Free Scales of Gold by Dorothy Dunnett Page A

Barbary, or beyond the Pillars of Hercules?’
    ‘From some such place. It was to learn more that I asked to come here today,’ Nicholas said. That was also true, so far as it went. He knew, without seeing Godscalc’s face, that it didn’t go far enough.
    Godscalc said, ‘Let me repeat. You intend to reach Ethiopia by travelling south of the Sahara desert. That is where da Mosto has been.’
    ‘Yes,’ Nicholas said.
    ‘And by sea. That is why you are awaiting the repair of your boat.’
    ‘I couldn’t go without it,’ said Nicholas. It sounded true, but it wasn’t.
    ‘But you mean to travel to Ethiopia,’ Godscalc said. He had said it before. Loppe, dissatisfied with the angle of the boat, initiated two or three thoughtful strokes. After a moment, Nicholas joined him. He continued rowing without making much effort.
    Nicholas said, ‘I don’t know what I mean to do. It’s a possibility. I’m exploring it. Am I a criminal?’
    ‘You are a very good liar,’ Godscalc said. ‘You have always been. Did you kill Katelina van Borselen?’
    He should have expected it. Spray fell into the boat. He leaned forward to take the next stroke, this time keeping it even. Loppe, as ever, followed him. He said, ‘The rumours in Bruges? I should only lie to you.’
    ‘You are asking me for my silence. I am asking you about a young, misguided woman whose child –’
    ‘No!’ said Nicholas. The boat rocked, and then started to settle. He said, ‘If you try to compel me that way, you’ll be sorry.’
    ‘Why?’ said Godscalc. ‘I have nothing to lose but my life. It hasn’t escaped you. From here, I couldn’t swim back. Who killed Simon’s wife?’
    There seemed no way to avoid answering, although he tried to think of one. He said eventually, ‘She died in the siege of Famagusta. She was there because of me, but I didn’t kill her.’
    ‘And the father of Diniz?’ said Godscalc. He had no right. It was pointless. One could tell the truth or make up any story.
    ‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘He was Simon’s partner and hence my rival in business. He died because I was there, but I didn’t kill him.’
    ‘So your conscience is free,’ Godscalc said. ‘And in Ethiopia, or on the way to Ethiopia? Who will be there because of you; who will perish?’
    ‘I have no idea,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I understand you long to serve God at my side. If I go, why not come along and restrain me? Africa may emerge unscathed from the ordeal.’
    They had come too far. Loppe had stopped rowing. Nicholas lifted the blades, but kept his hands steady on the shafts. It was the only thing that kept his hands steady. Water lapped. Godscalc said, ‘Can it be that you believe all the legends? About the great race of priest-kings known from antiquity; about the Christian warrior-prince named Prester John who, if summoned, will rise to smite the unfaithful?’
    ‘You’ve forgotten,’ Nicholas said. ‘I met one of his envoys when we were in Fiesole four years ago. There was a Coptic priory in Nicosia. I’ve spent more time than I like to remember withLudovico da Bologna, our eminent Patriarch of Antioch, who has made it his life’s mission to shuttle between the Christian princes of the West and the East, each begging the other for armies. And even if Zara Ya’qob isn’t Prester John, someone certainly sent envoys to the Council of Florence who knew what Ethiopia was really like: it’s all in the map I’ve just seen.’
    ‘Why are you angry?’ said Godscalc.
    Nicholas didn’t reply. Godscalc waited and then said, ‘Perhaps I prefer it when you are angry. The Christian role of that country is not in any doubt. But there is every reason to doubt that you care for it. What has attracted you is the myth. The myth of Prester John, descendant of Sheba and Solomon. The tales of the miraculous mirror and the Fountain of Youth and the rivers of jewels. The country where there is gold in such abundance that men prefer to barter in