Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant by Tim Severin Read Free Book Online Page 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