The Emperor's Elefant

Chapter Ten

‘I’ve made this voyage a dozen times, and never a problem,’ Protis boasted. We were standing on deck, side by side, and it was a splendid morning, the second of our sea voyage. The breeze was just enough to belly out the sail and the sun sparkled off a sea that showed a brighter, sharper blue than anything I had seen in northern waters. A flock of gulls wheeled and hovered alongside, attracted by the occasional splashes of water as our sailors dumped buckets of bilge overboard. Unsurprisingly, the hull of Protis’s ramshackle vessel was far from watertight.

‘I recall you saying that your family have been seafarers for generations,’ I remarked, making conversation.

‘As far back as any family in Massalia, and proud of it. My parents named me after the city’s founder.’ Our youthful captain liked to chat, and once he got into his stride he was almost unstoppable. ‘The first Protis was from Greece, far back in the mists of time, a trader who dropped anchor in a sheltered bay along the coast. The daughter of a local chieftain fell in love with him, the two got married, and they and their people flourished. Massalia grew up around the same natural harbour. My family tradition is to name one of the sons after the city’s founder.’

‘So your father was also called Protis?’

He nodded. ‘Though it brought him no luck. He went down with his ship in a sudden, bad storm when I was just a toddler. My grandfather taught me my sea skills. He’s now retired, of course. His eyesight’s gone.’

That might explain the age of the vessel, I thought to myself. Protis had probably inherited it from his grandfather, a vessel put back into service after the family’s other and newer ship had sunk.

‘To lose one’s eyesight is hard for anyone,’ I sympathized.

The young captain smiled sadly. He was obviously fond of his grandfather. ‘It’s the worst thing that can happen to a mariner. He needs good eyes. We make most of our voyages following the coast or sailing from one island to the next one already visible on the horizon.’

He pointed away to our left. ‘Right now we are staying well off shore for safety, yet close enough so that I can keep in sight those mountains.’

Judging by the number of other sails we had seen moving in both directions along the coast, it was how most captains navigated locally. Sailing from one port to the next in the Mediterranean did not appear to be as demanding as the conditions Redwald faced when finding his way from Dorestad to Kaupang.

‘Do we follow the coast all the way to Rome?’ I asked, trying to visualize what Abram’s itinerarium had shown.

‘There are one or two stretches where we lose sight of the mountains because the land is too low. At those places we will steer further off shore and take a more direct route to our destination.’

One of the sailors in the bailing team put down his bucket and came aft to speak with us. He said something to Protis in a language I did not understand and supposed was Greek.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ said Protis. ‘There’s something I need to attend to.’

He followed the man across the deck to the main hatchway leading down into the ship’s hold and I watched as he climbed down a ladder. Several minutes passed and then he reappeared. He was looking perplexed.

‘Anything wrong?’ I asked.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ he answered airily. Turning to his helmsman, he gave an order. Our course altered slightly and the ship began to slant closer to the land.

‘Just a precaution,’ he explained to me. ‘The bailing crew are having difficulty keeping pace with the water in the hold.’

Half an hour passed and I stood with him in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth of the sun soaking into my body, the easy rocking motion of the ship beneath my feet and the sensation of being carried effortlessly towards our destination. My reverie was interrupted by a shout from the bailing crew and this time there was no mistaking the alarm in the man’s voice.

Protis strode forward to the hatchway once more, kicked off his shoes, and again disappeared, for longer this time.

I could see that something was seriously amiss. The deck crew had gathered around the hatchway and were casting worried glances at one another. The lookout stationed in the bows abandoned his post, and came back to join his companions.

I strolled forward and stood beside them. Peering down into the half-darkness of the hold I could make out several crew members up to their thighs in water. They were lifting up smooth round stones the size of a large loaf from under the surface and setting them aside. I recalled what Redwald had said about a ship needing to carry ballast stones low down to keep her upright. The men who had lifted the stones aside were also reaching down into the water, feeling around, then moving on to repeat the process nearby. Various odds and ends of loose lumber floated back and forth, nuzzling up against their thighs. There was no sign of Protis. Suddenly he surfaced with a splutter, took a deep breath, and immediately dived down again. There was a brief glimpse of his bare feet kicking at the surface, and then he was gone, swimming inside the belly of his own ship.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked one of the crew, an older man with grizzled, close-cropped hair, and dressed in a torn dirty shirt and ragged trousers.

He understood my Latin well enough to answer. ‘Trying to find exactly where so much water is getting in. The leak is bad, and gaining on us.’

One of the men down in the hold looked up, saw the circle of faces peering down, and gave an angry shout. Beside me two of the crew hurried off to fetch extra buckets and lowered them on ropes. They were filled with bilge water, then hauled up hand over hand, and their contents dumped over the side.

Abram had come up to join me and, after questioning the old man in Greek, he turned to me. ‘The ship has a pump, but it is very old and it broke on the way to the salt jetty. That’s why they’re having to use buckets.’

‘Can’t the pump be repaired?’ I enquired.

The dragoman shook his head. ‘Apparently the pump is such an ancient design that the broken part is impossible to replace.’

Down in the hold Protis surfaced and waded across to the foot of the ladder. When he stepped out on deck, he was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. Water dripped from his sodden clothes and pooled on the sun-baked planks of the deck.

‘A major leak,’ he announced. ‘But God only knows where it is.’

Osric had joined us from where he had been helping Walo set out bowls of drinking water for the dogs tethered along the ship’s rail. They had to be kept well away from the aurochs’ cage as their barking still enraged the great beast.

Now my friend asked mildly, ‘Could the leak be something to do with the repair you mentioned earlier, the one that had delayed your arrival at the salt jetty?’

The young Greek treated Osric to a look that was both exasperated and condescending. ‘Unfortunately there’s no access to that section of the hull. There’s too much ballast in the way.’

Osric remained composed. ‘Maybe it would be worth stretching a canvas on the outside of the hull in that area, using ropes. That might slow the leak enough for us to reach harbour,’ he suggested calmly.

I recalled that, earlier in his life, my friend had voyaged on trading ships from Hispania. He must have learned this technique at that time.

Protis gave my friend another look, more of surprise this time. ‘I’ve heard of such a thing being done, but I’ve never tried it myself. I doubt if my men will agree. It’s new to them and some can’t swim.’

‘I’m willing to go over the side and set the sail in place,’ Osric volunteered.

Protis pursed his lips, uncertain what to do. It was the first time I had seen his self-confidence falter. ‘It means stopping the ship while she’s sinking and that uses up precious time. If it’s a failure, the vessel will take on so much water that she will founder before we reach land.’

Unexpectedly, Abram spoke up. ‘I will give Osric a hand if someone will tell me what to do.’

Protis seized his chance to reassert his captain’s role. ‘The principle’s straightforward. The crew on deck lowers a spare sail overboard close to where we think there is a leak. The swimmers position the sail correctly and the inflow sucks the canvas over the hole. We then hold the sail in place with ropes around the ship and get her into harbour and mend her properly.’

‘So there’s no time to waste,’ said Abram. He started to strip off his shirt.

Protis gave a quick grin of excitement. ‘If this succeeds, it’ll be the talk of Massalia!’

He shouted to the helmsman to bring the ship into the wind, and for the rest of the crew to lower the mainsail and bring aft the artemon.

The artemon proved to be a small square sail normally set on its own mast in the bow of the ship. While the men readied it as a patch for the hull, I reflected how strange it was to find ourselves in such serious danger when everything about us was so tranquil. The wind had fallen away to the slightest breeze and the sun still shone from a cloudless sky. Without the mainsail, the ship had come to a complete stop and lay rocking very gently on the calm sea. The gulls continued to circle and soar around us. A few settled on the glassy sea, stretching their wings for a moment before folding them in place, then paddling close around us and inspecting our activity with beady eyes, always hoping for scraps of food. Everything was placid, except that the land was uncomfortably far away and, if I listened carefully, I could catch the faintest sound of water lapping back and forth inside the hold.

Our ship was slowly sinking beneath us.

Osric and Abram got down into the small ship’s boat. Normally towed astern, the skiff was drawn alongside and tied close to the suspected area of the leak. From there the two men directed the path of the little sail as it was lowered overboard and pulled under the hull. When it had disappeared underwater they took turns to dive down and guide it into place. From the rail above, Walo and I looked down as they worked. Protis ran back and forth, now encouraging his men as they hauled on the ropes, now rushing to the side of the ship to demand a progress report from the two men in the water.

Finally, Osric called up to say that the job was done. He and Abram climbed back aboard and an eager Protis ordered the mainsail to be re-hoisted, and the helmsman to set course directly for land.

‘There’s a small sheltered inlet a few miles along the coast,’ he said brightly, his confidence returning. ‘It’s ideal, with a good hard beach where we can go aground. Then we’ll lighten the ship and roll her over on her side so we can get at the leak. There are boat builders there who can help out.’

The ship slowly gathered way, though it was clear to all of us that she was very sluggish, barely moving with the weight of water in her hold. Anxiously we waited for the next report from the bailing team.

It was not long in coming. A cry of genuine panic had Protis sprinting to the hatchway and scrambling down the ladder again. When he reappeared, his face was ashen.

‘It hasn’t worked,’ he groaned. ‘The leak is worse than before – much, much worse.’

I stared towards the distant coast, trying to judge the distance. The heat haze made the brown mountains indistinct. At a guess we were still four or five miles offshore.

‘Do you think we can make it to land?’ I whispered to Osric beside me.

‘Not a chance,’ he murmured. ‘With all that water already in her bilge, I’d say she’ll founder before the day is out.’

I swung round to face Protis. ‘We must save the animals! We’ve not brought them all the way from the Northlands to drown here on a sunny day.’

He ran his hands despairingly through his cap of black curls. Suddenly he looked very young and vulnerable. ‘There’s no room for them in the ship’s boat.’

‘What about seeking help,’ I suggested, looking astern. Some distance away was the sail of a boat that had been within sight since dawn.

‘We’ll signal them, but I doubt they will respond,’ Protis answered.

He gave the order for an old, threadbare sail to be ripped into rags, soaked in olive oil, and set alight. The sailors then fed the flames with short lengths of tarred rope until a thin wavering column of smoke rose from our stricken vessel.

For a full hour we watched the distant sail, willing it to change course and come towards us. It did change course, but away, growing smaller with each minute.

The elderly sailor to whom I had spoken earlier cursed savagely.

‘They think we’re pirates,’ Protis said despondently, ‘trying to lure them in closer.’

‘Is there nothing else we can do?’ I asked.

‘We’ve no choice but to abandon ship.’

It was clear that our vessel was gradually settling deeper and deeper into the water. The hold was more than half full now, and the ship had a leaden, dead feeling. Without waiting for their captain’s order the crew were already setting down their buckets and gathering together their few belongings. Two of them climbed down into the ship’s skiff and the others began to pass down their bundles.

‘At least let us take the gyrfalcons. They’ll take up no space,’ I pleaded.

Protis had the decency to look ashamed as he shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. The skiff will be overloaded as it is, and it will be a long row to reach land. We must leave all your animals behind.’

I felt a touch on my arm, and turned to find Walo; his face was working angrily. I had been distracted by all that was going on and had paid him no attention.

‘Walo, we must leave the ship,’ I explained. ‘We cannot take the animals. They stay behind.’

Deep in his throat he made a distressed growling noise and, seizing me by the elbow, pulled me across the deck. ‘For the falcons and the dogs,’ he said, placing a hand on the water trough. It was the river ferry we had cut into two and converted. I ran back to where Protis was standing. He had a satchel slung over his shoulder, ready to abandon ship. ‘We can use the cutoff ferryboat to carry the dogs and the gyrfalcons,’ I cried.

‘Impossible,’ he answered flatly. ‘It’ll be swamped or capsize! My men aren’t going to wait.’ He cast a glance over his shoulder to where the last members of his crew were standing by the rail. The others were already in the ship’s boat, setting the oars in place.

Osric limped over and announced that he was ready to try using the makeshift boat to get ashore with the smaller animals. I turned my attention to Abram. ‘Are you willing to give it a try?’

The dragoman nodded immediately. ‘I’ll send my own men with the ship’s crew. They can take our valuables with them.’

Protis threw up his hands. ‘You’re crazy, risking your lives for a couple of birds and some dogs!’

‘It would help if you let us have some oars,’ Osric told him pointedly.

Protis glared at him before stamping off to the rail and telling his men to hand up a couple of oars. There was a moment’s hesitation and he had to shout angrily at them. Reluctantly, they obeyed. Protis brought the oars across to us and laid them down on the deck. ‘This ship may still be afloat when I get ashore,’ he told us. ‘I’ll try to organize a rescue boat to come out to fetch you and your precious animals.’

But from the way he avoided looking me in the eye, I knew he did not expect the ship, or us, to survive that long.

As the ship’s boat pulled away, Osric, Walo, Abram and myself busied ourselves with the abandoned buckets. We emptied enough water from the trough to allow us to turn it on edge, and then tip out the rest. Abram found a couple of lengths of plank that he fitted for thwarts, and he knotted loops of rope to hold the oars when it came time for us to row. Osric and I used an axe and a crowbar to smash a gap in the ship’s rail. By the time we had finished, the ship had sunk so far that there was less than three feet between the deck and the surface of the sea. We slid our makeshift vessel overboard with ease. It wallowed with barely five inches above the surface of the sea, but it floated.

Osric stepped carefully into it, and Abram handed across the gyrfalcons in their cages. The five white dogs were more awkward. They had to be restrained from leaping across the gap and upsetting the balance of the unstable craft. One by one, Walo picked them up and settled them in place to be watched over by Abram. I took a last look around. Walo had insisted on scrambling back aboard the sinking ship and had gone forward. He had already released the remaining chickens from their coop. Now he was unlatching the door to the ice bears’ cage, leaving it wide open. He did the same with the aurochs’ enclosure. Finally, he walked down the deck to join me and together we climbed into the boat.

We pushed off and, taking turns at the two oars, crept away from the sinking ship, looking on in silence as Modi and Madi pushed their way from their cage and padded up and down the deck. They sniffed curiously at the items that had been left behind. Only recently had I found a way of telling the difference between the two bears: Modi walked with a slightly different gait to his brother, his left front paw turned in at an angle. It was ironic, I thought, that I should have learned to tell them apart soon before I saw them for the last time. Quickly they came across the chickens that Walo had released, and there was a brief and dramatic chase. Terrified squawks ended abruptly in bursts of feathers, and the two ice bears settled down to gnaw happily on their catch. By then the aurochs had also emerged from its confinement. It went directly to the pile of dried grass that Walo had dumped at the base of the mast and began to eat.

Once or twice Walo tried to stand up to get a better view, and I had to tell him sharply to sit down or he would upset the boat. Strangely, he was showing no sign of distress as he looked back towards his beloved bears enjoying their meal. I wondered if it was Walo’s intention that the animals would go to their deaths content, on full stomachs.

We rowed. Our progress was a crawl, and the sun beat down. Fortunately, the sea was a glassy calm, and there was nothing to do but sit very still and avoid disturbing the delicate balance of our unstable boat or take an oar when it was handed on. None of us spoke.

I was struggling to come to terms with the loss of the larger animals. Even if we succeeded in reaching the shore with the gyrfalcons and the dogs, they were not sufficient for what Carolus had had in mind when he had entrusted me with the embassy to the caliph. At best, the king might order me to return to Kaupang next year and start all over again with a new batch of white animals. More likely, he would abandon the whole scheme. In which case, my future – and Osric’s – at the royal court would be hanging by a thread. Carolus did not tolerate a bungler.

Osric broke into my gloomy thoughts. ‘That canvas patch should have kept the water out,’ he observed.

‘Protis’s vessel was too badly neglected,’ Abram told him. ‘You saw for yourself the poor condition of the hull when you were underwater.’

‘True, the seams were bad,’ my friend replied. ‘But if we had not delayed to fit the patch, as I suggested, maybe we could have got the vessel to land and beached her.’

I felt that Osric was blaming himself unnecessarily. ‘That’s all behind us now. I was the one who had made the decision to hire Protis and his ship. Let’s concentrate on getting safely to shore in this tub.’

Osric shook his head ruefully. ‘Even the most rotten hull shouldn’t spring such a disastrous leak in a calm sea and with virtually no wind. Our luck has to change.’

His remark hung in the air between us. I found myself wondering if the sinking of the ship was just a freak accident, bad luck, or something more. I could not shake off the feeling that there was a link between the murderous attack on me in Kaupang and the recent calamity. It took the rest of the afternoon for us to reach the shore. By that time the sinking vessel was too far away and too low in the water for us to see any detail. Her mast was still visible so we guessed that she was settling into her grave still upright. Ahead of us, Protis and his men had already landed in a small cove. A group of a dozen men were gathered around their skiff where it was drawn up on the beach. I presumed they came from the community of boat builders that Protis had spoken of. Further up the beach were several half-built boats on the stocks, and there were untidy heaps of raw timber and long sheds that looked as if they contained the shipwrights’ stores.

We were less than a stone’s throw from the beach when, ignoring my warning growl, Walo suddenly stood up. The boat wobbled dangerously, and he let out a whoop.

I jerked around. He was pointing out to sea, his eyes shining. Directly between us and the sinking ship were two small dark shapes in the water, not half a mile away.

‘Modi and Madi! They’re swimming after us. That’s why Walo let them free,’ exclaimed Osric

‘Quick!’ I cried, after I had recovered from my initial shock. ‘We have to be ready for them.’

We rowed the final yards. Protis and his men waded into the water and, helped by several shipwrights, dragged our makeshift vessel to land. Osric handed over the first of the gyrfalcon cages for it to be carried up the beach and set down safely on the ground. The dogs leaped out and bounded ashore.

‘There are two large and dangerous bears on their way,’ I announced loudly. The shipwrights stared at me. Then I remembered that they would not understand my language. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered at the back of the beach, women and children. I guessed they were the families of the shipbuilders, curious to see what the sea had brought. I yelled at the top of my voice to gain their attention, and pointed. The white heads of the two bears were now much closer. It was extraordinary how fast they were able to move through the water. In a few more minutes they would be on land.

I heard a murmur of astonishment from the crowd, a murmur that turned to a ripple of alarm as they realized what they were seeing.

‘Abram, tell them that the bears are dangerous and we must have somewhere to contain them,’ I told the dragoman.

One of the shipwrights was quick on the uptake. He ran to open the door of a boat shed.

Walo was already at the water’s edge. He had his deerhorn pipe in hand. As the two bears came closer, he began to play. Behind me the crowd scattered. They scurried away, then turned at a safe distance to see what would happen next.

Madi and Modi came ashore side by side. They shook themselves, spraying water in all directions from their soaking coats, and looked around. They had grown into hulking brutes that could easily break a man’s back with a single swipe from their great paws. Modi yawned, and the great pink gaping gullet caused several gasps of fear from the handful of the bolder spectators who had stayed for a closer look. In the distance there was the clink and rattle of pebbles as the more prudent onlookers retreated even further up the beach.

Walo advanced towards the bears until he was no more than an arm’s length away. Facing them, he continued to play his usual simple tune. The bears stood on the shoreline, their great pointed muzzles swinging from side to side. They were curious about what was happening. Carefully, Walo began pacing backwards, still facing the bears and playing his pipe.

The two bears padded after him. Walo backed away, step by slow step, towards the open door of the boat shed, and then inside. For a heart-stopping moment the bears halted at the dark entrance to the shed. They turned and faced outward, their small eyes inspecting the crowd of onlookers. I held my breath, knowing that if they chose to charge and attack, nothing could stop them.

Then the music worked its lure and they went inside. A shipwright darted forward, about to slam the door behind them. I grabbed him by the shirt and held him back. ‘Don’t startle the bears. Let them grow accustomed to their new home.’

The man could not have understood exactly what I said, but the message was clear. He waited beside me while we listened to the soothing sound of Walo’s music for a few more minutes. Then together we went forward and softly half-closed the door, leaving a gap large enough for Walo to slip out when he judged the moment was right.

Osric let out a sigh of relief. ‘We should have guessed that ice bears are good swimmers,’ he said to me.

‘A pity we can’t say the same about the aurochs,’ I replied.

The words were scarcely out of my mouth when there was another buzz of astonishment from the crowd. Everyone was gazing out to where the setting sun cast a long reddish-gold path across the mirror-calm of the sea. The head of the aurochs showed black against the red. The beast was swimming to land, more slowly than the bears, following them.

My heart leaped into my mouth. I had witnessed the creature’s rage as it smashed Walo’s father, Vulfard, to bloody pulp. Now I shuddered to think what carnage it might inflict on the crowd on the beach. To add to my alarm, the crowd was less fearful than when they had seen the bears approaching. To them, the aurochs looked little different from a common farm bull at that distance. They failed to note its great size and the menacing forward sweep of the deadly horns. There was a mutter of interest, but nothing like the general panic the bears had created.

I ran towards the crowd. ‘Get back! Get back! I shouted, waving my arms frantically. I was met with stares of curiosity and incomprehension.

Osric joined me, gesturing at the crowd, trying to move them away. But the spectators dawdled, reluctant to leave.

The aurochs reached the shallows, and began to emerge from the water. There was a collective, appalled gasp. The creature was monstrous. It paused with half its huge body still under water and the great dark shoulders and neck gleaming wet. Then it lifted the great head, stretched its neck so that the muzzle pointed to the sky, and uttered a massive bellow that echoed around the cliffs.

At that moment Protis redeemed himself. The young man raced down the beach. He had a scrap of cloth in one hand as he dashed directly at the aurochs. I thought he had lost his mind. He sprinted into the shallows, tripping and almost falling as his feet hit the water. The aurochs immediately lowered its head and lunged at him with the deadly horns. Protis swerved and slipped past the attack. He flung himself against the creature’s shoulder, and whipped the rag around its massive head, covering its eyes.

The aurochs tossed its head in amazement. Protis threw an arm over the creature’s neck and managed to cling on. The beast shook its head angrily, and I was reminded sickeningly of the horror as Vulfard’s spitted corpse had been thrashed from side to side. But Protis was behind the horns, and he hung on grimly until the shaking stopped and he had time to loop the rag in place. The great beast halted, confused and blind.

A vague memory stirred. I recalled my father’s ploughmen coaxing reluctant oxen into their stalls.

‘We need a heavy rope!’ I called to Osric. He looked at me for an instant, and then understanding dawned. Together we ran to where the shipwrights had their gear, selected a length of heavy cable, and hurried down the beach, circling behind the aurochs. Abram and his two men joined us and together we stretched the rope and brought it against the aurochs’ hindquarters. The sudden touch of the rope made the blindfolded beast start forward. It walked out of the water and, by keeping up the pressure on the rope, we guided it towards the line of boat sheds.

Two local men saw what we intended. They ran ahead and swung open the doors to the stoutest shed. All the time Protis stayed beside the beast’s neck, matching it stride for stride, making sure the blindfold stayed in place. Together we somehow succeeded in steering the aurochs into its temporary home, then heaved shut the heavy door as Protis darted out to safety.

‘The boat shed won’t hold the beast for long. Ask the villagers to fetch fodder and water,’ I said to Abram.

Protis was white-faced and trembling with relief. I thought he was about to faint.

‘That was very courageous,’ I congratulated him. ‘I hope your grandfather gets to hear how you saved the day.’

He summoned up a shaky smile. ‘The old man won’t forgive me for losing the family’s last and only ship.’

He looked past me to where his vessel was no longer to be seen. The sea was empty. The vessel must have slipped beneath the waves. The young Greek’s eyes filled with tears. ‘My family does not have the resources to build a new ship. And the moneylenders will think that somehow we are cursed with bad luck.’

‘What will you do?’ I asked softly.

‘My men can find work on other ships, and I will have to hire myself out as a common sailor,’ he answered.

He looked so downcast that I reached out and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. ‘Your bravery saved the day. You’d be more than welcome to travel on to Rome with us.’

He lifted his chin as a trace of his former pride returned. ‘I was hired to deliver you and your animals to Rome, and I will fulfil my side of the bargain.’