.

Michele Ca.s.sio nearly entered-then, seeing me, he pulled up short.

"Michele," said Oth.e.l.lo in a low and suddenly urgent tone as he rose from his chair. As if I were not present, he crossed to Ca.s.sio in the doorway, leaned in to him, and muttered something softly in his ear. Ca.s.sio whispered back. Oth.e.l.lo whispered once more. Ca.s.sio nodded with Florentine precision, bowed, and then strode away with purpose and a bit of smugness.

"I have seen the fortress of Famagusta myself," Oth.e.l.lo said to me, returning to his seat-as if there had been no interruption, as if he had risen merely to open a shutter for ventilation. "The depictions we have seen are not so very far off. It is only the engineers' intentions that are too fanciful. Look, here is another example of their proposals," he continued, pulling a large piece of vellum from the collection on his desk.

I opened my mouth to ask "What was that about?" but found I could not speak.

OUR MEETING ADJOURNED, Oth.e.l.lo excused himself with strange abruptness. Out of habit, I considered seeking Emilia's company, but then realized, feeling sad, that I did not really want to. She was grown so enamoured of the secret love affair that she had begun to crave a patina of romance in me that wasn't there, and never had been. In her company, I would feel ashamed for not having done more to please her.

As I stood outside the Saggitary door, deliberating where to spend the next few hours, I was approached by tall, gangly Zanino. "My uncle has summoned you with news of his advocating your lieutenancy," Zanino announced. His eyes were bright, and his cheeks flushed, so excited was he to be inside the a.r.s.enal gates again.

The ceremony was that evening and I was confident of my position; still, my pulse quickened when I heard this.

By gondola and then on foot we traveled, and despite Zanino's attempts to chatter with me, I could not but focus on my private, unspoken, ruminative monologue. I did not know if Brabantio had actually been solicited on my behalf; he had never referenced it at table all week, and I had been on tenterhooks each visit there, wondering if he would. I could think of no other officer worthy of the post-although I suddenly worried that Oth.e.l.lo might give the position to Ca.s.sio to reward him for playing pimp. I quickly dismissed this as mad. Even besotted Oth.e.l.lo would never let his romantic needs supplant his military duty. Ca.s.sio would no doubt receive a bonus or promotion he did not deserve, but nothing that might have direct bearing upon the governance of the army.

When we arrived at Galinarion's, we were ushered into his salon, where he was enjoying an afternoon engorgement. "I want you to know, my dearest Iago, that I went to Brabantio's the other night, and we together, with our friend Dominic Zen, met with your general. We raised a gla.s.s with him in celebration of the ever improving standards of the army, and we observed that you would make an excellent and obvious first lieutenant." He paused, and s.h.i.+fted his large frame within the chair as he reached for a sausage on a heated serving dish.