Scales of Gold (88 page)

It seemed that, once out of the hall, Tobie and Julius and Gregorio were waiting to escort them both home. Godscalc, less fit than the others, had ridden before them, with Tilde and her sister.

It was not far to go, and the sky above them was paling. They walked, and others walked with them, full of yawning and laughter, dropping aside at their doors with a final bawdy rejoinder. The Duke would be in bed soon, and so would he. They walked up Naalden Straate past the Hof Bladelin, and found themselves still attached to Tommaso Portinari, less than sober and profoundly desirous of company. After two ineffectual attempts to dispose of him, Julius and Tobie took him over, and walked him along to Spangnaerts Street between them.

Bel and Diniz had already gone. She had kissed Nicholas, and he had hugged her in return. In his arms she felt plump again now, and not at all the quiet, suffering woman he had carried to the Joliba. And Diniz, surprisingly, had kissed him as well; a cousinly kiss, full of affection. There was, Nicholas dimly reflected, a lot of affection about him. He was not really standing alone, nor was Gelis. They had been apart for eight weeks.

He began to want, very much, to be with Gelis; and smiled at her. She raised her hand; there was a glint from her ring. The silver stuff of her gown in the half-light looked like a mermaid, a
mirage. He put his arm round her shoulders, and found he was shaking. He removed it. ‘Oh, Jesus!’ he said. ‘Don’t let go all at once. When we get to the house –’

‘Marching orders?’ she said. ‘When we get to the house, I shall go upstairs, and you will stay below and sing the lion’s song three times over. You remember the lion? Its song?’

‘Shall I ever forget it?’ he said. And proved it all along the last, short street to his house.

Bien vienne la belle bergére:

De qui la beauté et maniére …

Julius joined him, and then Tommaso, and Tobie, ending before his own gates.

C’est la source, c’est la miniére
,

De nostre force grande et fiére
.

C’est nostre paix et asseurance
.

Dieu louans de telle aliance
,

Crions, chantons, à lie chere
,

Bien vienne
.

Gelis went in.

‘I have to sing it twice more,’ Nicholas said, and began.

‘Three times,’ Tommaso said. They were trying to turn him round.

‘I’ve done it once,’ Nicholas said. ‘Oh, bring him in. Tobie, find him somewhere to sleep. Father Godscalc?’

They were, at least, inside the door. Godscalc, still in his best robes, said, ‘Bring him in. What are you doing?’

‘Singing under my breath,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have to do it once more. Well, twice.’

Godscalc laughed. He said, ‘You must wish you had less good a memory. Nicholas. That was well done, today.’

‘Which?’ Nicholas said. ‘The wedding, the Wedding, or the court case that wasn’t?’

‘The court case that wasn’t,’ Godscalc said. ‘You are a fine man when you want to be, Nicholas. And tonight, you deserve your reward.’

‘I’m on the last verse,’ Nicholas said. He was already elsewhere in spirit. No, not in spirit.

Tommaso said, ‘I owe you some money.’ They had let him down on the floor, which was clean.

‘Never mind,’ Nicholas said. ‘Tell me tomorrow. Today.
Bien vienne
, everybody. And its opposite.’

‘For the message to Guinea,’ said Tommaso Portinari. ‘No need to send it.’

Nicholas turned. He said, ‘Oh, damnit, Tommaso. Hasn’t it gone?’

‘No need to send it,’ said Tommaso again. ‘Heard the news just this morning from Dei. Remember Dei? Going to Marseilles?’

‘What news?’ Nicholas said. He perched on the stairs. The others were lounging about. He felt, as yet, slightly puzzled, with only the merest thread of anxiety.

‘About the rising,’ said Tommaso Portinari. ‘You know those damned tribes are always rising? Well, some big black king of some tribe called the Sunny –’

‘Songhai,’ Nicholas said. No one else spoke.

‘– has marched into Timbuktu. Called in by the fool Timbuktu ruler to throw out somebody else. Hackle.’

‘Akil,’ said Godscalc softly. He came and knelt by the stairs.

‘But ended by taking over Timbuktu for himself, and murdering most of the scholars. Some of them escaped to Walata. Hackle helped them. The rest couldn’t ride camels.’

He sat, swaying slightly, and confused by the silence.

Nicholas said, ‘You didn’t send my message to Walata?’

‘Ibn Said’s all right,’ Tommaso said. ‘It’s the other one, the one you sent the message to. That one is dead. And his wife. And all but one of his children.’ He stopped swaying. ‘I’m sorry. You liked him.’

‘Umar?’ Nicholas said.

‘The one you call Umar. Loppe. The Negro you had. He’s dead,’ Tommaso said.

It was cold on the stairs. Tommaso had gone. Everyone had gone but Father Godscalc. Nicholas said, ‘He said he was going to Walata. He needed the camels. But they couldn’t have got out in time.’

Godscalc tightened his hand on his shoulder.

Nicholas said, ‘I told you. He sent me home.’

After a while, Godscalc said, ‘Go up to her.’

She had probably been in bed a long time. The silver stuff was properly folded: she must have dropped it at first; and then, when he didn’t come, she had got out and smoothed it. Her hair was loose, and her breasts were bare where the sheet crossed them, and he could see the line of her body below. Her eyes were deep in shadow.

She had put the lamp out; he could smell warm oil, and the scent she liked to use best, and the smell of her skin. Of herself. The low light through the window was blue. He opened the casement.

She said, ‘Who was below?’ Her voice was hoarse.

He said, ‘No one. Tommaso.’

It was light enough to see, vaguely, the colour of the small, speckled bricks on the opposite wall, and the grey and purple and green of the slates on all the roof-tops beyond, and the red of the pantiles and even, somewhere, a flashing light reflected from water. It was fresher than yesterday, with no thunder anywhere. No lions.
Bien vienne
.

She said, ‘Come and sit.’

He would have to burden her with it. Of all people, she knew Umar; knew what he had done; what he was; what he meant. To be told was her due. He did not want, nor would she, words of comfort. He turned and, walking slowly, moved to the bed and sat on it.

She had turned the sheet down and lay, her fine hair spread about and around her. He let his eyes rest on her night-shadowed face, and wondered how tired she was, and how to tell her. He took her hands, which lay on her thighs, and were cold. She said, ‘Nicholas? Look at my belly.’

His thoughts, already in pieces, made no sense of that. She hadn’t smiled or made a luxurious movement, only surrendered her hands. He had not thought to look at her body from the moment he had brought himself to come in. He said, ‘Why?’

‘Because it is six weeks full of a child,’ Gelis said.

There was no alteration in her position or face; only her voice was still hoarse. ‘Ours?’ he said, because it would have been strange to say nothing.

‘Six weeks,’ she repeated. She said it tersely, as if he had annoyed her.

Then he brought all his thoughts together, and looked at her body.

The changes, so early, were small, but plain to a lover. He sat still, until he could breathe. ‘Whose?’ he said. Even then, his mind did not travel.

She said, ‘Guess. What would truly, truly, avenge Katelina and her son at long last?’

He gazed at her, and through her.

Godscalc’s hand, resting broken in his. A man, coming out of the desert, leading five camels. The sound of a voice, raised in pure, heartfelt love and praise and selfless wonder at the joy and mystery of the world.

Nicholas raised his hand and struck her once, on the cheek, as he would have cuffed an ill-mannered pup. Then he rose, and walked to the door.

She raised her voice as he went, not quite shouting, but making sure that he heard. ‘It’s Simon’s child, Nicholas. What shall I do
with it? Kill it? Rear it? Tell Simon about it? Or let the world think it’s yours? Tell me! Whatever you want, I shall do it!’ He closed the door on her voice.

He had thought there was no one in this wing. He stood at some window, and only became aware after a while that a man was quietly waiting; had been there perhaps for a long time. He experienced a fear, like a physical pain, that it was Godscalc. It was Gregorio.

Nicholas said, ‘Did you hear?’

‘Yes,’ said the lawyer.

After a while, Nicholas said, ‘What do they say?
Allah alone is the conqueror.
’

Gregorio said, ‘Will you let me deal with it?’

‘
Deal
with it?’ Nicholas said.

‘Send her away. See that the child, discreetly born, is well fostered. Arrange for your marriage to end. There is a rumour of plague. She could leave Bruges tomorrow, and you also.’

Nicholas said, ‘His name is Sunni Ali, King of the Songhai. How could you deal with it?’

Gregorio said, ‘God forgive me … Nicholas, you cannot go back. All you knew in Timbuktu is dead and gone.’

‘What else is there?’ Nicholas said.
Zuhra had covered herself
.

‘What you brought back,’ said Gregorio. ‘You will find it again.’ His voice was filled with compassion. The first of many voices.

‘Of course,’ Nicholas said. ‘Then you will deal with all this? Or no. I am quite capable of dealing with it myself. No divorce. I like being married. I seem to have some new business I ought to attend to in the north. Gelis can retire to her cousins at Veere. Let it appear a legitimate child. If Simon can rear one, so can I.’

Was it quick for the babies – for him? Or was it stab upon stab upon stab?

‘She is too young to hate,’ Gregorio said.

‘But she does,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or she thinks that she does.’

‘She doesn’t know what the word means.’

Reader’s Guide

1. For Discussion:
Scales of Gold

In Cyprus and Trebizond, even in Bruges, Nicholas and his friends had encountered various aspects and consequences of the practice, old as history, of humans enslaving humans. During this African adventure, what new elements in this practice come to the fore? What other aspects of Dorothy’s vivid portrayal of multi-cultural, multi-geographical Africa catch your eye in this novel?

2. Why does Father Godscale want to go to Ethiopia? What is Nicholas’s final judgement about the success of this failed mission, for the priest’s own soul, and for the general community of Christians?

3. How do some of the many transformations of the African Lopez recall (or reverse?) those of Nicholas vander Poele? What for you are the deepest or most interesting aspects of this soul-friendship? Why does the plot make a significant point of Umar’s final investment in being a father?

4. Is Gelis van Borselen the heroine of
Scales of Gold
? In which relationship are there elements of the traditional romance plot? When, and why, do you think she decides to do what she reveals to Nicholas on their wedding night?

5. Spectacles—a triumph of science, commerce and art, a “frivolity” Nicholas calls them at his Venetian party. What symbolic and practical uses does this product serve in the novel? How do spectacles connect with and compare to another ubiquitous product, useful as gift, in trade, as symbol, in this as in the other novels—books?

Dorothy Dunnett was born in Dunfermline, Scotland. She is the author of the Francis Crawford of Lymond novels; the House of Niccolò novels; seven mysteries;
King Hereafter
, an epic novel about Macbeth; and the text of
The Scottish Highlands
, a book of photographs by David Paterson, on which she collaborated with her husband, Sir Alastair Dunnett. In 1992, Queen Elizabeth appointed her an Officer of the Order of the British Empire. Lady Dunnett died in 2001.