Scales of Gold (32 page)

They had not meant to involve Godscalc himself. Perhaps they had hoped to load their living cargo in darkness … But no. Why should they trouble? It was a valid trade: they were not ashamed of it. And in any case, Loppe had to help them. That was why Loppe was here. That was the sin for which he, Godscalc, couldn’t forgive Nicholas.

He, a priest, knew what slavery was. The Church had its own bondsmen; the law allowed a man to sell himself or others for debt. He understood that nations at war made slaves of their captives in place of slaughtering them. It had happened when the Turks had attacked Trebizond. Nicholas had come to him at Trebizond and placed his dilemma, and himself, in his hands.

His advice had been to leave. Nicholas had taken that advice, and knew what had followed. Was that why he was doing this? To flout, to punish him? But Byzantines – all Oriental nations – also used slaves: for the house, for the fields. The Crusaders had done, and the Jews. Christians had made slaves of barbarians, and the other way round. Many lived better, in the end, than at home. The Muslim world sold off their captives; the Church bought back what Christians it could. But the Muslim world also elevated them. Turks trained up alien children to become the elite of their army; captured children ruled Egypt as Mamelukes. Portugal, depleted by plague and by warfare, had welcomed the first frightened Negroes captured from Guinea; found them intelligent, biddable; had trained them, freed them, sent for more.

But now they were not acquired as prisoners of war. They were bought, seven hundred a year, as goods from middlemen who stole them from their villages. True, they would learn a civilised tongue; be baptised; earn their salvation. Their lives would not be hard. But what of the great, dark, barbarian land they came from? How could you bring a people to Christ while stealing their children?

So, thunderstruck on the deck of the
Niccolò
, Father Godscalc of Cologne seized the master of the ship by the collar and the arm, there before all his own men, and said, ‘I will have no men purchased with coin and brought aboard this ship against their will. Swear that you will leave them.’ And because rage gave him power, and he was a vigorous man accustomed to battlefields, he felt Jorge da Silves quiver before he stiffened and said, ‘The sun has harmed you, padre. There are men all about.’

‘But you and I are here,’ said Father Godscalc. ‘And I want a promise.’

Then Jorge da Silves took hold of himself and said, ‘It is easily given, but it is not the promise you want. If I leave them, the next ship will carry them off. The
Fortado
, perhaps.’ All who were not working the ship were watching, except Bel of Cuthilgurdy and Loppe.

Godscalc said quietly, ‘Then take your coin and free them. If you fear to lose your profit, I shall try to make it up to you somehow.’

Jorge da Silves had regained his calm. He stood awkwardly as he
was gripped and said, ‘Padre, what good will it do to free them? They have been brought hundreds of miles from their homes; their captors rove the desert behind them. Do you expect the Tuareg to mount them on horseback and deliver them back to their huts, in whatever village they may have come from? They must be brought on board. I am glad they are coming on board, for they are your business.’ And he straightened his neck, for Godscalc’s clutch had become slack.

‘My business?’ he said.

‘That is why you have this caravel,’ said Jorge da Silves, and pulled himself free. ‘To bring souls to Christ. To save the heathen. Speak to your Negro, to Lopez. Surely he has explained this?’

‘I tried to explain it,’ said Loppe, standing before him. Behind was Bel his anchor, his former anchor, who must have fetched him.

Loppe said, ‘Father, let the master go. Let him bring them on board. Whatever happens to these people later, they will do better here than on the
Fortado
. Once they are on board, we shall listen to you. We were only afraid that, if you knew, you would abandon them.’

He had agreed, with a numbness amounting to despair, for he could see no alternative. He had gone to the island and, entering the warehouse where the captives lay, ill-fed and exhausted, young once-vigorous people of every shade from swarthy half-Berber to the dense, blue-black colour of Loppe, he had realised that, whatever their fate, it couldn’t be worse than this. Only when brought into the light, and packed in boats, and finally taken on board one of the great birds of the sea, did their apathy break, and they fought, screaming, against being thrust into the hold, and clutched each other in terror as the seamen tried to bring the ship through the channel and, reaching the sea, to set the sails to run south once again.

No. If Nicholas was there, across the gulf in the red, shining roundship, Godscalc took no joy in the knowledge. He turned his back on the
Ghost
. He battled side by side with the rest until, somehow, the hoarse, desperate rabble had been induced to settle in some sort of order, and their groups and numbers identified, and the copper cauldron was set on the firebox. They were given bean soup and maize bread and water, and shown where to relieve themselves, for already the
San Niccolò
stank. Then all but the most violent slept, and Loppe, touching Father Godscalc on the shoulder, said, ‘We should speak in the cabin. Mistress Bel is already there.’

Godscalc of Cologne walked with the step of an old man to the cabin. There, facing the Negro and the brooding figure of the
woman from Scotland, he said, ‘You have seen. Three are sick. There are only six, that I can find, who speak Arabic. The rest have almost no tongues in common. They appear to come from several tribes and no doubt many villages, to which neither we nor they know the way. I see you and Jorge are right. Once they have been brought to Arguim, they are already in irrevocable exile.’

‘That is generally so,’ said Loppe softly. There were hollows under his eyes.

Godscalc said, ‘This therefore is an expedition to buy and sell slaves. You knew as much before you sailed, and so did Nicholas. If you held any discussions, I was not privy to them. I cannot excuse you.’

‘I am sorry, Father,’ said Loppe.

‘Tush!’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy to no one in particular.

Father Godscalc rounded on her. ‘And what does that mean? They cannot be helped, except by exchanging them for horses or money, as has been done, and taking them back to Portugal? So!’ He swung back to Loppe. ‘Why have you let Nicholas do this? Or did he compel you to accomplish it for him, select the best, the most promising? Was this his fee for sending you back to your family?’

‘No,’ said Loppe. He cleared his throat. Since leaving Arguim he had abandoned his pourpoint, and in his cap and collarless shirt might almost have been mistaken, Godscalc tried not to think, for one of the blackamoors lying on deck. Loppe said, ‘Ser Niccolò meant to be here. If he had not told you the truth by now, then I should. He didn’t expect to take slaves. It was I who persuaded him. It was the price of my help with the venture.’

Not the words of a blackamoor. Not the words, surely, of the man Godscalc had taken him to be. Godscalc said, ‘I cannot believe you. Every soul that is purchased encourages the dealers to go and seize more.’

‘No one is going to stop buying them,’ Loppe said. ‘Portugal needs Portuguese, and she doesn’t mind if they are black and didn’t wish to come in the first place. She has no qualms, for she is redeeming their souls. Jorge da Silves endorses that: he is a member of the Order of Christ. Prince Henry himself led the Order, and continued the trade to induce captains to sail further and further. One of his slaves is being reared as a priest by the Franciscans.’

‘So,’ said Godscalc, ‘what is your excuse for selling your prisoners? To please the King of Portugal, who owns this fine caravel? To place your fellows in better homes than the Lomellini or the Vatachino might have offered? To disarm them by your example? This is what you have in mind?’

‘Ser Niccolò did not ask me that,’ Loppe said.

The grating voice of Bel of Cuthilgurdy spoke from her corner. ‘Your Ser Niccolò knows you. Here’s a good man doing his best. You need to help him.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Loppe. ‘But I thought the padre knew us both.’ He stopped, and seemed to make an effort. He said, ‘I said in Lagos I wished to go back to Guinea to learn. I wanted you, a man of God, to come too; and Nicholas – and Ser Niccolò –’

‘You think of him as Nicholas,’ Godscalc said grimly. ‘Why don’t you call him so? You wanted us to see what was happening and act upon it? How?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Loppe. The ship was moving fast now, tilting and plunging beneath them, the spray rattling her sides as her sailing-master sought for the speed that would keep her ahead of all rivals. You could hear seamen’s voices, responding to the shrill of the whistle, and the tired, monotonous wail of a child, and sometimes a sudden cry, as fear broke through the exhaustion.

Loppe said, ‘A long time from now, regulation may be possible. That is, once authority has established itself in this country, the rapine may be stopped, and dealers will become merely agents, who will convey to the coast those men and women who are willing to come. But before this can happen, men must agree that the object is worthy; and then that they must work towards it.’

Father Godscalc said, ‘I think the object is worthy, and I am ready to be shown what you wish me to see, and to report on it. But in the short term, these poor wretches lie there, and I can see nothing that you or I may do except relieve some of their pains.’

‘There is something,’ Loppe said. His voice had warmed, just a little, from relief. He said, ‘You spoke of irrevocable exile, and up till now that’s been true. But a few of these people out there might be restored to the homes that they came from. Some are Sanhaja half-breeds: their villages are not far away, and they would have a good chance of reaching them from the shore. Some are from the coastal tribes of the Jalofos and could be landed in their own region, if they thought the risk of recapture worth while. The rest are from the territory of the Mandinguas, or from kingdoms lying beyond, in the south. Most of these do not know where they live. Their only chance would be a new life in Portugal.’

‘You know all these tribes?’ Godscalc said carefully.

‘Some of them. I do not speak all the dialects.’

‘Are you a son of one of these kings?’ Godscalc asked; and was ashamed when Loppe smiled.

Loppe said, ‘One of those with thirty wives? You know these are not kings as you speak of them; but rather the respected chiefs of
their tribes. I cannot claim to be the son of such a leader, but I know some of the potentates who would give a holy man a fair hearing; and a few of the tribes whose men travel, and know of the tracks to the east. I can pay my fee.’

‘I’m not one to contradict you,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. ‘And you’ve pleased the Father, no doubt; but how will Jorge da Silves and the impecunious Nicholas see it? There’s the
Ghost
, empty but for her travel-sore nags, and here’s the
San Niccolò
piled high with slaves and their dinners instead of a full load of pepper. If you let half the slaves go, there’s nothing left but heavenly credit, and not so much of that if you think of the converts you’ve lost. Added to which, the Order of Christ takes a religious interest in money. So excuse me if I ask: is that all the help you promised Jorge da Silves and Nicholas?’

Startled out of his bewilderment, Godscalc gazed at her. Loppe said, ‘There is a box beside you, mistress. Lift the lid.’

It was the patron’s chest, with a triple lock there had been no time to fasten. Bel of Cuthilgurdy leaned over, and heaved it open with her two sturdy arms. Godscalc rose and stood, the better to view it.

The box was full of gold. Between the fat bags of dust were piled collars and heavy gold bracelets. Loppe said, ‘It doesn’t take up much room. And there will be more, in the south.’

‘How much is there?’ Godscalc said.

‘In weight? Over forty pounds, I should think. It should fetch about six thousand ducats, less the King’s quarter at Lisbon. The price of forty horses, and seven hundred slaves.’

‘How could you afford it?’ said the woman. ‘As well as buying the blacks?’

Loppe moved across, and closing the chest knelt to lock it. ‘We sold all we had,’ he said. ‘The rest we paid for in cowrie shells. Ser – Nicholas brought them from Cyprus. They are the currency of the country, and light to carry when we move from the ships.’

‘So the other gold marts are inland,’ Godscalc said. ‘And you will be taking us there. Or perhaps to the source of the gold?’

‘No one knows the source of the gold,’ Loppe said.

Far behind on the
Ghost
, the same questions were asked and answered; but not until well after Arguim, when Ochoa had completed his excursions on shore and the
Ghost
’s water barricoes were all full, and she had some food and some hay for her livestock. That she carried horses had not been discovered.

Even then, she had to be careful, easing out of the weedy lagoon under the threatening eye of the patrol boat and setting a course
further west than she wanted. Fortunately, there was another flurry of sand; the veils dropped, and it became safe to turn southwards again. She put on her best speed. Ahead was the
San Niccolò
with her cargo, and Nicholas wanted to catch her before anyone else did.

It was night therefore before he called Diniz and the girl to sit with him in the great cabin, crammed with their gear. Fashioned of fur and straw, feathers and velvet and ribbon, Ochoa’s hats yawed from their pegs as if grazing; suspended swords flashed; and from a wicker cage slung in a corner a dozen parrots screeched and fluttered and snapped.

No conversation on a ship could be private, but Nicholas had drawn the door-curtain back to deter eavesdroppers, and began by speaking in Flemish. He wondered what language Loppe had spoken in the inquisition he, too, must have faced across the twenty miles of dark sea that still separated them. Here, the boy was subdued, his eyes dark in the rolling swing of the lamplight. Gelis van Borselen looked a little drawn, perhaps with the heat. He knew the sea never made her unwell. She said, ‘An apologia?’