Carrasco won’t be transported to the
lazarettos.’
A breath of chill touched me that was not this winter cold. If there were other Alexandrines here, I would suspect that was an offer . . .
‘All the while Carrasco was here,’ I speculated, ‘Videric evidently felt
he would kill me. He either doubted, or he sent the men who attacked me
on Torcello to assist Carrasco. Now . . . I have no idea how many men
he can hire who would murder me for money, or where they’ll be, or how
long it’ll take them to get to Venice – if he didn’t give up on Ramiro Carrasco and send them weeks ago.’
I intercepted a look between the two men.
‘You’re right,’ Honorius agreed as if the Egyptian had spoken. ‘It’s
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
lazarettos.’
A breath of chill touched me that was not this winter cold. If there were other Alexandrines here, I would suspect that was an offer . . .
‘All the while Carrasco was here,’ I speculated, ‘Videric evidently felt
he would kill me. He either doubted, or he sent the men who attacked me
on Torcello to assist Carrasco. Now . . . I have no idea how many men
he can hire who would murder me for money, or where they’ll be, or how
long it’ll take them to get to Venice – if he didn’t give up on Ramiro Carrasco and send them weeks ago.’
I intercepted a look between the two men.
‘You’re right,’ Honorius agreed as if the Egyptian had spoken. ‘It’s
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
Similar Books
