Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [78]
Gelis said, ‘How will he earn his living ashore?’
‘He prays over people,’ said Nicholas.
‘Filipe. On Madeira.’
‘Diniz will give him work on the Vasquez estate.’
‘A thief?’ Diniz said. He looked taken aback.
‘You wanted me to get rid of him,’ Nicholas said.
Diniz said, ‘As a matter of discipline.’
‘But not of philanthropy.’ He heard his own voice. He had not intended to do this. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this to Diniz and not to Gelis, except that he was tired of the boy’s dumb supplication. Or just tired. His ship moved beneath him, her sails full, her men settling, her course apparently true. Nicholas said, ‘So shall we talk about oranges?’
And Diniz went white.
No one moved. Father Godscalc’s heavy face flattened. Diniz said, ‘You invited us.’ He spoke very calmly.
Nicholas said, ‘Of course. I couldn’t dismiss you.’
‘You have hundreds!’ said Diniz. ‘Isn’t it insulting to compare these two things?’
‘I have hundreds less six,’ Nicholas said. ‘You were asked to respect some supplies, but you didn’t. Since you were leaving, I wouldn’t have mentioned it. If you’d been staying, I should. Lázaro and Filipe also broke rules. Lázaro can be made to behave. Filipe is too soft to take discipline. He’ll cause trouble again, and they’ll kill him. Sending him ashore is a kindness to everybody.’
Diniz had turned even paler. ‘You must be glad I am going. Or if I stayed, would you treat me like Lázaro?
‘Oh,’ said Gelis, ‘be quiet. His ship is falling apart, and he’s ashamed of it. Mother of Jesus, all this fuss about oranges? How else have we sinned? Have we taken a walnut too many, or breathed too much of your air?’
It occurred to Nicholas that he had been rather successful. He rose, projecting, he hoped, faint impatience. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘feel free to breathe. The use you make of your breath is another matter.’
Diniz also rose, and stood as if about to be hanged. He said, ‘I was wrong. I apologise. I hardly thought the crime was worth airing in public. But I can’t allow your comparison. As a gentleman, you ought to withdraw it.’
‘As a gentleman?’ Gelis said. ‘Holy Virgin, show me a peasant.’
‘That’s easy,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy, opening the door. ‘There’s one lying sick in his cot, and crying to know what he’ll do on Madeira. I’m told to tell ye the rudder’s just sprung.’
Unguardedly, Nicholas laughed. He straightened his face. He said, ‘Then I must go. But it is a very fair question. I think you should decide between you what you will do with the boy in Madeira, while I go and ensure that he gets there.’
The next day, towards noon, the horizon offered a cluster of misty blue slopes. ‘The Pillars of Hercules?’ Gelis said hopefully.
‘Na, na,’ said the fat woman Bel. ‘What could that be but a great island? A steep, woody devil topped by a rain-cloud, which means fast rivers for milling, and good soil to swell out your canes, and warm-weather flowers to turn into beeswax, and grapes twelve inches long in the bunch for your wine. That’s the Isle of Madeira, and ye can pey me twa ducats. Yes, Master Gregorio?’
Gregorio smiled. He said, ‘We have a good navigator. You should have saved your two ducats.’
‘It kept hope alive,’ Gelis said. ‘But are we sure? Master vander Poele, where are you?’
He was within earshot, and better rested. He said, ‘I don’t know. How much money was it again?’
‘Two ducats it’s Madeira,’ said Gregorio helpfully.
‘The dear Lord forgive me,’ said Nicholas. ‘I meant to get to Madeira. But I’m afraid those are the Pillars of Hercules.’
He was delighted, walking away, to see that for a single brief moment they believed him.
A true landfall. Despite the winds, despite the mishaps, the ship was on perfect course for a land which had been found within living memory, lying elusive and quiet at the edge of the Green Sea of Shades, where, even yet, the straying ship might not find her.
Nicholas had seen it all for himself, shinning barefoot early that morning to the peak of the yardarm, watched by the narrowed eyes of da Silves. Below him, the ship leaned away from