Scales of Gold (73 page)

‘No,’ said Umar. The track of the single tear showed, but no others.

‘Yes!’ said Nicholas. ‘And I, too, see no need to discuss it.’ He walked to the door, and thrust it ajar. ‘You chose to bring me,’ he said. ‘Now I choose to stay. Go to your own room and sleep. I want some rest without you.’

He expected Umar to argue. Instead, the other man hesitated, and then bowed his head and walked out. Even in misery he looked magnificent.

Nicholas sat. After a while, he found he had covered his face.

The next day, at the Timbuktu-Koy’s palace, Nicholas expounded his plans for the rebuilding of the burned quarter of the city, and for an elaborate project, to be completed before the first rains, to bring water under pressure to those parts most at risk from future fires. He had some books, with diagrams in them, and had made more drawings himself. At the back of his mind were a number of talks he had had over the years with the best engineer he ever knew, John le Grant. He had, on occasion, wished John were with him, and then immediately cancelled the wish.

The Qadi, the Katib Musa, the judges lacked John’s skill, but were familiar with ancient sciences, and could bring their intelligence to bear on a problem. The discussion lasted some time, until the Koy grew restless and closed the session. There was to be a public execution of the men who had started the fire. Akil, defiant and sallow, had nevertheless agreed. The Koy was eager to attend it. You could see Akil noting the eagerness.

Umar had attended the meeting and, as he left, fell into step beside Nicholas. They had not spoken that day. Umar said, ‘You had no sleep.’

He had had no sleep, and no energy left to confront Umar. Nicholas said, ‘It seemed best to force an agreement while the fire was in everyone’s minds.’

‘Yes,’ Umar said. ‘They forget easily. Your scheme.’

‘Yes?’ Nicholas said.

Umar said, ‘It is complicated. It is more complicated than the wheels which run the fountains.’

‘But I shall be here to operate it,’ Nicholas said.

‘And after you?’ Umar said.

‘I shall teach. I shall leave notes. Once,’ Nicholas said, ‘you were happy to leave it so. Why despair now?’ They had arrived at his house. He waited. ‘Umar? Do you want to come in?’

He tried, exasperated, to put a real invitation into his voice. But to his relief, Umar shook his head and walked on.

The following night, Nicholas was roused from his sleep gently by anxious, frightened servants. The commander Akil ag Malwal had entered the gates with his troops, and now stood at the door. It was a matter of taxes.

It was a matter, very obviously, of Tuareg reasoning. In the absence of Akil, Nicholas had ingratiated himself with the Timbuktu-Koy. He had strengthened the bodyguard. He had set forth plans for fortifications and safety, as if such a fire could ever happen again. Meanwhile, the commander Akil himself had experienced a sharp drop in income. Being currently at a disadvantage with the Koy, he proposed to extort what he could from the Christian.

Diplomacy was not Akil’s way. Entering, he came to the point. Men had remarked that the city’s guest, the Flemish trader, had paid some minor tax on that part of the gold and ship’s goods he had by him, but yet had engaged in no subsequent trading. Did he intend to continue bringing his ship’s merchandise to Timbuktu? Did he intend to take part in the Sahara trade? Or did he intend to remain as a perpetual resident of the city to which he had come, therefore, under false pretences?

Nicholas had asked the commander to sit and take sherbet, and had seated himself, wrapped in a loose mantle. He had deliberately left his head bare, which was an insult. He resented being awakened.

Nicholas said, ‘I am utterly at fault. I confess the Timbuktu-Koy has failed to renew the permission his father extended during his life and I, humble as I am, have not ventured to ask it. I now see, from what you say, that it would be refused. I am not trading. I desire only the privilege of living in your great city and perhaps serving it. At my own expense. At my own expense, I must insist to you.’

‘The Timbuktu-Koy is not his father,’ Akil said. ‘He takes advice from his men of religion. They may suggest that it is evil to harbour a non-believer. That such a man may be here to subvert both Timbuktu and the Faith.’

Nicholas poured, with grace, from the ewer. He said, ‘Did I harm you last night? Have I ever harmed the city with any action of mine?’

Akil sipped. He said, ‘It is my conviction, of course, that you have not. But you have gold. You are richer than most of those who rightly live in the city. One could say that you are holding your hand; that soon you will use your gold as the other white traders do, to corrupt and delude. I feel the Timbuktu-Koy does not fully understand this.’

‘And it is your duty to explain it to him,’ Nicholas said. ‘Unless I set your mind at rest? What would set your mind at rest?’

‘I do not wish,’ Akil said, ‘to constrain you to leave, although I would say, in the privacy of this room, that it would be wiser for you to do so, and best for the city. Indeed, if you were to leave, there would be no difficulty. Failing that, I should like some earnest of your resolve not to interfere.’

‘Would the Timbuktu-Koy feel so strongly?’ Nicholas said.

‘I do not know. No doubt, in due course, you will ask him,’ Akil said. ‘In the meantime, I have asked my men to enter your storeroom and remove half of all the gold and the goods that they find there. If the Timbuktu-Koy finds me over-zealous, he will no doubt tell me. It will be between him and me.’

‘It seems to me,’ Nicholas said, ‘that this is entirely between you and me, my lord Akil. Suppose I say that I have no objection to your taking this tax, and that I shall not complain to the Timbuktu-Koy?’

‘I should commend your wisdom,’ said Akil. He said it after a moment.

‘Although,’ said Nicholas, ‘I am unclear on one point. If I decide to leave, will it be returned to me?’

The black moustache moved in a smile. ‘Your soul has lived before, in the person of a sage. The tax pertains to all the days you have spent here, and cannot be rescinded. But if you leave, you may take with you freely all the goods and gold you have left.’

‘You are generous,’ Nicholas said.

His first trouble, next day, was soothing the passions of the men who called on him, indignant, enraged by the news of the theft. His second trouble was Umar, who did not come. In the evening, when Nicholas knew the children would be asleep, he called on him. Zuhra met him on the threshold; seventeen, lovely, her breasts swollen with milk. She said, ‘We have heard.’ Her eyes were anxious.

‘I know,’ Nicholas said. ‘I blame Umar, of course. I am fiercely critical of you, and am ashamed of Muhammed, and renounce Umar Niccolò as my name-child. Zuhra, I am here to put it all right. There is nothing to fear.’

She dropped her eyes and leading him in, drew her veil down and over her shoulders for the first time he remembered in her own house. When she had left them alone, he spoke to Umar. ‘You expected it.’

‘I didn’t provoke it,’ Umar said.

‘No. But you knew I could become the catalyst in the war between these two men. The excuse for division.’

‘They would find another,’ Umar said.

‘But in the meantime, as you did not tell me, loss and indignity, at the very least, might lie ahead of me. You thought, if you told me, I would think it just another deceit.’

‘I am sorry,’ Umar said. ‘I shall make good your losses.’

‘There is no need,’ Nicholas said. ‘I am not staying. They have frightened me away.’

Umar’s hands tightened. He did not answer.

‘No, you don’t believe that.’ Nicholas said. ‘I could take one side or the other, and perhaps make it successful. But it is the balance of power, isn’t it, that has brought peace to the city, and my presence which is going to disrupt it? And anything I can do will fall apart after my death, because you are right: you cannot perpetuate a civilisation ahead of its time unless those around are civilised also. I have decided to go.’

‘And do what?’ Umar said. His hands remained doubled.

‘Zuhra veiled herself just now,’ Nicholas said. ‘Perhaps I envy you. Perhaps that is the lesson I learned here, not what the doctors were teaching me.’

‘It was not – it was not my purpose,’ Umar said. His face, puzzled, had lost some of its strain.

‘No, you had another purpose,’ Nicholas said. ‘I am aware of that, too. But you are happy? Not just from duty?’

‘Not just from duty. Here, it is not difficult to be happy in marriage. Zuhra is young. There are no great requirements laid on her. We cannot disappoint each other.’

‘A warning,’ said Nicholas.

‘I should not presume,’ Umar said. ‘You mean to leave? When will you leave? It is March. The May
azalai
is largest and safest, and should protect you from the ill-will of – anyone.’

‘You think I should go through the Sahara?’ Nicholas said. He smiled, and Umar smiled a little in return.

‘Yes. it is never safe; but for one man, it is better than the long trip to the Gambia and then, perhaps, the wait of six months for a ship. A caravan leaves, and in two or three months, you would be in Barbary; in Bruges or Venice before the end of the year. We shall ask ibn Said. His brother might come to Taghaza to meet us.’

‘Taghaza? Us?’ Nicholas said.

‘The city of salt. The desert post where the salt you see comes from. Of course, I shall go with you,’ said Umar. ‘To Taghaza, but not beyond. It is my terminus, Nicholas, but not yours.’

Chapter 36

I
N JANUARY OF THE
same year, 1467, the Albanian patriot Skanderbeg died, and much of his army and many of those attached to him were dispersed. In May, the personable manager of the most aristocratic bank in Venice returned from a profitable evening at some ship-owner’s supper to find his private parlour pre-empted by a squat, balding man he had not seen for over five years.

He had been warned as he entered the house. ‘
What?
’ had said Julius. ‘
Who?
’

‘Tobias Beventini of Grado,’ said Margot, in the forbearing way that most annoyed him. ‘Niccolò’s physician. He’s finished his work in Albania. He heard he was wanted to testify. He thought Niccolò would be here.’

‘Tobie!’ said Julius. He dropped off his cloak, which had gold-work all down the edges. ‘I haven’t seen Tobie since we came home from Trebizond. Girls. Piss, drink and girls, Tobie used to be interested in. I thought he’d given up Niccolò.’

‘Hasn’t everyone?’ Margot said. They rubbed along well enough, he and Margot, but at times, he wished Gregorio had come and collected her.

‘He’ll come home,’ Julius said. He didn’t entirely believe it. Despite all the curious dispatches from Bruges, he sometimes found it hard to imagine how the former Claes was surviving in Guinea. At other times, he was inclined to the view that, surrounded by nubile natives and heat, no healthy young man of that history would ever want to see Europe again.

Meanwhile his gold had arrived, and Julius was dispensing it. Rather successfully, too, if somewhat hampered by strictures from Bruges. Julius had run the Banco di Niccolò in Venice for almost three years: longer than Gregorio had. Now that they were all rich, he didn’t need Gregorio to keep writing from Bruges. He had the
instructions Niccolò had written down, and was obeying them. It did no harm to add a little style to the Bank and its manager. It gave the Serenissima confidence.

The impact on Tobias Beventini, physician, was different. ‘Holy Mary Mother of God!’ he exclaimed when Julius walked in ‘Grass time has come, and the silly sheep with it. I thought I’d come to a whorehouse, till Margot corrected me. So have you spent all the money?’

Julius had never allowed himself to be greatly ruffled by Tobie. He said, ‘The money you made for us with Skanderbeg? Yes. I bought a button with it. Where’s Astorre?’

‘Coming later. Margot says Nicholas has solved the world bullion problem single-handed, but is probably dead.’

‘She keeps saying that,’ Julius said. ‘She knows perfectly well we’ve had word of him.’

‘But not from him. And Father Godscalc is crippled?’ When Tobie felt indignant, the bald part of his cranium turned pink. Now he had reached thirty-seven, the halo of fine, colourless hair had receded and there were purses under his round, pale blue eyes. His face, with its rosebud mouth and small nose, was otherwise sensationally smooth.

‘He’s all right,’ Julius said. ‘Living with Gregorio and the others in Spangnaerts Street. Wouldn’t give a Jacques de Lalaing much of a run in the lists, but he can do all a chaplain usually does. The Pope has praised him and fixed him up with a benefice.’

‘I thought the Pope was a Venetian?’ Tobie said. He scratched under his cuirass, which was dented. The matted wool he wore underneath smelled strongly of ointment and horse. ‘And Nicholas was financed by Portugal?’

‘Not now,’ Julius said. ‘He bought the caravel from the Portuguese, and he’s paid all that was due them. By the time he comes back, no one will know as much about the African trade as Nicholas will. And he’ll have Loppe there, his very own agent. You know the blacks think Loppe is a lawyer? I don’t know why I spent all those years in Bologna. I’ve wasted my chances.’

‘From the sound of it,’ the doctor said, ’you need all the lawyers you can get. A shipload of gold disappears and you can’t even trace the ship’s master? The ownership of the
Ribérac
herself is still in dispute three years after Jordan stole her? The claim against – at’s her name? – the
Fortado
is still unsettled and the Genoese and the Vatachino are getting away with murder, because no one can find Michael Crackbene?

‘By God,’ said Tobias Beventini, getting angrier. ‘I don’t know what golden cloud you think you’re sitting on, but I tell you, it
wouldn’t have stopped me hunting down all those bastards and making them pay for it all. Godscalc broken. Nicholas stuck somewhere sick on this river. What has it done to that stupid girl? And what about Diniz? Has old man Jordan got him again?’

Margot had come in while they were speaking. Julius gave her a cool look, which she returned with a half-lifted eyebrow. He would have preferred to tell Tobie all that news himself. In time. And not all at once. And not from Gregorio’s point of view.