Spice and the Devil's Cave (34 page)

Everywhere, throngs. They jammed the steep streets and streamed out on water – front and river shore; fought for foothold on the quay edge; clung to pile heads.

Gusts of cheering, of shouting, of laughter; breathless intervals of waiting, watching; then, pent – up hearts bursting forth again. A town gone mad with joy. That was Lisbon on the day that Gama came home!

On the edge of the quay overhung by the House of Mines, stood Abel Zakuto. Not an inch, in any direction, could he have turned, for the mass of humans behind him. But, at least, no one was in front of him! This was precisely why he had come down here at sunrise – to make undisputed claim to this particular spot with its stout pile to hold to. Nothing must be between him and Gama's ships! There was no doubt that Gama would anchor off this quay, in line with the House of Mines; for he wouldn't have forgotten, even in this long absence, that the King always sat in the balcony to see any action in the harbour. Of course, too, that was where Manoel would first receive Gama.

Any moment now he could be expected. Already there was a rumour that he had left Belem. A long time it had seemed to Abel since Ferdinand had burst in with the first news – these weeks, while the
San Gabriel
and the
Berrio
waited down river for Gama to mourn, first at Terceira, where he had buried Paulo, and then at Belem. Of course, Abel reflected, he might have gone down and visited the ships. Scores had; so had Scander – and had returned with excited accounts of foreign pilots that Gama had brought back. But not that for him! He would see those caravels come in as they had gone out – led by their Captain – Major!

Oh, for Bartholomew – that together they might have stood here! And for Covilham, no less. Hail to your valiant soul, Pedro de Covilham! Of all the workshop group that young rascal, Ferdinand, would be the first to take Gama's hand! It would probably be days before Gama could come to the familiar old meeting place, besieged as he would be by visitors and fetes and one thing and another. Hard, too, this noise and to – do for him, still wrapped in his grief for Paulo.

A stir on the balcony caught Abel's eye: Manoel arriving, with his suite, and decked out in his royal best. Well, it was an occasion worth the finest ermine ever trapped! Now he'd sat down, as excited as a boy! You could tell it by the way he rested those long arms of his on the railing and leaned far over them to gaze where everybody else was gazing – at that bend Gama must now soon round.

Abel tightened his hold and looked back over the sea of heads. Somewhere, at an overhanging window, safe above the jostle and press, Nicolo had found standing space for Ruth and Nejmi. That child, Nejmi! What would they all say if they knew her part, first and last, in this tremendous affair?

A sound like low thunder! Cannon! A tense moment, as if all Lisbon held its breath. And then, from every throat in that vast throng, a wild clamour: “Gama! Gama!” Another instant, and cannon from harbour and from shore were booming their answer to that distant salute.

Again the thunder, much closer. Then, slowly, almost wearily it struck Abel, two caravels, the royal colours at their mastheads, glided into sight.

If Lisbon had shown its joy before, it was nothing to what it did now. It was a city abandoned to joy, gone literally mad with it. From crowds and from cannon went up a roar that shook the air and turned one deaf and dizzy. Almost Abel wondered whether he could keep his footing.

On came the caravels, over the crisp little waves. Wholly lost to all else, Abel watched them draw nearer and nearer. That was the
San Gabriel
ahead, with the tattered scarlet pennant of the Captain – Major at her crow's nest. Gama must be aboard her! And close behind, the
Berrio
. Welcome home to you, Nicolau Coelho! Even at this distance one could see the battered hulls, and the gaping seams. Men were at the pumps! In a sort of ecstasy Abel's eyes noted the stained sails, the weathered spars, the faded rigging – and mentally saluted them. Ah, dear and gallant scars of war – worn conquerors! He knew tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he didn't care.

Now the
San Gabriel
was coming about. He could see sailors laughing and gesticulating, and waving from the rail. There were the officers, standing together on the main deck. Was it his fancy that their faces seemed lifted in a sort of homesick rapture to Lisbon's crowded, climbing roofs? And see – those dark faces standing out sharp from the others! The foreign pilots Scander had told about! Gaudy as parrots in their red and yellow rig and as eager as boys.

Ah, that figure on the poop, apart from all the rest! In black, from the small, round cap to the close fitting tunic and cloak. Pale, grief – stricken, yet with an air of quiet resignation that sent a moment's hush over the throng. The Captain – Major! Now they were at it again, splitting the very sky: “Gama! Gama!” And now Gama himself was moving forward, bowing gravely.

A woman's sob behind him caught Abel's ear: “He'd give it all up, if he could have back his brother!” He looked over his shoulder – a young woman, eyes swollen with long weeping, a baby in her arms. One of those whose man had stood his last watch. A sad number of his mates were with him, too, according to the accounts Scander had brought back from his visit to the
Berrio
.

The rattle of metal brought Abel's head around: the
San Gabriel's
anchor – and now the
Berrio's!
And there went a royal boat, manned with the King's own sailors, drawing alongside the
San Gabriel
. He would wait only to see it bring Gama ashore. After that he would go home, to think over from first to last this great day; to relive each detail, that to the end of his life never a jot of it should fade from his memory. For this day would change the face of the world!

He forgot the boom of cannon and the cheering as he watched Gama descend into the boat; stand, as he gravely acknowledged the oarsmen's salute, and then seat himself, a sombre figure among splendid uniforms. The boat shot forward and, for a few moments, his face came into plain sight. Worn, and lined with grief it was, and years older, Abel noted with a pang. Yet, it had a serenity that had not been there when he had gone away, the serenity of a spirit, Abel said to himself, that has tried itself and kept the faith of its own making.

The boat swerved toward the landing, and Gama was hidden from view. Immediately there was a mad surge to follow him. At last, Abel was free to move – to go home. In the rest of the day's celebrations he was not interested. He had seen what he had come to see: Bartholomew's ships, and Gama!

It was slow work through the crowded streets, but finally he was climbing the stairs, then entering the court. He glanced about. No one back yet.

He went into the workshop, walked eagerly to the windows. There they were! Somewhat hidden by the other shipping, but distinguishable by the Royal Standard. Brave, beautiful things, those shabby, leaking ships! Themselves outworn, the thing they had done would never die. And from that doing still greater would come, just as their accomplishment had had its roots in those first venturings of the Great Navigator's frail barks. Ah, straight back to him, must Portugal trace this great day! Other expeditions would follow – Portugal would have her rivals! But in the end it was more than Portugal or any nation. It was Man uncovering the face of his world – searching out Truth. Oh, he was glad that he had a part, small though it was, in those ships down there! His compass. His astrolabe!

He turned, and exultantly surveyed the shelves, the tools, the bench. He had hardly touched them since Gama had been gone – he'd been so busy with the maps – but he'd done some long thinking about ways to improve his instruments. And now, with the message those shabby, gallant ships had brought him . . .

From shelf to shelf he went, taking up this instrument and that. Oh, but he was hungry for the twirl of a bit, the rasp of a saw! He critically examined a compass, the counterpart of the one he had given Gama. He could better that! There must be a transparent top to the box. The compass card should be at the bottom of the box, below the needle, instead of the present awkward arrangement. At a glance, then, a man could get his bearing. And that astrolabe he'd made for Gama – the first metal one in Europe! There must be more like it. No excuse for wooden ones with Abel Zakuto able to make better!

He returned to the windows to gaze, not at Gama's ships now, but at the town itself; at the crowded houses that climbed from blue harbour to blue sky. Ah, let him look well – that he might remember well!

Voices made him turn. They were all back again; Scander, too. Abel studied them as they came toward him: thoughtful – almost reverent. Even Scander seemed subdued.

“Abel, you passed right below us,” Ruth was saying, as they entered the workshop. “We called and called, but you never so much as looked up!”

“I didn't hear you, my dear. I was thinking.”

Nejmi ran to him and caught his hand, and he saw that the golden light was in her eyes.

“You were thinking about the ships!” she whispered. “Oh, Master Abel, when I saw them sail into the harbour, it was as if Allah said to me, ‘See, now! Wasn't it worth all the pain and trouble?'”

“I couldn't help but think,” Nicolo said quietly, “how hard it was that Master Diaz couldn't be here today, and Covilham – and Paulo da Gama!”

“Poor Vasco,” Ruth murmured. “He looked so sad in that black suit.”

“Different enough from that gay velvet cloak he wore when he went away,” exclaimed Scander. “Why the man's aged ten years!”

“It was pitiful, the way he tried to smile when the people cheered him,” said Nicolo. “We caught a glimpse of him when he was walking up to the House of Mines between a count and a bishop – at least so people said they were! We didn't see Manoel receive him. Too many heads got in our way!”

“I saw everything,” Scander chuckled, “from the mast of a little craft. I bribed the captain to let me aboard! Lord! When Master Gama knelt down front of the King, and kissed his hand, I couldn't help thinking' twould be more fit if the King had knelt and kissed
his
hand!”

“What do you think, Master Abel!” Nejmi broke in. “Scander talked with the foreign pilots that Master Gama brought.”

“I saw them,” Abel declared. “Black as ebony, aren't they?”

“The king of Melinde sent them,” Scander explained, “to find out about our side of the Devil's Cave. You should' a' seen their jaws drop when I sang out to 'em in their own language!' Most made me homesick for old times.”

“Gama never got as far as the Spice Islands, so these pilots told Scander,” Nicolo said. “But they say he's brought back plenty of spice.”

“Calicut and Cananor is as far as he went. That's where, so they tell me, he had to drive some pretty sharp bargains for his spice.” Scander's face suddenly changed, as he appeared to recall something. “Master Conti,” he exclaimed, “I forgot to tell you that Rodriguez left a message for you at Pedro's. Said he'd been delayed by the King and wanted to know if you cared if he didn't bring
The Golden Star
in till tomorrow. Said for you to leave word at Pedro's.”

“Let him take his time,” Nicolo cried warmly. “Go and tell Pedro so, Scander, and if you should happen to see Rodriguez, introduce him to our next captain! And wish him the best of luck.”

He went into the court to call out the last word as the wiry form disappeared through the gate, and presently Nejmi followed him.

From the workshop Abel could see them strolling, arm in arm, about the court. He glanced at Ruth, and saw her tender eyes on them. How should he tell her what was in his mind – what he had been thinking before she came in? By common consent they had never mentioned their talk that moonlight night, after Abel's visit to Manoel, but her forlorn cry still rang in his ears: “Must our people always be wanderers?” It was too cruel to remind her on this day of triumph.

Unexpectedly she said, motioning toward the court, “They need each other, Abel. More than we need her!”

A little puzzled, he studied her. What did she mean? “More than we need her.”

“Abel, dear . . .” Her voice faltered but her eyes were calm and sweet. “Nejmi doesn't need us. Not any longer!”

He looked at her with sudden understanding. He knew now what she was trying to say but all that he could get out was a choked, “Bless your brave heart, Ruth!” They drew close to each other and he whispered, “Just to see Gama – talk once with him. Then, when those two children out there decide to go to the priest . . .”

“I'm ready when you are, Abel.”

He braced himself against the desolation that surged over him. “Tomorrow I'll go down to the docks and find what vessels are sailing,” he said, with his hand tightening on hers. “Then I'll tell Rabbi Joseph what we've decided. You know he's helped so many of us to get away. Brave old soul! If he weren't bed – ridden he'd have been the first to go.”

“You're sure we can't take any of our things, Abel?” she asked him wistfully.

He tried not to see the caress of her eyes as they lingered on this and that familiar object. “Dear,” he answered, “they're watching the ports, strictly. At best it won't be easy to get by.”

“But once you said small things that we could hide in our clothes. And a few cuttings from the plants we love best . . . and some bulbs of your yellow lilies . . .”

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“We'll take a little of our own earth, too, so the new garden will have something of Lisbon!”

“Home will be wherever you are!” he told her.

She drew a long breath. “Then – then as soon as you've seen Master Gama.”

Silently he put his arms around her. “And when Nejmi and Nicolo –”

Nicolo's voice from the doorway broke in on them. “We've been talking about the house I'm going to build,” he jubilantly announced. “Nejmi says it must be just like this one!”