The general opinion of the crew, at this point, was that Antonio was either sadistic or slipping out of his wits. The reason they had been made to approach, twice in a week, the country where they were outlaws was an utter mystery to them. Which, of course, was how Antonio would have it be; if they knew his reasoning, he predicted the level of reverence his sailors showed toward him would decrease, to say the least.
He didn’t even know that it was reasoning. He thought maybe he was slipping out of his wits. Come when you’re wanted and go when you’re dismissed, and no one will take issue with you. That would be the sensible thing to do. This was not a sea-fight; he would get nowhere on tenacity.
And still he had turned back. To do what? He knew not. To have his say. It was a fault of his; he could never keep quiet. He was very lucky it had not yet earned him a sword to the gut or a place at the gallows.
Slumped on his elbows, watching the sea slide past and attempting to ignore the looming continent of Illyria fast approaching on the horizon, he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He needed a memory, a calm one; the first one he hit upon had been nearly making his throat close up whenever it came to mind for the past few days.
He remembered a silver-golden morning, the sun half-up, mist drifting and swirling over the surface of the sea. Suddenly, a shadow in the distance; he squinted but could not make it out. He was the only one of the tiny crew on deck, but this was too small to be a rival ship, so he let them be and waited.
And then it emerged from the mist and became clear: a broken-off piece of mast, near-submerged, the sail spread in tatters through the water, yet somehow keeping upright. Tied to the mast with slipshod knots about his chest, there was a beautiful young man, visibly languishing, bleeding from the chafing of the rope, eyes closed. His golden head drooped first forward, then back against the wood; there was very little life in him.
His Sebastian. Antonio didn’t know if he had gasped or just drawn a long, slow breath.
Fitting that he seemed to be born of the sea, Antonio thought now, looking at the calm waters. For the sea was changeable, one minute raging, the next playful, the next smooth and cold as stone.
But he could not give Sebastian up without a fight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Antonio remembered how he and his men had the young man out of the water in a moment, and how his wounds were dressed. Antonio managed to keep the bandage steady as he wound it around the young man’s chest, though by all logic his hands should have been shaking. By all logic, though, he should have had no reason to think his hands should shake. Sometimes Antonio’s thoughts were torturous.
He gave the young man his own clothes to wear, fed him, gave him a place to sleep. Through it all, the man’s eyes remained vaguely unfocused and watery, and he never spoke but to give his thanks, quietly, as though speaking might bring unwanted tears.
Eventually, he told Antonio his name was Roderigo. Antonio trusted him and did not question him further.
There was one night when a storm shook the little ship as if it would throw it out of the water, although Antonio knew it was not enough to do much actual damage. He made his slow, arduous way to Sebastian’s chamber (he couldn’t help now but think of him as Sebastian; it was a beautiful name). He walked a sort of serpentine path as the ship tossed and he stumbled sideways on the slippery deck, over and over again.
He found Sebastian on the meager bed, huddled against the wall, breathing hard, clutching his knees, with his face hidden. Alarmed, Antonio hurried to his side, unthinkingly climbed onto the bed and took Sebastian’s shoulders in his hands. “How dost thou, Roderigo?”
Sebastian looked up with panicked eyes. “It shall go over, and that shall make an end of me,” he croaked. “I shall be glad of it. But o! my sister, and the others -”
“It shall not go over. I trust my ship as I would a wife, were I ever to have one,” said Antonio, in what he intended to be a soothing tone, but it came out rather awkwardly. Sebastian did not respond, so he continued, hurriedly, “I have seen a hundred storms like this. All have come and passed. Believe me, Roderigo, we are safe.”
Sebastian let his head drop onto Antonio’s shoulder behind him - trust or just fatigue, Antonio couldn’t tell.
“Some have called me pirate,” said Antonio softly; he was not sure why he said it. “They have spoke true, at times. But I should not let you drown for all the world in riches.” Slowly, deferentially almost, he wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s shoulders. The motion was full of a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty - he was not accustomed to making his affections known.
Sebastian’s breathing had slowed to normal. He looked quizzically up at Antonio for a moment, then, gradually, relaxed in his arms.
Then he suddenly pulled away and slumped forward. “I am sorry to trouble you, sir,” he said in a voice as near to normal as Antonio had ever heard him use. “Very sorry.”
“’Tis no trouble, truly,” said a conflicted Antonio.
The waves were calming. Sebastian’s eyes - sea-colored - had lost their panic and now seemed quite lucid. “I thank you fervently, sir, for the pains you have taken for me. I am much in your debt.”
“They are no pains,” murmured Antonio. “The love I bear you repays any debts that you could owe.” Why could he never hold his tongue?
Sebastian hesitated as if trying to determine what meaning of ‘love’ Antonio intended. As if he needed to. “You may be rid of me at the next sight of land, if you wish it so.”
“I wish nothing -”
“I do wish it so, I think,” said Sebastian, as firmly as one may when a statement sounds like a question.
Antonio nodded and made as if to leave.
“Stay!” Antonio had no choice but to obey. “I mean to say, stay if you wish,” Sebastian said hastily. “I want to tell you... Do you know why I am here? We were shipwrecked.”
A smile played at Antonio’s lips. “I did assume as much.”
“Yes. I -” Sebastian seemed to fumble for words. “I was the only one who lived, I think. I was... I am... I was alone.”
“There is yet another cot, there against the wall.”
Sebastian smiled now and nodded, and the smile rendered Antonio momentarily off-balance. He fell rather heavily onto the other cot, and they slept in the same room that night, and for many nights thereafter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Land ho,” Antonio said as they pulled up to Illyrian soil for the second time. He could not believe himself, even as he helped the men tie up the ship, told them to do as they would until he returned, and set off on the winding road to Sebastian’s lady’s house.
At the gate, a formidable iron one, he thought he saw Sebastian in the distance, but his heart sank as he realized the form was a woman’s in a dress; it was only Sebastian’s twin. Drowned Viola. She was speaking to someone in the garden. He did not wish to see her.
So he climbed over the wall on one side of the gate, using the ivy for handholds. He went to what he assumed was the servants’ entrance and knocked on the door.
A maid answered and looked at him oddly when he asked for Sebastian. “The count, that is,” he corrected himself, and she went back inside, still giving him odd looks. Surely his appearance was not so terrible? He ran his hand through his thick hair, heart pounding. What would Sebastian say?
And there he was, richly dressed, more handsome than ever. He had come out through a different door, and he was now looking, confused, in an entirely different direction from where Antonio was standing.
Antonio wanted to say something, but instead of “Sebastian, do you know how much I love you, whether you be a count or no?” it came out as a cough.
Sebastian saw him. They both froze.
And then Sebastian grinned and sprinted toward him. There was a flower patch between them; Sebastian nearly trampled it in his haste to fling himself into Antonio’s arms. Antonio stumbled backwards with the impact. They clutched each other tightly and did not speak. This time, Antonio was the one to hide his tears.
“I am sorry to return when you wish me gone,” he said, questioningly.
“Wish thee gone!” Sebastian gave a choked little laugh. “Nay, I have wished thee back all these many days and nights.”
And then, in a whisper, “I have missed thee.”
“I love thee,” Antonio murmured into his hair.
“I know,” said Sebastian. “And I know now for certain that I love - but my lady the countess.” He pulled back, but did not let go. “I have married her,” he said as if he still didn’t entirely believe it.
Antonio closed his eyes in sudden pain. He had not fully considered the countess. And the marriage. Why did he never think? The countess Olivia. He could picture her, gray eyes and dark hair, pale skin and noble bearing. She was beautiful. He had admired her speech. How could he take her husband from her?
“What of thy lady the countess?” said a serene voice.
They jumped apart, shaken, and turned to see Olivia standing stiffly by the ruined flowerbed, an unreadable expression on her face.
“My lady Olivia,” cried Sebastian in a strangled voice. Antonio bowed low, doffing his sea-cap.
Olivia looked keenly at them. “Thy friend is welcome here, husband, if he should wish to stay.”
“Dost - do you, sir?” Sebastian gave Antonio an anxious look.
“I... I...” Antonio didn’t know what would be worse, leaving or staying.
“Then you must stay,” said the lady decisively, and Antonio had no right to speak against her. “There is too much space in the house, now I think on it. Yes, we shall have you stay.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So Antonio stayed. It was a spacious, echoing house; he longed for his little boat. He felt as though he should be careful, that at any moment he might misstep and break something, literally or otherwise.
He tried to be polite and sometimes succeeded. Sebastian had the look of a doomed man, and Olivia simply observed, cautious and aloof. Meals were silent except for idle talk, of the weather and the wars of neighboring countries.
Several nights passed with Antonio sleeping in a guest bedroom bigger than any room he had ever slept in, or not slept in, as most of the time he could not sleep, and paced and talked out his situation softly to himself - he had never thought it mad, really, to talk to himself. He had always done it, and often, and never gone mad as far as he knew.
If he were to go mad at all, it would be because Sebastian was sleeping directly above him and he could hear his muffled steps as he went to and fro in the mornings and evenings. His desires he could push aside; it was this impossible nearness that he could not endure. There was a constant need, like a thirst, and he did not like it here.
One evening, as they ate a very good meal and Antonio enthusiastically focused on the taste of the food rather than on not meeting Sebastian’s eyes, Olivia asked ‘Cesario’ to pass the salt.
“Am I him, really, in your eyes?” was Sebastian’s sudden and inexplicable reply.
“Who is this Ce...” Antonio actually bit his tongue to keep from going any further when he saw their expressions. He remembered the name, but not where he’d heard it.
Olivia looked pointedly back and forth between them and said, “I did marry you under that name. Perhaps I have not yet grown accustomed to the change.” And then, “I apologize,” coldly.
Sebastian’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “I must take my leave, my lady. The food is excellent good.” Abruptly, he pushed back his chair and left the room. Antonio flinched. This sort of formality, to him, seemed worse than an argument.
Olivia had put her head in her hands. Was she crying? Antonio jumped up and rushed to her side, forgetting his manners. “My good lady?” He put a tentative hand on her shoulder.
She looked up, dry-eyed. Not crying, just exhausted. Antonio reddened and took his hand away. “Pardon me, lady,” he said, sitting down next to her.
She stared at a tapestry on the wall, of hunters and their dogs, pale cheek resting on her palm. She should be painted, Antonio thought, her sadness only added to her beauty. “Dost wish to speak?” he said quietly, then, “Pardon me, I mean, do you...”
He trailed off as she looked at him. “You asked about Cesario,” she said.
“There is no need for you to tell me,” said Antonio, though in truth he did want to know.
“Cesario was a maid,” said Olivia, her voice a strange combination of dreamy and wry. “I loved him.”
Antonio blinked. “Which... was he?”
“In outward looks, a man, in truth a maid. My lord Sebastian’s sister, Viola.” Now Antonio remembered. Viola, in disguise, the one who was not drowned, who had won Olivia’s heart. He felt a sudden wave of commiseration and wanted to embrace the lady, tell her she was not mad. But that would have been entirely improper, and he held his peace, with difficulty.
“She must be fair of mind, Sebastian loves her dearly,” he said. Then, awkwardly - he kept forgetting himself, he must be formal - “I do mean to say, my lord Sebastian...”
She gave him a perceptive look and said, “There is no need.” looked back at the tapestry and, after a moment’s pause, said, “Give me your hand, sir.”
Antonio did, and she took it in both of hers, soft and delicate. He was sharply aware of each callus on his palm.
“Are you happy, my lady?” He knew he was too bold, but he had to say something.
She was silent, and looked at him with an obscure expression for a long while. Then she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Thou’rt a good heart,” she murmured. “But leave me. I must... consider matters, things that need my thoughts. I wish the fool had not gone; he would advise me well now. But do not stay when I did bid thee go.”
So Antonio left, and paced the hollow halls, wondering where Sebastian was and wishing he might see him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, he walked the garden paths. He was now so parched with his thirst that today he would leave with or without Sebastian, he had decided, and was trying to reconcile himself to it.
“What tale dost thou tell thyself?” Sebastian’s voice startled him. He turned to see him leaning on a bench, a small smile on his lips.
Antonio hadn’t realized he had been speaking aloud. “I - I can stay no longer. You must understand -”
Sebastian looked devastated. “Thou wouldst leave?”
“My dear Sebastian -” Antonio took his hands, pained, fumbling for tactful speech. “I cannot abide to see you, and hear you, and yet never... If I am always to love thee - which I am -”
"Thou canst not go!" It was not an order, but a cry, as if he'd been pierced by an invisible arrow. "Antonio - O Antonio, I will do anything in my power -"
"Thou hast nothing in thy power with the potency for this," said Antonio, too abruptly, too sharply, in too rough a tone. He hated himself, and his damned inability to speak how he intended, more than he ever had. "Forgive me," he stammered, taking each of Sebastian's hands, gently, in agony, "Forgive me; I must be gone. I cannot endure -"
"I will do anything!" Sebastian repeated desperately, his knuckles white on Antonio's hands. His words came out rapid and disjointed. "Antonio, thou hast never known, I have never told thee, I love thee, on the ship, here in the garden, I love thee, I love thee, and I will do anything. I shall - I shall -"
“Go with the man.” Olivia had a way of creeping up on them in the garden. She must have known it intimately, all its secret paths amid the flowers and bushes. They looked at her blankly, surprised and uncomprehending, too distracted to let go each other's hands.
“Didst hear my saying?” She sounded amused.
“Er... no, my lady.” Sebastian turned red.
“I did bid thee go with him,” said Olivia.
Sudden hope flared in Sebastian’s eyes, and then went out. “But it will... I will bring shame on you!”
“There is no shame in having a husband at sea,” said Olivia. “No one needs know more than that. I have found, in these few days - I am sorry, my lord, for what I must needs make known - I have found that I did marry in error. I have found...” She sighed, and the sadness crept into her expression. “I have found that I fell in love with Cesario, not Sebastian, and it is no fault of Sebastian’s that I may love none but Cesario.”
Sebastian nodded. “Thou art are a virtuous lady,” he breathed.
“And,” Olivia continued, “Cesario does not exist but in the person of the sister of my lord.
And therefore go with this man, if thou wilt. I give thee leave; I bear thee no ill will.” Her chin was up, she was dignified and beautiful and Antonio might have loved her, as a Greek might love a goddess.
Sebastian, shaking his head in joyful disbelief, kissed his wife on the forehead. “I thank you a thousand times.”
“And I as well,” said Antonio, and met the gray eyes with gratitude, and for once he felt he was right in speaking what he thought.
She approached him and spoke softly beside his ear. “Thank me not, thou art deserving.” Then she smiled at him, and went inside looking free.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Viola came to see her brother off at port, and acted warm and friendly, if sorry to see her brother go so soon, and remembering her former disguise, Antonio couldn’t help but think that she knew his mind to a fault.
“Shall you return soon, sir?” she said to him. Her hair was still cropped short; now that she wore women’s clothes, it just accentuated her feminine face. She did not look like Sebastian at all, now that Antonio thought about it.
“Soon, and often thereafter,” Antonio assured her with a little bow. “And...” He paused. “I think I shall bring back trinkets, and the like, for the Lady Olivia. I think I am very fond of her.”
Viola smiled an odd smile, as if her mind was elsewhere. “Many are, sir; you are not the first.”
She and her brother embraced, and she returned to the halls of the duke, who had loved her in boy’s clothing. Antonio’s ship set sail.
“What’s our destination, dear captain?” said Sebastian when they had cast off.
“Whatever thou’lt have it be,” said Antonio with a bow.
Sebastian grinned, and Antonio murmured something like “Most dear Sebastian,” and then they were kissing, a new and incredible thing. Antonio thought maybe his heart would burst, if he did not lose all his blood with sighing first. He had never before thought he would end up a lover, but the whirligig of time, as the fool said, must bring its joys along with its revenges.
And Illyria faded gray and silent in the distance.