Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [82]
Gelis van Borselen continued to view him. He wondered how she kept her eyes from watering. ‘Simon,’ she said. ‘He knows ships. He knows his father’s ship. Let him tell us.’
Chapter 13
THIS TIME, THERE WAS no concealing that something was going to happen. The music died, and the laughter. Nicholas stood, collecting the attention of Gregorio and Father Godscalc and Loppe, all of whom got to their feet and came quietly to join him. One of his men ran towards him. He was smiling.
‘Signor, the viceregal barge for the demoiselle and her attendants. They are loading the boxes. Captain Zarco has sent a gentleman to attend them. Here he is.’
Nicholas had time to feel enormous relief, and astonishment that he had forgotten, and time even to register that whatever he might like to believe, his meeting with Simon was something that occupied most of his thoughts. Then – ‘Here I am,’ said David de Salmeton, walking softly from the head of the ladder and resting his dark, long-lashed gaze on Nicholas. ‘I do believe you’d forgotten me.’
The brilliant light flamed on the jewels that buttoned his doublet, that weighted his fingers, that clasped the cunning drape of his hat below which his hair hung warmly curling, like Zacco’s.
Nicholas didn’t know why now, and not in Lagos, he should be put in mind so suddenly of Cyprus and its King. Compared with the power of Zacco, David de Salmeton was a sinister toy: an ivory figurine possessing the same comeliness but without the fierce, immature courage. Perhaps David de Salmeton had courage. Perhaps maturity was courage, but it didn’t wring the heart, as the King’s did. On the other hand, David de Salmeton didn’t come with a mace in his grasp, or a leopard, or a sword with which to cut off a Mameluke’s head for a friend. Or with a lure for a hawk, or a woman.
David de Salmeton said softly, ‘You have forgotten me,’ and Nicholas turned, and brought him into the company.
The feast was over. The agent seated himself, wine in hand, between Nicholas and Gelis van Borselen, while boxes appeared and were hoisted below to the barge. The agent smiled. ‘Now do tell me. Voices carry so. You were speaking about the Doria?’
‘Never heard of it,’ Nicholas said. ‘Have you dined? There is a good piece of beef and some puddings left.’ He spoke French, as de Salmeton had. He recognised, with sorrow, that the man would understand Flemish and Scots. The girl’s face, as he watched, became animated.
‘You heard me speak of the Doria,’ Gelis said. ‘The Ghost seems her very double, although Monsieur Niccolò doesn’t agree. And perhaps he should know, since her master has privately called on him.’
‘They tell me her lines are the same,’ David de Salmeton remarked. ‘But, they say, she is painted a different colour.’
‘And, I am sure, would be very different within,’ Nicholas said. ‘You came in the Fortado?’
‘And sailed past the Ghost, spar to spar. Some of our crew had seen Monsieur de Ribérac’s vessel in Lagos, and wanted to swear the two ships were the same. But who could tell, except one who had sailed in her?’ He moved his grave, liquid gaze. ‘Perhaps one may be found to examine her, less busy than Monsieur Nikko?’
‘I dare say,’ Nicholas said. ‘Why not ask Diniz Vasquez, who sailed in her from Cyprus? Where is he?’
‘Or his Uncle Simon?’ the young woman said. ‘Son of Jordan de Ribérac? Where is he?’
A manicured eyebrow rose by a whisker. The agent said, ‘I fear almost to answer you both. The boy has sped, so I hear, to his father’s quinta at Ponta do Sol. The lord Simon is not on the island, having gone home, his business completed. So, if the Ghost is to be identified, other experts must do it. They should be easily found.’
He appeared to be assessing his wine cup. Beyond the vacated benches around them, Nicholas saw Gregorio’s face, and that of the priest. Near at hand Gelis, too, was looking at him. Gelis said, ‘Am I to do all the work?’
‘It’s your family,’ Nicholas said.
‘No, it isn’t,’ she