Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [73]
The hand on the map slackened, and for a moment it seemed that the scroll would be allowed, for the last time, to close. Jorge da Silves suddenly spoke. ‘But this is so. The King has confided a new caravel to the venture, and his trust. I, as sailing-master, would fear to lead it so far without his Treasurer’s wisdom.’
Pride against obsession. Better than anyone, Jorge da Silves knew how loyalty and instinct could compete. For a moment, no one said anything. Then Diogo Gomes heaved a sigh. He said, ‘Why not. It is what the Prince would have wished. Only, you understand, in his day he chose the captains. We knew them.’
‘You know me,’ said Jorge da Silves.
He had flushed. He didn’t say, as he might have said, that some of those same captains had been robbers and murderers. Gomes made no apology. He only said, ‘Well. Let us pass round the flask, and I shall tell you what I can, and you must ask what you will. For it is a far land, and a dangerous one, and you will have little armour but your intelligence.’
It was late when they left, and Diniz rode with them for some time in silence. After a while he said, ‘The old man. He wished he were going to sea again.’
Nicholas didn’t look round. He said, ‘This sea is for fit men who will leave no grief behind them.’
‘You expect to return,’ Diniz said.
‘I leave men behind me,’ said Nicholas.
‘My mother has Simon,’ said Diniz. ‘My uncle Simon may be in Madeira.’
‘Your uncle Simon is not Portuguese,’ Nicholas said. ‘You are your mother’s man. You and no other.’
There was a long pause. Diniz said, ‘What is Wangara?’
Loppe said nothing, and the captain was silent. Nicholas said, ‘The source of the gold.’
‘Where is it?’ said Diniz. This time, Loppe looked at him sharply.
Nicholas said, ‘No one knows. Those who try to find out are killed. That is another reason why you are not going to Guinea.’ And the boy said nothing more.
It was a relief when they came to the place in Lagos where their roads parted and Diniz, turning abruptly, rode up the steep hill to his home. In the ten days that were left, Nicholas doubted if he would see him again, and was annoyed and sorry together. But he had undertaken to convey him to his parents’ house in Madeira, with the baleful Gelis, and Bel of Cuthilgurdy, their coffers and servants. He had promised nothing else.
Before supper that night Father Godscalc strode in to confront Nicholas and Loppe in their parlour, a thick scroll riding under his arm. There was ink on his thumb, and a great blotch of it under his chin. He said, ‘I’ve reached a conclusion. You don’t go to Madeira.’
It had been a long day, but that should never matter. Nicholas remained with his expensive hose stretched before him, and his elbows hung behind over the only chair in the room with a back. He said, ‘Because of Simon, because of Diniz, because of Gelis, because of David de Salmeton, or because of St Pol & Vasquez? I can’t afford to agree with you.’
‘Yes, you can,’ Godscalc said. The map had flattened under his arm. He drew it out and threw it warm on a table and then sat down, his feet splayed, his two large toes braced in their leathers like bombards.
He said, ‘Tell Diniz you can’t take him to Madeira. Leave the Borselen girl. They won’t sell to David de Salmeton; you can persuade them. In any case, miss out Madeira. I thought Simon might see sense and join with you, but now I doubt it. I will not have you confront him, the boy at your side. Go straight to Guinea, or call at the Grand Canary if you have to. But, Nicholas, go past Madeira.’
‘I can’t,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have to meet the Ghost from Sanlúcar, and she’s already halfway there.’ He waited.
Godscalc said, ‘The old Doria you got out of Ceuta. You’ve renamed her?’
‘It seemed advisable. And not so old. Built in 1460 for Jordan de Ribérac, from whom his son Simon purloined her. The Vatachino thought her worth a great deal of money.’
‘I see,’ said Godscalc. ‘And will