Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant (21 page)

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.

A
LMOST AS QUICKLY AS
it had arrived, the flood departed. Had I not seen it for myself I would never have believed that a river could switch so rapidly
from untamed ferocity to placid calm.

‘Rivers are like those serpents that swallow a deer or calf entire,’ Abram explained to me. It was two days later and our little flotilla was gliding between banks thick with willow
and poplar. In bright morning sunshine the swallows swooped and scythed over the silk-smooth, shimmering surface of the river, snatching up insects. Where the river divided around large islands it
isolated patches of untouched wilderness, and the undergrowth along the bank teemed with wildlife. There were glimpses of otters, and startlingly bright blue streaks as kingfishers launched from
low-hanging branches and sped away. All manner of small water creatures swam across our path, drawing out their telltale ripples.

‘The prey becomes a bulge inside the serpent,’ the dragoman explained. ‘The bulge passes along the serpent’s length as the beast digests. The crest of a flood is the
same. It enters the head of the river and travels down its valley, swelling then subsiding.’

‘It’s difficult to imagine a creature so gross,’ I said. The current was carrying us along at a rapid walking pace, and the boatmen only had to use their oars occasionally to
keep us on course. The drama of the bridge seemed like a distant memory.

He laughed. ‘When we get to Rome I’ll show you a picture of Adam and Eve being expelled from Paradise. I think the artist had the same serpent in mind.’

‘What else can I expect to see when we get to Rome?’

The banter left his voice. ‘More important is what you don’t see.’

‘You sound like Alcuin.’

The dragoman was serious. ‘In Rome the serpents don’t swallow their victims. They strike with poisoned fangs. The city is a snake pit of intrigue, conspiracies and plots. Everyone is
waiting for Pope Adrian to die and then . . .’ He shrugged expressively.

I recalled Alcuin’s warning that the pope was very old, and that no one knew who would replace him. ‘And what sort of man is Pope Adrian?’ I asked.

The dragoman shook a small purse out from his sleeve. The movement was so deft that I blinked in surprise. He noted my reaction and grinned. ‘In my profession a discreet coin dropped
quickly into a ready palm solves many a problem.’

He took a coin from the purse and passed it to me. ‘Here’s Pope Adrian for you.’

The portrait on the papal coin was very stylized: a man’s head and shoulders, shown full face, the eyes staring boldly forward under some sort of cap or crown. Oddly, the upper lip of the
face wore what looked like a short, trim moustache. Around the edge was written ‘HADRIANUS P P’ in raised letters.

‘I presume that “P P” is short for “Pope”,’ I said.

Abram chuckled. ‘In Rome the joke is that it means “in perpetuity”. Pope Adrian is as hardy and tough as they come. He’s already sat on Peter’s throne for close on
two decades, longer than anyone before him.’

I handed back the coin. ‘If you remember, Alcuin gave me an introduction to the man who works for the pope as his Nomenculator. His name is Paul.’

‘A very useful contact. By the time we arrive in Rome, we won’t find any ship captain prepared to take us onward from Italy until next sailing season in spring. I strongly advise
that we spend the winter in the city. The Nomenculator can help us find suitable accommodation. His office gives him considerable influence.’

I should have been disappointed by the thought of the long interruption to our journey. But the prospect of spending several months in Rome and seeing its fabled sights was something I looked
forward to.

Abram’s next words dampened my enthusiasm. ‘Don’t expect too much of the city itself. The place has been falling to pieces for centuries. It’s a wreck.’ He got to
his feet. ‘By contrast you’ll find that travelling through Burgundy by water is a pleasure.’

*

The next ten days proved how right he was. We came to a region where mile after mile of vineyards extended up the flanks of the hills that overlooked the valley. It was the
season for the grape harvest, and the farmworkers – men and women – toiled in the warm sunshine among the rich greens and browns of the vines, stooping to cut the fruit, then carrying
it in wicker baskets to waiting carts. Most of the crop was then tipped into huge open-topped wooden casks set up close to the river landing places. Here barefoot men were trampling the grapes
until the juice ran off into barrels that were then rolled onto waiting barges. More families were on ladders in the orchards, plucking plums and peaches, quince and mulberry, while their more
agile children clambered into the branches to shake down the ripe fruit. Amid such bounty it was easy to obtain the supplies we needed for the animals. Every riverside town had its own market where
Abram’s servants purchased all we required, and we discovered that the ice bears were as happy to eat fresh rabbit as well as catfish and trout. Well fed, the animals settled down. The dogs
were much calmer, and the ice bears spent much of each day asleep. By day, Walo took the thick cloths off the cages of the gyrfalcons so that the birds could preen and bask in the sunshine, and
then covered them over for the night. By now he had them so well trained that, even from the moving boat, he could exercise them. One by one, he would let them fly free and, after a little while,
bring them back to his hand holding out a titbit of fresh meat. Only the aurochs remained sulky and dangerous. It rolled its eyes if anyone came near, and thrust and battered with its great horns
against the sides of the enclosure.

In the evenings, an hour or two before sunset, we would moor to the riverbank, as it was too perilous to use the river in the darkness and risk striking the occasional rocky shoal. We picked
isolated locations to avoid attracting crowds of curious onlookers who might come to stare at creatures they had never seen before. Twice Abram asked us to stop within walking distance of a large
town so that he could go ashore and spend the night with his fellow Rhadanites. From them, he told us, he could learn what we might find when finally we reached the sea.

Gradually the river grew in size. Large tributaries added not only their waters but also an increasing number and variety of river craft. We encountered ungainly rafts of timber floating down
from the forests, barges loaded with great blocks of building stone, and scores of vessels bearing casks and barrels of wine. The river had become a great artery of commerce, and the bridges were
high and wide enough to accommodate the traffic. We passed beneath their arches without incident now that the water level had dropped. On good days a breeze from the north allowed our boatmen to
spread simple square sails and increase our speed. My spirits were lifted by the welcome sound of water chattering and lapping under the blunt bows of our ferries as we pressed onward. In such
carefree conditions, Abram, Osric and I would exchange places on the different boats. Abram and Osric spent long hours talking together quietly, sometimes in the Saracen tongue. I joined Walo and
his ice bears, keeping him company, for I wanted him to feel at ease in these strange, new surroundings.