That night, my mind at ease, I slept so deeply that Osric had to shake me awake when it was time to get up. He made some light-hearted remark that he and Walo had finally got a good night’s rest, without my wild dreams to disturb them. None of us could have anticipated that what lay ahead was to be as bad as any nightmare.
Chapter Eight
IN THE LAST WEEK OF August a broken bridge halted us. The crumbling stone structure looked as if it dated back to Roman times. The central arch had collapsed into the river below, cutting the road. Several flatboats were drawn up on the gravel bank, ready to serve as ferries. Their narrow shapes reminded me of weavers’ shuttles. Each had an ingenious arrangement so that the blunt bow and stern could be lowered to form a ramp and carts could be wheeled aboard. Worryingly, our oversize waggon for the aurochs appeared to be too wide to fit. Abram went forward to talk with the boatmen and when he came back after some time, I was surprised to see that he had a pleased look on his face and was carrying his itinerarium.
‘Let me show you where we are,’ he said to me, unrolling a section of the drawing and laying it out on the tailboard of the nearest cart. ‘This dark wavy line is the river ahead of us. Our road meets it at a point close to where you see that symbol for a monastery.’
He unrolled the itinerarium another few inches. ‘If you follow the line of the river you will note that it soon joins a larger one. That in turn flows into the Rhone.’
‘You’re suggesting that we travel by water once again?’ I asked. ‘The river here looks too small to be navigable.’
‘I’ve checked with the ferrymen. They say that last spring there was much rain, and there is still enough depth of water to take their craft downstream.’
I took a second look at the river. It ran sluggishly, its murky water an opaque green. ‘Where do we find boats?’
He pointed with his chin towards the waiting ferries. ‘With a little modification, those are suitable.’
I was still dubious and must have showed it in my expression because Abram quickly added, ‘The local monastery owns the bridge and charges a toll to use it. But the monks have discovered that they can make more money by collecting fares for the ferry. The boatmen are obliged to work for the monastery a certain number of days each year, and they resent it. Several of them are willing to work for us.’
He gave me a sideways look. ‘If the monks lose their boats, they’ll be obliged to repair the bridge. You would be doing a service to other travellers.’
I had to smile at his deviousness. ‘I’ll go to see the abbot.’
As it turned out, the abbot was away on business. I met instead his deputy, the cellarer. A small, timid man, he was suffering from hay fever and used his gown’s sleeve to wipe his streaming eyes as he read my letter from the palace treasurer. When I asked to be provided with the ferries, he let out a tremendous sneeze, then two more in quick succession, before recovering enough to tell me that first he had to consult with the abbot. I stressed that I was on royal business and short of time. I cautioned that, if necessary, I would simply commandeer the boats. He released another massive sneeze and used his sleeve again, this time to staunch his runny nose. It would be simpler, I suggested, if he agreed to my request and sent a claim for compensation to the king’s treasury. In a gesture of goodwill I offered to leave our horses with the monastery since they were no longer required. His eyes filled with tears and his chest heaved as I waited patiently for his answer. He was helpless, sucking in air before the next volcanic sneeze. All he wanted was for me to leave him in peace. He waved one hand at me in desperation. I took it as his agreement and left.
As soon as I got back to the others, Abram set about organizing our transfer into the boats. Two were fastened side by side to make a surface wide enough to carry the aurochs’ waggon. Supervised by Abram’s attendants, a team of ox drivers backed the waggon down the riverbank and manoeuvred the vehicle aboard. The boatmen then removed the large solid wheels and, with a series of levers, carefully lowered the cage with the aurochs inside it to sit firmly on the platform. Next it was the turn of the ice bears in their waggon to be placed on a second boat – again the wheels were removed in what seemed to be a lengthy and needless operation but the ferrymen insisted it was done. By the time they were satisfied the light was fading, and we set up camp and held a farewell feast for the ox drivers.
The men built an enormous bonfire on the riverbank, and sat around it, guzzling their rations and swilling vast amounts of ale as if determined to bring home their carts completely bare. As the night closed in, sparks from the bonfire swirled up, carried high in the still air, their pinpricks of light reflected on the black surface of the river. Abram had paid them well, and there was a carnival atmosphere. The men shouted and guffawed, their local dialect impossible to understand. Someone produced a flute and began a tune to which the others sang drunkenly or banged on makeshift drums. Men stood up shakily and started to stamp and dance. The noise threatened to give me a headache so I left the circle around the bonfire and made my way down to the water’s edge. The summer night was very warm and I was wearing a light shirt. Through the thin cloth I touched the thin scar on my side where the would-be killer in Kaupang had missed with his knife. The wound was scarcely tender. Osric had cleaned it well. I wondered yet again whether the attack had been directed at me in person or was something to do with Carolus’s embassy to the caliph. If King Offa had been behind the attempt to have me killed, every mile was taking me further from his reach. But if the Greeks in Constantinople had been responsible, then I should be increasingly wary as we travelled eastward.