We had met before. She was a heavy woman, although not without grace. Her face was withered and had lost much of its former beauty, yet beauty there still was, especially about her mouth. Her name among men was Charity.
Laws governing flighted people were strict. But Charity's loveliness as a child and young girl had made her one of the favoured few permitted to nest on top of the St Marco campanile, and to perform before the Bishop Elect on saints' days. I could recall as a boy having my mother point her out, flying over the Arena with her sisters — a lovely sight, though the butt of lewd childish jokes, for flighted people scorn clothes.
Now Charity's white and brown pinions were kept folded. She had modelled for Fatember, who plagued her to marry him; after she gave in to him she never flew again. By this time, she would be too old to practise the art.
When she had recovered her strength, Charity rose and offered me her hand in welcome. The children tugged her robe so violently that she sat down again before pouring me a glass of red wine. I accepted it gladly; Nicholas had been too preoccupied to offer. The vintage was rough and bitter: very possibly from Heyst.
'We hoped you would come to see us, Master Perian. Nicholas enjoys your company — and the company of few others, let me add. Your good sister told me you were recovered from your wounds.'
'I would never visit Mantegan without visiting you and Nicholas. I have unbounded admiration for his work.'
'How do you find Nicholas?'
As bursting with genius and ideas as ever!'
'And as cranky? And as despairing?'
'Melancholy, perhaps
'And as unable to paint a square metre of wall?'
Picking up a couple of the children, she went to the water-bin and dipped in a ladle from which she drank. The children called out for a similar treat. She gave to each in turn, the boys first, then the girls. Over their clamour, she said, 'Nicholas is too ambitious, and you see the results. Poverty, hunger, filth… I've been out washing for a wealthy family to earn enough to buy us bread. How we shall manage when winter comes, I don't know…'
'Genius seldom cares to earn its bread.'
'He thinks he will be famous in two hundred years' time.' She threw up her hands, so that her wings rustled. 'Two hundred years! What good will that do his poor children? I don't know. Come, I must find them something to eat. I shouldn't complain, Master Perry; at least we have a roof over our heads.'
'I rejoice it is so.' From the loft came a roar of triumph; the cavort had met its fate.
'There's a world of difference between being an artist and being an artist's wife.'
As I leaned against a wall sipping my wine, I watched her work while skilfully keeping the children amused. I wondered if she recalled the aerial views she had enjoyed of Malacia as a young girl — how enchanted its streets must have looked before she had to walk them! Though I pitied her, I hated to hear her criticize her husband.
Evidently Fatember had forgotten me. I heard him pacing overhead, muttering to himself.
The ragged children hopped about me, begging for sips of wine. Although some of them had inherited vestigial wings from their mother, none could fly.
Passing Charity my empty glass, I said, 'I must take my leave. Tell Nicholas that I hope to come and see him again soon. And I'll ask Katarina to persuade Volpato to…' I rubbed two fingers together.
She gestured dismissively, with a sweep of hand reminiscent of her husband's.
'Let well alone, I'd say. Our lot's not so miserable it couldn't be worse. You may not know it, but Volpato has threatened to cast us out, frescoes or no frescoes, if he is pestered ever again on the subject of money.'
'As you wish.'
'It is not as I wish but as I must.' Said with great firmness also reminiscent of Nicholas.
'Once the frescoes are complete, he could easily obtain other commissions.'
She shook her head slowly by way of answer.
I went to the door. She tweaked a long, grey feather from her wing and stooped to give it to the smallest baby to play with. I was through the door before she straightened up again.
Afternoon moved towards evening. Shadows were climbing the sides of the courtyard, chill was returning to the city, some of whose bells chimed distantly. As I crossed to my sister's quarters, the cavorts had gone from the sky. High above my head, my window caught the eye of the sun, but Poseidon had relinquished his post. All was still. The cat's fur had at last sunk to the ground; a twist of it rolled dustily across the flags beneath my feet. Now only chiaroscuro filled the drowsy air.
I was well again; my spell of tranquillity was over. Tomorrow, I would quit the castle for what Fatember called the great burning world.
Wedding Cups and Naked Guests
When the great Desport founded our city-state, he decreed that it should be a place of happiness. In large part, that decree has been maintained over the centuries. As the philosopher said, every sea-going boat must needs have a keel; happiness too has a darker side, submerged, dragging against ocean currents, accruing foul things which may ultimately destroy it.
For all that, happiness was pursued with ingenuity in Malacia, and many of its practitioners assembled to ensure that the marriage of Smarana de Lambant to Traytor Orini of Vamonal should be nothing less than a joyous event. They were given three days in which to fulfil this programme to the hilt, by the end of which it was cordially anticipated that everyone involved should be three parts dead with pleasure in all its forms.
On the first day of celebration, during the morning, Pozzi Kemperer took his company through a rehearsal of the comedy of Fabio and Albrizzi, to see that we and our costumes were nothing short of perfection. We performed with verve, La Singla making a darling heroine, with every gesture a little seductive miracle of mime. Since excess was the order of the day, Kemperer had brought in the gaunt man with his two panthers, and the effect was not too deplorable.
As for my costume derived from the painting in the Renardo pavilion, it was magnificent. How I would ever pay the tailor was a question to be deferred as long as possible. He had hired out the work on the waistcoat, and the two delicate landscapes embroidered there had been stitched by the Zlatorogs; their neatness was much admired. I had a new white choker tight at my throat, and elegant hose with ribbons at the knee, setting off the shape of my legs to a tee. But that green coat — it was a masterpiece!
It had been cut long, with a shaped waist and ample pockets with immense flaps, just as in the painting. There were the silver buttons, as ordered, with wide cuffs deeply embellished with silver braid. Such was its beauty that I resolved to wear it for the entire wedding festival. It was too stylish for Albrizzi to have to himself.
After rehearsal, when nobody was looking, the divine Singla ran up to me and kissed me on the lips.
'You are a pretty boy, Albrizzi, and I have missed you. We hear you sustained a terrible wound from the devil-jaw. Tonight when the dancing is merry and Pozzi is tipsy, you and I will slip away somewhere. I will play the medico and examine which parts of you are still functional.'
'Dearest Singla, I thought of you often as I lay dying in Mantegan. You have recovered from the loss of your gallant Captain John in the Tuscady Heavy Cavalry?'
She passed a hand elegantly before her face. 'He was such a man… But it's no use weeping at the world's abuses or we'd be in tears all the time. You and I will staunch our sadness tonight.'
I hung back. 'Never have I had a better offer. But I've grown wiser — I've acquired knowledge and am not used to it yet… I'm promised to Armida Hoytola and must practise faithfulness. As the song has it, "My days of philandering are over".'
She pressed her sweet loins and breasts against me. 'You funny darling — a hero in your way, but mad, mad! Try out that role next week.'
I kissed her neck. 'Don't tempt me. My horoscope warns me, Seemly Moleskin warns me, Armida warns me — I'm in for bad times unless I take care.'
'Oh, my dashing captain had such a terrify
ing horoscope. Otherwise I'd surely have run away with him to Tuscady. And the things that had happened to that man! Do you know, he once missed death so narrowly — his steed was killed under him by a Turkish cannon-ball. He said the ball was travelling so slowly that he saw it come out of the other side as the horse fell, looking for all the world like a giant rasberry. Yet he was unhurt, the dear.'
'Soldiers are fearsome liars, sweet innocent Singla.'
Recollecting herself, she said, 'Whatever he's doing, it's a nuptial night here for some. You're a pig but there's a bond between us. I understand you. Listen to the message of the music if my voice holds no persuasion for you.'
Music had been playing for some time. Sweet singers were singing, in particular three girls who affected flowing gowns in the style of Periclean Athens. They were singing a nuptial song commissioned for the occasion and based on one of Pindaro's:
A lyre of gold, Apollo's dearest treasure,
Calls forth the light foot
To its plotted pleasure
And the brightness begins:
A prelude sounds that dazzles on the strings
As in true youth
The loving couple brings
Its two lives together.
Oh, harmony is marriage's fair weather.
He is so bold and wise,
His lusts in tether
To her bright dancing eyes.
And between each verse came a chorus that had already taken strong hold of the wedding guests.
All life's brief music —
Come, dance and love upon the sward,
Admit to these revels
No doleful discord!
La Singla and I disentangled ourselves when we heard a footfall outside the room, but it was only de Lambant. 'Guy, I've hardly exchanged a sentence with you, apart from the playwright's words which passed between us! Your costume is splendid. Do you like mine?'
He came before me and struck a pose, hand shadowing eyes.
'In truth, it's beautiful, de Chirolo, yet I hold it makes you look fat. You're fully recovered from your wounds, then ?'
'Yes, yes, that's all forgotten. All bones mended. You regard me as if I was a corpse, my dear friend!'
'No, it's nothing. I wondered if you'd lost some hair with the shock.'
'I think I'm correct in saying that the sight of that devil-jaw petrified me less than anyone else present.'
He took my arm in his old friendly way then, laughing loudly and saying, 'Oh, you were terribly brave, de Chirolo, and I'm sure you'll never let us forget it, but had to stay by Armida and protect her. If she'd climbed into the post-chaise as you advised, she'd have been killed. No doubt of that.'
'Don't vex me, Guy. I've never clearly understood what the two of you were doing in the forest anyway.'
He made a foppish gesture, turning to La Singla as he did so. She was standing by regarding us with an expression on her face which I could not read. 'Yon de Chirolo's a terrible fellow, Singla, lady, for all his sterling virtues. You had it all explained, Perian, and it is unworthy of you to be jealous. I still recall with warmth, admiration and the odd hiccup your statement that jealousy was demeaning, and that love between friends should be freely received and given.'
To be quoted against myself was rather like seeing another man dressed in my best clothes.
'The idea was in my mind — along with other ideas. You'd laugh if I told you I was wrestling with profound processes…' I looked at him and La Singla, and started again. 'I said jealousy was demeaning, yes. We all suffer from it. Armida is possessive — and you too, I believe. Is that not so?'
He laughed. 'What a poor reply to my quoting your noble sentiment. Those days in bed alone have told against you. Let's go and get a drink.'
Despite myself, I felt anger rising in me. 'Guy, if you believe sincerely that love between friends should be freely received and given, then all parties must practise it or none. Even if I cannot live up to them, I have some ideals; whereas you are always mocking —'
De Lambant turned with a parody of despair to La Singla. 'He has the monopoly of wisdom. How can we stand against him?'
With the healthful sense that was natural to her, La Singla touched us both in an embracing motion, singing a phrase as she did so.' "Oh, harmony is marriage's fair weather… " How terrible if you brewed a storm between you, today of all days! Remember it's your sister's nuptials, dear Guy. The strain's telling on you both. Go and take a drink and enjoy.'
De Lambant gave one of his most dazzling smiles, which included me, La Singla, and two other players who had just entered the room.
'Terrible indeed. Come, Perry, my friend, I'll show you my sister's wedding gifts.'
Although I was glad to have the quarrel stopped, I was still full of anxiety, for my silly phrase about love freely received and given was one I had used only to Armida. Had she quoted it to de Lambant, in who knew what satirical circumstances?
'Guy, don't take offence, but you know my feelings about Armida, and that I love her greatly —'
'Entirely,' he said, leading the way down a tiled passage where many people were thronging, all delightfully dressed and perfumed. 'I envy you both more than I can say. It will be a marvellous match, I'm sure. She's a fine girl, and I'm half in love with her myself.'
Was that innocence or effrontery? Fear clutched at my heart, as I forced myself to say lightly, in as near as I dare go to a direct accusation, 'Guy, I delight to see Armida happy in any way, but I must hope you respect my feelings in this matter. Friendship has certain sacred duties. Both she and I value your friendship, and you know I place my trust in your returning that friendship.'
Again his brilliant smile, though those dark, brown eyes were on the throng. 'You need say no more. I really respect your good heart, and I thank you a thousand times for being so trusting. Believe me, I too have Armida's happiness in mind. Now, let's slip in here.'
We entered a room milling with wedding guests, all being agreeable to the point of madness and talking at the tops of their voices. De Lambant, as a cherished son of the family, was greeted on all sides, and in no time I had lost him to a loving but towering aunt who had not seen him for more than a month, and in consequence must hug him as though her life depended upon smothering him between her breasts. I left him with some relief and went to stare at the array of wedding presents.
There stood Bledlore's lovely glasses. I recalled that carefree time when Guy and I went to order them, on the day we met the girls at the fair. Yes, carefree, I had felt carefree then. I passed by the glasses with scarcely a look.
Was I doing Guy and Armida an injustice? Could it be he was so innocent that he had not fully taken my meaning? If Armida had repeated to Guy my phrase about 'love freely received and given', it was a noble phrase — and not from an old play either — worth repeating to numbers of friends, as perhaps she had done; surely he would not have used it as a pretext to take more than was his right. As I gazed at the piles of beautiful and useless objects, occasionally nodding to people who hailed me, I was full of doubt. Running over what Guy had just said, I found every sentence designed to awaken anxiety. He envied Armida and me more than he could say. Well, envy was an unpleasant emotion, and drove a man against his friends. Had he so moved against me that he was seducing her away from me?
Again, as I painted loathsome pictures in my mind — she uttering sounds of pleasure in his filthy embrace — was furious with myself. I loved her, I trusted him as a friend: it was unjust to entertain such base suspicions. It proved my unfitness, not theirs. Taking a deep breath, I resolved once more that I must be more generous, less jealous.
My pleasure was spoiled, though. My stomach churned.
I went away to relieve myself, to press my temples, to pour cold scented water over my head. Locked in a little cool bathroom where a fountain played, I heard near-by laughter. It came from liars, from hypocrites, from secret enemies, from people who would merely laugh if they knew my dilemma, people who would inv
ite Guy and Armida into their rooms and thrive on the situation.
The Pindaro song was being played:
His lusts in tether
To her bright dancing eyes.
Again I soaked my face, telling myself I was mad, that what I suffered was not jealousy but guilt, that I was feeling what Armida felt when she discovered my lapses. Until this moment, I had not understood her.
I rushed forth, resolved to find her, to beg her forgiveness, to take her in my arms, to show her that now indeed her need for happiness was real to me. Friends called. I gave a salute and pressed on — anxious to appear as normal, yet too troubled to keep up the deception. A drunken man with bloodshot eyes barged into me, muttering incoherently. As I shouldered him away, I saw it was de Lambant senior. He gave no sign of recognizing me.
The de Lambants, considering their own house insufficiently grand a stage for their daughter's wedding celebrations, had taken over a more elegant villa belonging to wealthy relations. A long corridor lined with statues divided the house into reception rooms on the one side and apartments on the other. The chief features were an atrium in the high Byzantine style, a large bath-place, and the peristyle, where fountains played against a background of colonnades. Here, under an open sky, the wedding ceremony, as well as our comedy, acrobatics and the Mendicula play, would take place.
I came at last upon Armida, sitting with her parents in one of the smaller reception rooms among a host of friends, none of whom I recognized. The young Duke of Renardo was not present; I had ascertained already that he had not been invited.
This was the first time I had seen her father since the ancestral hunt. In a few patronizing words, he praised my luck in the kill, helping himself to a pinch of snuff meanwhile.
Looking on Armida, poised beside him like Beauty herself, with one arm resting nonchalantly on the brocaded arm of her chair, I became bold and addressed Andrus Hoytola in a resonant tone.
'Sir, I thank you for your compliments. I went hunting to slay an ancestral, and slay an ancestral I did, though I nearly died for it. But then, there's nothing without risk.'