helplessness. From being arrested, charged,
imprisoned; locked away from being able to kill one Ilario Honorius. And
knowing that, because of that . . .
‘Blackmail’s very like being a slave,’ I said, into the cold silence of the
dungeon. ‘They can kill your parent or your child, or sell them away
from where you are. There are never as many slave revolts as you’d think
60
there would be. That’s one of the reasons why. Do you know how long
he’ll wait without hearing from you?’
The question caught him by surprise. Carrasco shook his head before
he realised. ‘It’s not – there’s not —!’
I ignored the stuttered denials of something it was too late to deny.
The same odd feeling of fellowship came back to me. It is no wonder I
could never hate this man. I nodded, absently, thinking, Perhaps this will
not be so unpleasant to you – or perhaps you will find it unbearable.
I heard the jailer returning, grunting as he carried a weight down the
passage. The torch showed him with tools in his hand, and a small block
of steel-topped wood under his arm.
I took a leather bag of coins out of my cloak’s inner pocket and passed
them over.
‘Do it here,’ I said.
The jailer looked a little uncertain. I signalled to Attila and Tottola.
Having spoken to them on the way, they knew what I wanted. Of all of
us in the cell, I saw an expression of surprise only on the face of Ramiro
Carrasco.
The two soldiers picked up Carrasco and held him down, bent over
the anvil. Hands in Carrasco’s hair held him stretched rigid. The jailer
slid a slave’s collar around Ramiro Carrasco’s neck and cold-hammered
a rivet home.
‘This isn’t legal!’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ I watched, arms folded, the cloak
warmly wrapped about me. ‘But Venice has always been able to put
prisoners and captives of war into her galleys as slaves. It’s legal to buy a
prisoner as a slave in Venice. Provided you don’t stay on Frankish
territory. Perhaps they didn’t mention that when you studied law? It’s
true all the same.’
He couldn’t struggle in the two men’s grip, but it didn’t stop him
trying. ‘Why do you want me enslaved? What use am I as a slave?’
He hasn’t realised what has happened to him, even though the collar is
now around his neck.
Some don’t. I have seen men whipped until the blood runs before they
realise that their freedom has gone. That they’re property. I wondered
what it would take to make it clear to Ramiro Carrasco de Luis.
In Iberian I said, ‘You’ll know one thing about the law of slavery, I
don’t doubt. What happens when the owner of a slave is murdered?’
The chime of the hammer fixing the second rivet all but drowned his
words:
‘The household slaves are tortured—’
‘Tortured. Why? Why not questioned?’
‘Because it’s assumed all slaves lie; it’s a legal assumption—’
I saw it hit him.
If Ilario dies, I am a household slave; I will be tortured .
61
Not even because they assume a slave committed the murder, but
simply that a slave will not be trusted to be honest because they’re a slave.
Ramiro Carrasco looked up at me with wide dark eyes.
I watched him as I spoke. ‘If something were to happen to me, if I
were to die – even if it was merely from a sickness . . . Then, my slaves
will be turned over to the authorities, and tortured to find out what they
know. And Ramiro Carrasco the slave won’t know anything about what
killed me. But – interrogated men talk about everything they know, if
they’re subjected to enough pain. Everything.’
There was no need to say it aloud, in front of the jailor; I saw the
understanding in Ramiro Carrasco’s expression.
Everything . Including every order Aldro Videric ever gave you, when
he told you to murder me.
62
10
Outside the Doge’s palace, Tottola went to the Riva degli Schiavoni to
summon a gondola. Attila crossed his arms, the end of the
imprisoned; locked away from being able to kill one Ilario Honorius. And
knowing that, because of that . . .
‘Blackmail’s very like being a slave,’ I said, into the cold silence of the
dungeon. ‘They can kill your parent or your child, or sell them away
from where you are. There are never as many slave revolts as you’d think
60
there would be. That’s one of the reasons why. Do you know how long
he’ll wait without hearing from you?’
The question caught him by surprise. Carrasco shook his head before
he realised. ‘It’s not – there’s not —!’
I ignored the stuttered denials of something it was too late to deny.
The same odd feeling of fellowship came back to me. It is no wonder I
could never hate this man. I nodded, absently, thinking, Perhaps this will
not be so unpleasant to you – or perhaps you will find it unbearable.
I heard the jailer returning, grunting as he carried a weight down the
passage. The torch showed him with tools in his hand, and a small block
of steel-topped wood under his arm.
I took a leather bag of coins out of my cloak’s inner pocket and passed
them over.
‘Do it here,’ I said.
The jailer looked a little uncertain. I signalled to Attila and Tottola.
Having spoken to them on the way, they knew what I wanted. Of all of
us in the cell, I saw an expression of surprise only on the face of Ramiro
Carrasco.
The two soldiers picked up Carrasco and held him down, bent over
the anvil. Hands in Carrasco’s hair held him stretched rigid. The jailer
slid a slave’s collar around Ramiro Carrasco’s neck and cold-hammered
a rivet home.
‘This isn’t legal!’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ I watched, arms folded, the cloak
warmly wrapped about me. ‘But Venice has always been able to put
prisoners and captives of war into her galleys as slaves. It’s legal to buy a
prisoner as a slave in Venice. Provided you don’t stay on Frankish
territory. Perhaps they didn’t mention that when you studied law? It’s
true all the same.’
He couldn’t struggle in the two men’s grip, but it didn’t stop him
trying. ‘Why do you want me enslaved? What use am I as a slave?’
He hasn’t realised what has happened to him, even though the collar is
now around his neck.
Some don’t. I have seen men whipped until the blood runs before they
realise that their freedom has gone. That they’re property. I wondered
what it would take to make it clear to Ramiro Carrasco de Luis.
In Iberian I said, ‘You’ll know one thing about the law of slavery, I
don’t doubt. What happens when the owner of a slave is murdered?’
The chime of the hammer fixing the second rivet all but drowned his
words:
‘The household slaves are tortured—’
‘Tortured. Why? Why not questioned?’
‘Because it’s assumed all slaves lie; it’s a legal assumption—’
I saw it hit him.
If Ilario dies, I am a household slave; I will be tortured .
61
Not even because they assume a slave committed the murder, but
simply that a slave will not be trusted to be honest because they’re a slave.
Ramiro Carrasco looked up at me with wide dark eyes.
I watched him as I spoke. ‘If something were to happen to me, if I
were to die – even if it was merely from a sickness . . . Then, my slaves
will be turned over to the authorities, and tortured to find out what they
know. And Ramiro Carrasco the slave won’t know anything about what
killed me. But – interrogated men talk about everything they know, if
they’re subjected to enough pain. Everything.’
There was no need to say it aloud, in front of the jailor; I saw the
understanding in Ramiro Carrasco’s expression.
Everything . Including every order Aldro Videric ever gave you, when
he told you to murder me.
62
10
Outside the Doge’s palace, Tottola went to the Riva degli Schiavoni to
summon a gondola. Attila crossed his arms, the end of the
Similar Books
