by Severin, Tim
‘But we’re not going anywhere near Mercia.’
Osric’s face clouded momentarily. ‘Offa will have heard about the caliph’s splendid gifts to Carolus and the preparations to send a mission to Baghdad in return. His agents may even have reported that you have been put in charge of the mission. Mercia and Frankia are on good terms.’
It was true. Relations between the two kings, Carolus and Offa, had become increasingly cordial of late. They were exchanging letters regularly and recently there had been a formal trade agreement between their kingdoms. All of a sudden I felt foolish. If Offa knew how high I had risen in Carolus’s favour he might now see me, the legitimate heir to the plundered throne, as a threat. Offa was brutal and ruthless. Regretting that he had let me live, he might try and undo his mistake.
‘I doubt that the spies will think it’s worth reporting that I’m being sent to gather together the white animals,’ I replied.
‘Offa hasn’t tried to harm you while you are at Carolus’s court. That would be an insult to the Franks. But once you’re away from Frankish territory on this animal-collecting trip, you’ll be vulnerable . . .’ Osric let his voice trail off.
‘Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t know exactly where or when we are going,’ I said firmly. Osric’s caution was oppressive.
He treated me to a sceptical glance. ‘Offa’s no fool. He’ll work that out for himself.’
His remark hit home. Carolus’s mews master had already told me that the source for white gyrfalcons was the market in Kaupang, on the furthest border of the kingdom of the Danes.
My friend grimaced as he tried to stretch his crooked leg. ‘Just how far north is this Kaupang?’
‘A month’s travel. The market is temporary, just a few weeks every summer. Traders come to it from all over the Northlands.’
‘And just as I was hoping to enjoy a few weeks of summer warmth,’ Osric grumbled.
‘Everything is being arranged by the chancery and we should be back before the summer’s over,’ I assured him. ‘There’ll be an armed escort from here to Dorestad on the Rhine, a ship from there direct to Kaupang where we purchase the white bears and falcons, then back home.’
Osric shook his head in disbelief. ‘And a moment ago you said that we would conceal the timing of our journey. Not with an escort of Frankish troopers clattering along with us, we won’t.’
‘Then I’ll have the size of escort reduced to the bare minimum. Just enough to make sure we arrive in Dorestad without being robbed. We’ll be carrying a small fortune in silver coin. Carolus is providing a massive budget.’
‘Sufficient to buy a unicorn?’ My friend was gently mocking.
‘We’ll do our best to find one, and if we fail, the king will have to accept our excuses.’
Osric sighed. ‘That part of our mission is probably a fool’s errand. But I can see that you’ve already made up your mind about Walo coming with us.’
I got to my feet. ‘I must go and check how soon the chancery can have our escort and money ready for us.’ As I made my way across the royal precinct, I wondered if I should have been more honest with Osric. The Oneirokritikon had offered an alternative explanation for my dream. According to Artimedorus, a dream of bees was only a good omen for farmers. For everyone else, to dream about bees was highly dangerous. Their humming signified confusion, and their stings were symbols for wounds and hurt. If the bees settled on the dreamer’s head, it foretold his death.
*
We rode out from Aachen on the first day of June when the faint glow of dawn was barely visible in the sky. I hoped our small party would be unremarkable among the early travellers already taking the rutted highway leading out of town. Osric and I wore the sober, practical clothes that marked us as smalltime merchants. Walo was dressed as our servant. I had removed my eye patch to make myself less noticeable and would replace it only when it was full daylight. Our escort of two burly troopers had been persuaded to leave behind the helmets and armoured coats that identified them as members of the royal guard. Each man led two pack ponies, his sword hidden among their straw-lined panniers stuffed with the bottles of Rhenish wine that purported to be our trade goods. Our real wealth was in the leather saddlebags slung from the saddle of my horse and Osric’s: shiny new silver deniers from the king’s mint at Aachen. Each coin was the size of my fingernail and the moneyers had stamped them with Carolus’s monogram on one side, and the Christian cross on the other. There were three thousand of them, a dazzling prize for any lucky thief.
As the morning wore on, I was alarmed to see Walo attracting attention. He stared rudely at the people coming towards us along the road, gazing at them with open curiosity. Some scowled at him in return. Others met his stare and, noting his moon face, looked away and hurried their steps. Ignoring their reaction, he swivelled right round in the saddle to turn and watch their backs long after they had passed.
‘Walo sticks in people’s memories,’ Osric muttered as he rode up alongside me. ‘Let’s hope that Offa’s spies don’t hear that you are travelling with Vulfard’s son. We’ll be easy to track.’
‘There’s not much I can do about it,’ I admitted.
‘Does Walo know where we are going and why?’
‘I got him in one of his better moments, and told him that the king was sending us to obtain white bears, hawks and a unicorn. But I didn’t say where we were going.’
‘What was his reaction?’
‘He accepted everything I said as perfectly normal. He only asked if a unicorn sheds its horn every year.’
‘Why on earth would he want to know that?’
‘He told me in all seriousness that if the unicorn loses its horn each year, then it is a sort of deer. If not, then it is more like a wisent.’
Osric raised an eyebrow. ‘For all his strangeness, he knows a lot about the animals. Let’s hope he doesn’t blurt out the reason for our journey to some stranger along our route.’
‘He shies away from strangers. Maybe he doesn’t trust them,’ I reassured Osric. ‘But I’ll keep a close watch on him.’
We left the town and emerged into gently rolling countryside. The rich soil was intensively cultivated, and here Walo gawked at the prosperous brick-built farms with their tiled stables and cattle byres, the barns, pigeon lofts and orchards. I guessed that his previous life under his father’s care had been almost entirely spent in the great tracts of untamed forest that the king reserved for hunting. Edging my horse closer to Walo I took it on myself to try to explain what was happening on the land. Here a flock of sheep was penned next to an open-sided shed. Two men were shearing while their comrades were carrying away the fleeces to drop them into rinsing baths. A little further on I described why an ox team was ploughing the ground so late in the season. It was the new agricultural system recommended by the king’s advisors. The field had been left fallow for the previous year. When we came to a watermill, the turning paddles astonished him and I doubted he understood my long-winded description of their function. But I needed to hold his attention while, off to one side, Osric discreetly bartered with the miller for a bag of oats for our horses.
By noon, the day had turned very warm and it was time to break our journey. Passing a large, ramshackle farm, I spotted a water trough in one corner of the farmyard. I turned aside and led our little pack train into the yard to ask permission to water our animals. Two ill-tempered guard dogs promptly burst from their kennel, barking and snarling. They were large, vicious curs. We pulled up immediately, unable to dismount. Our horses skittered nervously, edging sideways and back. The dogs circled, hackles raised, occasionally rushing in to snap at their heels. One dog, the largest and boldest, leapt up in an attempt to sink its teeth into a guardsman’s leg. He kicked out at the brute with an oath and I feared that he would reach for his hidden sword. After a little while, when no one appeared from the farmhouse to call off the beasts, I pulled my horse’s head around and prepared to lead our party away.
At that mom
ent, 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.