She hardly knew that the boat had stopped. Mechanically she let Abdul lift her over the side of another vessel. She saw Marco set the row-boat adrift, and then hoist anchor. Together the men set the sails.
“Take the helm!” said Abdul. “I’ll tend the sheets.”
Marco hesitated, then walked reluctantly aft. “I don’t claim to be an expert in these waters,” he grumbled, “I won’t promise to go beyond Belem without a pilot, either.”
“Take my orders and stop your talk, you lubber!” roared Abdul, and Nejmi saw his face flame and one hand clutch at his belt. She dropped her eyes, sick at the thought that, only for the need of him at the helm, Abdul’s knife would even now be sunk in Marco’s neck.
Slowly the bow swung around, and the ship began to move. Nejmi watched Abdul work the sheets as they tacked down the rough, moonlit river.
Stealthily she turned her head, that no one should see her backward look at the dark blur that was Lisbon. She locked her hands against her breast as if to crush down the agony that was bursting it. Ah, Nicolo – Nicolo!
Yet, O Allah, let her remember only that the maps were safe. That somewhere, beyond, in need of help was Gama!
CHAPTER 21
Arthur Rodriguez
AT dusk Nicolo and Scander were pacing Cascaes beach. High prowed little fishing boats, dragged up on the sand after discharging their catch, scattered the shore. Beyond, where the beach swept oceanward, the old Moorish lighthouse pointed sombrely upward, and right and left glittered a choppy sea under a bright moon.
They had made slow work of beating down river against a slight breeze and a tide now near high, and, as he expected the wind to freshen, Scander was lingering to keep Nicolo company.
“At latest, I’ll make Lisbon before midnight. Those fellows won’t be leaving before then,” he said confidently.
Voices made them look back. Behind them two men strolled toward an outspread fish net and sat down near it, hands clasped around their knees. Presently, a third joined them. Sitting there, peering out over their hunched knees, they looked to Nicolo like three wary old hawks, sweeping the landscape for prey.
“Pilots waiting for a call, I’ll wager you,” said Scander. “I’d like to know,” he mused aloud, “what that tall fellow said to Master Zakuto when Pedro pointed him out.”
“What makes me uneasy,” said Nicolo, “is that he bribed Pedro to do that. Why didn’t he ask me to take him to Zakuto, as he told Pedro he meant to?”
“I’ve wondered about that, too,” Scander admitted. “He never did call at The Green Window for you, did he? There’s one thing, though: whatever passed between him and Master Abel happened after the proclamation was read, about sundown, and nothing much can happen between sundown and sunrise, when I’ll be back. Those fellows can’t get very far without me.”
He raised his head and snuffed the wind. “Breeze is freshening,” he observed, “but it’ll be with me going up river.”
Nicolo looked anxiously at the water. “It won’t be so easy for you, alone.”
“There’s not a tiller made ever got the best of me, nor a sail either! It’s you, Master Conti,” Scander said, gravely, “who’s taking the real risk.”
“It’s nothing to the risk Gama’s taken every day since he left us,” rejoined Nicolo. “Nor to the one he’s taking at this very moment – all unaware, too, poor chap! You know, Scander,” he declared, “I’ve about concluded, if Rodriguez comes, not to discharge cargo, but to put to sea at once. Why, what if this minute Gama were steering straight into that nest of robbers!”
They had faced back and were retracing their steps. The three men sitting on the sand looked up, as they approached, and again Nicolo thought of hawks. Those gaunt, tight-skinned faces, that peculiar listening expression that comes from long intimacy with the sea – Yes, these men, or their like, would do for his errand, if Rodriguez couldn’t go with him.
“When is the tide high?” Scander asked, as he and Nicolo halted.
“Just turned.” One of the three pointed to a barely visible lag in the incoming water. “Are you going out?”
“Yes,” said Scander, “to Lisbon. Pilots, are you,” he inquired, “all of you?”
They nodded. “Want a lift over the bar?” one of them asked.
“I reckon I can manage. I made it down.”
“If you’re looking for work,” Nicolo struck in, “I’ve pressing business down Cape Verde way.”
“Going after the pirates, eh? “chuckled one.
There was a quick sound –“Look there!” One of the three was pointing seaward.
Scander and Nicolo wheeled around. Out on the rough, moonlit water a vessel was heading toward Cascaes beach.
“Do you suppose it could be Rodriguez?” cried Nicolo to Scander.
“Rodriguez?” one of the pilots took him up. “Know him? I’ve often taken him in. Whoever it is, see the sail he’s carrying – in this wind, too. Must be in a hurry.”
“That’s putting it mild!” exclaimed Scander. “See that! . . . And they not yet hove to!”
Smashing along, with no sign of slackening, and as yet too far out to anchor, the pilot signal light had nevertheless been run up between the masts.
“That’s surely The Golden Star!” Nicolo declared, as the vessel suddenly came up into the wind.
One of the pilots jumped up. “I’ll take her on,” and he started down the beach.
“Let’s go,” cried Nicolo. He seized the surprised Scander by the sleeve, and they both ran after the pilot. “Mind if we go along?” Nicolo called. “If it’s Rodriguez I’ve business with him – he’s my partner,” and as the man hesitated, “Take our skiff,” he offered. “She’s already afloat.”
“Fair enough,” the pilot returned. “It’ll save launching mine.”
In a moment they had shoved the skiff into deeper water, and leaped aboard.
“Yes, that’s The Golden Star,” exclaimed Scander as they drew nearer the caravel. “I can tell by the way she rides.”
He had hardly got the words out when they heard the rattle of an anchor.
“What?” cried the pilot. “Signal for pilot service and then anchor out here? What’s the meaning of that?”
As the skiff came alongside there was a loud hail from the caravel.
“That’s Rodriguez!” Nicolo and Scander exclaimed together, and Nicolo made ready to clamber aboard first, for he must lose not a moment in telling his plan.
Several forms appeared at the rail, and among them, by the light of a lantern, Nicolo caught a glimpse of Rodriguez’ face.
“Stand by for a line,” shouted the pilot above the wind.
“Rodriguez! I’m coming aboard!” Nicolo peered up at him, expecting to see the usual, broad smile. ‘He’ll be surprised to see me here,’ he thought.
But the face that he saw by the flickering light was possessed by something deeper than either laughter or wonder. What had happened? Nicolo wondered. Could it be pirates?
And then Rodriguez, leaning far out, was speaking, entirely ignoring the pilot, too-and asking such a curious question: “Master Conti, is the King at Lisbon, or at Cintra?”
“The King!” Nicolo blankly repeated. “The King –” Almost he’d added, “What the devil!” but managed to stammer, “He went to Cintra yesterday.”
“D’you get me out here to gossip?” bellowed the pilot. “Want me to take your vessel on to Lisbon or not? I’ll give you two seconds to make up your mind.”
“My vessel stays where she is,” Rodriguez snapped back, “but you’re to set me in at Cascaes!”
“Wait, Rodriguez! I’m coming aboard,” Nicolo shouted, hardly believing his ears at his astonishing order. “I’ve got to see you.”
But already the man’s legs were over the rail – he was sliding down the side of The Golden Star.
“What’s the matter with him?” muttered Scander. “Never saw him before like this.”
A minute later, Rodriguez’ feet were feel
ing for the skiff, and, as he dropped into the stern, he ordered the pilot to cast off.
“No, wait!” Nicolo sharply interrupted, “I’ve something to tell you that’ll make you change your mind about going to Cascaes. We must put to sea immediately!”
“Sorry, Master Conti,” Rodriguez struck in, “but I mustn’t lose a moment in getting to Cintra. I’ve news for the King that – that won’t wait. Tell your pilot to cast off – do, sir!”
Nicolo looked closely at him. The man was plainly under great strain and in deadly earnest. But what news for the King could possibly count now, when every moment was telling either for – or against – Gama? Besides, the pilot was grumbling at the delay.
“Listen, Rodriguez!” He bent forward and whispered in rapid succession, “Gama’s on his way home! There’s a pirate fleet somewhere off the Moroccan Coast waiting to destroy him. We must warn him, you and I. We must put right about as fast as we can-lose no chance to intercept him.”
As Nicolo spoke, he saw an extraordinary expression spread over the other’s face. “Holy Mother!” he heard him murmur, and then, to his amazement, Rodriguez raised an arm and sang out to the pilot: “Cast off!”
“What d’you mean ‘cast off’?” cried Nicolo angrily, “after what I’ve just –”
“Master Conti –” Rodriguez thrust his face close to Nicolo’s –“cross yourself, and swear that you’ll ask me no questions, and that you’ll tell no word of this.” Then, as Nicolo, in utter bewilderment, touched forehead and breast, he felt the other’s lips at his ear: “Set your heart at rest – Gama’s safe!”
It was at this particular moment that Nicolo, staring dumbfounded at Rodriguez, heard the pilot bawl out some order, and saw Scander scramble forward.
“I’ll manage alone,” he called as he passed. “You and Rodriguez’d better have your talk out.”
The two dropped into the stern, while Nicolo, bursting with the tremendous news, tried to keep from shouting it aloud.
So it was Rodriguez who spoke first. “How did you get wind of this pirate plot against Gama?”
Briefly Nicolo described what he had learned during the last three days. “By putting together what this fellow Marco has let drop, and the talk from the ships that have been attacked, Scander and I are certain that there’s a pirate fleet waiting to make a clean sweep of Gama.”
Rodriguez shook his head gravely. “A terrible blow it’d have been to Portugal. Terrible. Everything would have been lost – Gama’s work would have gone for nothing. It was just mere chance that those scoundrels didn’t get me.”
“I was eaten up with worry lest they would, and we’d lose cargo and all!”
“I’d have run square into them if I’d gone where I was headed, the Algarve1 and Cape Verde. What saved me was this: four days ago, I was putting out from Terceira2 loaded with sugar, when I heard this-this news. So I changed my course for Lisbon, and ever since I’ve been going at full speed, day and night, with all the canvas I could carry.”
“Only four days between here and Terceira?” exclaimed Nicolo. “Why, Rodriguez, you’ve made a record! But you must yet get to Cintra. How will you –”
“Oh, that’s just a matter of borrowing a horse from a man that I know here. I can make Cintra by midnight.” He was silent a moment, then, a little shyly, he added, “I’d like to tell the King what you were going to do for Gama!”
“Don’t, Rodriguez. Things of this sort sometimes take odd twists-turn ’round and slap one in the face! No, not a word.”
“As you say, Master Conti,” Rodriguez unwillingly conceded. “But I’ll tell you this: I’d have been proud to take The Golden Star out with you, if there’d been need for her-and, as it is, I’m proud to be sailing her for you, sir! I’ll be back by sunrise to take her in.”
Nicolo glanced at the fast nearing shore. In these last few moments should he reveal the rest of the plot – about the maps? Yet, why expose the Venetian ambassador and Venice? No, Scander and he would attend to that. And Scander – didn’t he deserve to be taken into the great secret?
“Rodriguez,” he whispered, “tell Scander what you’ve told me! He’s done more than I have in ferreting out this plot. You can trust his tongue!”
“Right!” the man came back heartily. “But it must be quick-we’re here now!” He moved forward just as the keel grated, and leaped on the wet sands. Hardly a pace behind him was Nicolo, with the astonished Scander in his wake.
“Rodriguez has something to tell you,” Nicolo said to him. “Keep her where she is!” he called, as he passed the pilot. “We’re leaving in her, directly.”
They started across the beach, while Rodriguez, without slackening speed, made Scander swear secrecy. Then, “Gama is safe,” he solemnly announced. And while Scander stared, open mouthed, “I’ve sworn to myself,” he rapidly continued, “that none shall know the whole of this matter before the King knows. That was why I anchored so far out, and would let no one aboard. Lest my crew should be tempted to talk!”
He broke into a run, and only swung up an arm as sign that he’d heard Nicolo’s “Good-bye and good luck!”
“I knew, first thing I saw him, that something’d happened,” Scander exclaimed. “Lord, but it’s wonderful! Where d’you suppose Gama is?”
“Wherever he is, he doesn’t need me!” Inwardly Nicolo hoped that he wasn’t too openly happy over the fact that he was returning to Lisbon.
“I’m not sorry we’re going to finish this job together!” Scander confided, as they walked back to the skiff.
Nicolo paid the pilot, and they put off, this time with Scander attending to the sails, and Nicolo at the helm.
“We’re in luck to have the wind with us,” Nicolo remarked, “even if this ebb tide is against us.”
“And we’re in luck to have this moon as bright as day and not to have to go around through the South Channel, with all those cross currents dragging a body over to the shoals.”
“If currents were our only worry!” returned Nicolo. “I don’t feel too easy, I can tell you, about the maps.”
“Oh, those chaps won’t leave without me. And as soon as it’s daylight we’ll find out from Master Abel what’s happened.”
“As soon as it’s daylight!” Nicolo reflected happily. . . . Morning in the court! Cool fragrance of dew-wet bloom. Early sunlight tiptoeing across slumbrous shade, touching a filmy dress, soft, bare arms, sweet, shy eyes.
“Shall we change places?” Scander sang out as they neared the narrows of the North Channel. “I cut my teeth on the Cachopos, you know!”
“Stay where you are, and call the course!” Nicolo returned. “You can see Cascaes light. This wind should take us through, square as a die.”
For the remainder of the narrows, Nicolo, at the tiller, steered by Scander’s quiet directions.
“Not much room to spare, is there?” Scander chuckled, as at last they passed Lage Point and came inside the bar.
“But at that, I’ll chance this side every time against the hellish rip in the South Channel,” rejoined Nicolo. “Still, if it hadn’t been for the moon so bright, you and I might be on the North Cachopo now!”
“Better ease her off a little,” Scander called, letting out the sail. “The wind’ll be square behind us past Belem.”
“She’s rough over there, off South Cachopo,” Nicolo remarked.
“Yes. The breakers sound plain even here,” said Scander as he made a half turn in the main sheet.
For some time they were silent. The skiff forged ahead under tight canvas. They should make Belem in less than half an hour, Nicolo – calculated. Then Lisbon, and after that –
A gleam of white off the Belem shore caught his eye.
An outbound boat!
“Odd, that is,” he heard Scander comment. “Carrying that much sail, in such a wind!”
Yes, thought Nicolo, it was odd; a considerably larger craft, too, than their skiff – but of course she wouldn’t try the bar on this tide against an i
nshore breeze. As he watched, the craft came up into the wind and lay over toward the south shore, and somehow, then, he got the impression that she was feeling her way out to sea.
“She’ll cross us,” he heard Scander say in a low tone.
“Yes, we’ll go astern,” rejoined Nicolo. He suddenly felt a shift in the sail. “What’s that for?” He wheeled around to see Scander motionless, eyes riveted on the approaching vessel. The next minute Scander let out more sail.
“Do you want to hail them?” exclaimed Nicolo.
Scander nodded. “Bring her nearer,” he said, in the same low tone.
A little puzzled, Nicolo obeyed, and eased the helm. The two vessels, he saw, must now pass very close. The sound of the oncoming prow grew audible. What could Scander possibly want of her-leaning far over the port side like that, straining his eyes on her?
He heard a startled exclamation –“They’ve given us the slip!” Before his wits could seize Scander’s meaning, the vessels were passing, two faces glaring down at them from her stern – Marco and Marco’s running mate!
But who was behind Marco, staring out at them as the stern flashed by? A face – a woman’s face! Was he stark mad? It couldn’t be! Yet-it was! That face like carved ivory – Oh, merciful heaven, it was Nejmi’s!
For a stunned moment Nicolo stared at Scander. He saw the sailor pale under his tan.
“Come about!” he yelled to him like a man frenzied. “We must follow them!”
But already Scander was furiously hauling in the sheet. “Too slow!” he shouted back. “We’ve got to gybe. We’ve got to risk it. . . . That’s Abdul-the captain of the Sultana!”
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