Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [45]
Cristoffels said, ‘But …’
‘But what?’ said Julius. ‘He’s demented.’
‘… but would you take a galley south past the Pillars of Hercules? Out of the Middle Sea and south? It would need a caravel, or a roundship.’
‘We have a roundship,’ Nicholas said.
They took a long time, Godscalc thought, to see what he was driving at. The craft, the contrivance, the devices that had brought them all here to this room, listening to the obvious, inevitable solution to all their difficulties. Then Julius said, ‘The Doria? Nicholas, you incredible bastard. You’ve hit on the idea of recovering the Doria? Where is she?’
‘Portugal,’ Nicholas said. ‘We’ve repaid the insurance. I feel we may as well have the use of her until the courts decide in our favour. She shouldn’t be too hard to take.’
‘Well, that makes sense,’ Julius said. ‘But after that, why not bring her back? You don’t really want to battle down to Madeira and the Senagana and fight your way across Africa, do you? Anyway, you’d find yourself face to face with …’ His voice trailed away.
‘All those who invited him there,’ Gregorio finished. ‘You brought the letter. Portugal is where Jordan de Ribérac went with the Doria, and Diniz his grandson. Portugal is where Simon has gone, and where all his business interests are – Portugal and Madeira and Africa. Portugal is where the van Borselen family went, to recover their grandchild. Simon issued the challenge, and Nicholas all along meant to take it up, and has made it impossible for us or anyone else to prevent him. Stop him, and the Bank fails.’
As once before, it was Cristoffels who stirred uneasily. ‘But …’ he began.
‘Go on,’ said Godscalc gently.
The young factor cleared his throat. ‘But with such competition, what cargo could he bring back that would save the Bank in a year? With respect?’
Then Father Godscalc chose to intervene at last, and Nicholas, who had laid his arms on the table, drew them back and sat upright, his head poised, his eyes level.
Godscalc said, ‘If he were going to Ethiopia, I doubt if he would bring back his life, and certainly not the magic mirror and jewelled sands of the legend. But of course, he is going somewhere rather nearer and much more rewarding; although, it is true, few merchants have managed to find it. But not every merchant has Loppe, do they, Nicholas? In Loppe you have a guide and an interpreter as well as a friend; someone who will follow you anywhere, whom you can expose to any trial and who will not complain. You are taking Loppe to the Guinea coast that he came from, and you expect to bring back all you desire: what will baulk the Vatachino and frustrate Simon’s prospects; restore the Bank and establish you as the wealthy man you now want to be. You know what is drawing him? He is going to the market no white men attend. He is going to sail up the River of Gold.’
He knew it was useless. He knew, no matter how clearly or how bitterly he spoke, that few of them would see the iniquity of it. Julius appeared transfixed, even translated. On the face of Cristoffels was a growing, confused admiration. Only in Gregorio and Loppe did he see something different. On Gregorio’s face a sort of resignation; and in Loppe’s face, uncharacteristically, anger.
The anger was for him. Loppe said, ‘I think, Father, that I look like a man. Do I seem to you to have the brain of a child? Do I seem to you like a girl, running after a protector?’
Godscalc was silent. Then he said, ‘No. I insulted your intelligence, and your manhood. It has been a long night. I am sorry.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Loppe, ‘we have all said enough.’ His eyes were on Nicholas.
Rose-coloured light filled the low windows, and a seagull wailed. Nicholas said, ‘Yes. We can leave the rest till tomorrow. There is a bed for Father Godscalc?’
‘I shall show him,’ said Loppe.
Outside, although the stairway was dark, there were sounds of distant bustling, and the muted clatter of kitchen activity. Loppe said, ‘There is a place next to Cristoffels.’ On the top floor, he