‘The health of the elephant need not concern you,’ Jaffar assured me smoothly. ‘The elephant will be given to the charge of experienced handlers. It is your experience of the route that will be valued. I would be grateful if you could give them the benefit of your advice during the journey.’
‘I will do everything in my power, Your Excellency.’
Out of the corner of my eye I was aware of another movement in the archway. A different staff member was hovering, clearly anxious that the nadim should conclude the interview and attend to other business.
The vizier treated me to a quick smile. ‘Prince Abdallah was telling me about that book you brought with you from Frankia, the one with animal descriptions. He found it fascinating.’
‘King Carolus had it specially prepared for the Commander of the Faithful. It lists all the animals we know of, with notes in Arabic as well as Frankish.’
‘Arabic and Frankish? Young Abdallah didn’t mention that.’
‘I took the book with me to Zanj and the caliph required that I place it in the royal library afterwards,’ I volunteered.
‘Then I’ll have the librarian send it over to me in due course. It will be a good text for the prince to study. As his tutor I believe he should learn something of your Frankish script.’
Jaffar gathered his cloak around him, making ready to leave. ‘I am sorry to hear about the death of your assistant,’ he said graciously. ‘A journey is often marred by mishaps, however carefully it is planned. With the help of God, your return to Frankia will be trouble free.’
Then he was on his way out of the courtyard, hurrying through an archway in a swirl of expensive silk, and leaving Osric and me standing in the exquisite garden. My friend cleared his throat with a small, strained cough.
‘Sigwulf,’ he said, sounding more serious than I could ever remember, ‘I will not be accompanying you back to Aachen.’
I gaped at him. All my life I had known Osric, right from the earliest days when he had been a slave in my father’s household. It had never occurred to me that he might choose to go his own way and no longer be my companion.
‘You’ve decided to stay in Baghdad?’ I blurted. ‘Why?’
My friend looked me in the eye. ‘I feel I have a future here.’
My head swam. ‘A future? How is that? You know no one. How will you find employment? Somewhere to live?’
‘I hope to be taken on as a member of Nadim Jaffar’s household.’
‘As what?’ I demanded. I was so taken aback that I spoke more sharply than was justified.
Osric spread his hands in a gesture of apology. He knew he had shaken me. ‘I have some medical knowledge, or I could join Jaffar’s secretariat. As a senior vizier he needs a large staff. I could be useful to him.’
My thoughts were in turmoil. ‘Have you approached Jaffar about this?’ I demanded bitterly, my voice tailing away as I realized the truth.
The voyage back from Zanj had been long and sombre, overshadowed by the memory of Walo’s death. On most days Osric and Zaynab had spent many hours together, sitting on the foredeck and talking quietly.
‘Zaynab is asking Jaffar on your behalf, isn’t she?’ I said, trying not to sound accusing.
‘Sigwulf, I’m hoping you will understand my decision,’ Osric explained gently. ‘I feel more at home here in Baghdad than I ever did in Aachen.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘Even with the summer heat, the weather suits me better. I have fewer aches and pains than in the damp northern climes.’
‘And what happens if Jaffar will not add you to his staff?’ I demanded.
My friend’s answer was firm. ‘Then I will offer my services to the royal librarian. My knowledge of Hispania and the northern lands will help them in compiling maps and registers of foreign countries.’
‘Are you sure about this?’
Osric shifted on his feet, but his steady gaze held mine. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about the best thing to do. I would hate you to think that I am abandoning you, but I see my future here in the caliphate.’
‘And Zaynab? Is she in your future too?’ I knew I was sounding resentful.
Osric shook his head. ‘She’s less than half my age, more like a wise daughter that I never had. Remember that we share an experience of slavery and that makes one dream of a quiet settled life in charge of one’s own daily existence.
‘Yet Zaynab is still a slave,’ I said.
Osric was patient with me. ‘A slave for now, and a valued singer. Jaffar is generous, and he’s more of a patron than a master. Last year he promised to give Zaynab her freedom as well as a present of money if she would continue to sing so beautifully. He says that the gift of freedom would remove the sadness from her voice.’