Ilario, the Stone Golem

by Mary Gentle

scream.

  At these moments, I look around for someone to hand her back to.

  Honorius only smiled at me.

  I freed one hand to take the tiny shuttered portrait, slipped it inside my

  robe, and mouthed emphatically to Marcomir over Onorata’s open-

  mouthed yelling. ‘Remember, she’s your daughter! You can always see

  her, when it’s possible—’

  ‘I’m sorry we sold you!’ he blurted out. ‘Can you forgive me, like you

  have the assassin?’

  Onorata chose that moment to hiccup and draw breath, producing as

  absolute a silence as could be wished.

  Marcomir’s face turned as hot as mine felt.

  ‘Things could have turned out worse,’ I muttered – caught Honorius’s

  eye, and grinned. ‘Much worse!’

  Marcomir smiled openly.

  His black pupils dilated in the lamp-light. I felt myself shiver, skin

  prickling. Not difficult at all to remember, now, how arousal sparked

  between us.

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  Donata, muttering, stopped in front of Honorius, and threw her hands

  up with a sharp exclamation.

  ‘We’ll send you something!’ she announced.

  Honorius bemusedly looked down at the poorly-dressed elderly

  woman. ‘“Send” . . . ’

  ‘Every month or so. We can scrape a few ducats together. I know—’

  She cut him off. ‘That you don’t need it. I know that.’

  Orazi and Ramiro Carrasco exchanged an inaudible word. Honorius

  nodded.

  I ignored the yammering in my mind that said, They’re too poor, she’s too old, it’s hardly fair – and it certainly won’t be honest—

  There are times to keep silent.

  Donata sniffed, looking pointedly at Honorius. ‘The brat doesn’t have

  just one grandparent.’

  Marcomir’s daughter began to scream in the way that I knew from

  experience she would be happy to keep up for hours.

  Donata reached down, picked her off my lap with astonishing

  dexterity, and put Onorata face-down over her skinny hip.

  The crying cut off. Onorata hiccuped in surprise.

  Donata shifted her weight, just enough to keep a rhythm.

  My child began to giggle.

  After a few moments, the old woman brought Onorata upright again,

  her strong skinny hand at the back of the baby’s head. Donata sat

  Onorata straddling the same hip. She pursed her lips.

  ‘You need a nurse!’

  I was too busy staring at my Judas of a child, along with the others in

  the room. ‘What?’

  Donata seemed entirely unconcerned to be asking awkward questions.

  ‘How in Tanit’s name will you raise her?’

  The room fell silent.

  I had not planned to open this subject with Honorius yet.

  The Captain-General’s gaze pinned me.

  ‘My problem . . . ’ I reached out for Onorata’s hand. ‘ . . . Is that I’m in

  exile from Taraco. I don’t want to bring her up like a gypsy.’

  The hawk-faced woman nodded. ‘Oh, you can take ’em anywhere

  when they’re this size, if they’re not weaklings. But when they walk and

  talk, that’s different!’

  Rekhmire’ leaned forward, his tenor voice cutting through the noise.

  ‘There is Alexandria. Constantinople. I know Queen Ty-ameny would

  stand as godmother to the child.’

  Marcomir’s eyes widened.

  ‘And she might also,’ Rekhmire’ concluded, ‘be able to offer you

  employment as a scribe.’

  Donata interrupted before I could say a word, her hands clasping

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  protectively around Onorata. ‘If the child’s in Constantinople, we’ll

  never see it!’

  Honorius growled, ‘Neither will I!’

  Marcomir’s head turned as if he watched a tourney.

  Nothing showed him concerned about the outcome. He has no fatherly feeling for her, I realised.

  Donata thrust Onorata at me, her hands cutting sharp chopping

  gestures in the air as she harangued Honorius.

  Donata has turned into a grandmother . . .

  ‘I will be away for short times on diplomatic missions!’ Honorius’s

  battle-loud voice drowned her out. ‘But otherwise on my estate, where

  Ilario has a home always – and I can raise Onorata!’

  Marcomir shook beside me. He was laughing, I realised.

  ‘The old guy’s men-at-arms can have bets about whether she’ll grow

  up girl or boy!’ he snickered.

  Donata made a long arm and thwacked her son’s ear; Berenguer (it

  surprised me to note) ambled across the room and loomed threateningly

  over Marcomir.

  I met Honorius’s gaze.

  ‘I would have suggested this later,’ I said, ‘but it might be better for Onorata if you formally adopted her.’

  The room went quiet. Honorius seemed to be waiting.

  I said, ‘All the while my name is attached to her, people will be waiting

  for her to grow up a monster.’

  Honorius looked thoughtful.

  ‘If I do,’ he said after a moment, ‘no one in our family will ever lie to

  her about her mother-father. She’s my grandchild: she’ll need in any case

  to know what political secrets are. But within the boundaries of my

  estate, she would be your child, and my grandchild.’

  I could not speak.

  ‘In any case,’ Honorius’s face took on an intent look, ‘this all depends

  on what you intend to do when you leave Carthage, Ilario.’

  Rekhmire’ glanced at me; so did the Carthaginian mother and son;

  Carrasco and Berenguer and Orazi stared with varying degrees of

  curiosity and concern.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And – I don’t know.’

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  14

  In the end there is no choice, I thought.

  Even if she believes I abandon her.

  Sunlight slid across the cabin floor as the war-junk tacked across the

  Gulf of Gades. I sat with neither charcoal nor paper, imprinting

  Onorata’s face onto my memory.

  Honorius will travel up the Via Augusta to Taraco, after he has

  completed the King’s business in Gades, and take Onorata with him.

  She’ll be as safe as life allows on his estates. And I will visit, secretly, even

  before King Rodrigo lifts what is, to all intents, my exile.

  But Honorius will see her take her first step. And she will call for ’Miro before she calls for me.

  The salt wind and bright sun made my reddened eyes sore.

  Rekhmire’ glanced up from where he was seated on one of the great

  hatch-covers. The shadows of sails and masts fell across his face. ‘Are

  you well?’

  The polished wood felt hot under my bare legs as I sat down beside

  the Egyptian.

  ‘If it was the wrong decision, I wouldn’t be able to weep for an hour

  and get it out of my system.’

  He gave me a dubious look.

  ‘Taking a baby on roads and ships and who-knows-where.’ I shrugged,

  squinting up at the web of ropes against the sky. ‘She’s been so lucky.

  Not to die.’

  In peripheral vision, I saw him nod.

  I followed the lines of taut rope up to a clear sky, seeing blue shadows

  in the hollow of white sails, and the tapering lines of masts.

  Bare feet pounded past, Zheng He’s crew leaping for the rigging and

  swarming up. I
tilted my head back, watching them jump, climb; agile

  and sure; taking in sails and letting others spring free . . .

  The hatch-cover hit me squarely between the shoulder -blades.

  I looked up at Rekhmire’.

  ‘Perspective. Sometimes it’s no man’s friend.’

  Rekhmire’ wordlessly held out a hand, I interlocked fingers, and the

  world swooped around me as I came swiftly upright.

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  The Egyptian went back to massaging at his knee, where he had it in

  the sun.

  The sun glittered a trail of fire and sparks off the long rolling waves.

  Zheng He’s ship cut aloof through a swell that would have sunk a smaller

  ship. We will make Gades itself before Sext.

  I took Marcomir’s fragment of painted wood out of my belt-purse.

  ‘Look at this.’

  The Egyptian sat back, taking it carefully into his hands. ‘That is not

  done by the encaustic wax technique?’

  ‘No, but it must be close to it. It’s not egg tempera.’

  Chin’s ink-drawing fascinated me, in the way that Alexandria’s

  architecture did. But they are both a dead end, in the face of this. I pointed.

  Where the scrap of canvas had been glued onto the wooden background,

  much of the paintwork was spoiled. What was left was still enough to

  take my breath away, as unbelievable as the first time I saw it in

  Marcomir’s hands.

  ‘I think it’s done by pigment and oil . . . ’

  The white face of a girl, or perhaps a male saint, the eyelids modelled

  subtly to make the downward gaze natural. Most of the hair and neck

  were gone. There was still a fraction of green cloth at the shoulder, the

  depths of the folds apple-coloured.

  The highlights were the colour of new spring leaves.

  And the graduation of colour between them . . .

  I didn’t dare touch a finger to it, ruined as it was. ‘It’s blended. See how seamlessly that’s done? Those shadows aren’t muddy; they’re not

  coloured pigments mixed with black! It’s . . . transparent colour. Done

  on a prepared white canvas, and with so many glazes . . . I’ve seen linseed

  oils used with pigments before, but not to give effects like this!’

  Rekhmire’ tilted the wooden shutters. ‘It resembles gold more than

  gold leaf does!’

  ‘One of the things Leon wrote – gold leaf will shine back dark and flat.

  A skilled paint should be able to mimic all the effects of light. Better painted gold than gold leaf painted on.’

  The Egyptian slowly nodded. ‘Where did Master Marcomir acquire

  it?’

  It had been an awkward conversation, as it always is when one accuses

  a man of theft.

  ‘As far as I can make out, they had a court painter staying over from

  Duke Philip’s lands in Burgundy – the Duke sent him out to paint

  possible brides, but he sailed to Carthage to see the light under the

  Penitence. As for what part of the Burgundian lands . . . ’ I shrugged.

  ‘Ty-ameny would be happy to get reports from Bruges,’ Rekhmire’

  observed, as if the matter were of no great interest to him.

  He added, ‘Burgundy is becoming one of the richest kingdoms of the

  Franks, and therefore likely to have a greater influence as times goes on.’

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  I found myself in a mood for taking no prisoners. ‘Rekhmire’ – can

  you still spy with your knee permanently injured?’

  He did not look at me, but gazed down at the backs of his hands,

  spreading the fingers as wide as tendons will allow. ‘You know the

  strangest thing? It makes me feel less than a man. Which, from a

  eunuch . . . ’

  His snort of amusement sounded bitter.

  I persisted. ‘But you can still work for Ty-ameny?’

  He looked puzzled. ‘Oh yes.’

  I turned the wooden fragment about in my hands. ‘The idea of staying

  seven years in one place, even in a workshop . . . Do you know, I think I

  begin to understand why you like travelling around? But could I paint

  something like this without masters teaching me their secrets? Which

  they won’t, if I’m not an apprentice.’

  Rekhmire’ took my wrist and turned the painted surface to the light.

  ‘There might be treatises like Leon Battista’s. You learned from that.’

  ‘That’s true. But . . . ’

  Feet scurried on the deck. I glanced up to see Ramiro Carrasco duck

  past in something between fear and respect on his way to the cabins.

  He barely looked at me. All his wariness was for Rekhmire’.

  I don’t believe the book-buyer would take up beating him!

  In a tone of controlled sarcasm, Rekhmire’ remarked, ‘Suppose you

  travel as one of the Queen’s book-buyers, while Captain Honorius brings

  up Onorata – you won’t be able to take your pet slave with you if he’s back in Taraco changing nappies.’

  The Egyptian added something under his breath that a creak of masts

  and sails prevented me hearing clearly.

  I thought it was, Or do you think he’ll give you brats as well?

  I covered the image carefully, closing the wooden flap down, and put

  it back into my purse.

  ‘Rekhmire’—’

  Tread carefully, I reminded myself.

  No man is at his best in pain, and Carthage’s Bursa-hill had not been

  kind to the Egyptian’s body.

  ‘If I do take Carrasco, it will be to keep him safe from Videric. But I do

  think it would be better if he could live on Honorius’s estate – assuming

  he wants to. Onorata could still see him, then.’

  Rekhmire’ snorted. ‘Don’t know why you don’t marry the damn

  prick!’

  My temper went wherever tempers go.

  ‘Because, like so many people, it never appears to have occurred to him to ask me!’

  Some of Jian’s crewmen jumped back, making a wide berth around the

  hatch-cover. Rekhmire’ sat upright, fingers motionless on his knee,

  staring at me with a wide-eyed shock.

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  He dropped his gaze and muttered sullenly, ‘It was the first thing I

  asked you – if you wanted a slave-contract to include bed.’

  I would have said something, anything! , had I control of my wits or my

  mouth.

  Evidently I had neither.

  I stared at him.

  Rekhmire’ returned to gazing at the backs of his hands. ‘You weren’t

  interested. As you told me.’

  ‘Not then. I thought it would be two freaks together because they had

  no other choice—’

  He interrupted, his voice a squeak. ‘“Not then”?’

  ‘Ah—’

  My turn to look away. I stared over the rail at the approaching coast of

  Gades.

  ‘Then again, I’ve been married twice this year . . . ’

  ‘“Not then” ! ’ Rekhmire’ all but bellowed. ‘What do you mean, “not then”? When did it change? Did it change? Why didn’t you tell me!’

  He glared at me, surprisingly ruffled and breathless for such a large

  man.

  I said, ‘If I can put up with you when you’re sick in bed in Venice, I’ve

  probably seen all your worse qualities . . . ’

  Rekhmire’ looked thoroughly overthrown. ‘That discouraged you.’

  ‘I wasn’t even thinking, at that time—!’ I shook my head. ‘I’m just saying. Yo
u with a bad temper because you’re in pain. Nothing of it’s a

  surprise.’

  Rekhmire’ lurched up, manhandling himself off the hatch-cover and

  striding to the port rail. He stared out at white spray. I watched the line

  of his back.

  Without turning round, Rekhmire’ said, ‘The difference is that now I

  have to prove to Ty-ameny that I can do my job.’

  I was appalled. ‘She’d dismiss you over this?’

  He laughed, turning to face me, showing me a broad smile. ‘Sacred

  Eight, no! But if she thinks I’m having problems, she’ll have me back in

  Alexandria at a bureaucrat’s desk, before you can say “Royal Library”!

  She wants me safe. She’d make everything as comfortable for me as she

  could. But I . . . ’

  ‘Want to be here, doing this,’ I completed.

  I sat up, cross-legged; shifted again; and got up to walk to the rail

  beside him. For all the distraction, I couldn’t bite back the remaining

  words in my mind.

  ‘Yes, I’d noticed how close you and Ty-ameny are! She does know

  what you’re like after a month in one place?’

  His eyes slitted. A little defensively, he said, ‘She’s like a sister. And furthermore, I would be perfectly capable of working at home in the city!’

  ‘Hope she doesn’t mind her crockery thrown at people’s heads . . . ’

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  The Egyptian narrowed his eyes still further at me. ‘Pot. Kettle. Black!’

  I would not have laughed if I could have prevented it. Unfortunately,

  that and his expression reduced me to breathlessness.

  ‘In any case,’ he said, a while after my recovery, ‘when I say I can offer

  you Ty-ameny’s patronage as a cousin – you may not be aware,

  precisely, of what it would involve for you.’

  He put a stress on the last word that stopped me telling him, Yes, I understood the book-buyers’ trade thank you very much.

  ‘I mean it would be offered in respect of your particular talents. As

  with the Admiral’s ship at Alexandria harbour.’

  Slowly, I said, ‘You mean Queen Ty-ameny is offering me the chance

  to . . . go somewhere and draw things?’

  ‘And paint them.’ Rekhmire’ raised a brow. ‘Many places.’

  ‘And be paid for this.’

  ‘It is a very modest amount of money—’

  ‘ Sign me up! ’ I bounced on the deck, feeling all of fourteen. ‘That’s just what I want to do!’