Chapter 3

The Duke

Two days later, the small group walked into Illyria's main city carrying the few things salvaged from the wreck of their ship. Viola's hair had been neatly trimmed to her shoulders, and she tied it back the way her brother used to wear his. She had adopted his stride, which she imitated easily, and pitched her voice an octave lower, which was not so easy. The captain had asked if they were to call her Sebastien after her brother, but she had shuddered with sudden pain.

"I do not think I could answer to his name unaffected. Call me Cesario, the name I often took when we played at being brothers."

They found their way to the ample house in which the captain's sister lived with her husband, a wealthy merchant, and their six children. A compassionate woman, she welcomed them with tears and an abundance of food. Two days later, Viola prepared to leave with the captain. His sister had insisted that they all stay and rest for a couple days before they went anywhere, and now she told Viola, "You must return and visit me, Cesario. You'll need a few good meals now and again. There is no saying what sort of outlandish food you'll get in a duke's palace."

As she had hoped, a faint smile came to Viola's face. "Thank you. I will."

Approaching the palace on the edge of the city, she wished she could run back to the kind woman's arms and cry on her shoulder. But she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin and entered through the tall stone gates. They walked through exquisite gardens and under massive, overhanging trees until they came to the large wooden doors blazoned in iron with the duke's crest, a ship, a sword, and a lily. Two guards in black, grey, and white with swords at their sides, more ceremonial than anything, arrested them and demanded their business.

The captain introduced himself and said, "I bring a lad who seeks service with his grace."

"Wait here," one ordered and disappeared. A moment later he returned with a tall butler in black. "Follow him."

They followed him through the tall, echoing halls and corridors of the grand house. The captain seemed subdued by the magnificence, but Viola felt at home. Her father's home had been like this, long years ago. This was the sort of place she belonged. But she was here to enter service, not live like a duke's daughter.

The butler led them up wide, curving stairs and into a room where a tall man sat at a desk, his chin supported on a long, thin hand. It took a moment for Viola to realize that this was the duke. The butler was bowing and introducing the captain.

"I have heard of you," the duke said. "You have some renown. What brings you to Illyria?"

"We were shipwrecked here, your grace, but four days ago."

"I am sorry." There was compassion on his face. "Is there anything we can do? I am sure it cannot be too difficult for you to get a new position."

"Thank you, my lord. I intend on returning to my own land in a couple days. My sister lives here and will provide me with everything I need. This young man here, though, would ask of you a position. His name is Cesario, and he was a passenger on my vessel. He lost everything in the wreck and must start again."

Duke Orsino turned his level gaze on Viola and examined her as she examined him. She saw a man in his early thirties, his straight black hair cropped short, a neat mustache and goatee emphasizing his strong chin and jaw and doing nothing to hide the sensitivity of his mouth. His face was thin and his cheekbones high, and his eyes were a blaze of grey. Thought she did not often take to people quickly, she liked this man, liked the firmness of character revealed in his jaw, the intellect in his eyes, and the compassion in his mouth. He would be a good master to work for, if only he would let her.

Orsino liked the young man before him. There was both strength and frailty in him, and mystery and pain as well. His eyes were dark with sorrow, his hands clutched behind him, but he returned the duke's gaze without blinking. He did not look like someone who had been in service before, but Orsino wanted to take him into service, to befriend him and discover the sorrow and fix it.

"What can you do? Have you been trained for anything?"

"I have had a classical education, my lord. I know languages and can translate, and I am quick with numbers. I confess I know nothing of labor, but I would serve you well as a secretary or a page."

He laughed. "Well spoken, Cesario. You come in good time. I have recently lost a secretary and am in need of one. What say you to a trial period of a month?"

"It seems good to me, your grace."

"Then go with this butler. He will acquaint you with your living quarters and all you will need. Return to me when you have finished."

Viola bowed. "Yes, my lord."

At the front doors, she took her leave of the captain fondly, thanking him for all his care, promising to visit his sister and to see him if he were ever in Illyria. An hour later she was back in the duke's study, learning her duties. Much of it would be paperwork, reading and answering letters, translating documents, keeping business accounts straight, and straightening the study, which had fallen into some disrepair since the last secretary's elopement with a chambermaid.

"Being a secretary to a duke is a none too easy task, young Cesario," Orsino said that afternoon.

"Nor is being a duke, my lord."

Orsino laughed. "You speak as though you know."

She did not answer, turning her eyes away from his so that he gazed at her thoughtfully.

Later in the evening, he said, "Do you know music, Cesario?"

"I play the pianoforte, my lord, but I do not sing." She could sing, and well, but she would not sound male if she sang.

"Come, then."

They went into a large room with tall windows through which the setting sun streamed. There were many comfortable couches and chairs and a pianoforte the likes of which Viola had not seen since her father's house. She touched the polished wood reverently. Orsino rang a bell and cast himself down on a long sofa.

"Music is one of my great delights, and if you can play, you will be put to it often."

A page entered. "My lord?"

"Send me the little lad who sings so well. Cesario, find something that you would play and let me hear you. There is music in the cabinet behind you."

She searched until she found something familiar and seated herself, taking care not to do it with the kind of feminine motion that was her wont. Instead she pushed up her sleeves with the motion she had often seen her brother do when they sat to play something together, and the memories rushed to her mind, Sebastien's merry face as he sat next to her, his slender fingers over the keyboard, his voice caroling out the songs. She didn't realize that she had fallen still and tears had filled her eyes until Orsino's voice came gently, "Cesario?"

"I beg your pardon, my lord." She began to play.

When she came to the end of the piece, Orsino said, "You play very well. Now play something that Valentine can sing."

The young page, about ten years old, came forward to stand by her bench as if he had done this many times before. His voice was high and clear, bell-like, and it was plain he loved to sing. It was a pity he would lose the beauty of his voice in a few years. She played and he sang for about an hour, and Orsino lay on his couch with a hand cast over his eyes, unmoving. Their music had roamed from ballads to arias to love songs, and at the end of a moving tale of love, he said abruptly, "Thank you, Valentine. You may leave us. You have sung well, as always."

The boy bowed with a smile and ran out. Viola sat quietly, unsure of what to do.

"If music be the food of love, play on, Cesario. Give me surfeit of it, and perhaps my appetite will sicken and die."

She played until it grew so dark that she couldn't see the music, and then she played from memory until her fingers were tired and aching. The duke was a dark form on the sofa; he hadn't moved in at least an hour, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep. When at last her hands slipped from the keyboard, he gave a start and sat up.

"Why, it's grown dark. What is the time?"

"I do not know, but it has been dark several hours."

"I have been lost in your music and did not notice. You have a magical touch on the instrument. Are you tired?"

"My hands are, your grace, but not the rest of me."

"Then walk with me outside. I am fond of a walk in the dark."

He led her out through the tall windows, which she hadn't noticed were doors, into the gardens of his palace. The moon was brilliant, and its white light made sharp shadows of all the trees and shrubs. A cool, delicious wind blew into their faces, and Viola reached up and loosed the ribbon that bound her hair back so that the wind blew it away from her face.

"This must have been a strange day for you, Cesario," Orsino said. "Usually I am surrounded by attendants and nobles and advisors who all have their own agenda and lists of things I absolutely must attend to or Illyria will go to ruin. I do not often have such a long period of time to listen to music. You have a restful presence." He put an arm lightly around her shoulders, but she automatically stiffened, and he let it slip away. She was immediately sorry, feeling that she had inadvertently refused some comradeship he wanted to offer.

They went without speaking out of a small side gate in the wall around the palace and were in the open countryside, rolling hills that led to the cliffs on the sea and groves of tall, slender trees. Orsino led her away to their right, a long way in silence until they came to another wall. He put his hand on it and walked with his fingertips brushing it.

"This is the outer wall of the Lady Olivia's estate. Do you know of her?"

"Just a little, your grace."

"Ah, I can tell by your voice that you know what all the countryside knows, that I love the fair lady. Fair and cruel. I thought when first I saw her that her very presence made all the air cleaner and brighter. But she has taken a vow to remain behind these walls and mourn her brother seven years. Seven years! The heart that can so love a brother will truly be great in love for husband. But she will not see me. Tell me, Cesario, am I a fool to thus hope against hope and to continue loving where no love is desired?"

Viola could not answer the duke because hot tears poured down her face and choked her voice. Would that I could shut myself up thrice seven years for my brother's sake!

Orsino glanced at her when only silence was forthcoming to his question and saw her face wet in the moonlight. There is pain and loss in you as well, my young secretary. Have you lost someone close to you, a sister or a brother? He said nothing, turning and heading back to his own palace, but he put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she did not shake it off.