Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [108]
Not the words of a blackamoor. Not the words, surely, of the man Godscalc had taken him to be. Godscalc said, ‘I cannot believe you. Every soul that is purchased encourages the dealers to go and seize more.’
‘No one is going to stop buying them,’ Loppe said. ‘Portugal needs Portuguese, and she doesn’t mind if they are black and didn’t wish to come in the first place. She has no qualms, for she is redeeming their souls. Jorge da Silves endorses that: he is a member of the Order of Christ. Prince Henry himself led the Order, and continued the trade to induce captains to sail further and further. One of his slaves is being reared as a priest by the Franciscans.’
‘So,’ said Godscalc, ‘what is your excuse for selling your prisoners? To please the King of Portugal, who owns this fine caravel? To place your fellows in better homes than the Lomellini or the Vatachino might have offered? To disarm them by your example? This is what you have in mind?’
‘Ser Niccolò did not ask me that,’ Loppe said.
The grating voice of Bel of Cuthilgurdy spoke from her corner. ‘Your Ser Niccolò knows you. Here’s a good man doing his best. You need to help him.’
‘I am sorry,’ said Loppe. ‘But I thought the padre knew us both.’ He stopped, and seemed to make an effort. He said, ‘I said in Lagos I wished to go back to Guinea to learn. I wanted you, a man of God, to come too; and Nicholas – and Ser Niccolò –’
‘You think of him as Nicholas,’ Godscalc said grimly. ‘Why don’t you call him so? You wanted us to see what was happening and act upon it? How?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Loppe. The ship was moving fast now, tilting and plunging beneath them, the spray rattling her sides as her sailing-master sought for the speed that would keep her ahead of all rivals. You could hear seamen’s voices, responding to the shrill of the whistle, and the tired, monotonous wail of a child, and sometimes a sudden cry, as fear broke through the exhaustion.
Loppe said, ‘A long time from now, regulation may be possible. That is, once authority has established itself in this country, the rapine may be stopped, and dealers will become merely agents, who will convey to the coast those men and women who are willing to come. But before this can happen, men must agree that the object is worthy; and then that they must work towards it.’
Father Godscalc said, ‘I think the object is worthy, and I am ready to be shown what you wish me to see, and to report on it. But in the short term, these poor wretches lie there, and I can see nothing that you or I may do except relieve some of their pains.’
‘There is something,’ Loppe said. His voice had warmed, just a little, from relief. He said, ‘You spoke of irrevocable exile, and up till now that’s been true. But a few of these people out there might be restored to the homes that they came from. Some are Sanhaja half-breeds: their villages are not far away, and they would have a good chance of reaching them from the shore. Some are from the coastal tribes of the Jalofos and could be landed in their own region, if they thought the risk of recapture worth while. The rest are from the territory of the Mandinguas, or from kingdoms lying beyond, in the south. Most of these do not know where they live. Their only chance would be a new life in Portugal.’
‘You know all these tribes?’ Godscalc said carefully.
‘Some of them. I do not speak all the dialects.’
‘Are you a son of one of these kings?’ Godscalc asked; and was ashamed when Loppe smiled.
Loppe said, ‘One of those with thirty wives? You know these are not kings as you speak of them; but rather the respected chiefs of their tribes. I cannot claim to be the son of such a