This impression strengthened as we rode through Zaragoza on Osric’s heels. Life was continuing as normal. It was as if there was no foreign army camped outside the walls. The streets were crowded with people going about their business, shopping, gossiping, and haggling in the market. The air was full of the rich odour of street food being cooked over open braziers. I even recognized the same pavement seller with his tray of fruit whom I had noticed when I rode into the city for the first time with Husayn. The vendor’s display of fruit was piled high, and the butchers and vegetable sellers had no shortage of goods. It was a stark contrast to the camp we had just left where disgruntled soldiers were ravenous for provisions and sweltered in the heat while mounted patrols scoured the countryside seeking supplies.
The passers-by were as dismissive as Osric. Whenever I caught someone’s eye in the crowded streets, that person would simply turn his back on me. It was very unpleasant to be treated as being beneath contempt.
Eventually we arrived in the main central square. It was almost deserted of people. I had expected that we would be brought to the arched doorway that was the entry to Wali Husayn’s own palace. Instead, we crossed towards the mosque that Husayn had told me his father built. Beautifully proportioned, a central dome was tiled in green and blue, spiral patterns in the same colours twisting up the columns of the four thin spires that surrounded it. To the left was a low, squat building, its thick white-washed walls pierced with a few windows barely large enough to be pigeon roosts. A horse was tethered in front of it. Hroudland recognized the animal before I did.
‘Patch, that’s the gelding I picked out for you in Aachen,’ he exclaimed.
The horse wore the same saddle I had used on the ride across Frankia. Dangling from it was my curved bow and the sword that Hroudland had selected for me in the royal stores of Aachen the previous year. I had an uncomfortable feeling that I knew why they were there.
Our little group halted before the building and dismounted. The Saracen trooper took the reins of our horses and led them away while Osric limped ahead of us to the massive iron door and knocked. It was pulled open from inside and Hroudland and I followed Osric in.
Immediately I was reminded of the strongroom at Hroudland’s great hall. The interior of the building was a single chamber, some fifteen paces squared. The small windows seen from the outside had been deceptive. The chamber was lit by a dozen shafts of sunlight shining down through a pierced dome in the ceiling. Specks of dust floated in the sunlight, and the thick walls kept out the noonday heat so that the air inside the room felt slightly chilly. It also had a faint smell that I could not identify. The floor was made of massive stone slabs and there was no furniture apart from a tall metal-and-wood contraption whose function escaped me until I recognized a set of over-size weighing scales. Waiting for us were two men, dressed in the wali’s livery. One of them was the grey-bearded steward who had looked after me when I had been Husayn’s guest. Ashamed at my role in this sordid ransom, I could not look him in the eye and could feel the distaste oozing from him as he stepped around me and firmly closed the heavy door to the outside. We were standing inside Zaragoza’s treasure house.
Arranged on the floor was a neat row of stout leather panniers. They were the size normally carried by mules, and it was the rancid smell of leather saturated with mule sweat that had perplexed me. The flap of each pannier had been unlaced and thrown back so that their contents glittered dully. Each pannier was full to the brim with silver coins.
At last Osric broke his silence.
‘Each bag contains one hundred pounds weight in silver coin,’ he said. There was no emotion in his voice.
I quickly counted the number of panniers. There were forty of them.
Hroudland bent over the nearest one and plunged both hands into the contents. He held up a double handful of coins and let them trickle through his fingers. They made a rippling, metallic clatter as they landed.
He looked at me.
‘What do you think, Patch?’
I walked across and picked up one of the coins. Clean and shiny, it looked as if it had been minted very recently. Both sides were stamped with lines of Saracen script across the centre and in a circle around the rim. I looked questioningly at Osric.
‘A silver dirhem issued last year by the Emir Abd al Rahman. The coins in the bags were struck by many rulers and come from many places, but all are genuine.’ His voice was still flat and expressionless.
Hroudland moved along the row of panniers, peering into each of them, stirring their contents with his fingers like a grain merchant dabbling in sacks of barley. He beckoned me to stand close to him. Bending close he whispered in my ear, ‘Maybe there is dross deep down beneath the surface.’
Osric could not have overheard but he knew well enough what was said.
‘We can arrange to have the coins weighed out in front of you, bag by bag, if you wish,’ he announced, disdainfully.
‘That will not be necessary,’ I said firmly. Before Hroudland could raise an objection, I muttered to him, ‘It will take far too long to weigh this amount.’
The count turned to face Osric.
‘What about the rest of the payment?’ he demanded.
The wali’s elderly steward walked to the far side of the chamber where a low shapeless mound was covered by a dark cloth. He took hold of the cloth and, with a sudden swish of silk, drew it to one side, revealing what it had concealed.
Despite his attempt to remain aloof, Hroudland sucked in his breath with amazement.
‘By our calculation, this should suffice to cover Karlo’s costs,’ observed Osric icily.
Laid out on the stone floor was a sensational array of valuables. Most were made of silver. There were cups and goblets, plates, ewers, censers, bowls and trays engraved with interlocking geometric patterns. There were belts studded with silver discs, silver scabbards for knives, silver bangles and necklaces, medallions and hanging lamps of silver filigree. A separate much smaller pile was made of similar objects in gold. Several of these were set with coloured stones. These items had been artfully placed so that the beams of sunlight sparkled off polished surfaces or struck a glow of colour in their depths. Without examining them more closely it was impossible to tell which were true jewels and which semiprecious. I supposed the dark reds were rubies and garnet, and here and there was a spark of blue from a stone unknown to me.
Two special items had been arranged on their own, laid out on a square of dark green velvet. Seeing them, I knew instantly that Osric had advised Husayn what would most arouse the greed of any Frankish envoy.
The first item was a glittering crystal salver. Around the rim ran a band of gold as thick as a man’s thumb and inlaid with intricate enamelwork that captured all the colours of the rainbow. I had seen its exact twin on display on Carolus’s high table at a banquet in Aachen. How this second crystal salver had found its way into Zaragoza’s treasury was a mystery. Possibly it had been plundered in the days when the Saracens raided deep into Frankia. What was certain was that Carolus would be delighted to match this crystal salver with the one he already owned.
The other object lying on the velvet cloth was proof that Osric also knew how to appeal to Hroudland’s aristocratic love of lavish display. It was a superb hunting horn, its surface embellished with delicate carvings. Its colour was a lustrous pale yellow, almost white, and I supposed that it was made of ivory. Yet I had never seen ivory of such great size. If I had held it against my arm, the horn would have measured from my elbow to my fingertip. Ivory, as far as I was aware, came from the long teeth in the whiskery mouths of large seal-like creatures far in the north. The size of the monster which had sprouted such a monstrous tooth was difficult to imagine.