Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [147]
Chapter 22
IT WAS Godscalc who, to universal stupefaction, declared that they must next call on the King Bati Mansa, four days’ sail further on up the river.
He knew, of course, what had happened. So much was obvious during the interminable Mass held in the clearing before their departure and attended by all the ship’s complement able to walk, as well as by eight hundred Mandinguas and Henry Mansa, wearing his spectacles.
The King smiled all through the service and so did his pretty young wives, who also wriggled and whispered. Saloum and the robed elders were absent but the leopard attended, and Jorge da Silves whose hooded glare showed much the same ferocity. The seven culprits stood with the rest, smelling remarkably of brackish water and weed, while Father Godscalc spoke, but not too loudly, and held his missal to protect his eyes from the excruciating white to which his vestments had been bleached. Nicholas hung his head.
His punishment occurred later, on board, when the decks had been cleared of apes, parakeets and three warthogs, assorted cages of poultry and a goat, together with a generous cargo of legless provender and some merchandise. Then, when Tendeba had vanished, and the ship was negotiating the first of the several difficult bends in the next thirty-mile stage of her voyage, Father Godscalc summoned Nicholas to his chamber.
The bulkhead muffled the words of the ensuing tirade more than the crew would have liked, but it was apparent that Nicholas had little to say, and that the little was soon swept aside. When he emerged after twenty minutes, looking serious, those on deck had had sufficient warning to scatter and busy themselves, and took care not to look round when he climbed aft and strolled to talk to the helmsman. Bel of Cuthilgurdy banged on the door he had left and opening it, pushed it shut with her shoulder. Then she crossed to Godscalc’s table and dumped down a basket. In it was a flask, a cup which she filled, and a dish containing a comb of wild honey.
He was seated, his knees apart, his crucifix in his hands. ‘To sweeten my temper,’ he said. His large-boned face with its wiry black hair was sallow.
‘The only thing wrong with your temper,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy, ‘is that ye should have lost it with that one long ago. Ye let him play with you. Ye let him play with you because you’re convinced he’s a prodigy. He’s twenty years younger than you are.’
‘I am aware of it,’ Godscalc said. ‘And has taken no vows.’ He paused. He said, ‘He knows I envy him.’ He stopped again, and said, ‘My only hope is that I think – sometimes I know – that he envies me.’
There was a silence. Bel said, ‘None the less, ye had the right of it, surely. There were youngsters to think of. And fornication is not a general rule of the Church, even though it seemed natural enough to the King, and he may take more kindly to the Trinity for finding us so heartily equipped with good taste. Forbye, ye couldna have stopped it, even if ye’d had a heid for their drink.’
He groaned, and she pushed the cup of herbs towards him until he lifted it and drank and then set it down and covered his face. She wondered if he had seen Diniz that morning, and assessed his state of sparkling, expansive delight. She wondered if he had noted Lázaro’s manner greeting Filipe: not conceited or scathing but comradely, like that of the other seamen; like a man with nothing to prove. She wondered if he had heard the obscenity with which Filipe had rebuffed his former idol. She understood, as well as Godscalc, the terrible dilemma inseparable from any man’s dealings with Nicholas. She said, ‘How did he take it?’
‘He was respectful,’ Godscalc said. ‘And made no excuses. So now I find myself making them for him. It was a travesty of a mission: his part, if you like, was at least honest.’
‘But ye hope for more from Bati Mansa the pagan? Father,’ said Bel, ‘ye can’t need me to remind you. This particular man may loathe Christians. The Fortado will have put him against us. And if ye mean to take another party