The Emperor's Elephant(56)

It was shortly afterwards that I heard the head boatman utter a grunt of alarm. Looking up from my bailing duties, I saw the river had narrowed again, and we were approaching the outskirts of a sizeable town. Modest timber-and-thatch houses extended along both banks. Each had a strip of vegetable garden that ran down to a small wooden landing stage on the water’s edge. The boatman was staring straight ahead, frowning. I followed the direction of his gaze and my stomach dropped. Stretching across the river was the stone bridge that joined the two halves of the town. It was the twin of the broken bridge far behind us. Constructed of massive stone blocks, it had three semi-circular arches. The centre arch was slightly higher and wider than its neighbours, but all of them looked to be frighteningly low. The river surged through them, foaming where it struck the supporting pillars.

The boatmen on the lead boat were already plying their oars. They were aiming for the central arch, fighting to hold their boat straight so that the current would carry it safely into the opening.

I held my breath as I watched them being swept towards the arch and then – in one terrifying moment – they were plunged into the gap and swallowed up. I saw them no longer and I could only hope that they had safely made the transit.

Next in line was Osric’s boat. Now I understood why the boatmen had gone to so much trouble to remove the wheels from the aurochs’ cart and lash it down. It was to reduce the height of the cage for just such a hazard.

Beside me one of the boatmen muttered a prayer. Even with his expert eye he could not judge whether the aurochs’ cage was low enough to pass underneath the span. If the cage was too high, the aurochs’ cage would be ripped off or the boat would jam beneath the bridge. If the boat slewed and struck the pillars sideways it would be smashed to splinters. It was unlikely that any of the crew would survive. I knew that Osric could swim but I doubted that anyone could live in that raging flood.

We could only look on. The oarsmen struggled to bring their heavily laden boat onto the correct line as it hurtled towards the bridge. The aurochs, sensing the impending crisis, began repeating a long, wailing moan. At the instant before the boat plunged under the arch, the boatmen hauled in their blades. One man in the stern was a fraction too slow. His protruding oar hit a pillar. The handle flew back as the shaft snapped and struck him in the chest. He was knocked overboard. He fell into the dark churning water just as the aurochs gave a final, echoing bellow of protest, and – from where we watched – the bulk of the vessel blocked out the daylight under the arch.

Abruptly the light returned as the river spat out the boat on the far side.

Now it was Walo’s turn with the ice bears. This time I was close enough to hear the heart-stopping crunch of timber as an upper edge of their cage struck the underside of the bridge, followed by a tortured scraping noise as the current drove the boat onward and through the arch.

Moments later our own boat was thrust into the same gap. On each side the rushing river piled up against the bridge pillars in a sleek, lethal water slope. The bow of our boat dipped forward. Then we were careering through. I ducked. The underside of the stone arch flashed past, scored and chipped with centuries of collisions. The noise of the water reverberated with a great roar. Suddenly we shot out into open water, and I was blinking in the sunlight.

Fifty yards ahead of us men on Walo’s boat were shouting to us and pointing urgently to our right. The noise of the river made it impossible to understand their cries, but a quick glance explained their agitation. A large up-rooted tree floated some twenty paces away, ahead of us and slightly off to our right. It was spinning and dipping in the raging flood water, carried along at almost the same pace as our boats. Our missing boatman was clinging to the wet, slippery trunk. Even as I watched, the tree rolled and twisted, and he was plunged underwater, only to reappear when the tree rolled again. It was a miracle that he had managed to retain his grip. It was impossible that he could hang on much longer.

Walo’s boat was already past the castaway, and could not return. Only our boat had the slightest hope of rescuing him. Our head boatman yelled an order at his comrades and they began to row, angling our boat towards the stricken castaway. They threw their weight on the oar handles, panting with effort. It was obvious that we would have a single chance to save him before the river carried us past. The distance between us narrowed. The castaway raised his head, watching our approach. The tree rolled again, and he went under, coming back to the surface, spluttering, the water pouring off him.

Until that moment I had felt completely useless, a mere onlooker. Now I scrambled up to the bow and selected one of the ropes that had moored us to the bank overnight. I made a coil and stood ready to fling an end across the gap. If my aim was true, the castaway might be able to seize it and we could drag him aboard. With no warning, the free end of the rope was snatched from my hand and Abram was knotting it around his waist. ‘Feed it out smoothly,’ he ordered. Without waiting for a response, he plunged overboard, and began to swim. I helped as best I could, easing out the rope gently to reduce the drag, yet not so much that a loop pulled him downstream. Immediately it was clear that Abram was a very good swimmer. He was stroking forward powerfully, closing the gap. Yet it looked as if his courage was wasted. We would be level with the floating tree for less than a minute, and he would never reach the stranded boatman in time. Then a quirk of the current spun the tree sideways and it bobbed towards us. Abram reached out and seized one of the roots. He nodded to the boatman who let go his hold and slipped off the tree trunk. The current instantly washed him into the curve of the rope. He grabbed hold, and then all of us aboard the boat were hauling both men through the dirty brown water until they were close enough to be hoisted aboard. They flopped down into the bottom of boat, coughing up water and wheezing for breath, utterly spent.