Ilario, the Stone Golem (23 page)

you’re woman or man!’

I thought it was Saverico who muttered ‘Nothing new there!’, but he

was smiling, and I let him escape without retribution.

Honorius would have taken us by way of the S. Marco quay for a

farewell, I knew, but the importance of my seeming anonymous argued a

less public rendezvous with the Alexandrine galley. Honorius and I

therefore parted in the bare garden of the Alexandria House, behind high

walls, with only just enough grey light to see each other’s faces.

‘Let me say goodbye to my grandchild.’ He took a whining Onorata

into his arms. ‘I’ll miss her first walking and speaking.’

‘Just as well, or her first words would be military curses!’

Honorius grinned like a boy. He pushed his ungloved hand into

Onorata’s tiny fingers. She shoved his thumb against her lips, making

gnawing motions, the crying forgotten.

‘I do wish,’ I observed, ‘that you might come as far as Alexandria and

keep doing that!’

‘She’s biddable enough with her grandfather.’ He smirked, sounding

very smug, and ended with a sigh. ‘If I trusted her in the borders of the

same kingdom as Pirro Videric, I’d ask to take her home with me. I’ve

raised no children from this age . . . Constantinople will be safer.’

Files of Alexandrine sailors and slaves moved past us, down to the

other boats, whose oarsmen began to spider them out into the canal. I

had a panicked urge to step back and leave the breathing, living child in

Honorius’s arms.

If I felt no rush of affection when I looked at her, I could still be taken

by surprise by the intensity of my desire to protect her.

The same fear that drove me to think of rockfalls, floods, butchering

free-company bandits, and thunderstorms, on the road to Taraco, and

made me fear that this was the last time I would see Honorius,

paradoxically argued that my daughter would be far safer with him than

with me.

‘I know nothing of children!’ I muttered, staring at her darkening blue

eyes. ‘I’m not even a proper mother.’

Honorius’s fingertip traced the amazing clarity of her skin, where he

must feel the faintest fuzz, and moved to the whorl of her ear. I had

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drawn that shell often enough (before permanent exhaustion overtook

me) to know every curve and kink of it. Sometimes I had drawn it by

candle-light, when I sat awake, filled with fear, watching her breathe and

praying I would not see her stop.

‘If I hadn’t seen before how soldiers are sentimental over children,’

Honorius observed sourly, ‘I’d wonder why I scarcely had a chance to

hold my own grandchild!’

That was so much hyperbole that I couldn’t help smiling.

Honorius continued, ‘As for Attila and Tottola, the further advantage

of those two is that they both have families at home. Young brothers,

cousins; maybe a bastard or two. Between them they can likely change

the babe’s shit-rag if you fall for sea-sickness on the voyage . . . ’

‘That’s good to hear. Although I was thinking of leaving the task for

Master Rekhmire’.’

My father looked across the bare earth to the Egyptian, where he stood

in close and rapid conversation with one of Menmet-Ra’s slaves. All

Rekhmire’’s weight leaned onto his stick, although unobtrusively enough

that only drawing it had let me know, through my fingers, how much he

relied on that support.

‘Can’t think of a man better suited,’ Honorius said urbanely. ‘I owe the

man too great a debt not to want to see him disconcerted from time to

time . . . ’

I grinned. Then, ‘Debt?’

‘He wrote to me to come to Carthage. He gave me you.’ Honorius

looked openly moved. ‘And he’s sworn that if, Christ the Emperor forbid

it, you should die while in the East, he’ll bring Onorata to me.’

That thought sobered me.

Most things that could be responsible for killing me would kill her too.

I did not say it.
Honorius
will
know
this
.

My father scowled reflexively in the book-buyer’s direction. ‘If he fails

to look after you both in Constantinople, I’ll show him the colour of his

own spleen!’

I wondered briefly what colour a spleen was, and whether Galen had

written anything on the subject. And realised that Honorius, if asked,

might give me an answer based on far more empirical observation.

I didn’t ask.

‘It’s time,’ I said.

Honorius put Onorata into my arms, and held us both in an embrace.

‘As soon as it’s safe to come to Taraco, I’ll send word.’ He reluctantly

released me. ‘Trust no one who doesn’t come with my authority. Any

messenger of mine will inquire of the progress of an altar panel to St

Stephen, and then correct to St Gaius if you query that.’

Wordless myself because of the constriction in my throat, I could only

nod.

‘And I want to see some drawings of your Gaius Judas,’ Honorius

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observed, as cheerfully as he could pretend to. ‘Give you something to

do when you’re lazing about in Constantinople.’

‘Lazing.’

‘Of course.’ He unbuttoned the purse at his belt, and took out a bag of

softer leather. ‘You should be able to trust my banker, but just in case.

These are all my rings. If you need money, sell them; it’s why I give them

to you. If you’re afraid of robbery, don’t hide them in the child’s cradle,

or your hair, or your cunny. It’s the first place any pirate or bandit will look.’

I felt my cheeks hot. ‘For a respectable military man, you know far too

much about how to steal!’

‘Used to taking precautions . . . ’ His amused tone dared me to doubt

it. ‘Most often from being robbed by the men I was commanding!’

The men in his livery grumbled mock-outrage.

‘There are three bracelets in here that look like cheap brass,’ Honorius

added. ‘Which they are, on the surface, but scratch below and you’ll find

solid gold. Wear those at all times. And as I said, you may use my name

for credit, whatever you need; you have letters to every banker I’ve had

dealings with over the years. I’m good for sufficient funds to keep you

safe and get you home. Understand?’

He fretted like a horse with a harness that galls.

‘I understand,’ I said, ‘that you’d like to lock us both up in a Tower of

Ladies at the estate, and perhaps let Onorata out when she turns thirty!’

I understand him to be as afraid as I am of those things in the world

that threaten what we love.

Honorius cupped his hands over my shoulders, surprisingly gentle

even though he must still find them too narrow for a son and too wide for

a daughter.

‘I know I can’t stand between you and every danger. I know you can

cope with all hazards. I merely . . .
wish
I might protect you from all ills

and accidents, no matter how foolish that is.’

I shrugged, lightly enough to not disturb the baby. ‘I understand: I feel

the same way about you. And how old are
you
, Lion of Castile?’

Honorius laughed out loud.

‘We’ll both of us protect the babe, then.’ He held her hand between

the thumb and forefinger of his own.

The wind came up from the lagoon, heavy with the scent of silt and

rot, and at the same time a warm and a chill breeze. Spring, and I am at

last leaving this city: I feel as if a cell-door opens.

Honorius embraced us both again, and I turned away to carry out of

Venice the child that had not existed as a fully-human living soul when I

entered it.

The light in the east was the colour of Naples Yellow as we climbed into

the boat that would take us through the canals of the Dorsodura quarter,

115

and out into the basin where lord Menmet-Ra’s
Sekhmet
was moored.

My feet left dark marks in the dew on the canal-side flagstones. I had my

hood up, and pulled well forward, and Onorata tied into a buckram and

linen sling under my cloak.
I
doubt
any
man
might
recognise
us
unless
he
stands
next
to
me
.

The creaking of oars all but lulled me asleep, since I had slept so little

before. A dim lantern let me see the baggage boat ahead, and from time

to time a candle-lit window permitted me a view into some Venetian’s

daily life. I could not help but look back when I witnessed a woman

pacing with her baby against her shoulder, the raw screaming audible

through half-closed shutters.

Clouds bulked up before the sun could rise, keeping the small boat

inconspicuous. I heard the water lap and drip. The turn of raised oar-

blades just caught the light, letting me know the other boats still

accompanied us. Wind in my face brought more than the scent of the

lagoon – brought the open sea.

I only realised that we had rowed under the stern of the moored

Alexandrine galley as it blocked the dawn like a mountain of darkness

above us.

There was a pervasive strong odour of tar. And tar adhered to my

hands when I climbed up the steps on the side of the ship, and onto the

galley’s stern deck.

On this high deck, I could not help a glance back towards the Riva

degli Schiavoni. I saw lights enough that I knew men were working;

loading cargo, unloading early fishing-boats. I heard no clash of arms.

Saw no reflections of torches from armour.

If
the
Council
of
Ten
has
the
Venetian
soldiery
there,
certainly
I
don’t
see
them
.

Herr Mainz scrambled up the steps to the deck, the German men-at-

arms behind him assisting Rekhmire’. Attila and Tottola wore identical

fixed frowns, visible by the galley’s lanterns – which might have been

taken to indicate intense devotion to their duty, but I thought had more

to do with the send-off the rest of the company had given them, a scant

few hours before. Tottola failed to hide a wince when Onorata,

impossibly hungry again, or else disturbed by the stink of the tar on ropes

and deck-planks, began to cry.

The galley’s captain showed every disposition to put me in a low

cabin, close to the water-line, at the stern of the ship. Despite its

prestigious and secure nature – it was, after all, where the captain kept treasure and valuable small cargo – I balked, after discovering I would

have no light except through the hatch from the cabin above.

By the time I had argued strongly enough to secure the higher cabin, I

felt an all but imperceptible life in the wood of the ship.

‘I’m going up on deck,’ I told Rekhmire’.

I had missed seeing the
Sekhmet
as we approached, so that I had no 116

clear idea how a hundred and twenty feet of galley appears to the naked

eye; I did not desire to miss our casting-off for Constantinople.

Rekhmire’ followed me to the deck, jerking the padded crutch and

shifting his weight with rapid efficiency. I kept Onorata with us in her

sling, not simply because I thought she would otherwise wake, but

because I did not feel safe leaving her without the German men-at-arms

being over their temporary inconvenience.

Pale cool light flooded the arch of the sky. Venice lay spread out

behind us.

‘Ilario—’

The ferrule of Rekhmire’’s crutch slipped on the deck.

His hand came down hard on my shoulder, and his fingers dug into

the muscle there. I heard him curse under his breath, raggedly and with

no restraint.

I stood perfectly still, Onorata clasped to my chest, until he caught his

balance again.

‘You’ll be glad to get rid of that.’ I nodded at the crutch as he

straightened up.

Rekhmire’ shut his eyes, as if he did no more than listen to the heave

and grunt of the oarsmen, and the yells of the deck crew raising the main

lateen sail above our heads. I saw one of his hands creep down to push at

the muscle of his thigh. He still wore the Turkish fashion in trousers; I had thought it because of the cold.

‘I was not about to say in front of Pamiu or your father.’ Rekhmire’

opened his eyes, focusing on the distant campanile of S. Marco behind

us. ‘But – if the Turk’s diagnosis was correct, and if the physicians in Alexandria have no better treatment . . . Then it’s unlikely I will ever