‘Perhaps someone should remind him that an abbey is a place of welcome,’ I grumbled. I was still smarting from the rebuff.
‘Arnulf’s not with the abbey. That’s his wagon there.’ He pointed towards a vehicle standing in one corner of the yard. It had the usual four large, solid, wooden wheels and a single shaft. Someone had fixed an enormous coffin-shaped wooden box on the flat bed where the load was normally stowed.
‘For our eels,’ explained Lothar. ‘Arnulf has been hired to carry them to Aachen. That’s what Abbot Walo meant when he offered you a way of getting there.’
*
I had difficulty getting to sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes I was tormented by unpleasant images of eels knotting and unknotting, and I was fearful of the nightmare that awaited me. Curiously, when I did eventually fall asleep I dreamed instead of an enormous horse made of metal that gleamed and sparkled. It came towards me at a ponderous walk. On its back was a bearded rider, also made of metal. He was dressed in a short cloak and a military-looking tunic. The beast came closer and closer until it loomed over me. I could feel the warm breath from each nostril so large that a bird could have nested there. The giant rider’s legs were bare and his feet, encased in heavy boots, hung level with my face. I sank to my knees, fearful that I would be crushed. At the last moment the horse stopped and stood still, one enormous hoof raised over me. I looked up, shivering with fear. The rider was staring down. His face was unknown to me. He raised an arm in a gesture which I did not understand and drops of blood seeped from his eyes.
I awoke to find that I had overslept. Sunlight was pouring in through the guesthouse window and with it the sound of splashing water and a strange thumping sound. I rose hurriedly and went to the door and looked out on the courtyard. A gang of workers, slaves by the look of them, was standing in line and passing bucket after bucket of water drawn from the well. The last man in the chain was up on the wagon next to the wooden chest. Another slave stood next to him. Each time a full bucket arrived, he lifted up a heavy wooden lid for a moment, the water was tipped in, and the lid was slammed shut. It was this that made the thumping noise. I guessed that the eels had already been transferred into their new home.
Osric was beside the tail of the wagon. He had spent the night in the servants’ dormitory and our pack lay on the ground beside the wagon. Arnulf had already harnessed his two oxen to the shaft, and the two beasts were standing motionless, drools of saliva hanging from their jaws. I called to Osric that I would join him in a moment, and was rewarded with a black look from Arnulf as though I was about to cause a delay. The wagoner carried a long light wand in his hand.
The water carriers finished their labour. The man dealing with the lid banged it closed one last time, hammered in a wedge, then jumped down to the ground. I watched as Arnulf took up his position, facing his two huge beasts. He made a low clucking sound with his tongue, and the two oxen stepped forward with surprisingly short dainty paces. Behind them the massive vehicle rolled forward on its thick wooden wheels as though it was weightless. Arnulf walked backwards, facing his animals. He reached out with his long wand and very gently touched it to the outside ear of the right-hand animal. Without changing gait the two oxen shifted the balance between them so that the wagon turned away from his touch and headed directly for the abbey gate. Behind them a thin, dark trail was drawn across the earth of the courtyard as water dripped from the eel tank.
I wasted several minutes going in search of Lothar. I wanted to thank him and to say goodbye but there was no sign of him, nor of Abbot Walo. Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, I ran out through the gate to catch up with Osric. The wagon had gone barely fifty yards. It occurred to me that I had no idea how far it was to Aachen, or how long we would take to get there at a stately walking pace.
Chapter Four
A sit turned out, that leisurely journey was a delight. Summer came earlier on the mainland than at home, and the air was warm yet not hot enough to trouble Arnulf’s oxen. An occasional shower kept down the dust along the road without turning it to mud. We walked for up to six hours a day, stopping from time to time to rest the beasts and give them forage and water. At night we camped by the roadside or stayed in the guesthouses of monasteries, of which there were a remarkable number. We were on monastery business so room was always found for us, and we were given food and fodder to take on the next day’s travel. The scenery was very like what I had known at home. The rolling hills were covered with oak and beech forest, and the farmers had cleared the bottom lands for crops of barley, rye and wheat. They lived in small hamlets, surrounded with vegetable plots and orchards, and it was clear that they were prospering. Their houses, built of wood, straw and clay were substantial, and it could take us twenty minutes to walk past the full length of a single field.
It took some time to win Arnulf over. He always went on foot in front of his two beasts, his guide wand over his shoulder like a fishing rod. In the beginning Osric and I ambled along at the tail of the wagon, out of sight and too tactful even to hang our baggage off the vehicle. Arnulf treated us as if we did not exist. At each halt, if he talked, it was only to his animals. He tended to them, petted them, walked around the wagon, carefully checking the wheels and axles and the load. It was not until we came to the first river ford that Osric and I were able to gain his grudging acceptance. Arnulf stopped the wagon in mid-stream to allow the oxen to stand in the water and cool their hooves. I nodded to Osric and took down the bucket which dangled from the tail of the wagon. Moments later the two of us were busily topping up the eel tank with river water. Arnulf did not thank us, but at least he waited until we had finished our work before he clucked his tongue again and the oxen began to move. Later in the afternoon he cut two leafy branches and gestured that we were to walk beside the oxen. We were to use the whisks to keep off the flies and midges that appeared as the sun began to sink.
Each mile increased my sense of well-being. I was in no hurry to reach Aachen and, for the first time in my life, I felt I had some control over my destiny. I was gaining in confidence and the only precaution I took was to replace the makeshift bandage which covered one eye. Passing through a small market town, I found a saddler to make me a proper patch of soft leather with thongs to attach it firmly in place. When I came to pay, there was a difficulty. He refused Offa’s silver coin, saying it was not legal tender. He directed me to a Jewish moneychanger who offered, for a twenty per cent commission, to take in all my Mercian silver and give me King Carolus’s money in its place. Without a moment’s hesitation I tipped out the contents of my purse. While the Jew weighed and scratched each coin to test for purity, it occurred to me that this was the last time I was likely to see King Offa’s image. At least I hoped as much.
Our journey also altered Osric. Exercise and the long days spent in the sunshine began to improve his health and posture. He held his head a little straighter, and by slow degrees his limp became less obvious as his crooked leg strengthened. He became much more relaxed and out-going. Previously he would have restricted himself to a few words at a time. Now it became possible to exchange a few sentences with him, though he would rarely start the conversation.
‘Would you rather have stayed on and served my uncle Cyneric?’ I asked him. It was the third day after leaving Abbot Walo’s monastery and the two of us were seated on the grassy verge of the highway. Arnulf had called a halt in the noonday heat and was fussing over his oxen in the shade of a gigantic chestnut tree.
Osric rubbed a hand along his twisted leg to massage the spot where the bone was crooked. ‘There was nothing to keep me there.’