The Emperor's Elefant

Chapter Eight

In the last week of August a broken bridge halted us. The crumbling stone structure looked as if it dated back to Roman times. The central arch had collapsed into the river below, cutting the road. Several flatboats were drawn up on the gravel bank, ready to serve as ferries. Their narrow shapes reminded me of weavers’ shuttles. Each had an ingenious arrangement so that the blunt bow and stern could be lowered to form a ramp and carts could be wheeled aboard. Worryingly, our oversize waggon for the aurochs appeared to be too wide to fit. Abram went forward to talk with the boatmen and when he came back after some time, I was surprised to see that he had a pleased look on his face and was carrying his itinerarium.

‘Let me show you where we are,’ he said to me, unrolling a section of the drawing and laying it out on the tailboard of the nearest cart. ‘This dark wavy line is the river ahead of us. Our road meets it at a point close to where you see that symbol for a monastery.’

He unrolled the itinerarium another few inches. ‘If you follow the line of the river you will note that it soon joins a larger one. That in turn flows into the Rhone.’

‘You’re suggesting that we travel by water once again?’ I asked. ‘The river here looks too small to be navigable.’

‘I’ve checked with the ferrymen. They say that last spring there was much rain, and there is still enough depth of water to take their craft downstream.’

I took a second look at the river. It ran sluggishly, its murky water an opaque green. ‘Where do we find boats?’

He pointed with his chin towards the waiting ferries. ‘With a little modification, those are suitable.’

I was still dubious and must have showed it in my expression because Abram quickly added, ‘The local monastery owns the bridge and charges a toll to use it. But the monks have discovered that they can make more money by collecting fares for the ferry. The boatmen are obliged to work for the monastery a certain number of days each year, and they resent it. Several of them are willing to work for us.’

He gave me a sideways look. ‘If the monks lose their boats, they’ll be obliged to repair the bridge. You would be doing a service to other travellers.’

I had to smile at his deviousness. ‘I’ll go to see the abbot.’

As it turned out, the abbot was away on business. I met instead his deputy, the cellarer. A small, timid man, he was suffering from hay fever and used his gown’s sleeve to wipe his streaming eyes as he read my letter from the palace treasurer. When I asked to be provided with the ferries, he let out a tremendous sneeze, then two more in quick succession, before recovering enough to tell me that first he had to consult with the abbot. I stressed that I was on royal business and short of time. I cautioned that, if necessary, I would simply commandeer the boats. He released another massive sneeze and used his sleeve again, this time to staunch his runny nose. It would be simpler, I suggested, if he agreed to my request and sent a claim for compensation to the king’s treasury. In a gesture of goodwill I offered to leave our horses with the monastery since they were no longer required. His eyes filled with tears and his chest heaved as I waited patiently for his answer. He was helpless, sucking in air before the next volcanic sneeze. All he wanted was for me to leave him in peace. He waved one hand at me in desperation. I took it as his agreement and left.

As soon as I got back to the others, Abram set about organizing our transfer into the boats. Two were fastened side by side to make a surface wide enough to carry the aurochs’ waggon. Supervised by Abram’s attendants, a team of ox drivers backed the waggon down the riverbank and manoeuvred the vehicle aboard. The boatmen then removed the large solid wheels and, with a series of levers, carefully lowered the cage with the aurochs inside it to sit firmly on the platform. Next it was the turn of the ice bears in their waggon to be placed on a second boat – again the wheels were removed in what seemed to be a lengthy and needless operation but the ferrymen insisted it was done. By the time they were satisfied the light was fading, and we set up camp and held a farewell feast for the ox drivers.

The men built an enormous bonfire on the riverbank, and sat around it, guzzling their rations and swilling vast amounts of ale as if determined to bring home their carts completely bare. As the night closed in, sparks from the bonfire swirled up, carried high in the still air, their pinpricks of light reflected on the black surface of the river. Abram had paid them well, and there was a carnival atmosphere. The men shouted and guffawed, their local dialect impossible to understand. Someone produced a flute and began a tune to which the others sang drunkenly or banged on makeshift drums. Men stood up shakily and started to stamp and dance. The noise threatened to give me a headache so I left the circle around the bonfire and made my way down to the water’s edge. The summer night was very warm and I was wearing a light shirt. Through the thin cloth I touched the thin scar on my side where the would-be killer in Kaupang had missed with his knife. The wound was scarcely tender. Osric had cleaned it well. I wondered yet again whether the attack had been directed at me in person or was something to do with Carolus’s embassy to the caliph. If King Offa had been behind the attempt to have me killed, every mile was taking me further from his reach. But if the Greeks in Constantinople had been responsible, then I should be increasingly wary as we travelled eastward.

Out of the corner of my eye I became aware of two figures weaving their way down the slope of the riverbank. Two ox drivers were stumbling towards the boats. They had the loose-kneed, lurching shamble of men who were very drunk, and occasionally they clutched one another to stop falling over. A snatch of drunken laughter reached me. My stomach gave a sudden lurch as it became clear that they were heading towards the boat with the ice bears’ cage. They had to be intercepted. I scrambled up the bank, looking for Walo. I saw him at once. He was seated by the fire, playing his deerhorn pipe, his head wagging loosely from side to side to the rhythm of the music. It was clear that he too was completely drunk. There was no sign of Osric and I presumed he had gone off to our tent. There was no time to find him so I turned on my heel and set off at a run towards the boats. Ahead of me the two drunkards had already climbed aboard the boat and were standing next to the ice bears’ cage. In the flickering light of the bonfire’s flames they were capering stupidly, dancing and calling out to the bears, encouraging them to join in. I suppose they must have seen a travelling showman with a dancing bear and imagined that Modi and Madi would oblige them.

Desperately I hurled myself down the slope of the bank, shouting at them to stand clear of the cage. They did not hear me. One of the men stopped his capering and, egged on by his companion, he leaned up against the cage, thrust his arm between the bars and beckoned. Modi and Madi were already on their feet. The noise and music from the campfire had roused them. Behind me the flames flared up and in a sudden wash of brighter light I could see the two ice bears staring intently at the intruder. Their eyes were distinct black dots in their white faces. My shouts died in my throat as I recalled the foolish dog in Kaupang whose face had been slashed by the claws of an ice bear cub when he came too close. Modi and Madi were no longer cubs. Half-grown, each was bigger than a bull calf, and infinitely more dangerous.

I was too late.

With a deep-throated growl, one of the bears sprang forward. There was a glimpse of bared teeth and the jaws closed on the out-thrust arm. At the same moment the second bear rose on its hind legs and flung itself against the bars, seeking to attack the second reveller. The boat rocked with the force of the impact.

A terrible shriek cut through the blare of singing and drunken music. Behind me the noise of celebration faltered, then died away. Instead there was scream upon scream of pain, and a low-pitched growling, an awful sound, as the bear – I guessed it was Modi the angry – tugged and twisted at the human arm and tried to drag its owner into the cage. The other bear, Madi the strong, kept dropping back on all fours, then rising up again and hurling his weight against the bars, roaring as he batted with his front paws, trying to reach the other drunkard.

The bile rose in my throat. I was only a few yards away but felt helpless. The entire cage was shaking. Ripples spread as the boat rocked. The agonized screams made it impossible for me to think clearly. Several heartbeats later, someone ran past me – Abram. He was holding a flaming branch that he must have snatched from the bonfire. He jumped onto the boat and thrust the brand between the bars, and straight into Madi’s muzzle. By then the bear’s victim was no longer standing, but slumped on his knees, his shoulder and arm pulled between the bars of the cage.

Abram was yelling at the top of his voice, jabbing at the bear with the flaming timber. On his right the second bear, Modi, continued to roar, swatting at the bars.

Reluctantly, Madi opened his jaws and released his grip on the mangled arm. Then the bear half-rose on its hind legs, spun round clumsily and retreated to the back of the cage. I stumbled forward, alongside Abram, and reached down to drag the bear’s victim clear. Between us we carried the badly injured drunkard away and up the bank, his damaged arm hanging uselessly. Behind us Modi flung himself three or four more times against the bars, then he, too, dropped back on all fours, and began to pace up and down. Abram and I carried the moaning ox driver to the campsite and laid him on the bed of an empty cart. The arm was crushed; white bone gleamed through the mangled flesh. His comrades, suddenly sober, clustered round and clumsily tried to help. Osric arrived to wash the wounds as best he could and swathe the arm in tight bandages. An hour later a team of oxen was yoked and the cart had been driven away into the darkness, heading for the monastery infirmary.

*

Next morning the men were hung over and still in shock. They went about their work in silence, ashamed and morose. To add to the sombre mood the day was sultry and oppressive, heavy with the threat of a storm.

Walo also looked worse for wear, bleary eyed and pale. I did not have the heart to reprimand him for leaving the ice bears unattended. I suspected that the ox drivers had deliberately plied him with strong drink for their own amusement. Together we went to check on the ice bears in daylight. Both were asleep in their cage.

‘Be careful with Madi,’ I said. ‘Abram poked him in the face with a firebrand to make him let go of his victim last night.’ I could see a burn mark and a black streak of soot on the bear’s muzzle.

‘That’s Modi,’ Walo corrected me.

I looked again. ‘But I thought that Madi was the angry one.’

‘That’s Modi,’ Walo insisted. Ignoring me, he pulled out the peg that locked the heavy iron hasp that secured the door to the cage. I took a deep breath and told myself not to interfere. When it came to understanding and handling animals, I had to trust Walo’s instincts.

I looked on as he swung open the door, climbed into the cage, shut the door behind him and went across to the bear and bent over to check the burn. Modi opened his eyes, raised his head and allowed Walo to rub away the soot.

I turned away, marvelling. On my way back to camp, it occurred to me that the events of the previous evening should be a warning to me that I was prone to making unfounded assumptions. Because Madi’s name meant ‘angry’, I had presumed Madi had mauled the drunkard. But I had been wrong. Modi had been responsible for the attack. With Redwald I had made the same mistake, thinking that he was behind the attempt to kill me in Kaupang. In future, if anyone tried to do me harm or wreck the embassy to the caliph, I would be more deliberate. Instead of making a quick judgement as to who was responsible, I would wait for the clues to make some sort of pattern. Of one thing I was certain: my difficulties were far from over.

By mid-morning we had shifted all our remaining stores and equipment, the gyrfalcons in their cages and the white dogs onto two more river craft. Then our newly recruited boatmen pushed our ungainly craft away from the bank, using long wooden oars, and we floated out on the slow-moving surface of the river. The ferrymen – two men in the bow and two in the stern – settled the oars into short Y-shaped crutches. Standing facing forward, they began to take slow, leisurely strokes. Our vessels drifted, barely moving. I was with Abram on the lead boat, carrying stores, and looked back towards our little convoy. A short distance behind us came Walo with the ice bears, then Osric on the vessel with the aurochs. The other stores boat brought up the rear. All three craft were low in the water and the double ferry, weighed down by the aurochs in its enclosure was scarcely visible. The huge animal appeared to be standing on the river’s surface, the water level with its hooves.

An unseen eddy caught our boat and it began to rotate slowly. Our boatmen corrected the movement, holding us straight and in mid-river. The bank on both sides was steep, covered with thick brushwood. There was nowhere to land in an emergency. It was evident that it was now impossible to get off the river. We were committed to wherever it would carry us. Abram had left to me the final decision whether to continue by road or take to the river. If I had made the mistake, I had no one else but myself to blame for our situation.

A heron standing in the shallows watched us draw closer. We were moving so slowly that the bird did not consider us a threat. It turned its head, watching us along its spear of a beak, as we drifted past.

‘This is even less than walking pace,’ I complained to Abram.

‘We’ll move faster once we pick up the current,’ he assured me.

Ahead of us the river curved to the left and out of sight. We drifted round the bend and passed a gulley where a stream emptied into the main river. Almost imperceptibly our speed increased for a few yards, then slackened again. Had I not been so dismayed by our dawdling pace, I would have enjoyed the tranquillity of the scene ahead of us. A large flock of wild ducks was feeding on the surface. They had blue beaks and wing tips, beautifully speckled brown breasts, and a noticeable streak of white just in front of the eye. They scattered in leisurely fashion, paddling just far enough apart to keep a safe distance from the dipping oars as we drifted among them, then came together again once we had passed. There was a small, rippling swirl almost within touching distance, and I had a momentary glimpse of the fin and green-bronze back of a fish as long as my arm before the creature sank from view. High overhead four swans flew, dazzling white against the grey, overcast sky. They were following the line of the river and overtook us in moments, the sound of their wing beats fading so swiftly that it made me feel as if our boats were anchored in one spot. From somewhere in the distance came a long rumble of thunder.

The hours dragged by. All that afternoon our little flotilla crept along at the same languid pace. Unlike a straight roadway, the river meandered and twisted in casual loops. Where trees overhung the bends, our boatmen were obliged to take a course to avoid branches that extended far out over the water. This increased the distance we had to travel. We never knew what we would encounter around the next corner or whether we would find ourselves heading north, instead of south. After four hours of travel I doubted we had progressed the same number of miles.

Just as I was thinking that our situation could not get any worse, there was a faint scraping sound. Our vessel had touched bottom. We were in mid-river and had been travelling so slowly that it took me a little while to appreciate that now we had come to a complete stop. The boat was caught fast on a shoal.

Our crew were waving at the boats behind us, signalling that they were to head for the bank, and not follow us onto the underwater obstacle.

The head boatman seemed unconcerned. A stocky, square man wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat, he rolled back his sleeves, revealing thick forearms covered with thick black hair. He probed the river bottom with a long pole. I thought he was searching for a deeper channel to get us over the shoal, but he was only trying to locate a firm spot where he could rest the tip of the pole, then push. He and his three comrades heaved and shoved until reluctantly our boat slid backwards into deeper water. Then, without a word to me or Abram, they began to punt our boat to join the others already nestled against the bank. There they rammed the bow of our boat deep into the reeds. One of them leaped ashore and fastened a heavy mooring line around the trunk of a sapling.

I was dismayed.

‘Aren’t you going to try to get past that shoal?’ I demanded of the head boatman. He looked blank and Abram relayed my question in a language that I only partially understood.

‘He only speaks Burgundian,’ the dragoman explained after listening to the boatman’s reply. ‘He says that it is better we spend the night here. It is safer for us.’

I looked around. The river took its course through an immense untouched forest. On both banks rose a solid wall of huge trees, heavy with summer foliage. There was no movement, no sign of life, no sound. Even the leaves were motionless in the muggy, still air. I wondered why the boatman sought safety when our surroundings were so peaceful.

‘Please let him know that progress today was very disappointing. Ask him how far he thinks we will travel tomorrow. I’m worried we’ll run out of food for the animals,’ I said.

Another exchange of conversation, and Abram informed me that the boatman expected to make good progress the following day and to reach a town where we could purchase rations for the animals.

I accepted his response grudgingly and waited for our boatmen to go ashore and set up camp. However, they made no move to do so. Instead, they fastened extra ropes between our four vessels, drawing them even closer together until they were buried deep within the reed bed, their blunt bows almost touching the bank. It seemed that we were to spend the night on board.

Walo fed the animals from our stores, and Abram’s camp cook dangled lines off the stern of our boat and caught several plump fish with silvery-gold scales. He alone was allowed by the boatmen to go ashore to light a fire and broil the fish. After the meal the head boatman insisted that he return aboard. As the evening shadows lengthened, I wondered yet again why we were not being allowed to spend the night on dry land, and what was so dangerous in the brooding forest.

Dusk came early beneath a lowering sky, the clouds massing together until their undersides took on the texture of curdled milk. From far away sheet lightning flickered over the leafy canopy. Rumbles of thunder reached us, but so faint that they only emphasized the deep silence of the great trees.

As the darkness settled over our little flotilla, a noise began, croaking and scratching. It rose gradually from the reeds as myriads of the frogs and insects began their chorus. The noise was muted at first. Then it grew louder and louder, reaching such a level that it seemed to vibrate the air with a constant humming, buzzing whine. Sleep was near impossible. The noise penetrated right inside one’s skull. At intervals the din would die away. Then a few moments later it returned at full strength, interspersed with chirps and high-pitched whistles. I had never heard anything like it and it was a long time before I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

I woke suddenly. There were neither stars nor moon and the night was so black that it was impossible to gauge the time. I could have been asleep for an hour or much longer. I lay still, wondering what had awakened me. The night chorus had eased to a low, background hum, as if the creatures in the reeds were exhausted. I felt the boat rock beneath me, a gentle swaying movement, as if it were encouraging me to return to sleep. I turned over and dozed. Moments later the boat rocked again, more violently this time. Close to my ear the water was rippling past the thin wooden hull, a sound that had not been there earlier. There came another shaking movement, and the boat bumped against its neighbour. I sat up and peered into the darkness. There was nothing to be seen. There was a rubbing and creaking from the ropes tethering the vessel to the bank, then a distinct crunch as the bow bumped on gravel. I could just make out the figure of one of our boatmen. He was crouching in the bow, attending to the mooring line.

Reassured, I lay back down and fell into a troubled sleep. When I opened my eyes in the grey light of another overcast dawn it was to sense immediately that something had changed dramatically. There was a heavy, rushing murmur everywhere. I scrambled to my feet and looked upon a landscape transformed. The reeds among which we had slept were almost totally submerged, only their tips showing. The lip of the riverbank had been three or four feet above us when we arrived, now it was level with the boat. I swung round and looked at the river. The placid, flat surface I remembered was now a racing flood the colour of oatmeal. Small waves rose and fell, apparently at random, sweeping downstream on a broad torrent of dark, roiling water. Pieces of flotsam, ranging in size from small twigs to entire trees, rolled and twisted in the currents, now waving their branches in the air, now showing their claw-like roots.

Our boatmen were conferring among themselves anxiously. All of yesterday’s lethargy was gone. They were tense and keyed up. They must have been discussing what should be done and had come to some sort of agreement, because they made signs to Walo that he should feed the animals quickly. They helped him throw fodder to the aurochs, and handed out cold food to us. Then their leader shouted an order. One man from our boat jumped ashore, leaping across the widened gap to the bank, and went to the mooring rope that held the boat furthest downstream. Its crew assembled, all four of them, with their poles against the bank. The shoreman waited until they were ready, then, with a cry of warning, he unfastened the knot and cast off. The crew pushed in unison and their boat went sliding out from the reeds and into the racing current. Within seconds the boat was whisked away, rocking dramatically, gathering speed with every yard. In frantic haste the crew switched to their oars to prevent the boat from broaching sideways, and to bring her parallel to the current. At the centre of the river, where the current flowed the strongest, the vessel was picked up and thrust forward, bobbing wildly through the patchwork of small, frothy waves heaping over the shoal that had brought us to a halt the previous day.

Osric riding with the aurochs was next to be cast adrift. Then it was Walo and the ice bears. Finally it was our turn. The boatman on the bank untied our mooring line and flung himself across the widening gap as the current picked us up and sucked us out into the river. The boat spun crazily, a single wild revolution, before the oarsmen managed to bring it under control. Then we were racing along downriver in a wild ride that brought my heart into my mouth. The other boats had already disappeared around the next bend and I wondered if we would ever see them again.

‘How did the boatmen know beforehand?’ I called to Abram. I had to raise my voice, for the river was no longer silent. There was a sinister, constant growl as the flood water surged along, plucking at the riverbank, washing up against roots of trees, twisting itself into lines of small whirlpools.

‘I already asked,’ Abram shouted back. ‘The thunder and lightning yesterday was where the river has its headwaters. They expected heavy rain to swell the river, but admit this was more than they expected.’ He grabbed for a handhold as our boat struck a floating log and juddered.

‘How long will the flood last?’

‘They can’t be sure – all today and maybe tomorrow.’

Now I understood why the boatmen had stopped us from camping on the riverbank. I had supposed that the risk had lain within the forest. In fact, the danger had come from the river.

The flood swept our boat as fast as a horse could canter. The boatmen stood poised, one man at each corner of our vessel. They watched for floating debris or sudden upwellings and rough water. Every so often one of them took several powerful strokes with his long oar and adjusted our headlong course. Despite their efforts we thumped up against large logs. A rogue tree, torn from its roots, slammed into the side of the vessel and nearly capsized us. The tops of the waves slopped aboard, and Abram and I bailed, using whatever was at hand to throw the water back into the river. Each time I looked up from the work it was to see that we were passing a new and different section of riverbank. I estimated that in the first half-hour we travelled further than the entire distance we had covered the previous day.

There was no sight of our comrades on the other boats until we entered a straight stretch of river, perhaps a quarter of a mile long, and saw them in the distance. Thankfully, all three vessels were still afloat with their live cargoes.

With each mile the river grew wider, though the turbulence of the flood water scarcely lessened. Our boat dipped and swooped as it passed over unseen shoals. Islands came and went, the boatmen choosing a channel past them. Their skill was reassuring, and our boat, being lighter and faster, gradually caught up with Walo and the ice bears. Ahead of them by another fifty yards, I could see Osric holding on to the aurochs’ cage to steady himself. We eventually left the forest and the river took its course between low, fertile hills. On the river flatlands were fields of ripened wheat, orchards of plum and cherry, and coppiced woodland. We fled past several large farms, then a small riverside hamlet. There was no attempt to halt. The power of the flood was too strong. By mid-afternoon I calculated we had gone perhaps forty miles.

It was shortly afterwards that I heard the head boatman utter a grunt of alarm. Looking up from my bailing duties, I saw the river had narrowed again, and we were approaching the outskirts of a sizeable town. Modest timber-and-thatch houses extended along both banks. Each had a strip of vegetable garden that ran down to a small wooden landing stage on the water’s edge. The boatman was staring straight ahead, frowning. I followed the direction of his gaze and my stomach dropped. Stretching across the river was the stone bridge that joined the two halves of the town. It was the twin of the broken bridge far behind us. Constructed of massive stone blocks, it had three semi-circular arches. The centre arch was slightly higher and wider than its neighbours, but all of them looked to be frighteningly low. The river surged through them, foaming where it struck the supporting pillars.

The boatmen on the lead boat were already plying their oars. They were aiming for the central arch, fighting to hold their boat straight so that the current would carry it safely into the opening.

I held my breath as I watched them being swept towards the arch and then – in one terrifying moment – they were plunged into the gap and swallowed up. I saw them no longer and I could only hope that they had safely made the transit.

Next in line was Osric’s boat. Now I understood why the boatmen had gone to so much trouble to remove the wheels from the aurochs’ cart and lash it down. It was to reduce the height of the cage for just such a hazard.

Beside me one of the boatmen muttered a prayer. Even with his expert eye he could not judge whether the aurochs’ cage was low enough to pass underneath the span. If the cage was too high, the aurochs’ cage would be ripped off or the boat would jam beneath the bridge. If the boat slewed and struck the pillars sideways it would be smashed to splinters. It was unlikely that any of the crew would survive. I knew that Osric could swim but I doubted that anyone could live in that raging flood.

We could only look on. The oarsmen struggled to bring their heavily laden boat onto the correct line as it hurtled towards the bridge. The aurochs, sensing the impending crisis, began repeating a long, wailing moan. At the instant before the boat plunged under the arch, the boatmen hauled in their blades. One man in the stern was a fraction too slow. His protruding oar hit a pillar. The handle flew back as the shaft snapped and struck him in the chest. He was knocked overboard. He fell into the dark churning water just as the aurochs gave a final, echoing bellow of protest, and – from where we watched – the bulk of the vessel blocked out the daylight under the arch.

Abruptly the light returned as the river spat out the boat on the far side.

Now it was Walo’s turn with the ice bears. This time I was close enough to hear the heart-stopping crunch of timber as an upper edge of their cage struck the underside of the bridge, followed by a tortured scraping noise as the current drove the boat onward and through the arch.

Moments later our own boat was thrust into the same gap. On each side the rushing river piled up against the bridge pillars in a sleek, lethal water slope. The bow of our boat dipped forward. Then we were careering through. I ducked. The underside of the stone arch flashed past, scored and chipped with centuries of collisions. The noise of the water reverberated with a great roar. Suddenly we shot out into open water, and I was blinking in the sunlight.

Fifty yards ahead of us men on Walo’s boat were shouting to us and pointing urgently to our right. The noise of the river made it impossible to understand their cries, but a quick glance explained their agitation. A large up-rooted tree floated some twenty paces away, ahead of us and slightly off to our right. It was spinning and dipping in the raging flood water, carried along at almost the same pace as our boats. Our missing boatman was clinging to the wet, slippery trunk. Even as I watched, the tree rolled and twisted, and he was plunged underwater, only to reappear when the tree rolled again. It was a miracle that he had managed to retain his grip. It was impossible that he could hang on much longer.

Walo’s boat was already past the castaway, and could not return. Only our boat had the slightest hope of rescuing him. Our head boatman yelled an order at his comrades and they began to row, angling our boat towards the stricken castaway. They threw their weight on the oar handles, panting with effort. It was obvious that we would have a single chance to save him before the river carried us past. The distance between us narrowed. The castaway raised his head, watching our approach. The tree rolled again, and he went under, coming back to the surface, spluttering, the water pouring off him.

Until that moment I had felt completely useless, a mere onlooker. Now I scrambled up to the bow and selected one of the ropes that had moored us to the bank overnight. I made a coil and stood ready to fling an end across the gap. If my aim was true, the castaway might be able to seize it and we could drag him aboard. With no warning, the free end of the rope was snatched from my hand and Abram was knotting it around his waist. ‘Feed it out smoothly,’ he ordered. Without waiting for a response, he plunged overboard, and began to swim. I helped as best I could, easing out the rope gently to reduce the drag, yet not so much that a loop pulled him downstream. Immediately it was clear that Abram was a very good swimmer. He was stroking forward powerfully, closing the gap. Yet it looked as if his courage was wasted. We would be level with the floating tree for less than a minute, and he would never reach the stranded boatman in time. Then a quirk of the current spun the tree sideways and it bobbed towards us. Abram reached out and seized one of the roots. He nodded to the boatman who let go his hold and slipped off the tree trunk. The current instantly washed him into the curve of the rope. He grabbed hold, and then all of us aboard the boat were hauling both men through the dirty brown water until they were close enough to be hoisted aboard. They flopped down into the bottom of boat, coughing up water and wheezing for breath, utterly spent.