I, Iago Part 31

I went down the small alley and then followed it into another on the left, which in turn went back to the street that led into the market square. Here was an empty watch-station-the far end of a circuit that featured an alehouse at the other end-and there was a torch lit. I could take this torch and return to the square, as if coming to the aid of both men.

I had not intended Roderigo to be hurt so badly. He was supposed to be able to run off so that I could solicitously look to Ca.s.sio, and deliver him to the castle infirmary like the good friend I was. Just as soon as I'd determined that his wound was bad enough to keep him from ever soldiering again.

But now my childhood playmate lay bleeding on the paving stone in excruciating pain, and of course I could not leave him there. I found my feet breaking into a run despite myself, so anxious was I to get back there and keep the situation controlled.

As I approached the square I heard a confusion of voices. Loudest of all was Ca.s.sio's, crying out for a surgeon, for help, for a light, crying out that he was being murdered; under his voice was Roderigo's, saying almost exactly the same thing, but far more fearfully and tearful.

But there were other voices, and all of them had Venetian accents. As I approached the square, I saw Lodovico and Gratiano huddling together with their small mute collection of armed attendants. They were all at a distance from the two grasping prostrate figures on the ground, watching them as if they were a disgusting, captivating carnival display.

"Help me!" Ca.s.sio shouted at them angrily, holding his hand out; Roderigo lay curled on the ground a few yards off, moaning, "If n.o.body helps me soon, I'll bleed to death."

"They might be counterfeiting," Lodovico warned his companions. "It's suspicious that they're both lying there as if they're wounded. I don't think we should take a step closer to them until there are more people here to help."

I'd forgotten how contemptible I found Venetian patricians.

"What's going on?" I shouted angrily.

"Look!" Lodovico's companion said, pointing at me as if this were a play and he a child watching it. "Here comes someone now! He's even got a torch!"

"Who's there?" I demanded, holding out the torch in front of me and craning my neck to see around it. "Who is screaming?"

"We have no idea," Lodovico said. "We were just out for an evening const.i.tutional."

"Help! I'm right here, for the love of heaven!" Ca.s.sio's voice hollered in the darkness. "Help me!"

I held the torch toward his voice. "What's the matter?" I called out.

"I think that's Oth.e.l.lo's ensign, isn't it?" said Gratiano.

"That's right," Lodovico said-they really were behaving as if they were watching a play. "His name is Iago, he's an excellent man."

Ignoring them, I moved closer to the two p.r.o.ne figures and waved the torch around. "Who's there? Who's crying out?"

"Iago?" Michele Ca.s.sio gasped. "Oh thank G.o.d, Iago, is that you? I'm badly wounded, give me some help!"

I knelt beside him, wondering with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach how Roderigo was now going to fit into all of this. "Lieutenant!" I gasped, moving the torch to examine the wound I'd given him. b.l.o.o.d.y gristle glistened in the light; near the top of the diagonal slash, something stringy-perhaps ligament?-showed. I had done an expert job. He would probably never walk again without a crutch. "What villains did this to you?"

Ca.s.sio was grabbing his leg, trying to staunch the flow of blood with his bare hands, which were slick and slippery now. He was weakening quickly. "I don't know," he grunted. "I struck one, I think he's here nearby, couldn't get away." He gestured toward Roderigo, who was lying in a puddle of his own blood.

"Treacherous villain," I spat in his direction, and then turned immediately toward the two patricians, wondering what the devil to do. This had suddenly become a nightmare. "Come over here and help us," I snapped at them.

"Help me! Over here!" cried Roderigo, in a failing voice.

Ca.s.sio grabbed my arm and shook it. "That's one of them!" he said, and with faltering strength, he pushed me toward Roderigo's form.

I resisted, and so I stumbled, slipping on the blood and landing nearly on top of the wounded man. Almost too weak to speak, Roderigo grabbed my arm and pulled me close to him. I still held the torch aloft, and I could see his face. Too well. His expression hurt my very soul. I remembered his face s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up into tears that morning by the ca.n.a.l, when we were boys, when he could not believe my generosity for giving him my share of Galinarion's bounty. That was among my earliest memories of him, and now here he was making the same expression, in this last moment of our lives together.

He had lost a lot of blood. Battlefields teach you how to a.s.sess odds, and wounds. Given how far we'd have to carry him, with the burden of Ca.s.sio as well, even with the paunchy patricians' attendants as manpower . . . I closed my eyes and shuddered. He would not make it up to the Citadel alive, and there was no other hospital in Famagusta.

I opened my eyes and shook my head slightly, as if this would somehow calm him. It did not, of course, because he understood the meaning of the gesture. He sobbed, and grabbed my leather jerkin weakly. "No," he begged.

I put a finger to his lips and whispered, "Shshshsh." I would tell his parents some beautiful lie about his death. Over my shoulder, I sensed more than saw or heard the others looking over at us. How could I explain this? What if Roderigo, in the terror of his last moments of conscious life, blurted something out that gave too much away? I couldn't risk that. He was dying anyhow; he need not take me with him.

I tossed the torch away from me; it lay spluttering, but still lit, on the pavement. I reached over to Roderigo's right side, for his new Cyprian sword lying just out of his reach. He is dying anyhow, I told myself again. It was the truth. You cannot murder a dead man. I grabbed him by the b.l.o.o.d.y shirtfront and lifted his limp body off the pavement. "I will meet you someday in heaven, and explain why I am doing this," I whispered into his ear.

I STABBED MY oldest friend straight through the heart with his own blade.

I bent over close to him again from the intensity of the thrust, and his last conscious act was to grab the back of my head and pull it closer to his mouth. "d.a.m.n you, Iago," he grunted tearfully. "You inhuman dog."

I felt him shudder and then his grip released. I was so glad I could not see his face now, with the torch away from us.

"Kill men in the dark!" I shouted at his inert form, and let him go, trying to ignore how heavily his head smacked back down on the paving stones. I felt a dreadful pressure behind my eyeb.a.l.l.s. "Where's the rest of the thieves? Why is this town so quiet? Somebody cry murder! There's murder in the streets!" I shouted, standing up. I spun around, Roderigo's sword in my hand, and pointed it directly at Lodovico and his companions, who were still cowering. "Who are you, anyhow? Are you here for good or evil?" I had not just murdered my oldest friend.

"Don't you know who we are?" Lodovico quailed. I had not just murdered my oldest friend.

I lowered the sword. "Signior Lodovico?" I said. I had not just murdered my oldest friend. You cannot murder a dead man.

"He, sir," Lodovico replied tremulously. "And Signior Gratiano."

"I beg your forgiveness," I said, bowing slightly, awkwardly. With the sword I pointed to the living wounded. "Ca.s.sio's here, hurt by villains."

"Ca.s.sio!" said Gratiano. "This is Michele Ca.s.sio?"

I ignored them both and returned to Ca.s.sio's side. I had not just murdered my oldest friend. "How are you, brother?" I asked in a hollow voice, a hand on Ca.s.sio's shoulder.

"My leg's cut," he grunted in pained response. "It feels like it has been cut in half."

"G.o.d forbid," I said. "Gentleman, light, get the light! I'll bind this with my shirt." As Lodovico scampered around the edges of the b.l.o.o.d.y scene to retrieve the torch, I reached for my collar to begin to untie my shirt. I had not just murdered my oldest friend. I would bind Ca.s.sio's leg. I would carry him myself up to the hospital in the fortress, and later, I would send somebody to collect the corpse of the stranger who had tried to murder him, but whom he-Ca.s.sio-had killed in self-defense.

"What's the matter?" a tremulous female voice called out from the far side of the plaza. I stopped untying my shirt collar, and spun around to look. Pet.i.te, ferocious Bianca stood silhouetted in her doorway, candle in hand, straining to see what was happening. "Who cried out?"

"Who cried out?" I echoed her sarcastically. "Don't you know your lover's voice?"

She gasped and darted barefoot across the plaza like a swallow. She skirted the growing pools of blood, circling halfway around Ca.s.sio, and then practically throwing herself down on top of him, screaming, "Oh, Ca.s.sio. Oh, Ca.s.sio, Ca.s.sio, Ca.s.sio!"

The last thing this situation required was an hysterical woman, especially one I felt both judgmental and protective toward. That was a complication completely uncalled for. How could I get her to go away?

"Be quiet," I said sharply, and tried to pull her off him. "Ca.s.sio, do you have any idea who would have come after you?"

"No," the Florentine said limply, growing weaker.

"I was coming after you," Gratiano said idiotically, moving closer in. "But only to send for you to the castle."

I heard a shuffling noise in the background; glancing around the plaza quickly, I saw that all the yelling had finally garnered some attention. The town watch in livery, and other men in cloaks thrown over bedclothes, were gathering around the edges of the campo, most with lamps or torches, perhaps a score in all. I elbowed Bianca away from Ca.s.sio so that she knocked into Gratiano. "My shirt won't do it, we need a tourniquet. Does anybody have a garter?" I called out to the newcomers. "Is there a sedan chair anywhere? We need a sedan chair to get him up to the hospital."

"He's fainted," Bianca lamented, as if he had just died. She tried to reach over me to get back to him. My clothes were stained with Roderigo's blood, and now her gown was smeared too. "Oh, Ca.s.sio!"

"I think this strumpet protests too much," I said warningly. "It's enough to make me suspect her involvement in his injury." I pushed her away and reached to slap Ca.s.sio's face sharply. "Stay with us, Michele! Hold on yet!" I looked around, aware that I was the only one in control of the situation, but equally aware the situation was beyond my control. I stood up and stepped toward the corpse. "The torch," I commanded, holding out my hand. Lodovico immediately moved to give it to me. "Does anyone here know this face?"

I could hardly bear to, but I held the torch out so that it illuminated the dead man's face. When I saw him, so clearly dead and so clearly-despite the absent tresses-Roderigo, I groaned involuntarily. "Roderigo," I grunted. "Oh, G.o.d, no-but yes, it is, it's Roderigo."

Gratiano took a timid step closer. "What, Roderigo Rosso, of Venice?" he cried out, amazed. "The spice trader?"

I held the light closer to the corpse but allowed myself to look away. He was dead because Ca.s.sio had wounded him past help. You cannot murder a dead man. "Did you know him?" I asked. I would write his mother a letter, telling a beautiful lie of how he met his end. I knew how to lie now; I could at least use that skill for kindness.

"Know him? Of course I knew him! He was my neighbor!"

I blinked several times quickly, stalling for time. If they were neighbors, was there any possibility Gratiano might know something d.a.m.ning about my involvement in Roderigo's life? "Signior Gratiano, is it?" I said, as if Lodovico had not already mentioned him by name. I bowed. "I beg your pardon, sir, this b.l.o.o.d.y accident has deprived me of my manners, I'm very sorry. I'm Iago, Oth.e.l.lo's new lieutenant." It was the first time I had made the claim aloud.

"I'm glad to see you," Gratiano said indulgently. That anyone could sound indulgent in these circ.u.mstances was ridiculous, but the poor frightened n.o.ble was clinging desperately to what he knew.

I pressed pa.s.sed him and back to Ca.s.sio. "How are you, Ca.s.sio? Stay awake! A chair," I called to the air at large-and to my amazement, Lodovico was suddenly beside me, with a sedan chair he had dragged into the plaza. It must have come from the slowly growing crowd of watching men. It was primitive by Venetian standards, but nicer than anything I'd seen upon a battlefield: an actual chair strapped to two long poles, but at least the chair had arms to hold on to for balance.

None of the Cypriots dared to move in close to us within the piazza; they all stood warily on the outskirts, including the men of the watch, some of them Venetian. Even the patricians' attendants stood gawking. As Lodovico awkwardly helped me to raise up Ca.s.sio, Gratiano kept gaping at the corpse beside him. "Roderigo," he said, sighing mournfully.

"Yes," I said brusquely, wanting him to shut up. "Yes, it's him. Might you help us with the chair, sir?"

Between the three of us-mostly me-we pulled Ca.s.sio onto the sedan chair; he was in a twilight state as I curled his fingers around each arm. We were impeded in this process by Bianca's sobbing hysterically and trying to pull us away from his body so she could throw herself against him. Remembering how he'd spoken of her earlier, I was sickened for her sake-he did not deserve such devotion from a dog, let alone a human being. Between the blood still on my jerkin and the blood smeared onto her, we rendered almost everybody bloodstained.

"Where are my men? Get him up to the fortress," Gratiano called out, suddenly in charge. His two attendants stepped from the crowd-now perhaps three dozen men-and lifted the sedan to carry it out of the campo. "I'll go with them and fetch the general's surgeon," Gratiano announced. He turned next to Ca.s.sio, who was struggling to retain consciousness, and was impeded, once again, by the sobbing prost.i.tute. "Calm down, madam," he said. "Save your energy." I took her by the shoulders and pulled her, sobbing, away from the sedan chair as Gratiano pressed, "Ca.s.sio, the man you killed tonight was a very dear friend of mine. What malice was between you?"

Michele Ca.s.sio was barely hanging on to this world. "Nothing," he said feebly. "I do not know the man."

Bianca tried to pull away from me, her slender outstretched grasping arms toward Ca.s.sio. "What are you up to?" I asked her sharply. "Gentlemen, take him up. Somebody take that one too," I added, with a gesture. n.o.body wanted to touch Roderigo; there was so much blood, on him and around him. Who would have thought a lily-livered merchant to have so much blood in him?

Bianca continued to struggle against my grip. I would have let her free, but she was hysterical, and the evening was mad enough. I had to frighten her to silence. "You look very pale, lady," I said in an accusing tone, shaking her. She stared up at me, teary-eyed and abruptly silent. "What have you got to say for yourself? Where have you been all night? You came along quick enough when Ca.s.sio was attacked-did you have anything to do with it?"

Shocked, she stared at me even harder, and I was confident that if I let her go, she'd head straight back to her cottage and not come out till morning. I released her. She took one step back toward her home, but then a movement on the opposite side of the plaza caught her eye; she paused, turning to look, and I turned with her.

Pushing through the growing crowd of Cypriot men came a dark-haired beauty whose appearance at this moment made my heart break.

Chapter 49.

"WHAT'S THE MATTER HERE?" Emilia cried out. And seeing me, with greater alarm still: "Husband, what's the matter?"

Oh, no. I would sooner anyone appear this moment but Emilia. As she pushed her way through and came near, I grabbed her to me, to prevent her from seeing Roderigo's corpse.

"Ca.s.sio was attacked," I said softly in her ear. "Here in the dark. Roderigo was one of the attackers-"

"Roderigo?" she said, flabbergasted. "Our Roderigo? From Venice? Roderigo Rosso?"

"Ca.s.sio was very badly wounded," I said, still gently. Tightening my grip on her arms I added, "And Roderigo's dead."

Her entire body shuddered with the shock of it. "Oh no!" she gasped, her hands coming to her face. "Not Roderigo! And poor Ca.s.sio! What on earth happened?"

"I'm trying to find out," I said in a louder voice. "Emilia, will you help me find out where Ca.s.sio dined this evening?" I saw Bianca start violently at this, and releasing my wife, I turned on the war widow. "What, do you shake at that?"

She drew herself up straight. She was a fiery little thing. "He dined at my house, but I am not shaking."

"Did he really?" I said sharply, and took a step toward her, reaching my hand out. "Come with me, then, harlot, you've got some explaining to do."

Emilia was so shaken that she was not thinking very clearly. "Shame on you, you wh.o.r.e!" she snapped at Bianca.

"I am no wh.o.r.e," Bianca said with saucy bravado, hands on her hips. "I am every bit as honest in my life as you are. Which I realize may not be saying much."

There was a t.i.tter of nervous laughter among the men watching us. Emilia's eyes widened, and I saw her check an impulse to grab Bianca by the throat. "That's rich!" she snarled back.

I clapped my hands together. "Enough of this. I must get back to the Citadel and see Ca.s.sio attended to. You, lady," I said, with a threatening look at Bianca, "you better have a story for how you come to know Ca.s.sio so well, unless you were part of some plot to take him down. Emilia," I went on briskly, before Bianca could reply, "run ahead to the Citadel, tell Oth.e.l.lo and Desdemona what's happened here." She nodded and after a quick squeeze to my hand, immediately ran back the way she'd come. Lodovico followed her, not so quick on his feet. Bianca turned and ran back into her cottage, slamming the door.

I looked around the square. Everyone still here now and still living was unknown to me. "Go on," I said angrily to all of them. I did not know how many of them even spoke Italian. "The show is over. Go home, leave."

They did. There was nothing left to see but blood and one dead body. After a few moments, there is little satisfaction to be got from staring at death.

Unless the death is that of your oldest friend. I stood over Roderigo's dead body and felt angry grief wash over me. The poor fool. I would find something wonderful to say in the letter to his mother. I'd make sure she could mourn for him with dignity.

I turned and looked up toward the fortress above. I could not imagine what was happening up there. Oth.e.l.lo seemed to me to be half a world away. Was he still raging like a madman? Had he struck his wife again? Had Lodovico already removed him from his office but not had a chance to say so in the upset of our encounter just now? I sensed I had already done all that was required of me to bring justice to the universe. I had nothing left to do but see how it unfolded. This night would either make me or destroy me: it was out of my hands now.

Chapter 50.

I RETURNED TO a fortress full of chaos. First I heard the noise-general shouting, people crying out to one another, servants and lords and soldiers alike. Oth.e.l.lo must be on a rampage. What should I do now? How would honest Iago behave?

He would check on the well-being of his wounded colleague Michele Ca.s.sio.

I crossed the courtyard diagonally, toward the infirmary stairwell, but I did not reach it: Lodovico and Gratiano came tripping down those same stairs, as lightly as old Venetian gentlemen can trip, and nearly ran into me. "Iago," Lodovico said, ashen faced, "something has happened in Oth.e.l.lo's chambers, the servants have called us to come. Please help Montano-" He pointed up the stairs, and I saw Montano, still weak from Ca.s.sio's drunken attack, on a stool. He sat upright, but he kept his left arm protectively pressed against the wound in his side.

"Come, Governor," I said, concerned and urgent. "Lean on me while you walk." I ran up the steps and offered him my arm. He took it, gratefully, and I helped him to stand.

"Something has happened in Oth.e.l.lo's rooms," he repeated as we descended the stairs together back into the courtyard. "I heard a woman screaming."

My blood chilled. Emilia? "Was it the general's wife?" I asked, and began to pull him across the courtyard.

"I could not tell whose voice it was," said Montano. I glanced back to make sure Lodovico and Gratiano-who did not know the layout here-were following after. "There was one shriek so loud it echoed around the courtyard, and then everyone else began to shout in alarm and there were too many voices, coming from too many places, to understand what was going on. Finally a servant came into my room and said Ca.s.sio had been attacked, and I must come at once. So . . ." He was already out of breath, but I could not slow down; I tightened my grip around his rib cage and walked faster, letting more of his weight rest across my shoulder as he stumbled to keep up. Behind me I could hear Lodovico and Gratiano clucking like worried hens. Useless politicans, I thought. "So I managed to get to the infirmary, and there was Ca.s.sio, and badly wounded. He begged me to forgive him for my injury, in case he did not live the night. I was . . . may we slow down?"