‘A hurried job but the best we could do,’ Alcuin explained. ‘Carolus is concerned that not all the animals he is sending the caliph will survive the journey. If that happens, you are to use this book to show the caliph what creatures had been selected for him, apologize for their loss, and enquire if there are any replacements that the caliph might prefer.’ Alcuin allowed himself a tight smile. ‘You will also take the opportunity to point to the animals that Carolus himself would like to receive for his own zoo.’
Carefully I lifted the cover of the volume. The fresh stitching made the binding stiff, and the leather still had the chalky smell of the alum tanning.
It was another bestiary. The first page had an illustration of a lion with a heavy, curly mane, roaring over a small, sleepy-looking cub. Underneath was a paragraph summarizing the creature’s habits and nature.
A lion always sleeps with its eyes open and evades the hunter by using its tail to sweep away the tracks left by its paws in the sand or dust. The mother lion gives birth to five cubs the first year, four cubs the second year, and so forth. The cubs are born dead. They come to life when the mother breathes in their faces, and the father roars over them.
Below were several lines in Saracen script. I presumed they were the Arab translation.
Alcuin’s voice brought me out of the book. ‘Sigwulf, think of it as a catalogue, as a list of possible gifts that might be exchanged between a king and a caliph.’ He was smiling at me, half in amusement, half in warning. ‘Carolus wonders, for example, if by any chance the caliph can send him a griffin. You’ll find it on the third page.’
I turned to the correct illustration. It showed a bizarre, fierce-looking creature that had the body and tail of a lion but the head and wings of an eagle. The griffin, according to the description written underneath, was an enemy of horses and large enough to fly away carrying a live ox.
I looked up at Alcuin. ‘It seems a lot more extraordinary than a unicorn,’ I commented.
‘That is not your concern, Sigwulf. What matters is that the king believes the creature may exist.’
‘Do you think that there’s really such an animal as a griffin?’ I asked him.
Alcuin permitted himself a delicate shrug. ‘If there is, and you find one, then you will have added to our knowledge of the creatures God placed on this earth. Another wonder of God’s creation.’
I thought his reply was tactful but still sceptical.
‘Is this an exact copy of the bestiary that Carolus showed me?’ I was itching to look through the bestiary at my leisure and to discover what other bizarre and strange animals were thought to exist.
‘The copyists had permission to add creatures shown in other books in the palace library.’
I closed the book gently and carefully so as not to distort the fresh stitching. ‘In Kaupang a hunter told me about a wondrous bird that has a beak striped with all the colours of the rainbow. That would make a very striking gift between monarchs.’
‘I’m sure the caliph already has more than enough parrots in his zoo,’ said Alcuin drily.
‘Not a parrot. A sea bird that eats fish and lives in cliffs. It flutters its wings so fast that, in flight, it flies like a bee. My informant couldn’t tell me its Frankish name.’
‘And it tastes delicious,’ interrupted Alcuin.
‘That’s right! Dark flesh, with a flavour like pigeon.’
Alcuin broke into a sudden, boyish grin. It was something I had never seen before. ‘In my youth I spent three years at a monastery on a remote island off the coast of north Britain. In spring time we caught and ate those birds by the dozen, their eggs too. But I don’t think you’ll find them illustrated in that book. They’re called puffins.’
I must have looked crestfallen because he added, not unkindly, ‘And that gaudy beak is only colourful in summer. The rest of the year it looks very ordinary.’
I thought back to the white furs I had seen in Kaupang’s market, winter furs from creatures that wore much more drab colours for the rest of the year. It occurred to me that animals, like humans, could deceptively change to suit the occasion.
Alcuin was still chuckling when there was a discreet knock on his door. He gestured at me to open it. A chancery clerk was standing on the threshold, soberly dressed in a brown tunic, grey leggings and lightweight summer shoes. Then I noticed that his clothes were of very expensive fabric and beautifully cut. He was in his late thirties, of about my own height, slim and fit-looking. From a cap of short black curls to the beardless, fine-boned face with its pointed chin, everything about him was neat and self-contained.