by Mary Gentle
‘The . . . statue. Golem. Did it go to Alexandria? Did anyone finish
painting it? Is it still in Rome?’
Honorius’s brows went down as if someone had pinched a thumb and
finger full of flesh over his nose. ‘Ilario, you will not go anywhere near that monstrosity!’
I had described Masaccio’s death; I could not make him feel or smell
what the reality had been like. Meeting Menmet-Ra’s gaze, I saw under
his self-possession, an identical fear to mine.
‘The gift of Carthage,’ the Egyptian ambassador emphasised slightly,
‘is in Alexandria, now. The painting of it remains unfinished. I escorted
the gift from Rome to Alexandria myself.’ He paused. ‘Not on the same
ship with it.’
I might have laughed if I had not been moved to shudder.
Rekhmire’ looked across and curtly signalled Carrasco to leave. I rose
and took the wine glasses around myself. Not that it will make a
difference to have Ramiro Carrasco hear anything – but I understand
why Rekhmire’ prefers his absence.
Lord Menmet-Ra nodded thanks and sipped at wine from a sea-blue
glass. He looked up.
‘I see you’re made free now.’
He thus neatly avoided using the terms freeman or freewoman to me.
‘In which case, I can now extend the request of the Pharaoh-Queen in
person, to you, that you come to Alexandria—’
‘No prodding!’
The words fell out of my mouth without my expecting it.
Rekhmire’ put his hand lightly over his eyes. Honorius grinned.
‘I mean,’ I managed, ‘that I have no wish to end with the doctors of
Alexandria examining me.’
Menmet-Ra smiled across at Rekhmire’ with the ease of long
friendship.
‘I’ve had too much of that kind of interest before,’ I said levelly. ‘Being
hermaphrodite.’
Menmet-Ra’s kohl-darkened brows went up. ‘Ah! No. Although I dare
say there are many of our scientists who would like to examine you. But
my business with you is not to do with that.’
My business with you.
The golem’s fingers a joint deep into Masaccio’s larynx as he and I
both tore with useless human hands at motionless stone.
No . . . I suppose that business was not going to be done with so easily.
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The large, fat Alexandrine put the tips of his fingers together. With all
the appearance of good humour, he said, ‘The Pharaoh-Queen Ty-
ameny has no hold over you, not being the slave of one of her people
now. Nonetheless, she requests, if you can, that you come to Alexandria,
and tell how it was that Masaccio died. There was no one but you and he
alive in that room with the stone engine when it killed him. If you could
bear witness . . . ’
He left an encouraging gap into which I could speak my agreement.
I looked at Rekhmire’.
The book-buyer shifted where he sat on the wooden settle. ‘Ilario, you
will understand that this “gift of Carthage” is partly an encumbrance,
partly a dare – and, I imagine, the Queen’s advisers are now afraid, partly
a trap.’
‘I understand.’ It was too much to resist. I moved to lean on the back
of the settle, and looked equably at Menmet-Ra. ‘I understand that
Carthage is giving this one of their golems to Alexandria because the
thing can be used as a weapon – even if it hasn’t yet – and the Lords-Amir are showing off. Daring you to discover how it walks and moves
and obeys. Because they’re convinced you won’t be able to.’
The skin around Menmet-Ra’s eyes crinkled. ‘Masaccio hired no
stupid apprentices, I note.’
It made me grin, until what occurred in Rome crashed down on me
again.
‘I’ll be frank.’ The Alexandrine ambassador glanced at Honorius.
‘Since Rekhmire’ reports you and your father trustworthy.’
Oh, does he?
The book-buyer was none too eager to meet my eye.
Menmet-Ra continued. ‘Any gift from Carthage to Alexandria is likely
to be a poisoned chalice – Lord Honorius, as a military man, you will
understand this.’
Honorius inclined his head in the Iberian fashion, said nothing, but
appeared to listen willingly enough.
‘It is a concealed threat. Yes, they show us this one of their weapons,
and leave us to guess at what else they might have devised. They show
they’re certain enough of no other man investigating the golem’s secrets
by giving us the gift of one. And the more our scientist-philosophers
baffle themselves examining this golem, the more powerful Carthage
grows in our minds . . . and the more fearful of them Alexandria is.’
Menmet-Ra looked up, addressing me directly.
‘After the events in Rome, I made my report from your eye-witness
statement. But it is still only my report. You were the one that saw.
There are those at home who would have the Pharaoh-Queen turn down
this “golem” – I think rightly so. Suppose it were to run amuck one day
in the courts of Alexandria? How many could it kill, before it was
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overwhelmed? And, most importantly, if it has hidden orders that send it
against Ty-ameny herself . . . ’
I opened my mouth to speak the obvious suggestion.
‘No.’ Rekhmire’ raised a brow at me. ‘The Pharaoh-Queen – all
worship to her ten thousand God-ancestors – is very nearly as stubborn
as you are. There is no chance of dropping the thing into Alexandria’s
harbour!’
Menmet-Ra gave Rekhmire’ a look I couldn’t identify. ‘The Pharaoh-
Queen, all praise to her ten thousand God-ancestors, does not desire to
look frightened in front of Carthage! Which if she refuses the gift, or
sends it away, or visibly incapacitates it, she will. But it is not safe to have near her.’
The truth would not greatly benefit me, but I spoke it all the same. ‘I
don’t know what else I can add to what I told you in Rome.’
‘Nevertheless. She very much desires to speak with you,’ Menmet-Ra
said. ‘As soon as you feel you might come to Alexandria-in-exile.’
‘Thank you,’ I got in, before Rekhmire’ or Honorius could speak. ‘But,
obviously, I’ll need to talk this over with my family.’
‘Of course.’ Menmet-Ra stirred himself, finishing his wine. ‘I shall
hope to speak to you again. Before I completely immerse myself in
opening this embassy for business.’
His smile was amiable, but the sensation was odd: to hear that what
has felt like my house belongs to this stranger.
Menmet-Ra added, ‘And on that subject – I should speak to Neferet.’
‘Ah.’ Rekhmire’ blinked, with the expression of an amiable lizard. ‘I
believe I also have matters I should discuss with you.’
Honorius spoke gracefully-extricating farewells, grabbed me firmly by
the elbow, and I followed his lead in leaving the room.
‘We’ll talk it over,’ Honorius muttered, ‘but not near my export glass!’
‘Sorry.’
He patted my shoulder, with a wry smile.
Glancing back as we mounted the stairs to his rooms, he added, ‘This
is no opportunity to miss – if Master Rekhmire’ ca
n persuade his
ambassador into it, you might make your way to Alexandria on one of
their warships. That would greatly ease my mind about your safety.’
I closed the shutters against the chill early evening, and plumped down
on a linen chest, wincing as my stitches twinged. ‘I imagine Rekhmire’
will be escorting Herr Gutenberg and his mechanical copyist on that
ship. Before the Doge decides he can search the embassy.’
‘Well, then. It never hurts to have a highly-placed man in court, to
introduce you to his sovereign.’
It took me a moment to realise that my father meant Rekhmire’.
But, yes, he is more than a book-buyer.
I watched Honorius put a taper to the oil lanterns. Swelling yellow
light limned his hair and cheekbone.
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‘Alexandria is half a world from Taraco,’ Honorius said thoughtfully.
His eyes were lucid in the soft shadows. ‘Outside Frankish territories,
too. The Pharaoh-Queen won’t need Videric’s influence or friendship,
even if he had any to give. And you’re intelligent enough to answer her
questions about that stone blasphemy and still avoid going into the same
room with it. Of all the places for you to be, while I return home . . . ’ He
smiled at me. ‘You may even learn something!’
‘I’ve seen Alexandrine art. It’s all toes-pointing-down. And chests
face-on and faces in profile. The New Art’s here, in the Italian cities!’
‘So are Videric’s informants,’ Honorius said dryly. ‘You know, I
wonder if my estates at Taraco ought not to have some Alexandrine
work, as well as Italian? I hear they make faıënce tiles, and amazing
enamel-work.’
I gave him a look. ‘What would you know about enamel work unless it
was on the pommel of your sword?’
Honorius grinned. ‘I can learn.’
He brought bread and cheese, and another bottle of his better wine,
and set them on a bench by us, reaching out for a braided-stem glass and
tilting it against the light.
‘I don’t like dragging a youngling all around the middle sea,’ he
observed, and shot me a keen glance. ‘Better she’s with you, though.’
I am by no means so sure.
‘And you need have no concern for money, or worry that you’ll find
yourself dependent on the book-buyer’s charity.’
In another mood, that would have made me bristle. ‘I’d sooner not be
dependent on any other source – but I doubt I can keep myself and
Onorata on encaustic wax funeral portraits in Alexandria!’
Honorius snorted. ‘I intend to leave you half the household men-at-
arms,’ he added.
‘We had this quarrel in Rome!’ I chewed at the dark gritty bread.
‘You’ll make me noticeable—’
‘That hardly matters now!’
‘—and you’ll rob yourself of men you need to have with you.’ I met his
pale eyes, and held his gaze. ‘If you go to Taraco with only a small
number of soldiers, Aldra Videric or Rodrigo Sanguerra will think the
best solution to the problem you pose is a quick death, or quietly
vanishing into one of the King’s prisons. You must know this!’
‘I want you to be safe! I should have bought you when you were still a
slave. You’d have been so much less trouble!’
‘I wouldn’t count on it!’ Rekhmire’’s voice came from the doorway. At
Honorius’s beckoning gesture, he took the armed chair nearest the
hearth.
Putting his crutches down, and allowing his forearms to rest along the
arms of the wooden chair, he for a moment resembled one of the
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Pharaoh-Kings of Old Alexandria, heir to a thousand generations of
history. The lantern-light made sculpture of his face.
With an entirely irreverent-to-history gleam in his eyes, he murmured,
‘I’ve given Pamiu much to think on, while he arranges this household to
his satisfaction! Ilario, are you inclined to risk another sea-voyage?’
‘To Constantinople?’ I shrugged. ‘I can tell your Queen Ty-ameny
what I saw. I doubt it will help. It will tell her nothing except that the golem . . . obeys orders. And I suspect they know that.’
‘You don’t know what her philosopher-scientists will discover from
what you saw.’ Rekhmire’ spoke in an eminently reasonable tone.
‘I still say I should go back to Taraco and have it out with Videric!’
Honorius made a growling noise beside me, and I found myself in
receipt of his ‘you-lower-than-dirt-new-recruit’ glare.
‘Alexandria is your best choice.’ Rekhmire’ spoke unusually abruptly.
‘If only as a shelter. A place to rest. To give you time to think, to plan,
to—’
‘—be prodded by every one of the Pharaoh-Queen’s philosophers
because they’ve never seen a true hermaphrodite before!’
Rekhmire’’s brows went up. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say never. You’re not
unique, you know.’
My temper was uncertain, but I managed to avoid that particular
inviting trap, and grin at the book-buyer. Which, although less satisfying
than throwing breakable objects, still pleased me greatly when I saw his
startled look.
More because I desired to bait him than by way of serious argument, I
said, ‘You should let me send word to Videric, and meet him, and settle
the matter.’
Rekhmire’ snapped like a bad-tempered mastiff. ‘Certainly, if you met,
it would settle the matter – with a freshly-dug grave! Ilario, come to
Alexandria.’
I grinned at him to let him know he’d been provoked. ‘Maybe I should
have left Venice with my husband.’
Honorius rested his chin on his sun-darkened fist. ‘If Madam Neferet
sees you in Master Leon’s company he’ll probably flay the skin off your
face before you reach the Arno!’
I found the reference to Neferet as he unexpectedly jolting.
Rekhmire’ drained his glass of the dark wine. ‘Neferet had sufficient
trouble before leaving Venice.’ He caught my puzzled look. ‘You heard
none of the gossip? I suppose not. It was widely said of your wedding
that Master Leon Battista had thrown Neferet over in favour of a “real
woman”.’
My father and I looked at each other for a long moment. He hit his
thigh with the flat of his hand several times, straining to breathe. I bit down hard on the root of my thumb, not knowing whether I desired to
laugh or cry.
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‘If they knew.’ I shook my head.
‘It would be additional danger,’ Honorius said mildly. ‘As if you
needed it! The longer you stay in Venice, the more likely it is some
rumour will be spread by the midwife or priest – although God He
knows we bribed them well enough! Or a story will come north that you
got married in Rome, and not to Messer Leon.’
Rekhmire’ repeated, ‘Come to Alexandria.’
Nothing but being contrary moved me to say, ‘Give me one good
reason why!’
He pushed himself to his feet. For all he stood like an Egyptian
monolith, I thought he seemed oddly uncertain.
‘I can protect you there.’
‘Oh, you can?’ I caught, out of t
he corner of my eye, a smile on
Honorius’s face. ‘Why can you protect me in Alexandria? Why would
you want to?’
Rekhmire’ looked surprisingly pained.
‘I think of you as a friend, not a master,’ I said hastily. ‘But shouldn’t
you be, I don’t know, off buying more scrolls?’ I gave him a slant look.
‘Or finding more mechanical copyists for the Pharaoh-Queen?’
Rekhmire’’s lips made a compressed line that spoke much of irritation,
to one who knows the man. His gaze, when it met mine, was in part
amused, and in part annoyed.
‘I do have to escort Master Mainz back to the city—’
For Egyptians, I think, there is only one city in all the world. Without
qualification, the words mean Alexandria-in-Exile.
‘—and it is the weather for sea travel.’
I wondered momentarily whether the voyage from Ostia Antica had
been dogged with sickness because I was with child. If not, I swear never to set foot off land again!
‘Come to Alexandria,’ Rekhmire’ repeated, as if he would go on
tirelessly repeating it like water wearing down granite. ‘I can protect you.’
I looked him in the eyes. ‘Why?’
Sounding momentarily confused, Rekhmire’ said, ‘What?’
‘Why can a book-buyer for the Royal Library protect me?’ I jerked a
thumb at Honorius. ‘I can understand it with the Captain-General here,
and his thugs in livery—’
‘Thanks!’ Honorius grinned, as I intended him to.
‘—but why do you say you can protect me?’
The monumental face smoothed out into complete immobility. It was
possible to read nothing from him. I might have painted that face, or
rendered it in marble, and no man could have got any clue as to his
thoughts.
The Egyptian wiped his hands down his linen kilt and looked up from
his chair.
‘This may come as a shock,’ he said sardonically, ‘but I have certain
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resources I can call on. Menmet-Ra will help with the voyage. You
would travel under a pass-port of the Pharaoh-Queen’s protection,
which I would provide.’
‘And you can do that because . . . ’
Rekhmire’ began to look cornered.
I folded my arms and gave him a recalcitrant stare.
‘Why should I trust you to get me – and my daughter – to Alexandria?
What makes a buyer of scrolls so capable of that?’