Ilario, the Stone Golem (8 page)

lazarettos.’

A breath of chill touched me that was not this winter cold.
If
there
were
other
Alexandrines
here,
I
would
suspect
that
was
an
offer
. . .

‘All the while Carrasco was here,’ I speculated, ‘Videric evidently felt

he
would
kill me. He either doubted, or he sent the men who attacked me

on Torcello to assist Carrasco. Now . . . I have no idea how many men

he can hire who would murder me for money, or where they’ll be, or how

long it’ll take them to get to Venice – if he didn’t give up on Ramiro Carrasco and send them weeks ago.’

I intercepted a look between the two men.

‘You’re right,’ Honorius agreed as if the Egyptian had spoken. ‘It’s

even more unsettling when that happens in petticoats.’

‘What, when I prove I have more wit than a firefly?’ I glared at both of

them. ‘Remind me
never
to dress up as a woman again, once I’m out of

Venice.’

Rekhmire’ gave me a crooked smile. ‘Breeches or petticoats, you are

still in need of a good beating. I regret I never took my opportunity as your master.’

Such jokes are a lot easier for the master to make. But, free, I can

afford to smile at them, and I did.

His expression becoming serious, Rekhmire’ stated, ‘Aldra Videric will

send more men: he cannot afford not to. More hired men who won’t

think twice about killing. Sooner or later, there will be a slip – even

among your men, Master Honorius.’

I
miss
Rekhmire’’s
presence
at
the
wedding
, I realised, looking around the cold and gloomy Frankish church. He had been a rock of comfort when I

35

went to Sulva, however much he may have disagreed with my reasons for

that marriage.

‘Man and wife,’ Honorius murmured in my ear, as we walked down

the aisle to the altar-rail, his baritone surprisingly quiet for a man used to

shouting across battlefields. He proceeded to prove himself far too much

in the Egyptian’s company of late by adding, with black humour, ‘Which

one would
you
like to be?’

I clapped my hand up to my mouth, hiding a splutter of horrified

amusement. I bowed my head, and hoped the looming members of the

Alberti family would take it as feminine shyness. ‘The Lion of Castile is

about to come to a horrible end in the Most Serene Republic, I hope you

realise?’

‘Ah, what it is to have a dutiful daughter . . . ’

He squeezed my arm with quite genuine encouragement and stepped

forward to consult with the group of middle-aged men in dark velvet and

miniver fur. I caught sight of Leon Battista at the back, his Roman nose

all the more prominent for the gaunt lines of starvation in his face.

And
that
would
be
how
they
convinced
him
.
.
.

I wished again that I had Rekhmire’ at my shoulder, to exchange looks

of realisation, and to discuss,
sotto
voce
, whether it would be wise to go through with this, despite Neferet’s pleas.

A persistent wail echoed into the high Gothic beams.

Honorius took Onorata out of Attila’s arms, displaying her in her

swaddling clothes to the Alberti men. Unused to it, she found the

bindings uncomfortable, and her crying had a determined edge. I bit my

lip and stayed where I had been left.

‘A girl?’ The older Alberti sounded displeased. ‘Well, there is no need

to worry about dowries, she can always be put in a convent. There’s time

for a son later. At least this proves my grandson capable of siring a child.’

The significant look he shot over his shoulder at Leon led me to

suppose he had made aspersions to the contrary. Leon’s mouth set in a

thin line: he did not look towards me.

I
thought
it
was
I
who
was
making
the
sacrifice
here
. But I have no lover to object to my name being coupled with another’s.

Honorius handed my baby back to the large Germanic man-at-arms,

and Attila took a longer way down the church so that he might pass me,

heels ringing on the flagstones, and let me look at Onorata as he passed.

Her face was scarlet, her eyes screwed up and hot with tears. He touched

a forefinger to the swaddling bands and gave me a significant look – by

which I knew him off to remove them.

I have marked the sympathy between soldiers and small children

before now, in Taraco; I had not ever thought I would be grateful to it

when it provided me with at least six persistent and efficient nursemaids.

Even if they are not half so enthusiastic during the small hours of the

night, or when it came to changing breech-clouts.

36

‘Madonna Ilaria.’ The priest beckoned me forward to stand at Leon

Battista’s side.

S. Barnaba had nothing worth the looking at, its altar-piece was third-

rate, and the Green priest – evidently hired by the Alberti family – rattled

through the ceremony so fast that it reached the moment of commitment

before I was ready for it.

Leon had no shred of prison dirt on him now, even the stench being

eradicated in favour of soap and civet, but I could recognise the

expression on his face. That of a slave who has been punished by dark

and isolation, and found it full of unexpected monsters.

‘Yes.’ My mouth formed the appropriate words before I was aware I

had made my decision. Consenting to wed this man, in name only, is

nothing more than words to me. It is freedom to him.

I walked out of the church married for the second time in half a year.

This time as the bride.

‘We understand your daughter and the child cannot travel as yet.’ The

Alberti patriarch spoke to Honorius, without even a glance towards me.

‘We will send our son from Florence to collect her, as soon as she may.’

The proper things were said, the Alberti men departed in a splendidly-

decorated oared boat, and I noted Leon Battista slipping quietly off into

the Alexandrine embassy ahead of us.

It took me a time to settle Onorata, she being too disturbed to sleep –

eventually conceding only when Attila fetched a bowl of milk and a

spoon from the kitchens, and sat by the fire to feed her with infinite

patience.

I recall those hands, so much larger than my child’s head, loosing the

bolt that tore the Carthaginian agent apart. It will not be the first or last

man that he has killed.

I made a sketch with coal and chalk, that was only broad shapes except

for the features, but caught the difference between the two faces: one still

unmarked and with deep clear eyes, the other with half a lifetime worn

into skin creased with staring through sunlight.

Coming downstairs, I walked into Rekhmire’ as he left the main room,

and clutched at him to keep both of us on our feet.

A fragile Venetian glass hurtled through the door and smashed on the

opposite wall.

Rekhmire’ wouldn’t be able to bend down with his crutch; therefore

called for one of the Egyptian’s servants to sweep up the fragments. I

nodded towards the open door, hearing loud raised voices beyond.

‘What is it?’

Rekhmire’ finished steadying himself with a grip on my shoulder, and

brushed himself down. ‘It’s Master Leon Battista. He says he cannot

travel to Alexandria, it appears.’

Alexandria would be a good refuge for him – for us all, I thought. It

was too cold to stand in this passageway, spring or not, and besides, I

37

was curious as to the actions of my husband. I strode through the open

door, Rekhmire’ behind me, the cloth-padded end of his crutch

stomping down on the floorboards.

Neferet instantly flung away from Leon Battista, where the dark man

stood silhouetted at the window, and glared at me. ‘
Here
she is. The happy bride! No wonder you won’t leave Venice!’

Slave or free, I can recognise when someone desires a mere target for

their temper. Without venom, I reminded, ‘You asked me to do this.’

She stalked out of the room, pulling the door behind her with a

shattering crash.

Rekhmire’ took some moments to arrange himself in the armed chair

by the hearth; I took the settle, and after a moment Leon Battista walked

to sit beside me.

‘That’s poor thanks for saving my life.’ He spoke firmly, holding my

gaze. ‘I’ve told Neferet the marriage will remain in name only: she has no

need for concern. Please don’t take that as an insult – if I were not hers, I

could seek for no better woman than you for my wife.’

Rekhmire’’s luminous dark eyes caught mine. Whatever else Neferet

might have said in her rage, I perceived that ‘hermaphrodite’ was not one

of those words.

‘I don’t take offence,’ I said, and attempted to sound as if I only

changed the subject out of feminine embarrassment. ‘I had expected you

and Neferet to be on the first ship out for Alexandria-Constantinople?’

Leon Battista looked down at his hands. The knuckles were more

prominent than they should be. He rubbed his fingers together.

‘My family’s exile is ended, on condition they rein in their rabble-

rousing son.’ His expression turned sour. He looked up, without lifting

his head, and met my gaze through his long, dark lashes. ‘Therefore, I

have to be seen in Florence.
With
my family, carrying on the family’s affairs, and not fomenting rebellion against the Duke.’

Rekhmire’ leaned forward and prodded the coal with one of the fire-

irons. He sat back with a grunt. ‘The Alberti family expect Master Leon

Battista to be in
your
company, Ilario, as soon as you may travel. Not Neferet’s.’

The short walk from church had given me enough time to solve that

problem. ‘Tell them I
died
! Plague. Cholera. Anything! It happens all the

time. You can safely tell anyone that, just as soon as I can leave Venice.’

Not before. I would be very surprised if the Alberti didn’t have men

watching their son’s wife. And, by his expression, I had no need to spell

that out.

Leon’s mouth quirked. ‘There’s no need to condemn you to an early

grave. When it becomes possible, I can prove our marriage void.’

‘You can?’ All the banns and church offices had been what I

understand the Frankish marriage ceremonies to be. I could not help

looking at him in surprise. ‘How?’

38

Leon Battista took a deep breath. ‘I married Neferet six months ago, in

the autumn.’

My mouth was open, but I could make no sound come out.

‘Although,’ he added, ‘for obvious reasons, I can’t take Neferet to

Florence as my wife – the family would insist on having a council of

midwives to examine her, to confirm that she was a virgin before she

married me, and capable of child-bearing. And that . . . ’

‘Yes, I can see that would present problems.’

The door opened; Neferet’s women servants came in, followed by

Neferet herself – she looked taken aback to see me still present, and she

glared at Rekhmire’, but since neither of us moved, she gestured for wine

to be served.

After a warming sip of the wine, I had courage enough to look her in

the face. ‘Couldn’t you go to Florence as Leon’s mistress?’

The lines of her face spoke,
I
don’t
know
what
business
this
is
of
yours!

more clearly than any word could have.

She nevertheless seated herself gracefully on one of the window-

embrasures, reclining on cushions embroidered in the Alexandrine style.

‘Think, Madonna Ilaria! Leon arrives
without
his new wife and infant child, but
with
a mistress – and a foreign mistress at that! How long before the family demands he be respectable?’

Something under a quarter of an hour after passing Florence’s walled

gate, I suspected, but didn’t desire to say. Neferet’s long-fingered large

hands still faintly trembled with anger. No need to draw the lightning

down on myself.

‘If I go as a cook or servant,’ she said, her graceful reclining pose

stiffening with her neck, ‘or anything else an unmarried woman may do,