I, Iago Page 13

  “Have you already told Emilia?” I interrupted.

  “Several times,” Emilia muttered pleasantly.

  “Then, Roderigo, I am afraid I must excuse myself, the general has asked to meet my wife.”

  Roderigo’s face lit up. “Would he not perhaps also like to meet your oldest friend?”

  I made myself take a breath before responding, as gently as I could. “I am sorry, Roderigo, this is not the time.”

  “Ah,” Roderigo replied. Then, after an awkward pause, “Well, better that way, I’m sure I would make a fool of myself, the fellow scares me. He looks like a barbarian. Of course, he is a barbarian, but to see one, in a dance hall, here in Venice—I don’t need to meet him.” A shorter pause, then: “Not likely he’d be buying spices from me anyhow, he probably eats raw meat.”

  “I seriously doubt that is the case,” I assured him. “I have just spent an hour in his company and he seems civilized. Emilia, love, come with me. Good night, Roderigo.”

  “I may speak with you later!” he said, suddenly cheerful again.

  As we worked our way back through the crowd, I gave Emilia a playfully questioning expression.

  “He’s wealthier than ever now, he’s bought several farms on Terraferma, and there is a new young lady he’s in love with, who will not give him a moment of her time,” she neatly summarized. “But there are also a least a dozen ladies fawning over him, whom he rejects.”

  “How long did he take, telling you?”

  “Approximately half an hour. And what should I know about your new bosom friend?”

  I was not sure how to answer that. “I believe I prefer his company to any man’s I’ve ever met,” I said.

  “Is that ambition speaking?” Emilia asked knowingly.

  “No, it’s really not. But I am pleased ambition could be satisfied here. He wants to see a show of my skills tomorrow morning in the Armory.”

  I heard her gasp behind her mask. “Iago, that’s remarkable! Now aren’t you glad you listened to your wife and came out to socialize tonight?”

  “This must be the lady. But how sad I cannot see your face.” Othello’s bass voice startled me; he had been moving slowly toward us as we had moved toward him. He was probably trying to avoid another mossy-brained patrician.

  “It is an honor to meet you, sir,” Emilia said at once, dropping into a curtsy. “If you wish to see my face, it shall be available tomorrow morning when my husband demonstrates his martial prowess to you.”

  Othello blinked in surprise. “You will be there? Despite the violence and gunpowder?”

  “To watch my husband’s excellence? Nothing would deter me.”

  He considered her for a moment, then a smile slowly spread across his broad, dark face. He glanced at me. “This is a superior wife you have selected. May I ask her name?”

  “Emilia, sir,” we both said at once.

  THAT NIGHT WE lay together in bed, our warm naked limbs sliding across each other, sleepless with anticipation for the next day’s demonstration. “This could make you entirely,” Emilia whispered.

  “Could. Might. Might not,” I said tersely in reply. “I hope you will not be disappointed in me if he is not impressed by what I do.”

  “I could not be disappointed by you if your very arms fell off,” she said, almost chastisingly. “I am not your father, Iago. And if he were here, I think he would be bursting with pride that you have such an extraordinary opportunity awaiting you.”

  I sat up in bed. “Let’s not talk about it any more. I cannot stand the tension of anticipation. Let me take my mind off it now.”

  “Of course,” she said. Reaching for me, she offered, “Let me put your mind somewhere else.”

  Chapter 14

  “YES, MY FRIEND, that was remarkable,” Othello repeated with his broad smile as he reached down a hand to help me rise.

  We were in the da Cremona shooting yard, the very yard I’d learned to shoot in, and it was a bright, cloudless day. The third swordsman he had set against me had bested me, landing a smarting blow to my sallet that sent me hard to the paving stones. I deserved it—his attack was straight from Agrippa, and I had tried to counter with a move from Marozzo, just to preen. In my exhausted state, it hadn’t worked.

  All the same, I’d disarmed the first two opponents he had set against me (although one was a Florentine, and therefore hardly counts), and this third man was the best under Othello’s command. Plus, I had begun the dueling after half an hour of presenting my artillery skills: I had had to demonstrate how fast I could reload an arquebus and a light musket; how far I could shoot both, with relative accuracy; how swiftly I could load a cannon and how close on Othello’s mark I could time it to go off. Othello had looked delighted throughout the demonstration. He continued to look delighted as I bested the first two swordsmen. And he looked equally delighted now as I lay wincing, cramped with pain, breathless, on the ground.

  I reached up my left hand to grasp his, and allowed the heft of his large arm to haul me to standing. Nearly retching, my lungs about to burst, I pulled my sallet off my head.

  “You are an excellent soldier, my friend!” Othello declared. “The one adjustment I would make to your style is to keep your dagger in your boot, as I do, and not in your belt. As you have just seen yourself, there are times it is better for your opponent not to know you have the extra blade. Otherwise, well done. Now we will try your wrestling skills.”

  I thought I might vomit. “General, sir, I—”

  He laughed. “I am jesting with you. You have done enough for today. This is the best work I have ever seen in an ensign. Ensigns are usually no better than desk clerks. Captain,” he went on, turning to one of the many officers who had been watching, and no doubt placing wagers on, my morning’s exertions. “See to it this young man is put into my unit, under my direct command. He will ship to Rhodes when we go next month.”

  Just like that, I was a made man. I flushed, lungs still heaving for air, and bowed deeply before Othello. I arrested my impulse to smile, as I suspected I had just made several enemies among these men, who had no doubt worked for years with Othello and would not like to see a newcomer effortlessly end up at his elbow. But Emilia, standing with the other spectators, could not hide her pleasure: she gasped, “Oh, Iago!” and clapped her hands together, her face beaming.

  “You honor me, General,” I said.

  “You honor the art of war,” Othello said breezily. He turned to Emilia. “But, lady, I thought you were fonder of him, and would wail about his going.”

  I realized what he meant by this and felt my heart sink a little even in its celebration. For a moment, Emilia looked confused. Then she held up a finger almost pedantically and announced, “I shall be going with him, General.”

  “A fortress is no place for ladies,” Othello retorted.

  “I and many other ladies just spent two years with our men in a fortress on Corfu,” she retorted.

  Othello made a dismissive gesture. “That is Corfu. This is Rhodes. The fortress is in the hands of the enemy—we go to seize it, not caretake it.”

  “But, General—” Emilia began to argue, without rancor or whininess. Othello held up a hand, suddenly sterner.

  “I have said no,” he announced. “And so, it is no. I brook no argument.”

  The officers surrounding him looked uncomfortable: Emilia’s face suggested she had no intention of backing down.

  “Emilia,” I said warningly, loving her spirit. “Enough. We will discuss this later.”

  “I have one specific thing to say to the general that I believe will change his mind,” Emilia said, directing the statement to me so she could not be accused to talking back to Othello.

  “I will let him know that later, wife, at a more proper time,” I said in the most scolding voice I could muster. “A courtyard in the Arsenal is no time for wives to be passing messages to generals.”

  “Oh, come, then, out with it,” Othello said, suddenly cheerful again.
“The poor man has been exercised nearly to death, let his wife have her one specific say.”

  Emilia curtseyed in his direction. “If you please, General, it is not for public hearing, I must whisper it directly in your ear.”

  Othello’s eyes popped wide open. The men around him exchanged disbelieving looks. Even I was taken aback. I had no idea what she would say to him.

  As I watched, Othello returned his face to a neutral expression and gestured Emilia toward him. The two officers in her way quickly stepped aside. Emilia was fairly tall for a woman, but still she had to stand on tiptoes, and Othello had to lean his head down, for her to whisper in his ear. Every gaze in the courtyard was fastened to his face, and he knew it. So despite his initial amazement at whatever he was hearing, he was very careful to keep his face expressionless.

  But he allowed himself to comment.

  “Really? . . . Are you so certain of that? . . . Are you telling me the truth?” He pulled away and looked at her for a moment with this last query, absently fingering the kerchief tied around his neck. She nodded, and then gestured him to lean his head down again, and added something else.

  “But can you prove it?” Othello pressed her. She whispered more. He grinned a little, and then began to laugh. “You are quite the woman, Emilia, wife of Iago,” he declared and stood up straight again. Emilia curtsied hurriedly and then backed away. “All right,” the general said cheerfully, turning toward me. “She will come with us.”

  I was too startled to say anything. Half a dozen voices said, “My lord?” in exactly the same tone of surprise.

  “That is my final word,” Othello declared, waving one hand dismissively. Turning his attention to the man beside him, he said, “Make sure that Iago is given a wider berth on the ship, and enough housing for his wife when we reach Rhodes.”

  “Thank you, milord,” Emilia said adorably.

  WE WERE BACK in our room at the Dolphin. It was the first fight we had ever had. She did not want to tell me what she’d said to him, and I could not imagine why she’d keep a secret from me unless there was something very wrong about it.

  “Is it not enough that I can go with you?” she demanded.

  “What did you offer him?” I demanded back, through clenched teeth. “Did you say you’d make yourself available to him as well? Do you plan to whore yourself to the higher ranks? Don’t think I haven’t heard about what officers expect of lower-ranking wives.”

  “Iago, you are being silly now!” She laughed, which only further upset me.

  “Don’t mock me!” I shouted, slamming my fist against the bedpost so hard the farther bedpost hit the wall and made the whole room shudder. “Tell me that’s not what you said.”

  “Of course that is not what I said, you petulant, jealous man!” she snapped, suddenly losing her humor.

  “Tell me that your going with us has nothing to do with your sex,” I demanded.

  “Iago, it has everything to do with my sex! It has to! My not going had everything to do with my sex, so what else did I have to argue with?”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head in confusion. “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “I told him,” Emilia announced, lowering her voice and glancing randomly about the room, as if afraid there would be eavesdroppers, “I told him that our lovemaking is what makes you such a capable soldier, and that if you are deprived of your bed-mate, your skills with sword and gun will deteriorate quickly.” She grinned, thinking she had ended the argument with this confession.

  I gaped at her. “Emilia, that is ridiculous,” I said. “You did not say such a thing.”

  “I did!” she assured me, like a proud child.

  “You did not say such a thing to the leader of the Venetian army, one day after meeting him.”

  “Yes, I did!”

  “You did not say such a thing, and he would never have relented because of it, and you are lying to me,” I said angrily. I walked across the room, pointlessly, but needing a physical release of my irritated energy. I wished I were outside so I could kick something without being billed for damages.

  “Ask him yourself, Iago!” Emilia said. “There are so many beliefs about sex and war that go back before the dawn of time—”

  “They almost always have to do with abstinence,” I said, in a disapproving tone that horrified me by sounding like my father.

  “But not always,” Emilia countered cheerfully. “I do not know his background, but I’m sure there are some superstitions in it, and something inside me knew that he might believe me, and I was right.”

  “Emilia, he did not believe you,” I snapped. “He thought whatever you said was amusing. You amused him into saying yes.”

  “So what?” she retorted, arms held out before her. “He still said yes, and isn’t that what matters?”

  “You engaged in filthy discourse with the man, having just met him,” I roared. “He thinks you’re loose. When a woman talks to a man like that, a man knows what it means. And if she is brazen enough to do it right in front of her husband and a dozen military captains—heaven alone knows what she’s capable of. You may as well have whored yourself already.”

  Emilia started laughing again, which threw oil on my fire. “Iago, talk to Othello directly, and it will put your mind to rest at once. Perhaps you are right, perhaps he did not believe me, and yielded to me only in amusement—”

  “Not perhaps. Of course!”

  “If so, it is an innocent amusement—”

  “There is nothing innocent about your talking about your extraordinary sexual powers to my commander in chief!”

  “He thought it was charming of me to want so badly to be with you,” she insisted. “That’s all it was, love.”

  “You’re a stupid fool if you think that!” I snarled.

  She looked as if I’d struck her. She took a moment to compose herself, shocked, and then finally, in a meek voice, she said, “I’m very sorry if I am a stupid fool. My affection for you perhaps affects my reason. Please tell me what I can do to win back your regard.”

  I stood there awkwardly, openmouthed, angry but now impotent to act on it. “Emilia,” I said in an imploring tone. “You should not come to Rhodes with me.”

  She put her hands over her face to hide it, but I could see the tearful grimace form around the edges of her palms. “You would rather separate us than trust me?” she asked from behind her lovely fingers, choking on the words. “You suspect my promiscuity more than you value my company? That easily?”

  “It sounds terrible when you put it like that.”

  “There is no other way to put it, and it is terrible,” she shot back.

  She started weeping. I had never seen a woman weep—not sincerely, I mean—and I could not bear it. Immediately, every part of me could focus on nothing but how to stop her weeping. If she was weeping, it must mean I’d done something terrible to her, and I could not abide that evidence.

  “Perhaps I have misconstrued the situation,” I offered grumpily. “I will talk to the general to clarify the situation.”

  I heard her take in a shaky breath that suggested she was trying to control the tears. I sighed with relief.

  “Yes, please speak to him,” she begged. “Perhaps I am ignorant and offered him something without realizing it. Perhaps it is better all the way around if you excuse your stupid fool of a wife to him.”

  “You are not a stupid fool, and I’m sorry that I said it,” I said hurriedly, and finally let myself go to her and hold her. She collapsed against me and pushed her head against my cheek.

  “Do you know what?” she whispered.

  “What?” I said into her hair.

  “This is our first fight.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “After two years, we’ve only had one fight.”

  “That’s true,” I said.

  “That’s pretty good,” she said, and kissed my collarbone. I squeezed her, as if I would engulf her, swallow her with my whole body. My God,
I loved that woman. No man ever had a better wife.

  Chapter 15

  EMILIA, OF COURSE, did not come with us; Othello had relented publicly for sport but called me to his quarters the next day to tell me the hard truth of the matter. I, with a confusing mix of emotions I was not proud of, informed Emilia that she would stay behind.

  THE TURKS HAD taken Rhodes from the Knights Hospitaller back in 1522. Venice had briefly laid claim to some of its neighboring islands over the years, but Rhodes itself had never been a stronghold for us. Othello had convinced the whole of the government that the Venetian Empire was well defended from the Turks except for the threat of Turkish Rhodes, and thus by taking Rhodes we would become indefinitely secure. My own five years of idleness on Terraferma was an excellent example of why we did not need so much of our manpower to the west of Venice, despite the simmering resentment and envy of the rest of Europe. So the mass of the army was to be redirected toward protecting Stato da Màr, the maritime half of Venice’s great empire.

  Besides which, ridding Rhodes of Turks was good for the whole of Christendom. Upon this argument, Othello and the Senate had already convinced the papal army, the French, and even the Holy Roman Emperor to send their forces too. By the time Othello had claimed me as his ensign, his plan was already in place, and we were waiting for the seasonal winds that would allow the plan to work.

  His plan called for the Venetian navy to transport the Venetian army to the southern tip of Rhodes, the farthest point from the capital city and its impenetrable fortress on the barbed northern coast. The Turks, knowing we were coming, would send men both overland toward us and also in ships around either side of the island, to get us in a pincer either while we were still at sea, or just as we reached shore. At this point, most of the combined forces of the rest of Christendom would appear on the western horizon as our backup, with the exception of the Holy Roman Emperor’s fleet. This had already set sail and was traveling innocuously far to the south of Rhodes, under rumor they had Levantine scores to settle. Othello’s plan called for them to pass Rhodes entirely, then abruptly circle back and besiege the capital city up north, while it was conveniently underprotected because its garrison was mostly in the south fighting us.