Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [88]
The boy slept. Nicholas said, ‘I must leave him a letter. And write one for you to give to Gregorio, if you have a desk I might use. I have to go fairly soon.’
The man looked up. His wife said, ‘There’s a bed. I’ve put sheets on it.’
‘I hope you ask me again,’ Nicholas said. ‘And offer me soup. But I have to go, and it would be best before he wakes and asks questions.’
They made no more effort to stop him. The factor led him to a small writing room, its walls covered with bits of string and spiked papers and hasty reminders in charcoal, and accommodating a stool, a box and a counter. There was a pot of quills, and an inkwell and a knife, and the factor got him some paper and wax. He had his own seal, the sight of which would alarm Gregorio immediately. He knew Gregorio would never forgive him.
He was heating the wax for the letter when he lifted his head, hearing the thud of distant hooves over the murmur and pop of his lamp. He let the wax drop and, pressing his seal in the blister, rose quickly, the letter with its superscription laid on the desk. It was to be expected that a fit man like de Salmeton would quickly recover, and further to be expected that, once on shore, he would make all the trouble he could, even to commanding a string of the Captain’s best horsemen. But at least the Ghost would have gone.
The dogs began barking as he blew out the lamp and began to pick his way through the house to find some lesser exit that would serve him. His horse was in the stable. He would have to saddle it, too, unless he managed to get hold of one of those coming in, however blown. He only needed to cover twelve miles. He heard the horses clatter over the bridge – not so many of them – and thought he smelled fresh air from a passage. Then as he turned a corner, the brilliant light of a lamp came to blind him, carried by the factor with Diniz stumbling sleepily after him. Diniz said, ‘Who is it?’ and saw him.
Until Diniz seized his arm, he still thought he might escape. After that, there was nothing he could immediately do but appear not to be dragged to the portal. Standing within the crowded front door, he saw a small troop had ridden into the courtyard. It was led by a person he knew; whose name, indeed, he had just finished writing. Behind it was a cloaked figure mounted side-saddle. It was not David de Salmeton. For a violent moment, he wished that it were. Then Gregorio, dismounting, was saying, in a voice hoarse with tiredness, ‘The quinta of the family Vasquez? Nicholas, are you here?’
And after Gregorio’s, there spoke a familiar feminine voice. ‘We know he is here. It is what he is doing here that rivets us.’
Gelis van Borselen, how? Through some tell-tale spy on shore, he deduced, or the man who had hired him his hackney. She was here, with Gregorio.
Diniz dropped his grasp and ran into the yard. Gregorio waited for him, looking uneasy. Gelis, standing beside him, was the epitome of a fine, pale malevolence. In a matter of seconds, she would notice him. Nicholas backed into the shadows, turned, and sprinted.
He found, at speed, the side exit. He raced amid some unwanted yapping and braying to the stables. He found and saddled his horse, all the time hearing the voice of Diniz, now angry, and the cold voice of Gelis, and the weary mutter of Gregorio. A drowsy Portuguese voice at his elbow said, ‘My lord returns? Allow his servant.’ The guide had been asleep in the straw.
‘Go back to sleep,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have no need of you.’ He mounted.
‘My lord!’ said the guide. ‘It is dark! One may stumble or drown!’
‘I have no need of you,’ Nicholas repeated. He remembered, with sorrow, how very highly he had rewarded the fellow.
‘My lord!’ said the man; and ran out after him.
‘There he is!’ Gelis cried.
They caught him just over the bridge, and he had time to wish that he had waited, in a dignified fashion. Diniz said, ‘You were leaving!’
‘I have to go,’ Nicholas said.
‘After what?’ said Gelis van Borselen. Apart from the circles under her eyes, she was quite unaltered.