Ilario, the Stone Golem (63 page)

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.’

311

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