Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [107]
Godscalc said quietly, ‘Then take your coin and free them. If you fear to lose your profit, I shall try to make it up to you somehow.’
Jorge da Silves had regained his calm. He stood awkwardly as he was gripped and said, ‘Padre, what good will it do to free them? They have been brought hundreds of miles from their homes; their captors rove the desert behind them. Do you expect the Tuareg to mount them on horseback and deliver them back to their huts, in whatever village they may have come from? They must be brought on board. I am glad they are coming on board, for they are your business.’ And he straightened his neck, for Godscalc’s clutch had become slack.
‘My business?’ he said.
‘That is why you have this caravel,’ said Jorge da Silves, and pulled himself free. ‘To bring souls to Christ. To save the heathen. Speak to your Negro, to Lopez. Surely he has explained this?’
‘I tried to explain it,’ said Loppe, standing before him. Behind was Bel his anchor, his former anchor, who must have fetched him.
Loppe said, ‘Father, let the master go. Let him bring them on board. Whatever happens to these people later, they will do better here than on the Fortado. Once they are on board, we shall listen to you. We were only afraid that, if you knew, you would abandon them.’
He had agreed, with a numbness amounting to despair, for he could see no alternative. He had gone to the island and, entering the warehouse where the captives lay, ill-fed and exhausted, young once-vigorous people of every shade from swarthy half-Berber to the dense, blue-black colour of Loppe, he had realised that, whatever their fate, it couldn’t be worse than this. Only when brought into the light, and packed in boats, and finally taken on board one of the great birds of the sea, did their apathy break, and they fought, screaming, against being thrust into the hold, and clutched each other in terror as the seamen tried to bring the ship through the channel and, reaching the sea, to set the sails to run south once again.
No. If Nicholas was there, across the gulf in the red, shining roundship, Godscalc took no joy in the knowledge. He turned his back on the Ghost. He battled side by side with the rest until, somehow, the hoarse, desperate rabble had been induced to settle in some sort of order, and their groups and numbers identified, and the copper cauldron was set on the firebox. They were given bean soup and maize bread and water, and shown where to relieve themselves, for already the San Niccolò stank. Then all but the most violent slept, and Loppe, touching Father Godscalc on the shoulder, said, ‘We should speak in the cabin. Mistress Bel is already there.’
Godscalc of Cologne walked with the step of an old man to the cabin. There, facing the Negro and the brooding figure of the woman from Scotland, he said, ‘You have seen. Three are sick. There are only six, that I can find, who speak Arabic. The rest have almost no tongues in common. They appear to come from several tribes and no doubt many villages, to which neither we nor they know the way. I see you and Jorge are right. Once they have been brought to Arguim, they are already in irrevocable exile.’
‘That is generally so,’ said Loppe softly. There were hollows under his eyes.
Godscalc said, ‘This therefore is an expedition to buy and sell slaves. You knew as much before you sailed, and so did Nicholas. If you held any discussions, I was not privy to them. I cannot excuse you.’
‘I am sorry, Father,’ said Loppe.
‘Tush!’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy to no one in particular.
Father Godscalc rounded on her. ‘And what does that mean? They cannot be helped, except by exchanging them for horses or money, as has been done, and taking them back to Portugal? So!’ He swung back to Loppe. ‘Why have you let Nicholas do this? Or did he compel you to accomplish it for him, select the best, the most promising? Was this his fee for sending you back to your family?’
‘No,’ said Loppe.