Authors: Mary Gentle

Ilario, the Stone Golem (46 page)

pole into my hands.

‘What—’

‘
Quiet!
’

One of the court officers, whose face I didn’t know, scowled at the

both of us, regarding us as men-at-arms who do not know a courtly

discipline.

The officer rapped his ivory staff on the stone of the courtyard.

I stepped briskly in beside Rekhmire’ as he moved forward, just

catching the end of the herald’s full-voiced cry:

‘—of the city of New Alexandria, known commonly as Constan-

tinople!’

A flutter of women-in-waiting and courtiers stepped back as we

approached. Lesser men, according to some: mayors of distant hill-

towns, and the captains of Rodrigo Sanguerra’s frontier towers.

Certainly leaner men. I could see none of the kingdom’s more influential

and powerful lords.

Is
the
King
hiding
us
by
making
us
seem
unimportant?

A flare of hope seemed almost distant. Numb, I could only think,
But

–
Honorius!

Rekhmire’ paused before the rank of guards to either side, and for all

the chair of state was on a stone dais, he looked down at my King.

With immense dignity, Rekhmire’ began to kneel.

I saw the spasm of pain he suppressed.

Immediately I knelt, still clasping the banner pole. That put my

shoulder where he could reach it. Large fingers bit deep into my muscles,

hard enough that I thought he would still lose balance and sprawl.

The Egyptian thumped down on one knee beside me.

‘
Rekhmire’!
’ I bowed my head low enough that no man would see my

mouth. ‘My
father
! He’s alive!’

Rekhmire’ shot me a startled look – at why I sounded angry, I realised

– and had time to do no more than raise his head as King Rodrigo, fifth

of that name, looked up from his gilded chair, and leaned forward to

speak graciously.

Blood thundering in my ears cut off the formalities.

228

Have you put my father in prison? Who
else
could be responsible!

The linen of the awning softened the sun’s light. More white than dark

showed now in Rodrigo’s wiry short-cut beard. His eyes, under thick

brows, might be bloodshot in the corners, but I could still feel the force

of his personality, blazing from them.

It occurred to me, belatedly. The King will be frighteningly angry that

no man apparently trusts him to hold his kingdom without Aldra Videric

at his side.

But even King Rodrigo Sanguerra knows there’s no fighting men’s

opinions. Whether they’re right or wrong.

Rekhmire’ rose, with equal effort, his weight almost pushing me down

onto the sandstone paving.

King Rodrigo signalled his guards to step back, and his servants to

pour wine; let his gaze imperceptibly stray while he continued to speak

with the representative of New Alexandria, and stopped midway through

a sentence.

‘Master Envoy . . . ’

Rekhmire’ bowed his head. ‘Ah. We thought this safer, Exalted One.’

Rodrigo Sanguerra Coverrubias stared at me.

A year ago, I thought, I could not have held your gaze so long.

‘I freed you, hermaphrodite.’

I passed Rekhmire’’s banner to Tottola and knelt down as one does

before kings. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘And then you repay me as you did. Not well.’

Biting down on rage allowed me to control my voice. ‘Is it well,

Majesty, to have put the Lion of Castile into your prison?’

At my elbow, Rekhmire’ twitched.

He
would
have
advised
me
against
that
, I thought, and momentarily regretted my anger.

No more than a moment. The world is still carmine about me.

Rodrigo Sanguerra leaned back in his gilt chair, steepling his fingers.

He gave the impression of choosing his words very carefully.

‘Tell me, Ilario, what I
should
have done with Licinus Honorius?’

He did not say ‘your father’. I had not the slightest doubt he knew.

Before I could stop choking and get out an answer, King Rodrigo

lifted the full force of his gaze to me.

‘Here is a lord of my kingdom,’ he said, measuredly, ‘Aldra Licinus

Honorius, whose presence I require at court. I send to inform him. He

does not come. I send to
order
him. He delays, says he will come . . . but

does not. Meantime, all my other lords – less rich than Licinus Honorius,

perhaps, and not “the Lion of Castile”, but still noble lords – watch this

behaviour . . . and judge how weak I’ve grown.’

No proper words of objection would form in my dry mouth.

‘Therefore,’ Rodrigo concluded, leaning back, ‘when Aldra Honorius

finally
does
deign to obey his King’s summons, what do I do? Thank him

229

kindly for his arrival? Ask him how I should have worded my summons,

to be better obeyed?’

‘Your Majesty—’

‘
Yes!
’ His hand slapped loudly down on the carved chair’s arm.

‘“Majesty.” “King.” But only so long as men call me so! Licinus

Honorius is a subject of mine. He defied me. He is therefore now serving

me – by being an object lesson to any man who might think of doing

likewise!’

Rekhmire’ stirred, beside me.

It was the pain of his leg, I saw. Nothing in the Egyptian’s expression

signified dissent.

‘It’s not justice to put him in prison, Majesty!’ I spoke fiercely. ‘It’s my

fault he didn’t come. He was helping me. If you put anybody in the

dungeon, it should be me.’

Rodrigo Sanguerra briefly smiled.

‘I know.’ He rested his chin on his fist. The hooded lids of his eyes

dipped down – in a way that had always, in the past, signalled covert

amusement. ‘But my hermaphrodite Fool in prison is hardly an object

lesson to the men who covet my throne. Of which there are always

some.’

‘Sire . . . ’

Rodrigo Sanguerra waved his free hand dismissively. ‘Aldra Honorius

can stay in my dungeons until I’m satisfied every man has realised he’s

there.
And
that he submits to his King. And then, on payment of a sufficiently large fine, he can find himself at liberty.’

He frowned, his pause unstudied.

‘What, did you suppose I was going to execute the Lion of Castile?’

Dizziness made me unable to answer properly.

‘You may see him,’ King Rodrigo remarked, ‘when we’re done here.

The more visitors, the more mouths to carry the story, after all.’

He smiled at me.

‘Are you still free, hermaphrodite?’

What
a
question
. Curtailing a long story, I said, ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

He would be in his late fifties or early sixties, this King of

Taraconensis. If I tried to look at him as a stranger would – as Rekhmire’

might be doing now – I saw the unforgiving and unwelcoming face of a

country mostly composed of mountain, infertile plain, and rocky coast.

Growing up with the land, I know there are valleys that flower at the

foothills of the mountains, and rich seas and forests, if a man can find the

way to them. Rodrigo had been rumoured a less grave man before his

Queen, Cixila, died in giving birth to their dead fourth child.

‘Come here.’ Rodrigo beckoned, and held out his hand. I moved to

kneel on the dais steps, and kissed the cabochon-cut emerald he wore in

his massive ouroboros-ring.

For a moment, he rested his hand on my head.

230

‘You come back bringing trouble, Ilario.’

A flood of emotion would have had me in tears like a girl. I waited

until it passed. And saw King Rodrigo had, as ever, read everything

visible in a man’s face.

‘We’ll break our fast and talk,’ he said, glancing around absently for

servants – and, on a sudden, looked back at me.

He gestured with his lined hand. ‘Rise, Ilario.’

Stiffly, slowly, I stood up.

It is still instinctive in me – not to rise until he gives me direct

permission.

‘The envoy of Alexandria is best qualified to speak with you, Your

Majesty.’ I prayed he did not read how rigid I stood, and how much it

was out of determination. ‘No man knows I’m here, yet; no man will

recognise me, dressed like this. May I be excused to visit Lord Honorius

in prison?’

I did not suppose Honorius would be in a prison elsewhere than in

Taraco. And not in the civil jail down in the city, reserved for men who

are not noble. Somewhere in this palace’s oubliettes and rat-infested

dungeons, thick with the stench of ancient shit and despair . . .
Because
if
King
Rodrigo
desires
to
make
an
object
lesson
out
of
Honorius,
he
will
keep
him
under
his
hand
.

Rekhmire’’s fingers closed around my biceps. Without seeming to care

that he broke protocol in speaking before the King did, he snapped, ‘We

need you here!’

The flash of Rekhmire’’s gaze prompted
Videric!
very plainly.

‘You were previously of the opinion I could stay on the ship, Master

Rekhmire’. You can bring the introductory matters to my Lord King’s

attention. I’ll continue after I’ve seen Lord Honorius—’

I bit back the words
my
father
.

‘—with His Majesty’s permission.’

Rekhmire’ glared at me, clearly divided between exasperation and a

fear that I might throw something.

Observing us, King Rodrigo shifted his chin to his other hand, all the

time watching me as closely as a painter does. He allowed silence to

return.

Rekhmire’ murmured, ‘I apologise, Exalted One.’

I echoed him. ‘I apologise, sire.’

Underlining that with silence, King Rodrigo did nothing more than

observe me from under lowered lids.

‘Very well!’ He sat up, briskly. ‘Master Egyptian, we will have a private

audience. Ilario – one hour. And you will not afterwards whine to me

that this is too brief!’

Without waiting for an answer, the King beckoned one of his men

forward; a lugubrious-faced knight in a forest-green surcoat over

Milanese armour.

231

‘The prison, first; then bring Ilario to me in the east tower, when the

hour of Terce has struck.’

232

The knight’s lugubriosity appeared to be a function merely of his long

features. He introduced himself as Safrac de Aguilar, and smiled amiably

enough as I halted midway up a flight of sandstone spiral steps.

Four sets of steps serve the floors of the prison tower of the Sanguerra

castle. One at each corner of the building. Any one of them enough to

leave men breathless.

It was not the constriction of my ribs that made me stop, but a sudden

thought.

‘Aldra Aguilar, I have no money for a bribe!’

That we were going up, not down, the stairs, told me I was being taken

to the governor or overseer – whatever knight King Rodrigo had placed

in charge of prisoners, and who therefore kept his chambers at the top of

this high square tower. And whose income depends on what prisoners’

relatives will pay him for good treatment of a prisoner.

Appalled, I thought,
Nor
do
I
have
money
to
pay
a
jailer
for
food,
or
candles,
or
clean
water,
or
anything
my
father
will
need!