Ilario, the Stone Golem Page 7

  much Venetian glass left!’

  ‘You’re glad for her.’

  ‘Am I?’ He busied himself with being seated, tucking his crutch beside

  him, and easing that leg into a stretch towards the fire. The heat of the

  fire, perhaps, cast a flush onto his cheek.

  ‘She’s your friend. You’re happy that she’s happy.’ I winced at a

  dimly heard crash from the depths of the house. ‘Or at least, if not

  happy, that she can be with Leon.’

  ‘The Florentines will find her a trifle feminine, I think.’ He gave me a

  sudden grin. ‘But then, all we Alexandrine eunuchs are feminine males,

  according to common talk!’

  I grinned back. ‘I don’t think you’d suit a Frankish skirt and

  bodice . . . ’

  In the hours following, Neferet’s quarrel broke out from time to time,

  like an unquenched brush-fire – but it had little enough true heat, given

  that she would break off from her ranting to look in wonder at Leon, and

  her demeanour invariably softened after that. Since the Alberti were due

  to depart in two days, she had perforce to make a decision and pack.

  41

  I woke early on that morning, to feed Onorata, and to bid Neferet

  farewell. I found her in the atrium of the house – and for a moment truly

  did not recognise Neferet in this slim and straight-shouldered man,

  dressed in the short linen jacket and white kilt of an Alexandrine scribe.

  ‘Ilaria.’ She spoke with the pitch of her voice lower, a little husky.

  Her skin showed smooth, under the linen. Her face looked curiously

  bare with only a line of kohl above each row of eyelashes. She had her

  hair cut short, falling to touch her shoulders, as one of the Alexandrine

  customs is, and a narrow braided reed-band holding it back from her

  eyes.

  Honorius’s men-at-arms, at the house door, could be heard greeting

  Leon Battista.

  ‘Good fortune,’ I said, a little hurriedly, not able to put all I thought into words.

  ‘You too.’ She – he – smiled.

  It was a morning cool and damp enough for fog, rolling in with the

  smell of the sea about it, clinging to Venice’s brick walls and Roman-tiles

  roofs, and filtering the sunlight to diffuse glory. At the gate of the

  Alexandrine house, Leon Battista awaited us. He greeted Neferet with no

  more than a companionable nod – something neither his servants nor the

  oarsmen of his boat would be surprised to see, in a man collecting a new

  officer for his household.

  Their eyes linked. It was a different enough story that I thought I hope

  they can be discreet.

  ‘This is a custom among my people.’ Neferet opened a small folded

  cloth that she carried. I saw a glint of reddish black. She held up a

  braided loop, handing one to Leon Battista, and one to Rekhmire’, and –

  after a fractional hesitation – one to me.

  A bracelet, I found, clasped with gold, and made with braided shining

  hair. Neferet’s hair, now that she had dropped her hair to man’s length.

  ‘Thank you.’ Bereft of words, I could say nothing else.

  Neferet, or Jahar, gave me a look with humour in the depths of it, and

  murmured, ‘Think of it as a wedding gift . . . ’

  I stumbled though Leon’s formal farewells, and watched as Rekhmire’

  limped forward on his crutch to give last departing words to both

  apparent men, all the while my thumb caressing the braided bracelet,

  and the damp fog pearling on my velvet over-gown.

  I turned and went back into the embassy.

  A few moments later, Rekhmire’ stamped back inside – as well as a

  man walking with a crutch may stamp – blowing on his fingers against

  the damp cold, and swearing.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘—Holy dung that hatched the cosmos-egg!’ he concluded. ‘Damn

  that woman!’

  42

  Having seen the boat depart, and Rekhmire’’s salute to it, I’d thought

  all well.

  ‘She still won’t tell me where Herr Mainz is!’ He made a fist, his face

  scarlet. ‘Nor will Master Alberti. And they wait until now to tell me this!’

  ‘Why won’t they?’

  ‘Some nonsense that the Florentine Duke will demand Herr Mainz, if

  he appears openly in Venice, and that at the moment, La Serenissima

  would probably keep Florence quiet by handing the man over. If they

  don’t imprison him on their own behalf, and try to beat the secret of this

  printing- machina out of him!’

  I shrugged, following the Egyptian towards the kitchens. ‘If I were

  Herr Mainz, I’d certainly want to stay out of sight.’

  ‘Sacred Eight, I want to help the man!’ The padded end of the crutch

  thwacked the short, wide floorboards. ‘Ty-ameny needs him; I want to

  invite him to Alexandria—’

  ‘—Which, until the weather’s better, is inaccessible by road, and no

  ship will risk these seas. So he can’t leave Venice.’

  ‘Sun god’s egg!’

  ‘You would have said precisely the same thing, if you were in Neferet’s

  place.’

  While true, it was not tactful; I was not in the least surprised when he

  stomped away towards the stairs, muttering under his breath. ‘I could

  have hidden him here! Sent him to Edirne with the Turk! Something! ’

  I heard him calling for fresh ink as he vanished into his room, and

  guessed he intended a ciphered message to follow Neferet, and say this

  and more.

  I reflected: If I were her, I’d make sure to drop the paper in a canal –

  or in the Arno, if it reaches her in Florence.

  Florence, I belated realised.

  My wife and my husband will end up living within the walls of the

  same city.

  The man-at-arms Berenguer grinned at me, the following morning.

  ‘Get your cloak, Mistress Ilario. You’re being abducted.’

  43

  7

  It said something for the state of mind to which constant threat had

  reduced me that I wore a dagger on my belt about the house – though the

  dress’s hanging sleeves might have made drawing it quickly impractical.

  One look at Berenguer convinced me I had no need.

  ‘Abducted?’

  ‘Sold,’ he corrected himself, picking my winter cloak up from where it

  lay across the back of the wooden settle. He held it up, as a gentleman does for a lady. ‘Betrayed by the faithless mercenaries employed by the

  foreign captain Lord Honorius . . . ’

  Berenguer might not have liked a hermaphrodite when he met me in

  Rome. He might from time to time still give me wary looks when the two

  of us chanced to be in a room alone together, as if I might leap on him,

  and seduce and rape him simultaneously. But as for not trusting him to be faithful to my father . . .

  I walked across the room to stand with my back to the black-haired

  man-at-arms, letting him settle the woollen cloak around my shoulders.

  ‘Who’s buying me?’ I inquired.

  Berenguer somewhat automatically tied my cloak-ties for me and then

  stood back a little awkwardly and permitted me to raise the silk-lined and

  fur-trimmed hood myself. His sharp glance assessed me.

  ‘The weasel-lord,’ he announced. �
�What’s-name? The one with the

  horse-faced wife.’

  ‘Federico. That’s my foster father you’re insulting,’ I added, settling

  the folds of the green cloak about me. ‘Accurately, I may say. Although

  Valdamerca has her charitable moments.’

  Berenguer chuckled, at least partly with relief that his lord’s son-

  daughter hadn’t chosen to take offence when treated like a woman and

  spoken to like a man.

  ‘Her husband’s about to be very charitable!’ He held the room door open for me, hand on the hilt of his bastard sword. ‘Do you think you

  could look frightened for us?’

  ‘Us’, it transpired, were fifteen of my father’s soldiers – Attila and

  Tottola without smiles, and therefore at their most intimidating; every

  man else in brigandine or breastplate, with swords or maces; even

  Saverico with his polished sallet under his arm, a red and gold silk sash

  tied from shoulder to waist.

  44

  A tall, thin soldier with his cloak hood raised proved, on lifting the

  edge of it, to be Honorius.

  ‘Help,’ I observed gravely. ‘Oh, oh, I am being stolen away! Will

  nobody help a poor defenceless—’

  ‘“Defenceless”’, my backside!’ Honorius brushed his knuckles against

  my cheek with open affection. ‘I told Berenguer when he brought me this

  story – if we just take the money and hand you over, not only will we be

  rich, I’ll have some peace and quiet!’

  Under the cover of general amusement, and donning of cloaks over

  armour, intended to disguise the immediate passage of armed mercen-

  aries through Venice’s alleys, I asked Honorius, ‘What in Christ-the-

  Emperor’s name does he think he’s doing!’

  ‘Lord Videric? Sending your foster father to buy off my soldiers. After

  all, they’re only common mercenaries.’

  Over the less-than-sincere thanks offered by his men at that point, I

  managed to amend my question. ‘Truly, I meant Federico.’

  ‘Being desperate! That’s what he’s doing.’ My father produced a short

  length of rope, wrapped it about my wrists in a false knot, and gave me

  the two ends to grip in my hands so that I looked sufficiently bound. ‘I

  spoke to the Egyptian about this. He suggests that, if messages and

  travellers are getting through from the Peninsula, Federico will have

  heard directly from Videric. I think he’s right. Whether or not Videric

  knows we disposed of Carrasco, he’s clearly told Federico to move his

  arse.’

  I nodded. ‘Something was going to happen, now. It’s inevitable.’

  The sky above me was the colour of lapis lazuli ashes. The warm air

  shifted, bringing me the scents of cooking, canal water, and the lagoon.

  However cold it may still be, and how wet, the world is beginning to

  move again. If long sea voyages are still unsafe, there are the coastal

  routes. And some of the better-maintained roads, the Via Augusta

  included, will be open.

  ‘Is Rekhmire’ coming to make sure I’m properly sold?’

  Honorius shook his head. ‘He’d be recognised. I’ve requested him to

  stay here with the rest of the guard, and protect my granddaughter.’

  I ignored a stab of disappointment. Because, injured leg or no, I will

  trust Rekhmire’’s determination to protect Onorata above most men’s.

  ‘Videric will send more men to kill me,’ I observed as we walked across

  the Campo S. Barnaba. ‘True, the more men he hires, the more gossip,

  the more danger people will hear what he’s doing – but I think he’ll be willing to risk that, now.’

  ‘Bandits. Pirates. Thugs.’ Honorius grunted. He pulled the front of his

  hood forward. Dressed as a plain soldier, there was nothing to mark him

  out from the other cloaked mercenaries. ‘Knew I should have brought

  more than three lances . . . ’

  45

  ‘We’re worth six!’ Saverico grinned. Tottola slapped him on the

  shoulder, which all but sent the slight ensign staggering.

  I expected a boat to be waiting, but we instead walked on into the mass

  of lanes and small squares, until we had left the Dorsodura quarter, and

  finally approached the Grand Canal. We emerged on the edge of that

  wide thoroughfare at the foot of the Rialto Bridge.

  Berenguer glanced at Honorius for permission, and fell in beside me as

  we walked in under the wooden roof that capped the bridge.

  ‘We’ve arranged a public place for the exchange.’ Berenguer’s grin

  showed two teeth missing, far back on the left side. ‘Less chance of

  anybody cheating . . . ’

  The sides of the bridge were also walled with solid planks, but no man

  could see that except from the outside. Inside, too many shop-booths

  blocked the line of sight; goods piled up clear to the bridge’s roof. We picked a way up the wide stone steps, between merchants and gossiping

  servants; groups of men purchasing goods or changing money; woman

  accompanied by male relatives or armed servants.

  I shook my head, amazed. ‘Federico approached you directly?’

  Berenguer gave that kind of shrug that invites discrete admiration.

  ‘Sent one of his servants. But I’d seen the man at that palazzo, when you

  went after the secretary. Told him I wouldn’t talk to anybody but his

  master.’

  ‘And Federico agreed?’

  If that’s the case, Honorius will not be so far from the mark if he

  describes my foster father as desperate.

  ‘Yeah. Next time, sure enough, there’s Lord Weasel – beg pardon,

  Lord Federico – muffled up to the eyes, and telling me that he knows

  we’re mercenaries, we’re for hire, and he can offer us a better contract

  than Captain-General Honorius—’ Berenguer put up his hand, as if to

  say you’ve heard nothing! , and added, ‘His first offer is, every man who comes in on this can get a place in Lord Carmagnola’s Venetian army,

  and have a share of the plunder of Milan, along with Lord Weasel’s hefty

  bribe—’

  Attila stepped up on Berenguer’s other side, towering a full head

  above us. He had braided his beard, but left his mane of hair loose; any

  man could believe him an eater of babies and easily hired murderer. He

  snorted. ‘The General and Lord Carmagnola fought together, up north,

  so he’d have our arses skinned if we even thought about this!’

  Berenguer grinned. ‘Lord Weasel thinks we’re too dumb to know that.

  So I ask: what will Lord Federico pay in cold cash? And he says: every

  man can have a safeguarded voyage to the mainland, a saddlebag of

  gold, and a horse to ride away on. All we have to do is bring him the General’s son-daughter, so she can be put away in a convent, safe and

  sound!’

  Ahead, at the top of the steps, I could see light. The open drawbridge

  46

  section of the Rialto, that is winched up to let tall-masted boats through

  on their way up the Canal Grande.

  ‘Kidnapped and put in a convent.’ I glanced at Honorius, but he had

  already fallen back into the crowd of armed men, indistinguishable as

  their captain. Tottola moved in on my flank, a mirror-image of Attila’s

  Germanic wildness.

  Berenguer gave me an apolo
getic glance and took hold of my elbow.

  ‘Lord Weasel, he sounded like he believed it. But if he’s your foster dad,

  he’d want to, wouldn’t he? This Lord back in Taraco, this Aldra

  Videric, he didn’t mind sending men to kill us. I don’t reckon you’d ever

  see the inside of any convent.’

  ‘No.’ My pulse jolted, chest feeling hollow. The muscles and tendons

  at the back of my knees pulled, walking up the steps, after so long

  recovering from Physician Baris¸’s surgery.

  Berenguer scanned the crowds blocking the steps. ‘Anyhow, I told

  Lord Weasel as how he’d have to give us gold. And a ship to get off this

  island. He bargained a bit, but he agreed. Normally, I’d reckon he’d tell

  the Doge we stole his money and have us taken up and hanged for theft,

  but he can’t risk us talking. Not that it matters . . . ’

  The crowds became no thinner at the high arch of the Rialto Bridge. I

  found myself in the midst of cloaked men who might be conspicuous in

  their number. But then, Federico will have brought household men-at-arms, too . . .

  Looking above the heads of the Venetians, I saw a mast and sails

  gliding past.

  The creak of the winch and clatter of chains indicated the drawbridge

  was being wound down into place again.

  ‘Deal is, half the gold when we hand you over; half when we reach the

  mainland.’ Berenguer surveyed me, head to foot. ‘Could you maybe look

  frightened now?’

  I have over a dozen armed soldiers around me, and my father.

  ‘No.’ I shrugged. ‘It would look unconvincing. He’d see that. I can

  manage “sullen”.’

  Berenguer’s hand went up, tilting his sallet’s visor to shield his eyes

  against the spring sun. ‘We don’t want him to run before we get the

  money . . . He’s here!’

  Gathered in the small open space between the sheltered Rialto and the

  drawbridge itself, we were not quite enough to block the general way. I

  saw Federico instantly, his white face visible under a brown felt hat as he

  approached from the Rialto’s other side.

  One man in his livery colours walked behind him, a middling-sized

  iron-bound chest clasped in both arms.

  I bit my lip, preventing myself with difficulty from pointing this out to

  Berenguer or Tottola. They see it too – and they are besides supposed to have betrayed you!