Read Online Ilario, the Stone Golem by Mary Gentle - Free Book Online Page B

and took each of Neferet’s hands in his
    own. ‘Whether you’re a man or a woman, whether you dress as a man or
    a woman – none of that has any importance. It’s you I love.’
    Neferet began to cry.
    I had my arm under Rekhmire’’s other armpit, acting as an additional
    crutch, and tactfully removed us from the room. I signalled as I left for
    one of the men-at-arms to guard the door – since there is an obvious
    method by which Leon could convince Neferet of his love, and if I were
    Leon, I wouldn’t even waste so much time as it would take to reach the
    bedrooms.
    Heading by common consent for the kitchen, where it would be warm,
    Rekhmire’ shook his head as he walked, still gripping lightly at my arm.
    ‘I haven’t seen Neferet in a scribe’s kilt in fifteen years. And then only
    when court formalities wouldn’t let her get away with anything else.’ He
    steered us towards the kitchen inglenook, with a wave to the cooks.
    ‘Better send up the wine in wooden bowls – it’s not like the house has
    much Venetian glass left!’
    ‘You’re glad for her.’
    ‘Am I?’ He busied himself with being seated, tucking his crutch beside
    him, and easing that leg into a stretch towards the fire. The heat of the
    fire, perhaps, cast a flush onto his cheek.
    ‘She’s your friend. You’re happy that she’s happy.’ I winced at a
    dimly heard crash from the depths of the house. ‘Or at least, if not
    happy, that she can be with Leon.’
    ‘The Florentines will find her a trifle feminine, I think.’ He gave me a
    sudden grin. ‘But then, all we Alexandrine eunuchs are feminine males,
    according to common talk!’
    I grinned back. ‘I don’t think you’d suit a Frankish skirt and
    bodice . . . ’
    In the hours following, Neferet’s quarrel broke out from time to time,
    like an unquenched brush-fire – but it had little enough true heat, given
    that she would break off from her ranting to look in wonder at Leon, and
    her demeanour invariably softened after that. Since the Alberti were due
    to depart in two days, she had perforce to make a decision and pack.
    41

    I woke early on that morning, to feed Onorata, and to bid Neferet
    farewell. I found her in the atrium of the house – and for a moment truly
    did not recognise Neferet in this slim and straight-shouldered man,
    dressed in the short linen jacket and white kilt of an Alexandrine scribe.
    ‘Ilaria.’ She spoke with the pitch of her voice lower, a little husky.
    Her skin showed smooth, under the linen. Her face looked curiously
    bare with only a line of kohl above each row of eyelashes. She had her
    hair cut short, falling to touch her shoulders, as one of the Alexandrine
    customs is, and a narrow braided reed-band holding it back from her
    eyes.
    Honorius’s men-at-arms, at the house door, could be heard greeting
    Leon Battista.
    ‘Good fortune,’ I said, a little hurriedly, not able to put all I thought into words.
    ‘You too.’ She – he – smiled.
    It was a morning cool and damp enough for fog, rolling in with the
    smell of the sea about it, clinging to Venice’s brick walls and Roman-tiles
    roofs, and filtering the sunlight to diffuse glory. At the gate of the
    Alexandrine house, Leon Battista awaited us. He greeted Neferet with no
    more than a companionable nod – something neither his servants nor the
    oarsmen of his boat would be surprised to see, in a man collecting a new
    officer for his household.
    Their eyes linked. It was a different enough story that I thought I hope
    they can be discreet .
    ‘This is a custom among my people.’ Neferet opened a small folded
    cloth that she carried. I saw a glint of reddish black. She held up a
    braided loop, handing one to Leon Battista, and one to Rekhmire’, and –
    after a fractional hesitation – one to me.
    A bracelet, I found, clasped with gold, and made with braided shining
    hair. Neferet’s hair, now that she had dropped her hair to man’s length.
    ‘Thank you.’ Bereft