Read Ilario, the Stone Golem Online
Authors: Mary Gentle
the First Minister has been banished from court.’
In the silence, I heard servants’ voices distant in the kitchens, and
Saverico out in the embassy courtyard, laughing like a much younger
boy at some remark Berenguer made.
Honorius’s scowl did not lighten. ‘Ilario – what is this?’
‘It’s inescapable.’
I straightened up, facing both of them: the Iberian soldier and the
Egyptian book-buyer.
‘Aldra Videric needs me dead. If I’m dead, the scandal starts to die,
and eventually Rodrigo can recall him to court. Videric’s a rich man, a
powerful man. He can afford to pay to send any number of thugs and
murderers after me. And to arrange for any witnesses to be killed, after.’
I saw Honorius and Rekhmire’ swap glances. Clearly, this is not a new
thought to them.
I pulled one of the smaller crates towards me, running my finger
across the grain of the beech wood. That soothed me enough to get
words out:
‘I know that Aldra Videric will not run out of money. And he’s well
enough guarded at his estates that it would not be possible to attack or ambush
him
. Nor will he forget this matter – the only thing Videric has
ever had is his place at the King’s side. He won’t forgive losing it. He won’t cease wanting it back.’
I took a breath, feeling an odd combination of confidence and
swimming dizziness,
‘I remain the obstacle. What Ramiro Carrasco can say might give
Videric a moment’s pause. But as far as that goes – as you say – he can
probably arrange an attack by bandits that wipes out an entire party of
travellers, just as soon as we leave Venice. He’s rich enough to crew a
ship and send men after me that way. I’ve thought of this backwards,
forwards, and sideways. The answer remains: Videric’s not going to stop
coming after me.’
Honorius put war-worn hands down on the table. ‘Ilario . . . naturally
this must worry you. I can defend you—’
‘Not indefinitely. And it puts you in danger.’
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I circumvented Honorius’s further words by pointing at the Egyptian.
‘You too, Rekhmire’. You’re a witness.’
With an unexpectedly hard note in his voice, Rekhmire’ stated, ‘
I
am a
representative of Alexandria-in-Exile and the Pharaoh-Queen.’
‘Then go back there and be safe,’ Honorius rapped out. ‘This isn’t
your fight—’
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Expression rigid,
Rekhmire’ said, ‘Is it not?’
‘Damn it, man, you know what I mean! You
can
leave, and so you
should—’
‘If I had not
interfered
at Carthage,’ the Egyptian’s voice bit down, cutting Honorius short. ‘If I had not thought it so
wise
to go spilling Aldra Videric’s secrets – your son-daughter might not be in such
complete danger of being killed! Yes, you have every right to blame me
for that—’
‘I don’t blame you!’ Honorius jumped to his feet, waving his hands
wildly. ‘Ilario doesn’t blame you!’
‘It never
occurred
to me to— Will you two
be
quiet
!’ I yelled. ‘And just for once
listen
!’
The silent room echoed to a tiny sharp snap.
I looked down. The serpentine stem of the goblet I had picked up had
snapped neatly into two.
Gently, I put the parts of the glass down in the straw-lined crate.
‘I have the answer,’ I said, ‘if you will
listen
.’
Honorius seated himself again on the bench, one hand resting on the
table. As I watched, it curled into a white-knuckled fist. Rekhmire’
steepled his fingers and gazed at me over his clean spade-cut nails.
‘Videric will not stop,’ I repeated. ‘And I can see only one way to stop
him eventually killing me. Killing
us
, I should say – he won’t leave witnesses. And that one way is . . . We have to see that Videric gets what
he wants.’
Honorius blinked in total bewilderment. ‘But he wants you dead!’
I snorted a laugh, and wiped at my face.
‘Apologies! No. Think. He wants me dead, but only as the means to
something else. He desires to be summoned back from exile. He wants to
be Rodrigo’s adviser again. Videric wants to be the King’s First Minister
of Taraconensis.’
Rekhmire’ stared at me with as blank an expression as I had ever seen
on his face. ‘And . . . ’
‘And – that’s what we have to do.’
I looked from the Egyptian to my father, and from Honorius back to
Rekhmire’.
‘That’s what will stop these attempts at murder. That’s what will make
us safe. I have to
help
my greatest enemy.’
Rage boiled up through me with the suddenness of thunder in
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summer. I seized up the wooden crate of export glass, and hurled it two-
handed and bodily towards the room’s further wall.
It struck home with a vibrant, world-shattering crash.
‘I have to
help
the man who’s trying to kill me. And the only way to help Videric . . . I have to help him get what he wants. I have to put him
back in power.’
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1
‘
That
means . . . ’ I broke the silence with some deliberation. ‘ . . . that I go back to Taraconensis, now, and negotiate this with Videric. Face to
face.’
Rekhmire’, bent awkwardly over on his crutches, and surveying the
remains of the crate of export glass, shot a startled look at me. ‘You do
not!’
‘Is it necessary to point out that you freed me in Rome?’
The Egyptian straightened up, monumentally prepared to rebuke me.
Honorius rose to his feet, knocking his own glass over. Spilled wine
spread in a pool of reflection that I wished I might paint.
The Lion of Castile snapped, ‘You may be of age, but as your
father—’
I stopped pacing and completed his words: ‘—You’ve learned to
recognise a losing battle when you see one?’
‘Don’t you be cheeky with me, young Ilario!’
I swung around, striding back up the room, ignoring the pull of
healing stitches. Low as the beams were, and cramped as these small
quarters might be, movement was the only thing that eased my mind.
Wearing one of Neferet’s Alexandrine housecoats and a doublet is not
like wearing Frankish petticoats.
I
begin
to
feel
more
myself
than
I
have
since
I
came
to
Venice.
I pushed open the panelled shutters, letting in cold spring air, and
gazed down at the canal at the rear of the embassy. Brickwork reflected
in the water. The sun stood high enough overhead to strike down
between the tall buildings. Symmetrical ripples spidered off the water,
too bright to look at directly.
‘Tell me that there’s
any
other way to do this!’ Dazzled, I turned about; resting my back against the windowsill. I stared into a room now
completely black to my eyes. ‘Videric lost his place at the King’s side
because people won’t allow Rodrigo to have a would-be murderer there.
You know Carthage will have said Videric tried to kill me, no matter how
much of it was Rosamunda!’
In the brilliance of the water outside, I see the Court of Fountains in
Taraco, regardless of the heat there and the chill here.
‘Videric will be devising plans to get back into favour. Which all
depend on having me dead and forgotten. He’ll send more men like
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Carrasco. If we’re in Frankish territory, he’s long used to dealing with the
banking firms and all the major merchants for King Rodrigo – he can
pick up gossip about hermaphrodites, about painters . . . With Federico’s
reports, he knows as much about what I’m doing as
you
do.’
Honorius frankly scowled, I saw, as my eyes adapted back to light and
shadow. He desired to contradict me. Clearly, he couldn’t.
Rekhmire’ seated himself on the bench with a grunt, and a clatter of
crutches. ‘It’s true: Aldra Videric
would
be better returned to court as your King’s minister. Carthage is under the Penitence, and Iberia is the
grain-basket of the empire. Any excuse to take over more of its kingdoms
. . . It seems there are too many people with confidence in First Minister
Videric as a politician, and King Rodrigo’s right hand.’
Which made me desire to spit out something bitter. Why hearing
confirmation of my thoughts should create such revulsion, when I had
been brought to admit the truth of the argument through long hours
spent feeding Onorata and brooding, I did not know.
I stared both of them down: the sitting spy, and the standing General,
whom I cannot afford at this moment to think of as friend and father.
‘Who else can sort this out but me? If I go back to Taraco, persuade
Videric that I’m not interested in having Rosamunda arrested for my
attempted murder—’
Honorius interrupted by lifting his head and bellowing, ‘Carrasco!’
While my ears still rang, Ramiro Carrasco came in, and shut the door
behind him on the sound of a crying baby. He shot a frightened look
around the room. The slave’s look, which I know well:
What
have
I
done?
And:
It
doesn’t
matter
if
I
did
anything
or
not,
am
I
going
to
suffer
for
it?
He does learn fast.
‘You.’ Honorius seemed reluctant to call the assassin by his name
again. ‘Tell me something. How long might you live, if you stepped off a
ship in Taraconensis now?’
They speak of men going white. It would be more accurate, I thought,
feeling the shape of it in my fingers that itched to draw, to say that their
faces go sunken. It wasn’t possible to tell if Ramiro Carrasco the slave
looked pale in this dim room. He did instantly look ten years older.
He snorted unsteadily. ‘Minutes if I’m lucky! As long as it’ll take the
Aldra to send out his household men disguised as bandits. On territory
he
knows
.’
Carrasco swung about, unslavelike, and shot me a look of appeal.
‘My family – they’ll be dead too! He’d leave nothing! You can’t be
thinking of—’
Honorius, apparently unmoved by Carrasco’s disrespect in not
addressing him as ‘master’, leaned his hand on the table, tapping a finger
on the wood. ‘Ilario’s thinking of travelling back to Taraco. What about
it, Ilario, would you take your slave?’
Honorius didn’t take his eyes off Carrasco as he spoke.
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That will be part of his continuing investigation into whether the man
speaks the truth, I thought. As well as pointing out to Ilario what an idiot
Ilario is . . .
Stubborn, I said, ‘Ramiro Carrasco will stay with you.’
Rekhmire’ leaned his elbows on the table, beside Honorius; his weight
making the wood groan. ‘So much for the slave Carrasco as your shield
against Aldra Videric . . . ’
‘He can be that out of my company.’
I doubted the truth of it even as I said it. And kicked a joint-stool out
of the way as I paced back down the length of the room.
Ramiro Carrasco blinked at me with the bewildered look of a slave
realising that none of the decisions which will affect him are taken with
any reference to what he thinks.
I could read nothing on Rekhmire’’s impassive countenance. An
unexpected pang went through me.
Who
knows
, I thought,
what
orders
he’ll
receive
from
Alexandria,
when
ships
can
safely
travel
here
from
Constantinople?
Orders that take precedence over this.
‘And my granddaughter?’ Honorius demanded, behind me. ‘Do I sit
in some place as yet undecided, with your slave and your baby? While
you venture back to Taraco, walk up to Videric, and – watch your head
go bouncing across the ground, because it won’t take ten heartbeats for
one of his men to “protect” him! He needs you dead, Ilario! What better
excuse for instant execution than “Ilario wanted revenge and I had to
defend myself”? You won’t get a chance to speak to the King. Nor to any