Ilario, the Stone Golem (27 page)

what I had taken for delirium and
trompe
l’oeil
, in the Adriatic sea.

Rekhmire’ tilted his head back. At this distance it was possible to pick

out small figures of men on that impossibly high rail. Not possible to see

any detail. He mused aloud, ‘It will be – interesting – to know how it

came to be here.’

‘And if anybody can find out, you can!’

He gave me the same abrupt and undignified grin that he had

sometimes gifted me with in Carthage.

It stayed quiet enough that I could hear ropes creaking overhead, and

the sweeps groaning as the oars brought us steadily on towards our

mooring place. The captain bellowed something obscene as our wake

wavered, the rowers’ attention being all on the huge ship. I realised we

were listing, every man who could lining the rail on this side of the ship.

I shaded my eyes with my free hand. ‘How many men would it take to

crew something that size?’

‘It’s . . . remarkable.’ Lines creased Rekhmire’’s forehead; I could see

them where his hand lifted his cloth veil as he tried to cut out the ambient

light from sky and flashing wavelets. He looked back at me. ‘But, if I may

say so – not our first concern. We have matters to take up with the

Pharaoh-Queen. Although it might be useful, perhaps, to mention to her

that you’ve seen this vessel months ago.’

133

Our ship drove on steadily towards the mountainous masonry of

Constantinople. I realised I had the jumping frogs in my belly again.

The ghost ship. Yes. But . . .

Sooner or later, the Pharaoh-Queen will call me in to bear witness to

what I saw in Rome.

When this city had been built by the Romans and Carthaginians, it

was called Byzantium. The Franks called it ‘Constantinople’ after one of

their emperors, and added monumental grandeur to the place. But it was

the last of dynastic Egypt that had taken the city and changed it to New

Alexandria, long centuries in the past, after the Turks overran the

Egyptian homeland.

It looked nothing like the harbours of Frankish ports, or Iberia, or even

Carthage. I stared out at the squares of the city, lined with great inscribed

obelisks; temples with masses of clustered pillars under great roofs; and

the bas-reliefs that ornamented buildings – painted bas-reliefs, bright as

enamel—

I could do nothing but stare as we docked and were greeted. A bevy of

bureaucrats stood by, awaiting the galley’s small boats. It occurred to me

that if Menmet-Ra had sent messages indicating his success in finding

the printer and the hermaphrodite, his messengers might have had better

sailing than ours, and arrived here before us.

‘Come.’ Rekhmire’ touched my shoulder. ‘We’ll go up to the palace.’

The Pharaoh-Queen Ty-ameny, otherwise Ty-Amenhotep, Lord of the

Two Lost Rivers and Ruler of the Five Great Names, stood around four

foot six in her bare feet, and wore a beard.

She
was
barefoot, I saw; a pair of gilded sandals having been kicked off

across the rush matting on the faıënce-tiled floor, and she reached up

and unhooked the false beard from her ears as the mute slaves showed us

into her bedchamber. Sunlight streaming in through the linen-draped

windows spot-lit the small, black-haired figure as she turned and

beamed.

‘Rekhmire’! You’re back.’

‘Great Queen.’ Rekhmire’ lurched only slightly as he stepped forward,

aided by his crutch. He bowed almost double, and put his free arm very

gently around Ty-ameny, embracing her as one does a relative or close

friend. ‘I’ve brought you Ilario, son-daughter of Licinus Honorius, who

is lately Captain-General of the Frankish thrones of Leon and Castile.’

Ty-ameny nodded briefly, with a quick and bird-like movement. Her

arms were thin but muscled, and showed ruddy under the half-sleeved

white linen tunic she wore. A heap of brocade and cloth-of-gold on the

bed, spilling down the sides of the dais, had the look of formal clothing –

and the braided beard hit the top of the heap with some force.

‘I can do without one more formal audience!’ Ty-ameny dusted her

hands, and put small fists on her hips. In a tunic that came down to her

134

knees, and with matt-black hair cut in a curtain that fell below her waist,

she looked something between the beggar children and fisher-girls down

on the dock, and – because of the quality of the cloth – a great lady. She

strode across the mats to where a sunken area of the floor was lined with

marble benches, padded with silk cushions. She waved one arm at her

slaves.

‘Good day to you, Freeborn Ilario.’ This in halting Iberian. ‘Please, sit.

You should drink.’ She met my gaze with eyes that were black as sloes,

and smiled. ‘Foreigners don’t drink enough in New Alexandria, and then

we have to treat them for heat-stroke.’ Back in the Alexandrine Latin

lingua franca of the eastern Mediterranean Sea, she added, ‘Cousin

Rekhmire’, Pamiu tells me you’ve had my witness with you for
months
.’

She used the familiar for ‘cousin’, rather than the formal. I raised an

eyebrow at the Egyptian book-buyer, taking a seat on the low couch as I

did so.

Rekhmire’ looked back at me, as innocently as any man might.

I
wonder
if
Ty-ameny
of
the
Five
Great
Names
would
mind
if
I
kicked
him
on
the
ankle?

But I felt oddly cheered that he would tease me again, after the tension

between us on the
Sekhmet
.

Slaves poured watered wine into golden cups, that were circled with

cabochon-cut sapphires in the pattern called Horus-Eye. Rekhmire’

offered his hand to the Pharaoh-Queen, and with surprising grace led her

to an individual small couch. She curled her bare feet up under her as

she sat down.

He shot me a glance as he thumped down onto the padded bench

beside me, and smiled. ‘Fourth cousin; nine hundred and seventh in line

to the throne of the Ptolemies. Were you wondering?’

Ty-ameny made a sound that, had she not been in her thirties and the

ruler of a great city, I should have described as a snicker. ‘Has he been playing the humble scroll-purchaser again?’

‘Oh yes.’ I mentally rummaged through the rapid briefing he had

dumped on me on the way up the Thousand Steps to the palace, while I

was still more concerned with leaving my daughter yelling at Tottola.

‘Yes, Divine Daughter of Ra.’

She had all of her teeth still, and they showed white in the pale-vaulted

room as she smiled. ‘What would it be in Iberia? “Aldra” – lord?

“Altezza” – “Highness”? And every man in this room is higher than I

am!’

Ty-ameny leaned forward, both her hands cupping one of the golden

bowls, looking keenly interested.

‘A man-woman – what do you call yourself? Hermaphrodite? If you’d

consent to it, there are natural philosophers here who would dearly like

to speak to you, after this matter of Carthage’s gift is dealt with.’

Rekhmire’ spoke before I could get a word out.

135

‘No prodding!’

The Pharaoh-Queen’s kohl-lined brows shot up into her straight-cut

fringe.

With an effort of will I kept
I
told
you
so
out of my glare.

Ty-ameny loosed her cup with one hand, and slapped her knee.

‘Rekhmire’,
what
have you been telling her! Him. I’m sorry—’ She

swivelled back to me. ‘Which do you prefer?’

‘Usually I go with what I’m dressed as, Altezza.’

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘I suppose “he”; you’re most like our

eunuchs, after all.’

Rekhmire’ said firmly, ‘No.’

‘No?’ Her brows went up again, and came down. There were a few

minuscule golden spots on the reddish skin of her cheeks, I saw; like

freckles. She bit at a thumbnail, and looked at me with a curiosity that was so frank I found it difficult to be offended. ‘I suppose not. You have

both? And—’

‘And you,’ Rekhmire’ put in smoothly, ‘were far too curious back

when I was made eunuch, never mind now, Ty-ameny of the Five Great

Names.’

His face was monumentally solemn.

The Pharaoh-Queen gazed up at him where he sat, pursed her lips in a

silent whistle, and gave him a surprisingly gamin grin. ‘I’m in trouble if

I’m “of the Five Great Names” . . . ’

‘Ilario didn’t come here to be put in a specimen cabinet in your secret

museum!’ Rekhmire’ spoke mildly, but anyone who knew him could see

he was amused now. ‘Kek and Keket!, but I wonder what Pamiu wrote in

his report from Rome. Great Queen of the Five Names, this is a painter,

Ilario, whose account of the gift of King-Caliph Ammianus of Carthage

you should hear. What any of us have under our robes is nothing to do

with the matter.’

The black gaze of the small woman switched back to me.

‘No prodding,’ she said meekly.

I thought Rekhmire’, if he hadn’t the control of a lifetime, would have

been quaking; I could feel his arm quiver where it rested against mine.

I managed to say, ‘Thank you, Queen Ty-ameny.’

She grinned, and signalled for slaves to pour more wine. Two men

and two women came in. I noted that they took a reasonable pride in

serving deftly, and didn’t seem to be always on the watch against being

hit.

‘You’re already in possession of delicate information.’ Ty-ameny

smoothed her tunic over her knees, and directed a keen black stare at me.

‘I suppose the Carthaginians ordered their gift painted at Rome so that

rumours would spread out among the Franks. I understand that

Menmet-Ra allowed the Italian’s apprentice – you – to come in and work

since things were progressing so slowly?’

136

‘I wasn’t told why.’ The memory of hours spent carefully laying on

coat after coat of colour and tint brought me back Masaccio’s face,

laughing as he told me stories while he painted with intent genius.

‘According to Menmet-Ra, your late master took so long, and kept

breaking off to do so much other work, that Menmet-Ra feared he would

run over the deadline Carthage had ordered. It would never do to insult

the King-Caliph unintentionally . . . ’ The Pharaoh-Queen’s eyes

narrowed.

I couldn’t think of Carthage.

The warm wind blew in scents of the Alexandrine harbour and the

palace gardens, and linen curtains streamed in the breeze.

He
didn’t
break
off
to
do
other
work
, I thought. Even if they assumed so.

He drew the job out so he could study the golem. He died simply

because he wanted an amazing thing for himself. He didn’t want it to

come here . . .

The chamber was silent, I realised. I looked up from my wine cup.

‘I understand that you were fond of your master.’ Ty-ameny smiled

sadly.

‘He was painting things in a way no other man could. Maybe never

will.’ I felt the muscles tight between my shoulder-blades. ‘Is the golem

here?’

‘The golem is in my throne room,’ Ty-ameny said, suddenly tight-

lipped. ‘So that Carthage isn’t offended at a rejection of their gift. That

thing stands there – by my throne – already has blood on its hands – and

I have no idea if it waits for some signal to run riot, kill everyone around

it!’

‘Couldn’t you drop it in the harbour?’

She raised a brow at me, in a way that very much reminded me of

Rekhmire’ himself. ‘You put much work into it, I understand.’

‘Some of the best statue work I’ve ever done.’ I steadily regarded Ty-

ameny. ‘If you can’t push it into your harbour, I can lift a sledge-

hammer.’

Her mouth quirked up at one corner, in a very distinctively sardonic

smile. ‘I understand why you might feel that way. It isn’t possible,

because of the situation between nations, to destroy it. We study it. And,

as Carthage designed, we have not the slightest idea how it works!

Months it’s been here, and none of my philosophers can tell me how it

moves, even. Not with all the resources of the Library. Someone in

Carthage has made a breakthrough – House Barbas, my counsellors

suspect. And Carthage won’t share the secret . . . ’