scarlet, her eyes screwed up and hot with tears. He touched
a forefinger to the swaddling bands and gave me a significant look – by
which I knew him off to remove them.
I have marked the sympathy between soldiers and small children
before now, in Taraco; I had not ever thought I would be grateful to it
when it provided me with at least six persistent and efficient nursemaids.
Even if they are not half so enthusiastic during the small hours of the
night, or when it came to changing breech-clouts.
36
‘Madonna Ilaria.’ The priest beckoned me forward to stand at Leon
Battista’s side.
S. Barnaba had nothing worth the looking at, its altar-piece was third-
rate, and the Green priest – evidently hired by the Alberti family – rattled
through the ceremony so fast that it reached the moment of commitment
before I was ready for it.
Leon had no shred of prison dirt on him now, even the stench being
eradicated in favour of soap and civet, but I could recognise the
expression on his face. That of a slave who has been punished by dark
and isolation, and found it full of unexpected monsters.
‘Yes.’ My mouth formed the appropriate words before I was aware I
had made my decision. Consenting to wed this man, in name only, is
nothing more than words to me. It is freedom to him.
I walked out of the church married for the second time in half a year.
This time as the bride.
‘We understand your daughter and the child cannot travel as yet.’ The
Alberti patriarch spoke to Honorius, without even a glance towards me.
‘We will send our son from Florence to collect her, as soon as she may.’
The proper things were said, the Alberti men departed in a splendidly-
decorated oared boat, and I noted Leon Battista slipping quietly off into
the Alexandrine embassy ahead of us.
It took me a time to settle Onorata, she being too disturbed to sleep –
eventually conceding only when Attila fetched a bowl of milk and a
spoon from the kitchens, and sat by the fire to feed her with infinite
patience.
I recall those hands, so much larger than my child’s head, loosing the
bolt that tore the Carthaginian agent apart. It will not be the first or last
man that he has killed.
I made a sketch with coal and chalk, that was only broad shapes except
for the features, but caught the difference between the two faces: one still
unmarked and with deep clear eyes, the other with half a lifetime worn
into skin creased with staring through sunlight.
Coming downstairs, I walked into Rekhmire’ as he left the main room,
and clutched at him to keep both of us on our feet.
A fragile Venetian glass hurtled through the door and smashed on the
opposite wall.
Rekhmire’ wouldn’t be able to bend down with his crutch; therefore
called for one of the Egyptian’s servants to sweep up the fragments. I
nodded towards the open door, hearing loud raised voices beyond.
‘What is it?’
Rekhmire’ finished steadying himself with a grip on my shoulder, and
brushed himself down. ‘It’s Master Leon Battista. He says he cannot
travel to Alexandria, it appears.’
Alexandria would be a good refuge for him – for us all, I thought. It
was too cold to stand in this passageway, spring or not, and besides, I
37
was curious as to the actions of my husband. I strode through the open
door, Rekhmire’ behind me, the cloth-padded end of his crutch
stomping down on the floorboards.
Neferet instantly flung away from Leon Battista, where the dark man
stood silhouetted at the window, and glared at me. ‘ Here she is. The happy bride! No wonder you won’t leave Venice!’
Slave or free, I can recognise when someone desires a mere target for
their temper. Without venom, I reminded, ‘You asked me to do this.’
She stalked out of the room, pulling the door behind her with a
shattering crash.
Rekhmire’ took some moments to arrange himself in the armed chair
by the hearth; I took the settle, and after a moment Leon
a forefinger to the swaddling bands and gave me a significant look – by
which I knew him off to remove them.
I have marked the sympathy between soldiers and small children
before now, in Taraco; I had not ever thought I would be grateful to it
when it provided me with at least six persistent and efficient nursemaids.
Even if they are not half so enthusiastic during the small hours of the
night, or when it came to changing breech-clouts.
36
‘Madonna Ilaria.’ The priest beckoned me forward to stand at Leon
Battista’s side.
S. Barnaba had nothing worth the looking at, its altar-piece was third-
rate, and the Green priest – evidently hired by the Alberti family – rattled
through the ceremony so fast that it reached the moment of commitment
before I was ready for it.
Leon had no shred of prison dirt on him now, even the stench being
eradicated in favour of soap and civet, but I could recognise the
expression on his face. That of a slave who has been punished by dark
and isolation, and found it full of unexpected monsters.
‘Yes.’ My mouth formed the appropriate words before I was aware I
had made my decision. Consenting to wed this man, in name only, is
nothing more than words to me. It is freedom to him.
I walked out of the church married for the second time in half a year.
This time as the bride.
‘We understand your daughter and the child cannot travel as yet.’ The
Alberti patriarch spoke to Honorius, without even a glance towards me.
‘We will send our son from Florence to collect her, as soon as she may.’
The proper things were said, the Alberti men departed in a splendidly-
decorated oared boat, and I noted Leon Battista slipping quietly off into
the Alexandrine embassy ahead of us.
It took me a time to settle Onorata, she being too disturbed to sleep –
eventually conceding only when Attila fetched a bowl of milk and a
spoon from the kitchens, and sat by the fire to feed her with infinite
patience.
I recall those hands, so much larger than my child’s head, loosing the
bolt that tore the Carthaginian agent apart. It will not be the first or last
man that he has killed.
I made a sketch with coal and chalk, that was only broad shapes except
for the features, but caught the difference between the two faces: one still
unmarked and with deep clear eyes, the other with half a lifetime worn
into skin creased with staring through sunlight.
Coming downstairs, I walked into Rekhmire’ as he left the main room,
and clutched at him to keep both of us on our feet.
A fragile Venetian glass hurtled through the door and smashed on the
opposite wall.
Rekhmire’ wouldn’t be able to bend down with his crutch; therefore
called for one of the Egyptian’s servants to sweep up the fragments. I
nodded towards the open door, hearing loud raised voices beyond.
‘What is it?’
Rekhmire’ finished steadying himself with a grip on my shoulder, and
brushed himself down. ‘It’s Master Leon Battista. He says he cannot
travel to Alexandria, it appears.’
Alexandria would be a good refuge for him – for us all, I thought. It
was too cold to stand in this passageway, spring or not, and besides, I
37
was curious as to the actions of my husband. I strode through the open
door, Rekhmire’ behind me, the cloth-padded end of his crutch
stomping down on the floorboards.
Neferet instantly flung away from Leon Battista, where the dark man
stood silhouetted at the window, and glared at me. ‘ Here she is. The happy bride! No wonder you won’t leave Venice!’
Slave or free, I can recognise when someone desires a mere target for
their temper. Without venom, I reminded, ‘You asked me to do this.’
She stalked out of the room, pulling the door behind her with a
shattering crash.
Rekhmire’ took some moments to arrange himself in the armed chair
by the hearth; I took the settle, and after a moment Leon
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