Ilario, the Stone Golem (53 page)

The prison appartments rang with the sudden silence.

I felt heat rising in my face.

Because my father, it seems, is undergoing a formal imprisonment by

King Rodrigo Sanguerra that – despite its purely political nature – is at

some level a profound humiliation for Licinus Honorius. And Honorius

suffers it because he wants the country secure.

‘Perhaps I need no excuse,’ I said. ‘You’ll be able to live in Taraco. If

I do this, I doubt Onorata and I will – because Videric will insist that I

leave.’

‘Would you not seek an apprenticeship with a master painter

somewhere, in any case?’ Honorius shrugged, with every appearance of

being casual. ‘A lot may change in seven years.’

Yes,
and
my
father
is
a
fifty-year-old
man:
at
the
end
of
seven
years,
he
may
not
be
alive.

The day passed: twenty-four hours going by in not much more than a

century or two. True to his word, Rodrigo Sanguerra came to my rooms

privately, hooded in a linen cloak against discovery; and true to his word,

he got down on his knees on the floor.

If anything it was the more excruciatingly embarrassing this second

time, when we both knew what would happen.

When I failed to persuade him to stand up – and only just managed to

reject the idea of hauling him up bodily – I sat down on my arse beside

my King, on the bare floorboards, and put my head in my hands.

‘I’ve been round this trail over and over, sire. Yes: I’ll look a fool. I’ll be

branded a coward and a weakling. And . . . I’ll be putting my family at

262

the mercy of a man who wants me dead. I no longer know which is the

most essential matter; which might be an excuse for any other. I can’t

think it through! I just know there are too many reasons why I shouldn’t

do this.’

King Rodrigo rested his hands on his thighs, sitting back on his heels,

and then reached out to take hold of my jaw and turn me to face him.

‘King’s Freak,’ he said softly, and then: ‘The King begs you. I beg

you.’

‘Don’t!’

‘Don’t make me, then.’ His crooked smile was the same one that had

always signalled a paternal warmth between us, in those rare moments

that we had left position and power out of the equation.

I said, ‘You’ve seen my baby.’

His smile flashed in his beard. ‘The miraculous child! Yes. Although I

suppose they all are. Any miracle that common will tend to be

discounted.’

If I gave him a jaundiced look, he took it well.

I said, ‘You want me to think about the children in Taraconensis if war

comes.’

He gave a shrug, with bulky shoulders; and winced at kneeling on the

hard wood. ‘Of course. I want you to think about anything that speaks to

my side of the argument!’

I
might
prove
my
own
case,
of
what
truly
happened
–
but
that
wouldn’t
help
bring
Aldra
Videric
back
as
your
adviser
.
.
.

I sat with my elbows on my knees, and thrust my fingers through my

hair

It would begin to prove the true story if I used Ramiro Carrasco de

Luis as a witness. The confused emotions of guilt, gratitude, hatred, and

attraction that he felt towards his hermaphrodite rescuer would make

him speak.

I might make King Rodrigo believe in the extent of Videric’s guilt.

But I should not seek to do that. Since he needs to retain that shred of

trust to work with the man.

‘Do I have to swallow the “forgiveness” of a man who sent people

after me to kill me?’

The King of Taraconensis gave me the quirk-lipped look that I have

known as long as I have known him. ‘Ilario, I assure you, abasement

becomes quite natural after a while . . . ’

‘It does?’

‘No.’

I couldn’t have painted Rodrigo’s expression; the gleam in his dark

eyes that was amusement, grief, anger, and self-mockery; all together.

‘No,’ Rodrigo Sanguerra repeated. ‘And you’re not my enemy. In fact,

you bear a surprisingly small grudge against your King. I don’t envy you

on your knees before a man who hates you. But . . . ’

263

He put one hand down, to begin to rise; I leapt up and offered hand

and arm.

‘You’re wrong about the grudge, sire.’

‘Am I?’

‘All that’s in the past. I can’t carry it now.’

‘Ah.’ He made fists of his hands as he stood there, stretched his arms

out, and I heard tendons and ligaments crack. ‘I think I’m wearing you

down. If I come tomorrow, who knows what you’ll say?’

If there was an hour during the night when I slept, I didn’t know about it.

The water clock marked what would have been watches on Frankish

and Iberian ships, and were hours of prayer here. After a while I got up

and dressed, and, when the time came, fed Onorata with the warm goat’s

milk that Ramiro Carrasco deftly obtained.

If we had both been slaves, I would have teased him with how a lawyer

felt about being skilled in milking goats. As it was, I left him to resume his sleep.

Onorata rarely woke more than once in the night, now. I almost

regretted that, leaning at the window and watching moonlight mimic the

earlier sun on distant crawling waves. I could have done with somewhat

to keep me occupied.

In all honesty, had it been a night in Carthage or Rome or Venice, I

would have contrived some accident to wake up Rekhmire’, just so that I

could talk to the Egyptian.

I squinted out at the black featureless immensity that was the land-

mass of Taraco. Wondering how long the mules would take to Aldra

Videric’s estates, and how riding was treating his knee.

It’s
possible
to
become
surprisingly
accustomed
to
someone’s
company
, I concluded, and went back to wrestle with Iberian wolf-skin bed-covers,

and lay awake until dawn.

Honorius liking Onorata’s company, and I not knowing how long I

would be here for him to have it, I spent more time in the prison than in

my own quarters.

I sat on the wide ledge, one leg hanging down inside the room. From

this acute angle, I might just see the sea in the north-east. Sun flashed like hammered gold. From this high citadel I could watch Zheng He’s

ship tacking slowly up and down the coast – showing its sheer

dimensions off to Taraconensis’ smaller towns, and bringing their

knights and mayors hot-foot to Taraco and the King’s presence.

Rodrigo Sanguerra had abandoned kneeling, and that morning had sat

with me in my rooms with an air of relaxation. As if, despite what he

must attempt to persuade me into, this time was a pleasant relief from

court politics.

Now
I
recall
why
he
kept
his
hermaphrodite
slave
.
.
.

264

Where the sun fell on the sea, it was bright enough to make eyes sting

and water.

King Rodrigo had said,
Panic
is
spreading
very
well
. Up here, it’s too high to see what men and women do when the dragon-painted ship

threatens them; too far off to hear screams, or shouts of anger, or see

whether any man is hurt.

I pushed myself back into the room, off the sill, and leaned on the back

of the settle, watching with Honorius as Onorata tugged at the wolf’s

pelt. She might have been wriggling forward on her belly, or only

wriggling by accident.

‘This plan of the King’s,’ I began.

The door of the prison opened; royal guards strode in, Rodrigo

Sanguerra behind them. Honorius sprang to his feet. I crouched to pick

up Onorata, and put her into Saverico’s arms, the young ensign being

nearest me.

Honorius nodded and Carrasco and the three men-at-arms retired to

the kitchens. He bowed his head to his King. ‘Majesty?’

Rodrigo Sanguerra waved a hand to dismiss his escort. They filed out.

Absently, he seated himself on the oak settle, gesturing that we might sit

too if we so chose.

‘You have knowledge of the Alexandrine envoy,’ he observed. ‘I

thought I might therefore ask you questions, confidentially.’

‘What?’ I managed intelligently.

The King ignored me, passing a sheet of parchment to Honorius.

‘Is this in his own hand?’

‘His scribe would know better.’ Honorius held it out to me.

It was signed
Rekhmire’
and a Pharaonic pictogram, as he had signed

letters he had had me write.

I read it out. ‘“I find it compelling to stay with the Aldra Videric at his

estate for some time longer. Perhaps a week or a month. His hospitality is

overwhelming, and he desires me to stay for the hunting.”’

‘Is it genuine?’ Rodrigo demanded impatiently.

Compelling.
Overwhelming.

‘Yes. He wrote it, Majesty. But . . . ’ I tried to catch Honorius’s eye.

Noblemen die of hunting accidents, horses and beasts are dangerous

pastimes. But they die also of conspiracy or ambush and are reported as

‘hunting accidents’. I saw Honorius recognised my thought.

He frowned. ‘It
could
be true. The damned book-buyer – sorry,

Majesty; I mean Master Rekhmire’. He might have decided he needs

time enough there to persuade Lord Videric into seeing things his

way . . . ’

The words trailed off into the heated air of the chamber.

The King raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘Ilario?’

My hands clenched into fists. ‘Yes, it’s
possible
– but also possible it’s a

265

flat lie! I think – Videric has decided to hold the Alexandrine envoy as a

hostage.’

The King looked very close to startled. ‘No. No, I think not. The

Videric that I know is not a fool! If Master Rekhmire’ has conveyed what

we do here, Pirro must think he has only to wait for me to recall him. He

would also know that Taraconensis can’t afford to harm the representa-

tive of Queen Ty-ameny.’

I took several steps, pacing about the room, arms wrapped around my

body. For all the heat, I was cold.

‘Alexandria would only hear it was a hunting accident. Impossible to

prove it wasn’t.’

‘Ilario, really—’ King Rodrigo sighed, as I have known him sigh

before. ‘You allow your fear and hatred to distort your judgement. My

lord Videric is not fool enough to allow harm to come to the Egyptian.’

Insight hit me as if it were a bolt from a crossbow.

I all but bit my tongue as the realisation struck.

‘No.’ I stepped forward, putting my hand on Honorius’s shoulder,

willing him to understand. ‘No, that’s right. I am misjudging him.

Videric’s not that stupid.’

‘Then—’

‘
Rosamunda
is.
’

266

9

The King scowled, but I ignored him; aware I was gripping Honorius’s

shoulder hard enough that my fingers must hurt. He would have bruises.

I felt as if I needed to urge the clarity of this truth into his body and blood.

My father frowned.

Thinking of . . . his Rosamunda? The woman who would have run

away from her husband, until she was offered a choice between material

comfort and my father’s love?

The woman who twice, in Taraco and in Carthage, came close to

killing her son-daughter?

Honorius’s frown deepened. ‘It’s not in Aldro Rosamunda’s interests

to harm the book-buyer. She’ll want her husband made First Minister

again.’

‘She won’t think that far!’

The house of Hanno Anagastes came back to me: Rosamunda’s

expression behind her frozen eyes.

‘Rekhmire’
ruined
her. You didn’t see her face in Carthage!’

The frown became a scowl. Honorius absently reached up and peeled

my fingers from the ball of his shoulder, and gripped my hand in his.

‘She’d end up the wife of an exile if she did this. Or Videric would

divorce her!’

‘Rosamunda has a queue of rich and powerful men who’d marry her

on the spot if she were divorced by Videric—’