Scales of Gold (53 page)

There were groups of black-eyed women in veils, followed by servants who were wholly black, and neither women nor men. There were black servants of both sexes or none escorting black women who were not only young and unveiled, but without any garments whatever. One such cortège came into view as they watched: unclothed men and girls passing with long-limbed
indolent strides, heads high and polished skin gleaming, the lady distinguished from her retinue by her slenderness; by the gold earrings and armlets she wore; and the gold chain with its red leather locket fixed between breasts like ripe figs.

Diniz had seen such a necklet before. Umar-Lopez was wearing one at the throat of his robe. He looked again at the girl, to make sure.

He realised that the same Umar-Lopez was continuing gravely to speak. ‘You see the Tuareg before you, who cover their faces. Berbers. Bozo fishermen from the Joliba. From beyond the river, the men and women with marked faces, and those with gold through the lip. The men of the jurisprudence, the scholars, are those wearing white.’ He had kept his voice solemn.

The men of the jurisprudence, not incurious about the small group of riders, would sometimes smile at Umar, and bow. Three or four times, a man turned with a startled expression and then, hastening over, greeted him with a torrent of Arabic, to which Umar would reply smiling, but briefly. ‘They are not all surprised to see you,’ Godscalc observed.

‘I have been here some days,’ said Umar-Lopez. They knew that by now. Once free of Doria, he had sped on his way at three times their own laborious pace, borrowing horses; making his sure way from village to village; being transported by the fleetest of boats.

Diniz thought of Nicholas, carrying Bel in his arms. He said, ‘How long have you been away from your home?’

‘For ten years,’ said Lopez. Said Umar.

‘And you have not tried to come back until now?’

‘A slave cannot travel,’ said Umar. ‘Nicholas and Marian de Charetty set me free, and I have tried to repay them. This is a merchant quarter, as you see. The house where you stay is in another such. The dealer who lives in your house is away, and his family have moved to another they have. They have left you some of their servants.’

‘Slaves,’ Gelis said. The houses were of mud-brick, rough-cast over, or of limestone, covered with clay. The clay must have been imported, and the limestone. There were quarries, she had heard, in the desert. The walls sloped, and bore peculiar ornaments: chimney-like buttresses and attachments like pyramids. In the distance she could see a great, blurred building large enough to kennel a sphinx. It was stuck with thorns like a porcupine. There was a minaret by it.

‘Slaves? Yes,’ said Umar-Lopez.

‘And eunuchs,’ Gelis said. ‘That is a mosque.’

‘We have passed several,’ said Umar-Lopez. ‘But that is the
oldest. It is a university also, and around it are the houses of the savants and teachers. I should have taught there, had I not been captured. There are many schools. You will wish to see them one day.’ He was speaking to Godscalc.

Godscalc said, ‘Your name is Umar ibn Muhammad al-Kaburi. You were reared as a Muslim?’

‘Forgive me,’ said Loppe. Below the white cap, his eyes were as clear as a black and white drawing.

‘You were never the Christian you pretended to be?’

‘I was baptised,’ said Umar-Lopez.

‘You broke faith with your teachers, and are now forsworn, or so I suppose it, a second time. Those are not the acts of a scholar,’ said Godscalc.

‘I do not excuse myself,’ said Umar-Lopez. ‘Save to say that I did not seek my own benefit. There is the house of the imam of this region, who is also a judge. It is the profession of my father and grandfather: I know what justice consists of. We have reached the northern boundary, as you see. Beyond is the
abaradiou
, the pools and the pastures where the camel trains rest at the end of their journey. The main
azalai
, the salt caravan, arrives here in May, but there are others between.’

‘I see soldiers,’ said Godscalc.

‘There is a post here,’ said Umar. ‘The main garrison buildings are by the palace. Timbuktu has few defences, but the commander, when he is here, keeps good order. We should start on our way back.’

‘By the
palace
?’ said Gelis. ‘Is that Egyptian as well?’

Umar smiled at her. He said, ‘No. It is Andalusian. You have found a strange caravan terminus, have you not? Fifteen hundred miles from the sea: a station, a fulcrum. One arm points to the desert, the other south to the swamp, the river, the steaming rainforests of the cannibal blacks. To my forefathers.’

Her gaze did not challenge. ‘How many people live here?’

‘Forty thousand,’ he said. ‘You are in a city the same size as Florence, the same size as Bruges. Bigger than Genoa or Cologne; twice the size of Pavia or Lübeck. A melting city built upon gold.’

‘Melting?’ she said.

Umar said, ‘You have not been here in the rain. Mud-bricks dissolve; rough-cast crumbles. Limestone here has a life of a hundred years, not much more. The marble, the pillars, the stucco are for today, not tomorrow. Tomorrow, we build them again. We should go back to Nicholas.’

‘Did he know?’ Gelis said.

‘Of the nature of Timbuktu?’ Umar-Lopez said. ‘I did not tell him.’

On the way back they passed another great mosque, but Umar would not allow them to pause, or later to glimpse more than a gleam between palms of the exquisite building he had called Andalusian. They smelled flowers, and heard water, and caught sight of gardens. Godscalc said, ‘You are in a great hurry.’

‘I am concerned about Nicholas,’ Umar said. He was looking ahead. Before them, they saw, was the trampled parade ground, the high walls and flat roofs of the city garrison. ‘I am sorry,’ said Umar.

‘Why?’ said Godscalc, and then stopped, for he, too, saw the cavalry flooding out of the gates and spreading out to encompass them.

What took them all by the throat was the suddenness of it, and the silence. One moment their path was clear; the next it was blocked, before and behind, by a circle of blank, faceless horsemen, their heads wrapped in the blue cloth of the Tuareg. No one spoke. The garrison horses, tightly held, stamped and fidgeted. Every rider was armed: their swords rattled. One man began to ride forward.

Umar said something under his breath. The word was Flemish. Diniz said, ‘Who?’

‘The commander of the garrison,’ Umar said. ‘He has heard, and come back into town.’

‘Heard what?’ said Godscalc.

‘That Christians are here,’ Umar said. ‘Conceal your faces. Leave this to me.’

They could do nothing else. Gelis and Bel bent their heads, their faces covered. Godscalc and Diniz, armed with their pitiful Arabic, watched the commander rein in and speak.

The man wore the same clothes as his soldiers, but his gazelle shield and bow and sword were heavily encrusted with gold, and his lower veil had been loosed from the beak of his nose, baring a thick black moustache and russet skin pitted with scars. Round his shoulders lay gold chain thick as a cable. He said in Maghsharen Arabic, ‘You seem amazed. Would Akil ag Malwal neglect to share the joy of the
umma
at the return of a son of the city? Greetings, Umar.’

‘Greetings, my lord Akil,’ Umar said. ‘No, I was certain you would not neglect it. You are well?’

‘Assuredly. And these are your wives, and this your eunuch. He is singularly well provided with hair. And the young man has the colouring of a
bidan
from the Maghgreb. Your secretary, your servant perhaps? Or a friend for your pillow?’

The man reached out towards Diniz and touched his cheek with the butt of his whip. Diniz glared, his fists tight on his reins.

Umar spoke in his voice of untrustworthy honey. ‘Being absent, lord, you could not share in my gladness at the Timbuktu-Koy’s message of welcome to me and my companions. They are worthy souls: a party of traders and map-makers, travelling east. They have paused to rest, and to scatter joy, gifts and alms in the halls of the Timbuktu-Koy. He will tell you.’

‘I go to him now,’ said the commander. ‘Your women are traders? Praise be to Allah. I go to him now to learn his wishes about your companions –’

‘I have told you,’ said Umar. His voice was deeper by several degrees than the other’s.

‘But of course, except that the Koy has not yet granted them audience, as I understand. They cannot therefore be said to have been accepted. Deception is possible. You yourself may have been deceived. And meanwhile, they roam the streets and may infect and corrupt our poor people. You see my dilemma?’

‘I see, perhaps,’ said Umar, ‘good reason for us to hasten back to our lodging. I confess my mistake. I gave way to my pride in my city. As it happens, our ride has been short and no one, to my knowledge, has found his faith weaker because of it. However, we shall retire. We shall await the Timbuktu-Koy’s summons.’

‘You may await it here,’ said Akil ag Malwal with a nod of his head. The armed circle opened about them, leaving a path to the gates of the command post. ‘It is a temporary expedient, of course. You led the Genoese dogs to their punishment, and your companions may be equally innocent. But their leader, I am told, is a man intent on Wangara gold. His Portuguese vanguard gave battle to our own Timbuktu traders.’

Diniz flushed. Umar-Lopez said, ‘They did, and died. Their leader, a Flemish lord, had no designs on Wangara. Some of his following disobeyed, and, as you say, have received the ultimate punishment. The Flemish lord has lodged no complaint, and the Timbuktu-Koy has been apprised of the matter. If, therefore, that is all, we should prefer to return to our lodgings.’

‘Then you shall,’ said the Tuareg captain with a smile. ‘No one, knowing your worth, would doubt your good intentions. But it is I who must answer for it if harm still befalls. The Flemish lord has made no complaint, perhaps because he intended evil, and still means to practise it. He is the leader, he is responsible. I have sent to have him arrested for questioning. We shall go to his house together. You and your companions may stay, and the Flemish lord will ride with us back to our prison. It is a comfortable one.’

‘Arrest him?’ said Umar. ‘He is sick. That is why the audience has not been held.’

‘We have reasonable doctors,’ said the commander. ‘I advise you not to concern yourself.’

‘
I will concern myself!
’ Diniz said, and rode forward. There was a sudden whine of drawn swords. Godscalc and Gelis crowded upon Diniz, and Godscalc seized his reins. The words had been in Portuguese, but his face was translation enough.

‘My colleague is young and hasty,’ Umar remarked, ‘and forgets in which town he is guest. I, of course, bow to your wisdom, but my learned confrères might demur. Saloum ibn Hani the marabout was freed from slavery by this very Fleming and, judging him honest, led him and his party to this place. The Timbuktu-Koy knows of this. It might also please him to know that, in difficult times, my lord Akil made no hasty decisions, and moreover supplied these men with an interpreter.’

‘Yourself? Well, so be it,’ said the commander Akil. ‘Stay with them. Relate to them what I have said. I am not an inclement man. Their lord shall have the best of the prison.’

They returned by the way they had come, except that this time they had a corps of two hundred armed horsemen escorting them. There were no bystanders, now, who cared to call out to Umar: the alleys were clear as if scoured by a ramrod. They entered the narrow lane between walls where their lodging was.

Diniz bit his lip. Against such force, they were helpless. Vito would be there, but unarmed. The physician, an Arab, was useless, and Nicholas, crazed or oblivious, could defend neither himself nor them. Bel, whom he had thought beyond speech, said, ‘Umar? What can we do?’

‘Pretend,’ Umar said. His eyes elsewhere, he spoke flatly.

Gelis flung back her veil and said, ‘Look!’

The gates to their courtyard stood open, and a crowd had gathered, attracted by some spectacle. The wall hid what it was. Godscalc said, with anxiety, ‘Mary Mother of God!’ and tried to hurry.

The commander Akil was not in the same haste. He held up his hand and his cavalcade slowed, Godscalc and his companions with it. They drew level with the crowd, which fell back. Then they moved up to the gates and saw what was happening.

Nicholas, manhandled or safe, was not there. The yard between the gates and their house was full of soldiers. Different soldiers. Soldiers who were clearly not Akil’s, for their noses and mouths were not covered. They were not Tuaregs, but Sanhaja Berbers on foot, and carrying swords. They occupied the forecourt, a throng rather than a drilled squadron, but with an alertness about them that made of them a unity. They held spears and knives also, but
not aggressively: more in the manner of guards, and they made no effort to close the gates before Akil.

Akil ag Malwal entered and halted, and his troops, flanking him, trotted so far and stopped. The groups of men looked at one another.

‘Greetings,’ said someone. It was one of the men in the courtyard, a swarthy, powerful man swathed in wool. ‘The Timbuktu-Koy sends us to commend your assiduity. He has placed these incomers under his hand. I am to thank you, and say he is protected.’

‘Then Allah be praised,’ said Akil ag Malwal. ‘If you will step aside, I shall see for myself. I have some men inside, I believe.’

‘Alas,’ said the man who had spoken. ‘I was forced to expel them, since I have orders to admit none but the Flemish lord’s party. The Flemish lord is to stay.’

A sound hung in the air which might have been a growl from two hundred Tuareg throats. The men in the courtyard were not a third of that number. Bel began to cough, and Gelis, leaning, put an arm around her and cried out to the captain. ‘My lord! I do not know what you fear, but she is ill.’

Her meaning, like that of Diniz, was plain enough. Her face, unveiled and stricken, looked wonderful. There was a general murmur, perhaps of pleasure. The commander Akil displayed none. For a moment he sat without speaking. Then, with an abrupt gesture, he threw a command to his men. Their horses stirred, and began to retreat to the gates.