Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [221]
Half the Vatachino plan had succeeded. Of the two ships, the roundship had gone. Diniz was dead, and his quinta defenceless. The Fortado had brought back a full cargo, by whatever means. For the rest, the San Niccolò had to find her way home from the Gambia, and Nicholas himself had not been heard of since he reached what they called the Great River.
But then, when had Nicholas not been able to extricate himself from the worst situations? Crackbene had patently not told all he knew, but even in his voice there had been respect for Nicholas and a kind of confidence, despite what he had said of the dangers. Nicholas always came back.
By the end of May, Gregorio was still comforting himself with such thoughts when a ship came in from Lisbon, carrying passengers.
He had been up in the mountains when it arrived. Normally, his was the paperwork, the planning, the visits to Funchal, the sending of orders and the leasing of cargo space on the ships that plied between Madeira and Portugal. The quinta had been kept in repair as much as was possible, so that the main house still looked trim and well cared for, and the yard was mended and swept, the stables watertight, the mills in good order, the cabins of all their workers solid and decently thatched. He had used his workers to do it, for now, with the St Pol estate gone, there were too many of them. Too many to house and feed and support, with all their increasing families, with so little coming in.
He had done, too, what he could about that, leasing out the free time in his mills, using ground hitherto wasted to plant the herbs and roots that grew so freely in the rich soil, to eke out their food. And he had laid out some money on poor ground high on the slopes which came cheap because it had to be terraced – a job requiring many people – and irrigation channels had to be led.
With the warm, rainless season approaching, there was need for haste, and Jaime spent his days with his men and their wives, hauling stones and laying them in neat ridges, and passing the nights with them as well, beside their rough withy shelters, singing and talking round the cooking-pots and sleeping under the stars.
Gregorio, riding up one day alongside the cook’s daily mule-load of food-panniers, had dismounted and tied up his horse, unbuttoned his doublet and, taking his place at Jaime’s side, had worked with him till the sun set. Then he had sat on the bare earth in his shirt and hose and, taking someone’s fiddle, struck up a tune Margot used to sing to, when she presided over the Ca’ Niccolò and they had friends to sup.
It would be a year, soon, since he had seen her. She knew now he was in Madeira: he had received three dog-eared packets, the first arriving in March. He was not a person who would seek consolation elsewhere for what he missed, and he knew she was the same. They each withstood the separation, but he knew that he had the better part of it, even though Nicholas hadn’t chosen to take him to Guinea. He slept well and even happily that night, rolled up in a blanket with the smell of pine and juniper and fresh earth in his nostrils. Then next day, he rode alone down to the quinta.
He knew something had happened as soon as he came near the yard. First he heard the dogs barking. Then he saw two of the women servants standing in the yard as if at a loss, with strange boxes and baggage strewn on the ground about them. From the stables, usually quiet, there came the sound of horses trampling and men’s voices raised angrily, cursing. He had left no men. All the men were up in the mountains. He ignored the stables and walked towards the front door as it was flung open.
Jaime’s wife stood in the opening, her face pale within its neat voile, her hands clasped below her plain girdle. She said, ‘Has Jaime come with you?’
Gregorio said gently, ‘He will come later. I will deal with it. Inês?’
‘Deal with it? What a welcome!’ said an amused voice behind her.
It came from an angel. It came from the most beautiful man in the world: blue-eyed, golden-haired, and dressed