by Mary Gentle
even more unsettling when that happens in petticoats.’
‘What, when I prove I have more wit than a firefly?’ I glared at both of
them. ‘Remind me never to dress up as a woman again, once I’m out of
Venice.’
Rekhmire’ gave me a crooked smile. ‘Breeches or petticoats, you are
still in need of a good beating. I regret I never took my opportunity as your master.’
Such jokes are a lot easier for the master to make. But, free, I can
afford to smile at them, and I did.
His expression becoming serious, Rekhmire’ stated, ‘Aldra Videric will
send more men: he cannot afford not to. More hired men who won’t
think twice about killing. Sooner or later, there will be a slip – even
among your men, Master Honorius.’
I miss Rekhmire’’s presence at the wedding, I realised, looking around the cold and gloomy Frankish church. He had been a rock of comfort when I
35
went to Sulva, however much he may have disagreed with my reasons for
that marriage.
‘Man and wife,’ Honorius murmured in my ear, as we walked down
the aisle to the altar-rail, his baritone surprisingly quiet for a man used to
shouting across battlefields. He proceeded to prove himself far too much
in the Egyptian’s company of late by adding, with black humour, ‘Which
one would you like to be?’
I clapped my hand up to my mouth, hiding a splutter of horrified
amusement. I bowed my head, and hoped the looming members of the
Alberti family would take it as feminine shyness. ‘The Lion of Castile is
about to come to a horrible end in the Most Serene Republic, I hope you
realise?’
‘Ah, what it is to have a dutiful daughter . . . ’
He squeezed my arm with quite genuine encouragement and stepped
forward to consult with the group of middle-aged men in dark velvet and
miniver fur. I caught sight of Leon Battista at the back, his Roman nose
all the more prominent for the gaunt lines of starvation in his face.
And that would be how they convinced him . . .
I wished again that I had Rekhmire’ at my shoulder, to exchange looks
of realisation, and to discuss, sotto voce, whether it would be wise to go through with this, despite Neferet’s pleas.
A persistent wail echoed into the high Gothic beams.
Honorius took Onorata out of Attila’s arms, displaying her in her
swaddling clothes to the Alberti men. Unused to it, she found the
bindings uncomfortable, and her crying had a determined edge. I bit my
lip and stayed where I had been left.
‘A girl?’ The older Alberti sounded displeased. ‘Well, there is no need
to worry about dowries, she can always be put in a convent. There’s time
for a son later. At least this proves my grandson capable of siring a child.’
The significant look he shot over his shoulder at Leon led me to
suppose he had made aspersions to the contrary. Leon’s mouth set in a
thin line: he did not look towards me.
I thought it was I who was making the sacrifice here. But I have no lover to object to my name being coupled with another’s.
Honorius handed my baby back to the large Germanic man-at-arms,
and Attila took a longer way down the church so that he might pass me,
heels ringing on the flagstones, and let me look at Onorata as he passed.
Her face was scarlet, her eyes screwed up and hot with tears. He touched
a forefinger to the swaddling bands and gave me a significant look – by
which I knew him off to remove them.
I have marked the sympathy between soldiers and small children
before now, in Taraco; I had not ever thought I would be grateful to it
when it provided me with at least six persistent and efficient nursemaids.
Even if they are not half so enthusiastic during the small hours of the
night, or when it came to changing breech-clouts.
36
‘Madonna Ilaria.’ The priest beckoned me forward to stand at Leon
Battista’s side.
S. Barnaba had nothing worth the looking at, its altar-piece was third-
rate, and the Green priest – evidently hired by the Alberti family – rattled
through the ceremony so fast that it reached the moment of commitment
before I was ready for it.
Leon had no shred of prison dirt on him now, even the stench being
eradicated in favour of soap and civet, but I could recognise the
expression on his face. That of a slave who has been punished by dark
and isolation, and found it full of unexpected monsters.
‘Yes.’ My mouth formed the appropriate words before I was aware I
had made my decision. Consenting to wed this man, in name only, is
nothing more than words to me. It is freedom to him.
I walked out of the church married for the second time in half a year.
This time as the bride.
‘We understand your daughter and the child cannot travel as yet.’ The
Alberti patriarch spoke to Honorius, without even a glance towards me.
‘We will send our son from Florence to collect her, as soon as she may.’
The proper things were said, the Alberti men departed in a splendidly-
decorated oared boat, and I noted Leon Battista slipping quietly off into
the Alexandrine embassy ahead of us.
It took me a time to settle Onorata, she being too disturbed to sleep –
eventually conceding only when Attila fetched a bowl of milk and a
spoon from the kitchens, and sat by the fire to feed her with infinite
patience.
I recall those hands, so much larger than my child’s head, loosing the
bolt that tore the Carthaginian agent apart. It will not be the first or last
man that he has killed.
I made a sketch with coal and chalk, that was only broad shapes except
for the features, but caught the difference between the two faces: one still
unmarked and with deep clear eyes, the other with half a lifetime worn
into skin creased with staring through sunlight.
Coming downstairs, I walked into Rekhmire’ as he left the main room,
and clutched at him to keep both of us on our feet.
A fragile Venetian glass hurtled through the door and smashed on the
opposite wall.
Rekhmire’ wouldn’t be able to bend down with his crutch; therefore
called for one of the Egyptian’s servants to sweep up the fragments. I
nodded towards the open door, hearing loud raised voices beyond.
‘What is it?’
Rekhmire’ finished steadying himself with a grip on my shoulder, and
brushed himself down. ‘It’s Master Leon Battista. He says he cannot
travel to Alexandria, it appears.’
Alexandria would be a good refuge for him – for us all, I thought. It
was too cold to stand in this passageway, spring or not, and besides, I
37
was curious as to the actions of my husband. I strode through the open
door, Rekhmire’ behind me, the cloth-padded end of his crutch
stomping down on the floorboards.
Neferet instantly flung away from Leon Battista, where the dark man
stood silhouetted at the window, and glared at me. ‘ Here she is. The happy bride! No wonder you won’t leave Venice!’
Slave or free, I can recognise when someone desires a mere target for
their temper. Without ven
om, I reminded, ‘You asked me to do this.’
She stalked out of the room, pulling the door behind her with a
shattering crash.
Rekhmire’ took some moments to arrange himself in the armed chair
by the hearth; I took the settle, and after a moment Leon Battista walked
to sit beside me.
‘That’s poor thanks for saving my life.’ He spoke firmly, holding my
gaze. ‘I’ve told Neferet the marriage will remain in name only: she has no
need for concern. Please don’t take that as an insult – if I were not hers, I
could seek for no better woman than you for my wife.’
Rekhmire’’s luminous dark eyes caught mine. Whatever else Neferet
might have said in her rage, I perceived that ‘hermaphrodite’ was not one
of those words.
‘I don’t take offence,’ I said, and attempted to sound as if I only
changed the subject out of feminine embarrassment. ‘I had expected you
and Neferet to be on the first ship out for Alexandria-Constantinople?’
Leon Battista looked down at his hands. The knuckles were more
prominent than they should be. He rubbed his fingers together.
‘My family’s exile is ended, on condition they rein in their rabble-
rousing son.’ His expression turned sour. He looked up, without lifting
his head, and met my gaze through his long, dark lashes. ‘Therefore, I
have to be seen in Florence. With my family, carrying on the family’s affairs, and not fomenting rebellion against the Duke.’
Rekhmire’ leaned forward and prodded the coal with one of the fire-
irons. He sat back with a grunt. ‘The Alberti family expect Master Leon
Battista to be in your company, Ilario, as soon as you may travel. Not Neferet’s.’
The short walk from church had given me enough time to solve that
problem. ‘Tell them I died! Plague. Cholera. Anything! It happens all the
time. You can safely tell anyone that, just as soon as I can leave Venice.’
Not before. I would be very surprised if the Alberti didn’t have men
watching their son’s wife. And, by his expression, I had no need to spell
that out.
Leon’s mouth quirked. ‘There’s no need to condemn you to an early
grave. When it becomes possible, I can prove our marriage void.’
‘You can?’ All the banns and church offices had been what I
understand the Frankish marriage ceremonies to be. I could not help
looking at him in surprise. ‘How?’
38
Leon Battista took a deep breath. ‘I married Neferet six months ago, in
the autumn.’
My mouth was open, but I could make no sound come out.
‘Although,’ he added, ‘for obvious reasons, I can’t take Neferet to
Florence as my wife – the family would insist on having a council of
midwives to examine her, to confirm that she was a virgin before she
married me, and capable of child-bearing. And that . . . ’
‘Yes, I can see that would present problems.’
The door opened; Neferet’s women servants came in, followed by
Neferet herself – she looked taken aback to see me still present, and she
glared at Rekhmire’, but since neither of us moved, she gestured for wine
to be served.
After a warming sip of the wine, I had courage enough to look her in
the face. ‘Couldn’t you go to Florence as Leon’s mistress?’
The lines of her face spoke, I don’t know what business this is of yours!
more clearly than any word could have.
She nevertheless seated herself gracefully on one of the window-
embrasures, reclining on cushions embroidered in the Alexandrine style.
‘Think, Madonna Ilaria! Leon arrives without his new wife and infant child, but with a mistress – and a foreign mistress at that! How long before the family demands he be respectable?’
Something under a quarter of an hour after passing Florence’s walled
gate, I suspected, but didn’t desire to say. Neferet’s long-fingered large
hands still faintly trembled with anger. No need to draw the lightning
down on myself.
‘If I go as a cook or servant,’ she said, her graceful reclining pose
stiffening with her neck, ‘or anything else an unmarried woman may do,
I will be assumed as a matter of course to be Leon’s whore.’
Her head turned: she fixed Leon with a desolate stare.
‘And I am your wife.’
Leon Battista sprang up, went to the window, and knelt down beside
her. I thought it tactful to turn away and converse with Rekhmire’ while
Leon comforted her.
I drained my wine glass. ‘No one would care in Alexandria, would
they?’
‘That they are man and man, not man and wife? Likely not; why
should they? If they want to live as man and woman, and are discreet,
Ty-ameny would permit it. Given Master Leon’s interest in the arts and
architecture, and the Classical writings, I think she would even forgive
him being a Frank.’
There was a very faint teasing air about that last. I smiled briefly at
him.
‘But still,’ Rekhmire’ murmured, the amusement leaving his expres-
sion, ‘Neferet didn’t expect to return to Alexandria without him. That
will hurt her.’
39
‘ I would take you with me! ’ Leon’s voice rose. ‘I swear by Christ on the Tree! If there was any way it could be managed—’
Perhaps the matter had been enough on my mind recently that I saw
through it, in that instant, to an answer. As if I reached up and caught the tail of the lightning-bolt, and was instantly gifted with illumination.
Yes: this will work!
But she will not like it, I realised. It may work, but she will hate it and
me . . .
I stood up, finding by that I drew Rekhmire’’s and Leon’s attention.
Leon had one arm about Neferet’s waist, where he knelt at her side.
Neferet’s large fingers were interlocked with his.
‘You said it yourself,’ I remarked, meeting Neferet’s gaze. ‘There’s no
role for an unmarried woman in a house in Florence. Or for one married
to a different man, or to a widow, unless you could produce visible evidence of a husband. You wouldn’t be trusted because you’re a
foreigner.’
Leon scowled, looking as if he would interrupt.
‘ I found Venice far more confining than Rome or Carthage,’ I said,
‘and in Carthage I was a slave! But leaving that aside: in Venice, I’ve
been a woman. In Rome, I was,’ remembering Leon’s presence, I
stumbled over, ‘dressed as – a man.’
Rekhmire’ gestured with an open demanding palm. ‘And?’
I turned to the other Alexandrine. ‘Neferet, couldn’t you go to
Florence—’
Some friendly deity moved me to add a phrase:
‘—disguised as a man?’
She stared.
I added hastily, ‘Nobody would think anything of Leon taking on an
Alexandrine scribe as a secretary—’
‘ Disguised as a man? ’
Neferet shrieked loudly enough that I had time to think I would, if I
had simply said go to Florence as a man, either now be deaf, or have had something injurious thrown at me. And likely deserve it.
I snapped out, ‘If I can disguise myself as a man, you can!’
I saw her turn the matter over in
her mind. She knows, from gossip
with Honorius’s men-at-arms, that I was a thoroughly convincing young
man in Rome. She has been telling me, all the while I’ve been here, that
truly I am a woman. If I can pass as a man, therefore – why not she?
‘I won’t do it!’ She stood up, trembling. ‘It’s undignified! And you—’
She swung around, pointing a finger at Rekhmire’. ‘You’ve never
believed me anything but Jahar pa-sheri! You see me as a monster, don’t
you?’
Rekhmire’, pale under his reddish skin, sat bolt upright. ‘No more than
I do Ilario!’
40
Frustration sealed her lips: she glared at Rekhmire’, and at me, and
turned on her heel to shout at Leon Battista.
The Florentine was still kneeling on the floor beside the window-seat.
He looked up, without rising.
‘Neferet – I really don’t mind.’
Her hand made a fist, in the folds of her dress. She stared so intensely
at him, her glance would have made glass catch fire and burn.
‘What do you mean?’
He put a hand on the window embrasure and pushed himself up,
making a face as his knees evidently pained him. The wet cold in the
Doge’s prison takes a long time to leave a man’s bones.
‘I don’t care.’ He walked over and took each of Neferet’s hands in his
own. ‘Whether you’re a man or a woman, whether you dress as a man or
a woman – none of that has any importance. It’s you I love.’
Neferet began to cry.
I had my arm under Rekhmire’’s other armpit, acting as an additional
crutch, and tactfully removed us from the room. I signalled as I left for
one of the men-at-arms to guard the door – since there is an obvious
method by which Leon could convince Neferet of his love, and if I were
Leon, I wouldn’t even waste so much time as it would take to reach the
bedrooms.
Heading by common consent for the kitchen, where it would be warm,
Rekhmire’ shook his head as he walked, still gripping lightly at my arm.
‘I haven’t seen Neferet in a scribe’s kilt in fifteen years. And then only
when court formalities wouldn’t let her get away with anything else.’ He
steered us towards the kitchen inglenook, with a wave to the cooks.
‘Better send up the wine in wooden bowls – it’s not like the house has
