Tim Severin - The Emperor's Elefant

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.