by Robyn Young
Columbus locked eyes with him, unable to contain his passion. ‘One day on Porto Santo, off Madeira where I worked for my father-in-law, a Spanish ship struggled into port, its mast broken. The hold was full of bodies. Most of the crew had died of thirst and starvation. Only the captain and two others survived. They told me they had been blown off course for many days by a terrible storm. Eventually they sighted islands, far to the west. They put ashore on one, searching for food and water, only to be chased off by men and women, naked as the day they were born, wielding spears and sticks. None of the crew had ever seen these lands before, nor heard tell of them.
‘Before that time, I spent months on a dogger off the coast of Thule, on seas vast as mountains, where men who’d fished those waters for generations told me stories of great cod banks where the ocean seethed with fish and giants of the deep. Some of these men, their vessels lifted on waves like peaks, had glimpsed lands of green and ice and snow to the west and north. Soon after that I was in the Port of Galway, where I learned a tiny boat had been hauled ashore by traders, who found it drifting off the coast. Inside, were a man and a woman.
‘Skin like cinnamon they had, with hair black as jet. Strange round faces and dark eyes shaped like – like almonds.’ Columbus made a narrow oval with thumb and forefinger. ‘Everything I know tells me they were of Cathay. I have navigated the Aegean, the Mediterranean, the green Atlantic. I have sailed the coasts of Portugal and Ireland, and down the coast of Africa to El-Mina. All along these shores I have heard tell of things washed up – fruits and plants, strange objects and, sometimes, people. Can you tell me, sir, having heard my words, that you do not believe the lands of the Orient – lands of spices and silks, jewels and gold – could lie but a few thousand miles off our shores? And that a vessel, larger and better stocked than all those lost or wrecked, could not reach them?’
Harry, despite himself, felt a prickle of something – excitement, curiosity? Do it and be done, came an urgent voice inside him. Do it now! His fingers closed over the hilt. He would return home to King Henry in honour. His soul could be saved by a priest.
‘Even in your own country there are stories,’ Columbus continued. ‘A ship out of Bristol, the Trinity, is said to have sighted land to the west some years ago. There was rumour of a map.’
‘Oh?’ Harry felt his heart skip.
‘I hoped, when Don Luys told me of your wish to learn more of my plans, that you might have heard word of this yourself? Some knowledge, perhaps, that had spurred your king’s interest?’
Harry thought again of Wynter – the bastard – to whom his father had chosen to entrust that map. If what Columbus said had any truth, his growing suspicion that Thomas Vaughan had left his half-brother a secret legacy was surely right. Wynter might not have inherited the mansion on London’s Strand, but perhaps, instead, he had been given a key to the whole damn world. But you can have more – much more – if you do this! Harry rose as if to stretch his legs and drew the dagger partway out of its sheath, hiding it with his body. ‘I have heard of the ship and the rumours. But I know of no map.’
‘Perhaps, when I hear from the queen’s council, I might speak to you about requesting an audience with your king? Maybe he would help me look into those rumours? Money, Sir Harry,’ Columbus said gruffly, squinting up at him. ‘That – and faith and courage – are all that stand in my way.’ He rose suddenly, towering over Harry. ‘I must return to the docks, attend to my business there. But I would appreciate another meeting.’ He thrust out a callused hand. ‘If you would accept?’
Harry stared dumbly at it. He had to let go of the loosened dagger to take the sailor’s hand. After a pause, he did so. He was opening his mouth, thinking of something to say to keep the man here, but Columbus was already off. Plucking his black cloak from the stone bench, the sailor strode away across the grass.
Harry watched him go, all his fierce intent draining from him. His gut twisted. Fear had stepped him back from the brink at the moment he could have jumped, leaving him shaking on the edge. When Columbus had vanished, he turned with a hoarse shout and kicked away the bucket that was lying there, sending it flying.
It was almost dusk by the time Harry returned to the chaos of the camp beyond the city walls. His fists were bruised and stinging from where he had beaten them on the broken ground in fury at himself. Only the fact Columbus had suggested another meeting had kept him from sticking the dagger into his own weak flesh. He had failed, yes. But he would have another chance. And, this time, he would do what he must. His future depended on it.
Harry was already planning to send Peter with a message for the sailor as he ducked into his tent. He was brought up short by the sight of King Ferdinand sitting on a stool in the centre, long legs stretched out before him, passing a wrinkled orange between his hands. ‘Y . . . your highness?’ he stammered, eyes darting to the two royal guards who stood at the sides of the tent, the black eagle glaring from their chests.
Ferdinand rose, his dark hair brushing the vaulted canvas roof. Harry watched, his throat closing, as the king drew a dagger from his belt. He took a few steps back, but the king merely sliced the orange in half and handed one piece to him. ‘My scouts found a whole orchard, untouched by fire. These are so much sweeter than those we have in Córdoba.’ He smiled as Harry took the dripping wedge of fruit. ‘Another reward for our long struggle.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ murmured Harry, watching as the king sank his teeth into the flesh, juice trickling down his chin. He nipped politely at the orange, but hardly tasted it, his heart in his mouth.
‘So, you met with the sailor?’
Harry swallowed hard, the bite of fruit sliding down with difficulty. ‘I—’
‘I have seen you, in conversation with Don Luys Carrillo. I am well aware of his hatred of your people and knew it must have been something important to have given rise to such an exchange. He told me of your interest in the sailor and his plans. That he had secured a meeting for you. Told me, too, that in exchange you offered to help find the man who murdered his son?’
Harry forced back his panic. ‘I apologise, my lord, if you feel I have moved behind your back. I did not want to bother you with such a . . .’ He fought for the Castilian words, his mind fogged with fear. ‘Such an insignificant matter. It is simply that King Henry had heard of this sailor’s theory and wished to know if it had any basis in fact.’
Ferdinand nodded thoughtfully, licking juice from his hand. ‘And, now you have spoken to him? What do you think, Sir Harry?’
‘I am not sure, my lord,’ Harry replied slowly. If Ferdinand now suspected he had been delving into a Spanish interest for his own king then he was surely in serious trouble. But the king did not seem angry. He seemed – curious? ‘The man was certainly fervent in his enthusiasm for an expedition.’
‘Indeed,’ murmured Ferdinand, ‘and it seems that fervour is contagious.’
‘My lord?’
‘Lady Isabella has been rather captivated by his theories. My wife is a strong-willed woman, Sir Harry, with her own mind, but her curiosity and her faith sometimes cloud her eyes to the ambitions of unscrupulous men.’
‘You do not believe what he says could be true?’ Harry felt his heart begin to steady. The king’s ire was not for him. It was for Columbus.
‘That it is only three thousand miles to Cathay? That he could reach the Orient by sailing west?’ Ferdinand shook his head. ‘None of my advisers, nor any of the sailors I have questioned believe it can be done. Some years ago, Cristóbal Colón was in the pay of King John of Portugal, crewing ships down the African coast. John has proven keen to continue his kingdom’s explorations, begun decades ago by Prince Henry of Viseu, but even with his passion for expedition and access to the knowledge gleaned by Prince Henry, he refused to support Colón’s dream. That tells me he did not believe it to be possible either.
‘After five years in King John’s pay, the sailor came here, to Castile. My fear, Sir Harry, is that the man
is a leech, sucking dry whoever will countenance his wild theories. Lady Isabella has paid him a generous stipend to keep him in Spain, has offered him and Gianotto Berardi lucrative slave contracts and has employed the efforts of her ministers in her commission to examine his proposition. Of course, men like him can be found everywhere. But I do not want such a creature draining my wife. You understand?’
Harry nodded.
‘In your discussion, did Cristóbal Colón give you any sense that he is using her? That his vision is merely a ploy for money?’
Harry saw it before him – another blade, this one made of words. ‘May I speak plain, my lord?’
‘I would wish you to.’
‘The man did gloat of his relations with the queen. In truth, I found him distastefully boastful of his position under her.’ Harry noted the tightening of Ferdinand’s jaw. ‘I was also disappointed, given my Lord Henry’s interest in his ideas, to discover his theories amount to no more than incoherent ramblings. I am no navigator, my lord, but nothing of what the man said made any sense. I fear his nickname may be well earned. I do not think him dangerous,’ Harry went on hastily, ‘and perhaps not even ill-intentioned, but maybe, as you say, an ambitious man, who has had a little too much sun.’
Ferdinand studied him for a long moment, then let out a satisfied grunt. ‘My agents say he is the son of a cloth weaver. Tell me, Sir Harry, can you imagine a man of such low pedigree holding the key to the richest lands on earth?’ The king took another bite of fruit. ‘No. The way to the wealth of the Orient lies through the Turks in Constantinople. Once the infidel stain is wiped from our own lands, perhaps my wife and I will lead Christendom in another holy crusade east.’
Harry stepped back as the king went to move past him.
Ferdinand paused in the opening. ‘What will you tell Lord Henry?’
‘That he should put his faith in alliances he can trust, my lord.’
The king smiled. ‘Indeed. Do send him my regards when you next write to him and let him know that I and the Lady Isabella were delighted to hear of the birth of his son. You may tell him our daughter, Princess Katherine, is also in good health.’ With that, he ducked out, his guards following.
Harry waited until he’d gone, then turned away, tossing the orange on the ground and pushing his hands through his hair.
‘The ship is almost full. We can fit ten more at most. Juan is checking to see if there are any more viable girls. The younger ones do well in the Italian markets.’
Columbus nodded at Gianotto Berardi’s words. The two of them were standing on the dockside, close to where a four-hundred-ton caravel was still being loaded with the slaves Berardi and his men had corralled and inspected that day. The sun was sinking in the west, gilding the waves. A breeze had sprung up, clearing some of the putrid air that hung over the vanquished city. ‘You are still planning on sailing tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’ Berardi paused, catching his gaze. ‘You’ve been quiet ever since you spoke with the Englishman. Is something wrong?’
Columbus’s eyes narrowed as he stared beyond the masts of the boats that crowded the harbour to the open sea. ‘Perhaps, after I have sold my share for the Lady Isabella, I should arrange a meeting with his king? Travel to England?’ His face tightened. ‘I cannot wait any more.’
‘But, as you said yourself, the queen may be more willing to advance your proposition, now Málaga is tamed and her coffers replenished?’
‘If I delay much longer, I fear another man may chance this course. Then, all these years will have been for nothing.’
‘I doubt it, my friend.’ Berardi clasped his shoulder. ‘As they say, you are the only one mad enough to try.’ He grew serious when Columbus didn’t lighten. ‘Stay in Spain. Wait for the queen’s verdict. As I said, there may be men in Florence interested in our venture. There are rich patrons to be found there and I will seek them out once my business in the markets is done. Besides, there is no one else I trust more to run my company while I am gone.’
Columbus didn’t answer, but he nodded, eyes on the gold-capped waves.
33
Jack walked through the grand hall, Black Martin and Crooked Andrea close behind, their booted feet heavy at his back. They had
searched him for weapons, but he had come unarmed.
He thought of the first time he’d been escorted into this palace, marched in by these men, his beard as long as a vagrant’s, shoes worn to parchment by the miles from Paris. He had come with a bargain then, too. Only, now, he wouldn’t make the same mistake. Now, Lorenzo de’ Medici would pay in full before Jack gave him what he wanted.
The signore was waiting for him in his study, seated behind his desk, framed by his glittering wealth. Jack had learned of his return from Rome a week ago, when heralds had ridden through Florence announcing the glorious betrothal of Maddalena de’ Medici and Franceschetto Cybo, and the republic’s new accord with the Holy City, to be sealed, in time, with Giovanni’s entry into the College of Cardinals.
Lorenzo was dressed in scarlet robes, the high collar buttoned to his neck, hiding the scar. His dark eyes regarded Jack as he entered. Under that steel gaze, Jack almost felt himself falter. He’d forgotten the intensity of the aura of power that emanated from the man. But he forced himself forward to meet him, knowing Lorenzo would exploit any weakness he showed. He noticed the gold curtain was drawn across the door to the hidden room, even though its occupant was no longer inside.
‘Signor Lorenzo.’
‘James.’
The lack of title was telling, but not unexpected. It had always been a false cloak, Jack reasoned. It would have disappeared at some time.
Lorenzo nodded to his bodyguards. ‘Leave us.’
Jack heard the door close at his back.
Lorenzo sat back, arms on the carved rests of his chair. ‘Prince Djem is in your custody?’
‘Yes, signore.’
‘And, in your message, you said you wish to exchange him?’
Jack nodded. ‘For what I was promised when I first came to you – answers and money. I believe I have earned both. I infiltrated the Court of Wolves and I saved Prince Djem. Lost one of my men in doing so.’ Two, Jack thought, his mind on David: a ghost since the death of Adam, more often to be found lingering by his brother’s grave than in their dingy new lodgings in Oltrarno.
‘You believe you have earned this?’ Lorenzo echoed. ‘Yet, you did not tell me you had discovered Franco Martelli was a member of the Court of Wolves?’
‘I didn’t know you were unaware of his allegiance.’ Jack knew it was a poor excuse, Lorenzo clear from the start that he wasn’t aware of the exact nature of the membership.
‘Nor did you tell me of your suspicions that he was working against me, with the help of his daughter – a traitor in my own household? A serpent among my children?’ The first sign of emotion hardened Lorenzo’s voice. ‘It was left to your man, Adam, to inform me of this.’
‘I wanted to be certain before I came to you that my suspicions were right.’
‘Your man said your affection for Laora Martelli had clouded your judgement. That you were merely protecting her.’
Jack felt a rush of anger, but it vanished immediately. His feelings of betrayal paled into insignificance with his guilt and sadness over what had happened to the man he’d known since he was a boy, had lived and fought alongside. The memory of his fists striking Adam’s face and the fury in the man’s eyes on that night of fire and death refused to leave him. ‘That wasn’t what stopped me from informing you.’ He paused, aware he would keep the door to suspicion open if he admitted what he believed. But to close it would seal both Martelli and his daughter in guilt, and he would not do that. Not while there was still a chance Laora’s name could be cleared, at least from crimes she’d not committed. ‘I am certain Martelli is not the enemy you fear.’ He thought of the hole, high up in the wall behind him. ‘The one who may have spied upon you and been involved in Amaury’s abduction.’
‘And yet,’ said Lorenzo, rising and crossing to one of the shelves that lined the walls, this one enclosed behind a set of doors, criss-crossed with iron. ‘When my guards searched his palace, they found this.’ Lifting a key from his belt, Lorenzo twisted it in the lock on the cupboard door and opened it. He withdrew an object.
It was a gold chalice of extraordinary craftsmanship, two serpents twisting around its stem, rising to the cup which was cradled with wings – a caduceus, the staff of Hermes. Its rim was crusted with precious gems. At least ten thousand florins, Laora had said it was worth. Jack could see that value in every flash and glitter as Lorenzo turned it carefully in his hands. After a moment, he returned it to its place, locked the doors.
‘The theft is, I believe, the only crime Martelli committed against you,’ Jack said, when Lorenzo sat back down.
‘It was Laora who took it, wasn’t it? She knew where it was kept.’
Jack wanted to deny this, but knew it was futile. ‘She did so under duress. You must know her father’s temper. She was frightened for her life, signore. She intended to help me return it to you.’
‘Where is she now? After Martelli’s arrest, he and her stepmother claimed to know nothing of her whereabouts.’
‘I haven’t seen her since you left for Rome.’ Jack held Lorenzo’s needling stare. ‘My guess is she left the city.’
‘Well, God willing, I will find out soon enough in what ways Martelli was against me. He is in the Stinche. No one in there remains quiet for long.’
‘The Stinche?’ Jack knew of the notorious prison in the centre of the city, where debtors, traitors and murderers would await execution. He wondered what Laora would feel.
Lorenzo steepled his hands. ‘Explain to me, James, why you took the prince from my custody. How did you know he was in there?’
‘I didn’t know if I could trust you. I needed answers and felt I was getting no closer to them. I knew there was something you were hiding here, from what I overheard between Pico and Poliziano. I gained entry while you were at Fiesole.’ Jack felt Lorenzo’s eyes boring into him. He could see anger in those dark depths, but the man’s thoughts remained inscrutable.