Spice and the Devil's Cave (26 page)

Pedro, in high feather, stopped to whisper to Nicolo that never had his money bag been so heavy. If only the pirates would keep Lisbon bottled up a while longer, he'd presently be rich enough to retire.

Yes, thought Nicolo, but what if, at this moment, Rodriguez was fleeing with empty holds before those robbers?

He went back to his seat where, hidden in shadow, he could watch and listen. What did it all mean, this sudden onslaught of pirates, and their absurd demand for spice?

There again! A fresh batch of arrivals and loud cries for a retelling of the tale of the King's marmosets! Of the search for cloves – nutmegs!

“Must have thought you was Gama, back from India!” someone sputtered thickly, and was rewarded for his pleasantry by a shout of drunken laughter from his cronies.

But back in the shadows, Nicolo neither heeded nor joined in that laughter. In a daze he was whispering to himself the jest just stammered by that maudlin voice: “Must have thought you was Gama back from India.” Almost to a word, he now recalled, what that captain had said, this morning, on the dock: “Must think I'm Gama.”

Suddenly a memory of a flushed face flashed before him, an angry voice that yelled, “I've seen Gama. You won't see him again!” And staring at that fancied face, Nicolo was seized with an overpowering impulse to shout with laughter at himself, at this roomful of blind fools. Here he was, puzzling, twisting, straining after the truth, and there, staring him out of countenance, was the truth! If it had been less plain, less evident, he'd have seen it more easily. The pirates were lying in wait for Gama! Primed, of course, by those who had spied on him: Marco and his companion, perhaps others.

But that final word of Marco's “You won't see him again!” He had dismissed it as nonsense, but now – He became aware that his heart was pounding, that a cold terror had burst out on him. He knew now it was for more than to waylay and to plunder Gama that the pirates were waiting. . . . “You won't see him again!”

“Gama must be saved. Must be saved!” he heard himself saying, and realized that he was beating his knee with his fist. Fool that he was not to have seen this thing sooner, for now there was no time to spare. Hadn't Scander said only six months from the Devil's Cave to Lisbon? And if Marco had seen Gama somewhere near there, and Marco were
here
, then Gama must be near. He started up. He must see Scander. Then he remembered: Scander was somewhere, following Marco. Besides, what if Marco's mate were to appear here to ask about Abel's maps?

Maps! He'd forgotten about them in this terrifying discovery. What was he to do, which clue follow first? Gama or the maps? What was the part of Marco and his companion? Were they in league with Venice to steal the maps? In league with the pirates to destroy Gama? His heart seemed to stop as a new possibility leaped to his mind:
was Venice in league with the pirates?

In a torture of uncertainty he felt himself tossed in a swirl of angry currents, yet always he clung to one thought: Gama must be saved! Gama and the Way must be saved for Portugal. The Way, for which dreams had been dreamed, for which hazard incredible had been risked and the sacrifice supreme had been made, mustn't now be lost!

He crossed his arms on the back of his chair and dropped his head on them. He must think this thing through. His own loss, loss of friends, of business, seemed now really nothing compared to the loss that threatened Portugal. He had told Nejmi he loved the Way for its bringing them together. Now he knew that he loved it for itself.

He raised his head and studied the roistering room. Seamen of every age and degree still jostled for standing space, and drank and caroused. If, somehow, they and their vessels now bottled up in Lisbon harbour could be got to go out as one fleet, to be stationed at points, some of which Gama was bound to pass – at Cape Verde, the Canaries, the Madeiras, even as far north as St. Vincent's – they would soon have those Moroccan thieves on the run, and Gama would be saved. But what could he tell them to make them go? They wouldn't listen to him, to a land-lubber. Yet they might to Scander-if he'd only come!

He'd wait here for him, Nicolo decided, and not go to bed, for it must be nearer morning than midnight. He put his head down again on his arms, and in spite of the uproar that filled the inn he felt himself dozing off. Once he started at his own voice: “Gama must be saved!” Had he been dreaming – talking in his sleep?

Almost immediately, it seemed to him, someone was gently shaking him. He opened his eyes. Scander was bending over him and smiling. Through the huge window streamed the eastern sun. The little inn was empty and quiet except for Pedro sweeping the floor, and for the voices of people passing the open door. What were they all talking about so earnestly?

“Sat up all night, did you, lad?”

Nicolo scanned the tanned face. There was a curious glint in the burnt gimlet holes. “Scander, you've heard some news!”

“So've you!” Scander shot back. “Let's have it.”

“Gama must be saved”– the words he last remembered saying before he had waked. “We must save him, Scander!”

“How'd you come to see that?” Scander asked, with the odd glint still in his eyes.

“The wonder is that I didn't see it sooner! It flashed on me while they were telling how the pirates kept searching for spice and dropping remarks about Gama. What else could those raids mean, one after the other, in the very place where Gama was sure to pass, but that the pirates were expecting him? And that spice talk! Who but Gama could have spice? What's the matter with our Portuguese crews that they didn't suspect what was up?”

“Likely would have, if they hadn't got used to thinking Gama was dead. The only reason the pirates don't think the same is because”– Scander paused significantly –“because they've been told different.”

Nicolo nodded. “Of course. By Marco and the other one. There was something else that came to me last night, what Marco told me that first time:
‘But you won't see him again'”

“Just so,” said Scander. “Seemed as if you took the words out of my mouth when, first thing, you says to me, ‘Gama must be saved.'”

Nicolo gave him a keen glance. “Then something you found out since I last saw you put that into your head. The minute I looked at you I saw something had happened to you.”

“Yes,” said Scander. “This morning, just after I came ashore.”

“Ashore? Where'd you been?”

“I stayed up all night, same as you,” grinned Scander. “You remember I dodged out after Marco? Well, I followed him right down to the water-front. I could see by the way he stepped along he was worked up, just as he was when he was listening to that fellow whose ship was boarded. Now what was there about that talk, I kept asking myself, to excite him? “He paused as Pedro, smiling and complacent, came toward them. “Don't let him suspect anything's up,” he warned in an undertone.

“Well, Pedro,” laughed Nicolo. “I can see you made a good thing of last night.”

Pedro reiterated his hope that not a ship would leave Lisbon harbour for a long while yet.

“Did you have a good rest, Master Conti?” he anxiously inquired. “I tried to wake you so you could go to bed, but you were like the dead! Why,” turning to Scander, “he slept through all that noise the town crier made-and he beating his drum in the square just yonder! And afterward, everyone that passed the door was talking about it, but Master Conti never so much as lifted an eyelid!”

Nicolo recalled the footsteps and voices when he had first waked. “What was it all about?” he inquired indifferently.

“There's to be a proclamation read to the Jews today,” Scander replied.

Instantly Nicolo's indifference vanished. That would affect Master Abel, and if him, then Nejmi. “An edict?” he asked in a startled voice. “What about?”

Scander laughed. “I heard that ‘twas to forbid the Jews to leave the country.”

“Forbid them to go?” Nicolo exclaimed. “Why, it's only two years ago that the King was ordering them to go!” He was immensely relieved. Now there would never be any more question of Abel's and Ruth's going nor of Nejmi's parting with them.

“Yes,” put in Pedro, “I heard people saying the King left town a-purpose, so he wouldn't be here to hear folks laugh at him for changing his word so quick! Reckon he's found out the Jews are his best citizens – doesn't want to lose 'em. Anyway,” he ended, as he moved away, “every man, woman and child of them, so the crier said, must come to hear the proclamation one hour before sundown today.”

“I'm glad it's no worse,” Scander declared. “I couldn't bear to see Master Abel suffer any more.”

“It will be a blow to his pride,” Nicolo mused –“to the pride of all the Jews, in fact. But for myself, I'm glad they're to stay.”

“So am I,” Scander warmly agreed. “As Pedro says, they're our best citizens. Now, let's see,” he said, drawing closer to Nicolo and lowering his voice, “where was I when Pedro broke in? Oh yes – I was telling about following Marco and noticing he was all worked up. Well, when he got down to the quay, he made straight for a boat that was tied up there, and before I could borrow or lay hand to one, he'd jumped in, and rowed off.”

“You found him again, I'll warrant!”

Scander acknowledged the compliment with a grin. “It wasn't too hard! You see I was sure he wouldn't leave Lisbon at that time of night, and if he did, his ship would be the only one going out and I'd have no trouble sighting her. So I rowed around, and after a while something shiny in the moonlight caught my eye. “Twas a pair of
wet
oars in a rowboat astern of a small craft.”

“He'd forgotten to take his oars in!” exclaimed Nicolo.

“Just what I figured. Excited and forgot 'em. I hung around near by and early in the morning I sighted him, sure enough, clambering down from his vessel into the boat.”

“You didn't see the other chap?”

“Not a sign of him. Afterward I found out he was in town all night. Well, I trailed along behind Marco and watched him go ashore. He appeared to be concerned about something, talking first to one, and then to another. Finally I lounged alongside of him and made as if I was going to pass him, when he catches up to me and says, distressed and nervous, ‘No one'll take us out over the bar. They're all afraid of pirates outside. I've offered three times the regular fee, too!'”

“Then they're planning to go right away!” exclaimed Nicolo.

“I looked at him close,” Scander continued, “and I saw he was in a regular panic lest he couldn't get off. Thinks I, ‘You're counting on your mate's getting Master Abel's maps and then both of you making a dash for it.' If somehow I could take him unexpected, and surprise the truth out of him! So I says, cool and offhand, ‘If you can't get a pilot, it'll kind of delay your going to Venice.'

“‘Venice!' he grunts. ‘We aren't going to Venice!' Then, like lightning –” Scander drew close to Nicolo and his voice was barely a whisper –“
I knew where he was going!”

With one impulse each gripped the other. “To join the pirates against Gama,” Nicolo's lips formed.

“Odd,” said Scander, “how it came so quick to you and me both. I swear I was shaking so, I was afraid he'd see, but I managed to say I'd had a bit of pilot service, and I'd take him out, over Belem bar, when he and his mate was ready.”

“We can't wait for them! We've got to reach Gama without delay. The pirates aren't going to stop at lifting his cargoes, you know!”

“I know,” Scander nodded. “They're going to do their cursed best to make true what's being gossiped around about him!”

“That he's dead! Of course. I tell you we haven't a day to lose. You said yourself it was only six months from the Cape to Lisbon. If we could get some of these ship masters, who are cooped up here, to form a fleet and start right out for some point that Gama's bound to pass –”

“Well, you couldn't,” said Scander shortly, “so you'd better stop planning anything like that.”

“You mean,” Nicolo retorted, “they'd be afraid to take the risk for Gama, who's risked his life over and again!”

“It's not that, either – not exactly. Don't any of 'em half believe he's alive, and 'twould take more than you and me to convince 'em.”

Nicolo brought his fist down on his knee. “Then, by heaven, you and I must do what we can to save Gama!”

Scander gave him a searching look. “How far'll you go with that?”

“All the way.”
Nejmi's “I'd do anything for the Way,” flashed through his mind. “Remember,” he said, looking Scander in the eye, “that I've a ship due any day.”

“But what good is it to you, when you aren't even sure where Rodriguez has her?”

Nicolo didn't answer at once. “Let's talk that over while we have something to eat.”

He got up, stretched vigorously. They both went over to Pedro who was doing something over a brazier of glowing coals.

“About time you were hungry!” the old man told them, and he held up two skewers with little cubes of broiled mutton. He made them sit down, and brought plates and bread.

“Scander,” Nicolo presently said, as he tore off a morsel of bread and soaked it in meat juice, “you'll have to take care of the map end of this business-you and Master Abel – because I'm going to start for Cascaes
¹
as soon as you can hire a boat and take me down there.”

Scander stopped eating to stare. “What you going to do at Cascaes?”

“I'm going,” Nicolo answered deliberately, “to wait there for Rodriguez. He'll stop for a pilot. If he hasn't run afoul of these pirates he's sure to be along in a day or two at latest, and we won't waste an hour putting right about for Cape Verde or for wherever he thinks Gama is likely to pass.”