“WHAT’S THE MATTER HERE?” Emilia cried out. And seeing me, with greater alarm still: “Husband, what’s the matter?”
Oh, no. I would sooner anyone appear this moment but Emilia. As she pushed her way through and came near, I grabbed her to me, to prevent her from seeing Roderigo’s corpse.
“Cassio was attacked,” I said softly in her ear. “Here in the dark. Roderigo was one of the attackers—”
“Roderigo?” she said, flabbergasted. “Our Roderigo? From Venice? Roderigo Rosso?”
“Cassio was very badly wounded,” I said, still gently. Tightening my grip on her arms I added, “And Roderigo’s dead.”
Her entire body shuddered with the shock of it. “Oh no!” she gasped, her hands coming to her face. “Not Roderigo! And poor Cassio! What on earth happened?”
“I’m trying to find out,” I said in a louder voice. “Emilia, will you help me find out where Cassio dined this evening?” I saw Bianca start violently at this, and releasing my wife, I turned on the war widow. “What, do you shake at that?”
She drew herself up straight. She was a fiery little thing. “He dined at my house, but I am not shaking.”
“Did he really?” I said sharply, and took a step toward her, reaching my hand out. “Come with me, then, harlot, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Emilia was so shaken that she was not thinking very clearly. “Shame on you, you whore!” she snapped at Bianca.
“I am no whore,” Bianca said with saucy bravado, hands on her hips. “I am every bit as honest in my life as you are. Which I realize may not be saying much.”
There was a titter of nervous laughter among the men watching us. Emilia’s eyes widened, and I saw her check an impulse to grab Bianca by the throat. “That’s rich!” she snarled back.
I clapped my hands together. “Enough of this. I must get back to the Citadel and see Cassio attended to. You, lady,” I said, with a threatening look at Bianca, “you better have a story for how you come to know Cassio so well, unless you were part of some plot to take him down. Emilia,” I went on briskly, before Bianca could reply, “run ahead to the Citadel, tell Othello and Desdemona what’s happened here.” She nodded and after a quick squeeze to my hand, immediately ran back the way she’d come. Lodovico followed her, not so quick on his feet. Bianca turned and ran back into her cottage, slamming the door.
I looked around the square. Everyone still here now and still living was unknown to me. “Go on,” I said angrily to all of them. I did not know how many of them even spoke Italian. “The show is over. Go home, leave.”
They did. There was nothing left to see but blood and one dead body. After a few moments, there is little satisfaction to be got from staring at death.
Unless the death is that of your oldest friend. I stood over Roderigo’s dead body and felt angry grief wash over me. The poor fool. I would find something wonderful to say in the letter to his mother. I’d make sure she could mourn for him with dignity.
I turned and looked up toward the fortress above. I could not imagine what was happening up there. Othello seemed to me to be half a world away. Was he still raging like a madman? Had he struck his wife again? Had Lodovico already removed him from his office but not had a chance to say so in the upset of our encounter just now? I sensed I had already done all that was required of me to bring justice to the universe. I had nothing left to do but see how it unfolded. This night would either make me or destroy me: it was out of my hands now.