Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [201]
‘You have heard? How?’ Nicholas said. He had lifted his head.
‘Not through Umar,’ said Godscalc dryly. ‘I have spoken to others. There are travellers, monks who have lived at the court of Prester John for thirty years. They are well treated, it is said. But they never come back.’
Nicholas said, ‘You have tried to release me from my promise to go there. Why then keep to your own? The waste would be greater by far.’
‘No,’ said Godscalc. ‘I don’t think so.’
There was a long silence, broken by Nicholas. He said, ‘You want to show it cannot be done.’ Then, when Godscalc did not speak, he said, ‘But you can do that, and come back. I will bring you back.’
Gelis saw Godscalc leave. Sitting motionless by the fountain she did not expect to be noticed, and the priest had already passed her when he stopped and turned slowly, speaking her name. She rose. He cleared his throat and said, ‘You are waiting?’
She said, ‘I wondered …’ Below his hood, his face was in shadow.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I have not persuaded him. Did you think that you might?’
She said, ‘He must be tired.’
‘He is not sleeping,’ Godscalc said. ‘And there is no one with him.’ He sounded curt. But for that, she would have thought he had been weeping.
She made her presence known by rapping on the post of his door. She said, ‘Nicholas.’
His voice said, ‘Gelis.’ He had begun to answer, she thought, from his pillow, but had risen to finish the word. When she entered he had pulled himself up on the coverlet, his back to the wall. His shirt had been unfastened but not yet pulled off.
She said, ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I wondered if you wanted something to drink. My nursing instincts.’ She sat on the edge of the bed.
His smile was so slight that it didn’t rouse either dimple. ‘You haven’t any,’ he said. ‘You’ve come to cut off my hair.’
‘I have,’ she contradicted. ‘Nursing instincts. You’ve forgotten.’
‘I like forgetting,’ Nicholas said. ‘That is what I am going to be famous for: not remembering. Africa has given me a clean sheet, and I like it. Don’t you like clean sheets?’
‘Until December,’ she said. ‘You only have until the San Niccolò leaves in December. So why not face it all now?’
‘Because,’ said Nicholas, ‘there are certain advantages. This way, Diniz will do all the dirty work. He might even kill Simon.’
‘You want that,’ said Gelis.
His eyes, like those of Godscalc, were set in black shadow, but of their own making. ‘Did I say so?’ he said.
‘No. But you won’t do it yourself. You’ll never harm Simon yourself, only his business. And Jordan can scar your face if he wishes, you won’t strike him back. I didn’t understand,’ Gelis said, ‘until you told me.’
‘It isn’t a fever that kills,’ remarked Nicholas, after an interval. ‘Or not directly. There is a difficulty about all this being known. Arigho … the child Henry is being reared as Simon’s heir.’
‘Difficulty!’ Gelis said, and then quietened. She said, ‘Arigho? Is that what you call him?’
‘His name is Henry,’ Nicholas said. ‘I don’t call him anything. I can’t acknowledge him. Simon married Katelina in the belief that the coming child was his own. The trouble was … The trouble is …’
‘That Simon is your own father,’ said Gelis. ‘And Katelina found out. So that, in biblical terms, you led her to have carnal relations unknowing with a man and his son, and to bear a child to the younger, which she passed off as the son of the elder. And because she found that she loved you, it killed her.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, again eventually. ‘Now you know why it’s appealing to stay in Africa.’
Gelis looked at him. It was, perhaps, one of the reasons why he was staying in Africa. It was not the only one. She said, ‘But suppose the imposition of the child