Crossing To Paradise (17 page)

In the early afternoon, Gobbo's ship sailed into the welcoming little horseshoe harbor on the island of Curzola. Unwelcome news awaited them.

“Crusaders!”
the harbormaster told Gobbo. “We're expecting the main fleet tomorrow. They'll eat your food and rape your women and commandeer your boat.”

“We'll take aboard provisions and water and leave immediately,” Gobbo said.

“There's danger to the south as well,” the harbormaster warned him. “A boat came in from Corfu yesterday and the captain said he couldn't get away fast enough. They've caught the plague.”

“We'll have to take our chance on it,” Gobbo replied.

Ashore on Curzola, Gobbo's passengers stretched and shook themselves and explored the little town. But pleased as they were to go ashore, they were no less pleased to come aboard again.

Soon after sunrise next morning, most of the passengers gathered on deck. They shielded their eyes, and marveled at the huge walls of the city of Ragusa.

“The crusaders could never lay siege to it,” Nakin said. “Not unless they get right round the back.”

“There are other ways,” Everard sang out.

“I see,” said Nakin nastily. “And what ways are those?”

“Seven priests,” said Everard, “blowing rams' horns for six days, remember? Then on the seventh morning all the people shouted and the walls fell down flat.”

“Jericho!” Gatty and Nest exclaimed together.

“Yes!” said Everard. “Music is mightier than the sword.”

True, a few passengers did their best to sleep by day as well as by night, but most of them passed the day on the main deck. Some exercised by walking round and round, planting their legs nicely apart like seasoned seafarers; three Germans climbed up and down and up and down a
swinging rope ladder. Osman the astronomer sat cross-legged and listened to the voluble Scotsman. Each morning Everard gave Gatty and Nest reading and writing lessons. Snout did his best to talk to a Norman pilgrim who spoke a few words of English and whose lord owned land somewhere in the north of England. Emrys sat on his own, athwart a spar, whittling at a piece of wood. And Tilda spent most of the time leaning over a gunwale, telling her rosary.

“This sea-journey,” she said to Emrys, “it's a kind of time between times. You're not busy with the horses. I'm not busy mixing medicines or cooking.”

Emrys agreed. “It's like Yuletide.”

When Gatty and Nest had finished their lessons, Nest ran her fingers through Gatty's hair. Then she took a little comb from her purse, and started to tease out the tangles. “Come on!” she said. “We'll have to wash it first. We can use water from one of the barrels.”

“You can't! That's for drinking.”

“For drinking and washing hair,” Nest said firmly. “The water-sailor lets me.”

Nest not only had a comb but soap as well.

“Where did you get that from?” asked Gatty.

Nest smiled. “Sei gave it to me.”

“That's not all he gave you neither,” Gatty said knowingly.

Nest gripped Gatty's wrist. “Oh, Gatty! I never knew I could feel like this.” She stared at Gatty, in panic almost.

Gatty stroked Nest's forearm.

“You and Arthur?”

“What about us?”

“Do you feel the same?”

Gatty smiled a small sad smile. “I'm a land-girl,” she said. “Well, I was. He's a young knight.” Gatty thought for a while. “I've scarcely seen him for three years. I was only twelve then. Twelve, thirteen…Anyhow, he's betrothed to Winnie. For you, Nest, it's here and now. For me, it's just a dream. I know it can't never be.”

“Is that what Arthur thinks?”

“I told you, he's betrothed now.”

But Gatty knew and treasured what Simona had told her: “Arthur said you and he have the best times. You share the best times, and talk about everything.”

“I should have stayed in Venice,” Nest said. “I want to go back.”

“Sei will still be there after Jerusalem,” Gatty replied.

“No! I can't wait that long.”

“You can't go back,” Gatty told her.

“Come on!” said Nest. “Your hair. It's so lovely, much better than mine. All your thick curls. Gold-and-silver. It's just you don't look after it.”

While Nest was rinsing Gatty's hair, two sailors came clattering down the hatchway.

“
Presto!
” they said loudly. “
An diamo!
” And they pushed both girls up the ladder.

When they stepped out into the bright light, Gatty and Nest saw all the passengers and sailors—more than one hundred people in all—gathered round the mainmast. Gobbo was standing on a hawser and the talkative Scotsman was next to him.

“What is it?” Gatty asked Snout.

But before he could reply, Gobbo called out in good English, “One of you has stolen this man's scrip. His scrip, and the coins inside it. Five gold coins. Three silver coins.”

“And quills,” the Scotsman added. “And inks.”

“I will not have it!” Gobbo bellowed. “Not on my ship!”

Nest threaded her fingers through Gatty's.

“You can be sure,” Gobbo went on, “no one will disembark until we've found and punished this thief.”

“One of the sailors,” Nakin muttered. “Must be.”

“And I've a very good idea who it is,” Gobbo called out in English.

Now many of the passengers began to point at Gatty and her companions.

Emrys cleared his throat. “Says who?” he demanded. “What if it wasn't anyone on this ship?”

“It is!” Gobbo retorted. He pointed straight at Gatty, and Gatty wished the sea would open its jaws and swallow her.

Nest squeezed Gatty's fingers and Snout wedged himself in front of them. “Are you saying Gatty stole the scrip?” he demanded.

“No!” said Gobbo slowly. “She's not the only one who goes off on her own, and noses around other people's berths, and walks by night…”

“It wasn't you,” said Snout under his breath.

“Of course not!” Gatty retorted.

“Have no doubt!” said Gobbo in a threatening voice. “I'll find the thief.”

The suspicion hanging over the passengers also came between them. Some people gossiped and pointed fingers, some padded about on their own, gazing over gunwales. Days passed and everyone waited to see what Gobbo would do.

The sun was like a young lion. It roared. It pounced on the passengers, and Gatty wrapped a cloth round and round her head to stop it from burning.

Osman approached her while she was daydreaming in the shadow of the forecastle.

“Oh! You startled me.”

“May I give you some advice? Before I disembark.”

“You're not coming to Jerusalem?”

The astronomer shook his head. “My friend Michael and I…”

“The Scotsman?”

“A friend to all Saracens,” Osman said, “and to scholarship. He's translating a great book about medicine from Arabic into Latin.”

Gatty slowly shook her head. “I didn't know,” she said.

“We're on our way to Byzantium,” Osman told her, “to talk to scholars there.”

“What about his scrip?”

The astronomer shrugged. “He'll have to live without it. And someone will have to live with the guilt of stealing it. But you, Gatty, you're going to Crete and Cyprus, Jaffa and Jerusalem. You'll meet many Saracens.”

“I'm not afraid,” said Gatty. “Not now I've met you and them traders in Venice.”

“This is my advice,” Osman said. “When you meet a Saracen, you shouldn't laugh.”

“Not laugh?” exclaimed Gatty. “Why not?”

“He'll think you're laughing at him.” The astronomer paused. “And you shouldn't wear a white turban.”

“What's that?”

“A white cloth, wrapped around your head.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Gatty, and she quickly pulled off her head cloth. “Mine's white—well, it was!”

“It's what we wear when we mourn our dead,” Osman explained.

“I am mourning,” Gatty said quickly. “I'm mourning Lady Gwyneth.”

“Then your turban is quite proper,” the astronomer said gently. “When you're in Allah's realm, it's wise to do as Allah's worshippers do.”

“What else?” asked Gatty.

“If you were a man,” Osman went on, “I'd warn you not to stare at Saracen women. And, Gatty, be very careful never to step over a Saracen's grave. You must always respect the dead, otherwise the living will avenge them.”

“I do respect them,” said Gatty, “and at home we put flowers on graves, and kneel and pray in the graveyard. We keep our dead company.”

“Travelers often give offense without meaning to,” Osman said. “I've enjoyed talking with you, Gatty. May the moon and stars shine on you. May your mind and heart remain open.”

“I wish you were coming to Jerusalem,” Gatty told him.

“Do you think Gobbo knows who it is?” Nest asked Gatty on the day before the ship reached landfall.

“He's watching us,” said Gatty.

“What's the punishment?” Nest said in a small voice.

Gatty pushed out her lower lip. “One person says it's three duckings. Another says it's a fine. Another says it's your right hand chopped off. That's what happened when Lankin stole the mutton at Caldicot.”

Nest shuddered.

“But Emrys says he thinks it's drowning.”

“Oh!” cried Nest.

“The thief's arms and legs are lashed, and he—or she—is thrown overboard.”

“That's horrible!” whispered Nest. And then, after a while, “Do you know who did it?”

“Do you, Nest?” asked Gatty.

Nest nodded. Her eyes were as wide as shining coins, and she looked terrified.

“Oh, Nest!” cried Gatty, and she seized Nest by the shoulders, and hugged her.

Nest shook. She burrowed into Gatty.

“Why, Nest, why?”

“I need it!” cried Nest.

“Need it?”

“To pay my way back to Venice.”

Gatty shook her head. “The fare's already paid. We're going back there after Jerusalem.”

“What if I'm pregnant?” Nest began to sob. “I think I may be. I want to go back.”

Gatty wrapped her arms right round Nest, and Nest trembled and wept.

“Sei and I…” she began, “we mean everything to each other. I was
blind. I didn't even look after Lady Gwyneth properly, not when she needed me most. Now she's gone and Sei's gone and I'm alone.”

“No, you're not,” said Gatty.

“I deserve to drown,” Nest said.

Gatty held her tightly. “If you drown, we'll drown together,” she said. “Come on! I'm here. We all are.”

Nest gulped.

Gatty pushed Nest a little away from her without letting go. “Right!” she said. “First things first.”

“What do you mean?”

“You must put it back. I'll stand guard.”

Nest's and Gatty's luck held. No one noticed when they slipped down to the deserted lower deck, and no one saw how Gatty stood on the lowest rung of the ladder while Nest disappeared into the creaking, stinking gloom.

Nest's heart was pounding when she rejoined Gatty.

“Right!” said Nest. “No one can prove it.”

When, that evening, the Scotsman discovered his scrip wedged under his mattress, he was perplexed and much relieved.

“I could have survived without gold and silver,” he told Gobbo, “but I'm very glad to be reunited with my quills and my inks again.”

Gobbo smiled grimly. “Sometimes inaction is the best action,” he said.

“Very shrewd!” the Scotsman observed. “And maybe very merciful of you! You know who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” the captain replied.

When Gatty saw how the landing boat, unstrapped from the side of the ship, leaped around on the waves, she was glad Gobbo had instructed everyone to stay aboard because of the plague on Corfu.

First the boat dropped, then it climbed steeply, then dropped again. Osman and Michael stood poised to jump aboard several times, and they got completely soaked. Only with daring, and the good luck that bravery invites, did they at last both throw themselves into the bottom of the boat.

Gatty and Nest watched. They waved, and the astronomer and the Scotsman waved back.

“Do you really think you are?” Gatty asked. “Pregnant?”

“I don't know,” said Nest. “I feel different.”

“Sea journeys make us feel different. That's what Nakin says.”

Nest shook her head. “It's not like that.”

“And the sea makes some of us do things we'd never do on land.”

“This morning I vomited, and the sea wasn't even rough.”

“Well, we can't do nothing, can we?” Gatty said. “We're going to Jerusalem. That's the first thing.”

“Sei doesn't even know,” said Nest, clasping her stomach, “but he loves me, I do know that. I've worked it out. If I am, I'll be fifteen weeks by the time I see him.”

“Almost halfway,” said Gatty.

“I wish I was home.” Nest's voice rose to a wail almost. “I don't know! I wish Lady Gwyneth was here.”

On
they went; on.

By the time Gobbo's ship eased through lashing rain into the port of Candia in Crete ten days later, there was very little water left in the barrels on the passengers' deck, and that was rancid—good enough to wash salt-sticky hair but foul to drink. Gatty's companions religiously put drops of their holy water into it, but it made no difference.

The food had taken a turn for the worse as well. Worms, some white and some rust-colored, threaded their way through the store of meat, and although plenty got crushed underfoot or tossed overboard, plenty more were mashed into the kitchen stew pots.

On most mornings, Gatty and Nest did their lessons despite Nest complaining that there was no point now that Lady Gwyneth had died.

“No point!” repeated Everard. “Everything you say makes you seem more foolish.” He tilted his head and shook it sadly. “Whereas,” he said, “the point of words is wisdom.”

“You know what that astronomer told me?” said Gatty. “He said the quill is a miracle because it drinks darkness and sheds light.”

“Very good!” exclaimed Everard. “True, and succinct.”

“What's succinct?” asked Gatty.

“To the point,” said Everard. “When one word does for two.”

“It never does for Oliver,” said Gatty, smiling. “Our priest at Caldicot.”

Gatty had also resumed her singing lessons with Everard. But then her throat was too sore, and for several days her voice was foggy.

“During this pilgrimage,” Everard told her, “the sound of your voice has grown fuller. Less silver, more gold.”

“Why's that, then?” asked Gatty.

“Less of a girl, more of a woman.”

Gatty shrugged.

“You must learn to hear yourself,” Everard said.

“How?”

“Feel your voice. Feel your whole body. When you sing in one way, you can feel it in your fingertips; in another, you can hear it in your shoulders. We think we hear sound only with our ears but it's not like that.”

“I can smell what I hear,” Gatty said. “Sometimes, anyhow.”

“You have a beautiful voice,” Everard said. “I want whoever hears you to feel passion.”

Not only Gatty had a sore throat. As so often, Snout did. He stuck three fingers into each of his nostrils. “Everything good and everything bad,” he said. “They let it all in.”

Then Emrys became hoarse too. He could scarcely swallow his supper.

“Everything's horse with Emrys,” said Tilda. “His voice is hoarse. He thinks horse and talks horse…”

“…and eats horse,” laughed Nakin.

“Never!” croaked Emrys.

“You just have,” said Nakin, smiling. “The cook told me.”

Emrys grimaced and delved into his pocket. He fished out something.

“What is it?” Gatty asked.

Emrys opened his hands. “Yours,” he whispered.

Gatty stared at the little lumpen dun pony standing there.

Syndod!

“Oh!” cried Gatty. “Look. The way she arches her neck. Look. Her white stockings.”

“The grain of the wood,” Emrys croaked. “It came out like that. She's yours, Gatty.”

Then Gatty threw both arms around Emrys's neck. “I wondered what you were carving,” she said. “You wouldn't show no one.”

“Best like that,” the stableman said, “until you're finished.”

Emrys's carving; Gatty's lessons with Everard; Nakin's stories about a desert country where all the people have dogs' faces, and another one about
a country called India, where living women are burned with their dead husbands, unless they have children: The long journey was like a shimmering dream interrupted only by small landmarks such as these, just as little islands interrupt the sea.

One day Gatty and Nest watched big fish leap shining behind the ship; one day they alarmed Tilda by pretending they had knotted their limbs and were unable to untie themselves; and one day Nest busied herself with Gatty's appearance. “The better you look, the better you feel,” she told her.

First Nest coiled Gatty's curls, so that they were like the golden springs of some marvelous mechanical clock; then she unpicked the scarlet cross on the right shoulder of Gatty's cloak and sewed it back above her right breast.

“You're utterly shameless!” Tilda told them both. “Drawing attention to what you should hide.”

“I wish we were at Ewloe,” Nest said. “Lady Gwyneth's got two chests full of glass necklaces and furs and cuffs and belts and satin skirts and slippers and we could try them on. When we get back…Oh, Gatty!”

“What?”

“Will we be able to? Without Lady Gwyneth? What will happen to us?”

“I don't know,” said Gatty. “I'll go to Caldicot, I suppose.”

“It's not the same for me. You know it's not,” said Nest. “I've lived at Ewloe since I was eleven, and Lady Gwyneth cared for me.”

“I haven't got no one to go back to neither,” Gatty told her.

“I know,” sighed Nest. “Lady Gwyneth said I'd got more in common with you than I thought. You can tell me if you want to.”

“I will and all,” said Gatty. “I will some time. There's not much to tell, though.”

“I have,” said Nest. She knew she was pregnant; she didn't doubt it. She listened to her body, and her body told her so. It sounded the seachange within her; her crossing-place.

Rain or no rain, the passengers crowded onto the main deck as Gobbo's ship drifted into Candia, greatly relieved at the prospect of going ashore. But no sooner had the sailors thrown ropes to the harbormen, and let down the gangways, than a handsome man with blond hair strode—in fact, he almost bounced—up the ramp onto the ship.

Gobbo was waiting to meet him. The two men embraced and immediately walked away from the passengers, talking.

“Look at his gown!” Nest marveled. “That fur. And the scarlet lining.”

Gatty shook her head, and grinned. “I'm looking at you,” she said. “Your face!”

“
Avanti! Avanti!
” the sailors shouted.

Then all the passengers jostled each other, like a flock of sheep penned for too long; they streamed down the gangway, and stepped onto the quay.

Whereas time aboard drifted, time ashore was in a hurry. Arm in arm, Gatty and Nest explored the market and, as the rain blew away and the hot sun glared down, everything smelt as good as it looked: freshly cut bunches of rosemary and thyme, wooden bowls heaped with rice and cumin, little cones of currants and cloves and cinnamon.

But then Gatty and Nest saw two dark-skinned girls, sitting next to a stall in the sandy mud, wearing manacles and leg irons.

“What have they done?” Gatty asked.

No one could speak English.

Gatty squatted down beside the girls, and the smaller one momentarily raised her almond eyes, then lowered them again.

The stallholder tapped Gatty on the shoulder and showed her four hands of fingers.

“Ten…fifteen…twenty,” Gatty worked out. “They're never twenty. They're younger than us, Nest.”

“That's the cost,” said Nest.

“The cost!” cried Gatty.

“They're for sale,” said Nest uneasily. “Come on now.”

Still thinking of the girls in chains, Gatty and Nest walked away from the market.

“Look!” said Nest. “The sky's turning rusty.”

Next moment, the air was full of flying dust and grit. Gatty and Nest pulled up their hoods and covered their faces with their scarves but it still got into their eyes, their noses, their throats, their clothing.

Once the dust storm had passed through, Gatty and Nest shook themselves out and ambled into the town's Venetian quarter. Fluttering pennants were strung across the narrow streets. First they came across a hubbub of Cretans sitting at benches in a kind of open pit, drinking and eating skewers of roasted lamb; and then they realized they were being followed by two dark-haired young men.

“Ignore them!” Nest told Gatty. “If you take any notice, it will only encourage them.”

When Nest stopped at a stall selling ceramic and glass beads, Gatty walked on—just a dozen paces—and at once the men closed in on her.

At first Gatty did try to ignore them, but then she grew impatient. She shook her head in exasperation and swatted them away as if they were overgrown black flies. The young men laughed, and made vulgar gestures; they hopped and skipped around her.

“Go away!” exclaimed Gatty, and she tried to walk faster.

All at once, one of the men grabbed Gatty's right hand and pulled her off balance. Then the other seized her left hand, and together they dragged her down a dark passage leading out of the narrow street.

“Help!” Gatty yelled. “Help!”

But there was no one in the passage, and Nest was too far away to hear her.

Gatty wrestled; she tried to bite the men's hands; but she couldn't break free.

At the end of the passage, Gatty found her footing, but the first young man bared his white teeth and put his arms right round her.

“Stop it!” Gatty protested, and she kicked his shins.

Grinning, he slipped both his hands inside Gatty's short shift and slid them up over her breasts.

“No!” shouted Gatty.

But the other man, standing behind Gatty, put his hands round her waist and tried to untie the cord of her breeches.

Gatty would never have been able to break free on her own, but by sheer good fortune Nest ran into Emrys, Snout, and Tilda. She told them at once about the two young men, and as soon as Emrys and Snout saw the little passage, they suspected the worst. Hurrying down it, they called out for Gatty; and when they saw what was happening, they raised their long staffs.

They jabbed the two young men with the metal prongs; they whacked them; they drove them off.

Gatty sank to her knees, gasping, and remained there for a while.

“Come on, girl,” said Snout, helping her up.

Gatty felt as if all her strength had drained out of her body.

“Come on!” said Snout. “Carry your own weight, girl.”

Gatty looked at Snout and Emrys. She was flushed, and disheveled, and shaky, and outraged.

“I couldn't escape,” she panted.

“We saw,” said Snout.

“Just in time!” Emrys added.

Then each man took one of Gatty's arms, up under her shoulders, and together they made their way back along the passage.

Nest and Tilda were awaiting them, and at once Gatty stepped into Nest's embrace. She stood completely still, as if carved out of stone, until she could hear her breath steadying.

Gatty took a step back. She puffed out her pink cheeks, then gently blew out all the air.

“What did you say to them?” Tilda demanded.

Gatty shook her head. “Get off!”

“No,” said Tilda. “Before that. You must have encouraged them.”

“I didn't!” said Gatty sharply.

“I told you,” said Nest. “I told you to ignore them.”

“You're one to talk,” Tilda told Nest. “Gatty, you're fifteen. You're a tender young woman. Can't you see how men are drawn to you?”

“Men!” Gatty exclaimed angrily. “Animals!”

“Yes,” said Emrys. “A few men are. You must take more care.”

“You certainly must!” said Tilda. “And all the more so now we've sailed south. The darker a man's skin, the more hot-blooded he is.”

Walking sedately back to the ship, Gatty felt troubled. She didn't want anyone to know what had just happened—anyone except Nest, perhaps. She felt somehow so ashamed.

Gatty thought of the laughing students, John and Geoff, on the way to Canterbury; the handsome cowherd in the mountains who had so devoutly pressed a cowslip into her hands. She thought of Arthur…

“Now, Gatty! You remember what I said,” Tilda told her as they walked along the quay. “Moths to a flame! Bees to a honeypot!”

Is Tilda right then? Gatty wondered. About men, how they see me? She remembered how Nest had teased out the tangles in her salt-sticky hair, and washed it for her, and coiled her golden curls, and told her she could be beautiful.

“I do want to break rocks,” she said under her breath.

“What's that?”

“I do want a boy who's bright-eyed for me,” Gatty said seriously, “but only if I am for him.”

“That's as may be,” Tilda replied.

When Gatty and Nest came aboard again, Gobbo was waiting for them. He greeted them, smiling, and led them straight up to his cabin in the forecastle.

“Now, young ladies,” he began, pouring each of them a little egg-cup of sticky yellow wine. “Muscatel. The finest wine made here on this island.”

Gatty sipped it. The wine tasted strong and sweet.

“A gift to you,” said Gobbo.

“Who from?” asked Nest.

“You saw him come aboard, I think.”

“That man!” said Gatty. “The one with fair hair.”

“The handsome one!” exclaimed Nest. “Is he a merchant?”

Gobbo smiled. “Dear God, no! He's a great landowner. Here and on the island of Cyprus.”

“Oh!” said Nest. “I thought so.”

Gobbo sat well back on his stool, and spread his legs. “
Sì!
Signor Umberto del Malaxa. He's a Venetian. His dead sister married my brother. His family, my family: good, good friends.”

Down below, the supper trumpet sounded three times.

“Young ladies,” said Gobbo. “I have the pleasing…the pleasing…”

“The pleasure,” Nest corrected him.

“Signor Umberto will sail with us from Crete to Cyprus,” Gobbo told them.

“Can he speak English?” asked Nest.

Gobbo waved airily. “Not best, not worst. He saw you when he came aboard, and he will pleasure to know you.”

Gatty lowered her eyes. Nest hugged her knees.

Throughout the pilgrims' second day ashore, Gatty and Nest stuck with their companions, and Gatty was unusually quiet. They watched a donkey turning a wheel, pulling up pots of water from a well; they sat and listened to a woman singing a wild, caterwauling song, “More like an animal in pain than a human,” Everard observed; they sheltered from another dust storm carried on the back of the hot south wind; they prayed for Lady Gwyneth's soul and for Austin, and they went to Mass, and at the door of the church in the Venetian quarter they were besieged by Cretans trying to sell slivers of saints' bones, phials of holy blood, holy hair, holy nail-clippings, holy saliva, and little crucifixes cut from Cedars of Lebanon.