Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [241]
Umar said, ‘I could hardly make my way to your house, there have been so many meetings today. They wish to sink a well, and make some proper storage for millet, but no one can decide how it should be done.’
In February of the year 1466, the caravel San Niccolò completed her voyage to Lisbon and handed to King Alfonso of Portugal his due fee of one quarter of the largest cargo of gold ever to come on a Portuguese vessel from Guinea. For another sum, already agreed, the caravel herself passed into the ownership of the Bank of Niccolò. The caravel then proceeded, with the remains of her cargo, to Bruges.
Gregorio was on board. Leaving Diniz in Bruges, he had made the long winter journey to Lisbon and had arrived there exhausted, but in time to see her arrive, the ship he had seen off from Lagos. It was apparent from the way she came in – the salvos of cannon, the drumming, the cries of trumpet and flute, the brilliant clothes and shouts of the seamen, the garlands of flowers and flags – that here came victory, and a joyous success. He had been first up the companionway.
At the top was the master, duly triumphant. They had found their way to the Gambia – with what adventures! They had made their way up the river – against what dangers! They had lain at Cantor – for far too long: wiser men would have left long before he did. But the cavalcade from the interior had arrived: he had unloaded his cargo; he had taken aboard – it was inconceivable the amount he had taken aboard. He had taken aboard four thousand pounds of pure gold.
‘And my lord Niccolò?’ Gregorio had said.
‘He is in Timbuktu,’ had said Gelis’s voice. ‘Gregorio? Father Godscalc would like to see you. We shall need a little help to take him ashore.’ And so, in the midst of all the euphoria, he was seized with alarm.
The worn, helpless man he found lying in the great cabin was only recognisable as Godscalc by the wild, greying hair and the steadfast eyes. He had smiled at Gregorio’s horror, and stirred a hand, crooked like a claw, towards Gelis. ‘That is the heroine. She and Umar led us all to the Gambia, and she has cared for me ever since. You know the gold is here? The Bank’s troubles are over.’
Gregorio, sitting, had set his hand on one twisted arm. ‘What happened?’
‘My Church is too demanding, and so am I,’ Godscalc said. ‘Nicholas came with me to Ethiopia, and we found together that it is legendary because it cannot be reached by two men, with only six months and their own strength to support them. We turned. We were within reach of the Great River when this happened. I was able to travel, but Nicholas was not.’
Gregorio lifted his eyes. ‘It must have been a hard choice,’ he said to Gelis.
She didn’t reply. Godscalc said gently, ‘He was very ill. Umar has promised to bring him to the coast when he can travel. We thought he deserved peace.’
His eyes were still steady. Gregorio said, ‘You are saying that he might not recover?’
It was Gelis who answered – a changed Gelis also, he saw: her face fine-boned and sunken and frail, her body an outline of long, slender bones. She said, ‘They say he can heal, if he wants to.’
Which was the most frightening thing he had heard.
In Bruges, their triumphant arrival was repeated. The San Niccolò rowed into Sluys as, six and a half years before, the Venetian trading galleys had entered the harbour, with the Guinea slave Loppe aboard one of them. Now Loppe was home, and with him was Claes, the apprentice who had befriended him. Claes, now Nicholas vander Poele, a name known to all Bruges, and all Florence and all Venice. A name known in Lisbon, and Cyprus, and Constantinople, and even in Scotland. Perhaps especially in Scotland.
Simon de St Pol of Kilmirren was not at Sluys as he had been, those years before, to quarrel with his wife’s bastard and to initiate, by the accident of his nature, the feud which had taken hold of their lives. He had gone to Scotland, and