by Mary Gentle
Yes: he’d tell you I’m lying in my teeth!
‘—If you wish, I will swear an oath that Messer Alberti promised me
marriage before he seduced me, and I therefore considered us
betrothed—’
I said I would swear it. Not that it would be true.
Because I will swear myself black in the face if it helps. And if court life teaches you anything, it is how to lie with the greatest innocence.
‘—I don’t beg you not to punish him, illustrious sirs. Only to have
mercy on my child. Who needs her father!’
28
And that may be true – or she may already be overburdened with a mother-father.
The man to Foscari’s right said, ‘We could order some settlement
made out of the prisoner’s estate?’
Honorius’s hand closed around my elbow and gently pulled me back –
but I had no chance of breaking his grip. He glanced down as he let me
go, and stroked a fingertip over the baby’s fine fluffy hair where it
protruded from under her linen cap. I saw Doge Foscari register his
smile.
That’s useful: he sees that the baby’s grandfather is willing to acknowledge her—
My thoughts were interrupted by a burst of deep-throated laughter
from the councillor on the Doge’s left hand:
‘That is poetic!’
He was overweight, with the high colour fat men in middle age get. I
stared at him, not knowing whether to wish him dead of a heart spasm on
the spot. Foscari lifted his eyebrow again, as if he wished to seem slightly
disconcerted; the other men on the council followed his lead by
frowning.
‘Poetic justice, perhaps.’ Doge Foscari linked his fingers together on
the polished dark table. The cabochon-cut rings he wore reflected in the
shine, in dark incarnations of their colours: emerald, ruby, sapphire. I
wondered which, if any, was the ring with which the Doge of The Most
Serene Republic weds the sea every Easter-tide. The council put their
heads together again and I couldn’t hear anything they said.
Rekhmire’ touched my shoulder, and Saverico took the baby out of my
arm, returning her to another wet-nurse brought for the look of the thing.
I dabbed at a damp spot on the silk brocade bodice Neferet had loaned
me, and saw my fingertips shaking.
Not the time to be holding a child. Nightmare visions of her fragility assailed me, and I blinked them away, staring across the room at Leon
Battista. At this distance I could see little enough – only that he seemed
well-dressed, grubby, pale with his time in prison; but had evidently been
kept in locked apartments, rather than down below us in the dungeons.
That will not stop them hanging him now, if they decide to.
We would look like a normal aristocrat family gathered in this justice
hall. Even an Alexandrine secretary would not be so unusual. I wondered
how many of the councillors were looking and wondering where the
other representative of Alexandria was this morning. Do they know she’s his lover? Do they know ‘she’ should be here in place of me?
Hot sweat gathered, and rolled down my back between my shoulder-
blades. The canvas straps of the corset chafed under the sleeves of my
bodice. For the first time in a number of years, I wished for a sword, and
the memory of my knightly training.
29
‘You paint, Donna Ilaria,’ Foscari remarked, leaning forward and
speaking plainly and clearly to me.
It may have been how he spoke to foreigners uncertain of the Venetian
language. It felt as if he spoke to a child of eight or ten winters.
‘I was studying the New Art in the studio of Tommaso Cassai.’ Some
truth must have rung in my tone, since that was the case. I saw two of the
councillors speak to each other behind the chair of a third. ‘Messer Leon
Battista Alberti presented me with his treatise on the eye, and vision in painting. It is here.’
Rekhmire’ walked forward and placed De Pictura on the table before the Doge, bowed, and returned to his place behind me.
Foscari shot a look at Leon Battista. ‘The writing of this took you some
time?’
‘Yes, messire.’ His voice sounded dry.
‘And the copying, also, to have a copy that Donna Ilaria might have
read to her?’
Leon Battista nodded, not speaking.
The Doge Foscari leaned back in his carved chair. ‘Clearly, Donna
Ilaria’s father, Lord Honorius, supposed there to be a betrothal, all that
time. Or you would not have been permitted to give such a gift. You do
not deny this?’
Leon’s chin came up. ‘I say nothing.’
. . . And therefore, so far, not one of us has lied.
‘I understand there has been legislation passed in Florence of late.’
The Doge ignored a choked-off laugh from the fat man, and looked
further down the table. ‘Simon?’
The sleek man he addressed leaned his hands on the table. ‘Indeed,
seignior. They have passed laws legitimising prostitution. Messer Alberti
will have heard.’
‘They have done this,’ the Doge Foscari looked blandly at Leon
Battista Alberti, ‘so that the young men of the city should become less
interested in, shall we say, exclusively male pursuits.’
I fixed my eyes on a tile on the floor, following the ochre and red
glaze’s repeating geometric pattern. I will not look at my father, I will not look at Rekhmire’! ‘Exclusively male.’ Let Doge Foscari think the young woman is modestly pretending not to understand what is referred to.
Under my skirts, I have a womb and (as I ascertained privately once I
was sufficiently healed) a functioning penis. ‘Exclusively male’ is
considerably outside my experience.
‘ . . . And to further eradicate the sin of Sodom,’ the Doge was saying.
He had risen to his feet at some point; a ripple of light from the torches
shot back colour from his jewel-encrusted brocade robes. Drawing him
would be easy, painting the effect of that light and shadow unbelievably
difficult. He held out his hands, plainly giving judgement.
‘This is the sentence on Messer Leon Battista Alberti. Because of his
30
family’s good name, and because of the lineage of the Captain-General
of Castile and Leon,’ a bow towards my father, ‘it is considered just that
the penalty of execution be commuted to exile. Messer Leon Battista
Alberti shall have a month to leave our territories of the Italian Peninsula.
But in the interests of holding up a good example, and discouraging that
sin of Sodom which in Florence is so prevalent, and which threatens us
everywhere, Messer Leon Battista Alberti shall hold to his promise of
betrothal.’
Rekhmire’’s arm quivered, where he had stepped close and now
pressed against me. I felt his shock as clearly as I felt mine. Honorius frowned and opened his mouth. Out of sight, I dug my fingers into the
palm of his hand, cutting myself against the edge of his plate gauntlet.
Foscari turned his head away and fixed an unrelenting gaze on Leon
Battista.
‘Because we will see justice done, you will be married in the presence
of a priest. Before you depart from Venezia! I will call for a confessor now, and you shall be shrive
n clean so that you can marry. This child will
have a father’s name. This shamed maiden shall be made into a wife.’
Silence echoed through the chamber.
The Doge turned towards Honorius. ‘It has been forty days: your
daughter has been churched.’
Honorius took no notice of my nails digging into the thin leather glove
he wore under his gauntlet. He bowed with the skill of a courtier, and
spoke with the bluntness of a soldier. ‘Yes, lord. She can wed whenever
you desire.’
There is nothing else he can say, I admitted to myself. Anything else will smack of trying to win concessions, either from the Alberti family or
the Doge himself, and this Foscari is likely to find some way to remove
Leon again if he thinks his decision is being used for advantage.
The Doge looked across the vast chamber at me. ‘As soon as you are
wed and able to bear the journey, you will leave Venice and join your
husband in Florence.’
Leon Battista choked. ‘Florence!’
‘You may join your family there,’ Foscari said amiably. ‘Other
members of your family are also returning, I understand. We will miss
them, after so many years in our Republic.’
The candlelight showed his face all innocence as he taunted Leon
Battista.
‘As I understand,’ Foscari concluded, ‘the ban against your family in
Florence has been lifted. Your exile is over. There are already moves to
make your father one of Duke Ludovico’s councillors. Of course, the
agitation and rabble-rousing will stop; it doesn’t become the Alberti to
act against their own Duke. As I’m sure your family will tell you.’
It was clear enough to me: the Alberti family have been given a place
31
in Florence again – on the condition that they keep their insurrectionary
son under control.
Leon was close enough between his guards that I read the realisation
in his face. No more pamphlets, no attacking the Republic of Florence
for its injustices, because the Albertis have a stake in the city again – as it
stands. No more talk that might lead to revolution. The poor will stay
poor, and at the mercy of the powerful.
Leon’s expression closed. He bowed.
He might continue to think his family had sold him out. Or he might
tell himself that ideals of good government are a naive man’s illusions. I
didn’t know him well enough to know which way he would go.
Once again, I thought. I’m marrying someone – and I have no true idea of who they are.
32
6
‘It’s arranged.’ Honorius threw off his cloak, and came to stand by the
hearth. ‘The banns will be read thrice, and then you’ll be married.’
I sank further down on the settle, easing my shoes off. My toes were
hot and cold at the same time, and I wriggled them in my stocking-hose,
presenting them to the fire. ‘Good! Tell Neferet she and Leon can leave
as soon as we’re done.’
Honorius nodded soberly. Rekhmire’ shot me a questioning look.
Dear god, I thought.
He wants to know if I’ve told Honorius what happened in Rome—
‘It won’t be legal,’ I blurted out.
Honorius turned his back to the fire, hitching up the skirt of his
doublet and warming his backside. ‘How could it be? I’ll be honest,
Ilario, I don’t know if you can marry. As a man-woman—’
‘I can marry.’
‘What?’ He suddenly frowned.
‘This gets Leon safely out of Venice,’ I said. ‘But you should know . . .
I went through a Christian marriage ceremony in Rome. To an Etruscan
woman, Sulva. I was married: that time as the groom. This time, it will
be the bride.’
I have rarely seen such an expression.
‘Groom?’ Honorius stared at me. ‘Bride.’
‘You should reassure Leon it’s in name only,’ I emphasised dryly. And
then, as the thought occurred to me: ‘Although it may not bother him:
he’s with Neferet, after all.’
His face made me itch to reach for my chalks, in the same way as I had
wanted to in the Doge’s hall. The difference being that Honorius, unlike
Foscari, made me want to smile.
Rekhmire’ crossed the room in answer to a soft knock at the door.
Tired enough to watch without seeing, I barely registered one of the
house servants pass a note to the Egyptian.
‘Life.’ Rekhmire’ observed as he came back from the door.
‘What?’
‘Our assassin – Secretary Ramiro Carrasco de Luis. The Doge’s
Council have committed him to prison for life. I suspect he’ll end up on
one of those islands.’
The Egyptian’s nod towards the unshuttered windows made me
33
follow his gaze. A small patch of blue sky showed between the buildings
opposite. The canal reflecting the sky’s light back to it. I thought how
brilliant it would be out on the lagoon.
In which are isolated small islands, covered in cypresses, which they
call lazaretto: quarantined islands for sufferers from leprosy, or prisoners
who will never be released. Sometimes both on the same island.
If that made me shudder, I had only to remember the moments of not
being able – because of another’s physical force – to breath in air.
Nothing kills human sympathy so fast.
‘We won’t be rid of him.’ Honorius spoke without moving away from
the fire.
‘A life sentence,’ Rekhmire’ began irritably.
‘Not Carrasco.’ Honorius glanced down apologetically, evidently
realising he robbed me of heat. He sat, beside me, his back nearly as
upright as the oak settle’s. ‘Videric! Or, some other man, or men, sent by
Aldra Videric. Videric will send more spies. More murderers.’
The tone admitted of no doubt. I glanced automatically towards the
cradle in the corner of the room, to reassure myself that Onorata slept.
No matter that a child doesn’t understand, I think she hears the tone of a man’s voice . . .
‘You’re right.’ I rubbed at gritty eyes. ‘I saw them drag Carrasco off
and was glad – that lasted, oh, a quarter of an hour. And then I realised
that as soon as Videric stops getting what reports Carrasco was sending
him, he’ll send other men, to replace the ones who attacked us on
Torcello.’
In my mind I have the flare of a striped cotton robe as a man turns, the
clack of his war-sandals on tiles as he walks away, leaving me with a
woman who he fully expects to murder me. That’s the last time I saw him, I realised suddenly.
I ran for a ship immediately after my mother – after Rosamunda – tried
to kill me.
I know he sent her after me. I know he will have sent others. But that’s
the last I saw: his face concerned with worry for his wife – and all of it a
flat-out lie, to get me into the same room with her so that she could put a
dagger into me.
It is more than three quarters of a year now. I wonder if that fair hair,
that burly profile, look any different. If exile back to his estates at
Rodrigo’s order has made him look old. Or whether he merely bides his
time, knowing that sooner or late
r one of the murderers he sends will kill
me. And then the scandal may have the chance to die, too, and he may in
the future come back to court . . .
‘Carrasco’s arrest solves nothing.’ Restless, I rose to walk about the
room, careful not to tread the hem of my petticoats underfoot. ‘If no one
else tells Videric, Federico will – because God forbid my foster father
shouldn’t be scrambling to be in favour with every faction he can find!’
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Honorius seemed surprised at my bitterness. ‘You know him better
than I do. This Federico, I mean. Videric I remember as Rodrigo’s
Chancellor, before I went north for the Crusades.’
He looked a little bitter himself, and I wondered if his expression
mirrored mine – or mine his.
‘Ilario, you can’t expect me to be unbiased. Videric blackmailed
Rosamunda into staying with him instead of leaving with me.’
Much as I like the idea that Honorius is my father, it still jolts me that
Rosamunda remains my mother.
And that that is irrevocable, no matter that the man I thought my
father is only a stepfather – my mother’s husband.
And a man who will send other men to kill me. I have considered this,
wide awake in the Venetian darkness, while the campanile lets me know
it is three, four, five in the morning.
Rekhmire’’s crutch struck the floor with a hollow sound as he came to
peer out of the window, at the narrow view afforded of the Campo S.
Barnaba from this room. ‘I’m told the Council’s dungeons aren’t good
for the health. It’s possible Master Carrasco won’t be transported to the
lazarettos.’
A breath of chill touched me that was not this winter cold. If there were other Alexandrines here, I would suspect that was an offer . . .
‘All the while Carrasco was here,’ I speculated, ‘Videric evidently felt
he would kill me. He either doubted, or he sent the men who attacked me
on Torcello to assist Carrasco. Now . . . I have no idea how many men
he can hire who would murder me for money, or where they’ll be, or how
long it’ll take them to get to Venice – if he didn’t give up on Ramiro Carrasco and send them weeks ago.’
I intercepted a look between the two men.
‘You’re right,’ Honorius agreed as if the Egyptian had spoken. ‘It’s
