Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant (27 page)

He gave an order and the two litter bearers began to move. I watched my new-found ally being carried away up the stairs, leaving me wondering why he showed quite such concern for our safety.

*

Next morning dawned with the same unrelenting grey sky though the drizzle had stopped, and we drove our boat-like waggons into the city and as far as the Colosseum. I worried
about how to transfer the aurochs into its new home without endangering ourselves, until Osric drew my attention to an archway at street level wider than the other entrances. It was sealed with a
massive gate that looked as if it had not been opened for a very long time. Behind it a passageway led to a second gate that opened directly into the arena. We forced open both the gates and backed
the aurochs’ wheeled cage into the entrance, then released the beast. Snorting angrily, it ran down the passageway and out into the arena. After making a couple of menacing circuits of the
ring, tossing its head and looking for enemies, it came across the entrance into what had been the performers’ anteroom. The brute trotted inside and eventually found its way into the stable
prepared for it. Walo had been tracking the creature from a safe distance and he slammed the door shut behind it. He then undertook the easier task of bringing Madi and Modi to their new
accommodation.

The house the Nomenculator provided for us was less than a stone’s throw from where the animals were housed and we had transferred all our belongings by the time Paul’s servant
arrived to escort us to his master’s residence for supper. Walo asked to stay behind to make sure that the animals were well settled, so Osric, Abram, Protis and I set out with our guide. He
led us away from the centre of the city, up the slope of a gentle hill and into a very run-down area. Chickens scratched and foraged among the ruins of tumbledown houses. Overgrown gardens had been
converted into small vineyards or turned into rough paddocks for goats and cows. Pig pens and cattle byres occupied the ground floors of dwellings whose roofs had long since fallen in. Amid all
this decay the Nomenculator lived in a large square brick building with a colonnaded frontage that must once have belonged to a Roman grandee.

He greeted us in the entrance hall, his dark priest’s gown in stark contrast to the bright patterns of the floor mosaics. ‘There’ll only be the five of us at table. So
I’ve told my steward to serve the meal in one of the smaller side rooms.

I introduced my companions and asked why so many of the adjacent properties were unoccupied.

‘The city’s population is in rapid decline,’ he replied, leading the way deeper into the building. ‘Nowadays people prefer to live in the centre, close to the river,
though I can’t understand why. The low-lying areas are prone to bad flooding in winter, leaving the residents trapped in the upper floors of their tenements.’

We had passed into a second, even larger hall, and he pointed to the small pool in the centre of the marble floor. ‘The city aqueducts are constantly breaking down so water for drinking
and cooking has to be delivered by cart. Here we still collect the rain from the roof.’

The plastered walls around us were painted with scenes from ancient tales. Their colours were faded but the details in each of the pictures was still clear, and I sensed that Protis was having
difficulty restraining himself from interrupting our host to tell us about them.

‘This building is Church property and I am only a tenant,’ Paul explained. ‘Pope Adrian has decided it will become a monastery. I arranged the papal audience for the lucky
abbot, and he agreed I could occupy it until he raised sufficient funds for the rebuilding programme.’

He gave me a sly glance as if to remind me that everyday life in Rome was underpinned by favouritism and intrigue.

Five chairs had been set around a small dining table in a side room where the wall paintings were of tranquil rural scenes. I had not eaten since breakfast and my stomach growled with hunger at
the sight of green and black olives heaped in bowls, platters of cheese, dried meat and loaves of bread. As we took our places, the Nomenculator apologized for the simple food, saying that it was
difficult for his cook to obtain fresh produce in the winter. But the first course was followed by a dish of coddled eggs, then a fish course with a pungent sauce, and finally small bowls of thick
sweetened milk with a flavour that was new to me. All the while a servant came round behind our chairs and filled and refilled our glasses with wine. By the time the final course was cleared away,
I was feeling lightheaded. Finally, our host turned to me, screwed up the side of his face in one of his twitches, and announced, ‘Now is the moment for you to tell me about your
travels.’

Conscious that my comrades were listening, I asked for a cup of water and took a sip before launching into my account, beginning with my summons from Alcuin and the visit to King Carolus in his
private chambers. The Nomenculator listened closely, his eyes flicking around the circle of his guests. Occasionally he signalled to a servant to refill a glass.

When I reached the point where I described my failure to locate a unicorn, Paul nodded sympathetically. ‘You were looking in the wrong place. The unicorn is to be found in the Indies, not
the northern lands.’

‘What makes you say that?’ I asked.

‘In the archives there’s mention of an ox-like beast with a single horn brought to Rome for a spectacle in the Colosseum. It was pitted against a bear. The bear won.’

‘Was the animal white?’ I asked. If the caliph in Baghdad already had a white unicorn in his menagerie, Carolus’s gifts would look very meagre.

‘Nothing is mentioned in that regard,’ he replied. ‘But please go on with your tale. What about the risks of travelling so far north?’

‘The ice bears could have been difficult to transport. But it turned out that my assistant Walo has an uncanny ability to handle them.’

Osric coughed discreetly. ‘You’ve omitted the knife attack in Kaupang,’ he prompted.

Paul’s eyes lit up with interest. ‘Tell me about that.’

I described how two ruffians with knives had cornered me. When I finished, he looked thoughtful. ‘If that had happened in Rome, I’d say the attack was more than an attempt at simple
robbery.’

‘It did seem to have been planned,’ I answered, reaching to the purse on my belt. I took out Offa’s gold coin which Redwald had given me and which I kept as a memento. I held
it up for the Nomenculator to see. ‘This man – King Offa of Mercia – would like to see me dead. One of my attackers had this coin in his possession. It could have been part of his
pay.’

‘May I see that?’ Abram broke in. He was seated on my right and I held the coin out to him. ‘Fascinating,’ he said, taking the coin and turning it over. ‘I’ve
heard of King Offa, of course, but I’ve never seen his coinage before. It’s a copy of an Arab dinar, but I would hesitate before trading it to a Saracen.’ He smiled knowingly as
he passed the coin on to Osric. ‘I’m sure you can tell me why.’

Puzzled, I looked from one to the other as Osric also examined the coin. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘Offa’s name is in Saracen script. Whoever minted the coin
couldn’t read the writing for himself. It’s upside down.’

He handed me back the coin, and I returned it to my purse.

Paul nodded to a servant to clear away the last of the little bowls of sweetened milk. Platters of dried fruits and nuts were placed on the table.

‘You were very lucky to get away with your life,’ he observed.

‘It was Redwald who saved me, just as Protis here came to our rescue. Our mission has been lucky in its shipmasters.’

‘Another adventure then?’ said Paul expectantly. He selected a dried apricot and took a small, neat bite.

I described the slow sinking of Protis’s ship and how we had been forced to row for shore. When I came to the moment when the aurochs emerged on the beach, Paul clicked his fingers
delightedly. ‘The bull from the sea no less!’ he exclaimed and indicated the wall paintings that surrounded us. ‘A picture in this house shows the tale. For his Seventh Labour
Hercules had to capture the wild Cretan bull on its island. King Eurytheus set Hercules the task, but was too frightened to accept the bull when Hercules brought it back to his palace in Greece. So
Hercules set the beast free and it ravaged the countryside until it was captured and killed by the hero Theseus.’

‘I don’t know that story,’ I admitted. ‘I was told that Theseus killed the Minotaur in the labyrinth.’

Paul took another careful bite from the apricot. ‘The Minotaur and the Cretan bull may not be the same thing. Every story has its variations.’

Protis could restrain himself no longer. ‘The Cretan bull was simply that – a very dangerous bull. The Minotaur was a wondrous creature half-bull, half-man.’

‘Which half was which?’ asked Abram, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Protis took the question very seriously. ‘Some artists depict the Minotaur with the head of a man set on the body of a bull; others prefer the body of a man with bull’s head and
tail.’

‘Both sound highly unlikely,’ Abram muttered under his breath.

Protis failed to hear him. ‘The Minotaur,’ he said, adopting a schoolmaster’s tone, ‘was the result of the queen of Crete mating with a bull. She hid herself inside the
replica of a wooden cow and attracted the bull to her.’

Abram made a scoffing sound under his breath but Protis was still not put off. ‘All sorts of strange-looking babies are born to humans. You’ve all heard of babies that have webbed
hands and feet like frogs.’

I thought it was wise to intervene before Protis fell into an open dispute with our dragoman. ‘We mustn’t be too quick to dismiss the idea of a creature with the head of a bull and
the body of a man,’ I said. ‘King Carolus’s bestiary has several illustrations of creatures which could be the result of strange coupling. For example, the cameleopard is clothed
in the spotted pelt of a leopard yet it has the shape of a camel. It could be the offspring of those two creatures.’

The Nomenculator was enjoying the discussion. He placed the stone from the dried apricot carefully on the table, took a cloth from an attendant and wiped his lips. ‘There were cameleopards
in those wild animal displays in the Colosseum I spoke about,’ he said.

‘What were they like?’ I asked.

‘Very timid, apparently. Two of them were brought from Africa, a long and difficult journey, and let loose in the arena. They galloped around the ring in a panic. Then hungry lions were
sent in. It was very disappointing for the crowd. The lions pulled down and killed the cameleopards who put up no resistance.’

‘If the crowds had seen ice bears, they would have been more impressed,’ said Protis boldly. I suspected that the wine had gone to his head.

‘But they did,’ answered Paul mildly. ‘I’ve come across a description of how the arena of the Colosseum was flooded to make an artificial lake complete with small
islands. Ice bears and seals were introduced so the crowds could watch how the bears hunted the seals. Remarkable.’

A thought occurred to me. ‘Did your ancestors leave any clues as to how they managed to keep their captive ice bears alive?’

The Nomenculator was quick to follow my reasoning. ‘Tomorrow I’ll have a clerk start looking through the archives to see if anything is written about that.’

‘I’d be grateful – the information would help Walo. He’ll also have to keep them cool in the summer heat on the way to Baghdad.’

There was a lull in the conversation and Paul took the opportunity to whisper a quiet instruction to a servant and hand him a small set of keys. The man left the room and came back some moments
later carrying a folded cloth which he laid on the table in front of the Nomenculator, and returned the keys to his master.

The rest of us watched, intrigued, as Paul unfolded the cloth and revealed a short twig, pale brown and a few inches long. He picked it up and handed it to me. ‘What do you think this
is?’

The twig felt very light, almost crumbly, as if it had been dried. On closer inspection it could have been a strip of bark, tightly rolled.

‘Try smelling it,’ suggested Paul.

I raised it to my nose and sniffed. There was a subtle, slightly oily, pleasant perfume. A moment later I recognized it as the flavour of the sweetened milk desserts we had just eaten.

‘From my kitchen,’ said Paul. ‘It’s very expensive, so my cook keeps it under lock and key.’

‘What is it?’ I asked, inhaling the intriguing scent once again.

‘I presume that your Book of Beasts has a section on the more notable birds,’ said Paul, twitching as he smiled.

I nodded. ‘Gyrfalcons, among them. Ours are very special because they are white.’

‘What other birds?’

‘As I recall, cranes, eagles and a small black and white bird that can foretell the death of kings.’

‘Anything about a bird and its nest?’

‘The phoenix. Its nest catches fire in the rays of the sun and it deliberately burns itself to death. From the ashes emerges the next phoenix chick.’

The Nomenculator chuckled. ‘You’ve overlooked a bird much more useful than the phoenix. Otherwise you wouldn’t be holding the twig from its nest.’

Belatedly I remembered. ‘Of course . . . the cinnamon bird!’

Paul smiled. ‘Unlike the phoenix, the cinnamon birds are not unique, though where they live is uncertain. They gather the twigs from a certain fragrant plant to build their nests. The
spice traders send their servants to throw stones to knock down the nests and gather up the twigs, later to be sold in the spice markets.’

He looked around the table, scanning our faces. ‘We cannot deny the evidence of our own senses of taste and smell. Cinnamon exists and it flavours the food we enjoy. If you see living
cinnamon birds on your travels – or any of the other rare creatures in Carolus’s bestiary – I want you to tell me about them on your way back from Baghdad. That will be ample
reward for any help I can give you during your stay.’

It was a gracious hint that our supper was at an end. We rose from the table and, as the others filed from the room, Paul drew me to one side. ‘A word in your ear, Sigwulf,’ he said
in a low voice that held no hint of playfulness. ‘From what you related about your journey, your embassy has met more than its fair share of setbacks and dangers. Are you familiar with the
proverbs of Plautus?’