The Young Adult Award-Winners Megapack

by Emily Cheney Neville

  “The king of Melinde sent them,” Scander explained, “to find out about our side of the Devil’s Cave. You should ’a’ seen their jaws drop when I sang out to ’em in their own language! ’Most made me homesick for old times.”

  “Gama never got as far as the Spice Islands, so these pilots told Scander,” Nicolo said. “But they say he’s brought back plenty of spice.”

  “Calicut and Cananor is as far as he went. That’s where, so they tell me, he had to drive some pretty sharp bargains for his spice.” Scander’s face suddenly changed, as he appeared to recall something. “Master Conti,” he exclaimed, “I forgot to tell you that Rodriguez left a message for you at Pedro’s. Said he’d been delayed by the King and wanted to know if you cared if he didn’t bring The Golden Star in till tomorrow. Said for you to leave word at Pedro’s.”

  “Let him take his time,” Nicolo cried warmly. “Go and tell Pedro so, Scander, and if you should happen to see Rodriguez, introduce him to our next captain! And wish him the best of luck.”

  He went into the court to call out the last word as the wiry form disappeared through the gate, and presently Nejmi followed him.

  From the workshop Abel could see them strolling, arm in arm, about the court. He glanced at Ruth, and saw her tender eyes on them. How should he tell her what was in his mind—what he had been thinking before she came in? By common consent they had never mentioned their talk that moonlight night, after Abel’s visit to Manoel, but her forlorn cry still rang in his ears: “Must our people always be wanderers?” It was too cruel to remind her on this day of triumph.

  Unexpectedly she said, motioning toward the court, “They need each other, Abel. More than we need her!”

  A little puzzled, he studied her. What did she mean? “More than we need her.”

  “Abel, dear…” Her voice faltered but her eyes were calm and sweet. “Nejmi doesn’t need us. Not any longer!”

  He looked at her with sudden understanding. He knew now what she was trying to say but all that he could get out was a choked, “Bless your brave heart, Ruth!” They drew close to each other and he whispered, “Just to see Gama—talk once with him. Then, when those two children out there decide to go to the priest…”

  “I’m ready when you are, Abel.”

  He braced himself against the desolation that surged over him. “Tomorrow I’ll go down to the docks and find what vessels are sailing,” he said, with his hand tightening on hers. “Then I’ll tell Rabbi Joseph what we’ve decided. You know he’s helped so many of us to get away. Brave old soul! If he weren’t bed-ridden he’d have been the first to go.”

  “You’re sure we can’t take any of our things, Abel?” she asked him wistfully.

  He tried not to see the caress of her eyes as they lingered on this and that familiar object. “Dear,” he answered, “they’re watching the ports, strictly. At best it won’t be easy to get by.”

  “But once you said small things that we could hide in our clothes. And a few cuttings from the plants we love best…and some bulbs of your yellow lilies…”

  He nodded, not trusting his voice.

  “We’ll take a little of our own earth, too, so the new garden will have something of Lisbon!”

  “Home will be wherever you are!” he told her.

  She drew a long breath. “Then—then as soon as you’ve seen Master Gama.”

  Silently he put his arms around her. “And when Nejmi and Nicolo—”

  Nicolo’s voice from the doorway broke in on them. “We’ve been talking about the house I’m going to build,” he jubilantly announced. “Nejmi says it must be just like this one!”

  For a minute Abel’s eyes and Ruth’s exchanged glances, and then Abel was saying, “You children don’t need to wait for a house! Live in this one till you get yours built.”

  Flushed and radiant the two came in from the court, and Nejmi slipped down beside Ruth. “Would you like that, Mother Ruth?” she asked a little tremulously.

  Ruth bent over and kissed her, and Abel said, “The sooner the better, child! What do you say, Nicolo?”

  “As soon as Nejmi says!” Nicolo happily declared.

  “Then be off with you, you two!” Abel pretended to wave them violently into the court. “Talk it over!”

  For a while he and Ruth were silent, conscious of the low hum of voices outside.

  “I suppose,” he said at last, “that to them we seem old.” He laughed a little, softly. “Ruth, do you feel old?”

  “It’s like climbing a mountain, Abel. To those watching at the foot, it seems as if we’d reached the top, while to us the top is always beyond!”

  * * * *

  THAT NIGHT Abel sat late in the workshop. It was too soon yet to expect Gama, but he was sure to come the first chance he got, and Abel wished to be ready and waiting for him and for those precious hours together. Ah, so precious, for they would be the last—though Gama mustn’t suspect that.

  The next night, too, he sat late, long after Ruth and Nejmi had gone to bed. Gama would hardly come even yet, Abel mused, taken up as he must be with celebrations and receptions and services of thanksgiving in the cathedral. Still, he left the gate unbarred, and when, past midnight, he heard it click, he was more glad than surprised. He reached the workshop door just as Gama entered it.

  “I knew you’d come!”

  “I knew you’d be waiting!”

  Grasping hands, they stood silently surveying each other. Yes, Gama had aged. Lines in his face, grey at the temples. But, withal, that look of inward fulfillment!

  “It’s good to be here, Master Abel!”

  Into Abel’s fancy crept the vision of a child saying “I’m glad to get home!”

  Gama’s eyes wandered about the room. “This place,” he said at last, “is nearer perfect content than anything I know. It lacks only—” he looked gravely at Abel—“only Master Diaz.”

  “Ah, Vasco, you’ve said what I’ve thought every evening since he went away. And when I was watching you come into the harbour—”

  “I was thinking the same thought that you were,” Gama broke in. “That he’d built those ships. That he’d paved the way for me!”

  “But no one in all that crowd would have been prouder of you than he,” Abel declared, “unless it was I!” His eyes rested affectionately on Gama. “It was good of you to get up here so soon.”

  “I thought I never would,” Gama admitted. “Such a procession of ceremonies and visitors and questions, even after I was in bed trying to snatch a bit of rest! Just as it was when I went away, only a thousand times worse. You know Master Abel”—he stopped to laugh—“they’re all like a pack of children for the first time listening to a fairy story. And the King is the youngest of them all! Wants to know how the Orientals look and dress, and even what they eat. He’s having a huge time with those Melinde pilots I brought back! And how do you think he greeted me when he sent for me this morning? ‘Good morning, Dom Gama’!”

  “So!” cried Abel. “Dom! That’s splendid, Vasco—though how could Manoel have done less? Why, man, you’ve more than earned every letter in the word!”

  “It’s the first title in our family,” Gama said a little shyly. “But—” his face suddenly clouded—“I’d have foregone everything, title and glory and applause, if—if Paulo and I could have come home together!”

  “I felt for you,” Abel said simply. “It was cruel hard for you, all this joy-making, when your own heart was bleeding. But, thank God, Vasco, Paulo lived to help his country’s dearest dream come true.”

  “How often he spoke of that, all the time he was so ill! ‘Vasco,’ he’d say, when he’d see me grieving and anxious, “what’s a man’s life compared with those white pillars we’ve put up for Portugal?’”

  “He’d been ailing long, then?” Abel asked gently.

  “Oh, for months. I had him on board the San Gabriel where I myself could care for him. His own ship, the San Raphael, we’d burned because she was beyond repair, and
sickness had taken so many of the crew that there weren’t enough left to run her. The store ship had gone to pieces long before that. We saved the figure head of the San Raphael—it’s aboard the San Gabriel now. The men did their best to make speed, but at last I saw Paulo couldn’t live to reach Lisbon. I couldn’t bear to let him die at sea, so I put the San Gabriel in at the Verde Islands, and took him in a faster boat over to the monastery at Terceira. The Berrio hadn’t caught up—Coelho had been delayed by storms. I buried Paulo there—at St. Francis’. The brothers were more than kind.”

  For a while Gama was silent. Abel mused on what he had just heard. So it was doubtless this bearing toward the Azores, instead of making direct toward St. Vincent’s and Lisbon, that had thwarted Venice and the pirates!

  “I didn’t mean to talk about my trouble,” Gama said at last. “I really came to tell you some of the things I’ve stored up for you these two years—only I don’t know where to begin!”

  “Begin with the pillars, Vasco!”

  Gama’s grave face suddenly relaxed. “What’ll you say,” he asked, “when you hear that Mistress Ruth’s preserved pears impressed one native king almost as much as the white pillar we put up on his domains! King of Melinde he is.”

  “Melinde, eh?” Abel recalled inking in the word Melinde on one of the maps; a spice and ivory port. “That will tickle Ruth’s pride!” he chuckled. “Is he the chap who sent the pilots back with you?”

  “Yes, as pledge of good will, as well as to take him information about our part of the world. But about the pears. I had a few served up to his majesty in a covered silver dish—with napkins, too! He vowed he’d never eaten anything daintier. Couldn’t do enough for us—loaded us up with rice and mutton and all sorts of fruit. That was the first time we stopped there; and the second, on our way back, he gave me magnificent presents for Manoel, silks and ivory and jewels. But,” Gama paused impressively, “the best thing he did was to write Manoel a friendly letter—on gold leaf, if you’ll believe it!”

  “That means a trading post there for Portugal!” exclaimed Abel.

  “Yes. He’s ready to meet us half-way. When we told him we wanted spice, he gave me nutmegs and pepper for Manoel.”

  The old, whimsical smile twitched at Abel’s mouth. “When you started out, you were going to get spice, and make Christians of the foreign folk. You certainly got the spice! How did the other notion work out?”

  Gama laughed a little sheepishly. “To tell the truth, when we got to Calicut, I was taken off my feet by that civilization out there! I’d had the idea that I was superior because I was fair-skinned and a Christian, but when I saw what they had—”

  “They seemed to have done pretty well on their own brand of religion, did they, Vasco?” laughed Abel.

  “The gardens and fountains of the King’s palace, a little way out of Calicut, and his tapestries, and bronze furniture, made our palace here seem tame! And talk about carved ivory! There were whole panels of it. As for the jewels the King wore—well, I hadn’t really seen rubies and diamonds and pearls till I saw his! The presents I’d brought him from Manoel looked pretty puny by comparison, I can tell you! Oil, sugar, honey; a few hats or so.”

  Abel burst out laughing. “Did you have hard work to save Manoel’s dignity?”

  “Well—” Gama shrugged significantly—“I confess I had to cudgel my wits considerably! But on the whole, the King—Zamorin they call him—treated us very well. In fact, I don’t know how I’d managed if he hadn’t taken my part against the merchants in Calicut. They refused to trade with me, told the Zamorin I was a spy, even tried to capture me. You see the Arabs have their grip on all that Eastern trade, and they don’t propose to yield a finger’s hold.”

  “But surely this King of Calicut isn’t an Arab?”

  “No, a native of India, but the Arab traders in his kingdom have to do as he says. Finally, the Zamorin brought pressure on them, and they agreed to trade with us. But the tricks they tried! For instance, the natives cover their ginger with a little clay, to hold the flavour. What did those rascals do but plaster on three times as much again to the ginger they brought us, and then try to sell it to us for the solid stuff! They tried to pass off poor cinnamon on us, too, and half rotten nutmegs.”

  “Persevering devils!” Abel commented. “How did you get around them?”

  “Oh, I shut my eyes to a good deal. I thought I’d gain in the long run if the thing went off smoothly. And I did! I got—” Gama’s face lighted up—“what I wanted: all the spice I could load, cloves and nutmegs, cinnamon and pepper and camphor. We put up a pillar, too! And best of all, the Zamorin wrote a letter to Manoel, practically agreeing to trade with us!”

  “I should say, Vasco, that you’re as expert a diplomat as you are trader—or sailor!”

  “That letter, by the way,” Gama continued, “was written on a palm leaf! So, with the gold leaf one from the King of Melinde, I had two letters for Manoel. Then I got a third—gold leaf, too—from the King of Cananor—that was the last port we made before we turned ’round for home. I’d have liked to go further, but the ships wouldn’t have stood it. Besides, so many of the men had died—fully two thirds of them, poor fellows.”

  “Well, Vasco,” Abel spoke out impulsively, “you’ve done a splendid thing. Done it magnificently! You’ve given Portugal the Way of the Spices.”

  “Ah, but now to keep it for Portugal! You know, sir, the Orient isn’t going to let us into its trade without a struggle. The Arabs are against us, and they’re the traders. As to that, our own European neighbours will probably have something to say to our spice cargoes!”

  “Scander always said we’d pay for our spice in blood. Remember?”

  “I’m afraid he’s right. By the way, I saw Scander, when the King was receiving me down at the House of Mines. I happened to look around, and there was the good old leather face grinning at me from the shrouds of a vessel! Yes,” Gama continued, “for every warehouse we put up in the Orient, we must have a garrison. Manoel is already talking about a huge campaign that includes everything from fighting, to building forts and factories. He says he’s going to recall Captain Diaz from Mina to outfit another expedition, and he hinted he might send him along with it.”

  Bartholomew coming back! For a second Abel’s eyes lighted. Then he remembered. By the time a ship could sail from Mina to Lisbon… He put down something that rose in his breast, and said quietly, “If the King is planning another expedition, there’s evidently no doubt about the profits of this one!”

  Gama smiled. “You can judge of that for yourself, sir, when I tell you that the freight of the spice on the San Gabriel and the Berrio is as sixty to one, compared with the cost of the voyage!”

  Gama’s figures drew an amazed whistle from Abel. “There’s other merchandise, too, I suppose?”

  “Bales of it! Silks and brocades and cottons and gold thread stuff, besides porcelains and gold and silver trinkets. In short—” Gama’s eyes twinkled—“the things Venice’s galleons used to bring us!”

  Inwardly Abel smiled. Venice indeed! Aloud, he asked how Gama himself had come out.

  “Manoel has been more than generous. Gave me exemption from duty on all the spice I wish to import!” Gama suddenly fell silent, evidently meditating something. “How do you think young Conti would like to distribute my spice to our colonies?” he presently asked. “I always had a fancy for his pluck in leaving Venice on what was then a pure venture. I want to see him prosper.”

  “Capital!” cried Abel. “The spice trade was always his object. You know he saw the need of building ships for carrying Oriental merchandise when Portugal was only thinking about laying hands on it. By the way, did you know that it was his man, Arthur Rodriguez, who brought the first news of your arrival? And now that Manoel’s rewarded Rodriguez, Scander is going to captain The Golden Star.” Abel paused to laugh softly. “This idea of yours, Vasco, will please Nicolo hugely. In fact, it’s quite by way of being a wedding present!
For Nejmi and he—”

  “Oh, so?” beamed Gama. “I saw that coming the night those two met—couldn’t keep their eyes off each other! That strange, wonderful night!” he mused aloud. “Sailing past Sofala and the Devil’s Cave, I often thought of that child as she stood before us—so frightened, so lovely!” Impulsively he leaned toward Abel, “I’m going to pick out a piece of embroidered silk for her, and send it over by Ferdinand!”

  A curious look came into Abel’s eyes. “Could you manage it, say, tomorrow? I myself want to see Ferdinand then, if he can get off. Tell him to come about—about mid-afternoon.”

  Gama, rummaging in his pockets, nodded. He finally produced a sealed tin.

  “That,” he said, “is for Mistress Ruth: nutmegs to flavour her syrups and mutton stews! When you give it to her, tell her I saved her pear preserves—barring the few I gave the King of Melinde—until provisions ran low. Then, when I opened them, I was seized with panic lest I’d let them go too long and they were spoiled.”

  “You don’t know Ruth!” laughed Abel. “She boiled that fruit in its own weight of sugar, so it would keep.”

  “Well,” continued Gama, “she’ll never know in what stead it stood me. It was the end of a hard day, and the crew was on edge. There’d been one mutiny, and I could feel another brewing. I suddenly thought of that preserve. I got it out of my box, and had it handed around at supper. Why—” Gama’s eyes were smiling—“after that, the men would have done anything for me! All evening I could hear them talking and laughing, as good-natured as boys.”

  “You say you had one mutiny?” Abel asked. “Was it serious?”

  “It would have been, if we hadn’t caught it in time. It was the old story: homesick, discouraged men who wanted to turn back. But—well…”

  “Ah!” cried Abel warmly, “I can guess what you said to that! I’ve not forgotten what you told me about ‘turning back’—here, in this very room.”

  Gama’s fist came down on his knee. “I’d have scuttled every ship first! All I actually did do was to put the ring leaders in irons. I brought them back in irons, too, for the King to pass judgment on them. Then, to show the crew who was who, I threw overboard the navigation instruments. All except your compass. No one knew about it. I kept it always in my cabin.”