Thirteenth Night by Alan Gordon

that’s usually the case. And his father dying, well, that was a blow to all of us, but especially to him. To fall so ill and lose him practically at the same moment, well, it’s no wonder that he nearly followed him to the grave.”
    â€œWere the two events so close? I hadn’t heard that.”
    â€œCertainly, it was the same night. We had a large group of people for the dinner, the main families of the town, and all of a sudden Mark gives a scream and falls, clutching his stomach. It was right after the third toast, a merry one by Sir Toby, and some thought maybe it was just too much wine for a boy his age, and he had been gorging himself on nuts and sweetmeats before. He always liked to come down to the kitchen when we were preparing large dinners, to watch how we did things and to snatch whatever his nimble fingers could. Yet there he was at the table, moaning and heaving like a drunk man until he collapsed on poor Sir Andrew. Mercy, I thought the knight would make a second when the boy did that, he turned so pale. They took the boy to his room, and the Duchess and his nurse were up all night with him.”
    â€œAnd then they heard about the Duke. The shock must have been considerable.”
    â€œOh, the boy worshiped his father, as boys do at that age. And there was the grieving, and now all the fuss over who’s to be the regent. Why they just don’t make it his mother is beyond me. She has a better head then all of them, foreigner or no. Everyone’s coming to visit him, which is nice, but some of them are trying to insinuate themselves into his good graces, if you take my meaning. Using a sick child like that just to be regent for a few years.”
    â€œBut he’s improving.”
    â€œYes, by Our Savior, he is. With luck, he’ll be well enough for the play, though Count Sebastian is standing in for him now.”
    â€œAh, a Christmas play. What are they doing?”
    â€œIt’s The Harrowing of Hell this year, and he was to be the Savior. He was so excited, it was the first year his father was to let him play the part. And now neither old Duke nor new may be there. Such a pity.” She chattered on, telling me of Silvio’s gout, Anna’s latest pregnancy, and such other servants’ matters until I could have probably walked in and identified the entire staff. Finally, we reached the villa.
    She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Well, sir. Here we are, and the walk was a quick one, thanks to you. Nothing like the conversation of a gentleman to pass the time. Blessings upon you, sir.”
    â€œAnd you,” I replied. “And on your house and your feast.”
    She dimpled again and went in.
    The Harrowing of Hell. An odd choice. The town was not large enough to do a full cycle during the season, so they always put together one for the last day. I wondered which version they’d be using. Not much of a play, more like a quick debate between Jesus and the Devil, which He wins, naturally, then the righteous Jews parade about and thank Him for saving them.
    I came back down the road into the square to find a number of laborers erecting some small platforms on and about the steps of the new cathedral. The market stalls were being pushed back to the western side of the square to make room for the upcoming festivities, though the vending continued uninterrupted. As I drew closer, I recognized some of the scenery in progress. The Cross and the Sepulcher were easy enough to figure out. Two poles with a rope dangling loosely between them were at the highest step. I assumed that would eventually be Paradise. The most elaborate setting was for the gates of Hell, a crude head of Satan with his jaws open wide enough for a man to walk through without stooping. Red damask curtains concealed the interior. To the right of that were a pair of thrones, one painted white, the other a deep red.
    A man was turning a windlass that lifted a small, frightened boy into