Scales of Gold (36 page)

‘Then he was mistaken,’ said Gelis van Borselen, looking amused. ‘I am afraid I must tell you that both Diniz and Ser Niccolò sailed with me all the way from Funchal.’

‘On the
San Niccolò
?’

‘What else?’ said Gelis, transferring the smile to Mick Crackbene. She looked pretty. Diniz felt as thunderstruck as Michael Crackbene.

‘And yet you and Mistress Bel went ashore at Funchal?’ It was the commander again.

‘How interested you have been in our movements. Yes, we went ashore. We followed Senhor Diniz to his plantation, and after he had talked to his factor, we rejoined the
San Niccolò
at Câmara de Lobos. Signor Doria, are you accusing us of something? I believed we were here as your guests.’

Raffaelo Doria smiled. He had square enamels sewn round the cuff of his hat, which matched the shape of his teeth and his fingertips; there were rings on his fingers. He said, ‘How could I accuse any being so utterly captivating? In any case, I should require a little more proof. A personal tour, for example, of the
Ghost
, once the
Doria.
’

He spoke still to Gelis, and Diniz was happy to let him. If he thought Gelis the soft mark, all the better. Gelis said, ‘I still don’t see the relevance. I’ve told you she has nothing to do with us. So far as I’m concerned, you can search her all you like if you find her.’

‘Oh, but we have found her,’ Raffaelo Doria exclaimed. ‘Did I not mention it? She is sitting sweetly just up the coast, under the impression, like the ostrich, that none can see her. And I would take a very large wager that our Ser Niccolò is with her at this moment, hiding also.’

‘You’re very sure,’ Gelis said. She looked annoyed.

‘More than sure,’ said the commander cheerfully. He pulled off a ring. ‘Sure enough to wager this ruby. Senhor Diniz, will you match me with a trinket?’ Crackbene laughed.

Diniz said, ‘I don’t want your ring. In any case, don’t mention gambling. You speak to Gelis van Borselen, the terror of Flanders.’

‘Really? Demoiselle? Then you will accept my little wager?’

‘If you insist.’ She had pearls in her hair worth ten times the cost of his ring. She unwound them and her hair, pale as straw, fell to her shoulders. She said, ‘I need a servant. Those against your little Tati.’

He laughed, ‘Really, demoiselle!’

‘Really,’ she said. ‘If you are right, you are running no danger.’

‘Then of course I accept,’ he said. But his eyes were not smiling, either then or when the child climbed back on deck, leading Bel of Cuthilgurdy, her arms laden.

‘See what I’ve got!’ shrieked Mistress Bel. ‘Man, ye’ve a very large cargo: have ye not sold anything yet? Well, ye have now. And I paid for it, the lassie will tell ye. See, Gelis. Four great lengths of silk and wool cloth. A tin pan I was needing, and a wee puckle sugar. And look at what’s inside this matting – what are your pearls doing off?’

Gelis looked up. ‘They think Ser Niccolò is on the
Ghost
. I’ve told them he isn’t,’ she said.

Bel of Cuthilgurdy switched her gaze to Raffaelo Doria. It was reproachful. She said, ‘Ye’ve never accepted a wager! She’ll bankrupt you. Ye havena seen her between decks with the strokes-men. Is that someone coming out from the river?’

‘Excuse me,’ said the commander, and rose. The
comito
’s voice called from the rail. Fore and aft, the rails filled with seamen. Twenty-two, Diniz counted, including the officers, the commander and Crackbene. They had lost three, dead or wounded.

He understood the anxiety to meet Nicholas. He understood Crackbene, who had followed Doria. Diniz remembered the guttural accent, applied equally to Italian or French. The sailing-master had made no attempt to take Diniz aside, or excuse himself, or utter threats against Nicholas. Presumably there was no need. Diniz was of little consequence. The war was between Nicholas and Crackbene’s masters, Jordan and Simon de St Pol.

The main deck was deserted. Diniz rose to join the rest at the side, and Gelis stayed only a moment, to settle Bel with her packets around her. Gelis said, ‘Are you eased?’ and touched her.

‘Debonair, my wren,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. ‘Debonair and of sweet cheer forbye. Go you and watch.’ And Gelis, smiling again, crossed to Diniz.

Out of the shade, the sulphurous sun burned on the head and dazzled up from the water, thick with odours. Beside them the
San Niccolò
rolled in the swell: the spot they had chosen was too far
out for perfect tranquillity. Since the last of the canoes had retreated, the estuary had filled with wildlife: flamingoes flew overhead, and pelicans stood on the sandbanks. The light glinted on the wings of familiar birds in the joy of their wintering, and the water was silver with fish. Sculling from between the marshy islands came a string of four boats, the first a pinnace full of armed men and flying the Portuguese flag.

‘The factor,’ said Raffaelo Doria. ‘About to visit your masterless ship. How surprised he will be. And behind him – praise the Universal Creator! – a royal
almadia
, with two full barges behind her. Have you ever seen, demoiselle, a more imperial vessel? Ignore the fact that it is scooped from the trunk of a tree, and the oarsmen who propel it are close to naked. Observe the painted sides and the gilding. Look at the baldachin with its crimson silk awning, and the carved chair within, worthy you would say, of the Pope. And look at the great black King himself, his robes, the gold on his chest, the great belt round his waist, the …’

Silence fell. ‘The spectacles on his nose?’ Diniz enquired.

Raffaelo Doria gazed over the water. Gelis, leaning closer, laid a hand on his arm. ‘And you are going to meet Nicholas after all,’ she said. ‘There he is, with the wives in the second boat. They all seem to be heading this way.’

Even a man made of iron (which Raffaelo Doria fortunately was) would have been depressed to see climbing aboard his fine caravel not only the Senagana representative of the Portuguese crown and his entourage but a coal-black Jalofo King of twenty stones’ weight and six feet six inches in height from his bare feet to the feathers in his intricately-pleated black hair, the monarch being followed by six of his wives and eight pantalooned attendants, armed with spears and round shields and bearing his chair and a carpet.

The noise on the packed deck was tremendous, emanating largely but not entirely from the carpetful of delightful matrons, who were as black as the lord they surrounded, and wrapped from their armpits to their calves in brilliant Málaga silks, bright as parrots. Their necks, their arms and their ankles clacked with thick burnished gold and their teeth sparkled white as they exclaimed and chattered and shrieked.

It was true, Diniz saw, what was said. Of all the races known in these lands, the Jalofos were the most handsome, the most black and the most garrulous. The factor, attempting to make introductions, was overwhelmed by the mellow exuberance of his glittering guest who simply seized and embraced each white individual approaching the throne, and then passed him or her to his wives and officials in the manner of a parcel of food, to be stroked and pinched and laughed over.

Diniz, emerging giggling and breathless from the experience, sat on a hatchcover at the edge of the carpet and watched the scene with delight. You could see that Doria had endured it before and was almost able to hide his disgust. Crackbene made light of it, and so did Mistress Bel, who shrieked back with the best of them, and might never have heard the word shellfish. And Gelis van Borselen, the fastidious ice-maiden, approached the throne with her pale hair over her shoulders and intercepting the large, friendly hands, leaned forward and kissed the King’s shoulder and then each of his palms before adroitly freeing herself with a smile. The King spoke, his face shining, and the factor said, ‘He greets you, saying:
Do you have peace?
You should answer,
Nothing but peace.
’

‘Is that all he said?’ asked Gelis, the smile risen to her eyes. Curtseying in graceful retreat, she repeated his words in Jalofo and was pulled down among the circle of women next to Bel of Cuthilgurdy. The factor hesitated. ‘I wouldna press the point,’ said Mistress Bel. ‘Or if you’re dead keen, the wee lass Tati can tell ye the words in Italian. On the other hand, I hardly know the words in Italian myself, and I wouldna want to hear them while I was eating. You should hear what the wives want to do with Master Nicholas.’

‘Where is he?’ Diniz leaned forward.

Mistress Bel turned. ‘Oh, you’re there? Man, you’ll be lucky to leave here with your clothes on. He’s just coming aboard. Oh, dear, dear, dear. There he is, with the commander. Maybe they’ll take to one another.’ The girl Tati dumped a bowl of food on the carpet and stalked off to get more. The wives laughed and called after her in Jalofo, and she glanced at them scornfully. Diniz looked up at Nicholas.

He was alone. Diniz had already seen that Godscalc was not there, or Jorge da Silves, or the
comito
, or any of those who had left at dawn to accompany Nicholas and the factor to the home of the King. Moreover, the barges now tied up to the
Fortado
were not laden with gold. Diniz wondered, absently, what the wives of the King had wanted to do with Nicholas and, more to the point, what the commander would do, if he recognised him.

‘We have not met,’ said Raffaelo Doria, smiling with stony eyes at the Flemish Knight of the Sword. ‘But you knew my cousin, I think.’

Nicholas looked rather hot, but not unhappy. Below the frenzied margin of hair, his eyes were as grotesque as the blackamoors’ and his dimples rebellious. ‘I have no doubt,’ he said, ‘that she was charming. Do you have many wives?’

‘The usual number of one,’ said the commander. ‘There are different customs here.’

‘That’s it,’ said Nicholas, with evident relief. ‘The wives have brought him, you see. Representing the other three dozen. They want an aphrodisiac for him. I do hope you have something. Although I’m sure the King would like to trade on his own account. We left you some pepper.’

‘You left –’ said Doria. Visibly, he collected himself. ‘You have already traded?’

‘The factor guided us to the market,’ Nicholas said. ‘After all, none of us knew you were coming, and the King prefers to barter at home. It was really quite profitable. Three mule-loads of extremely fine gold.’

Diniz gasped. Three mule-loads was an impossible quantity. Three mule-loads represented all a depot could collect in six months. ‘And the gold is already aboard?’ Doria asked. His voice was not entirely natural.

‘You haven’t watched? You surprise me. No. Unlike you,’ Nicholas said, ‘we are not entirely committed to Mammon. Our priest wished to exercise his sacred calling. We have left him to come with the merchandise later. It was word of your arrival that spurred the King and the factor to leave … I see you have my young guests on board. And Michael Crackbene.’

Diniz saw Crackbene turn. He said, ‘Monseigneur,’ dryly to Nicholas.

‘Surely not,’ Nicholas said. ‘A title better kept for the Vatachino, or the Lomellini, or the family St Pol. You have enough on your hands. Diniz, demoiselle, Mistress Bel: we should leave.’

Bel of Cuthilgurdy got to her feet, with the prodding help of two charming black wives. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I’ve got all these packets. Ye wouldna credit the great bales of cloth that they’ve got in the hold.’

‘The King will be delighted to hear it,’ said Nicholas. ‘As I said, we arranged to leave him some pepper to pay for it. It’s down there in the barges.’ One of the wives left Bel’s side and, crossing to Nicholas, pointed to his bandaged hand. He smiled and let her take it.

‘I can hardly believe it,’ said Doria. ‘You discharged your cargo at Arguim, and yet today you could buy the entire Senagana stockpile with the exception of some baskets of pepper? How could you pay for it?’

Nicholas smiled. The delightful Negress, finding the end of the bandage, had begun, giggling and chattering, to unwind it. ‘Ye might well ask,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. Another of the wives was touching his doublet.

Nicholas said, ‘We still had a few items to sell. Horses. A good load of wheat. Excuse me. If you untie the points … Is there an interpreter?’

‘Tati!’ called Mistress Bel. ‘Come and tell them. If they untie his points –’ She broke off. ‘She knows.’

‘I suppose she does,’ Diniz said. ‘I rather think the wives know as well. What are they saying?’

‘Excuse
me,
’ said Raffaelo Doria. ‘How could you possibly carry horses and all they require in addition to loading at – Ah! They were brought by the
Ghost
!’

‘The what?’ said Nicholas. ‘Excuse me, my hand. Don’t – What is she saying?’

‘I think,’ said the factor, coming over, ‘that the ladies are concerned that some wild animal has attacked you, Senhor Niccolò, when perhaps you were feeding it. There is food in the palm of your left hand.’

Diniz choked. Nicholas said gravely, ‘Tell her, Senhor, that it was more a case of
verba injuriosa
than wounds, and that I shall not feed the creature again. You agree, demoiselle?’

The girl lifted her eyes. ‘Why, of course. There are far too many already eating out of your hand. How disgusting.’

‘Bread and sheep’s tallow,’ said Nicholas. ‘Mistress Bel’s own private plaster. You were saying, my lord commander?’

‘I was merely saying – to bring the factor into our conversation – that the
San Niccolò
must be severely overladen, and even potentially in debt, if she hopes to assume today’s considerable cargo and also sail to trade in the Gambia. We, on the other hand, are well supplied with goods to barter, and intend to return to Lisbon forthwith. Why, then, do we not take care of your gold? Either as your carrier, or by buying it instead of you?’ And he bared his square teeth in a grin.

Nicholas looked at the factor, who had become very red and was edging away from one of the ladies. The factor said, in a hurried way, ‘It is a matter entirely between yourselves, senhores.’ All the wives giggled, and the one who had embarrassed the factor made the same gesture and shouted at Nicholas. All the wives giggled again.