by Tim Severin
Nikephorus raised his glass. Like the rest of the tableware the glasses were stylish, swirling colours of sea-green and orange. ‘I think we should celebrate the achievement of a shared objective.’
I took a sip of wine, trying to guess what on earth he was talking about.
Nikephorus put his glass back down on the table. ‘Now that Kaiam is safely disposed of, Kajd should be more biddable.’
‘Kaiam did seem to be dangerously unstable,’ I agreed cautiously.
He leaned forward as if taking me into his confidence. ‘Was it bad luck or poor judgement that you ran into that Avar patrol?’
My mind ran in circles. I was utterly mystified.
He allowed himself a ghost of a chuckle. ‘With the Avars it always comes down to gold solidi in the end. It’s either bribe or reward.’
His knowing look was an admission that he had been involved in the plot to murder Kaiam and install Kajd as the new khagan. I wondered how much of his own gold he had spent on achieving his aim.
Then it dawned on me that he believed that the gold I was carrying when I rode into Avaria really had been intended as payment for Kaiam’s enemies. My claim that I had been in search of a goldsmith was a flimsy cover story. The money was to encourage the overthrow of the khagan. Nikephorus was so steeped in the arts of deception and conspiracy that he took it for granted that everyone else thought and acted in the same way. Little wonder that he was known as the Poison Dwarf.
‘You succeeded in distracting our unlamented friend Kaiam, and that was important,’ he said. ‘After you showed up, he was blind to where the real danger lay. He was too busy hunting down every tarkan who was called Zoltan. Fortunately, there were very few.’
The depth of his knowledge was impressive. His informants had provided a full account of all that had taken place when I was first brought before Kaiam. The little Greek must have kept a permanent spy ring in place even when he was back in Constantinople.
‘So now all sides can relax.’ I kept my tone neutral.
‘It’ll be at least twelve months before Kajd feels secure enough as khagan to launch a major war, and maybe not even then.’ He made it sound as if he would use the time to devise another stratagem to keep the Avar clans at one another’s throats.
‘Surely Kajd will be more alert than his predecessor to the risk of being overthrown.’
‘It takes just one man with a dagger to make a change at the top,’ the ambassador assured me. ‘The Avars are vulnerable because they make up a ruling class, nothing more. It wouldn’t be difficult to find someone who resents being lorded over.’
‘Pick your man carefully,’ I advised him. ‘I made the mistake of thinking the same about a Gepid, a groom at the Ring. But he proved loyal to his new masters. That’s how I came to be captured.’
‘Along with your Saxon friend. Tell me about him.’ Nikephorus fastidiously dipped a piece of flat bread into a saucer of pungent fish sauce, and sucked on it as he listened to my reply.
‘I know little about him. He was assigned as my guide and escort for my mission.’
‘Are you sure that he wasn’t the one who betrayed you to the Avars? Perhaps for a reward?’
It was a shrewd remark. It fed my resentment of Beorthric and the way he had abandoned me. Thinking back to the day of our capture, I remembered how I had depended entirely on Beorthric as our interpreter. I had no idea what was being said when he was talking with Kunimund, and he could have been in collusion with the Gepid. Beorthric was now living far better amongst the Avars that he would have done in Paderborn. Perhaps that had been his reward.
‘I don’t have any direct evidence of treachery,’ I said defensively.
Nikephorus gave an elegant little shrug and dropped the subject. I judged the ambassador to be a born mischief maker and no doubt he had amused himself by planting a seed of doubt in my mind. If I was not careful, I would find myself being manipulated to suit whatever scheme his fertile mind was hatching.
Not wanting to appear rude, I cast about for a less controversial topic. The splendid trappings of the sacrificed stallion had reminded me of the large gold buckle that my friend Paul in Rome had recovered from the dealer in stolen goods. Paul had identified it as Avar workmanship and from the hoard. It was very possible that Nikephorus, with his knowledge of the Avars and their way of life, could provide some extra information. I was very wary of disclosing to the Greek why Archbishop Arno had sent me to Avaria, but saw a way of broaching the subject while saying nothing of the gold buckle itself.
‘Do the Avars believe in griffins?’ I asked.
For a moment he looked startled by the unexpected question. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘On the way here I visited a village blacksmith. He had been casting bronze buckles in the shape of griffins.’ I paused, then added, ‘Some years ago, I travelled to Baghdad with a shipment of unusual animals from Carolus’s menagerie. They were a gift to the Caliph. I’ve retained an interest in exotic beasts ever since.’
He looked at me with renewed interest. My remark had confirmed his opinion that I was an agent of the Frankish king.
‘I’d like to hear about that trip someday,’ he said. ‘As for griffins, my guess is that the Avars learned about them from us.’
‘There are griffins in the imperial menagerie at Constantinople?’
He laughed openly. ‘Not at all. Griffins are a favourite motif with our artists. They represent vigilant strength. Have done so for centuries. But I doubt they exist in real life.’
I felt a twinge of disappointment. My mission to Baghdad had nourished a faint hope that one day I would be privileged to see a griffin. In the Caliph’s zoo I had seen extraordinary creatures that defied the imagination: enormous cats with black and yellow stripes and frighteningly ferocious yellow eyes that the keepers said would devour human flesh, and a cameleopard standing twenty feet tall with a patterned skin, stumps of tiny horns on his head and a cow’s tail. If a cameleopard appeared to be the offspring of a long-necked deer and a spotted leopard, why could not a griffin be the result of a mating between a lion and an eagle?
Nikephorus was smirking at my naivety. ‘Avar metalworkers are good at copying.’
‘But how did they know what a griffin looks like?’
‘We’ve been giving expensive and eye-catching presents to the Avar rulers for as long as anyone can remember – jewellery, expensive fabrics, fancy tableware. There’ll have been plenty of items decorated with images of griffins.’
I thought back to the display of gold tableware set out on Kaiam’s banquet table. It was more than possible that many of those golden plates and bowls had been made by the craftsmen in Constantinople and sent as gifts.
The Greek had not finished. ‘It’s now got so bad that every Avar khagan expects to receive lavish gifts from the hand of any ambassador who arrives from Constantinople. I’ve brought several of them myself.’
He treated me to a malicious grin. ‘Not all were pure gold. Our craftsman have found a way of adulterating the metal so that you wouldn’t notice the difference.’
The rest of the meal passed largely in silence, and by the time Beorthric came to collect me I still had not succeeded in working out why the Greek had asked to speak with me. It was a question I put to Beorthric as we left the house.
‘He wants to get to know you better,’ he answered casually, making it clear that Nikephorus was of no interest to him.
‘But why? I count for nothing.’
He shrugged. ‘Isn’t that what ambassadors are meant to do, keep themselves well informed about everyone and everything?’
We were crossing the square towards the khagan’s residence and I realized that was where the Saxon was taking me.
‘Nikephorus was involved with the plot to overthrow Kaiam,’ I said, hoping the remark would prompt Beorthric to explain his own role in the murder. After months of near-isolation living in Faranak’s hovel, I felt uneasy at being so out of touch.
It was as
if he had not heard me.
Frustrated, I tried another line of questioning. ‘Am I still a prisoner?’
‘That’s for Kajd to decide,’ he grunted.
He came with me into the waiting room to the khagan’s audience chamber. There, as before, we were searched for weapons. Then we were shown into the audience chamber itself. Little was different from my first visit except that toad-faced Kajd now sat on the khagan’s carved wooden throne. I presumed that the tarkans standing each side of him were those who had helped him murder Kaiam. Everything else was the same. The same profusion of rugs and storage chests, the same poor lighting and the air heavy with the smoke from the thick candles guttering on their massive iron stands and the charcoal glowing in the fire pit. I stretched myself out beside Beorthric on the floor rugs and made my obeisance, and wondered if the transition of power had gone so smoothly because it occurred so frequently.
The new khagan addressed me directly as we got back on our feet. ‘I am returning you to your master. Tell him that I wish to establish good relations between us.’ Kajd’s harsh and gravelly voice suited his ill-favoured appearance.
It was a struggle for me to hold back the surge of excitement. My captivity was over. Instead of fleeing on a stolen horse, I would be sent on my way with official encouragement. I arranged my features in what I hoped was a suitably respectful expression.
‘No more war between the Avar nation and the Franks,’ Kajd continued. He reached a hand inside his loose jacket and scratched an armpit. Fleas and lice troubled even the most high-ranking Avars.
‘Tomorrow my people move to fresh pastures. We’ve already delayed too long. One of my tarkans will travel with you. You will bring him to King Carolus.’
I bowed my head politely and waited for him to go on.
Kajd had stopped speaking and seemed to be waiting for me to respond.
‘I shall carry out your orders,’ was all I managed to mumble. My mind was still reeling at the sudden and unexpected change in my circumstances. The khagan’s rasping voice cut through my daze. ‘Repeat my orders.’
I guessed that he was checking that I spoke Avarish well enough to have understood him properly. I repeated his instructions.
He gave a little grunt of satisfaction, sat back on his wooden throne, and looked round at his advisors, seeking any further suggestions.
One of them, I thought it was the man who spoke Frankish at my first interview, suggested that perhaps the khagan would wish to send presents to his fellow monarch.
Kajd’s head twisted round to face me again. The toad mouth opened in a smile that was meant to encourage but succeeded in being alarming. He showed wide gaps between stubs of brown teeth. ‘What will please your king?’ he asked me. ‘Fine horses? Furs?’
‘A good choice, Your Excellency,’ I said tactfully. Then I took a deep breath as a bold new idea jumped into my head. My luck had turned. I might as well ride it to the end.
Kajd had sensed that I had something more to say, and he did not wish to be kept waiting. The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
‘My lord,’ I said carefully, ‘you will remember that I came to Avaria, bringing gold coins with me.’
At the word ‘gold’ his eyebrows came down in a scowl. He was expecting me to request the return of the solidi to Carolus.
I hurried on, ‘Those coins were meant for Avar goldsmiths to melt down and turn into beautiful ornaments. My king had heard about the skill of Avar craftsmen.’
Kajd’s face clouded over with suspicion as he tried to fathom if there was another meaning behind my words. I held my breath, fearing that I had gone too far, and he was about to change his mind, no longer trusting me to escort his envoy. Then his face cleared and he turned to the councillor who had suggested the gifts. ‘Kuber, pick out some items.’
He snapped his fingers and an attendant came forward from the shadows holding a bunch of heavy iron keys. The attendant unlocked one of the larger storage chests and lifted the lid so that the tarkan Kuber could rummage inside.
He brought out a pair of gold goblets and an ornate wine bowl with twin handles in the shape of vine leaves and laid them on the carpet at the khagan’s feet. There was no sign of the warrior flagon. I did not have the courage to suggest adding anything to the selection of gifts.
Against all my expectations Beorthric came to my rescue. ‘My lord, Carolus should be reminded of the prowess of the Avar people.’
The khagan tilted back his head and squinted at the Saxon. ‘Are you suggesting I send him a fine sword, or a suit of chain mail?’
‘No, my lord. That might be taken as a provocation that suggests warfare.’
‘What then?’ demanded Kajd.
‘Something that informs him of the great victories of your ancestors.’
It was Kuber, the Avar tarkan, who thought quickest. He turned back to the storage chest and brought out the warrior flagon. He carried it across to Kajd who took it from him and turned it over in his hand. Kuber moved closer to murmur a few words in confidence.
There was a long, thoughtful pause as Kajd examined the image of the warrior horsemen. Clearly he was very reluctant to part with the flagon. Eventually, he nodded towards the gold wine bowl still on the carpet in front of him. Kuber picked it up and gave it to him. Kajd held it in one hand while he weighed the flagon in the other. Apparently the ornate wine bowl was heavier.
‘Put the bowl back and make sure the flagon gets safely to King Carolus,’ he said passing them to his councillor. ‘You speak their language, so you will travel as my ambassador and explain my wishes so that there is no misunderstanding. Bring back his answer swiftly.’
The interview was over. Beorthric and I made our way out of the audience chamber and back into the last of the spring sunshine outside.
I was light-headed with relief. ‘What now?’ I asked the Saxon.
‘I expect Kuber will be ready to set out tomorrow. We meet here mid-morning.’
‘Thank you for speaking up when you did,’ I said.
Beorthric responded with a thin smile. ‘I see now why Archbishop Arno picked you. You’re a quick thinker.’
It was the first time since I had known him that Beorthric had paid me a compliment.
Chapter Thirteen
THAT NIGHT WAS the last I spent in Faranak’s cluttered house. By the harsh standards of Avar life she had behaved fairly to me as her servant. She had never shown me any kindness but neither had she treated me badly. So before setting out the next morning, I went down to the river and filled the bucket with water one last time. I was bringing in an armful of firewood to stack by the fire when she stopped me, telling me sharply not to be wasteful. Now that her nephew was dead, she was moving to live with members of her own clan in one of the outlying villages. It appeared that my usefulness was at an end, and she did not enquire about my own future.
Beorthric was waiting for me in front of the khagan’s residence. The embassy to the King of the Franks was getting ready to depart. It consisted of Kuber and his escort of three mounted troopers. A mule was surrounded by attendants busily tightening ropes and checking its load. I presumed that the bundle contained some furs that Kajd was sending as gifts to Carolus. Another of the presents was a chestnut stallion with a white blaze. The animal could well have been the half-brother to the fine creature that had been sacrificed at Kaiam’s grave. It was equally well-schooled and was standing quietly with a groom holding its halter. On its back was a fine saddle of tooled leather with matching saddlebags and I noted that the buckles and strap ends of the harness were bronze. Kajd’s generosity only went so far. Kuber, who was already mounted, rode across and leaned over to double-check that the two saddlebags were securely strapped in place. Doubtless, they contained the warrior flagon and the other gold tableware that had been entrusted to him.
As we stood waiting for the preparations to be completed, I saw that Nikephorus had appeared at the doorway of his house across the square and was watching us.
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‘He won’t be happy when he finds out that Kajd is seeking peace with Carolus,’ I muttered to Beorthric.
‘The Poison Dwarf probably knows already,’ Beorthric grunted. He was wearing his scramseax sheathed at his belt.
A groom brought forward the horse that was to be my own mount. As I checked that the girth strap was tight, I recalled how uncommunicative Beorthric had been on the day we set out from Paderborn. Now we were retracing our steps, I was unsure how I should deal with him over the coming days.
‘Are you pleased to be returning to Frankia?’ I asked the Saxon. ‘When you spoke up yesterday in Kajd’s presence, you threw away the chance to stay here amongst the Avars.’
‘It’s time for me to leave.’ His voice was flat and without emotion.
‘What about the woman you’ve been living with? Will you miss her?’
‘She’s Kajd’s sister-in-law. Now that Kajd is khagan, he’ll marry her off to a tarkan from another clan, a political marriage. I’m disposable.’ He swung himself up into the saddle of his own horse. ‘We’d better get going,’ he added, cutting our discussion short.
We rode out of the settlement against the flow of carts, pedestrians and riders already leaving the sheltered valley where winter had been spent and starting on their journey towards Kajd’s summer capital. Our little party was the only group heading north so we soon found ourselves alone on the ancient track that would lead to the burned-out ruins of the Ring. It was a fine spring day and there were splashes of colour everywhere I looked. Meadow flowers made specks of yellow and purple against the vivid green of new grass. Hawthorn bushes and wild cherry trees carried their snow-white blossoms. The first few pink roses were appearing on briars where small song birds flitted and darted amongst the branches and the air was full of their twittering and chirps.
Kuber set an easy pace. At every hamlet along the road we paused so that he could exchange courtesies with the local headman. Usually we were invited to share a simple meal and several hours would pass while the villagers were assembled to be told about their new khagan. Thus a journey that had taken no more than three days when Beorthric and I were brought south as prisoners tied to our horses, stretched out into a week and more. I was in no hurry. Relaxed and in good spirits, I was enjoying the change from Faranak’s cramped winter home to a landscape where the horizon was defined by distant low rolling hills, their crests smudged with stands of oak, hornbeam and beech. On most days the sky was cloudless and a glorious pale blue, and there were long spells of warm sunshine without a breath of wind. One daybreak we rode early out of the Avar village where we had spent the night and into a ghostly white mist. It clung as tiny droplets on everything it touched – our clothes, the horses’ manes and ears, even our eyebrows. An hour later, a very slight breeze sprang up and the mist oozed away in long undulating streamers and we found that the road was taking us around the rim of a great soggy wetland. At regular intervals, grey herons stood hunched in the shallows, standing over their reflections and patiently watching for their meals to swim closer.
