Ilario, the Stone Golem Read online

  Yes: he’d tell you I’m lying in my teeth!

  ‘—If you wish, I will swear an oath that Messer Alberti promised me

  marriage before he seduced me, and I therefore considered us

  betrothed—’

  I said I would swear it. Not that it would be true.

  Because I will swear myself black in the face if it helps. And if court life teaches you anything, it is how to lie with the greatest innocence.

  ‘—I don’t beg you not to punish him, illustrious sirs. Only to have

  mercy on my child. Who needs her father!’

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  And that may be true – or she may already be overburdened with a mother-father.

  The man to Foscari’s right said, ‘We could order some settlement

  made out of the prisoner’s estate?’

  Honorius’s hand closed around my elbow and gently pulled me back –

  but I had no chance of breaking his grip. He glanced down as he let me

  go, and stroked a fingertip over the baby’s fine fluffy hair where it

  protruded from under her linen cap. I saw Doge Foscari register his

  smile.

  That’s useful: he sees that the baby’s grandfather is willing to acknowledge her—

  My thoughts were interrupted by a burst of deep-throated laughter

  from the councillor on the Doge’s left hand:

  ‘That is poetic!’

  He was overweight, with the high colour fat men in middle age get. I

  stared at him, not knowing whether to wish him dead of a heart spasm on

  the spot. Foscari lifted his eyebrow again, as if he wished to seem slightly

  disconcerted; the other men on the council followed his lead by

  frowning.

  ‘Poetic justice, perhaps.’ Doge Foscari linked his fingers together on

  the polished dark table. The cabochon-cut rings he wore reflected in the

  shine, in dark incarnations of their colours: emerald, ruby, sapphire. I

  wondered which, if any, was the ring with which the Doge of The Most

  Serene Republic weds the sea every Easter-tide. The council put their

  heads together again and I couldn’t hear anything they said.

  Rekhmire’ touched my shoulder, and Saverico took the baby out of my

  arm, returning her to another wet-nurse brought for the look of the thing.

  I dabbed at a damp spot on the silk brocade bodice Neferet had loaned

  me, and saw my fingertips shaking.

  Not the time to be holding a child. Nightmare visions of her fragility assailed me, and I blinked them away, staring across the room at Leon

  Battista. At this distance I could see little enough – only that he seemed

  well-dressed, grubby, pale with his time in prison; but had evidently been

  kept in locked apartments, rather than down below us in the dungeons.

  That will not stop them hanging him now, if they decide to.

  We would look like a normal aristocrat family gathered in this justice

  hall. Even an Alexandrine secretary would not be so unusual. I wondered

  how many of the councillors were looking and wondering where the

  other representative of Alexandria was this morning. Do they know she’s his lover? Do they know ‘she’ should be here in place of me?

  Hot sweat gathered, and rolled down my back between my shoulder-

  blades. The canvas straps of the corset chafed under the sleeves of my

  bodice. For the first time in a number of years, I wished for a sword, and

  the memory of my knightly training.

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  ‘You paint, Donna Ilaria,’ Foscari remarked, leaning forward and

  speaking plainly and clearly to me.

  It may have been how he spoke to foreigners uncertain of the Venetian

  language. It felt as if he spoke to a child of eight or ten winters.

  ‘I was studying the New Art in the studio of Tommaso Cassai.’ Some

  truth must have rung in my tone, since that was the case. I saw two of the

  councillors speak to each other behind the chair of a third. ‘Messer Leon

  Battista Alberti presented me with his treatise on the eye, and vision in painting. It is here.’

  Rekhmire’ walked forward and placed De Pictura on the table before the Doge, bowed, and returned to his place behind me.

  Foscari shot a look at Leon Battista. ‘The writing of this took you some

  time?’

  ‘Yes, messire.’ His voice sounded dry.

  ‘And the copying, also, to have a copy that Donna Ilaria might have

  read to her?’

  Leon Battista nodded, not speaking.

  The Doge Foscari leaned back in his carved chair. ‘Clearly, Donna

  Ilaria’s father, Lord Honorius, supposed there to be a betrothal, all that

  time. Or you would not have been permitted to give such a gift. You do

  not deny this?’

  Leon’s chin came up. ‘I say nothing.’

  . . . And therefore, so far, not one of us has lied.

  ‘I understand there has been legislation passed in Florence of late.’

  The Doge ignored a choked-off laugh from the fat man, and looked

  further down the table. ‘Simon?’

  The sleek man he addressed leaned his hands on the table. ‘Indeed,

  seignior. They have passed laws legitimising prostitution. Messer Alberti

  will have heard.’

  ‘They have done this,’ the Doge Foscari looked blandly at Leon

  Battista Alberti, ‘so that the young men of the city should become less

  interested in, shall we say, exclusively male pursuits.’

  I fixed my eyes on a tile on the floor, following the ochre and red

  glaze’s repeating geometric pattern. I will not look at my father, I will not look at Rekhmire’! ‘Exclusively male.’ Let Doge Foscari think the young woman is modestly pretending not to understand what is referred to.

  Under my skirts, I have a womb and (as I ascertained privately once I

  was sufficiently healed) a functioning penis. ‘Exclusively male’ is

  considerably outside my experience.

  ‘ . . . And to further eradicate the sin of Sodom,’ the Doge was saying.

  He had risen to his feet at some point; a ripple of light from the torches

  shot back colour from his jewel-encrusted brocade robes. Drawing him

  would be easy, painting the effect of that light and shadow unbelievably

  difficult. He held out his hands, plainly giving judgement.

  ‘This is the sentence on Messer Leon Battista Alberti. Because of his

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  family’s good name, and because of the lineage of the Captain-General

  of Castile and Leon,’ a bow towards my father, ‘it is considered just that

  the penalty of execution be commuted to exile. Messer Leon Battista

  Alberti shall have a month to leave our territories of the Italian Peninsula.

  But in the interests of holding up a good example, and discouraging that

  sin of Sodom which in Florence is so prevalent, and which threatens us

  everywhere, Messer Leon Battista Alberti shall hold to his promise of

  betrothal.’

  Rekhmire’’s arm quivered, where he had stepped close and now

  pressed against me. I felt his shock as clearly as I felt mine. Honorius frowned and opened his mouth. Out of sight, I dug my fingers into the

  palm of his hand, cutting myself against the edge of his plate gauntlet.

  Foscari turned his head away and fixed an unrelenting gaze on Leon

  Battista.

  ‘Because we will see justice done, you will be married in the presence

  of a priest. Before you depart from Venezia! I will call for a confessor now, and you shall be shrive
n clean so that you can marry. This child will

  have a father’s name. This shamed maiden shall be made into a wife.’

  Silence echoed through the chamber.

  The Doge turned towards Honorius. ‘It has been forty days: your

  daughter has been churched.’

  Honorius took no notice of my nails digging into the thin leather glove

  he wore under his gauntlet. He bowed with the skill of a courtier, and

  spoke with the bluntness of a soldier. ‘Yes, lord. She can wed whenever

  you desire.’

  There is nothing else he can say, I admitted to myself. Anything else will smack of trying to win concessions, either from the Alberti family or

  the Doge himself, and this Foscari is likely to find some way to remove

  Leon again if he thinks his decision is being used for advantage.

  The Doge looked across the vast chamber at me. ‘As soon as you are

  wed and able to bear the journey, you will leave Venice and join your

  husband in Florence.’

  Leon Battista choked. ‘Florence!’

  ‘You may join your family there,’ Foscari said amiably. ‘Other

  members of your family are also returning, I understand. We will miss

  them, after so many years in our Republic.’

  The candlelight showed his face all innocence as he taunted Leon

  Battista.

  ‘As I understand,’ Foscari concluded, ‘the ban against your family in

  Florence has been lifted. Your exile is over. There are already moves to

  make your father one of Duke Ludovico’s councillors. Of course, the

  agitation and rabble-rousing will stop; it doesn’t become the Alberti to

  act against their own Duke. As I’m sure your family will tell you.’

  It was clear enough to me: the Alberti family have been given a place

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  in Florence again – on the condition that they keep their insurrectionary

  son under control.

  Leon was close enough between his guards that I read the realisation

  in his face. No more pamphlets, no attacking the Republic of Florence

  for its injustices, because the Albertis have a stake in the city again – as it

  stands. No more talk that might lead to revolution. The poor will stay

  poor, and at the mercy of the powerful.

  Leon’s expression closed. He bowed.

  He might continue to think his family had sold him out. Or he might

  tell himself that ideals of good government are a naive man’s illusions. I

  didn’t know him well enough to know which way he would go.

  Once again, I thought. I’m marrying someone – and I have no true idea of who they are.

  32

  6

  ‘It’s arranged.’ Honorius threw off his cloak, and came to stand by the

  hearth. ‘The banns will be read thrice, and then you’ll be married.’

  I sank further down on the settle, easing my shoes off. My toes were

  hot and cold at the same time, and I wriggled them in my stocking-hose,

  presenting them to the fire. ‘Good! Tell Neferet she and Leon can leave

  as soon as we’re done.’

  Honorius nodded soberly. Rekhmire’ shot me a questioning look.

  Dear god, I thought.

  He wants to know if I’ve told Honorius what happened in Rome—

  ‘It won’t be legal,’ I blurted out.

  Honorius turned his back to the fire, hitching up the skirt of his

  doublet and warming his backside. ‘How could it be? I’ll be honest,

  Ilario, I don’t know if you can marry. As a man-woman—’

  ‘I can marry.’

  ‘What?’ He suddenly frowned.

  ‘This gets Leon safely out of Venice,’ I said. ‘But you should know . . .

  I went through a Christian marriage ceremony in Rome. To an Etruscan

  woman, Sulva. I was married: that time as the groom. This time, it will

  be the bride.’

  I have rarely seen such an expression.

  ‘Groom?’ Honorius stared at me. ‘Bride.’

  ‘You should reassure Leon it’s in name only,’ I emphasised dryly. And

  then, as the thought occurred to me: ‘Although it may not bother him:

  he’s with Neferet, after all.’

  His face made me itch to reach for my chalks, in the same way as I had

  wanted to in the Doge’s hall. The difference being that Honorius, unlike

  Foscari, made me want to smile.

  Rekhmire’ crossed the room in answer to a soft knock at the door.

  Tired enough to watch without seeing, I barely registered one of the

  house servants pass a note to the Egyptian.

  ‘Life.’ Rekhmire’ observed as he came back from the door.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Our assassin – Secretary Ramiro Carrasco de Luis. The Doge’s

  Council have committed him to prison for life. I suspect he’ll end up on

  one of those islands.’

  The Egyptian’s nod towards the unshuttered windows made me

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  follow his gaze. A small patch of blue sky showed between the buildings

  opposite. The canal reflecting the sky’s light back to it. I thought how

  brilliant it would be out on the lagoon.

  In which are isolated small islands, covered in cypresses, which they

  call lazaretto: quarantined islands for sufferers from leprosy, or prisoners

  who will never be released. Sometimes both on the same island.

  If that made me shudder, I had only to remember the moments of not

  being able – because of another’s physical force – to breath in air.

  Nothing kills human sympathy so fast.

  ‘We won’t be rid of him.’ Honorius spoke without moving away from

  the fire.

  ‘A life sentence,’ Rekhmire’ began irritably.

  ‘Not Carrasco.’ Honorius glanced down apologetically, evidently

  realising he robbed me of heat. He sat, beside me, his back nearly as

  upright as the oak settle’s. ‘Videric! Or, some other man, or men, sent by

  Aldra Videric. Videric will send more spies. More murderers.’

  The tone admitted of no doubt. I glanced automatically towards the

  cradle in the corner of the room, to reassure myself that Onorata slept.

  No matter that a child doesn’t understand, I think she hears the tone of a man’s voice . . .

  ‘You’re right.’ I rubbed at gritty eyes. ‘I saw them drag Carrasco off

  and was glad – that lasted, oh, a quarter of an hour. And then I realised

  that as soon as Videric stops getting what reports Carrasco was sending

  him, he’ll send other men, to replace the ones who attacked us on

  Torcello.’

  In my mind I have the flare of a striped cotton robe as a man turns, the

  clack of his war-sandals on tiles as he walks away, leaving me with a

  woman who he fully expects to murder me. That’s the last time I saw him, I realised suddenly.

  I ran for a ship immediately after my mother – after Rosamunda – tried

  to kill me.

  I know he sent her after me. I know he will have sent others. But that’s

  the last I saw: his face concerned with worry for his wife – and all of it a

  flat-out lie, to get me into the same room with her so that she could put a

  dagger into me.

  It is more than three quarters of a year now. I wonder if that fair hair,

  that burly profile, look any different. If exile back to his estates at

  Rodrigo’s order has made him look old. Or whether he merely bides his

  time, knowing that sooner or late
r one of the murderers he sends will kill

  me. And then the scandal may have the chance to die, too, and he may in

  the future come back to court . . .

  ‘Carrasco’s arrest solves nothing.’ Restless, I rose to walk about the

  room, careful not to tread the hem of my petticoats underfoot. ‘If no one

  else tells Videric, Federico will – because God forbid my foster father

  shouldn’t be scrambling to be in favour with every faction he can find!’

  34

  Honorius seemed surprised at my bitterness. ‘You know him better

  than I do. This Federico, I mean. Videric I remember as Rodrigo’s

  Chancellor, before I went north for the Crusades.’

  He looked a little bitter himself, and I wondered if his expression

  mirrored mine – or mine his.

  ‘Ilario, you can’t expect me to be unbiased. Videric blackmailed

  Rosamunda into staying with him instead of leaving with me.’

  Much as I like the idea that Honorius is my father, it still jolts me that

  Rosamunda remains my mother.

  And that that is irrevocable, no matter that the man I thought my

  father is only a stepfather – my mother’s husband.

  And a man who will send other men to kill me. I have considered this,

  wide awake in the Venetian darkness, while the campanile lets me know

  it is three, four, five in the morning.

  Rekhmire’’s crutch struck the floor with a hollow sound as he came to

  peer out of the window, at the narrow view afforded of the Campo S.

  Barnaba from this room. ‘I’m told the Council’s dungeons aren’t good

  for the health. It’s possible Master Carrasco won’t be transported to the

  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