Spice and the Devil's Cave

by Agnes Danforth Hewes

  It came to him strangely that his decision had been made – but not by himself! Was it by a self that he had never known until now? “I’d do anything for the Way!” Nejmi had said. Was that why, longing to go to her, he had not gone, because he, too, would do “anything for the Way”?

  1 Cascaes. Fifteen miles west of Lisbon, where ships bound for Lisbon take on pilots.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Workshop Lamp

  FROM the top of the stairway Nejmi watched Ruth and Abel descend, and waved to them when they turned back to look at her. How closely they clung to each other, the broad-shouldered figure in its conical hat and black cloak, and the stout, short figure in the long cloak and hood! Though they both stood very straight, neither leaning on the other, that close clinging made Nejmi think, somehow, of two lonely children comforting each other. But they should never be lonely, she said to herself with a rush of tenderness, as she watched them disappear around a corner. Nicolo and she would so surround them with warmth and love, so try to atone for all the suffering Manoel had brought on them, that there would never be room for loneliness. This edict that they had gone now to hear proclaimed was another humiliation, but, she reflected, not actual cruelty.

  Everything should welcome them when they got back. Supper would be ready and the house lighted. It would be dark by then, for the reading of the edict would hardly be over at sundown, and Master Abel had said that afterward they might stop a moment to see Rabbi Joseph, who was too old and infirm to leave his house. She would even leave the gate ajar, Nejmi thought to herself, as she stepped back into the court, so that they could see the light from the workshop lamp as soon as they reached the head of the stairs.

  But before it was too dark, she must do what she had decided to do when she had heard Nicolo say, “What if the Venetian ambassador’s friend should come here!” Master Abel had seemed not to heed, but it had come to her like a command that the maps must be hidden. It was better that she should hide them, so that if they were demanded of him he wouldn’t know where they were.

  She crossed the court to the workshop. At the threshold she paused and surveyed the room. Shelves . . . cupboards . . . table drawer. No chance for concealment. Under the carpenter’s work-bench? She stooped down to look. Plenty of room of course, but anyone would be sure to search there. Again she scrutinized the room, from floor to ceiling, absently noting that the draught between door and windows was gently stirring the great lamp above the table. Her eyes came back to the swaying lamp, fixed on it. The very thing! No one would ever dream of looking there.

  She ran to the row of brass containers, slipped the maps from them, and made several tight rolls. Then, standing on the table, she opened Abel’s “lighthouse.” Carefully she fitted the rolls inside. Now, just to latch its door – But what was that sound? The gate swinging on its hinges? Perhaps Nicolo! Surely not Master Abel and Mother Ruth so soon. She jumped down, and ran to look.

  A tall figure in seaman’s coat was pausing, motionless, in the act of stepping into the court. The man might have been a statue, but for eyes that seemed live fires and for quivering nostrils and twitching lips. The air grew dark, whirled with a million shining specks. Her body seemed not to be there on the threshold of the workshop, seemed not to be a body at all but only a sensation of deathly faintness, of hideous, endless sinking. A mad thing leaped and tore at her breast. Was it the heart in the body that had been hers? If she could only move-speak. A curious fancy possessed her that she was a bird unable to stir before the evil glitter of narrowed eyes in a weaving head; that she was a creature of the wild, beyond motion in the shadow of a hovering hawk.

  Something in her suddenly snapped, and she was conscious of struggling, like one in a nightmare, against deathlike numbness. She felt something cold at her throat, and looking down, she saw that her hands were gripped there. Her gaze went back to the figure at the gate. Slowly, almost as if he were feeling his way, the man was coming toward her.

  Ah Nicolo! Scander! Dear Master Abel! Where are you? She didn’t deserve this – not after the anguish of Aden . . . of the slave market . . . of the Sultana.

  Now he was standing before her, breathing hard through dilated nostrils, as she remembered he breathed when he was stirred or angry. She hadn’t forgotten the black, bushy hair that showed under his peaked cap. The old terror flooded over her. Her knees were shaking. With a supreme effort she locked her fingers together. So, O Allah, hold her sinking spirit from this fear that was worse than death.

  “You haven’t forgotten me I see!”

  The Arabic that she hadn’t heard for so long, the awful familiarity of the guttural tones!

  “Say my name!” he ordered.

  Her tongue rasped her parched mouth, but no sound came. The only effort she could seem to make was to grip her hands still more tightly.

  He took a step nearer her. “Say it! Say my name!”

  “Abdul!” at last she choked out.

  His eyes narrowed in the way she remembered so well. Would she ever forget their expression when he and Slaiman had debated whether or not to make a present of her to this or to that Bey?

  “Ah,” he swore softly, “you haven’t forgotten!” Then, “How’d you get here?” he demanded, peering into her face.

  So, just so, had he peered at her through the bars of the cage he had ordered built for her! But she must summon now, as she had summoned then, the will not to flinch, lest he should guess her sick revulsion and wreak worse vengeance on her.

  “How’d you get here?” he repeated. “No matter –” as she cast about for an answer –“I’m in a hurry.” Then, “Where does Zakuto keep his maps?” he snapped out.

  In puzzled dismay she stared at him. How should he know or care about Master Abel’s maps? Then . . . great Allah above! Could it be-could it possibly be that Abdul and the Venetian ambassador’s “friend” were one? Had he found out that Abel and Ruth were to be away? Involuntarily her eyes sought the lamp. She hadn’t fastened its door! The next moment, in a panic lest his eyes had followed hers, she again fixed her gaze on him.

  “You know where those maps are – I can tell by your looks!”

  Ah, he had seen her expression change!

  “Come! Hand them over. Zakuto’ll be coming back.”

  She saw him scan the sky and noticed that the sun had left the court. The proclamation must be at an end. If she could play for time, perhaps some kind chance, or the tiny, inner voice that sometimes warns humans, might make them come directly home instead of stopping at Rabbi Joseph’s.

  “I know what you’re thinking!” he flashed at her. “But if you figure you can keep me dangling till they get back –” He took a step nearer and seized her wrist. “Get those maps-and get them now!”

  His touch on her flesh roused her. The blood that had seemed to freeze within her was suddenly thundering in her ears. She threw back her head and faced him.

  “Oh yes, you’ll get them. Look here!” His free hand slid something from his belt. His knife was gleaming at her throat.

  How easily, she recalled, it had sunk into Slaiman’s back! She braced herself against memory. This time her face shouldn’t betray her.

  “Will killing me,” she coolly asked him, “give you the maps?”

  “Then I’ll kill you anyhow!” he raged. “Kill you for the sport of it.” His grip on her wrist tightened into agony. “I swear I’ll wait here for Zakuto, and if he refuses me, I’ll kill him, too.”

  “It will be the same with him,” she calmly assured him, “as with me. Kill us – but you won’t get the maps.” But within herself she was wildly praying, ‘O Allah, keep them from coming home – delay them!’

  She saw him stare past her into the workshop, followed his glance as it roved along the shelves-the bench-the table.

  The next moment he flung her aside. “That’s where he makes them,” he muttered, as he burst past her.

  She stole a terrified glance at the great lamp still gently stirring in the breez
e. Its door was ajar! If it should open wider, and he should happen to look up at it – Oh, how could she get him away?

  Panic stricken, she watched him dart from shelf to shelf, tear open cupboards, snatch at the table drawer, peer under the bench, tip up the empty brass tubes. Her heart stood still – his eyes were fixed on the lamp! No, he was staring at the windows! In her relief she felt suddenly weak.

  But immediately she heard a frightful oath. The sun was setting, and Abdul was still unsuccessful. O Allah, send him away before he should see that unfastened lamp door. Before Master Abel and Mother Ruth should come home! For Abdul, she knew too well, would do to them exactly as he had told her he would do. She tried to close her memory on a vision of Slaiman sinking on the deck of the Sultana, with Abdul’s knife deep in his back. Oh, not that! Not that in this beloved court. And Nicolo! Good, kind Allah, what if he should happen in? Neither he nor Abel carried what Abdul carried in his belt-and Abdul would do what he had said he would do.

  “I’ll give you one more chance!” He stood stock still in the midst of the disorder he had made, and even at that distance she could see his quivering nostrils. He sprang toward her, thrust his face into hers. “You’ll make it all the worse for yourself, girl, if you don’t give them up, for I’m going to take you, maps or no maps! You hear me?”

  Instantly she caught at the change from his first confident order: “Get those maps. Hand them over.” Now it was “Maps or no maps.” From certainty he had come to compromise, to admission of possible failure. Another step, and he might give up his search. She had only to offer herself and he would take that step – and Master Abel and the maps would be safe! But she must be quick, for it was fast darkening, and they would be back. And Abdul would keep his word.

  O Nicolo! O love and life, to put you forever away! It was too much, too much to ask of human flesh, of human spirit. She would delay, risk some incredible chance to step between her and this black abyss. Something would happen, something must happen, to save her and Nicolo for each other.

  But yet, what if after all, Abdul should find the maps, and the Way should be lost to Portugal? A sudden memory flamed within her of last night, when she had said to Nicolo that she would do anything for the Way. Her hands clutched at each other for support. Oh, Allah, of the boundless wisdom of thy will, strength to do what of her own will she could not!

  She knew that her tongue moved, and her lips. But that voice – could it be hers?

  “If I come with you, will you go away, now – at once?” said that unreal voice. Where was it that she was going with him? No matter! The maps would be safe.

  He ripped out a savage oath. “You’d play with me, would you?” He jerked the blade of his knife up against her bare neck.

  If it would only bury itself there, as it had in Slaiman’s back! “I’m ready. I’ll go with you,” she calmly told him.

  He stepped back, and the hand with the knife dropped to his side. “Aren’t you afraid of dying?” he asked, with grim curiosity. “I remember we had to build that cage to keep you out of the sea.” He came closer, so close that she could see the puzzled scowl of his black brows. “What are those maps to you that you won’t give them up?”

  A wild hope sprang in her heart. Was there in his curiosity just a bare hint of mercy? But instantly, as if he had forgotten what he had asked, she saw him glance at the dimming light, and saw his face set.

  “Killing her isn’t going to give me the maps!” she heard him soliloquize as if he defied an unseen accuser. He slipped the knife into his belt, turned impatiently on her. “We must make the bar in a hurry. Put on something – quick.”

  It was like a blow that struck the breath from her; a black void that closed irrevocably over her. She knew now that, though she thought she had given up hope, she had not given it up till this moment! But he had said “the bar.” Thank Allah for that! For just beyond the bar was the ocean – but this time her face mustn’t let him guess her thoughts.

  “Quick!” he repeated. “Something that’ll cover you up.”

  Of course. The pale gold of her dress would at once mark her on the streets. She remembered an old cloak of Ruth’s, and with a strange, bodiless feeling she went into the house, took the cloak from a chest, and went back with it to Abdul. He watched her while she fastened the hood.

  “Lower over your face!” he ordered.

  He seized her arm and hurried her through the gate. She heard it close behind them. The last link, as it had been the first, between her and blessed refuge. She fought down the anguish that welled up at the image of bewilderment, when Abel and Ruth should open it and see no light streaming out to welcome them. Would the empty tubes and the wild disorder of the workshop tell them what had happened? Inside the dear “lighthouse” would they find and understand her hidden message? And Nicolo-when they should tell him . . . Ah, let her not think of Nicolo now. Let her remember only that the maps were safe!

  At the foot of the stairs, Abdul told her to pull the hood down still further. “Keep close to me,” he whispered, “and if you make any sign for help . . .”

  Silently she assented. The escape that she would make needed no help but the ocean. She would be so docile that he would forget to watch her, and as soon as he put to sea . . . Would there be a crew, she wondered in sudden terror-a crew like the Sultana’s? No matter! She would feign obedience. This time she would need no cage. And somehow she would find a way to slip past them all. Allah wouldn’t deny her that.

  She could see that Abdul was making toward the harbour, by a round-about route to avoid, of course, the streets which would be full of people going home from hearing the proclamation. They would never know, Master Abel and Mother Ruth, how near she had passed! But who had told Abdul that they would be gone? The Venetian ambassador? Wouldn’t he have heard this new edict talked of at the palace, and known that all Jews must be present to hear it read?

  A cold fear seized her: it wasn’t impossible that she should pass Nicolo or Scander. They were often at the waterfront. It wouldn’t be in human flesh not to cry out to them. Yet if she did so forget her agreement, Abdul’s knife would remind her!

  In her anguish she hardly noticed that they had come to the docks. The docks that she had never seen since that night she had stolen away from the Venezia! Now, as then, they were silent and deserted. The gleam of tossing water caught her eye, and for the first time she was conscious of a strong breeze and that wind clouds swept across a bright moon.

  As Abdul and she walked rapidly on, she saw a man move out of shadow, and slowly approach them. At that first glance, her heart leaped. The short breeches and bare legs were like Scander’s! But the next moment showed her an unfamiliar face below the peaked cap.

  Abdul halted. “Marco!”

  Marco? Marco, whom Nicolo had mentioned? Wasn’t it he who had let drop the stupendous news of Gama?

  At Abdul’s voice the man came closer. Nejmi could see his amazement as he glanced inquiringly from her to Abdul, but all he gave vent to was a breathless inquiry: “Have you got them?”

  “That’s my business!” she heard Abdul retort. “Boat and pilot all ready?”

  “Curse him, I can’t find him!” Marco stammered, and Nejmi saw him step back as if to avoid an expected blow. “I’ve been scouring the town for him, too, but –”

  “What! He isn’t here?”

  At the contortion of Abdul’s features Nejmi felt herself trembling even more than at the stream of oaths he was choking out.

  “Hell take you!” he raged. “I – I’ve depended on you for that part of the job, while I –”

  “Well, I did it, didn’t I?” The surly tone, Nejmi detected, was only a blind for the fear that looked out of the heavy face. “Found the only pilot in town who’d take us, didn’t I?” he continued. “If you’d told me sooner that you’d changed your mind about leaving tomorrow morning, I likely’d have found him.”

  “Stop your drivel, you fool,” cried Abdul under his breath. “Get s
omeone else!” He glanced up and down at the anchored craft as if he somehow expected help from them.

  “It can’t be done, I tell you,” declared the other. “There’s not a soul’ll do it. Don’t I know?”

  “Then by – we’ll make it alone!” Abdul seized Nejmi’s arm. “Where’s the boat?”

  She steadied herself against the shuddering terror that came over her at his touch. But she must do nothing to make him watch her. After all, it was not so far to the silent deeps that would grant her safe haven.

  “Boat’s over there.” Marco jerked a thumb toward the end of the dock. He surveyed the harbour. “We’ve got the wind against us,” he said sullenly. “That craft of ours won’t stand everything!”

  He stole a glance at Nejmi, and at once she guessed that he was speculating whether, in case of danger, her presence would lessen his own chances.

  “Curse you,” Abdul cut him short, “untie that boat!” He tightened his grasp on Nejmi, and they went forward, breasting the wind, while Marco ran ahead.

  They were up with him almost as he drew the painter from its ring, warped the boat alongside. Without a word, Abdul lifted Nejmi and swung her into the rocking tender. Instantly he was behind her, pressing her down into the stern, while Marco leaped in and seized the oars.

  “Everything ready out yonder?” asked Abdul, as the boat shot forward, and Nejmi saw him jerk his head sidewise.

  “Except hoisting anchor,” replied Marco.

  Oh, where were they taking her? To another Sultana? She caught her breath as a wave broke over the side and dashed her with its spray.

  “If it’s this bad here,” Marco said, half aloud, “what’ll it be down river? We’d best wait for the wind to go down.”

  Abdul turned on him with a volley of oaths. “You’d wait and risk Gama’s slipping through our fingers? Why, they might be sighting him now-devil take him!”

  Gama! Her heart seemed to stop and then to batter furiously at her breast. Were her ears playing tricks? Could she have mistaken that name? Suddenly she remembered. Was this the treachery that Nicolo had suspected behind Marco’s having seen Gama in Indian waters? And she, with her mind on the maps, had paid no attention! “You’d wait and risk Gama’s slipping through our fingers.” She knew now where Abdul was taking her. He was on his pirate way to waylay Gama! Something flamed through her: perhaps she would see Gama! Then – she could warn him! Somehow she would find a way. With a strange feeling she looked down at the surging water whose refuge, only a moment before, she had meant to seek. Not that-yet!