I, Iago Part 7

"I do nothing in order to get my name around," I said, on the return.

"I know," she said consolingly, which made me feel again that I'd been petulant. "I'll see you in a moment."

Again we turned away from each other, again I somehow survived the turns and footfalls of the dance with some woman I did not know and could barely manage to exchange pleasantries with. And then I was back with my raised palm pressing Emilia's.

"I do like you, Iago," she said quietly. "I like the way I feel in your company. I can imagine sitting down to dinner every day with you for the rest of my life and never wis.h.i.+ng I were somewhere else. I have never felt that about another human being, including my own parents."

I was so thrilled, it frightened me. I could not speak.

"Have I answered your question, sir?" she asked at last.

"It is a sufficient answer for now," I was able to say. I heard her chuckle affectionately behind her mask. Oh, my Lord, if only I could see what was behind that mask.

SOMEHOW WE GOT through the rest of the chiaranzana. I did not trust myself to speak again; she seemed content with silence when we danced together. I noticed a few times that in her turnabouts with other partners, they would say something to her, and she'd tilt her head back with laughter. That monstrous feeling of jealousy snapped my guts each time she did so.

The dance finally completed, she invited me with a glance to step through some heavy woolen tapestries out to the balcony with her, to avoid another pantomime. We overlooked a moonlit alleyway, and n.o.body else was out here. It was brisk, but the cold was a welcome change. The tapestries hushed the noise of the crowd within; we were thrillingly alone. In the moonlight. Alone. On a balcony. Alone. "Your servant ever," I said, and untied my mask, letting it hang loose from its lanyard around my neck.

"I should return the favor, so you know whom you serve," she said. "But my hair and the ribbon are all entwined. If you have any steel on you, perhaps you can simply cut the ribbon for me."

Is it some perversion in me to have found this request erotic? I pulled my dagger from its sheath, which was tucked into my belt. I saw her eyes study the metal as I held it up before her.

"Do you trust me with it?" I asked.

Her eyes moved toward mine. "Entirely," she said.

Trembling, I reached toward her temple and took hold of the ribbon near the mask. I pulled it away from her temple, which pressed the mask closer against her face. Very carefully, trying not to be distracted by feeling her breath on my neck, I placed the point of the dagger against the ribbon, and snapped the ribbon with my blade. Her hand flew up to the mask to hold it steady in place, and she turned her head to expose the other side to me. I cut this side as well, then sheathed my dagger. With the ribbon still entangled in her hair, she lowered the mask and looked at me.

Hers was the loveliest face I had ever seen in my life. It was quietly perfect-nothing unusual, nothing startling, simply right, everywhere, every angle, every pore, every eyelash. Her eyes were hazel, placed just right, just the right size and just the right distance apart. It was so thrilling to see her face, the effect on me was as if she'd just disrobed.

"My G.o.d you're beautiful," I said breathily.

She smiled and looked down. "Thank you," she said. "I believe I am quite average."

"Nothing about you is average, it is all superlative," I said.

She looked back up at me. "I think I have to say the same of you."

"Have you ever considered the life of a soldier's wife?" I asked.

She laughed. "Only since I met you."

"And what are your considerations?"

"It would have to be the right soldier."

"I just made officer last month."

"I didn't say the right rank, I said the right soldier."

I wanted her so badly that I could not bear it. Abruptly, suddenly, in a rush, it seemed to be much easier to scare her off than to pursue this and risk my entire well-being. "It is a hard life," I warned, "Nothing like living in Venice. Everything is very rough and primitive. I am very rough and primitive."

"If you, in your person, reflect the life you offer, I find it attractive."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," I said, blus.h.i.+ng, stumbling over my words. "I meant . . . I don't know what I meant. My lady, you have robbed me of my wit. I can't speak in your presence."

She smiled, looking genuinely puzzled by this. "Why?" she asked.

I had never had fewer coherent thoughts available to me. "I am used to wanting something and not having it. My career has been negotiated entirely by my father, for example, regardless of my wishes. But I have never in my life wanted anything so deeply, as what I crave right now, which is your company, forever, every day for the rest of my life. I believe that you are on the edge of offering it to me, that it might happen. That might undoes me. Denied this, I would feel so deeply robbed, the pain would warp my character and turn my regard for you to violent fury."

She considered this a moment, as if she found it droll. "Are you saying you'd want to kill me if I did not cleave to you?"

"Of course not," I stammered. "I mean . . . if you are merely being playful with me, tell me now. I cannot keep this light between us."

"That's good, for I am not a light woman, regardless of what you first thought of me." She smiled.

"If there is any part of you that thinks you might find a lover elsewhere, leave this balcony right now and go to find him," I ordered in a choked voice. "In fact, do me a favor and do that anyhow. Spare me from the dizziness your presence causes. You should marry somebody who does not have such monstrous capacity for pa.s.sion." I closed my eyes and made myself continue speaking, feeling as if I might retch. "My friend Roderigo is looking for a wife, you know, and he is very wealthy."

"The only thing your friend Roderigo has going for him is that he is your friend," Emilia said pertly.

"There are others I could introduce you to," I managed to choke out. "Even some of my fellow soldiers are Venetian, if you are inclined that way."

She gave me a troubled, confused look. "I thought you wanted me," she said. "You just said you wanted me."

"But I can't stand the thought you might not want me too," I said, and wished I could have died on the spot.

"Have I said anything to imply that?" she demanded. "Have I not rather said just the opposite? While we were dancing? Was I not clear?"

"Did you mean it?" I demanded, grabbing her slender arms. A callus on my thumb caught on her silk sleeve; I noticed it more than she did.

"Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?" she demanded in exasperation.

"Because since you said it, you have surely changed your mind, as I am proving to be such an awkward jealous blunderer," I said.

She smiled at once and laughed gently. "I would not trust any man who could stand before me now and speak his feelings honestly, as you have, without blundering at least a little. I would not trust you if you did not blunder. Thank you, Iago, for blundering. It rea.s.sures me of your sincerity, and I find you all the more attractive for it."

So there was nothing that I had to prove to her. She knew me already better than I could have described myself-better than I would have described myself. I was imperfect, and it did not trouble her. Had anyone, ever, in the history of my life, been so indulgent?

"You are a perfect human being," I gushed.

Her eyes widened in alarm. "No, I'm not, Iago, do not saddle me with such an impossible responsibility!"

"May I enjoy the illusion of your perfection at least for this evening?"

"Only if you promise not to punish me when you realize I'm not."

"Do you think I would do that?" I protested.

She gave me a long, appraising look. I felt as if I'd known this woman all my life, and more than that: I felt as if she knew me. Better than any other person ever had.

"Yes, I think it is a possibility in you," she said frankly. "Just as you were punis.h.i.+ng yourself for not being my perfect wooer, and just as you punish others with harsh words when they displease you-I think you have the capacity to be harsh to me when I fall off the pedestal you're trying very hard to put me on."

I grabbed her hands-her mask clattered to the balcony floor-and held them in both of mine. "I promise not to put you on a pedestal," I said.

"Iago, you already have," she said patiently.

"Then let's tear down that pedestal together," I urged, having no idea what practical application could be had from that. A woman who truly did not want to be placed on a pedestal! All the more reason to adore her!

I WAS A man of action, a man of study, a man of purpose and ambition. I needed to have things to do all day-lying about and sighing for a woman was utterly unlike me, utterly unlike the image I had of myself. But there I was the next day and the next, lying about and sighing. Books were unread, blades unsheathed, chess pieces unmoved. I did not like who I was becoming, how my time in Venice was softening me, making me p.r.o.ne-literally-with ridiculous preoccupations. That was not the kind of man I had grown to become.

AND THEN AN invitation arrived. It was delivered by a boy in livery, addressed to me care of my brother. It was from Emilia's father.

He was inviting me to dine with the family the following evening, at their home in Cannaregio. This meant I had to live through an entire day, an evening, and then a second day before I could see her again. What can I really offer her? I whined to myself, staring out the window like the cliched Venetian youth in love. Although I was a petty officer, I had no posting, I was not currently employed, so my rank was abstract, conceptual. But it was also all I had for social equity. I went to my brother, who sat working in what I still thought of as Father's office. I told him about Emilia, and my intentions.

To my surprise, Rizardo was pleased for me. I think all he wanted for his truculent younger brother was that I prosper. Career satisfaction and a wife both seemed un-Iago-like attainments, so surely (he must have thought) I was evolving into somebody better than myself-somebody more like him. So it was easy for him to be pleased.

THE DAY Pa.s.sED somehow, the evening too, and even the next day. When finally the shadows lengthened, I dressed in my red-and-white-striped jerkin and combed my short hair. I walked, carrying a lamp, the half mile of the journey. I kept my boots clean, and the exercise of it was good for me. Up through San Rocco and San Croce, crossing the westernmost bridge of the Grand Ca.n.a.l, then doubling back east and north, to Calle Riello, through alleyways and across campi, on the coldest evening we had had all year. Everyone in the streets was heading in the opposite direction, toward the Rialto or San Marco square, for more Carnival spectacles. As I walked on, every conceivable thought went through my head, and every conceivable emotion clutched my stomach.

EMILIA'S PARENTS WERE almost aggressively bland. Both of them were ginger-haired and hazel-eyed, which explained her coloring; her slenderness came from her father and her curves from her mother. Our introductions in the antechamber of the modest great-room were unremarkable. Emilia, dressed in dark blue wool, watched with smiling eyes and a very composed face as I bowed to her father and kissed her mother's hand. They welcomed me to their humble home (it's true, it was quite humble-and made of wood), and invited me upstairs to hall for dinner. I had never been invited to a home in Venice to have a private dinner with another family.

The staircase was polished inlaid wood-attractive, but still wood. In our house, nothing but furniture and occasionally wall panels was made of wood. The hall here lacked the lofty ceilings I was used to; the tapestries were mostly flax, attractive but unoriginal. I smiled politely, aware that Emilia was waiting to see if I would judge her for her family's modest means. I had always known myself to be an intellectual sn.o.b; this was the first time I'd ever faced the possibility I was perhaps a social sn.o.b as well. I was too ashamed to admit to myself that I might be.

The table was set and waiting for us. From the aromas rising from the kitchen, I could tell the main course would be fish. The room was lit entirely with candles-that was an expense for them, surely, but the effect was beautiful and softly romantic.

Her parents' att.i.tude toward me, from the moment we sat down, bespoke a pragmatism tinged with either curiosity or impatience-as if the unspoken message of the evening was: "Are you sure you want to marry her? If so, let's get on with it." I sensed they wanted to know by the end of the evening if I would be The One, because if not, they wanted to get a jump on making other plans. Whether I was well suited for her, or would make a loving husband, or even if she cared enough for me-these details were never probed.

This distressed me, for it reminded me of my father trying to arrange my life without regard for what would make me happy; my life was a business transaction and was to be handled efficiently. These people treated Emilia in the same manner, and so I felt protective toward her. She radiated pleasure and contentment during dinner, however; if that is indeed how her parents managed her life, she either did not mind it as I did, or hid her resentment much better than I could. I doubted it was the latter. She was simply more at peace in the world than I was. Inspired, I smiled at her often rather than growling at her father, as I wanted to.

After dinner, we gentlemen retired to her father's study, which adjoined the great room. It was unremarkable and dominated by a wooden desk. He encourage me to sit, and then with a preparatory intake of breath, he began: "Emilia is a decent cook, and I think she'd make any man a good wife, although she is better at cleaning than at tidying. From what we can tell she would be an excellent hostess of parties and events, which is why, although we have a decent enough dowry to offer, we are not adverse to her being taken on as a mistress, for in many ways she'd make a better mistress than a wife, given that she can throw a party better than she can clean it up. So if you're already promised to somebody, or your brother has a profitable match in store for you, but you are interested in Emilia, she may still be available, provided you can offer a.s.surance that you would not return her to us if your wife insisted on it. But I'd need to know your intentions quickly, because there are a number of gentlemen, including a patrician's son, who have expressed an interest in her as a mistress if you don't want her. She's rejected all of them so far, but that just makes their friends and a.s.sociates more intrigued, so I expect they will be presenting themselves to me soon. It's a relief to have her actually interested in somebody, and my strong preference is for you to have her, but again, sir, it would be very inconvenient for us if you cannot make your mind up quickly."

He finally paused.

I blinked. My head was spinning like a whirligig. I had only reentered into Venetian society four days ago, and already I was exposed to outright madness. On the one hand, it was certainly as blunt and honest as anything I'd ever said, but it absolutely lacked humanity. Were all discussions of marriage like this? I suddenly wished I'd asked my brother for advice. "Don't you want to know what kind of life I'd offer her?" I said.

He shrugged. "She knows you're a soldier, does she not? If she's not bothered by it, I am not either."

I blinked, incredulous at his offhandedness. "She is a young woman, caught up in her emotions, and perhaps misjudges what is best for her. Is it not your business as her father to look at what I offer with objective, weighty measuring?"

Again he shrugged. "I'm responsible to get her married, she's responsible for what she makes of it," he said agreeably.

I felt hugely indignant on Emilia's behalf. "You know I have received my officer's commission," I announced. "That greatly improves my living conditions wherever I am posted, so she need not be discomfited by her surroundings."

"That's good," he said indulgently. "Then you've just proved I don't need to worry about her making the wrong choice. She's yours if she'll have you, sir, and I'd be very pleased about it. Truly her mother and I thought we would never get her to agree to anyone."

"Thank you, sir," I said uncertainly.

"Oh, no, thank you, sir," he replied heartily, and shook my hand.

Unsettled by this encounter, I left him in the study and went back to Emilia and her mother in the great-room. "May I have the honor of a word alone with your daughter?" I asked my future mother. The lady said of course, and happily humming to herself, she scurried back toward the kitchen.

I stood by the open window and pushed the tapestry away, needing air. I gestured Emilia to come near to me. Smiling, she rose from the table and did so. She looked so lovely in the candlelight.

"I have had a very strange conversation with your father," I began. She laughed.

"I'm sure you did," she said. "He seldom has any other kind."

"Among other things I was not expecting to hear, he offered you up as my mistress. In case I wanted to marry somebody richer later on. He is fine with that, so long as I'd still keep you as my mistress."

"How very considerate of him," she said with her sweet small laugh. "I'd rather be your mistress, Iago, than anybody else's wife."

After taking a moment to steady myself from that declaration, I said, "I cannot afford to keep a mistress."

She leaned in toward me so that our faces were nearly touching. "Well, in that case, you'd better marry me, do not you think?" she whispered.

I finally dared to kiss her. It was delicious. She kissed me back, and when I wrapped my arms around her she pressed into me so hard she nearly backed me against the wall. A week ago, I had not known of her existence; now I could not imagine life without it.

THE WORST THING about being married is that one must have a wedding first. We were all in agreement that we wanted to keep it small and simple, but small and simple in Venetian terms is still Venetian. Both houses obligingly hung tapestries in all the windows. At the church overlooking Emilia's campo, I went to meet her, with her gorgeous auburn mane hanging loose over a white dress; she was surrounded by female friends and relatives I'd never met and hardly ever saw again, none of them anything close to her in beauty or wit. Roderigo and my family were all the witnesses I brought. After we exchanged vows, we repaired to her parents' home for a reception, which consisted mostly of everyone getting drunk on Lagryme di Christo (a Venetian specialty). This was on the second day of February, Candlemas, the day on which-it is said, at least in Venice-you can begin to tell the days are growing longer in antic.i.p.ating spring. She chose this day specifically, she told me, "Because you have brought the sunlight to my life."

IF THE LORD gave me the chance to freeze time, I would freeze it there, the moment after she made that declaration. Even if it meant there never was a wedding and I never had the chance to know her as a wife, even if it meant I never had a chance to prove myself as a commissioned officer. She was the best soul I had ever known, and it was I who brought the sunlight to her life. What higher peak is there to ascend to?

Chapter 11.

WITHIN A WEEK of our wedding I signed a contract with the army-an officer's contract-and immediately after that I received my new posting, which would send me to Stato da Mar, the seaward face of the Venetian empire. Emilia and I spent the next two years on Corfu.

An army posting on Corfu, even for an officer, hardly differs from an army posting out in the far western reaches of Terraferma. My lodgings were better, and of course I shared my bed and my meals and my free hours with a woman I continued to consider the greatest prize any man could ever win.

My days were duties (more interesting than they'd been before, and fewer hours on guard duty), continuing my fencing studies, and teaching others how to shoot. I still read a lot, and played chess, with officers and with Emilia, who had no knack for it but was always happy to try. She befriended the wives of the higher-ranking officers, no matter their background-most officers were not Venetians but mercenaries from all different backgrounds. She would patiently practice the Venetian dialect with them, teach them dance steps and table manners, and in all ways prepare them to blend into "society" should their husbands ever find themselves in Venice. The aging patrician commissioners who were here fulfilling their civic obligations were happy to have dance partners less than half their age. I commented, more than once, on the irony that Emilia herself had never been all that concerned with blending into "society," and here she was, herself creating it.

I was a jealous husband, I admit that. Some of the higher-ranking officers, seeing their wives mincing merrily about the mess hall in the evenings, asked Emilia to show them how they themselves should dance. At least once every week I had to watch her in the arms of some other man-usually of a higher rank than I was-moving about in harmony to a tune that she would hum aloud from memory. They did nothing improper, but I still felt a thrill of nervousness course through me every time she had a dance partner. She teased me for my jealousy and said she liked how, later at night, in bed, I possessed her so intensely.

"Perhaps I should flirt with some of them," she'd whisper as I lay spent and breathing hard on top of her, in the cold dark bedroom on a hard bed with weathered sheets, still inside her, feeling I'd reclaimed her from the world. "Then you would really have a go at me. I'd be walking awkwardly for days, and everyone would know it was because Iago was such a master over his mistress, and they would so envy both of us." The darkness would sparkle with that soft, sweet laugh of hers, and I'd be hard again.

We spoke of children. We knew we wanted, someday, to have a family, but also knew it was not the time. We were too immersed in each other's presence; there was no room yet for a third. "We will get used to each other soon enough," she'd say. "That happens in every marriage I have ever seen. We will bore each other someday, and then it will be time for offspring. That's just how the world works."

TWO YEARS INTO IT, we were not used to each other, and we were not bored, and we were no more inclined to share each other with a child than we'd been on our wedding night. Emilia learned ways to prevent conception; there were concoctions from the older wives of officers, who had in their turn learned it from older wives before them. Once her flux was late and very heavy, and she seemed melancholy for a day or two. "That might have been a babe, but it's good it was not, it's not time yet," was all she said, and smiled and caressed my face. That was the only moment of our time on Corfu that was not perfect domestic bliss.

Professionally, however, it was a time of political upheavals. I will attempt to summarize in a manner that does not seem as if I am inventing or exaggerating. Two officers, let us call them Sforza and Orsini, each wanted to be the highest of the high in the armed forces. Sforza had the higher rank, but Orsini (for reasons too Byzantine to explain here) was in a position to be promoted to a rank above Sforza's, and Sforza didn't like that. As a result, each of them had a secret pact with a different branch of the government that they would never have to be subordinate to the other one. It all got quite out of hand and resulted in Orsini finding some other form of employment, and Sforza leading the cavalry on Terraferma. This created an absence of leaders.h.i.+p for the infantry.

Neither man was Venetian, but they were both Italian. The commissioners leaked a rumor that the Senate was looking farther afield for military leaders. If a Greek or Pole or Russian could be hired to lead our troops, then there was no risk they would get caught up in complicated family ties or local political pressures. There was a rumor that the Senate's first choice was a mainlander who believed Venice should seize Rhodes from the Turks. This was a thrilling proposal, but it was in complete opposition to the doge's edict that the last thing the army should attempt was further conquest of any sort.

I was glad these were not my headaches to sort out. As a young ensign, I would not be working directly with the new general anyhow, but I had ambition and intended someday to rank high enough that I might serve near him. I had fought beside Greeks and Poles and Russians, and I would be content with any of them as my commander in chief. I would be equally well- disposed to obey the orders of a Croat, a Spaniard, or even a Christian Turk!