I, Iago Part 8

Not that the Senate would ever consider an apostate heathen to govern our armed forces.

Chapter 12.

EMILIA AND I RETURNED to Venice near the end of Carnival. I was two years into a three-year contract, and so, until I was posted again, we were quartered at the Dolphin, an inn in the campo just outside the a.r.s.enal gate. The view out our window was almost identical to my first sight of the famously guarded entrance, that hot August afternoon some seven years ago. I marveled almost every morning at what the years had wrought.

IT WAS PLEASING to live in Venice without living under my family's roof. I liked the city much better when I had only a room, a small closet, and Emilia. Our first week home, we paid dutiful visits to our families. We then burrowed into our lodgings, having brought back the finer outfits from our respective boudoirs.

"We should go out to celebrate Carnival," Emilia said, running her fingers fondly over the red wool skirt I'd first seen her in, the one dear thing her parents had given her.

"I'm sure the styles have changed insufferably in our two years away," I said, looking for an excuse. "If you make an appearance wearing that you will be noted as terribly unfas.h.i.+onable."

"I will be noted as someone who has been abroad long enough for the fas.h.i.+ons to change," she countered, now holding up the skirt with nostalgic admiration. "That, I think, shall make me exotic." She glanced over toward me and grinned bewitchingly. "Would you not like to parade your exotic wife around at a few b.a.l.l.s?"

This was unlike Emilia. Perhaps, as with my time on Terraferma, absence made her appreciate what she'd left behind. My nostalgia had proven temporary. I hoped that hers would too. "The only thing I ever liked about those b.a.l.l.s is that I met you there," I said.

She moved over to the table where I sat with my Aldine octavo of the Divine Comedy. She grinned down at me.

"Indulge me. Let us invent our own divine comedy tonight. If you are hating every moment, I promise to flirt with some masked stranger and make you so mad with jealousy that you will drag me home and ride me ferociously for all night, and I'll yield to you completely and beg and beg and beg for more."

"Then why are you not dressed yet, hussy?" I grinned, closing Dante.

WE WORE OUR MASKS, which had each survived Venice in our absence. We had no invitation anywhere. But as an army officer, wearing my ensign's insignia and jerkin, I was welcomed into almost any party. We decided we would wander through the streets of the Rialto at whim and drop into whatever house emanated pleasing music, delicious aroma, or (if we knew them) the hosts.

The first fete we decided to infiltrate was at the home of a patrician named Gratiano, who lived in the best neighborhood of San Polo. Although not a senator, he had a high-ranking post within the government. His event was enormous, spilling out into the campo in front of his palace. Both indoor and out it was brightly lit with chandeliers and braziers and torches and huge, heavy-scented beeswax candles that must have each been equal to Emilia's dowry. There was an impressive acrobatic act on the campo as we arrived-not only the traditional human pyramid but also stilt walking and a contortionist. As the acrobats finished, a hundred sets of gloved hands applauded, and a cornet summoned people back indoors. We simply went along with them.

The house resembled the setting of any other ball, except for a trio of young men pa.s.sed out in a corner, which seemed graceless in such a setting.

"Have you seen him?" a masked woman with a gravelly, elderly voice asked Emilia as we came in. "I just caught a glimpse of him over by the wine. It's true, what they say."

"What do they say?" Emilia asked, imitating the gossip's eager tone so perfectly I almost started laughing.

"They say it's not a mask at all! They say that is his real face! Can you imagine? So ugly and so dark?"

Emilia and I exchanged glances, and I saw permission glitter in her eye. I reached up to untie my mask.

"I am ugly and dark," I informed the woman, revealing my face to her.

She looked vaguely affronted, but then said impatiently, "You're just sunburned. This man is a different color. As if his face was painted."

"How shocking," I said, "n.o.body ever paints their face in Venice. What could he be thinking?"

"No, it's not paint," she explained with exasperation. "That's what is so incredible. Several young men took bets with each other and tried to wipe the paint off, it will not come off!"

I tried to imagine the humiliation of some poor stranger having his face swiped at by a group of drunken youths. "What did he do?" Emilia asked, reading my thoughts.

"Oh, he would not have it!" said the gossip. She pointed to the unconscious trio near the stairway, whom I'd a.s.sumed were pa.s.sed out from drink. "He smashed each one across the pate and knocked them out!"

"Good for him," I said at once. I said it aloud in hopes of inflaming the gossip.

"Absolutely!" she agreed. "Just because he isn't quite human does not mean he should be treated as an animal!"

I felt Emilia stiffen beside me. "What do you mean, he isn't quite human?" she demanded.

"Well, it isn't human skin," the masked lady pointed out. "Human skin is not that color."

Emilia immediately took my hand and pulled me gently toward the middle of the room. "Iago, I'm very thirsty, please come with me to get some wine."

"Of course," I said, and with a small nod to the woman, I stepped after my wife. Safely away from the gossip, immersed in gowns and masks and fragrances and chitchat, I whispered to her in a tone of mischief, "Were you afraid I was going to torment her, or were you simply so sickened you needed to get away from her?"

"Both," she answered, not amused.

We walked perhaps two dozen paces, down the length of the semicrowded hall; we heard three inane and mystifying conversations about the man whose face was a living mask. I a.s.sumed they were commenting on a circus performer.

"They've been having trouble with Italians," an older gentleman was saying to two others and a grey-wigged lady. "Surely you've heard about the manipulations and double-crossings. Shamefully, there are no Italians equal to the task."

"But where did they find him?" the lady asked. "Who gave him the appointment? How do we know he's not a Turk?"

"He's much too dark to be a Turk," one of the gentlemen said.

Emilia and I exchanged glances and slowed our pace.

"Excuse me," I said as we reached them. "May I ask whom you are discussing? I am just arrived from Corfu and I fear I missed some news while I was at sea."

"The Senate has approved a new general," the first speaker said. "He is attending tonight, his first public appearance since he was invested, and he is causing heads to turn."

"Except for those three drunken louts, I must say he is being very good-natured about the scrutiny he is receiving," said one of the others.

"We hear he is not wearing a mask," Emilia said slyly. "Is that why everyone is staring at him?" And with a marvelously wifely glance at me, she added, "Iago, put your mask back on at once. I told you not to take it off."

The men chuckled, and I, pretending for Emilia's amus.e.m.e.nt to be henpecked, hurriedly retied my Bauta mask. "It's true he is not wearing a mask," said the second gentleman, "but that is not the cause of the consternation. He is of a different race, and his complexion and his dress make him . . . stand out."

"We've just arrived this moment, so we have not seen him," I said. "Will we recognize him?"

"Oh yes," all four said at once. The first speaker added, with a gesture toward my soldier's jerkin, "You should introduce yourself to him, he is now your commander in chief."

Emilia pretended to find this terribly exciting. "Oh, my goodness, Iago! Behave yourself and you might find yourself promoted to lieutenant before the evening's over!"

"Why is he in Venice now?" I asked the man.

"He's just been officially invested," he explained. "He'd been fighting in the Levant, for different armies, but always against the Turks, at least a decade now. Last year, he was hired as captain of a Venetian unit out there. He rose in the ranks quite spectacularly, and after this last embarra.s.sment with Orsini and Sforza, the Senate agreed with the Great Council that he would make an ideal candidate for governor-general. He heads to Rhodes next month-"

"Really? I'd heard rumors about trying to take Rhodes from the south," I said.

"Well then," said the third gentleman. "If you know about military matters, you should strike up a conversation with him! Poor fellow is being besieged by repet.i.tively meaningless chatter all evening."

"Does he speak our language?" the lady asked.

"It's accented, but it's understandable," the first gentleman said. He turned to me. "The general might enjoy some conversation of things martial, being so entirely out of place at a gathering of this sort."

To my side, I heard Emilia take a quick breath in, and her hand tightened around my elbow. "Iago, there he is," she whispered. "Look at him. How remarkable!"

I glanced at her-her lower lip was hanging slightly slack behind her mask-then turned to look where she was staring.

A dozen paces away from us, taller than the handful of people in the way, stood a tall, broad-shouldered man whose skin was nearly the same color as his tightly curled black hair. The dimensions of his features were bizarre by Venetian standards-still he struck me as decent to look upon, although his color startled me. As if to emphasize his darkness, he wore an unusual outfit of brilliant white-a long loose tunic, over loose wide trousers. Heavy, simple gold chains of different lengths hung around his neck, and incongruously, a white kerchief with lace and embroidery was tied around his throat. There was no other decoration to his costume, save the ceremonial red-and-white banner of a Venetian general, which draped from his left shoulder to his right hip.

"His name?" I asked.

"Oth.e.l.lo," said the older man, respectfully.

The General.

Chapter 13.

I WAS CAPTIVATED by the expression on Oth.e.l.lo's face: he was entirely out of his element and yet entirely comfortable to be so. He knew everyone was staring at him, but rather than resenting it or squirming with self-consciousness-as I had done when Roderigo was presenting me to strangers-Oth.e.l.lo seemed to welcome it as a benign dare: I am the man charged with keeping your empire intact, so I know you must be decent to me. He was the living embodiment of confidence-genuine confidence, that rare quality that needs no arrogance to bolster it.

Emilia and I forgot about the people we'd been speaking to and moved together slowly toward him, as if drawn by a magnet, not even realizing we were doing it.

The party's host, Signior Gratiano, approached Oth.e.l.lo and greeted him warmly. With Gratiano was his famous cousin, Senator Brabantio, whom he introduced. I did not know Brabantio personally, but he (via his personal tailor) was one of my family's wealthiest customers. I'd heard stories of him from both my brother and Roderigo, and my instinct upon seeing him greet Oth.e.l.lo was that he wanted something from the man. Most likely, to s.h.i.+ne in his reflected glory.

". . . must come to my house," Brabantio was saying as we reached hearing distance. "My wife has pa.s.sed, alas, and my only child is shy as a kitten, so will likely not come out of her rooms, but that will give us a chance to speak more freely. I wish to hear your stories-your life has apparently been quite remarkable."

"Tomorrow Oth.e.l.lo will not remember Brabantio's name," I predicted quietly as we watched.

"Especially since he cannot even see his face," Emilia commented. Then, glancing around at all the masks: "Or anyone else's."

Inspiration struck. "Guess what I am going to do."

"Shall I untie it for you?" she asked, and reached up for the ribbon to my mask.

"I love how well you know me," I whispered to her.

"And I love knowing you," she whispered back. "You go on. I'll watch. Call me over if you think it's proper, otherwise I shall wait to meet him."

The perfect wife. I had the perfect wife.

Glowing with the pleasure of having the perfect wife, and c.o.c.ky (or trying to feel c.o.c.ky) about being the only other unmasked person in the room, as well as the only other military officer, I strode toward the general.

Oth.e.l.lo, seeing my military jerkin, grinned-yes, a grin; an innocent, open, trusting, childlike grin, revealing intensely white teeth. Even his lips and gums were dark, which only made his teeth the whiter. The kerchief tied around his neck, I saw now, was emblazoned with embroidered strawberries, and looked out of place. Ignoring Brabantio, he held out both arms toward me; when I offered my right hand to shake, he clasped my entire arm up to the elbow.

"A fellow officer!" he declared. "And you even have your own face!" He laughed. It was a warm, deep laugh, like friendly grunting. His accent was unfamiliar, although I was used to many accents from spending most of the past decade living with foreign mercenaries. "I do not recognize you, friend, from my invest.i.ture ceremony."

"I was not present for it, General," I said. "I was en route back to Venice from being stationed at Corfu."

"Corfu!" he said, his eyes lighting up-the whites looking almost opalescent against his skin and irises. "I was at the Siege of Corfu. I was barely a child. That shows you how old I am, eh? What is your name, my friend?"

"Ensign Iago Soranzo, General," I said, and bowed.

"Iago," he said, almost eagerly. "I do not mind being in a strange place where I am stared at, this I am used to. But I do not like having no other military men about me, it makes me feel almost naked, as if I did not have my sword. You will accompany me for the remainder of the evening."

I tried not to look dazzled by his order. I had never been addresed by any officer above a captain in the whole of my military career. "General, of course, it would be my honor," I replied.

"I am sure you know these gentlemen?" Oth.e.l.lo said, referring casually to Gratiano and Senator Brabantio.

"I have the honor of knowing who they are," I said carefully, extremely aware that I had just usurped them both.

"Gentlemen, this is Ensign Iago Soranzo. Iago, introduce yourself."

He was using me to be reminded of who they were, which he had no doubt forgotten in the blur of names.

"Signior Gratiano, it is an honor to meet you," I said, bowing my head. "And likewise, Senator Brabantio." I said both names slowly and distinctly, then looked up at Oth.e.l.lo and almost winked.

He gave me an openly conspiratorial grin. "Excellent, well done, Iago," he said. "Very polite man. I like that in an officer. And now, Signior Gratiano and Senator Brabantio, it has been an honor to meet you, and Senator Brabantio, I would be honored to be a guest in your house, and Signior Gratiano, I thank you for this marvelous party you are having for me, where n.o.body has any faces, and now I need a moment with my ensign to discuss military matters."

He called me his ensign. His ensign. It was said lightly, in the moment, to excuse himself from yet two more aging patricians he was tired of being ogled by, but still . . . my heart raced. "Come, Iago," he said, as if we had been friends for years. "Let us get some fresh air on the balcony and talk about the fortifications on Corfu." He took my arm and plucked me along with him. I glanced over my shoulder and gave Emilia an amazed look.

She mimed applause, gave me a quick wave, and swiftly moved toward a group of women about her age, excitement in her step. I loved that woman.

I followed Oth.e.l.lo out through heavy tapestries onto the broad, chill, well-lit balcony. "Thank you, Ensign, for freeing me," he said and released a long sigh. "My goodness, there is no air in that room at all."

"I am honored to be of service to you, General," I said. "I hope you do not find them rude."

"Not rude, no, just a little . . . uninspiring, eh?" He glanced at me, grinned, nudged me with his elbow, and laughed that amazing ba.s.s laugh. "Do you not find it is hard to return from a battleground and spend all day around such men?"

"I've never-" I stopped myself. I was about to say "I've never been in battle," but that seemed an unwise thing to tell one's commander in chief, when one's commander in chief had just taken such an interest in one, and one was ambitious. "I have never enjoyed these kinds of gatherings, even before I was in arms," I said instead.

He looked surprised. "So you are from here?" he said. "A Venetian? A Venetian who is actually in the Venetian army!" He chuckled. "I would not have guessed that. You do not seem like any of the others."

"Why not?" I asked, a shade eagerly.

"Well, first, you have a face," he joked. "This makes you much more trustworthy than anyone else in here."

"Well, more trustworthy than the other men, let's say." I wanted him to meet Emilia. I wanted to show them off to each other. "There is a woman in here even more trustworthy than I am."