The Emperor's Elephant(15)

*

Some hours later, I was standing beside the shipmaster on the cog’s deck and feeling apprehensive. Redwald had ordered his sailors to cast off from the jetty the moment we had brought aboard our wine and I had dismissed the escort troopers. Dorestad was already several miles behind us, and the last trace of daylight was bleeding from the sky. I could scarcely make out any difference between the black surface of the Rhine and the distant line of the riverbank. The cog was floating downstream, carried along by the current, her great rectangular sail barely filling with the breeze. There was no moon, and soon there would only be starlight to see by. As far as I could tell, we were rushing into blackness and out of control.

‘How do you know which way to steer?’ I asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. Osric and Walo were below deck, keeping watch over the silver coin in our saddlebags, for we had agreed that someone should be awake at all times.

‘I use my ears,’ Redwald grunted.

I could hear only the creak of ship’s timber and the soft slapping of water running down the sides of the ship. From somewhere in the distance came the harsh croak of a heron. A moment later a slowly flapping shadow passed across the sky as the bird flew over us.

Redwald’s explanation was a joke, I thought. ‘And what if there is night fog?’

He belched softly, exuding a stale whiff of ale. ‘Don’t worry, Sigwulf. I’ve navigated this river all my life. I know its twists and turns and moods. I’ll bring us safely to the open sea.’

He spoke a quiet order to the steersman, and I sensed the slight tremor under my feet as the blade of the side rudder turned. It was too dark to tell whether the cog had altered course.

Redwald had spoken Frisian to both the helmsman and to me. Out on the river he seemed more relaxed, less gruff. It was the right moment to sound him out.

‘How many times have you made the trip to Kaupang?’ I asked.

He considered for a moment. ‘Fifteen, maybe sixteen times.’

‘Never any trouble?’

‘Pirates once or twice, but we drove them off or managed to out-run them.’

‘What about bad weather?’

‘With decent ballast my ship can handle heavy weather.’ He sounded very confident but the fact that he immediately spat over the side – a gesture every countryman knows is intended to appease the weather – reduced his credibility.

‘Ballast?’ I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.

He was standing close enough for me to see the affectionate way he laid a hand on the wooden rail. ‘It’s what you stow low down in a ship to make sure she doesn’t fall over in a gale. I’ve a couple of tons of quern stones stowed beneath all that wine.’

He belched again. ‘God only knows why in the Northlands they can’t make decent querns for themselves, but their wives prefer the stones we bring from the Eifel. That’s the way of the world: stones for hard-working women to grind their flour while their menfolk guzzle wine.’

I peered forward into the darkness. Occasionally a pale shape appeared and swooped past the bow before vanishing into the gloom – seagulls. I recalled how excited Walo had been when he saw his first gull flying upriver from the sea. Living in the forests, he had never seen a gull before. He had asked me if these were the white birds we were bringing back for the king. Redwald had laughed aloud.

The shipmaster’s voice broke into my thoughts. ‘I suppose that Saracen companion of yours has his own contacts at Kaupang.’

The shipmaster was observant and shrewd. He had identified Osric as being a Saracen, or perhaps someone had already told him.

‘Osric knows no one at Kaupang, as far as I know. He’s never been there,’ I replied sharply. I wondered why Redwald was fishing for information.

‘Then he’ll have a chance to meet some of his own people. Saracen traders get to almost as many faraway places as us Frisians. A few show up in Kaupang each year. Buying slaves and furs mostly, and they pay in coin –’ his significant pause alerted me – ‘so it will be handy to have someone who can check for counterfeits.’

‘I’m sure Osric will help in whatever way he can,’ I said neutrally.

‘Northmen aren’t happy with coins –’ again, the slight pause – ‘they think that a clever moneyer can adulterate the metal in a way that can’t be detected. They prefer to put their trust in lumps of chopped-up silver jewellery.’

‘What about gold?’

‘Don’t see that very often. Maybe the occasional Byzantine solidus. Goldwork tends to be set with precious stones and spared the hatchet.’