The Emperor's Elephant(5)

‘What do you know about this caliph?’ Alcuin asked me.

‘Only common knowledge,’ I replied cautiously. ‘His capital is a city called Baghdad. It’s very far away, beyond Jerusalem and the Holy Land. He lives there in great splendour and is hugely wealthy. The quality of his gifts is proof of that.’

Alcuin gave me a patient look as if to rebuke me for my ignorance. ‘Haroun al Rashid is one of the three most powerful rulers on this earth.’ He spoke as if to a promising but lazy student. ‘The other two being the emperor in Constantinople and, of course, our own Carolus. The most significant of Haroun’s many titles and honorifics is Commander of the Faithful. He regards himself as supreme overlord of all Saracens.’

‘Surely the emir of Cordoba contests that claim,’ I murmured. I had received my shoulder wound during the failed expedition by Carolus’s army into Hispania in support of a rebellion against the emir. I recalled that the rebels, Saracens themselves, had appealed for help from distant Baghdad as well as from Carolus.

‘You are correct. The emir of Cordoba refuses to acknowledge the caliph’s authority. I won’t trouble you with the details, but Haroun’s forebears killed every member of the emir’s family they could hunt down after seizing the caliphate. The sole survivor fled to Hispania where he established his own independent dominion. The two dynasties hate one another.’

I glimpsed the direction Alcuin’s comments were leading. ‘So Haroun sends valuable gifts to Carolus as a gesture of appreciation and friendship.’

Alcuin rewarded me with a slight smile. ‘Sigwulf, I’m glad that you are still reasonably quick on the uptake.’

‘My friend Osric tells me that the Saracens have a saying: “My enemy’s enemy is my friend.”’

A worm of doubt was stirring in my mind. Did my summons from Alcuin have something to do with Osric?

Alcuin’s next statement made matters no clearer. ‘Custom and diplomacy dictate that Carolus responds to Haroun’s generosity by sending valuable gifts of equal rarity back to him. The king has consulted me for my recommendations.’

‘Not an easy task,’ I said blandly.

Alcuin gave me a sharp look. Perhaps he thought I was teasing him. ‘This will be more than a matter of sending the caliph a parcel of sword blades,’ he snapped.

Frankish sword smiths were renowned for the quality of their weapons and a consignment of sword blades was a standard item among the gifts that Carolus despatched to fellow rulers.

Alcuin quickly regained his usual even tone. ‘The caliph must have known about Carolus’s menagerie because Haroun’s gifts included an elephant.’

I gaped. The collection of animals in Carolus’s menagerie included wolves, bears, leopards, peacocks, lynx and even a panther sent by the basileus, the emperor in Constantinople. The thought that they might have been joined by a living elephant was tantalizing. I thought how dearly I would love to see an elephant.

Alcuin was enjoying my evident amazement. ‘Regrettably the creature did not survive the journey here,’ he added.

My imagination soared. I had heard about elephants. Everyone had. They featured in many tales about the fabled east, and my boyhood teacher, a defrocked priest, had described how the ancient Romans trained them as instruments of warfare. But no elephant, as far as I was aware, had set foot in Europe for centuries. They were wondrous beasts.

‘The death of this particular animal is most unfortunate,’ Alcuin went on. ‘The elephant had been specially selected. Its skin was very pale, almost white – a very great compliment from the caliph to Carolus. Apparently, white is the royal colour in Baghdad. Anyone who enters the inner city must be dressed in white.

‘What did the elephant die of?’ I asked.

‘You will have to ask the man who was in charge of its transport from Baghdad. He is full of apologies.’

If I had been more alert, Alcuin’s words would have prepared me for what was to follow. But I was still too intrigued by the idea of an elephant arriving in Aachen to notice what he had implied.

Alcuin had not finished. ‘I’ll introduce him to you at another time. You’ll like him. He’s most civilized and obliging. He’s a Radhanite by the name of Abram.’

‘A Radhanite?’ I repeated. I had no idea what Alcuin meant.

‘The Radhanites are Israelites by faith.’ Here I detected a brief glint of disapproval, ‘They spend most of their lives on the road, moving from one market to another, trading, trading, always trading. They’ve spun themselves a web of contacts and associates that reaches from Hispania to India.’