The Emperor's Elephant(22)

The three men ignored us as we sauntered past and when we were at a safe distance I asked, ‘What were they talking about?’

‘I picked up a few words. Enough to guess that they come from Khazaria, well beyond Constantinople.’

‘Redwald mentioned that Saracen traders come to Kaupang to buy slaves. I’m surprised that the emperor in Constantinople allows Saracens to cross his lands to get here. They could be spies,’ I added.

Osric grimaced. ‘Trade leaks through frontiers. Slaves bought in Kaupang can finish up serving in the palace at Constantinople.’

Presently we found ourselves in the rougher end of Kaupang’s market. Rubbish littered the ground and the buildings were even more seedy. Stray dogs, scabby and malnourished, nosed for scraps at the side of the roadway. A group of what looked like vagrants were squatting or lying in the shade of one of the flimsy sheds. There were tear streaks on the grimy faces of some of the women and girls, the men looked sullen and bored. They wore no chains but I knew at once that they were for sale. They could have been taken prisoner in local battles, kidnapped by slave catchers, or sold into slavery to pay debts. I tried not to think of my own people made captive when King Offa conquered us. Most would have been allowed to stay on and work the land, paying their taxes to their new lord, but others would have been sold. It was my good fortune to have been sent into exile.

At the far end of the roadway, at the point it turned back into a footpath, we finally found where hunting birds were sold. A dozen or so birds were fastened by cords around their legs to a line of wooden blocks on the ground. They watched our approach with their fierce, bright eyes. The ground around their perches was soiled with their droppings. Fresh bloodstains and shreds of mouse carcasses on the blocks showed that they had been fed recently. The smaller merlins and sparrowhawks were easy to identify, and Carolus’s mews master had taken me on a tour of the royal mews so I was able to distinguish the big gyrfalcons from their cousins the peregrines. Disappointingly, of three gyrfalcons only one was white. The plumage of the others was patterned in dark brown and black. They were not what I was seeking.

A whip-thin lad, scarcely ten years old, had been left in charge. Mindful that I had agreed with Redwald that he would be negotiating with the bird sellers, I contented myself with asking the boy if he knew where I might find a man called Ohthere. My question was drowned out by a sudden furious outburst of barking. A pack of mangy dogs rushed past, nearly knocking the lad off his feet. Their jostling and yapping disturbed the hunting birds. They fidgeted on their perches, fluffing up their feathers.

‘Where can I find Ohthere?’ I repeated. The lad had knelt down on the ground to calm the white gyrfalcon, gently stroking its plumage. When he looked up at me, I thought that he did not understand my Saxon. The dogs had bunched in front of a stout wooden pen a little further down the road and were snapping and snarling hysterically at its bars.

‘Ohthere?’ I asked again.

The lad continued to stroke the gyrfalcon. He raised his free hand and pointed. A heavily built man, roaring and cursing, had emerged from a leather tent close beside the wooden pen. He strode angrily towards the frenzied pack, and began laying about him with a stout stick.

Osric and I waited until the stranger had succeeded in beating back the dogs before we approached him.

‘Would you be Ohthere?’ I enquired politely. ‘Oleif said I might find him here.’

The man turned to face me, stick in hand. He was someone with whom I would avoid a quarrel. Watchful grey eyes were set in a craggy face under bushy eyebrows. He had a dense, black beard and although he was of no more than ordinary height, his barrel chest strained the fabric of his jerkin. Muscular forearms and thick, blunt fingers grasping the stick made it clear that he was not to be trifled with.

‘I’m Ohthere.’ His tone of voice, assured and forceful, matched his appearance.

‘I’m hoping you can tell me about the horse whale, the hross-hvalr. Oleif said they are found in the region where you have your farm.’

Ohthere studied me. I was sure he had seen the colours of my eyes, but he showed no reaction. ‘That’s right. Horse whales haul out on the beaches near me.’

‘Haul out?’

‘They clamber out of the sea and lie on the land, sunning themselves. That’s where they breed and raise their pups. What did you expect?’

‘I had hoped that they were a sort of horse, and maybe some of them have white skins.’ This time I did not want to make an idiot of myself by mentioning unicorns.

Thankfully Ohthere did not laugh. ‘They’re sea animals, big and bloated. Odinn only knows how they came to be called horses. They’re more like whales. That part of their name is accurate.’