Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
Since she had arrived on this interminable visit, Gelis observed that they had all been given adequate notice of vander Poele’s westward itinerary. Merchants in four Spanish ports had been notified, and dispatches relayed as far to the north-west as Lisbon. You would think he wished to advise all his enemies. Indeed, he had. Simon, having issued his challenge, was absent.
She wondered if Claes could know that Lucia was here, unprotected. She wondered if Claes had learned that her own father was dead, and that if he dared to come he would certainly find her here, preparing for retribution. She assumed that he did. With Claes, you left nothing to chance.
Lucia’s sobs were fading. In a moment, if nothing happened, they would be renewed. Gelis van Borselen rose. She said, ‘You must be brave. Remember the letters from Katelina. She didn’t blame Nicholas. We may all have misjudged him.’ She stooped and gave the woman her hand.
The woman said, ‘You’re treating me as a child. Your sister wrote them when she was dying. You said so yourself. She would put whatever he told her. He turned my boy Diniz against me. He is trying to destroy every friend Simon has. He’s a fiend in disguise.’ She struggled to her feet, and allowed herself to be placed on a settle. She exclaimed, ‘How could he leave me, my father! He should be here, defending his Lucia!’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gelis. ‘I shall do what I can in his place.’
She kept all the hatred out of her voice; otherwise the poor woman would lose what few wits she had.
She sat and thought about a broker called David de Salmeton.
The wind was in the wrong direction, which irritated Nicholas, although it was not always possible to detect it.
Gregorio of Asti didn’t mind in the least. ‘I really ought to get out more!’ he shouted to anyone who would listen. ‘That’s what Nicholas said!’
He had proclaimed it before, when the first euphoria of sailing out of Ancona had struck him; and had repeated it since, against various states of the wind. A deskbound man all his life; a man whose only travels for years had been by horse or by mule from
one inkwell to another, Gregorio had suddenly received the sea and the sky, and the absence of Margot was his only regret.
From the moment of their departure, the purpose of their voyage had been made clear to all on board the
Ciaretti
, from her new Ragusan captain Triadano to her mariners and her benches of oarsmen. Whatever their owner’s ultimate mission, their first purpose was trade: to land and sell on the Spanish and Portuguese coasts the goods entrusted to them by merchants, and to buy in return what they could bring back and sell for profit. Then, with or without their owner, they would return.
It was known, of course, that having reached as far west as a galley could naturally sail, vander Poele meant to transfer to some other ship for a venture that had to do with evangelising rather than trade. Only the three men travelling with him – Gregorio, Godscalc and Loppe – suspected what ship he intended to use. And when the ports of call were selected – four in Spain and one at Lagos in Portugal – only these three knew, or assumed they knew, that the call at Lagos was the only one of the five that really mattered. Which was not strictly correct.
The truth was, in any case, that the sea swept such problems away; swept away all the conventions and burdens of normal life. The big, crowded ship became home. Whether under magnificent sail or propelled by brown, chanting oarsmen, she throbbed with noise and vigour and movement, with laughter and argument, with an apparent disorder which, on the blare of a trumpet, could resolve itself into a tattoo of running feet; a display of speed and precision which turned Gregorio dumb.
Then later, under the stars, there would be singing and good food and gambling, and talk. But the talk was about ports, or weather, or women, or fights; or if Nicholas were there, a competition to do with some game, or verse, or story he had just invented. It was not about why they were here.
For Godscalc, the tap on the door had never come. He hadn’t interfered with the last visit Nicholas had paid to Cardinal Bessarion and his household of expatriate Greeks. He had even agreed to be present at that final encounter, and received with him the Cardinal’s blessing, and the letters which would release their ship and smooth their path at the end of the voyage.
He saw, with shamed anger, the faith these churchmen placed in them all. This young man was to open a new way to Prester John’s kingdom, isolated by the Mameluke wars. Ethiopia new-found would march side by side with her Christian fellows against the forces of evil and ignorance: the churches of East and West would emerge triumphant as one glorious whole.
Afterwards, he had said to Nicholas, ‘I will make you hold to that. I warn you. I will not be forsworn.’
‘I hear you,’ said Nicholas. ‘I heard you the last time.’
On that last, frantic day, the priest had found it in him to set his hand to whatever was needed. He had taken his share in the talks which persuaded Cristoffels to exchange Venice for Bruges, where he would manage Tilde’s business, while Julius gave up Bruges for Venice in order to take Gregorio’s place at the Bank. The way had been adroitly prepared, and Nicholas had unhurriedly presented his case and unhurriedly obtained their agreement. The priest watched the flush with which Julius concealed his pleasure, and the war in Gregorio’s face as love and anxiety fought with the longing for change. Nicholas had judged it well.
With Tilde, it had been different. Julius, left to coax agreement from the youthful head of the Charetty company, had met with plain fury. Tilde, storming from the Martelli Palazzo to the Casa di Noccolò, had begun to accuse Nicholas of plotting to ruin her business and ended in Margot’s room, unkindly betrayed by her nerves and her stomach.
Godscalc, called to her bedside, had let her tell him everything she wished she had said. He said nothing against it. Instead, at the end, he had taken a considerable breath and proceeded to give her a succinct account of what, as he understood it, had happened to Nicholas on Cyprus. Long before he finished, she was lying quite still. She said crossly, ‘But Lopez would say anything.’
The priest said, ‘Perhaps. But this time, it must be said, there are quite a few witnesses who could bear him out, not least the Venetians. In any event, I don’t think Nicholas has the destruction of the Charetty company in the forefront of his mind after that, and indeed you shouldn’t complain. If he makes a profit at all, you will certainly benefit. As for the changes: they’re reasonable. They have to be made. Think them through. Let him know you endorse them. You may not like him, but we all depend on him.’
He hoped he had struck the right note but couldn’t be sure. Later, Margot had come down and said, ‘She’s agreed. It was just a little too sudden, losing Julius and Nicholas both. Did you know Nicholas once sent her a
farmuk
?’
‘A what?’ Godscalc said, and then remembered. A small Turkish toy. He said, ‘She must have been very young.’
‘Yes,’ Margot said. ‘She asked me how dangerous this voyage would be. She is afraid.’
‘There is no need for either of you to be afraid,’ Godscalc had said. ‘Nicholas means to come back, and bring us all with him.’ It was what he believed.
Once at sea, it was usually Gregorio who, as purser and notary, accompanied Nicholas on his business ashore where the sales, he noted, were made in cash, whereas the purchases were not. On the island of Mallorca, he saw for the first time sacks and boxes brought directly from Africa: Barbary wool and Bougie leather and gum arabic. He went with Nicholas and Triadano of Ragusa to look at a collection of charts and brought back on board a Jew Nicholas seemed to have heard of, who stayed a long time and talked Hebrew with Loppe. They met a man who had traded with the Charetty at Bruges, and Gregorio nearly got drunk with him.
On the main Spanish coast at Valencia, everyone knew of the Strozzi and quite a few had heard what Nicholas and his army had done for their King’s nephew Ferrante in Italy. They were given some extremely sporting concessions. After trading, Nicholas found his way innocently to a large, well-run sugar-mill, originally founded by Germans. Now, the manager confided, it was owned by a firm called Vatachino. Their man Martin sometimes called, or a younger lord, David. Neither was in the city at present.
Father Godscalc, attending Mass with his ears open, reported hearty Genoese complaints about Portuguese interference in North Africa. In the days of King John, Portuguese troops had seized the city of Ceuta, opposite the Pillars of Hercules, and bought themselves and their garrison fifty years of permanent trouble, for no visible profit. ‘They say,’ Godscalc said, ‘that the Arabs are trying to retake the town yet again, and a Portuguese fleet has sailed to help with reinforcements from Flanders.’
‘So someone told me,’ Nicholas had said.
‘Did they?’ said Godscalc. And receiving no response, had added tartly, ‘We shall learn more further south, I suppose.’
Further south, the port of Málaga, which belonged to the Kingdom of Granada, had more Genoese in it than Moorish caftans and turbans, and the sight of the loggias, the banks and the benches full of doublets and hats was almost as amazing as the view of the markets and warehouses heaped with ripe Moorish fruit and bright silk, as well as Portuguese sugar and dyestuffs. Nicholas moved from office to office, examining goods, discussing deals, and picking up gossip in both Italian and Arabic.
Here, whatever he got had to be paid for, including the gossip. From Trebizond to Famagusta, the Genoese had little to thank Nicholas for; and the Vatachino had interests everywhere. On shore, six seamen from the
Ciaretti
accompanied Nicholas and Gregorio wherever they went.
Wherever they went, Gregorio had also come to realise, Nicholas asked the same two questions, one concerning a man, and the other
concerning a ship. Mallorca and Valencia had not supplied the answers.
Málaga gave the answer to a different question. Nicholas, returning on board with the scent of Africa clinging still to his clothes, joined Gregorio and Godscalc and Loppe in the great cabin, sat, and spoke. ‘Father Godscalc? Remember the rumour about Ceuta being protected by Flanders? Would you like to hear the truth of it?’ He looked incandescent.
‘If it wouldn’t shock me,’ said Godscalc.
‘What in God’s name would ever shock you? Gregorio: remember that day in Venice when Duke Philip of Burgundy sent to say he couldn’t join the crusade until next year?’
‘And the groat improved,’ said Gregorio decorously.
‘Well, listen. He’s dying. He thinks he’s dying. He hasn’t fulfilled his knightly vow. So, dear brethren, he has decided to send a fleet anyway, with two or three thousand men under two of his sons.’
‘Illegitimate sons?’ said Gregorio dryly.
‘Illegitimate half-brothers,’ said Nicholas. ‘Antony and Baudouin, in fact. And since they were coming by sea, they called in at Portugal where the King is a nephew of the Duchess of Burgundy, and therefore by marriage their half – half – half …’
‘Never mind,’ said Gregorio. ‘What happened?’
‘The King asked them a favour, since they were passing. On their way to the big crusade at Ancona, to drop into his little crusade on the Barbary coast, and help to free a besieged Portuguese garrison. So, after picking up a few extra ships –’
‘Extra ships?’ the priest said quickly.
‘– one of these being French, it seems that the Burgundians have landed at Ceuta, accompanied among others by eighty-two volunteers from the city of Ghent dressed in black with silver Gs on their backs, which I hope the Barbary pirates can read. Reports say they look like staying for ever, but the Moors don’t seem to mind, and it’s probably cheaper than going to Ancona, and nicely positioned if either the Pope or Duke Philip expires.’
‘Nicholas,’ Godscalc said automatically. ‘A
French
ship?’ he added.
Nicholas smiled. ‘A roundship called the
Ribérac,
’ he said. ‘Found at Lagos, and commandeered for a year’s service from its owner, who had just brought a cargo from Cyprus. The owner being –’
‘Jordan de Ribérac!’ Loppe exclaimed. ‘You’ve discovered the
Doria
? He restored her original name? There’s no doubt it’s the roundship he took from you?’
‘No,’ Nicholas said.
‘But she’s now anchored off Ceuta?’
‘Awkward,’ Nicholas said. ‘But not without possibilities. The honourable vicomte himself has been called back to France.’
‘So who is with the ship?’ said Loppe softly. ‘Crackbene? He was employed to bring her from Cyprus; he might stay to sail her for Portugal?’
No one spoke. At every port, Nicholas had asked about a ship, and a man. Now the ship had been found. Godscalc said, ‘I have no knowledge at all of the roundship; but a sailing-master called Michael Crackbene has been for some weeks in prison for debt at Sanlúcar de Barrameda. Debt, and drink, and a killing. He is unlikely to get out.’
‘I wondered if you knew,’ Nicholas said.
‘And if I hadn’t?’ the priest said. ‘It is our next port of call. Or was to have been.’
‘It still is,’ Nicholas said. ‘Unless you want to buy all the cargo yourself.’
At Zibelterra, the strait that separated Spain from Barbary was so narrow that Gregorio, sailing past, thought that but for the mist he might have glimpsed the masts of the Portuguese fleet below Ceuta, and the high sides of the
Doria
among them.
The
Doria
, or the
Ribérac
, for which Nicholas had just forfeited twenty-five thousand ducats, or its equivalent. Small wonder he meant to have the ship back. Small wonder he was hunting Mick Crackbene, who had left his employment without notice on Cyprus, and, taking contract with Jordan de Ribérac, had sailed the old man and his grandson and the boat out of everyone’s reach. Or so he had thought.
Sanlúcar de Barrameda, the port of Seville, lay in the colder, unfriendly ocean west of Cádiz, and close to the point where the Spanish frontier met that of Portugal and trading galleys bound for London or Flanders would prepare for the long journey north, past Biscay and the wine ports of Gascony. From here, galleys only went north, or turned back eastwards.