I trudged round the headland, and there, immediately ahead of me, was a line of small boats hauled up on the shore and left upside down on wooden rollers to keep the rain out. Beyond them stood a row of fisherman’s shacks.
‘Piv oc’h?’ said a voice suspiciously.
A man dressed in a shapeless knee-length smock and a broad brim hat stepped out from behind one of the boats. He was short and broad shouldered. On his feet he wore thick wooden clogs. ‘Piv oc’h?’ he repeated, staring at me. He had eyes the same dull colour as the pebbles on the beach, and his face showed a week’s stubble. Drops of rain hung on his hat brim and ran in trickles off his smock. I realized that all his garments had been soaked in fish oil.
‘I am trying to get to the headquarters of Margrave Hroudland,’ I said in Latin.
The man regarded me warily, suspicion mingling with distaste showing on his face. I was not understood.
‘Penaos oc’h deuet?’ he said.
‘A Vascon vessel set me ashore, around that headland,’ I explained uselessly, pointing back toward the cliff.
The man jerked his head for me to follow him and led me towards the largest of the huts. He pushed open the rain-streaked plank door, and I found myself inside a single, cramped room, dark and smelling of wood smoke, dirt and fish. A woman, her tangled hair streaked with grey and wearing a grimy shawl, was seated on a stool before the hearth and stirring the contents of an iron pot. Three young children — all boys — looked at me curiously, their eyes teary and red-rimmed from smoke. They were barefoot and their clothes were little more than rags, though they looked sturdy and well-nourished.
The man spoke briefly in his own language to the woman. I presumed she was his wife. She rose to her feet and wiped her hands on her heavy skirt. I noticed a small wooden cross threaded on a leather lace around her neck.
‘My husband asks who are you and where are you from?’ she asked in Frankish, speaking slowly and with a heavy accent.
I chose to distort the truth.
‘I serve Alcuin of Aachen. He sent me to obtain a most holy book from the Saracens. I am bringing it to him for the new royal chapel.’ I unlaced my satchel and pulled out the Book of Dreams, handling it with great reverence.
The woman eyed the volume respectfully and crossed herself, though I noticed that her husband was more interested in trying to see what else was in the satchel.
‘I would be grateful for a guide and horses to take me as far as the headquarters of Margrave Hroudland. I can pay.’
A glint of avarice competed with the veneration.
‘How much?’ the woman asked.
I groped in the satchel, keeping the flap half-closed, until my fingers found the wali’s purse. I extracted three silver dinars and held them out on the palm of my hand. Like the stab of a heron’s beak, the woman’s hand darted out and scooped up the coins. She looked at them closely and for a moment I feared that the sight of the Arab script on them would make her suspicious. However, she dropped them into a pocket in her skirt.
‘My man will show you the way on foot. His name is Gallmau. We have no horses,’ she said flatly. She gave her husband his instructions, and then turned back to stirring the pot, ignoring everything else except to snap at her oldest boy when he made as if to accompany us.
I followed Gallmau out of the hut and into the fine, penetrating rain that had replaced the earlier drizzle. The breeze had also picked up. Small, white-capped waves were now rolling in and breaking along the beach where the boats were drawn up. I guessed that Gallmau would not be losing any fishing that day. He picked up a stout wooden staff that had been propped against his hut, and called to two small shaggy brown dogs crouched in the lee of a pile of driftwood. They jumped up and bounded over, their ears flopping. Gallmau started up the muddy path that led inland along the rocky course of a small stream that flowed down from the high ground behind the village. Ahead, the two dogs scampered enthusiastically, splattering mud, as indifferent as their master to the wet weather.
I followed, pulling up the hood of my cloak. The rain had soaked through the cloth and was dripping down my neck and under my collar. Fortunately I had acquired stout new boots of greased leather while in Zaragoza and, while not watertight, they kept out most of the water as we tramped our way through the puddles.
We walked steadily uphill for at least an hour, following the line of a narrow glen until the track brought us out onto level moorland. Huddled inside my hood, I paid little attention to our surroundings. When I did raise my eyes, it was to note that we had climbed to where the mist had turned to low cloud and was even thicker. I could see no more than thirty paces in any direction, a bleak vista of rock, heather and low scrub. Everything was dripping wet. I presumed that there was only one track leading inland, and wondered just how far we would have to go before we reached the next settlement. It was useless to ask Gallmau. He spoke only his own language and showed no interest in trying to communicate with me. Also, I was growing increasingly uneasy about being on the moor alone with him. He could easily knock me down with his heavy staff, steal my money and disappear into the mist.
I was plodding along, head down and looking where I was putting my feet when all of a sudden the two dogs rushed away from the footpath. They were barking excitedly, doubtless chasing a rabbit or a hare. Gallmau roared at them so fiercely to come to heel that I glanced up to see the reason for his anger. The sight that greeted me made my skin prickle. Our way lay between two rows of huge grey stones. They were set at intervals, some fifteen paces apart, and a little way back from the track. Each stone was its natural shape, a massive boulder longer than it was broad and weighing many tons. It must have taken unimaginable labour to drag each one of them into its right place. Then, by some feat of ingenuity, they had been tilted and set on end so that they resembled gigantic tombstones. In the half-light of the overcast day they were eerie and mysterious, as if not of this world.
Gallmau treated them with great respect. After the two dogs had returned obediently to their master, he used the tip of his staff to mark some sort of shape in the turf, before bowing his head and dropping down to one knee as though to pay homage to the great stones.
The mist grew even denser as we proceeded, until I could barely make out the looming shape of the nearest stone on either side. As we moved through this silent, opaque world I became aware that we were not alone. Someone had joined us. It was just a fleeting impression at first, a shadowy figure a short distance ahead of Gallmau, someone walking along the path in the same direction as us. The figure was indistinct, appearing and then disappearing as the thickness of the mist varied. Gallmau was striding along ahead of me and the track was too narrow for me to overtake him to investigate. Besides, I had no wish to intercept the stranger. Only after several minutes did I realize there was something familiar about our new companion. He was dressed like me, in a long cloak. He had the hood pulled up so I could see only his general shape. It was the manner of his walking and the way he held his shoulders that was familiar. Finally I realized who it was: my twin brother. His fetch was travelling with us, leading the way. I wondered if Gallmau could also see him, but the fisherman gave no sign of it. Only the two dogs reacted. They ran forward along the path and I watched them investigate the distant wraith, sniffing at its heels, wagging their tails, and then padding back to their master. The confidence of the dogs reassured me. I knew I could not attract my brother’s attention. The otherworld pays no heed to mortals, and if he wished to speak to me, he would do so. Yet I half-hoped that he would stop and turn to greet me. But he kept walking forward through the mist, and I tramped along behind him, strangely comforted by his presence. I was certain that as long as my twin brother was with me on my journey, no harm would come to me.