The Emperor's Elefant

Chapter Three

Now that the aurochs was their captive, they starved the beast of food and water. Only after three days, when the animal was close to collapse, did the foresters drop a loop of rope around the deadly horns and tangle its legs with heavy cords. Then, very cautiously, they began to dig away one wall of the pit, bevelling the earth into a ramp. Nevertheless, the aurochs still had the strength to try to gore its enemies as they prodded the creature up the slope and into a heavily barred cage on wheels. No one was willing to go down into the pit and delve into the slimy mud to retrieve what was left of Vulfard. His battered corpse stayed submerged in the muck and excrement as the trap was filled in; there was no Christian burial.

All that time Walo refused to leave the scene. He slept in the same little trench where Vulfard had hidden beside me in the ambush, and begged scraps of food from the foresters. Despite their charity they treated him with caution. At times he ducked and cringed away if anyone came near him, or, without warning, he made sudden aggressive movements as if to strike them. He was increasingly haggard, his face and clothes filthy. I feared that his mind was close to total collapse. When everyone was ready to depart, I coaxed him into coming with me as we trailed along behind the aurochs’ cage, its solid wooden wheels creaking with the strain as it was manhandled over tree roots and ruts until we were on the better surface of the road that brought us to Aachen. There I managed to trace his family, only to learn that his mother had died when he was still an infant. Vulfard had raised him up on his own, almost entirely in the forest, and now no one wanted to take on the responsibility of looking after him. When we finally returned to Aachen with the aurochs, Walo finished up at my own home, sleeping in an outhouse by his own choice, as he felt more at ease there than in the main building.

‘We could take Walo north with us,’ I suggested to Osric. We were seated on a bench in front of the house, soaking up the sunshine of a spring morning and discussing the journey to collect the white animals. The sounds of sawyers shaping beams and trusses for yet another royal building carried clearly from the nearest construction site.

‘He could turn out to be a liability,’ Osric grunted. Grateful for the warmth, Osric was massaging his crooked leg. In his belted woollen tunic and sturdy leather boots he dressed like a Frankish tradesman, though his black eyes and swarthy skin hinted at his Saracen origin, as did his habit of wearing a cloth wrapped around his grey felt skull cap.

‘His father saved my life,’ I said. ‘And Walo’s showing signs of recovery. He’s speaking an occasional sentence. If we leave him behind, he’ll just slip back into a wordless daze. There’s no one here to look after him.’

I tried to sound casual and reasonable but my friend knew me only too well.

‘I get the impression that you’ve another reason why you want Walo to accompany us?’ he said pointedly.

Osric was the only person with whom I regularly discussed my prophetic dreams.

‘It was the night after my interview with Carolus,’ I admitted. ‘I dreamed I was trudging through a pine forest and heard a strange buzzing sound – very loud. Two wolves were running towards me between the trees. The buzzing noise came from a great mass of bees clinging to their fur. The insects covered the wolves so thickly that they seemed to have grown a second skin that hummed and rippled. The wolves paid no attention to the bees but I was terrified. Out of nowhere, Walo appeared . . .’ I paused, remembering the bizarre scene.

‘Go on,’ prompted Osric.

‘Walo was acting like a madman. He went straight up to the wolves and stroked their heads, and they sat down obediently, their tongues lolling out. Walo sat himself on the ground between them and many of the bees swarmed across and onto Walo until he, too, seemed to be wearing a coat of bees. Then I woke up.’

Osric was quiet for a long moment. ‘What does the Oneirokritikon have to say?’

I hesitated before replying. Both of us knew that the dream book could be as dangerously ambiguous as any charlatan fortuneteller.

‘Artimedorus writes that seeing a madman in a dream is a good omen. He points out that madmen are not hindered in anything they have set their hearts on. So to dream of someone who is insane means that a business venture will succeed.’

‘An unlikely argument,’ Osric observed sardonically.

‘Enough to persuade me that taking Walo along with us would be more than repaying his father’s sacrifice. Walo could prove a lucky mascot.’

‘You’ll be exposing him to situations for which he is completely unprepared, perhaps to a new danger.’

Puzzled, I looked at my friend. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘The last I heard, King Offa still rules Mercia as ruthlessly as before. He has his informants at Carolus’s court. He’s still your enemy, and he might well still be thinking that he was foolish for not killing you when he wiped out the rest of your family. Now he has his chance to finish the job.’

‘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 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.

‘There’s a tidy profit from acting as a money changer.’

It was my turn to change the subject. ‘You said in Dorestad that you should have known that I can speak Saxon.’

Redwald chuckled. ‘The name Sigwulf is rare among the Franks. Much more popular among Northmen and Saxons. So what brought you to the court of King Carolus?’

He put the question lightly but I detected again that he was showing more than casual curiosity.

‘It was not my choice. Offa of Mercia despatched me there, to get me out of the way.’ It was an honest answer and designed to evoke a response. It succeeded.

Redwald sucked in his breath. ‘Offa’s a right mean bastard. I trade regularly in his ports and I wouldn’t want it widely known that I’ve taken a passenger he doesn’t like. Could damage my business.’

‘Then make sure I don’t come to the attention of anyone in Kaupang who might report to Offa that I arrived there with you,’ I said quickly. It was a flimsy safeguard for my future, but better than nothing.

‘That I will do,’ Redwald assured me bluntly.

There was little more to be said so I turned and groped my way across the deck, stepping carefully to avoid loose ropes and other dimly seen obstacles. As I reached the ladder down into the hold where Osric and Walo had prepared sleeping places for us among the bales and boxes of the cargo, Redwald’s voice came out of the darkness behind me.

‘Get a good night’s rest, Sigwulf, however hard your pillow.’

I paused with my foot on the top rung. My pillow was to be a saddlebag containing the king’s silver.

*

We emerged from the Rhine mouth the following afternoon, though it was impossible to say at what point we had left the river and reached the sea itself. The colour of the water remained the same murky greenish-brown, and the flat, dull Frisian shoreline lacked any headlands to mark our departure. As soon as the vessel began to rise and fall on the gentle swell, poor Walo turned pale and began to moan softly. He gripped the ship’s rail with such desperation that his knuckles showed white. Redwald gruffly advised him to take deep breaths of fresh air and look at the horizon to steady himself. Walo closed his eyes even more tightly, whimpering with distress. Before long he was seated on deck, head down between his knees and retching miserably. Osric remained below, guarding our saddlebags, and I took the precaution of eavesdropping on the cog’s six-man crew in case they were planning any mischief. They talked among themselves in Frisian and their only topic of conversation was the weather. I gathered that they were expecting an easy passage to Kaupang as the wind at this season was usually from the south-west and favourable. Reassured, I ducked beneath the edge of the large rectangular sail that smelled of fish oil and tar and made my way forward to the bow where I could be alone.

A thin veil of light cloud covered the sky, and the sensation of facing out across an empty sea towards a hazy and indistinct horizon played tricks on my mind. It seemed that I was adrift in a great, limitless void. There was only the undulating sea swell ahead, the steady rhythm of the vessel’s movement beneath me, and an infinite, trackless space across which I was scarcely moving. I felt isolated and detached, free of my day-to-day existence and from whatever lay ahead on my new endeavour. Next winter I would be twenty-nine years old. No longer was I the naïve and inexperienced youth who had arrived at Carolus’s court. I had matured and grown more worldly wise from all that had happened to me, and it would be normal to have put down roots. Yet I continued to feel like a stranger among the Franks in spite of Carolus’s generosity and favour. I was still unsettled and restless, and always hovering in the background were my strange dreams and visions. They came without warning and though I had learned to be very wary how I interpreted them as omens of the future, they still disturbed me.

I looked back to where Redwald stood stolidly at the helm. Every so often he glanced up at the sail or looked out across the waves, his gaze watchful and calculating. He knew his ship intimately, how she handled in a seaway, how she responded to every shift of the wind, how best she carried her cargo. To that knowledge he added his vast experience of the sea to hold the cog steady on her course. Here, I thought to myself, was an example that I should follow. I knew myself far better now than ever before, and the time had come for me to have more confidence in who I was. I should be more purposeful, more open.

I reached up behind my head and unfastened the lace that held my eye patch in place. With a flick of my wrist I tossed it overboard.

*

Absorbed in my thoughts, I stayed on the foredeck until a noticeable chill in the evening air eventually obliged me to seek a less exposed spot towards the stern. I rejoined Redwald to find that the shipmaster had covered his thinning hair with a shapeless woollen hat almost as grubby as his worker’s smock. He immediately noticed my missing eye patch.

‘The crew will have to think up a different nickname for you,’ he said with an amused smile.

‘Why’s that?’ I asked. I had expected him to react with dismay when he saw that my eyes were different colours. Mariners were supposed to be superstitious.

‘They’ve dubbed you “Odinn”.’

My own father had been a follower of the Old Ways so I was familiar with the story. The god Odinn sacrificed one eye for a drink at the well of knowledge and wore an eye patch afterwards.

‘What are they calling Osric and Walo?’ I enquired.

‘ “Weyland” and “the troll”,’ he replied.

It was a cruel jibe: Weyland was the crippled smith to the old gods.

‘I hadn’t realized that Frisians follow those quaint beliefs,’ I retorted sourly. Neither my father’s paganism nor the devout Christianity of men like Alcuin appealed to me. As far as I was concerned, trying to make sense of my own strange dreams and visions was enough.

‘Just sailors’ humour. But you’ll want to be careful in Kaupang about mocking the old gods.’

I sensed there was something more to his warning. ‘You seem to be worried about what will happen when we get there.’

Before answering he reached up under his hat to scratch his scalp. ‘Kaupang is the outer fringe of the civilized world. There’s no law there, and none wanted. People resent outside interference, particularly when it comes to religion.’

‘So they suspect that anyone sent by Carolus is either a spy or a missionary.’

‘Let’s just say that Carolus is not popular.’

‘Then how do you manage buying gyrfalcons there for the king?’

‘I work through a middleman. It was several years before I had his confidence.’

I spotted the trap Redwald was setting. He was determined to have his usual commission on purchasing gyrfalcons for Carolus’s mews master. I decided it was easier to fall in with his plan.

‘Then I’ll depend on you to buy the birds after I’ve selected them. You can do the bargaining and I’ll provide you with the money.’

He gave a satisfied grunt and tilted back his head, checking the sky. Streaks of high cloud were beginning to form, their pink undersides catching the last rays of the sun, now below the horizon.

‘We could be in for a bit more wind later tomorrow,’ he observed.

‘Does that mean we’ll have to seek shelter?’

He shook his head. ‘Safer to stay away from a lee shore. Besides, the wind will push us along nicely and keep us clear of any pirates who might be watching from the coast.’

I looked back in the direction we had already come. There was nothing to be seen except a darkening expanse of the grey sea flecked here and there with a breaking wave. Suddenly the cog felt small and very isolated and vulnerable, and that made me ask, ‘Redwald, what gods do you pray to in a storm?’

He chuckled. ‘Every god that I can think of. But that doesn’t stop me from doing everything possible to keep my ship afloat.’