Ilario, the Stone Golem

by Mary Gentle

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

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

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  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.

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  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.

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  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

  Majesty told me to come down here and meet the book-buyer. I won’t be

  arrested again if I keep to my curfew.’

  Rodrigo asked him for his parole, I realised.

  Little enough chance Honorius will ever break it.

  I caught sight of Orazi and Tottola in the shadows of the nearer

  warehouses; the German lifted his hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘Master Rekhmire’ . . . ’ I strove for formality, and finally persuaded

  myself to look up at the Egyptian. His arm still lay heavily about my

  shou
lder.

  Rekhmire’ signalled with his other hand. One of Jian’s men handed up

  a snapsack.

  ‘Zheng He sailed south at the King’s request, and picked me up

  further down the Via Augusta,’ Rekhmire’ observed, dark eyes hidden

  by shadow. Even so, I could see the corners crease. ‘For some odd

  reason I didn’t desire to ride to Taraco in the company of Aldro

  Rosamunda . . . ’

  Dryly, I said, ‘I wonder why.’

  My supposition was exactly right!

  ‘Were you in the cathedral?’ I added.

  I felt the Egyptian shrug, rather than saw it.

  ‘Forgive me: I didn’t desire to see it. I would have throttled the insolent

  barbarian.’

  It was unclear whether he meant Videric, King Rodrigo, or any other

  man; the true accent of Alexandria reminded me that we are all

  barbarians in that city’s eyes.

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  A scent of pitch and a flare of light let me know that Orazi had fired a

  torch. Honorius glanced at the stars on the horizon.

  ‘We should get back.’ He glanced at me, and at the book-buyer, and I

  thought I saw him smile.

  Rekhmire’ kept his arm over my shoulder, using me as well as his stick

  to propel himself along at a reasonable rate. The torchlight showed

  irregularities in the ground; his concentration was on those.

  ‘No hunting accidents?’ I observed.

  He smiled without looking at me, giving him a profile that might well

  have appeared in one of Ty-ameny’s bas-reliefs.

  ‘That depends on your definition of “accident”.’ He scowled, mood

  changing. ‘And hunting. The wild boar on Aldra Videric’s estate are

  tame enough that they come to a whistle. It’s not sport.’

  The rising white light brought Sulva clearly into my mind’s eye, the

  massive wild boar attentive to her aulos flute. I thought suddenly, I

  should have confessed to Father Felix that I regret how badly I treated Sulva Paziathe.

  ‘I had crossbow bolts sent too close to me for my liking,’ Rekhmire’

  observed, shooting a glance up at the Sanguerra castle’s black bulk. ‘If I

  had thought of myself as a hunter rather than prey, I might have come

  back more battered even than I went.’

  He means his knee, I realised.

  Before I could say anything rational or comforting, I saw other torches

  approaching us down the dock steps.

  Honorius and Orazi exchanged a wordless look.

  Only two torches, and – I squinted, now the night had fully fallen; the

  moon was not yet bright – only three men visible. Two guards, and one

  man who dressed like a knight.

  ‘I have a message for you!’ the leading figure called.

  Under the flickering yellow light, I recognised his lugubrious features.

  ‘That’s Safrac de Aguilar – King Rodrigo trusts him,’ I muttered

  briskly to Honorius.

  We were four or five men to three, in any case – and I wondered when

  it had become natural for me to think that way in my home city.

  Aldra de Aguilar evidently recognised Honorius in the torchlight. His

  voice became much less loud. ‘Greetings, my lord. The King desires to

  see you, urgently.’

  Honorius nodded and fell in beside the Iberian knight. I registered

  Tottola bringing up the rear, eyes scanning the darkness of the town as

  we made our way through black streets.

  There should be words to say to Rekhmire’, but for the moment, I

  could find none of them; I merely enjoyed his presence, and the

  assistance I could lend him.

  King Rodrigo Sanguerra sat in his private chambers, the night wind

  blowing the scent of the city through the rooms, along with a firefly or 286

  two. He sat with his head down over a clutch of maps, not lifting it when

  his page announced us, but only waving a hand to gesture that we should

  be allowed in.

  Not having been given permission to sit, I spent my energies in being a

  prop to the book-buyer, whose injury clearly – to my eyes, at least –

  pained him.

  The King pushed a map aside and leaned back. Hooded black eyes

  surveyed us all, settling at last on Licinus Honorius.

  Rodrigo Sanguerra beamed.

  ‘Aldra Honorius,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to have released you from

  confinement. If you will, I have a task that you may do for your King.’

  My father’s expression said You do? , but his voice smoothly managed,

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty?’

  ‘Yes.’ King Rodrigo looked at Rekhmire’, and at me, and back at

  Honorius. ‘You’re going to Carthage.’

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  11

  ‘I’m doing what?’ Honorius didn’t give his King the chance to do so much as draw breath. ‘ Carthage! Sire! You suspected me of conspiring with Carthage! Wanting to take your place as Carthage’s governor! And

  now you want me to go there?’

  His incredulity could have burst eardrums. I opened my mouth, a

  suggestion forming in my mind. King Rodrigo signalled forcefully for us

  to sit down at the table.

  I loaned Rekhmire’ my arm. ‘But you’re going to Carthage, in any

  case? For Ty-ameny?’

  Rodrigo Sanguerra caught my low-voiced comment.

  ‘If I understand it correctly . . . ’ He pushed maps back as his page

  brought wine, and took a glass of Falernian. ‘The Pharaoh-Queen desires

  you to go to Carthage, Master Rekhmire’, to instruct the King-Caliph

  that the devil-ship is now your ally, and they should be duly alarmed?’

  Rekhmire’ inclined his head in agreement.

  The King sipped at his wine. ‘I had occasion to speak with the foreign

  Admiral, over the rendezvous to bring you back to Taraco. A very

  amiable man in many ways.’

  I bit my tongue, managing not to tactlessly ask what my King and

  Zheng He might have in common – or what they might have discussed.

  ‘In any case,’ Rodrigo Sanguerra turned to Honorius, ‘I desire you to

  travel to Carthage on the devil-ship, and do precisely the same thing.’

  Honorius’s eyebrows went up.

  ‘Claim to be the Chin’s allies, as well?’

  ‘Claim them to be our allies,’ Rodrigo corrected.

  His hooded eyes watched my father, with a combination of amuse-

  ment and judgement.

  ‘I desire you to travel as my kingdom’s Captain-General,’ he added.

  Honorius pushed his hand across his face, wiping sweat out of his

  eyes, and downed his wine in one swallow. ‘If I wanted to stay a captain,

  I’d have stayed in Castile!’

  ‘If I wanted a war, I’d appoint a Captain-General who wanted to

  fight!’

  Rekhmire’ broke out in a light tenor laugh. My father and the King

  stared at him. He shook his head apologetically.

  ‘Pardon me, Your Majesty. What else would you wish Aldra Honorius

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  to convey, officially, to the King-Caliph? Perhaps the news that First

  Minister Videric has recovered from his illness and resumed his position

  at court?’

  Rodrigo watched the book-buyer for a moment.

  He smiled.

  ‘An excellent idea.’

  ‘Oh, I see where this is going . . . ’ Honorius’s moroseness was not

  particularly conv
incing.

  I nodded agreement. ‘So do I!’

  King Rodrigo Sanguerra linked his fingers on the maps of the

  Hesperides, and showed me his teeth. ‘You tell us then, Ilario.’

  Rekhmire’’s look informed me I might have kept my big mouth shut

  with more advantage; Honorius merely beamed proudly. The King may as well know his Freak has a mind, I thought.

  ‘You want Lord Honorius as Captain-General because every Frankish

  kingdom will be afraid to fight him,’ I said. ‘Even if all he ever does is stay on his estate and breed war-horses! You want him to go to Carthage

  as your Captain-General because that would make it very difficult for

  him to ally himself with Carthage. Especially if he’s the one who tells

  King-Caliph Ammianus that Aldra Videric is back – the King-Caliph

  won’t be pleased with whoever brings him that message!’

  I did not add, It nails Licinus Honorius’s colours to your mast, because no man at the table appeared to need that confirmation.

  Rodrigo grinned like a boy.

  ‘I should have sent you away before, Ilario. You’ve learned much.’

  I’ve learned to be wary of compliments from powerful rulers . . .

  ‘You understand, Ilario,’ King Rodrigo added, ‘that I need to send you

  away again. For a year or two, until there’s no scandal attached to the

  resemblance between you and Licinus Honorius.’

  That might mean anything from two years to ‘don’t come back until

  Pirro Videric is dead’, but I saw I had no current choice, and nodded.

  ‘I have business in Carthage, too,’ I added, ‘if you won’t think it

  suspicious, sire. It’s personal and to do with being a painter.’

  King Rodrigo nodded absently. Most of his attention was on

  Honorius, which I had counted on. At least I have my place on Zheng He’s ship.

  Rekhmire’ gave me a sideways look, but had to abandon the query

  when Rodrigo Sanguerra beckoned the page to fill his wine glass and

  addressed the Egyptian again.

  ‘As I understand it, your Queen desires you and Pilot Sebekhotep to

  return at some time to Constantinople?’

  ‘The Admiral will put into Gades,’ Rekhmire’ volunteered. ‘That

  would be the nearest friendly port from which we could return to

  Alexandria.’

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  Rodrigo thoughtfully nodded. I wondered if he perceived that Admiral

  Zheng He would leave the Middle Sea.