I, Iago Read online

  OTHELLO HALLOOED to get our attention back.

  “This is my bride,” he informed both the Citadel guard and the citizens of Famagusta, with a flourishing gesture toward Desdemona. “Treat her well. Desdemona, these good people love me, and I think they will love you too.” He glanced about, caught my eye, and suddenly looked almost sheepish. “Enough of my prattle. To work. Cassio, you’ll command the first watch on the walls tonight. Iago, go down to the dock and bring my trunks ashore, and bring the captain of the ship with you up to the Citadel. He deserves special thanks for saving us from the Turks’ fate. Well met in Cyprus!”

  With that there was further huzzahing and cheering. Othello took Desdemona’s hand. He gestured Cassio to walk beside him—a simple gesture that jarred me back to the wearying challenges of my own life. They began to head up the slope together, through the great open gates of iron, toward the fortress, with soldiers and the more brazen citizens behind them. Emilia kissed my cheek, and then rushed to join the happy throng.

  I WAITED UNTIL every one of them was gone around the curve up through the Citadel gates, until the shyer townsfolk had made their way back through the passageway and their workaday lives. It was a relief to be alone, alone in an absolute way as I had not been in months, perhaps years, perhaps ever. I could hear the beating of my heart, the air was so silent and so still. In the azure sky above, some bird of prey was circling, interested in all the activity. I took a moment to feel my emotions churn. Seeing Othello and Cassio before me as living men had not abated my fury at either of them, had not dampened my determination to set in plan the scheme I’d developed on the ship coming over here.

  Without the danger of imminent warfare, Othello would no doubt lock himself up with his bride and not show his face in public for several days; somehow, I would have to meet with him before nightfall. Just to insinuate, to plant the seed of doubt. Just enough to make him feel discomfitted, and consider sending Cassio away. There was no shame in such an act; it was righteous vengeance. They each deserved whatever unhappiness it brought them, and I deserved to gain my rightful lieutenancy. It would be a neat, almost chirurgic undertaking. It did not require heated emotion on anybody’s part.

  “Iago!” cried a voice full of heated emotion, from behind the open gate that flanked the passageway into the city proper.

  “Ah, Roderigo,” I answered, trying not to wince.

  Roderigo had disguised himself by shaving off his lovely mop of ringlets to the skull, and having grown some scraggly facial hair, mostly a mustache, on the sea voyage over. What, pray heaven, was I to do with him now?

  “Come with me down to the harbor,” I said. He glanced around nervously from his hiding place between the stone wall and the opened gate. “Come along,” I urged, trying not to sound impatient. He stepped out of his spot and joined me on the broad paved walkway. “You are not recognizable,” I reassured him. “If I did not know your voice, and weren’t expecting you, I’d have no idea it was you. I must go down to the harbor and fetch the general’s belongings, while Cassio goes with him on his triumphal entrance to the Citadel.”

  “What is the plan?” Roderigo demanded, deaf to my grousing. “Is she tired of him yet? How do we begin the wooing? I’ve got a walletful of pearls to give you for her. Heaven but it was an awful stink in the belly of that ship! How do those men survive?” He pulled out a scented handkerchief and touched his upper lip with it.

  “Cassio has the first watch,” I said as we descended. How best to meet with Othello?

  “What has that got to do with anything?” Roderigo asked, sounding almost petulant.

  I checked an impulse to embrace Roderigo. He was going to make this very simple. I would not have to lie to Othello; I would not even have to speak to him, and I would still get my lieutenancy. “I don’t want to say this,” I said—which was true, as overt fabrication always made me uncomfortable. “Yes, as I predicted, she has tired of the Moor already. All the honey you just saw at the gate was entirely for show.”

  “A strange show for a general to indulge in.”

  “What I did not predict,” I pushed on, “is that she has already given her heart to someone else, and that is Michele Cassio.”

  Roderigo stopped short. “Michele Cassio, that Florentine? That’s not possible! How is that possible? With a Florentine? Those accursed Florentines are trying to steal my trading route!”

  I put a finger to his lips until he nodded a promise to stay quiet. For a flash I thought we were children again, preparing our next prank. “Listen to me. Just as she fell hard and suddenly for Othello, she fell hard and suddenly for Cassio. There’s something in her nature that requires her to be swept off her feet by some intense quality she senses in a man. With Othello it was his fierce difference from anyone she’d ever known, but she quickly grew sick of that and looked for its very opposite, a man so effete he is barely a man.” I gestured, and we resumed walking. “Also, Cassio knows how to play people and make them love him, and he has done so with her. Just as with Othello, it isn’t real love she feels, just a bedazzlement. Cassio is admittedly handsome and young and oozes the kind of energy an unseasoned young woman would fall for, especially a woman with too much passion.”

  Roderigo shook his head as we continued down the roadway toward the port. “I just can’t believe that of her. She’s so pure.”

  “You don’t even know her, Roderigo,” I said. “The wine she drinks is made of grapes, same’s the rest of us. If she were really so pure, she would not have fallen for Othello.” He sighed and shook his head, taking in a breath, as if he would contradict me. “Roderigo, were you there when Cassio came out to greet us? Did you see that?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Well then,” I said, “did you see him take her aside and whisper to her and kiss her palm?”

  “He was just being courteous,” Roderigo said glumly.

  “Lecherous,” I corrected. “He was signaling to her what he intends to do to her later on tonight. They were so close together, their lips were so nearly touching. Their very breath entwined.”

  Roderigo slowed his pace. I slapped his arm and gestured him to hurry with me. “If he’s a Florentine, then I suppose he’s capable of anything,” he allowed. “For all I know, his family is the one trying to buy the loyalty of my Egyptian middlemen. It is a suspect coincidence that he happens to have come to Venice, of all place—”

  “I assure you, there’s nothing to that,” I interrupted him briskly. “He came to Venice with ambitions that undo me, not you.”

  “But knowing this, what shall I do now?” he asked.

  “Trust me,” I said. “I brought you here all the way from Venice, so you and your intentions are my responsibility. I will put you on tonight’s roster for guard duty on the wall. Cassio is leading the watch, and he doesn’t know you anyhow, especially in your disguise. I’ll be near you and I’ll coach you through everything I’m about to describe. Find some excuse to upset Cassio—he angers very easily,” I assured him, trying to remember if I’d ever seen Cassio the least bit angry ever, at all. “Shout at him, or argue with him if he gives you orders, or whatever opportunity comes along.”

  Roderigo looked queasy. “Well . . . ,” he began, and then said nothing else. I knew him well enough: the idea of anything that could result in violence was terrifying to the poor fellow.

  “Roderigo, he angers very easily. It really won’t take much to stir him up—one sentence and he may very well strike out at you.”

  “Strike out at me!” He came up short again, and again I tugged his sleeve to make him move along. We could hear, around the bend, the sounds of men unloading cargo from the longboats, calling out to one another in Greek, while Venetian soldiers tried to tell them what to do. If the Cypriots understood the orders, they were pretending not to.

  “He won’t hurt you,” I said. “I promise you that. I’ll get him drunk, and his arm will not be steady. And even if he hits you, what then? You’ll have a black eye, bu
t you’ll also have your ladylove.”

  “How do you figure?” he asked suspiciously.

  “The people of Cyprus are all on edge—they’ve spent the last months believing they were about to be murdered by Turks. One misstep on the part of somebody in a position of authority, and they’ll make such a fuss, Othello will have to get rid of him. And there you are: your rival for Desdemona’s hand is out of the way.”

  “But she won’t pine after him when he’s gone?”

  I shrugged. “I cannot see why. Her opinion of him will change for the worse when she hears how he’s conducted himself.” I nudged him as we walked. “So make sure he conducts himself very poorly.”

  Roderigo nodded thoughtfully, to himself and not to me, as we rounded the final bend. Now we were on level ground, portside, and only a stone’s throw from where the longboats to the general’s ships were being unloaded.

  “I’m not promising anything,” Roderigo said at last, “But I’ll go on guard duty, and if the opportunity arises, I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent!” I said, with sincere heartiness. “Go back on up to the Citadel. I’ll meet you by the enlisted men’s barracks after I’ve collected his things. I’ll make sure you’re in the roll for guard duty tonight.”

  “Thank you, Iago,” he said, “and adieu.”

  Ah, no, I thought to myself, it’s I should thank you, Roderigo. You are going to do my dirty work for me.

  Chapter 38

  OF COURSE I put myself on guard duty as well. Our watch was to begin at ten bells and it had just tolled nine. The crew before us—all of them Cypriots or Venetians already here—had had a dull watch, as we new arrivals unpacked, settled in, and made ourselves familiar with the layout of the Citadel.

  The fortress was a rectangle around a courtyard, with a tower in each corner. The largest tower—housing armor, arms, and munitions—bore the antiquated title “castle-keep” and faced seaward. The wing south of this had a ground floor of rooms for armoring, repairing equipment, and magazines; the second floor were offices, and the largest of these, Othello’s. To the other side of the keep, on the north wing, was the closest thing to domestic comfort the fortress offered: a string of rooms equipped with beds and tapestries to house the commander and his officers. Othello took the room closest to the keep; Cassio was assigned the room next over; a few rooms were left empty, for Desdemona and Emilia to have at their disposal in the heat of the day; and then, the smallest chamber, farthest from the keep, was to be mine and Emilia’s. We were just beside the gateway out of the fortress. The other two wings of the rectangle contained barracks housing, a kitchen, refectory, hospital, and chapel. A passageway lead out to a huge walled yard. This was four times larger than the Citadel itself; here were gunnery ranges and a makeshift gymnasium, and room for fencing practice. And trees and shrubs, where soldiers could take the whores who had long ago figured out how to gain easy access to the fortress.

  LUXURIATING IN THE exquisite taste of foreshadow, I found it suddenly easy to be in Cassio’s company as he gave me a tour of the grounds. I decided I would even prod him a few times, as one prods raw beef, to tenderize it for the seasoning to come. Cassio had a genius for presenting me with such opportunities.

  First he insisted we start the watch early—that is to say, when Othello excused himself to his bedroom with his radiant, eager young bride. Before sundown, the ten o’clock guards were brewing a party inside the tower keep.

  “Oh, come now, Michele,” I argued with Cassio, when he told his assistant to read out the specific posts for each soldier in the armoring room at half-nine. “We’re not on duty yet. Othello just sent us out here so he could take his wife to bed.” I winked at him. “Which is certainly understandable. She’s succulent, isn’t she?”

  Cassio reddened slightly.

  Was he enamored of Desdemona? That would make this even easier, not only practically but morally. “The lady is exquisite,” he said, with that damned Florentine gallantry.

  “And no doubt horny,” I added heartily, strapping on my sword-belt.

  He blinked and appeared to be forcing himself to smile. “She . . . I really would not know,” he said. Now he was bright red.

  “Oh come now, Michele!” I said, slapping his middle with the back of my hand. “That expression on her face? For him, of course, but let’s be honest—she looks at everyone like that. Wasn’t she flirting with you a bit, while we were waiting for Othello to arrive? Just a bit?”

  He looked disoriented. “Er . . . well, she wasn’t not flirting,” he said. “But don’t take that the wrong way—she is actually extremely modest.”

  “And that little laugh of hers?” I added.

  Cassio looked almost panicked. How remarkable—perhaps he really was in love with her.

  “Our general’s wife is a wonderful woman,” he said decisively, not looking directly at me.

  “Indeed,” I said, deciding to let it be. For now. “Happiness to their sheets!” I gestured the still-blushing Florentine to the far side of the readying room, toward a large stone basin, intended for washing up. It was filled with local wine, procured by two helpful soldiers in my unit. “Look, Lieutenant! A gift for us from the natives. Brought by a couple of Cyprus lads on duty here at the keep with us tonight—they want us to drink the bride’s health.” I reached toward a shelf above the basin for some cups.

  Cassio grimaced and shook his head. “Not tonight, Iago. It would not be good for me to drink before I go on guard duty.”

  “Oh, Lieutenant,” I said cajoling as I buckled a greave onto my shin. “Just one cup. It’s how they cement friendship here, they’ll be insulted if you don’t join in. Let’s just each have the one cup, and after the initial toast, I’ll drink yours with you if you want.”

  He shook his head. In a lowered voice he explained, “I already had a cup at dinner, in one of the, mmm . . .”

  “Bawdy houses?” I prompted. Oh, excellent Florentine! He kept making this easier for me with each passing breath. I finished fastening the second greave, then contemplated my armored shins.

  Cassio made an equivocating sound. “Well, I wouldn’t quite call it . . . it’s a private home, just the one woman, Bianca, and we were introduced by—”

  “Say no more,” I interrupted understandingly. “I don’t really need greaves, do I? We’re just on watch, it’s not as if we were going into battle.”

  “Anyway, I had a drink there—”

  “So to speak.” I winked and began to unbuckle the greaves I’d just put on.

  He frowned at me. “I had a cup of wine. I never have more than one cup a night or the demon gets the better of me.”

  “You seem fine to me,” I said lightly.

  “I won’t risk it,” he said.

  “What could possibly happen?” I asked. If he had not already had that first glass, my tone alone would likely have alerted him: I never spoke like that. “Come now, Michele, everyone’s celebrating tonight—the entire watch will probably end up drunk! And I do think these lads will take it amiss if we don’t at least toast with them.” I put the greaves back on the shelf they’d come from and reached up to a higher shelf for my sallet. “What do you say?”

  He grimaced again. “Where are they?”

  “Just in the next room, gearing up. Go on and invite them in—they’ve already got their cups, they’re waiting for their lieutenant to invite them, eh?” I grinned at him.

  He sighed. “All right, I’ll do it, but I want it on record, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Pfft! It’s a night of revelry, Lieutenant! These young men will grow old in your service—start your time with them on a happy note, eh?”

  Cassio glumly began to walk toward the door. We were in the larger armoring room, with ancient arrow slits that looked out into the harbor; it was nearly dark now, but a chandler had lit it well with torches, and the light bounced dully off all the metal armor. Cassio plastered a smile upon his lips, threw open the door into the smaller gear
ing room—and gasped. Then bowed.

  Montano, the governor of Famagusta, stepped into our gearing chamber, with at least five Cypriot guards behind him. I had not planned that. The stars were aligning fortuitously in the heaven of my invention. Cassio would not only get drunk—he’d get drunk in front of Cyprus’s highest civilian authority.

  “Sir!” I called out to Montano, bowing deeply. Cassio scrambled to imitate me (which was ironic, since I was using his flowery Florentine bow).

  Regal, leathery-faced Montano was in high spirits: his island had just been spared battle, and his rule had just been lightened by the appearance of the military. If any man had reason to get pickled tonight, it was Montano. He was destined to be my ally, however accidentally: as Cassio rose from his bow, Montano gleefully grabbed him by the ear and half-poured, half-tossed the contents of his brass cup into Cassio’s mouth. Sputtering from the shock of it, Cassio pulled away and turned into a corner to hack his lungs clear.

  “Be a man, Lieutenant Cassio!” Montano laughed to his backside. “Take your liquor like a soldier!”

  The group of fellows behind him laughed with him. So they were all drunk. That would make this so much easier. Every detail of this enterprise just kept getting easier.

  “The wine!” I announced, gesturing grandly toward the stoup. “Bring your cups and let’s toast to our general!”

  SOMEHOW, IT WAS suddenly an hour later, and a score of us had all moved up onto the wall walk by the keep, in the breezy early-summer night . . . and Cassio was as drunk as any of them.

  But he was not quite drunk enough.

  I tried to remember the drinking songs of my Arsenal days; they were all immensely stupid, but the very simplicity of the tunes made them easy to recall. One of them went: “A soldier’s a man; a life’s but a span; why, then, let a soldier drink. Some wine, boys!”

  “An essellent song,” Cassio informed me, nearly falling against me. Hm. Perhaps he was drunker than I realized.

  “I learned it from an Englishman; they’re the biggest sots of all.”