Authors: Dorothy Dunnett
The imam smiled in return: at him, and then at the chaplain. ‘I respect him,’ he said, ‘but I do not fear him. Until he learns our language, perhaps.’
‘Then, as to the gold?’ the old man enquired.
It was the man of the Aqit family this time who replied. ‘My lord knows that there is a little in store. In three weeks or four, the salt caravan will arrive, and its goods pass to the market. In four weeks after that, the gold for which it has been exchanged will come back. There will be a great deal. I have no objection to the white traders paying for part of it.’
‘Nor I,’ said the Timbuktu-Koy. He, too, was smiling. The smile faded. ‘It does not please you, I see.’
‘Did I hesitate?’ Nicholas said. ‘Only because then we cannot leave in the spring, but must beg your indulgence to establish our party here until autumn. If such a thing can be done, you see me happy.’
‘Naturally it can be done,’ the Timbuktu-Koy said. ‘Yes, my lord Akil? Agreed, my lord And-Agh and those of Aqit? Katib Musa?’
‘You have my agreement,’ said the Katib Musa. ‘Although it seems to me that, did you desire it, you could take the gold that is here and sail before the rains come. But rumour says that you have plans to journey east?’
‘We are strangers, and curious,’ Nicholas said, ‘but we mean no harm to anyone. As to the gold, we do not know whether to wait for the greater portion or not, but consider it wise, having come so far, not to hasten home unless we hear of a reason. And positioned where we are, that is unlikely.’
‘Positioned where you are?’ said one of the young men of the Aqits. ‘Are we off the edge of the world? A caravan takes only six months to come and go from the Maghgreb. A message can travel from Fez to Timbuktu in two months. If you have an agent, you will have news from him.’
Nicholas stood very still. ‘Yes, I have an agent,’ he said. ‘A man in Madeira. If he writes, can I reply?’
The older man answered. ‘You may reply,’ said And-Agh-Muhammed, ‘but it is unlikely that the answer will reach him. From the south to the north are many hazards. Lord, are these matters settled? I wish to make water.’
‘They are settled,’ said the Timbuktu-Koy. ‘We propose to retire. We thank the imam and judges, and invite our guests and fellow-merchants to join us.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Nicholas said to And-Agh-Muhammed in a comradely way. ‘If you’ll show me the custom. Where are the ladies?’
‘They have gone to the harem,’ Umar said. ‘And-Agh-Muhammed will take you when you are both ready. I am glad that you have what you wanted.’
Nicholas stood still. ‘You meant the book for someone. Who?’
‘The imam,’ Umar said. ‘He knows, and does not regret it. Nicholas, it is a time for rejoicing.’
‘Now it is,’ Nicholas said. ‘And you have made it so.’
Gelis van Borselen, it had to be said, had withdrawn from the
chamber under protest: it was with a great deal of displeasure that she found herself, with Bel, in another courtyard while the vital conference was still under way, and before she knew what was happening to Nicholas.
‘He’ll be fine,’ had said Bel obtusely. ‘Wabbit but fine. He’s got over these fevers before.’ Gelis, scowling, had marched after the large black men who had obstinately diverted them.
The courtyard they finally reached was in fact delightful, and the corridors of lustreware
azulejos
that led to it were better swept than the rest, and carried the word
Baraka
, divine grace, repeated over and over, for that, explained the hostess who welcomed them, was the motto, the soul of the city.
There seemed to be many hostesses. That is, the rooms adjoining the courtyard were full of women, from young children to crones bundled in veiling. All but the latter were nude, and most were beautiful. Among them was the young Negress who had so taken Diniz, the first day they had moved through the city.
The girl had stopped to speak to a man. It was one of those men who had led them here. With a start, Gelis saw there were many men present. She made a discovery. She said, ‘Bel, they’re eunuchs.’
‘Right,’ said Bel.
‘So we’re in a harem,’ Gelis said doubtfully.
‘Right,’ said Bel again. ‘And they want ye to take off your gown.’
‘Why?’ said Gelis.
‘So that you’ll be comfortable,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. ‘And I don’t see why not, you’ve a nice shape to ye. I’m exempt. They let ye off if you’re old or you’re married.’
‘But they’re Muslims,’ Gelis said. ‘Muslims go about veiled, except to their fathers and husbands.’
‘The great thing about Islam,’ Bel remarked, ‘is that it’s adaptable. It got so flexible in Malian days that all the girls stayed the way they were born, including the King’s own unmarried daughters. Ye could say the Maghsharen are a little less lax, but they’re fairly easy. People say it makes for civilised conduct. If there’s cake on the plate all the time, ye don’t feel the urge to devour it. Are ye going to strip?’
‘How do you know all this?’ Gelis said. Someone was lifting the veil from her hair. She remembered the Senagana and the King’s wives plucking at Nicholas, and wanted to laugh. She remembered what she had learned about Nicholas and didn’t want to laugh after all. They were unfastening her gown.
‘Umar told me,’ Bel said. ‘It’s all right. The women don’t unless asked, and the men canna. They want to know if you’d like a steam bath. They’ve got a few jets to work.’
All the fountains were rusted, Gelis had noticed. She said, ‘I’ll go in if you do.’
Nudity had never concerned her. The waters were scented and warm; she emerged from them refreshed, and let them lead her into the garden, where the silken awnings floated yellow as honey, and divans had been set among the rioting flowers and beside the long, lilied pool with its impotent sprays. She lay on her side, her hair coiled like wax over her shoulders, and let her fingers fall among flowers. A child wafted a fan, and she shivered with pleasure.
They were all as she was, except for those who, like Bel, had bathed fully dressed and now lay damp and idle under the silk. One of the young Negresses, smiling, said, ‘Here are sweetmeats, and men. Praise Allah, that life should be wondrous.’
Gelis looked where she pointed. Slaves had entered, bearing platters enough for a feast. And it was true, there were men, standing in light, lustrous silks under the honeycomb arch at the end of the pool. Men, fully dressed, were drifting into the courtyard. Turbaned men, old men and young, with black skins and brown. Men with caps and white skins glazed by the sun, among whom were Diniz, and Godscalc, and Nicholas vander Poele. Not eunuchs, but men. Gelis said, ‘You knew this would happen.’
‘Maybe,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. ‘He’s a cantankerous, argle-barglous young man, but sometimes he’s afraid. He may as well see there is nothing to be afraid of. Or is your belly so precious, that ye would like my wet cloak to conceal it?’
‘No,’ said Gelis. But the scents pulsed from her skin as if her heart were a pestle compounding them.
Diniz noticed her first. To begin with, Nicholas saw only the Negresses, lithe as eels on the cushions, their voices merry as raindrops on bronze. Then he thought he saw, long-limbed and languid and pale, the luminous form of Primaflora as he had seen her, white against black, in the noseless woman’s palace in Cyprus; after she had seduced and betrayed him, over and over. Primaflora, his wife, whom he had taken to save Katelina and who, perhaps, could not therefore be blamed.
Then he saw it was not his wife – his second, his temporary wife – or Katelina; and that Katelina’s sister was not like Katelina at all.
She hadn’t moved. The Byzantine eyes, drawn in black, were fully upon him. He guessed that she had had no warning, and was touched suddenly by her courage. He obeyed an instinct and,
instead of turning aside, made her a gesture of ordinary courtesy. The merchants showed no surprise, but, talking together, moved about the court and freely mingled with the women, sharing their couches as the bowls of food were brought round. Musicians came, and the sound of pipes and horn and drum and single-string fiddle began to weave behind the chatter.
The Timbuktu-Koy took Nicholas to where his wives and daughters were seated, and Nicholas behaved as he should. Beside him Father Godscalc said in Flemish, ‘They should not have done that.’ He looked heated.
‘Gelis? said Nicholas. ‘She chose, I imagine, to conform to the custom. Bel is robed.’
‘Bel is a dangerous woman,’ said Father Godscalc. He paused. He said, ‘These are high-born women. But if they offer a slave, it would not be a sin in this place to take her. You cannot obey every rule of the Church.’
‘I know it is a long time since Tendeba,’ Nicholas said.
‘Then take your eyes from her,’ said Godscalc.
He spoke roughly. Nicholas looked at him. He said, ‘Gelis? I am in no state to deflower her. I am only looking at an object of beauty, not yet soiled, not yet defaced, not yet neglected. I wish I had never brought her.’
‘You wanted her to know the truth,’ Godscalc said.
‘And does she know it?’ said Nicholas.
‘Do you know it yourself?’ Godscalc said. ‘She knows your nightmares. I think sometimes she shares them. But turn your gaze from her, Nicholas. You got a child on her sister.’
‘She is not Katelina,’ Nicholas said. It was not the answer it appeared to be: he had forgotten Godscalc was there. The discovery filled his mind, and his body, too, began to acknowledge it. He felt giddy.
Godscalc rose. He said, ‘Nicholas, come away. You are unwell. Your hosts can be in no doubt about it.’ He caught Umar’s eye.
Umar said, ‘No harm has been done: perhaps good. Let him withdraw: there will be other meetings. Diniz can stay and bring the ladies home.’
‘You trust Diniz?’ said Godscalc. He gave a half-smile.
‘Wholly. He thinks of Bel as his aunt, and Gelis, I fancy, as an inconvenient and difficult cousin. Which is not to say –’
‘– that his jaw hasn’t dropped,’ said Nicholas unexpectedly, if blearily. ‘Umar? If you’re taking me home, you’d better do it.’
Chapter 28
‘H
OW
MUCH
is
A
little?’ said Diniz the next day. They were in a chamber of their own residence, discussing their audience. ‘They said they had some gold in store. We could go now. We could get back home now.’
‘And spend it,’ said Nicholas. His colour was back, and his grasp. He always recovered quickly, once the weakness caused by the high fever had left him. He said, ‘Don’t you trust Gregorio? He has leave to borrow everything you need for your business, once the Bank’s affairs have been settled. The
Ghost
carried enough to do that.’
‘If she got home,’ Gelis said. Today she was properly clothed, if more lightly than usual. It was a statement. In his turn Nicholas, who had shunned her after the night of delirium, was treating her now with all the pleasant informality he used towards Diniz and Umar, which was another statement. Bel, watching, had sometimes had to escape from the room.
Godscalc said nothing. The point at issue, he knew very well, was whether or not they were going to Ethiopia, and hence miss the spring sailing. Diniz wanted to go home rich to his mother, and pay out Simon, and start becoming a Nicholas. Gelis wanted Nicholas to go home, he thought: he was not quite sure why. On the other hand, Nicholas had given him a promise, and had made it possible to keep it, by ensuring that the Timbuktu-Koy would let them stay.
Umar said, ‘A little, by the Koy’s standards, means a reasonable consignment of gold. But if you stay until the autumn, there will be much more. And the
Fortado
will have gone.’
Godscalc had forgotten the
Fortado
, with Mick Crackbene on board, waiting patiently at the mouth of the Gambia. He wondered if the child Tati was there, or had been got rid of, or had even gone with Doria, poor creature, and died. He said, ‘They don’t know Doria and the others are dead.’
‘They will,’ Umar said. ‘They will hear Raffaelo Doria lost his life, and that there is no secret map of the gold mines to wait for. And then they will leave.’
‘When?’ said Nicholas. ‘We took nearly two months to come here.’
‘Filipe will tell him,’ said Bel.
They looked at her. Then Nicholas said, ’Of course. The boy who escaped from the slaughter of Jorge’s other wretched gold-hunters. But he would try to follow us. Or go back to the
Niccolò
.
‘Would he?’ said Bel.
‘No. You’re right. He mightn’t,’ Nicholas said. He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘So when might the news reach the
Fortado
, if he ran very hard? Perhaps within the next week? Umar, would the drums take the news quicker than that?’
‘Not in detail,’ Umar said. ‘Crackbene would not sail until he was sure.’
‘Could he sail?’ Diniz said. ‘How many men has he left?’
‘Nine. Just one more than the
Niccolò
. Yes, he could sail,’ Nicholas said. ‘He could be in Madeira by the last days of April.’
‘Handing over his cargo to Simon,’ said Diniz, shifting irritably. ‘I think we should go.’
‘I think we are discussing this far too early,’ Nicholas said. ‘We have at least two weeks in hand before the river starts to dry back. If the
Fortado
is going to leave, we might as well give her time to do it. And I should like to see the salt caravan coming in. Because of us, the Wangara gold wasn’t sold last time. If there is enough salt to make it worth while, the next market might bring gold well worth waiting for.’
‘You mean we don’t buy it direct?’ Diniz said.
Nicholas gazed at him. Gelis said, ‘Not unless you want And-Agh-Muhammed to wear your whistle too. In any case, I doubt if the Wangara gold-miners want spectacles.’
‘You have shell-money,’ Umar said. ‘But the demoiselle is right. You need the goodwill of the merchants: you must not steal their primary trade. This will make the gold dearer to buy, although it will still bring you great profit. Do you have enough money, or spectacles?’
‘Yes,’ said Diniz. ‘If we took away the existing gold now, and sent back the
San Niccolò
with a cargo.’