Crossing To Paradise (12 page)

During
Mass in the basilica of Saint Mark, Gatty kept gazing up at the burnt gold cupola, and staring at the thousands of tiny colored stone circles and triangles and squares covering the floor, and tracing out their pictures and patterns with her right forefinger.

Two birds with breasts as blue as Lady Gwyneth's sapphire ring, their rusty tail-fans spotted with sapphire-and-saffron eyes…

Simona saw Gatty gazing at the mosaic peacocks. “They never, never die,” she whispered.

“I seen them before,” said Gatty. “Lord Stephen's got them. I heard them screaming.” She opened her mouth as wide as she could and pretended to scream.

“Gatty!” croaked Lady Gwyneth. “What do you think you're doing? Behaving like a jackdaw!”

As soon as Mass was over, Simona led the pilgrims straight across the huge orchard in front of Saint Mark's, then she dived down a long narrow passage and delivered them to the waterfront.

Two ships were moored there, heel to toe, one with two masts, the other with three; and on the quay in front of each was a white banner with a large scarlet cross sewn onto it.

“God has been good to us,” Lady Gwyneth exclaimed. “Yes, God has guided our footsteps.”

“Except for Saviour's,” said Nest.

Just a wisp of a sad smile played round the corners of Lady Gwyneth's lips. “This part of our journey will be easier for you, Emrys,” she said.

“I don't feel myself, my lady,” Emrys said. “Not without horses.”

Lady Gwyneth nodded. “I understand,” she replied warmly. “Still, yours will be waiting for you. And mine. And Syndod.”

“Syndod,” said Austin. “Syndod. Have you ever heard of Sinbad, Gatty?”

“Who?”

“Sinbad. He was a Saracen sailor. He came from Baghdad.”

“Like that merchant!” Gatty exclaimed. “In the story that nun told us.”

“Like us,” the priest said, “Sinbad went on a voyage. Seven voyages, in fact. His boat was attacked by little savages with yellow eyes, their bodies were covered in black fur, and they swarmed up the masts and gnawed all the ropes. Then Sinbad met a giant…”

“Tell us later, Austin,” Lady Gwyneth. “We have to choose our ship now.”

Austin deferred to Lady Gwyneth. He lifted his paw to his mouth and sucked it, as if he were a savage himself, draining the last drop of marrow from the bone.

“I hope we're not going to meet savages or giants,” said Snout.

“Or knotted serpents,” Austin said, “or seashell-birds, or cannibals who roast their captives, or Diamond Mountains.”

“Austin!” Lady Gwyneth exclaimed.

“I wouldn't count on it,” said Nakin. “There's no profit without peril.”

“Marvel!” Lady Gwyneth said. “That's what we must all do. Marvel at the wonders ahead of us, and thank God for them.”

Then Lady Gwyneth gasped, and clutched the right side of her stomach.

“My lady!” cried Nest, and the pilgrims gathered round Lady Gwyneth.

“It's all right,” sobbed Lady Gwyneth. “I think it is. Just a…sudden stab. A shooting star.”

Gatty looked at Lady Gwyneth. No, she's not a shooting star, she thought. Lady Gwyneth's our mother moon, leading us through the dark with her grace and her bright, sharp words. And we're the stars, trailing and traipsing along after her. Nest, she's the Swan, and Everard's the Lyre,
and Emrys, what's he? He's the Charioteer, no, Orion the Hunter, and Tilda, I don't know what she is.

Simona took Gatty's left elbow. “Over there,” she said. “That's Saint Nicholas.”

The moment she was aboard, Simona was as much at home as an ant in its hill. Busy and bright-eyed, she handed the pilgrims down from the gangplank to the deck, and led them to the stern, up a short flight of wooden steps into the tower, and out onto a platform.

The ship's captain was awaiting them, and so was a low table laden with jugs and little mugs and a large wooden platter piled with small, brightly-colored cakes. Gatty could scarcely take her eyes off them.

“I told him you were coming,” Simona told the pilgrims, and she kissed the captain on both his stubbly cheeks.

“Ah!” said Nakin, with the air of one moneymaker recognizing two more.

“Gobbo,” said the captain. “I am Gobbo.”

He stood with his legs slightly apart, knees flexed. His blue eyes bored into Gatty.

“My father's friend,” Simona explained, nodding and smiling.

After the captain had poured sweet wine, he offered each pilgrim a little square of cake—robin's egg blue and vetch yellow, thrift pink, willow.

“Marzipan,” said Gobbo, smiling. “Saint Mark's bread. Venice bread.”

“Very good,” said Snout, reaching out for another piece.

“Almonds and sugar,” Simona added.

Then Gobbo began to tell the pilgrims about the voyage in what he called his “Goodbad English.” He said it would take five weeks to sail to Jaffa, and that in Jaffa he would secure and pay for asses and mules to carry the pilgrims to Jerusalem. Gobbo promised the pilgrims seven full days in Jerusalem. He undertook to feed them with two hot meals each day, and to bring them safely back to Venice no later than the first day of September so that they could cross the mountains before winter.

“Other ship…” said Gobbo. He shrugged and burst into laughter.

“What?” asked Lady Gwyneth.

“You see,” said Gobbo.

“We will,” said Nakin, smiling and leaving his mouth slightly open, as if he hoped to trap something inside it. “We'll have a look for ourselves.”

Like any good salesman, Gobbo knew the advantage of knocking his rival but also knew it was more important to show off the advantages of what he had to offer, and to spoil his clients. He led the pilgrims on a tour of his ship, built in the Arsenale only two years before, and then he led them back up to the bridge where he regaled them with more sweet wine and marzipan.

“What's the price for each pilgrim?” Nakin asked.

The moment Gobbo named a figure, Nakin frowned. He mopped his brow; he kept tutting and shaking his head.

Gobbo drained his mug of wine and looked at Lady Gwyneth earnestly. “In God's name, my lady,” he said, “I hope you sail with me. I will…I will service you.”

“Serve you,” said Simona.

“I will serve you. You will never forget it.”

“Too expensive,” said Nakin.

The second ship, a filthy old galley, was altogether cheaper. Her barnacled bottom needed scraping, and so did her slimy insides, and she looked as if she might only be held together by layers of caulk.

“Gobbo has sails,” the captain said. “We have sails and oarsmen. High wind or flat calm, we are ready.” But he was nothing like as welcoming as Gobbo, and looked like a man soured by disappointment. His manner was charmless.

The pilgrims were of one mind. They wanted to sail with Gobbo. So, with a heavy tread, Nakin went back up the gangway to talk to him again.

The pilgrims waited quite some while until at last Nakin and Gobbo appeared at the end of the gangplank, smiling broad smiles. They beckoned the pilgrims aboard.

“
Deo gratias!
” Gobbo exclaimed, opening his arms wide. “You are wise pilgrims.”

“We are poor pilgrims,” Lady Gwyneth corrected him. And then, as soon as she was on her own with Nakin, “Did he lower the cost?”

Nakin nodded. “I told him the other captain was charging fifty silver groats for each pilgrim.”

“Nakin!” she exclaimed. “That's shameless. You know very well it was forty-five.”

“It's business!” said Nakin. “With truths and lies you buy and sell merchandise. Anyhow, I told Gobbo we couldn't begin to pay his price.”

“And so?”

“Forty groats,” said Nakin. “I've paid him the first half.”

“Disgraceful!” Lady Gwyneth said, smiling despite herself.

First Gobbo led the way back to the bridge, where those pilgrims who were able to write entered their names in a large black book. Gatty stuck out her tongue and wrote hers very slowly and carefully. Then she gave the quill back to Gobbo and he added the names of Nakin, Snout, Emrys and Tilda.

After this, the captain swarmed down the steps to the main deck and from there to the lowerdeck, altogether more purposeful than before. He spoke rapidly to Simona.

“This deck,” she said, “is where all the travelers have their quarters—pilgrims, envoys, Jews, Saracens, traders, everyone.”

“Saracens!” exclaimed Gatty.

Nakin stepped over to the port side. “We'll settle ourselves here,” he announced. “Better air. And fewer passengers tripping over us.”

“No,” said Gobbo.

“Why not?”

“This is for traders. Traders on port and starboard. Pilgrims in middle. Germans, Hungarians, French, English…”

“Welsh,” said Lady Gwyneth.

Nakin grunted and kneaded his dewlaps. But the deal was already
done; the contract was signed and the first part of the payment handed over. There was nothing he could do about it.

The captain picked up a hunk of chalk lying beside the bilge-pump. He drew a line on the deck about a head longer than Snout, the tallest man in the party, and another line parallel to it and three feet away from it. Then he squared it off into a coffin-shaped box.

“Name?” he said. “You?”

“Snout.”

Gobbo wrote a large S inside the box, and proceeded to draw another line, another box the same size, and to label it, and so he continued until all the pilgrims were accounted for.

“I'm not sleeping next to Nakin,” Everard said in a prickly voice.

“And I'm not sleeping next to my husband,” Tilda complained, “and I should be.”

“Of course, Tilda,” Lady Gwyneth reassured her, “and I must have Nest and Gatty on either side of me. We can sort out who has which berth when we come aboard.”

“Last night of May,” Gobbo told them. “We sail at dawn on the first day of June.”

“First,” said Simona, “festival in Venice! Venice marries the sea! Elephant in Venice! Murano glass! Music! Saint Nicholas!” The pitch of her voice was rising higher and higher, in tune with her excitement.

“And time for us to get over our aches and pains,” Lady Gwyneth said. “It's only when you stop that you realize how exhausted you are.”

“You buy pilgrim badges,” Gobbo told them. “You buy bones.”

“Bones?” asked Gatty.

“In Venice,” remarked Lady Gwyneth, “everyone seems to be buying, selling, making contracts, banking, extending credit, securing loans, charging interest. Even the nuns in our hospice. They wanted to charge us double for our hot meal yesterday because it was a holy day.”

“And almost every day's a holy day,” Everard added.

“So!” said Gobbo. “Archangel Raphael and Saint Martha…”

“…and Saint Christopher and Michael the Archangel,” said Simona.

“They all protect pilgrims,” said Gobbo. “Each day we arrange you go to one shrine?”

“I will take you,” said Simona, but none of the pilgrims looked particularly enthusiastic.

While the pilgrims filed down the gangplank, Simona dawdled for a moment with Gobbo. Looking over her shoulder, Gatty saw Simona scrape his cheek with one painted fingernail and kiss him, and then the captain counted out a number of shining silver coins and Simona slipped them into her breast pocket.

A seagull left its perch—a tall spear with one of the pilgrim banners tied to it—and flew away, screaming. Dark wavelets swallowed themselves and turned silver. Gobbo's ship groaned. Gatty could smell seaweed, salt and, from somewhere, burning bread. Out of a high window appeared two naked arms, and then someone leaned out—wearing an ugly mask!

Gatty frowned. In Venice, nothing was quite as it seemed to be, and everything kept changing. One moment the city was candid; the next secretive. One moment cradle-safe, the next coffin-threatening. One moment beautiful, the next hideous.

Gatty
woke from a confused dream, but the words in her head were clean and clear:

On your two shoulders you carry the skies.
Head-in-the-clouds! You got stars in your eyes.

But the I that I am is made of these I's:
An earth-fingered girl whose thick tongue ties,
Stumbling and slow for all that I tries.
Yet I got a true heart that never lies.
I seen despair and know what hope buys.

On your two shoulders you carry the skies.
Head-in-the-clouds! You got stars in your eyes.

Lying between Lady Gwyneth and Tilda, Gatty opened her eyes wide to the darkness, and listened.

A bat looping the loop…the double-thump of her heart…the sound of hair growing on the back of the dog in the corner of the room…the faint hissing of the moon's misty halo…

Lady Gwyneth gave a start, and moaned. Gatty gently nuzzled her, and Lady Gwyneth sank into deeper sleep again.

At first light, though, Lady Gwyneth sat bolt upright, clutching her stomach, and Gatty sat up beside her.

“It's worse,” she said.

“Must be that eel,” Gatty said quietly. “That's when it began. It's the only thing you had what we didn't.”

Lady Gwyneth breathed in deeply, and let out her breath bit by juddering bit.

“All over?” Gatty asked.

Lady Gwyneth licked her lips. “No,” she whispered. “Here. My right side.”

“I wish Johanna was here,” Gatty said. “Our wisewoman at Caldicot. She's got a temper on her, and a mustache and whiskers, but she knows the best medicines.”

“So does Tilda,” whispered Lady Gwyneth.

“I'll wake her, my lady.”

“Not yet,” said Lady Gwyneth. “Look at her! All those boils.”

“Everyone at Caldicot got boils once,” Gatty said. “Not even Johanna could cure them.”

Lady Gwyneth took a deep breath. “I want you to go to the festival today,” she said in a low voice.

“What do you mean, my lady?”

“Without me.”

“No, my lady!”

“I'll rest here today.”

“I'll stay with you.”

“No, Gatty. I know how you and Nest have been looking forward to it. Out on the water with Simona and her brothers.”

Gatty shook her head until her curls danced.

“You're my chamber-servant,” Lady Gwyneth said, “and you will do as I say. I want you and Nest to go. I want everyone to go.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Lady Gwyneth grasped Gatty's left forearm. “Help me up,” she instructed her. “If I stand up, it may ease the pressure and the pain.”

Gatty put her hands beneath Lady Gwyneth's shoulders, and lifted her. Arm in arm, the two of them walked carefully across the dormitory and out into the passage.

Lady Gwyneth gave Gatty a wan smile. “How strong-willed you are,” she said.

Gatty stuck out her chin. “I wouldn't be here if I wasn't.”

“Weren't,” Lady Gwyneth corrected her.

“Weren't,” said Gatty. “All these weren'ts and wasn'ts and wouldn'ts!”

“You're always playing with words,” Lady Gwyneth said.

“I never thought about them before I came to Ewloe,” Gatty replied. “My lady, can I ask you something?”

“What, Gatty?”

“About your plan?”

Lady Gwyneth frowned.

“Your and Nakin's plan for me? On the boat?”

Lady Gwyneth slowly shook her head.

“I heard you. I did. And Nakin said he'd got a plan.”

Lady Gwyneth's breath quickened. She was almost panting. “Gatty,” she said. “We weren't talking about you.”

Gatty stared at Lady Gwyneth. “Not about me?”

“No.”

“Who, then?”

“You shouldn't have been listening, anyhow.”

“Nest, was it?”

Lady Gwyneth sighed. “It doesn't matter any more,” she said. “We all have our weaknesses but we've all got used to each other. But you, Gatty! Don't you know how much I've depended on you? Haven't I told you?”

“You told me not to answer back,” Gatty replied, “and you said I'm disobedient and stubborn and that.” She laughed, she felt so happy. “I've been worrying about your plan since the day I overheard you.”

“Misheard me,” Lady Gwyneth corrected her. She gingerly removed her left hand from her stomach. “Well! Talking to you has eased my pain a little,” she said.

“And me,” said Gatty eagerly. “I'll stay here with you, my lady.”

“That you won't,” said Lady Gwyneth. “Dear God! I'm perfectly all right.”

Before Simona collected the pilgrims from the hospice at noon, one of the nuns opened a gourd and very carefully poured out a spoonful of brown treacle that looked exactly like the foul stream Gatty and Simona had jumped on their way to the Arsenale.

“Teriaca!” the nun exclaimed. “
Tout!
”

“It's called teriaca,” Everard translated, “and it cures everything. Everything except for the plague, I suppose. You can't cure death!”

“If you catch the plague, you're dead before you're dead,” said Tilda.

“The best medicine in the world,” Everard translated. “Stomach, intestines, liver, kidney, worms.”

“What's it made of?” Tilda asked.

“
Ambre
…” the nun began.

“Amber,” said Everard. “Rose petals. Opium. Pepper. Sixty different herbs.”

“Sixty!” exclaimed Nest.

The effect of the teriaca on Lady Gwyneth was almost immediate. She lay back, and closed her eyes, and began to snore.

The nun gave the pilgrims a knowing smile. “
Le sommeil
,” she said. “Panacea.”

“Sleep,” said Everard. “The best medicine.”

Nest yawned.

The nun said she would keep an eye on Lady Gwyneth throughout the afternoon, but when Nest asked her whether there was any more comfortable bedding in the hospice, she replied that everyone—nuns and pilgrims alike—slept on straw mattresses.

“I can see she's a fine lady,” Everard translated, as the nun pointed at Lady Gwyneth with a charmingly arched little finger, no less delicate than the quills of her plucked eyebrows. “So she must be used to fine clothes and fine bedding.”

“We're all the worse for wear,” Austin said. “This long pilgrimage has worn her out.”

“Well,” she said, “my advice to you is to buy her a feather bed and pillows and sheets. She'll need them between Venice and Jaffa, unless she wants to sleep on bare boards.”

“Where can we buy them?” asked Nest.

“Out of my pockets!” Nakin said with a loud sigh.

“I do know a man who can let you have them cheap,” Everard translated, “and you can sell them back to him when you return to Venice.”

Gatty eyed the nun, and recalled what Lady Gwyneth had said about everyone in Venice buying and selling. Here was this charming, finely boned nun, who had taken vows of chastity, obedience and poverty, excited by making a profit.

When Simona arrived, the pilgrims were glad to set out of the hospice into the misty sunshine of San Marco.

Inside the ring of people was an enormous grey animal, at least four times as large as Syndod, waving its long, thick nose in the air.

“Our elephant,” said Simona. “Venice elephant. Tiny.”

“Tiny?” exclaimed Gatty.

“That's his name! He comes from a floating island—an island that dances when it hears music.”

The pilgrims stared at this creature, amazed. He looked bald; he had little piggy eyes and pointed tusks and huge ear-flaps hanging down on either side of his head.

“Young elephant,” Simona told them. “Only three years old.”

“Look how he can stretch his nose!” Gatty cried in delight.

Tiny's owner picked up a handful of hay and laid it on the flat of Gatty's outstretched hand. Then Tiny curved and lowered his nose, delicately removed the hay and twisted it up to his mouth.

“You do it,” Gatty told Nest.

“No,” Nest said at once.

“Elephants are gentle,” Simona reassured her. “Their enemies are bulls
and dragons. Dragons lasso them with their tails, and when they fall over they can't stand up again.”

“How do you know?” Nest demanded.

“Only one beast frightens an elephant,” Simona continued. She said something to Tiny's owner, and he took a little box out of a pocket. When he opened it, a mouse scuttled out of it, right between the elephant's legs.

Tiny lurched backwards, waved his trunk and roared. He trumpeted to high heaven, and showered everyone with spittle and saliva.

The mouse didn't know which way to turn and, before it had made up its mind, Tiny's owner pounced on it and put it back into the box.

Simona winked at Nest. “You know how to make babies?” she asked.

Nest put her hand over her mouth.

“Don't encourage her!” Snout told Simona.

“When elephants make babies,” Simona told them, “they stand back to back!”

And with that, she saluted Tiny's owner and led the pilgrims down to the waterfront.

The Grand Canal and the lagoon were seething with hundreds and hundreds of little boats, flapping sails, flashing oars, men and women and children, shouting and singing.

Simona made her way through the mass of milling people to three small boats lying side by side, each of them manned by two of Simona's brothers.

Then Uno and Due, who was a monk, handed Austin, Everard, and Snout aboard the first boat, and Emrys, Tilda, and Nakin stepped onto the middle boat.

“
Sì,
” said Sei, reaching out for Nest. “
Sì
.”

Nest gave him her fingertips, and Sei bent over them and kissed them, and then reached out for Gatty. “
Sì,
” he said.

Gatty gave Cinque a knowing look. She grasped the swept-up bow and swung herself aboard.

“
Brava!
” laughed Simona.

And with that, they were off—three boats in a fleet of almost three hundred, arching their necks and advancing across the dazzling lagoon.

“Where are we going?” asked Nest.

“Look at those people!” Gatty exclaimed, pointing at a small group standing on a pale mudflat, waving giant spades. “What's going on?”

“Saltpans,” said Simona. “Salt-gatherers.”

“It wouldn't surprise me,” Nest declared, “if Venetians were halfhuman and half-fish.”

“Like mermaids and mermen, you mean?” asked Gatty.

“Sei's a merman,” Simona exclaimed, and she said something to her brother.

Then Sei rested his oar and held up his hands. They were webbed.

Nest and Gatty gasped.

“His feet are webbed too,” Simona told them.

Sei laughed and reached out towards Nest with both hands.

“He says you're a mermaid with your beautiful long gold hair,” Simona translated.

“I haven't got scales,” Nest protested. She showed Sei her pale arms and stroked them.

“Sei says life is a boat,” Simona translated. “He says love is free.”

Nest giggled, and then fluttered her eyelids at Sei.

As the armada of little boats drew close to the sea-gate, Cinque and Sei kept showing off their skills, shipping their oars, resting them, backpaddling, avoiding the other boats, working their way closer and closer to a much larger ship, painted gold all over, with scarlet and azure banners draped over her gunwales.

“Ship of the Doge,” Simona told Gatty and Nest.

Almost at once, four trumpeters raised their trumpets and four drummers raised their drumsticks.

“Ohh!” breathed Gatty. “I wish Lady Gwyneth…”

Nest put her forefinger to her lips. “
Hisht
!” she whispered.

Gatty glared at Nest. “I WISH SHE WAS HERE!” she said loudly.

“
Sei! Pronto!
” Simona told her brother. “Ready!”

Sei stood up and pulled his loose white cloth shirt over his head. Then he peeled off his tight breeches so that he was wearing nothing but his braies. Nest could scarcely bring herself to look, but, looking, she was relieved to see that Sei had no scales at all.

Then Simona pointed out a man standing at the gunwale high above them, dressed in crimson velvet and wearing a thick gold chain. “It is the Doge's son,” she said. “Ranier.”

“What's he doing?” asked Gatty. “What's he got in his hand?”

“A gold-and-diamond ring,” Simona replied. “He drops it into the water.”

“Why?” demanded Gatty.

“To show the sea belongs to Venice, and must serve us all as a wife serves her husband. Venice gives a ring to the sea each year, and many, many people dive after it.”

Around them, everyone began to shout and whistle and stamp—the boards and planks of all their little boats boomed.

How long did Ranier stand there? How long did he show the ring to the people of Venice?

All at once, there was a howling and scuffling as Sei and a host of young men and young girls, more modestly clad, dove into the water.

“No one has ever saved a ring,” said Simona, shaking her head.

“What if you do?” asked Nest.

“It's yours to keep.”

At this moment, Sei resurfaced like a cork popping out of a bottle. He gasped, took a deep breath and plunged straight back into the water again.

Cinque drew his lute from its leather bag. He plucked it and began to sing.

“The years wheel us round,” Simona translated.

“
The years wheel us round,
Our whole life's a quest,
And Death in his black mask
Is no more than a jest.

All times are good times
But first times are best:
For mermaids with mermen,
And for Sei with Nest!
”

“Sing it again!” said Nest, smiling.

Sei surfaced for a second time, and grabbed the side of the little boat. He reached out—to Nest—and Nest gave him her hand. Sei clambered in, spluttering and dripping.