Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [104]
She touched his chin with the tip of her finger. ‘You would leave because of me? You are your father’s son, Diniz.’
‘And you are Katelina’s sister,’ he said. He had heard, in what Nicholas said, something he had not heard before. Diniz said, ‘Give him a chance to forget.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Nicholas sharply. ‘Let her make up her own mind.’
‘No,’ said Diniz. He found himself addressing her earnestly. ‘We are all cursed with guilt, don’t you see? For far more than my father, or Katelina. She understood.’
‘You knew her well?’ Gelis said. ‘I don’t think you did. I can’t really care what you have on your conscience. This is between Claes and me.’
‘But you are wrong about him,’ Diniz said. He caught Nicholas by the shoulder, and, setting both hands to the neck of his shirt, ripped it down from its edge to its side-seam. Revealed between neck and shoulder was the deep raspberry cleft of an axe blow.
‘I did that,’ Diniz said. ‘By mistake. I believed what you believe.’
Nicholas swore, pulling away and throwing together the cloth.
His eyes, startled and angry, shifted from Diniz to the door, beyond which they all heard footsteps approaching. Ochoa de Marchena appeared like a starfish.
‘My children!’ he said. ‘You are not prepared! I am told I have two new oarsmen to take, and one of them is dressed like a nymph?’
Gelis stood. After a moment Nicholas rose, very quietly. Diniz said, ‘I’ll fetch her clothes. She’ll be ready. I’ll bring her.’
‘Poor, pretty knave,’ said Ochoa. ‘Who is to keep the horses alive, now you are going? I have a great cargo, have I not? Twenty-five dying nags and some water.’
He held the door, wailing softly and crossly in Arabic. Diniz hurried towards it and turned, seeking Nicholas. Ochoa fluted and grumbled. ‘And Jorge sleek in his caravel with the merchandise. He will say, of course, he feared we were lost. But whom will my little mice blame?’
‘Come,’ said Nicholas. He took Diniz impatiently by the arm.
Diniz, walking, called to Ochoa, ‘The San Niccolò managed to fill her hold then? Gold, and pepper, and gum?’
‘All of that,’ Ochoa said. ‘And forty slaves, the Portuguese devil, that should have been here in our straw, but that Jorge said he would take them, having a priest and a trustworthy Negro aboard. But!’ said Ochoa, ‘I tell my mice to be patient! More are waiting! Great broad stallions, and wriggling fillies, and curly-haired cupids, all to buy in the Gambia, if the horses hold out. Senhor Diniz, change your mind and the lady’s: don’t leave.’
Diniz stopped. Nicholas let go his arm.
Gelis said, ‘Leave! With the horses so poorly? I shouldn’t dream of it. Diniz wouldn’t dream of it, either. And we want to make Messer vander Poele happy. You’ve changed our minds for us: we’ll stay.’
Chapter 16
AS THE Ghost, buzzing with discord, stood by to take on her water, the San Niccolò sailed south of Arguim with priestly mutiny breaking out on her decks.
Since the Isle of Arguim was found and claimed twenty years ago, hundreds of men had made their way there: seamen, merchants and craftsmen; the men who built the fort four years later; the masons who had planted the Portuguese arms carved in stone on each headland to replace the blackened crosses the explorers had left. Far fewer had sailed farther than that, to the Sahel, and the priests who went with them, if any, seldom made a loud stupid fuss about slaves.
Under the blistering sun of November, the San Niccolò travelled in a storm-cloud of anger. On her decks were forty black people and twenty-eight white, of whom twenty-four were the crew of Jorge da Silves. The remaining three, whose authority Jorge da Silves did not recognise, were Godscalc the chaplain, Loppe the Negro interpreter, and the young woman’s companion who was there by mistake, and had a voice like a hinge on a codpiece.
All the way to Arguim, Bel of Cuthilgurdy had been Godscalc’s anchor. She had not stayed at Funchal, although she had tenderly escorted the shaken David ashore. Her blunt,