I, Iago Part 27

"A FEW NIGHTS AGO," I began, "Emilia was not feeling well, and did not want me near her lest I catch her illness. So I stayed in Ca.s.sio's room overnight. I had a terrible toothache and I could not sleep. Ca.s.sio was dead to the world, but he was also talking in his sleep." This was not the best story to tell, since Emilia could so easily gainsay it, but nothing else came to mind. However skilled I was turning out to be at deception, I was not actually a very able liar.

"Get to the point," Oth.e.l.lo said with dull misery.

"Yes. So. In his sleep, I heard him say, Desdemona, darling, we must be wary and hide our love." I said it without any inflection, a dutiful recitation. Oth.e.l.lo started; I ignored him. "And then he grabbed my hand in the bed, and said, sweetheart, and then he kissed me-" Oth.e.l.lo scrambled to his feet and stared at me, horrified. I continued, as if oblivious. "And then he put his leg over mine, and sighed, and kissed me again, and said, d.a.m.n that Moor."

Oth.e.l.lo looked as if he had been stabbed. He wrapped his thick arms around his middle and turned again to vomit over the parapet. This time it was dry heaves.

"Oth.e.l.lo, it was but his dream," I said. That part of me that still loved him wanted to chastise and counsel him: You fool, why do you believe so easily? When did you become so pathetically credulous?

"I'll tear her to pieces!" he shrieked abruptly toward the sea.

"No, you will not," I said, shocked. "Do not be rash. It's just a dream-dreamers often lie. And it was his dream, General, not hers. We have seen nothing. Desdemona herself is honest, I am sure." Could I use the handkerchief to d.a.m.n Ca.s.s...o...b..t not Desdemona? I had no choice but to hazard it. "Do you recall that strawberry handkerchief you gave your wife?"

"Of course."

"That handkerchief-or something very similar to it, but I'm sure it was your wife's-I saw Ca.s.sio wipe his face with it this morning."

Something terrible happened to Oth.e.l.lo then. His face went slack, and all the light went out of his eyes. He stopped breathing for a long moment, and then gasped, without energy, to take in air. His eyelids drooped, as if they would close without permission.

"If it's that handkerchief-" he said, his voice like gravel, and he could not continue.

The miscalculation on my part had been in thinking Oth.e.l.lo's pa.s.sion would rush through the same channels as mine. But mine was bent on Ca.s.sio, and his, on Desdemona. No matter how this enterprise might have unfurled, Desdemona would always have been Oth.e.l.lo's target. I could only get to Ca.s.sio through Desdemona. Well then, so be it. I sent a pa.s.sing plea to the patron saint of defenseless women-but I was proving capable of anything, so I could certainly redress the damage later. Somehow. Surely.

"If it's that handkerchief," I said somberly, "it speaks against her."

Oth.e.l.lo stood bolt upright and shrieked toward the blue sky. "That wh.o.r.e! That b.i.t.c.h!" I looked around warily-the wind blew his words away, but the guards around the parapet could see that he was raging about something.

"General, please," I said, holding out a steadying arm.

He brushed it aside furiously. "Iago, watch me! All the love I ever felt for her: gone!" He blew into the air. "Blown to heaven! That's it, it's gone!" He pounded the flats of his hands against his chest. "Hate! That's all that is in here now is hate and vengeance! I will be avenged!"

"Calm yourself, General," I pleaded, even as I realized where this was going. A wave of dizziness almost knocked me over: that words, mere words, my words, could wreak such havoc . . . had I ever known another man with more power than I had right now?

"I want blood!" Oth.e.l.lo shouted to the sky. "Blood, do you hear me? Blood!"

"I beg you, be calm," I said. "You'll change your mind when you are calmer."

"Never, Iago!" he declared furiously. "I am unbendable: no looking back, to find a love that has been mocking me from the beginning. There will be blood shed in punishment for this!"

He dropped to his knees on the parapet, as a sudden, terrifying calm washed over him. His placed his right hand over his heart and intoned: "As the stars are fire, I hereby take a sacred vow to honor the words I have just spoken."

He began to rise as panic poked my gut. I could not believe how quickly this was happening, but it was happening, and I had to stay abreast of it. Seeing him in his full rage, I realized: the best way to steer this ship now was to make Oth.e.l.lo captain of it. He was more engaged in it than I had ever expected either of us to be. He would not stay this angry-n.o.body could. And he would repent of this vow when he had calmed. But in the moment, the heady satisfaction of playing Aeolus and putting the winds into those sails . . .

As he began to rise, I pressed down on his shoulder. "Do not rise yet," I said solemnly. I knelt beside him, and took his hands in mine. "As the sun does move, let it witness here that Iago gives up his will, his wit, his hands, and heart, into Oth.e.l.lo's service. Let my general command me, and I will obey without remorse, no matter how b.l.o.o.d.y the business." I said this looking down, as if in prayer. Now I glanced up to see him, and found tears in his eyes. He embraced me with the fervent warmth of an ally and friend. I had not felt so close to him since before Desdemona had plucked him by the sleeve in Brabantio's tile-plated room.

"Iago, do you mean that?" he said quietly.

"Of course I do."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Then let me hear you say, within three days, that Ca.s.sio is not alive."

I knew I would not do it; I knew I would not have to. I knew he would rescind the order later, and so, there was no harm in agreeing to it now-but oh, was there great satisfaction to hear him ask it.

"My friend is dead," I said at once. "It's done at your request." A hesitation, a p.r.i.c.k of conscience. Just to be safe: "But let her live."

Oth.e.l.lo stood up abruptly and spat to one side. "d.a.m.n her, the harlot! d.a.m.n her!"

"d.a.m.n her, but don't kill her," I pressed.

Oth.e.l.lo looked back at me, and held out a hand to help me rise. "Come inside with me, help me decide how to kill her."

"General-" I began, fighting real panic now.

He did not mean this, he did not really mean this, this was insanely irrational, he would calm down. But just as I had brought him so skillfully to this state, it was now my challenge to ease him back to reason-which surely I could do, as slyly as I'd led him here. I had total power over this man, and he had none at all over me.

"General, listen to me when I say-"

"Iago," Oth.e.l.lo interrupted pa.s.sionately, "you are my lieutenant now."

"I am yours forever," I said immediately.

I, Iago.

Chapter 45.

I WAS HIS lieutenant. It was achieved. I had earned it-and most thrillingly, I had achieved it by the exercising of a skill even greater than my military ones. Knowing now my capabilities, I was wholly confident of applying them to any project.

For example, and of greatest urgency: the banishing of all the chaos I'd so deftly summoned, so that the end result of this project was that I would be lieutenant, Ca.s.sio would not be, and there would be no evidence that I had made this happen. Before I could afford myself the luxury of gloating righteously, I had to put to bed the demons I had roused.

I knew I could do it. When it came to managing Oth.e.l.lo, I knew now I could do anything. Which meant, despite the distraction of Desdemona and the impudent protrusion of Ca.s.sio into our lives, I was still the nearest to his soul. Desdemona held his heart, but I claimed a more immortal part of him.

And so, onward, to ensure I maintained that claim. Most importantly, I had to cover my tracks. I had said Ca.s.sio had the handkerchief; that meant Ca.s.sio had to have the handkerchief. If Oth.e.l.lo searched his person or his room, it had to be there, or I would be known as a liar right off.

I did have the pa.s.sing thought: what if Emilia were to hear that Ca.s.sio had the handkerchief, and came to wonder why? That was an easy fix: oh, dear, I must have dropped it, and Ca.s.sio must have picked it up. As innocent a story as her own.

Beyond that, how best to proceed? Knowing what I could get away with now, the exercise felt like a game of strategy, a living riddle, where I had the upper hand and yet had to learn the rules as I went along. There was no manual, no teacher, as there had been in the military training of my youth.

I had not expected Oth.e.l.lo's savageness. He had vowed to kill his wife without having seen a shred of evidence, after repeatedly claiming that visible evidence was required to condemn her. I was certain that I could in time dissuade him; that was not what troubled me. What troubled me was how ripe he'd been for violence. I had never seen that side of him before, even in the midst of battle. It revealed an irrational, unstable quality that shocked me. Yes, I delighted in my ability to coax it from him-but that it was there to be coaxed . . . that was a new insight into him, and it troubled me. Genuinely. Troubled me. Perhaps a little as his friend, but very deeply as his officer.

I reconsidered what he had said while raging: that he was so distracted now, he would have to leave his post. I had dismissed this as a rant. Perhaps it was not. Perhaps he knew himself well enough to see the truth before I had-and perhaps he was correct. I did not want that to be the case, but if it was . . . if he was proving himself unfit for office, well then . . .

Given that I could will my way into a lieutenancy . . . why not a higher rank?

I WOULD NOT, then, soothe this storm. I would roil it into a tempest. If he had the fort.i.tude of character that I had a.s.sumed of him for years, he would emerge victorious, with me beside him as his able lieutenant. If he could not fend off his own madness, then I was doing the Venetian army, and the entire Serene Republic, a service to reveal him. In either case, Ca.s.sio was out of my life; in either case, I knew I could prevent actual harm to Desdemona.

So now it came down to a match between my clearheaded reason and Oth.e.l.lo's raging pa.s.sion. If I took him down, it was for the wider good, as one fells an oak that has just begun to rot, without waiting for it to come crashing down in nature's course without control. But if he triumphed-as I hoped he would, and thought him capable-then he had proven his endurance and his worth, and I would once again respect him as my general and my friend.

I went down to the chamber level, to Ca.s.sio's fine, large room, in pretense of seeking him; finding him absent, I left the handkerchief in plain view on a chest there.

RELIEVED OF THE BURDEN, I took in some hours of wrestling and swordsmanship with my fellow officers in the outer yard. At dinner break, I ate with them at mess. Oth.e.l.lo usually joined us for this meal; he was not here. Nor was Ca.s.sio.

"Is Lieutenant Ca.s.sio not eating with us?" I asked an artillery captain near me. I knew him-it was Bucello, the Brawny Lug from my a.r.s.enal days. We had recognized each other our second day here. He looked unchanged with years; we had had very little to say to each other. As with Zanino and even Roderigo, our reunion held more weight for them than for me; for my closeness to Oth.e.l.lo, I glowed with an aura of celebrity that made them want to emphasize their closeness to me.

Bucello gave me a strange look. "Of course Ca.s.sio is not eating here. He lost his commission."

"He still has access to the barracks. He has his own room."

Bucello snorted. "I doubt he's been sleeping in it much." He gave me a meaningful, slightly leering smile.

"Oh?" I said. "Has he been out carousing, drowning his woes in libation and la.s.ses?"

He grinned. "There's just one la.s.s, and I'm surprised she hasn't drowned him yet, the way the talk is going."

Something new and unsavory. Convenient. "Which la.s.s are you speaking of?" I asked.

He smirked. Then his expression softened. "Oh, I'm forgetting you're a married man, so you haven't met the local ladies. This one is named Bianca. She's a pretty thing, a war widow, with her own house, and she rents herself out to the highest bidder. Usually just for an hour or so, or a night at the most-but after his disgrace, Ca.s.sio spent four days there without stepping out of the house even once!"

"And how exactly do you know this?" I asked, cutting the overcooked lump of goat meat on my plate.

"I was among the several fellows waiting for her to open up, so to speak." He chuckled. How charming to know Bucello was unchanged from adolescence. "Finally we all gave up and went on to a proper brothel. And then," he added, with an almost nostalgic laugh, as if this had happened long ago, "when myself and another, seeing him returned here, went to Bianca's, she said she would not have us, that she was in love with Michele Ca.s.sio and was saving herself for him!" He slammed his fist on the table and almost choked on a chuckle.

"Really?" I asked in surprise. "And does Michele know she feels this way?"

"Course he does." Bucello grinned, downing a huge mouthful of watery ale. "He's proud as a c.o.c.k about it, but I doubt he returns the devotion. He just likes knowing he can move her. She gives it to him free now! And it's her only means of income!"

"So he talks about her," I said, chewing on the goat meat and hoping for Emilia's sake that she received better midday victuals than I did.

"Talks? Boasts, really," Bucello said. "Laughs and brags about it. I suppose when you have ruined your chance to be Oth.e.l.lo's right arm, you need something to feel smug about."

"Where does the lady live?"

He gave me the leering look again. "You want a little action? Your wife . . ." He saw the look in my eye and immediately dropped that thought. "I can recommend some skirts at a couple of the brothels," he said. "I'm pretty sure Bianca will not take in anyone but Ca.s.sio now, at least until she figures out he's playing her."

I did not need rea.s.surance of my moral rect.i.tude in destroying Ca.s.sio's career-but it was still pleasing to hear new reasons for it. The fellow was a cur. To a war widow.

"I am quite satisfied with my own lady, thank you, but I want to speak to Ca.s.sio, and if he's not here, I bet he's dining at her house."

BUCELLO GAVE ME directions to the place. I finished eating as quickly as I could, and headed out of the fortress gate, down to the broad paved road and through the pa.s.sageway, into the township itself. I had only done this twice over the past week and did not have a very clear sense of direction yet. Bianca lived near the central market, not far from the palace-where Montano lived, and where Oth.e.l.lo and Desdemona would probably move within the week, hopefully taking Emilia and myself with them.

Bianca's house was very small. I doubt it's where she lived while her husband was alive. A war widow. Emilia risked that fate; I could not bear to think she risked this consequence of it. It made Ca.s.sio that much more disgusting to me that he took advantage of this woman.

I rapped on the door, and a pet.i.te, sharp-featured woman opened the door. She was unexpectedly attractive and vibrant, nothing bloated or weary or resentful as so many prost.i.tutes are. Her face was tinged just slightly with cosmetics, something I was not used to, as neither Emilia nor Desdemona used any. She gave me a disdainful look. "Who are you and why've you come?" she asked.

"I'm seeking a Lieutenant Ca.s.sio," I said. "I understand he might be here?"

She blushed-with pleasure, anger, or embarra.s.sment, I could not say which. "Normally he would be," she said, "and I'm pleased to hear his fellow soldiers know to look for him at my house. He practically lives here." Given we'd only been on Cyprus for about a week, that struck me as presumptuous, but I kept my counsel. "However," she went on, "I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. If you see him, tell him . . . never mind, I'll go find him and tell him myself." She gave me a tight smile. "Excuse me, if that's all?"

"Yes. Sorry to have bothered you." I touched my chest in a wan salute, and turned back toward the fortress.

I had walked halfway through the market square when I almost literally b.u.mped into Ca.s.sio, who looked extremely grim.

"Ensign!" he said in surprise, pulling up abruptly.

I smiled benignly at him and did not correct him. In fact, I greeted him heartily: "Lieutenant! I have just been seeking you out!"

He registered mild surprise. "Here in t- Oh, did you go to Bianca's?" he asked, with a sheepish yet saucy grin that very nearly made me slap him.

"Rumor had it you might be there."

He reddened slightly, and yet looked pleased with himself. "Wine and women. The ancient weakness of the Florentines," he said.

"Quite," I said. "Come back with me to the fortress. Impress upon Desdemona how important it is for you to speak to Oth.e.l.lo. I've tried telling him myself, but he won't listen, he thinks I am too partial to you."

"I already asked her this morning," Ca.s.sio said. "You were there. You sent Emilia out to me. I'm sure the lady is already doing all she can."

"She might be, but you're not. Do you recall how you left her? You snuck away, as if you were guilty of a crime. Oth.e.l.lo saw that and did not like it, so no matter what she said, you left a bad taste in Oth.e.l.lo's mouth."

He grimaced. "Oh."

"Exactly. Oh. So come back with me now and try again. Your lady friend can wait; she seems entirely devoted to you."

A lascivious grin as I'd never seen before spread across his face. "Oh, yes," he said, and chuckled. Truly. A Florentine, chuckling. "She's devoted." He nudged me with his elbow. "Poor thing's besotted, actually."

"As besotted as you were your first night here?" I demanded crisply.

He wilted in reply.

"I'm only trying to keep you focused on your goal," I said. "I a.s.sume your goal is to be reinstated in Oth.e.l.lo's good graces, and not to burrow yourself into a widow's nether regions?"

Now he reddened. "I forgot myself, Iago, forgive me. I embarra.s.s myself."

"I'm only after your good name," I said, softening slightly. "So come back to the castle with me and help me to help you get it back."

TOGETHER, WITHOUT FURTHER conversation, we walked back up to the fortress, and straight to the scraggly lawn in front of Desdemona's dayrooms.

Here we found Desdemona and Emilia standing in the afternoon sun, staring into the darkness of their parlor with unhappy expressions.

"Is something wrong?" I asked on approach. The women turned toward us, and Ca.s.sio instantly went down on one knee, doffing the ostrich-plumed hat.

"My husband . . . ," Desdemona began, still staring into the building. She was paler than usual, and looked frightened. "My husband is not pleased just now. With me, I think."