by Mary Gentle
The Egyptian smiled. Not as brightly as I had expected. I caught a
glimpse of something bitter-sweet in his expression.
I paused.
‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘before I go wandering around on my own, I’d need
some training?’
Rekhmire’ looked at me.
‘A mentor?’ I said. ‘Someone more experienced? Someone who, for
example, has been doing this for a long—’
‘YES! I’ll do it!’
I grinned up at the panting book-buyer.
‘Did I say I was going to ask you? Maybe I should ask Ty-ameny to
decide who she’d recommend—’
He had been reduced to speechlessness, I saw.
‘—since she threatened to pull my intestines out of my body,’ I added,
‘if I ever did anything to hurt you.’
Rekhmire’ stared at me.
‘What?’
‘When we were in the Library one time—’
‘The – interfering little brat! ’
He was too far away, I decided. I took the few steps that crossed the
distance between us, on uncertain legs, and stood at the rail by his side.
‘Actually . . . ’ I surveyed the Gulf of Gades. ‘It was Ty-ameny who
made me realise that I’d miss you, if you went off somewhere else.’
‘You would?’
Frightened as I was, I heard myself sound very definite. ‘Yes, I would.’
‘Oh.’ He sat back. ‘Good.’
‘Rekhmire’—’
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‘Good. I suppose that in that case I can stop worrying that you’re
going to notice I’ve been following you around for a year now!’
All the crew for fifteen feet around briefly turned to stare at the mad
barbarian. Rekhmire’ gasped in a breath.
I watched his broad chest move.
‘Really?’ I said. ‘All year?’
‘I don’t know what gave Ty-ameny the idea that you’re in any way
intelligent!’
‘No, nor do I.’
I gave way to a temptation of long standing, and leaned my shoulder
up against his. His skin felt heated, soft. Prickling, like silk rubbed over amber.
He didn’t move away.
I shifted, pushing my way into the gap between his arm and his ribs.
Rekhmire’ beamed and put his arm around me.
‘Ilario!’
The voice spoke behind me without giving me any warning so I might
move. I turned my head, looked down the deck, and found myself
staring directly at Honorius.
Rekhmire’ did not so much as twitch beside me – because, I realised
from peripheral vision, he appeared to be in a blind panic.
Honorius let out an explosive sigh.
‘Oh, thank God! It’s about damn time!’
I managed to turn my head back and look up at Rekhmire’.
He gazed down at me, lips moving a little, as if he would have formed
words if he could.
The Captain-General of Taraconensis snorted and turned his back,
stalking away down the deck of the war-junk.
His mutter was perfectly audible.
‘ . . . Been expecting this since Rome . . . !’
We looked at each other.
Rekhmire’ gave me his gravest expression. ‘I suppose we’d better not
disappoint him.’
I was too weak for laughter. I leaned against the warmth of his bare
chest. He was not so much taller than I, and he smelled wonderful. ‘Only
if it’s what you want. You know what I am.’
‘You know what I am. Some things are less – urgent for me than for other men.’ He moved his other arm, to enclose me, and I felt the weight
as he leaned his smooth cheek against my temple. ‘I can’t give you
children, either. But I can cherish the one you have.’
As long as we have her, I thought, melancholy in the midst of this happiness. What is valuable is always fragile.
The sea rocked us as we sat together on the hatch-cover, playing the
game that lovers play of ‘when did you first notice?’, ‘when did you first
feel . . . ?’.
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It was a long time before I moved, and then it was to get up and go to
the ship’s rail. I shaded my eyes as the war-junk opened the harbour of
Gades.
‘Something isn’t right.’
Rekhmire’ shoved himself to his feet and thumped across the deck to
stand beside me.
The myriad other war-junks of Zheng He’s fleet kept station astern
across the Gulf of Gades – impossibly large under the brilliant sun;
impossibly and spikily graceful.
At least a dozen European and North African ships out of Carthage
were, out of apparent sheer curiosity, attempting to keep up with us.
Frankish cogs, Venetian galleys . . . The wooden rail jammed hard under
my ribs as I leaned out, looking toward our stern.
A cog flying the colours of Genoa tacked across the war-junk’s wake,
bowsprit jutting high out of the blue-grey waves – just as high as the top
of our rudder. Their deck was a cliff’s depth below me.
Sounding unusually confused, Rekhmire’ murmured, ‘What ought I to
see?’
I pointed at the departing Genoese ship – and the other vessels sailing
towards us from the entrance to the harbour.
‘ That isn’t right,’ I protested. ‘It doesn’t matter if they’ve heard rumours. This is Zheng He’s giant devil-ship in the flesh – and his fleet!
Why isn’t Gades in a panic?’
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15
‘There’s the answer.’ I balanced uneasily, a knee on the boat’s prow, and
studied the quay of Gades ahead.
Under the banners, a group of men stood, evidently waiting to greet
the Captain-General of Taraconensis. The tall man in Carthaginian
robes would be the Governor. Beside him . . .
‘That’s Safrac de Aguilar.’ I sat back beside Honorius, avoiding falling
by a fraction. ‘The man beside him is Videric.’
A muscle clenched at the hinge of Honorius’s jaw.
‘Is it so?’
He spent a moment adjusting his heavy sea-cloak over his demi-gown.
With his temper bridled, he added, ‘The King told me to return by way
of Gades, and as a courtesy inform the Governor that the Admiral’s
ships have no ill intentions towards him – being our allies.’
The same method of wiping one’s enemy’s face in it as Rodrigo
Sanguerra had ordered for Carthage, evidently.
‘Therefore,’ Honorius gritted, ‘I should very much like to know what
Pirro Videric is doing here!’
Wind caught the banners, rolling them out on the wind. I recognised
the Sanguerra colours, as well as Videric’s personal banner.
‘The King trusts de Aguilar, for what that’s worth.’
Honorius set his jaw and didn’t speak.
I clung to the boat’s side, wishing I might talk to Rekhmire’ – who
travelled with the other men in the second boat. Neither Honorius nor
Orazi were willing to speculate. I concentrated, impatiently, on reaching
the quay, and on not being sick.
Videric stepped forward out of the crowd as soon as Honorius finished
his formal greetings to the Governor of Gades.
‘King Rodrigo was uncertain when you’d complete your business in
Carthage. Whether it would be done before the Pharaoh-Queen’s
subjects would be put a
shore at Gades.’ Videric smiled, his fair hair and
open expression making him appear very guileless. ‘The King sent me
here in case you should miss the day.’
Of all the odd things I have seen in the last twelve months, my
stepfather Videric walking amiably beside my natural father Honorius,
towards the Governor of Gades’ palace, must be the most remarkable of
all.
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*
‘I see where you get your glass-throwing habits from,’ the book-buyer
remarked.
I winced at a crash from the opulent chambers the Governor had
provided for Captain-General Honorius.
Tottola, idly leaning up against the archway, grinned and pulled the
curtain aside for me to pass through.
Honorius halted, halfway through pulling off the fur-trimmed demi-
gown, and fixed me with a glare. ‘ Your stepfather!’
He threw his boot at my head.
I caught it neatly, since there had been no real force behind it, and
returned it to him with a grin. ‘I’ve had masters who threw so much
harder and better than that . . . ’
It evidently defused the remains of his bad temper. He ruffled my hair,
reducing it to a haystack.
‘I wish you’d gone through none of that.’ He perked up. ‘But are you
sure you wouldn’t like to see your stepfather challenged to a duel? I’m
sure Rodrigo-damned-Sanguerra doesn’t need his First Minister that
badly . . . ’
‘Court politics.’ I shrugged. ‘Videric gets the glory of telling the Lord-
Amir here in charge of Gades that no, he needn’t worry, the devil-ships
are just passing allies of Taraconensis . . . ’
‘I had Carthage. I suppose I can forgive him stealing Gades out from
under me!’
Honorius’s buoyant mood returned too readily for a man who would
play court politics seriously. But then, I thought, he’d likely rather be back on his estate, waiting for his mares to foal.
‘And another damn banquet tonight,’ Honorius added, yanking at the
strings of his shirt. ‘I imagine I’ll stay several days. Ilario, have you decided where you’ll go from here?’
My face may have been a little hot as I glanced at the Egyptian. ‘We
haven’t had time to discuss it, really . . . ’
My father has very eloquent eyebrows, when he chooses.
I sighed. ‘I suppose I ought to stay out of the way of the banquet, since
you’re there. How I suffer . . . ’
‘How I suffer,’ Honorius snorted.
Voices at the arched doorway interrupted him. I turned, as he did, to
find the German man-at-arms escorting a well-dressed Iberian into the
Captain-General’s room.
The Lord Pirro Videric gave me a tight smile.
‘Lord Honorius. Ilario – I saw you at the dock. This may be unwise. I
know you are only exiled from Taraconensis. But would it not be wiser if
you left Iberia altogether?’
I was close enough to tread heavily on Honorius’s foot.
‘The First Minister is only looking out for King Rodrigo’s interests.’ I
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held Videric’s pale gaze. ‘And of course, he’s correct. Aldra Videric,
Gades is a seaport. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.’
Rekhmire’ made his excuses to leave the banquet early, and joined me in
my room while I ate what I had managed to talk the kitchen staff out of.
‘You eat better than I do.’ He picked an olive off my plate. ‘And your
temper has certainly improved.’
I ignored that provoking compliment. ‘I would have preferred to leave
Gades by land . . . The Via Augusta starts here. Or ends here.
Depending on your perspective.’
I doubted I could rely on Zheng He’s fleet to transport me, now
Sebekhotep and Rekhmire’ had come ashore. An attempt to bribe
Commander Jian with two charcoal studies, one of him in profile and
one full-face, had only resulted in him cheerfully remarking, ‘Keeps the
demons away!’ as he brandished the papers.
Or at least, I think he said that. My acquaintance with the languages of
Chin is still spotty.
Rekhmire’ took a seat at the window, gazing out over the city of
Gades. ‘The Via Augusta? You’d need no ship at all. You could walk all
the way back across Iberia to Taraco, to Marseilles, to Genoa, to
Italy . . . ’
I saved him a last olive on my dish. ‘What, am I not even allowed a
mule to ride?’
‘You have enough donkeys with you as it is.’
I couldn’t help a smile. ‘Oh, cruel!’
‘Perhaps I’m wrong.’ The Egyptian mimicked thought. ‘Lord Honor-
ius’s men are quick-witted, for soldiers. Perhaps it’s only the lawyer—’
The small weight of the olive made it very satisfactory to lob.
The Egyptian picked it up off the tiles, showing no inclination to eat it.
‘But truly,’ he said, as if it had been what we discussed. ‘You’ll let
Pirro Videric force your hand, and leave tomorrow?’
When I would have succumbed to temper, now I might cross the room
and press my fingers and palms against the large muscles of the
Egyptian’s neck. I found the touch of silk-warm skin both calmed and
aroused.
‘If I have to leave Honorius and Onorata, a quick farewell is at least
quick, and not long drawn out and painful.’
‘Then you need only decide where we are to go.’
‘I will. Not now.’ I looked up at the window, and the velvet moon. ‘I
think, since it seems I’ll see so little of Gades, I should take this
opportunity.’
Going out by way of the elegant marble entrance, we met up with
Honorius’s men, mingling with the governor’s off-duty guards, and with
Aldra Safrac de Aguilar.
The dark man’s long face metamorphosed to a smile. And since he
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claimed he knew Gades well, having been here before, I thought it wise
enough to let him show us its society.
I heard none of Aldra Videric’s secrets, nor anything useful to
Honorius, but I did discover the potency of the local wine.
The times when I have trusted any court far enough to get drunk are
remarkably few. My previous experience of hangovers in Taraco was
due to wine being forced on the King’s Freak for the amusement of
others.
Still, the buttery-hatch to the Governor’s kitchens stood open, and the
feeling of sitting in company in the Great Hall and dulling my morning
headache with small beer and oatmeal porridge was not unpleasant. I
found myself with elbows on the stained yellow linen of the trestle tables,
talking casually with those of Honorius’s men I knew less well.
Gades seems provincial, after Rome, Venice, Alexandria . . .
That evidence of my own snobbery made me chuckle out loud, and
bury myself in my mug of nettle beer while conversations went on
around me.
A hand fell on my shoulder. ‘Ilario!’
Momentarily lost in studying the walls – considering how much more
modern tapestries or even frescoes would look than the red-and-ochre
chevrons painted on the stonework – I almost overturned the trestle table
and bench as I pushed myself up and away.
>
‘Ilario, no!’ A man held up his hands. He wore a green demi-gown,
and had only a dagger at his belt. ‘No harm intended!’
‘Safrac.’ My grip on the leather and metal of my dagger’s hilt pressed
hard enough to turn skin white. It took me three tries to get the point back into the mouth of the scabbard, and sheathe the blade.
Safrac de Aguilar’s dark eyes smiled, the rest of his face returning to
customary melancholy. ‘I was warned how unwise it is to disturb you.
Forgive me: you don’t always look like a knight. But you’re late! Your
mother’s already left for the meeting.’
‘My mother?’
I would be shocked, were I not bewildered.
Rosamunda is here with Videric?
Picking up the leather mug of nettle beer and draining it covered how
a nervous shiver went through me, just at the mention of that woman. I
tried not to sound as bewildered as I felt. ‘What “meeting”? I don’t know
about any meeting!’
Safrac de Aguilar frowned. ‘A few moments ago? I met Aldra Videric,
and heard him bidding Aldro Rosamunda hurry, because “Ilario is there
already”.’
As a slave, I would continue to listen. Or ask apparently innocent
leading questions, until I knew what was happening. But I have my
freedom.
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I took hold of Safrac de Aguilar’s arm through the fine green velvet.
Rodrigo thinks this man honest and incorruptible. I hope he’s correct.
I lowered my voice below the level of general conversation in the hall.
‘Were you supposed to overhear this, Safrac? Or was it an accident?’
He gave me the thoughtful look of a man who’s been at court many
years.
‘I think, accidental. To be deliberate . . . It would have needed too
much luck. They could hardly know I’d hear that and then encounter
you now. You think he intends – what?’
‘If I could tell you that, I would.’ I found myself frowning. ‘Videric
never does anything without it being aimed at somebody.’
I see only two options here. And if it isn’t me—
‘ I certainly don’t know of any meeting,’ I said. ‘Did Aldro Rosamunda
seem to know? Or was it a surprise to her?’
Safrac de Aguilar’s brows dipped in concentration, a maze of lines
creasing his forehead.
‘She knew,’ he said finally, giving me a shrewd look. ‘Or I believe she