Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [144]
‘And the women here in the tent?’ Nicholas said. Their shoulders were bare, and their arms, and their slender ankles and feet. He could feel their breath on his neck, and once, a tongue.
‘All the women here are the King’s wives. You are his guests until dawn, so he will offer experience of them as his feast-gift.’ Loppe was smiling too, with rare affection and mischief.
Nicholas said, ‘What do we do?’ He felt hollow. He brought his brain on guard with some suddenness, like a sentry caught napping.
Loppe said, ‘It is your choice. He will have made provision for all of you. He will be complimented if those of rank among you requisition the favours of his favourite wives. Not to do so might seem a slight, unless a man is clearly incapable. The padre is asleep.’
‘And our Knight of the Order, or as soon as I can arrange it,’ said Nicholas. A shocking pang ran through him and remained somewhere, throbbing.
‘Leave him to me,’ Loppe said.
‘I don’t know if I should,’ Nicholas answered. ‘Loppe, are you sure? It seems …’
‘He has many more,’ Loppe said. ‘More than he can satisfy. This will keep them contented. These young women are mostly with child, and hence barred to him and restless. The occasion can produce nothing but good: the King will appoint you his brothers.’
Nicholas smiled at the King and felt the smile spread idiotically. The subject under ostensible discussion was unicorn’s horn. He said in Flemish, ‘What did Doria do?’
‘He wasn’t asked,’ Loppe replied. ‘He put altogether too many questions about the source of the gold. What you see before you, Niccolino, is virgin territory.’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Nicholas said. When the wine came round again, he refused it.
Before the dancing began, when the tent had been removed and the carpets spread again in the low, golden light under the tree, he made his excuse and, getting up, wandered from place to place until he had spoken to all the five crewmen from the San Niccolò. They had to know what to expect; they too had to make their choice; they had to be warned what would be acceptable. He came last to Vicente and Lázaro.
Vicente heard him in silence, but his gaze travelled to where his Portuguese master Jorge was sitting, his shoulder supported, his eyes already half closed. Nicholas said, ‘You are right, it won’t please him. But it may be that he never realises that it has happened – unless, of course, he is told. On the other hand, you can abstain. It would make a better example for Lázaro.’ And he smiled at the boy.
Lázaro said, ‘I am thirteen.’ He was looking at Vicente.
It was true. He was the same age as Filipe, although with something of a man’s build already, and a deftness and strength that already justified the seaman’s post he’d been given. Beneath the powerful harness of Vicente, there had been no more gratuitous horseplay on board.
On land, one would have expected the same. Vicente said casually, ‘You are too young,’ and then frowned as the boy reddened from his brow to the edge of his doublet.
The boy said, ‘I can. If you do, then I do.’ Then, as the comito hesitated, at a loss, he cried in his strange, husky voice, ‘Do you want me to prove it?’
Of the three possible resolutions, Nicholas picked the least injurious. He said, ‘Are you going, Vicente? Then here’s a stout fellow who, I’m sure, ought to be allowed to make one of these ladies happy as well. Only remember. Wait until you are asked, and behave with courtesy. The lives of your mates may depend on it.’
Nicholas made his way back to the close-packed, sweet, sweating humanity at the King’s side, and was pulled down. He had walked straight past Diniz, who was more than thirteen, and a gentleman, and glacial with Scottish-Portuguese dignity. Nicholas had passed, and Diniz had melted as he passed, and then dissolved as Nicholas dropped an eyelid. The drumming,