Ilario, the Stone Golem (57 page)

his chin on the heel of his hand. The bulk of his body and shoulders filled

the space the chair allowed him. There was a smudge of pale dust on the

boot sole under one sabaton. He would have ridden down from the

palace with King Rodrigo this morning, not trudged here like the

townsmen outside, or some of the poorer courtiers in the cathedral.

I let myself meet his gaze.

His attention struck me like a physical shock.

How
in
the
name
of
the
eight
gods
am
I
going
to
sound
convincing!

Panic flooded me. Tension weakened the muscles of my knees, or I

might have sprung up and turned to run out of the building. This man,

this man with absolute control over himself—

Fountains flashing in the palace’s enclosed courtyards, Videric’s

sandals rapping on the tiles as he strode down the corridor, and his

concerned tone as he glanced at me:
She
wants
to
speak
to
you.
I
don’t
know
why.
Be
kind
to
her.

I met his eyes, deliberately, and stared him down.

She
wanted
to
see
me
because
you
ordered
her
to
kill
me.

You ordered
her
to make friends with me. Long ago. So that she could

be there if it became necessary to kill me.

Videric’s mouth moved, lip curving up a small amount. He gave me a

measuring smile.

Every muscle in my body tensed. I saw it as clearly as if I lay

anatomised on a slab in Alexandria’s Royal Library: the pull of tendon,

the contraction and swelling of muscle, the support of bone.

I am four yards away from his chair, and once again they have

forgotten that the King’s master-at-arms trained me as a knight.

I am swift enough to cover the distance, snatch Videric’s dagger out of

that tooled leather sheath, and have the blade down between his collar

and his gorget into his heart before any man can stop me.

Videric, his gaze on me, gave a little shrug with his brows, as if

disappointed that I had not responded to his smile.

Momentarily I shut my eyes.

Sharp anger flooded through me; washed me away like an undertow of

the sea. I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted blood, and opened my eyes

and looked at him again.

The ex-First Minister Videric stared amiably back at me.

He truly desires to be Rodrigo’s First Minister again. Therefore, I

think – he doesn’t taunt me. Videric truly thinks that if he smiles, I will

assume him a friend.

It took my breath.

The pale lines that being in the sun had put at the corners of his eyes

creased. Videric’s chin dipped infinitesimally, on his fist. I know him well

enough to read what he intends to convey:
Courage!

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‘Courage . . . ’ I breathed out.

A silence swept through the hot cathedral.

No man moved.

Videric shifted and sat upright in the chair of state. He turned to speak

to the King.

‘Sire, it will not be justice if my wife is not here to witness Ilario’s penitence. I realise where we are – but she is willing to come veiled.’

His words fell like stones into water, in the great crowded building.

Glancing back at the pierced stone screen, I wasn’t surprised to see the

silhouette gone. Videric would not ask such a question unless he knew

the answer. I barely bothered listening to Archbishop Cunigast explain

just why God would make a merciful exception in the interests of justice.

Rosamunda walked out from the narthex, behind the altar, and walked

past me to sit in the empty chair.

Her scent caught in the back of my throat.

Gold wire made a miniature moon-horn of her head-dress, and the veil

that hung down was of the finest flax, perfectly translucent. I gazed at

her curling black hair, and full warm lips, and did not let myself look her

in the eye.

If
I
face
her,
I
will
not
be
able
to
do
this
.

Heldefredus’s narrow hand bit into my shoulder, fingertips curling to

catch me under the edge of my collarbone. ‘Now, Ilario.’

A tingle shot down my arm. Not pain. Enough sensation to remind me

what I must now do.

I stood up, took three paces forward, dropped down on my knees as

the bishop had rehearsed me, and looked directly up at Videric where he

sat on the chair above me.

The position placed me equally carefully. The slanting beam of light

from the altar window shone down, illuminating me so that every man,

every woman, in this building can see the broad shoulders and wide hips

of the one who is man
and
woman.

And therefore not a man, and not a woman.

I knelt, my spine stiff, my head up.

‘I beg for your pardon.’ Tension cracked my voice again: deep one

moment and falsetto the next. ‘Aldra Pirro Videric, I humbly beg your

forgiveness.’

Videric stood up, both hands momentarily gripping the arms of his

chair.

The sun shone off his armour and livery surcoat. Steel and blue and

white . . . With the sun so bright on him, the thinning of his hair was hidden, and the incipient rounding of his jaw lost.

A shame, I thought. It made him more human to me. Something in

him might touch me if I thought him just a man of Honorius’s age,

subject to piles and insomnia and stomach-ache when he ate spices that

hadn’t troubled him if he ate them at twenty.

282

Rosamunda stood up, resting her hand on her husband’s arm, flax

linen gloves showing the delicate rose-pink of her fingers against the steel

of his vambrace.

Get
away
from
me!

I forced myself not to shout it aloud.

The humiliation of this is that I am still, after a year, afraid of them both.

The stone was hard under my knees. Through Rosamunda’s veil I saw

the shape of spite and pleasure on her face. Only I was close enough to

see.

I stumbled over the words Bishop Heldefredus had rehearsed me in.

‘Aldra Videric, I beseech you humbly to intercede on my behalf. With

God and with His Majesty, for their, for their forgiveness. I swear to do

as I have done these past days: to prostrate and humiliate myself, to lie in

sackcloth and ashes, to clothe my body in rags and plunge my soul in

sorrow—’

Videric took a step forward.

I had not expected it.

A shiver went through me; I thought it must be visible at least to the

closest row of men watching.

‘And, and.’ I found my place in the words again. ‘To correct my soul

by harsh treatment of myself. And by prayer, and fasting. And whole

days and nights together to weep and seek your forgiveness. I cast myself

at your feet, who I have wronged.’

I couldn’t look up at Rosamunda, close as she was. I stared at Videric’s

face as if he were a rope thrown to a drowning man.

‘I swear to atone, I for this reason fall on my knees before you.’ I licked

at dry lips, conscious that the words were absorbed by the air. They

should echo back, and it was fear that softened what I spoke. ‘And I beg

you to lead me to absolution if you see fit.’

He smiled.

Confident, all his weight back on his heels, not even glancing behind at

the archbishop and the king. They will have discussed this beforehand.

He held out his right hand.

‘I acknowledge you,’ he said. ‘Child of my wife’s body—’

The intake of breath was audible through the cathedral.

They
hear
it
as
formal
poetics
, I realised, staring up at him.
Not
as
the
literal
truth
.

Another hand extended itself into my vision. Pale, smooth, clothed in

transparent linen.

Rosamunda’s voice rang like a soprano bell. ‘I acknowledge you and

pardon you, Ilario. Rise now and come with me.’

Videric’s hand was hot and dry; he gripped my wrist as if I had been a

young man in the knights’ training halls, and his effort would have

brought me to my feet even without my own.

283

My mother’s hand lay bonelessly in mine and I couldn’t look at her.

They led me forward, one on either side, to the archbishop at the main

altar.

Cunigast lit a candle, and at last my hands were free.

I reached out and took hold of the cool wax.
Rather
that
than
Rosamunda’s
waxen
skin
. The yellow flame danced, all but invisible in sunlight.

The archbishop raised his voice. ‘The penitent will join us in the

celebration of Mass, and then the public absolution will be given.’

Videric put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me on either cheek

with the brusque efficiency of a courtier.

Rosamunda lifted her veil with both hands, looking at me with those

green eyes that I see in the mirror.

She stood on her toes to press her lips softly against mine.

As Archbishop Cunigast proclaimed the kiss of peace I fell down on

my knees in front of the altar and didn’t move.

Celebration of Mass went on around me – Rosamunda being hustled

off back up to the women’s area of the cathedral – and I didn’t stand up;

could not stand up. The back of my throat filled with bile. It took every

ounce of concentration not to spit it across the ancient mosaics.

King Rodrigo Sanguerra moved to stand at my right hand side when

the Mass ended. Videric stayed on my left. I caught Rodrigo’s eye, and

he nodded, briefly.

I turned about, facing the congregation between the two men.

I knelt again and begged pardon of both, and both men helped me

rise. The kiss of absolution from Pirro Videric burned my forehead as if

it had been painted there with alchemists’ acid.

Every yard of the walk around the nave of the cathedral sank into my

memory: every curious or avid or disgusted face that I passed. The

candle shook, and hot wax spilled over my fingers, the momentary pains

anchoring me in myself.

If I’m pale, they’ll take it for humiliation and grief and gladness.

It was four hours before it was over.

Rodrigo Sanguerra held a banquet in the castle, with Aldra Videric

and I at the high table.

I slid away before the sun touched the horizon, on the excuse of

changing into the clean shirt and hose and doublet that Father Felix

brought for me – and slipped out of the palace with a nod to the guards.

I sprinted through Taraco’s streets, boots thumping up squirts of dry

dust. Assuming that Honorius my father does not lie; assuming that

Rekhmire’
is
here—

A silk dragon-banner unrolled on the wind at the quay. I saw

Commander Jian sitting in the stern of one of the Chin boats, among his

oarsmen. He lifted his hand in a Frankish gesture of greeting he must

have learned since their ship entered the Middle Sea.

284

A cloaked figure stood on the quay beside them.

Behind that cloaked man, another man; standing with bare chest and

head, the reddening sun shining on his shaven scalp and white linen kilt.

I staggered up to them and caught Honorius’s hand; he pulled me into

a hard embrace, and released me, staring into my face, and pushing me

at the Egyptian.

As if I had done it a hundred times before, I put my arms tightly

around Rekhmire’, felt him grip me and run his fingers over my cropped

scalp, and fell down on my knees in the dust.

My father held my shoulders, and Rekhmire’ leaned over and steadied

my head, and I vomited up bitter bile, time after time, into the harbour,

until I was shaking, sore-throated, and empty.

It took me a time to be willing to let go of either man. The quick setting

of the sun had given way to blue dusk, I found; blackening into night.

Honorius wore his brigandine, I noted as I lifted my head from his

shoulder; an anonymous armour that any guard might wear, or a poor

knight.

‘All’s well,’ my father reassured, as if he might read my thoughts. ‘His