Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [183]
Akil ag Malwal entered and halted, and his troops, flanking him, trotted so far and stopped. The groups of men looked at one another.
‘Greetings,’ said someone. It was one of the men in the courtyard, a swarthy, powerful man swathed in wool. ‘The Timbuktu-Koy sends us to commend your assiduity. He has placed these incomers under his hand. I am to thank you, and say he is protected.’
‘Then Allah be praised,’ said Akil ag Malwal. ‘If you will step aside, I shall see for myself. I have some men inside, I believe.’
‘Alas,’ said the man who had spoken. ‘I was forced to expel them, since I have orders to admit none but the Flemish lord’s party. The Flemish lord is to stay.’
A sound hung in the air which might have been a growl from two hundred Tuareg throats. The men in the courtyard were not a third of that number. Bel began to cough, and Gelis, leaning, put an arm around her and cried out to the captain. ‘My lord! I do not know what you fear, but she is ill.’
Her meaning, like that of Diniz, was plain enough. Her face, unveiled and stricken, looked wonderful. There was a general murmur, perhaps of pleasure. The commander Akil displayed none. For a moment he sat without speaking. Then, with an abrupt gesture, he threw a command to his men. Their horses stirred, and began to retreat to the gates.
Umar said, ‘I am grateful. May many blessings ensue.’ The commander ignored him and, turning, rode out.
The gates closed. Umar bent from the saddle and spoke to the Timbuktu-Koy’s captain. Diniz dashed for the inner courtyard and dismounted, followed by Godscalc and the women. No one stopped them. By the time Umar joined them, they had already reached the main part of the house. Vito came running to meet them, his face yellow.
Umar said, ‘What?’ He was breathing quickly.
‘Those bastards!’ Vito said. ‘They wanted to take Messer Niccolò off! You left me no weapons, you know you left me nothing to defend him with? And then the governor’s men came in and stopped them. I thought they’d killed you all at the least.’
‘No,’ said Umar. ‘But Ser Niccolò? Is he worse?’
‘He is not better,’ said the physician, entering decorously. ‘But he suffered less, perhaps, in his delusions than you did in reality. It would be as well, however, if he were not moved again. Tonight may be crucial.’
‘Tonight,’ Umar said, ‘you shall have weapons, and I shall watch with the rest at the gate. Although now we should be safe.’
Godscalc said, ‘It was our fault, for demanding to go. It might have helped had you told us the dangers.’
‘I did not know Akil was back,’ Umar said. ‘He would have heard, and tried to come for you anyway. It would not have happened if your audience had taken place. Will you sit with Nicholas? There should be someone there through the night.’
‘Of course,’ Godscalc said.
‘And here’s Gelis,’ said Bel. ‘She’ll spell you.’
Godscalc drew breath to object, and then paused. After a long time he said, ‘Yes. Let her sit with him. Unless she is frightened.’
‘Not of that,’ Gelis said.
It was doubtful whether, in fact, Nicholas in his delusions had suffered less. He had very little recollection of being dragged out of bed, or of the clash of factions which resulted in his being restored to it, after a vertiginous period during which people kept trying to rouse him with questions. Since he could neither understand them nor parry them, it was as well, in a way, that his answers were confined to quite different enigmas which vexed him.
What transpired was a rambling dissertation of little interest to Tuaregs or Berbers, especially since it was conducted in French. His everyday language might be Flemish, but in time of distress it was the tongue of his mother