Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [125]
‘Ser Niccolò vander Poele?’ the commander called, and the rosy light beamed on his enamels, and his teeth, and the firm, jowelled, inimical face. ‘A word with you, pray?’
The face of Nicholas, looking down, had no amusement left in it, but he laid his arms on the rail and clasped his hands gently. ‘Monseigneur? It is late.’
‘Late enough,’ said Doria. ‘No one can hear us. The factor has gone to the fort, and the King and his wives have gone home. It seems a good time to resume the little talk we had earlier. You will see that the men with me are armed. You will perhaps even notice that the cannon on the Fortado are prepared and pointing this way. I should not like to disturb the fort. But I must insist that you let me tow your boats to my ship with their purchases. It is for your own good. You are over your load-line.’
‘I am? Then you are right,’ Nicholas said. ‘I had better sail. Unfortunately, I have need of the boats, even empty.’
‘Why not? You may keep them,’ said Doria. ‘When I have emptied them.’ He turned.
Behind, their painters loose, their crew paddling idly beside them, floated the San Niccolò’s two handsome boats, upside down. ‘I thought I might as well empty them first,’ Nicholas said. ‘Then we can be on our way. Unless you still want them?’
Diniz said, ‘Oh, my God.’ Beside him, Gelis looked pale and even Bel had gone scarlet.
Doria said, ‘You would do even this, to spite my owners?’
‘I should do more than that,’ Nicholas said. ‘Perhaps the Vatachino know it better than you do. Let me wish you good night.’
‘My lord!’ came the cry over the water.
Nicholas, half withdrawn, stayed to watch, and the others stood on deck, listening.
‘My lord!’ It was not addressed to them, but to Doria, and it came from one of the Fortado’s own boats, speeding in from the ocean. ‘My lord, the roundship has sailed!’
Raffaelo Doria looked up, and then across the water to the speaker. ‘In what direction?’
‘North!’ came the bellow. ‘North to north-west, and fully loaded!’
The San Niccolò rocked. The Fortado’s pinnace dipped in silence below. In the sea to the rear, a practised team was righting the Niccolò’s boats. The incoming vessel slackened its dash and, on a wave from Doria, turned and made doubtfully for the Fortado.
Raffaelo Doria looked up. He said, ‘You had already loaded the gold? You had it carried overland to the roundship?’
‘While you were entertaining the King and ourselves so very hospitably. As you recommended yourself,’ Nicholas said, ‘we elected to keep all our capacity for the Gambia. I’m afraid you left King Zughalin dissatisfied and less inclined to trust the Vatachino in the future – but at least you were not all hanged for arms running. And now I suppose you will leave. Do you have any particular plans?’
‘Only one,’ said Doria, ‘for you personally. As for the rest – am I going north after the Ghost? It is tempting, but no. I think that, like you, I shall make my way south. It seems I have all this cloth, and there is no Portuguese factor, as yet, in that kingdom. We may even meet there.’
He bowed, leaving, and Nicholas turned from the rail. ‘Well?’ he said.
‘Three mule-loads of gold?’ Diniz said. ‘Loaded on to the Ghost?’
‘On its way to Madeira, and without the Fortado to dog it. It should get there,’ Nicholas said. ‘And Gregorio will know how to take care of it. And the Bank, I hope, will redeem itself all the more quickly, and Mistress Lucia’s business. While, as it happens, we have done no more to messieurs Vatachino and Lomellini and St Pol than will deprive them of trade, and prevent them from replacing poison arrows with gunpowder, for what that is worth. Father? Do you feel less despairing?’
Godscalc stood, his face lined. He said, ‘I have taken God’s word today where it has not often been heard. That is all I can say.’
‘Jorge?’
‘It depends whom you trust,’ said the shipmaster. ‘But you could have done little else. And we are free to go to the Gambia.’
‘Loppe?’ said Nicholas.
‘We are not all children,’ said Loppe.