by Severin, Tim
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.
Chapter Nine
ALMOST 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.
It was always a challenge to find a way of engaging Walo’s attention. He seldom spoke to others and kept to himself, passing the hours in his own special world, apparently in a half-daze. Yet he must have been taking note of what was going on around him because, like a shutter briefly being thrown open, he would come out with a sudden perceptive remark. He was at his happiest and most alert when dealing with our animals and that, in turn, provided me with a means to draw him out of his isolation: he loved to hear more about the exotic creatures depicted in the Book of Beasts. Whenever I joined him on the boat, I would sit beside him on the deck leafing through the pages until he pointed to an illustration that caught his interest. Then I would read out the information written underneath. In nearly every case the animal was as unknown to me, as it was to him.
‘What’s that lion with a man’s face?’ he asked one hot afternoon. Our boats were passing low gravel cliffs where the river had undercut its bank. Sand swallows had burrowed into the cliffs, and a cloud of the small brown and white birds whirled over our heads as they made their way to and from their nests.
‘It’s called a manticore,’ I told him, reading the accompanying text.
‘Those great teeth must mean it is a meat eater,’ Walo commented.
The creature had the head of a man attached to the body of a lion. The artist had drawn a human face with a straggly beard and a wide open mouth armed with sharp fangs. The staring eyes were a cold blue but all the rest of the animal had been coloured blood red.
I quoted the text: ‘The manticore has three rows of teeth and eats human flesh. It is very active and can leap great distances. No one can out run it. Its voice is like a whistled melody.’
Walo was intrigued. ‘I would love to see such a wondrous creature, even if it is dangerous.’
‘But you would not want to come too close,’ I said. ‘Apparently the manticore can shoot poisoned spines from the tip of its tail.’
Walo detected the note of scepticism in my voice. ‘Surely the book is telling the truth.’
‘We’ll never know. It says that the manticore lives in India, and we are only going as far as Baghdad.’
I could sense Walo’s disappointment. His grasp of geography may have been non-existent, but he had a simple, direct shrewdness. ‘We can test the truth of the book. Read out what it says about an animal we know, then we can judge whether it is right.’
I turned the pages until Walo pointed to an illustration of a flock of half a dozen tall birds standing in a group. They had long necks, pointed beaks like herons and stilt legs. The nearest bird was standing on one leg and gripping what looked like a round stone with the other foot, holding it up from the ground.
‘Cranes!’ exclaimed Walo. ‘Flocks of them pass over my forest every spring, high in the sky, but they do not stop. They must be travelling to their summer home in a place I do not know. In autumn I see them as they return. Going back the way they came.’
‘Their Latin name is Grus,’ I said, reading. ‘They travel large distances, flying very high so that the leader can see the lands to which they are going.’
Walo nodded approvingly.
‘When the leader is tired, he changes places with another in the flock. As they fly, they post some of their number at the end of the line to shout orders and keep the group together.’
‘I’ve heard them calling to one another in the air. The voice is like a bugle,’ said Walo triumphantly. ‘You see the book tells the truth.’
‘But what about the crane in the front of the picture,’ I said, ‘the one holding something in its claw? The book says that when a flock of cranes rests at night, one of their number stands guard. While the others sleep, he stays awake, holding up a stone in his claw. If he falls asleep, the stone drops and awakens him.’
Walo thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know about that. But why shouldn’t it be true? Let’s check on another creature that we both know. How about a wild boar?’
I found the relevant illustration. The picture was certainly accurate, a pig-like creature with a curly tail, cloven hooves, dangerous-looking tusks and a malevolent expression as it charged across the page. Even the colouring – a greyish black – was correct.
‘The Latin name is Aper, and it is named for its ferocity,’ I read. ‘The boar is very rough when mating, and before they fight with one another, they rub their skin against the bark of trees to toughen it.’
‘I’ve seen boars doing just that,’ Walo confirmed. ‘In the forest you find places where the bark has been torn away. Boars also prepare for battle by whetting their tusks, sharpening them against trees.’
‘That is what the book also says,’ I admitted. ‘The book claims, too, that a boar eats a plant called origanum to cleanse its gums and strengthen the tusks.’
‘That I didn’t know,’ said Walo, looking over my shoulder as I turned the page to look for another familiar animal.
As luck would have it, the next page had an illustration of a large serpent. For a moment I wondered if this was the same sort of snake whose picture Abram
would show me in Rome. But the man was not Adam, for he was fully dressed and there was no sign of Eve or an apple tree, and the serpent’s home was a hole in a barren-looking hill that did not resemble the fertile Garden of Eden. The serpent body tapered to a pointed tail and, oddly, the creature had curved itself around and thrust the tip of its tail into its own ear. The artist had drawn a face on the snake, and the animal was grimacing, clearly in distress.
‘That man is calming the serpent,’ said Walo at once.
It took me a moment to see what he was talking about. A little distance from the snake a man was playing a stringed instrument. I recognized a viol from Carolus’s banquets when musicians entertained the king.
‘The asp, or serpent,’ I read out, ‘kills with a venomous bite. When an enchanter summons an asp out of its cave with incantations or music, and it does not want to go, it presses one ear to the ground and covers the other ear with its tail.’
I paused and took a second look at the picture. ‘Surely that’s a fable,’ I said. ‘Serpents don’t listen to music.’
Walo looked at me reprovingly. ‘If ice bears do, why shouldn’t serpents be the same?’
I returned to the book. ‘It also says that there are many kinds of asp, and not all are harmful. The bite from one kind kills by causing a terrible thirst; another that is called the prester asp moves with an open mouth, and those it bites swell up and rot follows. Then they die. The bite from a third kind of asp brings on a deep sleep from which the victim never awakes. That one is called the hypnalis and it is the asp that killed Cleopatra the Queen of Egypt who was freed from her troubles.’
‘We’re going to Egypt, aren’t we!’ breathed Walo eagerly. ‘Wouldn’t it be magnificent if we found a hypnalis. I could play my pipe to lure it from its hole.’
The sun’s glare was giving me a headache and I closed the bestiary and replaced it in its wrapping. If only I had paid closer attention to what Walo had just said, our journey might have turned out very differently.
