Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [138]
‘But the priest must see the King!’ da Silves said. He lowered his voice. ‘Or else why are we here?’
‘I’ve told you. I’ll do what I can,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I’ve got to repeat. He and the boy are in more danger from the Fortado than you or I are.’
‘More danger than your servant?’ da Silves said.
It was clear enough whom he meant. Nicholas said, ‘Lopez is not my servant,’ and then wished that he hadn’t.
‘No. Forgive me. But if Lopez who is not your servant is in little danger, it is because the Fortado thinks him valuable. Lopez knows the source of the gold. He is going to lead you into Wangara. That is why you let him squander your cargo of slaves.’
‘Wangara. Is that why you are here?’ Nicholas said.
The half-lit face with its glimmering eyes seemed to change. They were very close, their voices low. ‘You gave an undertaking to my King, and to me. You promised souls and gold for the Order.’
Nicholas remained, with some effort, where he was. A challenge over souls and gold he had expected. Now he perceived they were also talking about Loppe and Diniz and presumably even (remembering Ochoa’s merriment) certain rumours from Cyprus and Trebizond. Making enormous adjustments, Nicholas picked his way towards safer ground. ‘Jorge, what Lopez knows hardly matters. Say you do find the way to Wangara. You’ll never induce the tribe who live there to show where the gold lies, or where they take it to barter.’
‘And that is your answer?’ Jorge said. ‘What do these animals do with their gold? What would the Church do by comparison? You would hardly have to touch them – one blast of your cannon would persuade them.’
‘I expect it would,’ Nicholas said. ‘And then what? Another blast for the middlemen of the silent trade? They don’t know themselves where the gold comes from, and they certainly won’t step aside while we track it down and usurp their business. So do we kill them all too?’
‘You talk in extremes,’ said Jorge da Silves. ‘Did you murder your potential rivals when you sought to share in an alum monopoly, corner the Turkish supply of raw silk, control the royal Cypriot sugar estates? Some of them, perhaps; but not all. Do you know, sometimes I have a bad dream about you. Sometimes I think you and your Lopez want to track down the Wangara gold for yourselves, not for Portugal.’
There was a silence. From the invisible bank came the plash of an idling paddle and, further off, the pealing cries of a hyena, answered by a rush of cackling sound. The drums pattered. Nicholas changed his position. He said, ‘If you are here for the Wangara mines, then you may as well go home.’
‘You do want them!’ said Jorge. His eyes gleamed.
Nicholas said, ‘Every white man on the Guinea coast wants them. Doria for the Vatachino. Gomes, when he came here, for Prince Henry. You. And me. Of course I want them, but I’m not going to get them; I’m not going to try. Mention them to Gnumi Mansa or Bati Mansa and they’ll kill us, as they would Doria and Crackbene. They’d slaughter anyone they thought would betray them, including Lopez, which is why neither you nor I will ever ask him whether or not he knows the way.’
‘I look at you, and still I cannot be sure,’ the master said. ‘You want gold. It seems to me sometimes that you are interested in nothing but gold. You insisted on promoting Lázaro, and it is useless.’
‘Vicente is a good trainer,’ said Nicholas.
‘Oh, yes. But now the ship has half his attention. The ship should be your concern, too.’
‘I am sorry,’ said Nicholas, ‘Of course it should. I must have seemed a very poor comrade.’ He paused. ‘Over the gold. I am hurt that you doubt me, but it’s easily tested. When we leave the caravel at the end of the Gambia, you will be with me. I am not going to Wangara, but I mean to buy gold on our route to the east, at the caravan posts where the middlemen bring it. Lopez will take us to these.’
‘If,’