-- o --
The Greeks were right, you know. Those two masks, comic and tragic, laughter and tears, joy and agony. First one, then the other. Metaphor for life.
Here's another - a masked ball. That's where I first met him. Imagine the scene; coloured lanterns glimmer in the bushes like drunken moons, music plays. White-clad tables are covered in nuts and cold chicken, pastries, pies, tropical fruits and silver bowls of wine like blood, supplied by servants with monkey's heads. Many strange things can be seen here, bizarre combinations, contradictions of the natural law, for this is a Dionysian feast and all - almost all - is as it is not. The priest and the harlot chat like old friends, the pirate and the king conspire in a corner, the giraffe and the elephant dance together, the soldier and the farmer kiss. The black cat with whom I, the clown, am talking dips a celery stick into a piquant sauce and bites at it daintily between her words. I listen without interest, my attention wandering; then, over her shoulder, I see him, the god Apollo dressed in radiant white, holding unholy audience with the demon and the beggar.
"Who is the God?" I ask.
The cat's whiskers twitch, and she recoils in feigned horror at my breach of etiquette. "Why, Clown, you should know better than to ask such questions before the Time of Unmasking! This night, all are as they appear to be. Do not spoil our games with your curiosity."
"My apologies, my Lady Whiskers," I reply quickly, "the contemplation of your beautiful fur has caused all my wits to wander."
She smiles, accepting but not believing my apology. "A witless clown! Now there's a sad thought for a night such as this!"
"Apollo has not favoured us with his presence before. He is, I take it, on your side?"
"My dear clown, all the gods are on our side!" She glances at him again. "In truth, I don't know. I believe that he has but recently arrived in the city. I saw him at Ignatius' party last week. He wore the same mask there."
"Then I shall ask him when I make his acquaintance. lf you will excuse me?"
Small white teeth glitter between her whiskers, and she moves aside. Apollo stands gracefully in profile, a glass of blood in one hand, the other resting on the table beside him, nails gleaming in the moonlight. His face... his mask, striped by shadow, is the essence of masculine beauty, the cheeks carved into a gentle smile beneath the golden diadem that traps his curls. He listens attentively to the fat, red devil - Rufus, by the whistling of his breath - as I approach them.
"...source of my disagreement with the Prince of Thieves here," he gasps.
"Merely a humble indigent, my Lord of Darkness," murmurs the beggar.
The devil chuckles wheezily. "Oh I know you, Alexander. You've used that trick on me once too often, and I have learnt your ways. I haven't forgotten the time when you and your cronies came dressed in identical clothes. Rather a bending of the rules to which you aspire, don't you think? And speaking of cronies... why Jester, come to entertain us with a merry jape?"
Apollo turns to me, and for a moment I cannot speak. Garishly lit by a yellow lantern, his mask is twisted into a rictus oŁ dismay, the gentle curves of the smile I thought I saw subtly transformed into the harsh lines of a caricature of fear. "I... I do not think we have met."
"Jester!" says the devil. "This is not humour! Amuse us or begone!"
"My Lord, I fear I cannot. Not when the God here wears such a tragic face. It would be sacrilege to make merry while he is sad,"
"You're talking nonsense, fool," exclaims the devil irritably. "All can see that he enjoys this party!"
"Indeed I do, sir." His voice is deep and resonant. A desire washes over me to press ray face to his chest and feel its buzzing with my cheek. "But is not a clown permitted to talk nonsense? Isn't it his purpose, to tell preposterous falsehoods so that the truth may shine the brighter?"
"But I was not lying!" I think, but do not say. If the god has spoken, it must be so.
"You sound like a convert to our cause," murmurs the beggar.
"Unless I too play the fool!"
An old man's laughter breaks from the devi1's mouth. "Your wit amuses me, my boy. You should become my jester, fight a battle of wits with Alexander's fool here. But I fear that the contest would be too uneven for wagers..."
The clash of a gong shimmers into the night, the devil clambers onto a table and wheezily announces that now is the Time of Unmasking. He removes his disguise, revealing Rufus' ruddy face, and s ignals to the beggar who shows Alexander's black bearded features. One by one, the others unmask; the soldier takes off her helmet and shakes out her fiery hair, the elephant uncovers a face as deformed as the one he wore, the giraffe head falls and a dwarf scuttles out from beneath. Polite laughter and applause ripple through the air. No-one seems much surprised as I pull off my bald pate and my tawny locks spill onto my shoulders. I turn eagerly to see Apollo show himself; my hands clench in frustration when I see that he is gone and that where he stood, only moonlight remains.
-- o --
It is in the street that I next meet him, by the golden light of day. Amid the bustle and the clamour I see his hair glitter in the sunlight, and dodging a passing vehicle, I cross the thoroughfare to confront him. His mask looks down on rne, its expression seeming softer than it did last night.
"You left before the Time of Unmasking, That was impolite."
A dry chuckle emerges from the twisted mouth. "My apologies. I am unfamiliar with your games. In any case, mine is not a mask to be removed. You were the Clown, weren't you?"
His eyes, shadowed but gleaming in the eye-holes, blink. Slivers of white wood cover his eyelids. I repress an urge to embrace him, draw him closer so that I may see what colour his eyes are.
"Well?"
With a start I come out of my revery. "Yes. Yes, I was. How did you know?"
"By your voice." He reaches out and touches my cheek, sending a shiver down my back that almost brings me to my knees, "Features as soft as yours should not be hidden by a mask. They should be free, able to express who you truly are. You will forgive me, but I do not think that you are a clown."
"I - I'm not, any more than Alexander is a beggar."
"Or Rufus a devil?"
"Not all masks lie."
Again, the lion's laughter. "Perhaps there is some clown in you after all." A matron leading a sguawling child pushes past me with a murmured apology.
"What is your name?" I ask.
"What do you think it should be?"
"Your mask reminds me of a Greek actor's." But even dressed in everyday clothes, you are still Apollo.
"Very well then, you can call me Hippokrites."
"You have no real name?"
"My mask is my name." He looks away from me, into the distance. "I fear that I must leave you now, I have business to attend to." He steps into the stream of passers by and is carried away from me. "Perhaps we shall meet again soon."
"I hope so." Oh, I hope so.
-- o --
"So, what do you think of our masked friend?"
Alexander's quiet voice comes from behind me as I lean on the stone bridge, gazing at the point where the brown of the water meets the blue of the sky.
"Which one do you mean?"
"You know." His voice holds no hint of reproach.
"I've hardly met him." I glance down at the ever-shifting light-ribbons on the water below. A dog's corpse drifts through them.
"My associates tell me that you spoke with him in the street yesterday."
I turn to look at his flat blue eyes. As always, his expression is indecipherable. Hairs of his beard quiver in the wind.
"He thinks I'm foolish," I say bitterly.
He nods. "So much the better. He will not suspect you of duplicity. Go and see him, would you? Persuade him of our cause."
I keep my muscles relaxed, try to still the beating of my heart. "I don't know where he lives."
"Out of town, Erasmus' house." He sees my frown. "It was Philip's decision. Though I suspect that Rufus had a hand in it... We will speak at Helen's party."
I watch him as he walks off the bridge, his bodyguard a bulky black shadow behind him. I wonder why I lied to him, I, who support the cause of truth. The brown stone of the bridge feels warm under my hand.
-- o --
It is a day of cloud and rain, and Erasmus' white-painted house stands coldly against the weeping sky. The garden, once neat and ordered, now grows as tangled and twisted as unkempt hair. I knock nervously, trying to relax the tension in my muscles; footsteps resound in the hall and he opens the door himself. In the grey light, I see subtleties in his mask which I had not noticed before - the delicate shading of the cheeks, the faint lines round the eyes which give them a look of wonder rather than fear.
"My friend the clown!" The honey-toned voice is coloured with surprise.
"My humblest apologies for disturbing you," I say. "It is necessary that I..."
"You're all wet. Come in! Come in and get warm!"
He stands aside and gestures for me to enter. The hall is dusty and bare except for an early classical Greek vase, or a copy thereof, that was there in Erasmus' time. A faint scent of perfume - a man's? a woman's? - lingers in the air.
"This way." He guides me, outstretched arm almost touching my back and the other hand leading the way, down a corridor and into a fire-lit sitting room. His physical closeness (closer, surely, than politeness warrants?) disturbs and distracts me, and I almost do not hear his murmured apologies for the uncleanliness of the house.
I take off my travelling garments and he lays them in front of the fire, then offers me some wine which I refuse for fear that I might speak my feelings rather than my thoughts. We face each other - he seems eager, sitting forward on his chair, orange flames dancing on the smooth cheek of his face.
"So, why are you here? To pass the time of day? So few seem to come and call..."
"They don't know which side you're on. They think that your indecision is merely a ruse and that you may betray them."
"And do you trust me?" He leans further forward. His wide-eyed expression seems like a plea.
Of course! I would trust you with my life! "I think that you have not decided. But soon you must. Rufus does not like indecision."
"Nor Alexander?" he asks, lightly.
I smile. "Alexander likes the truth."
He sits back in his chair. "Well," he says, "the truth is that you are right. I know too little of this city and its inhabitants to know which side to support."
"Surely the side of law and honesty?" Inwardly, I curse myself for my impatience.
"Ah. Your side." His tone is teasing; I feel my face flush and the tingling in my sinuses that presages tears and despair. "But I think that Rufus' view has some merit to it. Philip governs the city well; not even Alexander denies that. His preferment was fair - what does the passing of his predecessor matter?"
A volcano of rage boils up within me. "It matters because we don't know the truth! It matters because Rufus has his ear and Alexander doesn't! It matters because some think that you now live in the house of a murdered man!"
For a moment, silence. Fear rushes in where anger was before; perhaps I have hurt him? I look away from the blank stare of the mask, his hand resting on its chin, toward the orange and white glow on the sooty undersides of the logs in the fire. "My apologies," I say quickly. "I spoke in haste. As you see, I feel strongly on these matters."
The voice, when it comes, is gentle. "Oh, you should not apologise for holding deep emotions. It is so very... human." The wistfulness in his tone makes me look up at him in surprise, but the mask gives nothing away. "However, I don't understand your anger. All we know is that Erasmus fell from an open window to his death. His wife had died, many matters pressed upon him; who knows what private despairs may have crowded his mind that his face didn't show and his tongue didn't speak? There was wine upon his table and his clothes, his chair was overturned, surely these facts betoken accident rather than design?"
In the absence of anger, the coldness and the weight of my wet hair and clothes makes me shiver. "Erasmus wasn't the sort of man who would give up his life so easily."
"But how do you know? He was a leader, alienated from ordinary people. His closest confidante was dead. If he chose not to tell you, through pride or fear, how could you know his feelings?"
"Alexander knew him."
"Yes, but how well?"
"Well enough," I reply, but the question causes me unease. I hasten to justify myself. "And there are other facts which must be considered. One of Erasmus' secretaries disappeared on the day after his death. Rufus is ruthless and wealthy, and he hated the impotence that Alexander's access to Erasmus forced upon him. If he had nothing to do with his death, why does he refuse to confirm or deny the charge? All we want is the truth - we don't want to foment rebellion, just to know!"
"Nonetheless, the knowledge of his guilt would be useful to Alexander's cause. It seems to me that his motives are murky." I start to protest, but he forestalls me with a raised hand that casts a claw-like shadow on his face. "If Rufus were to say that he was innocent, would you believe him?"
"Without proof, no. The circumstantial evidence is too strong."
"Exactly!" The mask seems to grin at me. "So he gains nothing by protesting his innocence!"
A wave of despair engulfs me; I feel my lower eye-lids fill with tears which fortunately do not overspill down my cheek. "So you favour Rufus' cause."
"I didn't say that." He gets up. "Come, there's no need to look so sad!" He takes me by the elbow and draws me up. "I saw you shiver - come and have some wine with me. I insist. It will warm you."
His nearness makes me panic. "No, I mustn't!" I break out of his grasp and go to the fire to pick up my travelling clothes, wrapping their chilly dampness around me. "I must go - it is late. Perhaps on another occasion."
He follows me as I pass into the hall. "I run the new iron foundry on North Street - perhaps we could meet for lunch to discuss your cause further."
"Perhaps." He darts round me to open the door. As I walk swiftly into the rain, he calls out
"Maybe we shall meet at Helen's party!"
Wrapped in my failure, I do not reply.
-- o --
The air is full of the smell of damp earth and the sussuration of leaves. Dappled yellow-green light dances among the solid, dark tree trunks, pierced by sunbeams lazy with pollen. As I pass under an overhanging branch, a song-bird twitters a greeting which I, in my misery, ignore.
Lost in my thoughts, I do not notice the approaching hooves until they are almost upon me. There is no time to hide. As I step off the path between the gnarled grey roots of an oak tree to let the rider pass, I hear the thudding of hooves and the jingle of harness slow and stop. I turn to face a large black mare, its small rider perched atop its back.
"My Lady Whiskers!"
"Clown!" The horse nods its head and dances back a few steps. "I see that your hair has grown since last we met!"
"And I see that much of yours has fallen out!" I step forward and hold the horse's head as she dismounts. She takes the reins from me and we walk along the path a little way, listening to the mindless chatter of the birds.
"You seem pensive for so joyous a day," she says.
"It is a little sadness, that is all. It does not concern you. "
"Ah, but I think it does..." She looks at me, inviting me to confess. When I do not respond, she continues "For my party is tomorrow, and I would not have you sorrowful at it."
"I fear that I shall be otherwise engaged."
Her laugh blends with the chuckle of the brook which we step over. "Come now, that's a bit evasive for one on your side!" As the horse bends down to drink her shadowed eyes gaze directly into mine. "Tell me the truth."
I sigh and look away. "Very well. The truth is that I fear that this melancholy will not leave me by tomorrow, and I do not wish to cause distress to your guests."
"Oh do say you'll come. Everyone will be there; Philip, Alexander, Rufus, Ignatius, Diana, our friend in the mask, Hector... and I most especially desire your presence. I think you will find it interesting."
I glance at her sidelong, but her face (of course) is expressionless. "As you wish it, I shall come."
Her lips curve in a smile. "I am so glad. Even a sorrowful clown is better than none at all." She places a foot in the stirrup and pulls herself up. "And perhaps whatever ails you will have gone by tomorrow."
"I hope so. Is the party to be masked?"
"Oh no. Most certainly no masks - we cannot have three such in a row. Farewell."
She clicks to the horse and trots off across a grass-choked clearing. I gaze after her, wondering.
-- o --
"I wonder if you can help me."
His voice so shocks me that I almost fall off the ladder. The book I am replacing slips through my hands and strikes the floor .
"You startled me."
"So I see!" He picks it up and holds it up to me. "My apologies." He is dressed in white. His upturned face, lit by a beam of dusty sunlight from the narrow window in the white-painted wall, bears on its painted surface an expression of innocent enquiry.
I replace the writing and descend the ladder. "It is I who should apologise to you. I was most rude the other night in refusing your hospitality." I move the ladder to the end of the row, hoping that the action hides the trembling of my hands.
He laughs. "We are for ever apologising! Let us never say sorry to each other again. Do you agree?" He holds out his hand.
Trying to smile, I take it, and feel its firmness, and softness, and warmth. "I- yes."
"Good." He holds my hand a moment longer, then releases it. His arm falls slowly to his side. For a moment he seems lost for words .
"You asked if I could help you," I say.
"Yes, of course." He takes me conspiratorially by the shoulder and we walk down the aisle. "I was thinking about what you said the other night, and it seems to me that the only way in which I can come to a decision is to learn more about the history of this city. Since I trust no-one living to give me an unbiased account, I was hoping that some book might exist which would explain the origins of the rivalry between your alliances."
I think, trying to ignore his smell, the rustle of his clothing. "There is a treatise on the subject by Julian which both sides find unsatisfactory. To you it would probably seem unbiased. It is here, I think."
I pick up a book from the shelf and hand it to him. "Replace it when you have finished, if you please."
"Yes of course. Thank you, thank you."
"If you find it not to your liking, there are others on this shelf which may suit you better..."
"Will you be attending Helen's party?"
The abruptness of the question leaves me nonplussed. "Yes, yes I will. She seemed most eager that I should come."
"She was anxious for my attendance too... we will meet there, no doubt. We can discuss the contents of this." He holds up the copy of Julian.
"It would be considered most impolite to mention the dispute at a gathering for pleasure."
"But Rufus did."
"Rufus is very rude. I must continue with my work."
He stands aside to let me pass, clutching the copy of Julian to him like a baby. I go home early, pleading a headache, so that I shall not see him reading it.
-- o --
As dusk descends and clouds are turned to fire and purple, I lean on the rail and watch the distant shore and listen to the soft slap of the water far below me. Out on the lake, shadowed figures sit in boats painted grey or blue; people have gone overboard at Helen's more lively parties. Tonight, however, the guests are subdued; a few dance desultorily to the tunes of a local band, others cluster by the rail in huddled black-clad groups visited by page boys bearing silver trays of food and drink. He is not here yet. Blue lamps cast watery light over the deck; in their inadequate glow I see that the figure who has come beside me has Alexander's face.
"She's planning something," I say.
He nods. "Helen has been somewhat indiscrete with her hints."
"She was particularly anxious for me to attend. And Hippokrites also."
"Hippokrites? Oh, the masked man. A good name for him." He breathes a barely audible sigh and pulls his clothing tighter around him. "I think she intends to reveal that he has joined Alexander's side. My associates tell me that you looked most upset when you left his house the other night."
An icy fear grips at my gut. Could the man reflect his name, leading me on, duping me for malicious pleasure or sinister purpose? Surely not! And yet, and yet... The perfume in his house could have been hers! And yet, and yet...
"It is true that the interview did not go as well as I had hoped," I say carefully. "But I met him... later, and he still seemed undecided. And that was after Helen had invited me."
"Perhaps he was lying to you. Your devotion to the truth may have blinded you..."
"Aha, what have we here!" Rufus' voice bellows across the deck. "Two confederates in crime! Not talking business, I trust?"
"Such rudenesses we leave to others," replies Alexander smoothly. "We were discussing what delights Helen might have planned for this evening's entertainment."
"Yes, it seems that Helen has decided to keep us all guessing." Rufus leans forward. "I hope it's not the Chinese fireworks again. Remember last time? Half of them didn't light and those that did nearly set the ship on fire!" His gusty laughter becomes a coughing fit that doubles him up. Alexander pulls out a linen handkerchief and offers it to him.
"I... thank you, but... no. I fear that... the substances... which... have spilt upon it... may be bad... for my health." Hector hurries over and supports him into a cabin.
Alexander strokes his beard to conceal his smile. "Interesting. So Rufus too does not know what Helen has in mind."
"Or he was lying to you. Your dedication to the truth may have blinded you..."
"All right, all right," says Alexander in mock exasperation. "But if he wasn't lying, what can Helen be planning that even Rufus mustn't know?"
"Perhaps nothing. It would be typical of her misplaced sense of drama to make a major mystery of some trivial thing. And her side does not believe in honesty, even with each other."
Alexander grunts. "Nor do we. We believe in the truth. If we cannot find it honestly, we must use other means. I should discuss this development with Ignatius. You will excuse me?"
I stand aside, and he passes onward. Helen, dressed in a swirling cerulean gown, goes to Rufus' cabin and enters it. Dark clad figures mix and merge. Then, at last, I see his golden hair rising like a bright dawn over the ship's rail as he climbs aboard. He sees me and starts toward me, but is intercepted by two figures whom I do not recognise. I move to join them, but as I pass Rufus' cabin Helen emerges and comes over to me.
"Ah, so you are here! I trust that your melancholy is past." Her perfume, a new one to my nose, surrounds her like a halo.
"It is less than it was, thank you. Is Rufus well?"
"He is quite recovered, and will be rejoining us shortly." She looks at me with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps that is not to your liking?"
"Not at all. We do not hate our opponents."
"You, perhaps. But Alexander... I sense that he has rather more passionate motivations than a cold-blooded search for the truth."
Her words reflect my thoughts, so I do not speak but raise my brows and smile. A waiter passes with a tray of wine; Helen turns and takes two glasses. I glance at my Apollo, deep in conversation with his back turned, and repress an irrational despair that he does not look round for me.
"Speaking of the truth," she says as she thrusts a glass into my hand and leads me by the arm to an empty part of the deck, "we are all most intrigued to know which side our masked friend has decided to join. And you seem to get on so well with him." Her hand continues to rest on my elbow.
I laugh to cover the stab of her words. "If he has made a decision, you are far likelier to have heard it than a poor fool like me." I cannot resist the jibe. "I'm sure that you know him better than anybody."
"I cannot imagine what you are insinuating by that." To me, jealousy-sensitised, her tone rings as bright and false as a counterfeit coin. "But in truth, he has not confided in me."
I hide my warring relief and disbelief. "Nor in me. I don't think he trusts me."
"But surely he must. You have such a pleasant, honest face." And she smiles and raises her hand and strokes my cheek, as he did before.
I manage not to flinch under her touch. "You are too kind. Though a face that others think honest is good for lying with."
"That's true. Perhaps I have given you a weapon."
"Alas, I am too foolish to wield it." As you well know. "I would prefer a mask."
"Like his, you mean." Her eyes, hooded like a hawk's, scrutinise my face. "Do you not think that his mask is strange? Every time I see him, it seems to have a different expression. Perhaps he has many faces, all subtly varied, and chooses the one that suits his mood. I wonder who carves them for him?"
"It cannot be anyone in this city. Such skill would not go unnoticed."
"Indeed." She glances as if by accident towards him. "Ah, there he is now! I shall ask him. You will excuse me?"
I watch her glide over to his party. He turns to welcome her; I look away, unable to bear the sight, and go to stand near the rail where Diana, Marcus and the dwarf are discussing the price of oil. Helen's laughter mingled with his ripples across the deck, wrapping me in stifling misery. A dance breaks up amid merriment and applause, servants offer wine to the exhausted. At length Rufus emerges from his cabin; Helen goes to him and takes his hand. As I start for Hippokrites, he excuses himself and comes towards me, and we meet in the centre of the deck.
"I thought you weren't coming."
"That would have been most impolite to Helen." His reply causes jealousy to flare up within me. In the flickering blue light of the lanterns, his face has an intensity of expression that I have not noticed before.
"Is all well with your foundry?" I say coldly.
"Very well, I thank you. Let me tell you a secret." He places his hand on my shoulder so that he can whisper in my ear. "Will you come riding with me? Tomorrow?" Abruptly and for no reason, he laughs.
Startled, I step back and glance into the cavernous eyeholes of the mask. "Yes, if you wish it."
"Good. Meet me at dawn by the pool in the wood." He raises his voice. "Now tell me..."
Helen has come forward and clapped her hands. There is a clanging of chimes which cuts into our conversation and summons the guests together. We form a circle around our hostess; with seeming naturalness, Rufus and Philip take their places on one side while Alexander stands opposite them. Helen sweeps round to look at us all. She seems tense, her body leaning forward, fists clenched.
"I have brought you here because I have an announcement to make," she says. "The history of the rivalry between our alliances is well known..." (there is a mutter of outrage at this public breach of etiquette) "...and now we have the mysterious death of Lord Erasmus. Rufus considers the manner of his dying to be unimportant. Alexander does not."
"All this we are aware of," says Rufus. "Come to the point."
"I am doing so."
"Have a care, Helen," warns Philip. "This is not a suitable topic for a party."
Helen rounds on him. "This is my gathering and I will say what I choose! However, since Rufus wishes me to speak briefly, I shall do so. I have had my own enquiries made, and it seems to me that there is a case to answer." Fixing her eyes on me, she crosses to Alexander's side of the circle. "I too am now seeking the truth."
The muttering gives way to shouts. At a signal from Alexander our people surge forward and surround Helen as Rufus' converge on him. I am carried helplessly along in the crowd. In the instant before he is lost to sight I see Rufus look at Helen with the wide-eyed stare of hatred - whether real or feigned I cannot tell. Hector grabs a silver drinks tray as a shield from a servant and pushes him away; glasses tumble off in a crystal waterfall and shatter in a lake of white wine. Lantern light gleams off knife blades, forbidden by party rules, drawn by impetuous young members of both sides. Over the hubbub, Helen shouts "You forget, Rufus, that Erasmus was my uncle! Did you think that I wouldn't care about his death?"
Rufus' bellow cuts through the noise. "Since Helen no longer bids us welcome, we shall depart!" His group retreats towards the bows as the blue boats converge on the ship like sharks on a stricken swimmer. A glass from our side arcs through the air and shatters on someone's head. Screaming obscenities, a youth bearing a knife rushes out from Rufus' close-packed crowd and grapples with a similarly armed hothead from our side; Marcus and Ignatius run forward and drag the battle-maddened boys apart. As the boats arrive, ropes uncurl like ferns to the water and guests swarm down them. Pushed from behind, we surge forward. A blue lantern thrown by Marcus smashes at our feet and bursts into flame, forcing us to retreat a step; Helen's foot catches in her dress and she sprawls on the deck. An adenoidal cry soars over the shouting - the man with the elephant's face, by the sound of it - followed by a splash. Hector is the last to leave. As he puts his foot on the rail, he turns and hurls the tray at us, catching the woman in front of me full in the stomach and toppling us both over, and then he is gone.
Servants hurry forward to quench.the fire and to tidy up the mess as a number of our side rush to the bows and shout boasts and imprecations at the retreating boats. Helen, looking dazed and battered, is helped to rise by Alexander. Ignatius passes me, shaking his head and chuckling. "Well, well! This is a turn-up for the books, eh? One of the old goat's closest allies..." I look for Hippokrites, but he has gone. My heart sinks as I realise that he has left with Rufus.
-- o --
I go home and go to bed but cannot sleep, tormented by despair and doubt. At length, to seek a resolution one way or the other, I rise and dress and make my way through the quiet streets, the outlines of the buildings in the pre-dawn glimmer looming over me like angry giants. I reach the city's outskirts and stop to catch my breath, listening to the silence, feeling the fresh breeze on my face. I hear no step behind me, see no moving shadows.
The birds are in full song as I enter the wood. Across the avenue of cold, brightening sky above me, branches stretch like black, rustling tentacles. I take the little-used third path to the pool for fear of ambush. But he is there alone, holding the harness of two horses, dressed in a yellow that matches his hair. He hears my approach and turns toward me. His face's expression, so familiar yet so strange, twists my heart.
"You came by an unexpected route," he says.
"I should not have come at all. Few will doubt whose side you are on now."
"They have other things to think of."
"At present. But in time it will be noted."
"I shall write a letter of apology to Alexander." He passes a bridle to me; the action, although nonchalent, seems strained. "Have you noted it?"
"Like all fools, I have an open mind."
He snorts in amusement. "Not so foolish. I am, by nature, a coward. When the boats came in and the ropes went down, there I was, swinging on the end and shouting for rescue!"
I laugh, and after a moment his mingles with mine. "It's the truth!"
"I believe you. I really do."
For an instant he is silent, and his shadowed eye-holes gleam. Quietly, he says "Let us ride to the scarp."
The sun rises like a great fat golden lantern as we trot out of the wood and canter across water meadows of dew-specked grass and wild flowers, gleaming with spiders' work. We round the base of the scarp, splashing through brooks like liquid glass, and start to climb the shallow side, our horses - mine a rowan, his ebony - snorting and blowing as we advance through the scrub and grey rocks and stunted trees. We tether them at the top and walk across the fissured stone plain to the bifurcated tree that leans over the edge. For a while, we look at the city sprawled like a drunken giant under the cloud-streaked sky, the river a trickle of brown ale running to the gutter of the sea.
"Helen's change of side must be most gratifying to you," he says eventually. The sun's rays catch the colour of his hair. I can see every detail, every twisting curl.
"Not really. We can't trust her."
"But her uncle..."
"Helen never spoke to Erasmus again after she took Rufus' side against him."
"As far as you know."
"Indeed."
His hand rises to his chin in thought. "So why did she do it? And why did she want us both to be there?"
"Perhaps you know better than I." Despite myself, bitterness and accusation colour my tone. "She's been seeing you, hasn't she?"
He turns towards me. The pain that I now see in his face makes me want to curl in a ball and weep. Only my anger lets me hold my gaze.
"Of course." He sounds surprised. "She begged me to join Rufus' side, as you did Alexander's."
"And what did you say?"
"What I said to you. That I would decide."
"And have you decided?"
He turns away. I see in the set of his shoulders that the question - asked, I realise too late, a hundred times before -has made him angry. I long to put my hands on his shoulders, stroke them, feel the knotted muscle, the hard bone, his hair on my face, whisper in his ear that it doesn't matter, that he can be whatever he wants...
"It's all a game, isn't it?"
"What?"
"These alliances. An elaborate charade, a masquerade, an entertainment while we dance to dissolution. Why can't we be ourselves, show our true faces?"
"The game is very important to the players."
He turns towards me. I feel his intensity so strongly that I almost step back, as if he had struck me. "Yes, and as they play, do they think of the misery they cause? The uncertainty, the words and deeds left unsaid and undone for fear they might be used against you? There can be no closeness, no interaction, no true... life in this game! Only aching loneliness..." He takes a step forward, stretches out his arms. "Oh, there are so many things I would tell you if I could. So many things..."
"You can," I whisper, and as my eyes fill with tears his mask seems to blur and change, the lines subtly shifting, until at last I see love there.
Our lips meet, flesh against red wood. I raise my hands to take off his mask, but he traps them in his own, pulls them to his chest. I feel his heart there, beating quickly.
"No," he says. "Please."
"But I must know, I have to know! Don't you see? It's you I love, not your mask. I don't care what hideousness may lie underneath, I'll love you just the same!"
"Trust me." His voice is like a little boy's.
Under the weight of his pain and longing, my urge to know recedes. "I do, I'll always trust you. Let it be."
"Thank you." He releases my hands and hugs me tightly to him. We stand there a long time, he and I, my shoulder wet with his tears; for me, an eternity of bliss, a memory of heaven.
At length he says "I must return." We walk back supporting one another, our heads together, his hand caressing my face, my hair. "So, what are we to do now, you and I?"
"Be with each other forever!" I run my hand down his neck, under his clothing, along his collar bone.
"Ah, but will they let us?" He strokes my back with histhumb, sending sparks of pleasure down my spine.
"Only if you choose."
He chuckles softly. "Do I have a choice?"
I smile. "No. None whatever!"
He laughs then, and I laugh, and we link hands and whirl each other round and round, faster and faster, the trees, the rock, the sky all blurring, till we burst apart like fireworks and tumble to the sun-warmed stone, giddy with laughter and love.
"Oh, you make me so happy!" he says as we scramble up.
"And you are the only joy I have ever known." I hold him, kiss him again. "I can't bear to leave you."
Bleakness enters his voice. "You must. The others mustn't know until I have made preparations. There will be watchers in the wood. We must ride back separately; leave the horse by the great rock, I'll send someone to fetch him."
"Where shall I meet you?"
"Come to the foundry at eight this evening. There you and I can plan how we shall tell the world. Perhaps we should hold a party?" We kiss once more, a long, lingering kiss of parting. He boosts himself up into the saddle, runs his hand through my hair and down my jaw.
"Farewell," he says. "Oh, how I love you!"
I whisper farewell and stretch out my hand to him as he trots down the slope and is lost to my sight amongst the twisted trees and sickly bushes. Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my love!
-- o --
The day passes like a dream, unreal except for my memories of him. I try to wear a solemn face, but readers at the library remark on my liveliness. I tell them that I have had good news. When evening comes I bathe and dress well, but not so well as to attract notice in the street. Then I sit and wait, every moment before I see him a sweet agony. I think of Alexander, and of Helen, and of our conversations, and I come to a decision. I long to jump up and go straight away to tell him, but I delay a few more long, long minutes. At last it is time, and I make my way into the street. The night is dark, the moon hidden by clouds, and I walk quickly from street-light to street-light, avoiding the few strangers I see.
I pass a noisy tavern, its windows warm with fire-light, and turn down a road that leads to North Street. Ahead of me I see a group of men carrying torches. I cross to the other side to avoid them, but as we draw level they do so too. I am about to turn and run when one directs his torch onto the face of the man at their centre.
"Alexander!" I cry in relief. "You startled me."
"It is a dark night for travel," he says. I smell beer on his breath.
"I am going to visit Ignatius," I lie.
"Well, it is good that we met. I wanted to warn you."
A wave of fear tenses my muscles. "About... about what?"
"About your masked friend. I think I know who he is."
He does not know about us! Or he hides it. I feign nonchalence. "You do?"
"Helen suggested it. He is the secretary who disappeared after Erasmus' murder."
"No!"
"It is just what Rufus would do. Give him a mask and a wig, set him up in a foundry and introduce him, Erasmus' murderer, into our midst. Think how he must be laughing at us!"
The bright torches of his bodyguards hurt my eyes. "It isn't true. Helen must be lying to you."
"Do you know? Have you seen under his mask?"
"No. But I have spoken to him many times..."
"You must not do so again."
"I shall do as I please."
For a moment there is silence as I gaze into his empty eyes. A bodyguard raises his hand to his mouth and coughs. Finally I say "Where is Helen?"
"She is at her house. It is guarded."
"Perhaps I may speak to her tomorrow, to ascertain the truth of the matter."
"If you wish. She said that she desired to see you."
Ice runs down my spine. "Why? What has she to say to me?"
"I have no idea."
"So there are some things she hides from you! How then can you trust her?"
"If she were to lie, I would know."
An evasion. "Well, I envy you your certainty," I say and step back from him. "I should be on my way now, if I am to see Ignatius before he retires."
"You should have light. One of my associates will go with you. "
"I thank you, but I prefer to be alone."
"The streets can be dangerous at night."
"I know."
He pauses for a moment before stepping aside to let me pass. "You are changed," he says.
"I am no longer a fool."
"We shall see." He moves on, his bodyguards drifting around him like sinister fire-flies. I walk to the end of the road, turn the corner and quickly retreat into a shadowy porch to make certain that he has detailed none of them to follow me. All is silent. After a few minutes I walk on quickly.
-- o --
The foundry is at the end of the street, black smoke spreading from its chimney. The door is open; for an instant I think I see a small figure standing in silhouette against the fiery furnace light, but when my eyes adjust to the brightness it is gone. I run to the entrance and call his name, but receive no answer. For a moment fear grips me, then I realise; of course, the noise of the furnace, he must be there! I enter the casting room, passing the great hooks suspended over steaming moulds and the spouted cauldrons. The air smells of hot metal and a sweetness that soon dissipates. The heat of the furnace and the breeze at my back draw me on; I know I shall find him there.
He is there, in front of the furnace, stripped to the waist, the muscles of his arms and chest smooth and beautiful in its glow. The ruddy light turns almost to black the glistening blood streaming from the meat knife in his throat. A hammer lies near his right hand, a delicately wrought ring of gold gleams from his left.
For a moment I do not move, lost in horror. Then I scream and throw myself upon him, kissing the wood of his face, feeling for one last time the warmth and softness of his body against my own, my tears mingling with his blood. When the first waves of grief abate, I rise, prise the ring from his fingers and try it on. It fits precisely. Then a great madness comes upon me, and I pull it off and fling it into the fire, and raise my face and fists and howl to the cold, unfeeling heavens. At last I can weep no more; I look down and see the mask, its wooden expression showing such passion and sadness, and my grief-crazed mind can think only of the face that lies beneath it. I must know, I have to know!
My fingers seek for a purchase, but there is none; it is stuck to his skin. I step on his golden hair and heave at the mask till I hear the curls start to rip from his scalp, but still it does not come free. Pulling the dagger from his throat I slice between the skin and the wood along his forehead, then tug at the blood-smeared edge one last time. The mask rips away, skin stretching and tearing down its sides, revealing a bloody mess of ligaments, tendons, muscles, eyeballs, teeth and white gleaming bone. And I turn it over and see that beneath the red stickiness there is wood, only wood, for the mask is his face.
Like I said. Metaphor for life.
Mark Tolley 24/11/90.
Revised 19/05/93.