The house the Nomenculator provided for us was less than a stone’s throw from where the animals were housed and we had transferred all our belongings by the time Paul’s servant arrived to escort us to his master’s residence for supper. Walo asked to stay behind to make sure that the animals were well settled, so Osric, Abram, Protis and I set out with our guide. He led us away from the centre of the city, up the slope of a gentle hill and into a very run-down area. Chickens scratched and foraged among the ruins of tumbledown houses. Overgrown gardens had been converted into small vineyards or turned into rough paddocks for goats and cows. Pig pens and cattle byres occupied the ground floors of dwellings whose roofs had long since fallen in. Amid all this decay the Nomenculator lived in a large square brick building with a colonnaded frontage that must once have belonged to a Roman grandee.
He greeted us in the entrance hall, his dark priest’s gown in stark contrast to the bright patterns of the floor mosaics. ‘There’ll only be the five of us at table. So I’ve told my steward to serve the meal in one of the smaller side rooms.
I introduced my companions and asked why so many of the adjacent properties were unoccupied.
‘The city’s population is in rapid decline,’ he replied, leading the way deeper into the building. ‘Nowadays people prefer to live in the centre, close to the river, though I can’t understand why. The low-lying areas are prone to bad flooding in winter, leaving the residents trapped in the upper floors of their tenements.’
We had passed into a second, even larger hall, and he pointed to the small pool in the centre of the marble floor. ‘The city aqueducts are constantly breaking down so water for drinking and cooking has to be delivered by cart. Here we still collect the rain from the roof.’
The plastered walls around us were painted with scenes from ancient tales. Their colours were faded but the details in each of the pictures was still clear, and I sensed that Protis was having difficulty restraining himself from interrupting our host to tell us about them.
‘This building is Church property and I am only a tenant,’ Paul explained. ‘Pope Adrian has decided it will become a monastery. I arranged the papal audience for the lucky abbot, and he agreed I could occupy it until he raised sufficient funds for the rebuilding programme.’
He gave me a sly glance as if to remind me that everyday life in Rome was underpinned by favouritism and intrigue.
Five chairs had been set around a small dining table in a side room where the wall paintings were of tranquil rural scenes. I had not eaten since breakfast and my stomach growled with hunger at the sight of green and black olives heaped in bowls, platters of cheese, dried meat and loaves of bread. As we took our places, the Nomenculator apologized for the simple food, saying that it was difficult for his cook to obtain fresh produce in the winter. But the first course was followed by a dish of coddled eggs, then a fish course with a pungent sauce, and finally small bowls of thick sweetened milk with a flavour that was new to me. All the while a servant came round behind our chairs and filled and refilled our glasses with wine. By the time the final course was cleared away, I was feeling lightheaded. Finally, our host turned to me, screwed up the side of his face in one of his twitches, and announced, ‘Now is the moment for you to tell me about your travels.’
Conscious that my comrades were listening, I asked for a cup of water and took a sip before launching into my account, beginning with my summons from Alcuin and the visit to King Carolus in his private chambers. The Nomenculator listened closely, his eyes flicking around the circle of his guests. Occasionally he signalled to a servant to refill a glass.
When I reached the point where I described my failure to locate a unicorn, Paul nodded sympathetically. ‘You were looking in the wrong place. The unicorn is to be found in the Indies, not the northern lands.’
‘What makes you say that?’ I asked.
‘In the archives there’s mention of an ox-like beast with a single horn brought to Rome for a spectacle in the Colosseum. It was pitted against a bear. The bear won.’
‘Was the animal white?’ I asked. If the caliph in Baghdad already had a white unicorn in his menagerie, Carolus’s gifts would look very meagre.
‘Nothing is mentioned in that regard,’ he replied. ‘But please go on with your tale. What about the risks of travelling so far north?’
‘The ice bears could have been difficult to transport. But it turned out that my assistant Walo has an uncanny ability to handle them.’
Osric coughed discreetly. ‘You’ve omitted the knife attack in Kaupang,’ he prompted.