Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant (6 page)

At that moment, Walo, who had not spoken all morning, suddenly broke his silence. I did not make out the exact words but he called out some sort of command. At the same time he threw a leg
across his saddle and slid down from his horse, leaving the reins dangling. He then strode straight towards the angry dogs. I was sure they would rush him and attack, but he called out again and
they backed away. He kept walking forward, both hands held out palms down, and his voice dropped to a more normal tone. As he spoke, the frenzied barking subsided to low, frustrated growls. Walo
moved even closer, and the dogs’ hackles sank down. Finally, when Walo was standing right over them, he gestured at them to return to where they had come from. Silently the brutes trotted off
to the side of the farmyard, heads low and their tails drooping.

Without a backward glance, Walo returned to his horse and gathered up the loose reins.

‘Not as addled as he appears,’ the trooper who had nearly been bitten observed grudgingly. The dogs had settled themselves down at the far side of the yard. Their ears were pricked
and they were watching Walo’s every movement, ignoring the rest of us.

A farm servant eventually emerged to give us permission to water our horses and, with my eye patch back in place, I negotiated the purchase of a couple of loaves and a large chunk of cheese for
ourselves. We removed our horses’ packs and saddles, found ourselves a shady spot beside a barn, and began to eat our midday meal.

‘What’s the plan when we reach Dorestad?’ Osric asked me. The bread was stale and he dipped his crust into a cup of water to soften it.

I spat out a morsel of grit. The mix of rye and barley flour had been poorly sieved. ‘In Dorestad we locate a shipowner called Redwald. He makes the voyage to Kaupang every
year.’

‘What about our escort?’ Osric flicked a glance towards the two troopers who were throwing crumbs to the farm doves that had fluttered down to peck at the leftovers.

‘They’ll help us load the wine aboard, then return to Aachen with the horses.’

‘Leaving us to the tender mercies of this Redwald.’

‘The mews master assures me that Redwald can be trusted,’ I replied. Osric had good reason to be suspicious. The ship captain who had carried Osric and me into our exile had tried to
rob us and sell us into slavery.

‘And what if this Redwald learns just how much coin we are carrying? Never underestimate the power of silver and gold to make a man change his loyalty—’

A peculiar sound made me stop and look up. At first I thought it was the cooing of one of the doves that were strutting around our feet. Then I realized that someone was blowing on a musical
instrument. It was Walo. He had wandered off by himself and was leaning up against the wall of the barn in the sunshine, his eyes closed. He held a simple deerhorn pipe to his lips and was gently
playing the same few notes, over and over again.

*

After five uneventful days on the road we arrived at Dorestad. It was one of those clear windless June mornings when a handful of small, puffy clouds hang almost motionless in a
sky of cornflower blue. The port was an untidy sprawl of warehouses, sheds and taverns that spread along the bank of the Rhine for more than a mile. Dozens of staithes and jetties projected out
into the dark waters of the broad river like the teeth of a gigantic comb. They had been built on wooden posts hammered into the soft stinking ooze of the foreshore. Moored against them were
watercraft of every description ranging from rafts and river wherries to substantial seagoing cogs. Not wanting to attract attention, I was reluctant to ask for Redwald by name so we picked our way
along the riverbank between heaps of discarded rubbish, broken barrels, handcarts and wheelbarrows while I tried to identify those vessels that looked large enough to make the voyage to Kaupang. We
had gone nearly the full length of the waterfront when a gangling, ruddy-faced man with a bulbous nose and unkempt, thinning grey hair stepped out from behind a pile of lumber and caught my horse
by the bridle.

‘Another two tides and you’d have been too late,’ he said.

I looked down at him in surprise. I judged him to be a dock worker. He was wearing a labourer’s grubby canvas smock and heavy wooden clogs.

‘Too late for what?’

‘A passage to Scringes Heal.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I said curtly. He showed no sign of letting go the bridle so I was forced to add, ‘Can you tell me where I can find shipmaster
Redwald?’

‘You’re speaking to him,’ the man replied. ‘You must be Sigwulf. I had word that you’ll be needing passage. Scringes Heal is what the northmen call
Kaupang.’

Behind me Osric gave an unhappy cough. Clearly we had failed in our attempt to keep our mission secret.

The shipmaster glanced towards my companions, a wary and disapproving expression on his face. ‘I wasn’t told that there were so many in your party.’

‘Only three of us are for the voyage,’ I said.

Redwald put up a hand to rearrange a stray wisp of long hair across a bald patch on his scalp. ‘No point in discussing our business in public. Your companions can wait here while we settle
terms.’

‘Osric is my business partner. He needs to hear what you propose,’ I answered frostily.

Redwald swung round and gave Osric a cursory inspection. ‘Very well. Come with me.’ He let go of the bridle and stamped off along the nearest jetty, his clogs echoing on the
planks.

Osric and I handed the reins of our horses to Walo, and followed. At the far end of the jetty was moored a solid-looking cargo ship. Big and beamy, with a thick single mast, it looked like the
sort of vessel to trust. I was not so sure about its uncouth master.

Redwald jumped aboard then waited while Osric, hampered by his stiff leg, clambered over the ship’s rail and onto the deck. I followed them to where a length of sailcloth had been rigged
to provide a patch of shade. Redwald growled an order and a sailor came scrambling up a ladder from below deck. He brought three stools and, as soon as he had set them down, Redwald sent him
scurrying off to the local tavern to bring back a jug of ale and three tankards.

With the sailor out of earshot, Redwald waved us to our seats and got down to business. His tone was far from friendly.

‘Why did the mews master send
you
?’ he demanded. ‘There’s a rumour going around that you’re going to Scringes Heal to buy falcons. Until now I’ve
bought them as his agent.’

I didn’t enquire as to the source of the rumour but it was further proof that my attempt to keep our mission secret had failed. ‘This is a special requirement,’ I told the
shipmaster. ‘Carolus requires only birds that are white.’

Redwald snorted. ‘I can recognize a white bird when I see one.’

I guessed that the shipmaster was irritated because he turned a profit on his transactions as agent for the mews master, inflating the price he had paid for the birds in Kaupang.

‘I’ll be paying a bonus if we return from Kaupang with all our purchases alive and in good condition,’ I said.

His eyes narrowed. ‘What purchases are you talking about? I’ve never lost a gyrfalcon yet.’

‘The king also wants a pair of ice bears brought back from Kaupang.’

Redwald threw back his head and guffawed, showing several gaps among his yellowing teeth. ‘Difficult to find. And shitting all over my deck if you obtain them. I’ll charge you extra
for that.’

The sailor returned with the ale and mugs and poured out our drinks. Redwald had been speaking to me in Frankish, but now he switched to his local dialect as he muttered to the sailor that his
two visitors were a couple of troublesome dolts. His dialect was almost identical to the Anglo-Saxon I had spoken as a boy so I understood every word.

Keeping my temper in check, I said in my mother tongue, ‘Transporting ice bears should present no problems if they are caged securely.’

Redwald’s head jerked round. ‘So you speak Frisian.’

‘Not Frisian . . . my own Saxon tongue,’ I told him.

‘I should have known,’ he growled. I wondered what he meant by this remark, but already he had changed the subject. ‘What have you got in those panniers on your horses?’
he demanded bluntly.

‘Good-quality Rhenish wine. Once we reach Kaupang, I intend to do a little trading on my own account.’ I had hoped to make myself sound suitably devious, to encourage him to think
that I, too, was unprincipled enough to make a profit on the side.

Instead he scowled. ‘You leave your wine right here on the dockside. Half my own cargo is wine. I don’t need competition.’

I saw my opening. ‘I’ve a better idea that will suit both of us. I’m willing to add my wine to your own stock so that you can sell it for me on commission.’

He swirled the contents of the wooden tankard in his hands while he thought it over. ‘Here’s what I can do,’ he said finally, ‘I’ll bring you and your companions to
Scringes Heal and back again, but I’ll take no responsibility for the health of the animals. That’s your lookout. In return, I take a thirty per cent cut from the sale of your
goods.’ Abruptly he thrust out his tankard towards me. ‘Is it agreed?’

I touched my tankard against his. ‘Agreed.’

A draught of juniper-flavoured ale sealed our bargain. I watched Redwald over the rim of the mug and wondered why he had not asked how I was going to pay for the gyrfalcons and the ice bears. He
must have known that they would be very costly.

*

Some hours later, I was standing beside the shipmaster on the cog’s deck and feeling apprehensive. Redwald had ordered his sailors to cast off from the jetty the moment we
had brought aboard our wine and I had dismissed the escort troopers. Dorestad was already several miles behind us, and the last trace of daylight was bleeding from the sky. I could scarcely make
out any difference between the black surface of the Rhine and the distant line of the riverbank. The cog was floating downstream, carried along by the current, her great rectangular sail barely
filling with the breeze. There was no moon, and soon there would only be starlight to see by. As far as I could tell, we were rushing into blackness and out of control.

‘How do you know which way to steer?’ I asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. Osric and Walo were below deck, keeping watch over the silver coin in our saddlebags, for
we had agreed that someone should be awake at all times.

‘I use my ears,’ Redwald grunted.

I could hear only the creak of ship’s timber and the soft slapping of water running down the sides of the ship. From somewhere in the distance came the harsh croak of a heron. A moment
later a slowly flapping shadow passed across the sky as the bird flew over us.

Redwald’s explanation was a joke, I thought. ‘And what if there is night fog?’

He belched softly, exuding a stale whiff of ale. ‘Don’t worry, Sigwulf. I’ve navigated this river all my life. I know its twists and turns and moods. I’ll bring us safely
to the open sea.’

He spoke a quiet order to the steersman, and I sensed the slight tremor under my feet as the blade of the side rudder turned. It was too dark to tell whether the cog had altered course.

Redwald had spoken Frisian to both the helmsman and to me. Out on the river he seemed more relaxed, less gruff. It was the right moment to sound him out.

‘How many times have you made the trip to Kaupang?’ I asked.

He considered for a moment. ‘Fifteen, maybe sixteen times.’

‘Never any trouble?’

‘Pirates once or twice, but we drove them off or managed to out-run them.’

‘What about bad weather?’

‘With decent ballast my ship can handle heavy weather.’ He sounded very confident but the fact that he immediately spat over the side – a gesture every countryman knows is
intended to appease the weather – reduced his credibility.

‘Ballast?’ I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.

He was standing close enough for me to see the affectionate way he laid a hand on the wooden rail. ‘It’s what you stow low down in a ship to make sure she doesn’t fall over in
a gale. I’ve a couple of tons of quern stones stowed beneath all that wine.’

He belched again. ‘God only knows why in the Northlands they can’t make decent querns for themselves, but their wives prefer the stones we bring from the Eifel. That’s the way
of the world: stones for hard-working women to grind their flour while their menfolk guzzle wine.’

I peered forward into the darkness. Occasionally a pale shape appeared and swooped past the bow before vanishing into the gloom – seagulls. I recalled how excited Walo had been when he saw
his first gull flying upriver from the sea. Living in the forests, he had never seen a gull before. He had asked me if these were the white birds we were bringing back for the king. Redwald had
laughed aloud.

The shipmaster’s voice broke into my thoughts. ‘I suppose that Saracen companion of yours has his own contacts at Kaupang.’

The shipmaster was observant and shrewd. He had identified Osric as being a Saracen, or perhaps someone had already told him.

‘Osric knows no one at Kaupang, as far as I know. He’s never been there,’ I replied sharply. I wondered why Redwald was fishing for information.

‘Then he’ll have a chance to meet some of his own people. Saracen traders get to almost as many faraway places as us Frisians. A few show up in Kaupang each year. Buying slaves and
furs mostly, and they pay in coin –’ his significant pause alerted me – ‘so it will be handy to have someone who can check for counterfeits.’

‘I’m sure Osric will help in whatever way he can,’ I said neutrally.

‘Northmen aren’t happy with coins –’ again, the slight pause – ‘they think that a clever moneyer can adulterate the metal in a way that can’t be
detected. They prefer to put their trust in lumps of chopped-up silver jewellery.’

‘What about gold?’

‘Don’t see that very often. Maybe the occasional Byzantine solidus. Goldwork tends to be set with precious stones and spared the hatchet.’

‘You seem to be as expert in gold and silver as in guiding a ship through the dark,’ I said, intending to flatter him. His reply surprised me.