Osric answered for me. ‘The caliph called it a rukh, or simurgh. It’s similar to the griffin pictured in the Book of Beasts.’
The dragoman regarded us with a mixture of incredulity and amusement. ‘Do you think that such a creature really exists?’
‘It’s not for me to say,’ I told him. ‘The expedition was the crown prince’s idea.’
The dragoman made a sharp intake of breath. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I’m sure that it was young Abdallah who persuaded his father to grant us a private audience. But it was his half-brother who suggested sending us to bring back a rukh from Zanj.’
Abram spoke slowly and carefully. ‘Sigwulf, be careful. You’re on dangerous ground.’
I waited for him to go on.
‘I warned you earlier about the rivalries around the throne,’ Abram said. ‘Abdallah pleased his father by bringing you and Osric before him with the mysterious book. That would have made the crown prince jealous. Mohammed has devised a way of discrediting Abdallah by sending you off on a mission that he hopes will fail.’
I hesitated, trying to think how it might be possible to avoid going in search of the rukh when Osric spoke up. ‘The rukh can’t be any more dangerous to catch and handle than a pair of ice bears. Walo should be able to cope.’
Abram’s response held more than a hint of condescension. ‘I admire your confidence,’ he said meaningfully. ‘If a rukh does exist and is so easy to obtain, I’m surprised that there’s not one already in the caliph’s menagerie.’
Chapter Sixteen
MUSA WAS ABLE to provide a few more details about the rukh when Osric and I went to see him in the royal library. We found him in the same airless room as before, surrounded by books and scrolls.
‘I never thought that there would be any use to the librarian’s list of animals mentioned in our books,’ he admitted, ‘but I was wrong.’
‘Our former dragoman doubts the rukh even exists,’ Osric told him.
Musa mopped the sweat off his glistening scalp with a length of cloth. ‘And until recently I would have agreed. But our archivists have turned up reports of similar animals.’
‘Like the griffin in the Book of Beasts?’ I asked.
‘Nearly so. Our texts from India contain several references to a giant bird called a Garuda, large enough to seize an elephant in its talons. We also have a mention from China, of a huge bird known as a Peng. Interestingly, it is said to fly south each year to an unknown destination over the ocean.’
‘To the land of Zanj?’ I suggested.
‘Let me show you on a map.’ Musa lumbered over to a wall where hung a circular sheet of thin flat metal some two feet across. He unhooked it and laid it on the floor beside his low table.
‘This,’ he said, leaning over and prodding the centre of the sheet with a thick finger, ‘is where we are now, in Baghdad.’
The surface of the sheet was incised with interlocking and irregular shapes. It took me a moment to work out that each shape represented a country. I presumed that what was written inside each shape in Arab script was the country’s name.
Musa’s finger moved to a large empty space. ‘This is the sea southward from Baghdad. And here,’ he touched a curved line to one side of the space, ‘is the coast of Ifriquia.’
The stark lines of the map brought to mind the geometrical patterns in the central courtyard of the library. It was an interesting way of seeing the world.
‘Each year,’ explained Musa, ‘half a dozen of our shipmasters set out as a trading squadron. They sail south along that coast, stopping off at various beaches. They drop anchor and wait for the locals to come out to them to barter, buy and sell. There are no real ports.’
‘Have any of the captains ever gone further than the land of Zanj?’ I enquired.
‘The shipmasters are fearful of being left stranded. It’s a question of the winds. For four months a year the wind blows from the north, then there’s a brief lull, and afterwards the wind blows from the south. If a ship goes too far, it may not be able to get back in the same season.’
The big man returned the wheel-shaped map to its hook on the wall, and came back to his desk. I concealed my disappointment. The map was so worthless for practical purposes and I remembered how useful Abram’s itinerarium had been.
‘Have the captains made any charts from their voyages to Zanj?’ I asked.
‘I’m afraid not. They rely on star books.’ The big man gave a breathy chuckle. ‘As I said when you told me about your dreams of the future, our preference is to look to the skies for guidance.’