Spice and the Devil's Cave

by Agnes Danforth Hewes

  “Of course you couldn’t,” Abel murmured, pityingly, “Nor anyone else – from the inside.”

  “Then I heard them begin to move things in the hold, and I knew that unloading had begun. I was frightened, oh, frightened!” The delicate ivory face contracted with the terror of the memory. “I saw that all I could do was to hide as far back as possible in the hold. And I kept hoping that before they got to me, something would happen. By and by the noise died away, and everything was quiet, and I was sure it must be night.”

  “Yes!” Nicolo exclaimed. “That was it. We had to stop at dark.”

  Even in the hushed suspense of the room, the Girl’s voice was a whisper. “I waited. Then, I felt my way forward and, all at once, I looked up-and there were the stars!”

  “Yes,” Nicolo said, again. “They’d left the hatches open.”

  “I climbed over the cargo,” the low voice went on, “to a rope that was hanging from above, and, finally, I pulled myself up by it to the deck.”

  There was a low exclamation from Ferdinand, and his sombre eyes, fixed on the Girl, were very soft. “That was why your palms . . . that first night . . .”

  “Ah,” Ruth murmured, “do you remember how bruised and bleeding they were?”

  The Girl contemplated her hands. “I didn’t notice, then, how I’d torn them” she said, reminiscently. “I was too afraid someone would see me. But I remember, when I got up on deck, I crouched down behind something, and wiped them on my coat. For a long time I waited there, and listened. It was very quiet, and no one seemed to be about, so I crept along behind a row of barrels, and, at the last one, I saw a plank between the ship and the dock. I went across, but after that I can’t remember – my head was so dizzy. But at last, I found myself climbing stairs, climbing, climbing. . . . And then – I saw a light!” She caught her breath sharply. “There was never anything quite so beautiful as that light – and Master Abel’s face!” Her voice broke pitifully. “I wanted to stay here, always, until – until I heard you and Ferdinand say those dreadful names.”

  “What names?” Ferdinand began in a puzzled way, while a quick glance shot between Ruth and Abel.

  Very gently, Ruth put her arm around the Girl. “My child, can’t you trust us enough now to tell us everything?”

  “I did trust you,” she faltered, “but when I heard them talking of those places on that map – I was afraid. Afraid! I didn’t dare to stay here, for if my father had never gone down to-to the Devil’s Cave and Sofala –”

  “What?” cried Diaz. “Sofala-oi which Covilham sent us word?”

  The Girl turned amazed eyes on him. “Covilham? Pedro de Covilham? Why, he was my father’s friend!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Nejmi

  IN the stunned silence the faces around the table stared at the Girl, and then at each other. Their ears had heard her; but their minds still groped for her meaning.

  At last: “Covilham was your father’s friend?”

  Diaz’ gruff voice was so shaken that, involuntarily, the others glanced at him. He, himself, was oblivious of anyone except the Girl-but on her his whole rugged self was focused.

  “Yes, my father’s friend” She waited, looking from him to the others. “Why? “she asked, timidly. “What of that?”

  “Nothing – nothing,” he murmured, “or perhaps – everything!”

  He rose from the table and went to her, and, as if in reverent acknowledgment that this moment was his own, the others drew aside for him.

  “Child, will you tell me about – about him? All that you can remember?”

  The very room held its breath for her first, quiet words:

  “He came to our house in Aden, I don’t remember how long ago, but when I was a little thing, and he and my father talked a great deal together in a strange language. I couldn’t understand what they said, for my father always spoke Arabic with us. You see, my mother was an Arab.

  “After Covilham went away, my father kept saying to my mother,‘ If he finds what he expects, I shall build warehouses down there.’ By and by, he got a letter. He rushed to us with it. He was more excited than I’d ever seen him. ‘Covilham has been to Sofala, and he says what he hoped is true,’ he told my mother. ‘Think of the business that it will bring me!’”

  A strange sound from Diaz interrupted her. His breath was coming fast, and the pupils of his eyes were dilated.

  She studied him a moment. “That was the way my father looked, when he got that letter – his eyes on fire, like yours.”

  A little impatiently he motioned her to go on.

  “One day I heard him say, ‘I must go and see for myself.’ And he did go, in a ship. It was a long time before he got home, and my mother was frightened about him. When he came back, he was grave and quiet. He said he would need a great deal of money because he was going to build a warehouse at “-her voice suddenly sank-” at Sofala.”

  At the familiar name, Ferdinand impetuously leaned forward, as if to speak.

  “Let her tell her story!” Diaz sternly ordered him, without taking his eyes from the Girl.

  “My mother kept begging him to stay in Aden, and at last he said, ‘In a short time everything is going to be changed. The Franj are going to take trade away from Aden.’ ‘What makes you think they will come?’ she asked him. I remember that he didn’t answer for some time, and at last he said, very low,’ They have already come! Their ship was seen some time ago by the natives.’”

  “There! What’d I tell you?” the sailor broke in.

  “Then he said that a native pilot had sailed with him from Sofala to a place, near the Devil’s Cave, where there were two white stones with Franj writing.”

  “Name of heaven!” Diaz sprang to his feet, seized her arm. “‘Sailed,’ did you say?” he cried. “Are you sure he told you, ‘sailed’ from Sofala to the Devil’s Cave?”

  Half fearfully she stared at him. “That was what he said.”

  He sank back, breathing like a man at the end of a race. Slowly the hand which had been on the Girl’s arm went to his forehead in a sailor’s salute, and they heard him murmur “Thy dream . . . Great Navigator!”

  He glanced up, as if for the first time he remembered the others, and his gaze rested on each face in turn. “This child,” he solemnly said, “has answered the question that all Europe is asking.”

  “She is the Way of the Spices!” cried Abel.

  “And Covilham was right! Covilham was right!” shouted Ferdinand. In his excitement he had leaped on his chair, and was wildly swinging his arms. “The old fellow knew what he was about – just as I always said he did!”

  The men burst into a furor of talk, of questions, of speculation. They had hoped and dreamed so long that, now reality had come, they hardly dared believe it.

  The Girl surveyed the commotion with puzzled eyes. “Why do you care so much? That little bit between Sofala and the Devil’s Cave – what of it?”

  In the complete hush that followed this astounding innocence, Ruth raised a triumphant voice: “There! That’s what I’ve been asking for the last ten years, and you all thought I was stupid!”

  There was an uproar of laughter, and everyone was volunteering explanations to the Girl, when Abel put them all aside.

  “There’s only one way to make her understand,” and, diving into the table-drawer, he brought out a map.

  But no sooner did she see what he was about, than she shrank away from him, her eyes full of dread. As it happened, no one noticed her but Abel and Nicolo. Nicolo was already starting toward her with that overwhelming impulse of protection which her fright roused in him, when he heard Abel murmur, “My poor child, forgive me! I didn’t think.”

  “Wait, Zakuto!” Diaz reached out for the map that Abel was hurrying back to the drawer, spread it on the table, and for several moments studied it. Finally, his finger rested on a certain spot. “Those ‘white stones,’ of which this child says her father told, are-or were-here.”

  “I saw t
hem go aboard when you set out from Lisbon, sir!” Gama broke in.

  “So did I!” rejoined Abel. “Don’t you recollect, Bartholomew, our watching the men cut the King’s name and yours on them?”

  Diaz’ eyes glistened. “The last thing, just before we put about for home,” he said, in a moved voice, “d’Alemquer and I, and one or two others, set those two pillars up as near as we could to the big Cape – the Devil’s Cave, as you call it.”

  “It’s pretty clear,” Scander thoughtfully said, to the Girl, “that someone knew what your father had in mind when he went down to those parts. Wasn’t it just after he’d got back to Aden that – that –”

  Her brows drew together as at a stab of pain. “Yes,” she murmured, “just after. So, when I heard Master Abel and Ferdinand talking about those places I thought – I was afraid to think!” She suddenly turned to Abel. “Where is Master Covilham now?”

  “No one knows,” he mournfully told her. “In the same message that he sent us from Cairo, about the sea route to India, he said he was bound for Ethiopia for further information of the Orient. That is our last news of him.”

  “And that,” Gama gravely added, “was a long time ago.”

  “You don’t know, child, from where your father came,” Ruth ventured softly, “nor his name?”

  The Girl shook her head. “No; and I never heard him called anything but ‘Effendi.’”

  “Like you’d say ‘sir,’” Scander explained. “And that reminds me,” as a sudden thought struck him, “I’ve always wondered what your name was.”

  Ferdinand jumped to his feet. “The time I’ve spent trying to find out without her suspecting me!” His eyes, luminous with mischief, challenged her, and Nicolo, observing that intimate glance, was devoured with envy.

  “As if I didn’t know, every time!” she shyly retorted.

  “Well,” Scander insisted, “what is it?”

  But it was to Abel that the Girl turned entreating eyes. “How could I tell you before? I was afraid you would guess from it my language, my country – all. And my only safety was to wipe out every clue. But now –” she made a pleading little gesture –“now, that there’s no more need to be afraid, it’s-Nejmi!”

  “Nejmi!” the sailor repeated. “Star! That’s what it means in Arabic,” he announced to the room, with an air of large satisfaction. “Star!”

  “As lovely a name as I ever heard!” Gama’s usual reserve melted into boyish enthusiasm.

  “I’ll agree to that!” Abel caught him up. “And the best of it is, it suits its owner. Isn’t that so, Ferdinand?”

  The boy’s eyes danced. “Couldn’t have chosen a better, myself, sir!”

  “It’s easy to say, too,” Ruth comfortably contributed, with her arm around the Girl. “Not like some of those outlandish, foreign words that tie your tongue in a knot.” Softly she tried it over: “Nejmi – Nejmi.”

  “And who shall say,” Abraham asked, looking from face to face, “that it’s not a portent from the heavens that we shall find the Way of the Spices? For it’s the stars that steer the mariner’s course!”

  “I’m thinking, Master Abel,” Nicolo spoke up, “that what we’ve been hoping for has happened: the thing that will start Manoel up!”

  “Right! I fancy he won’t dally much, after he’s heard what Nejmi and Scander have told us. Who’s to take it to him? You, Bartholomew?”

  “Wait a bit, sir!” Gama’s voice was perturbed. “Was it your idea that someone of us should repeat to the King what we have heard tonight?”

  “Why not?” Abel challenged. “Have you any doubt about the truth of it?”

  “Do you remember, sir,” Gama asked, in his turn, “that Master Abraham said, just now, the name Nejmi might be a favourable portent for the Way? Now, if he could put this matter to Manoel as coming from the heavens, instead of from …”

  “You’re right!” Diaz declared. “I see your point, Vasco.”

  “So do I,” Abel ironically rejoined, “and I’m not afraid to put it into plain speech, either! You’re trying to say, Gama, without being disrespectful to the King, that he might be jealous of Nejmi’s and Scander’s part in this business; that he’d get more glory out of sending an expedition to find the Way if he joined hands with heaven rather than with mere humans!”

  “Any way you like, sir –” Gama was laughing and a little embarrassed –“but the thing is to carry our point; and everybody knows Manoel pins his faith to what’s read in the stars!”

  “Master Abraham is the man for us,” Diaz agreed, “and the less said about what’s gone on here, tonight, the better.”

  “You can tell Manoel,” Abel said, happily, “that the last word in navigation instruments will be ready for the Captain-Major of the expedition!”

  Involuntarily, everyone’s eyes sought Diaz, for it was quite understood to whom Abel was speaking over Manoel’s shoulders.

  “We must put down the names of those places you mentioned,” Abel told Scander, and he eagerly bent over the map. He began to sketch in the new landmarks while the sailor named directions and laid off distances with a stubbed thumb.

  “There’s Aden, of course, and Malacca, considerable away to the east’ard –”

  “An island?” Abel’s pencil hovered in mid-air.

  “A big port, thick with traffic as carrion with flies,” Scander inelegantly replied. “Then there’s the Banda Islands, of course, where the cloves grow; and Macassar away over at the tail end of things.”

  Ferdinand eyed him with envy. “I suppose you’ll get the job of master pilot to the new expedition.”

  “Me?” Scander’s fist banged on the table. “Nothing in God’s earth’d make me take that blasted trip. I’ve had enough of spice!”

  Under cover of the talk that followed, Nicolo watched for a chance to speak to Nejmi. He had seen her shrink back when Abel had brought out the map. Now she was standing, alone, at the windows. As often as he dared, he stole a glance at the delicate face, flowerlike above Abel’s black cloak. This was his time he decided, but before he could reach her, he saw Ferdinand step ahead of him. As he hesitated, wondering how to join them, Ferdinand beckoned to him.

  “Come here! We’ve a question for you.”

  Nicolo noticed, as he approached them, that the Girl was grave and perturbed, and in her eyes was a hint of the old fear. Ferdinand’s were dancing.

  “Nejmi wants to know who paid for that sugar,” he grinned. “You don’t happen to know, do you?”

  Before Nicolo could muster a reply, Gama approached, and took Ferdinand by the arm. “Come along, youngster,” he said, good-naturedly, “or you’ll get a reprimand for late hours.”

  “And for deviltry in general!” Nicolo murmured, in an aside, as Ferdinand passed him.

  “Do you know?” the Girl insisted, as they were left together.

  “It was I.” He tried to make his voice casual. “The captain is a friend of mine,” he hastily added as he saw the colour flame in her face, “and he wasn’t on hand to speak for himself.”

  She looked at him with distressed eyes. “That makes twice that I’m in your debt! If you hadn’t caught the bird the other day –”

  A thousand things rushed to his lips. “Let it stand that way,” he said, trying to laugh off the incident. “I’ll promise to claim payment when I need it!” Then, lest he should saytoo much, he turned the subject: “I saw you go away, when Master Abel brought that map out.”

  “I hate it!” she told him in a low, vehement tone. “I wish I need never see it, never hear those names again. Are you –” she paused as her frightened eyes searched his –“are you like the rest of them?” She motioned toward the heads bent over the table. “Do you want, more than anything else, to find the Way of the Spices?”

  For a moment he hesitated. How should he answer her?

  He looked meaningly at her. “Not more than anything else!” he said, very low.

  * * *

  NIGHT WAS graying into dawn
when Nicolo went silently down the long stairway behind Diaz and old Abraham. Out of these incredible hours he carried an indelible image of the fright in Nejmi’s eyes. Already he called her so to himself. Around her fear his mind revolved. To banish it, forever drive it away, ah, what would he not give?

  He hugged to him the thought that, all unwittingly, they had made port together; together become citizens in a strange land. Dear fate that had singled him out to make good that empty barrel! He could have found it in his heart to envy Scander – Scander, who had veritably snatched her from death, stood between her and worse than death. A wave of gratitude rushed over him. That chap should have the best he could give!

  Had she, he rambled on to himself, noticed that he had been the only one to say nothing about her name? How could he, with the whole room talking about it? Something had taken him by the throat, paralyzed his tongue. But some day all those dear, suffocating things should be told to her.

  Nejmi! He said it over to himself, and across his fancy smote the vision of a star of palest gold set in a tender, evening sky.

  CHAPTER 11

  Debacle

  ALL day, at his office, Abel answered questions and gave advice to those who dropped in to talk over a rumour which was said to come from the palace; for his intimacy with Abraham Zakuto and Bartholomew Diaz was known to give authority to his information about court. matters.

  How much truth, he was asked, was there in the report that an expedition to India was on foot? Were John’s ships to be finished, or new ones built? What about prospects for contracts to outfit such an expedition with supplies, clothing, arms? Would his bank loan to a small firm that was competing for such orders?

  Just as he had finally contrived an excuse to slip away, a new-comer seized his arm.

  “A minute, Zakuto! What’s behind all this gossip? They’re telling it around that Manoel’s started things going on the strength of some nonsense he’s got from the stars. Know anything about that?”

  “What do you care,” Abel evaded, “from where his authority came, so long as he’s acting on it?”