Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [153]
What came next, irrelevantly, was a supper, brought in baskets and spread on the floor for their captors. Perhaps they were hungry. They took it in turns, Bel observed, to eat and stand guard: two in front and the rest spaced outside round the pillars. Doria, reclining at ease, invited Nicholas to share his meal, sitting opposite, and then thought to make room for the ladies, and finally for Godscalc and Jorge and Diniz. He wanted, she thought, to humiliate Jorge in particular. Doria’s men kept peering at Gelis, who smiled back at them from time to time. Bel hoped she knew what she was doing. She could hear Filipe, whining.
She stirred a finger in a few dishes but felt no compulsion to eat. She envied the rest of the party, including Filipe, who had not been invited – who, indeed, would have been a puzzle to feed since the seamen had been left, tied and stripped to the waist, where the goats had been. There was, as before, nothing to be done; nothing, yet, that was worth risking lives for. Outside, shadows crawled on the brilliant grass, black as predators, and above the trees, the first pallid stars were just visible. Nothing quite yet.
Doria’s crew still wore their jacks and their helmets. Beside them, the Niccolò’s men looked like peasants: bare of head, and reduced – even the priest – to gaping shirts over their hose. No one had suggested that the ladies should disrobe, which was as well. Which was, Bel understood, what Nicholas had intended.
She let her gaze dwell on him, and then wander over Diniz. The lad had filled out better than you would have expected. She could imagine, without looking further than the two of them, what King Gnumi’s wives had also imagined. She glanced at Gelis, and had the impression that Gelis had recently directed her gaze somewhere else. She had the further impression that Jorge da Silves had seen it and was scowling. On the other hand, he had been scowling ever since they arrived, either upon Nicholas or upon Saloum and Ahmad.
Two lamps had been brought, warming the underside of the corn roof to chestnut. Outside, something screamed in the bushes. Inside, Nicholas, dabbling in rice, was placidly clarifying the situation. He said to Doria, ‘So you bribed the King to stay away?’
‘It wasn’t difficult,’ Doria said, a bone between his ringed hands. ‘We had, through your kind intervention, this large bale of weapons to offer him. He has a great deal of hunting to do, and has told his young men that they may amuse themselves as they like in his absence. They don’t like gold robbers or spies.’
‘They can’t afford to harm us,’ Nicholas said. ‘Whatever you tell them.’ He sounded quite calm. Diniz sat like a man under orders, and da Silves like a man rebelling against them. Father Godscalc, his eyes lifted, might have been praying or chewing.
‘I’m afraid they’ll get the blame, none the less,’ Doria said. Gelis drew in her breath. The two lamps burned in the silence. Outside, it was black.
Nicholas said, ‘Were your orders to exterminate us? It seems a little unpolished for the Vatachino. What you promised the others I don’t know.’ Underlit, his eyes might have been pursed with laughter. It was a face fixed in the mould of frivolity. Bel had seen others like it, some of them dead.
‘I always make the same promise,’ said Doria. ‘To bring back the largest profit they have ever known. As a result, I am rich.’
‘What did Simon de St Pol ask you to do?’ Diniz said.
Godscalc turned his head. Gelis didn’t move. Raffaelo Doria looked at the boy. He said, ‘I never discuss who my clients are.’
‘We know who they are,’ Diniz said. ‘The Lomellini, the Vatachino and St Pol. What did St Pol ask you to do?’
‘Why?’ said Doria. Reclining on one elbow, he had nibbled half down the bone.
‘He was my father’s partner. He sold his half of the business to the Vatachino. He wants my half.’
‘And so he might want your death, you think? And perhaps Messer Niccolò, as his business