Abram looked down at the diagram. ‘The further we proceed up the Rhine, the stronger the current will run against us. We cover less distance each day and risk reaching the Alpine passes when they are closed by snow.’
He traced a thin red line that went south-eastward. ‘I recommend that we leave the Rhine at the tidal limit and go by waggon along this road to a different river, the Rhone. That river flows in our favour.’
I interrupted him. ‘What about the difficulty of transferring the animals from one river to the other?’
‘The road between the rivers is suitable for wheeled vehicles. It crosses low hills and rolling countryside, not mountains.’
His reasoning was sound, and yet I was reluctant to be persuaded. ‘Every extra mile by land means additional costs – relays of oxen, fodder to feed them, wages for waggon drivers. Our resources may not be sufficient,’ I told him.
His response was to point to a symbol on the parchment. It depicted a substantial building arranged around a hollow square. Even without the arches of what could only be a cloister, it was clearly the symbol for a monastery. I ran my eye along the new route Abram proposed. I counted five monasteries spaced at convenient intervals. I smiled to myself. I had told Abram about the skinflint in the royal treasury. The bookkeeper would regret giving me the written authority to requisition stores along my route. Every abbot in Frankia was obliged to obey that royal writ, and then reclaim the cost from the king. By the time I had finished providing for my waggon train that document would drain more money from the treasury than if the accountant had given me the silver I wanted.
Abram sensed that he had made his point. ‘At the mouth of the Rhone we charter a ship to take us directly to Rome’s port. The voyage lasts no more than four or five days,’ he said.
Osric cleared his throat. ‘The Rhone empties into the Mediterranean not so far from the territory of the emir of Cordoba.’
I recalled Alcuin’s warning that the emir was a bitter rival of the caliph in Baghdad, and if the emir could interfere with our mission, he would do so.
Abram was unconcerned. ‘When we reach the mouth of the Rhone, my contacts there will tell me if the emir’s ships are too great a risk.’
Osric was still cautious. ‘And if we cannot continue by sea?’
The dragoman fluttered a hand dismissively. ‘Then we follow the example of the great Hannibal. He came out of Hispania with his elephants, crossed the Rhone and took his elephants to Italy through the mountains. The southern Alpine passes are easier than those that the chancery in Aachen wants us to use.’
Abram began putting away the itinerarium. ‘When I was preparing to bring the caliph’s elephant from Baghdad to Frankia, I studied Hannibal’s route. I was thinking of using it, but in reverse. Unfortunately, I never got the chance.’
He slid the scroll back into its leather tube with a gesture of finality and turned to face me. ‘Sigwulf, the route is your decision.’
Involuntarily, I glanced down at the aurochs, still standing in its enclosure on the barge. After months of captivity, the huge animal was still angry and dangerous. It bellowed and flung itself from side to side, trying to get free.
I made up my mind. ‘I accept Abram’s suggestion. We go along the Rhine only as far as the tide can help us. Then we head south overland and follow the Rhone to the sea.’
There was little point in having a dragoman, I told myself, if one ignored his advice.
*
Abram sent his men ahead to make the arrangements. By the time our barge reached the Rhine’s tidal limit, they had paid carpenters to strengthen a massive four-wheeled farm waggon to carry the aurochs in its cage. Wheelwrights widened the axles so that the vehicle would not tip over when the beast thrashed about. A similar waggon for the ice bears was only slightly smaller. A team of four draught animals would pull each vehicle. A further three carts of a more normal size would carry stores and food. Nothing had been overlooked. There was even a lad hired to scurry up and down our line of waggons with a brush and a bucket of wool grease, daubing the grease on the axles so that they turned smoothly.
We lost no time in taking to the road. Our progress, after we had climbed from the river valley, was stately. We seldom covered more than a dozen miles each day, proceeding at a steady walk. The weather was glorious, with day after day of summer sunshine. As Abram had promised, the route was undemanding. Great tracts of rolling countryside presented little difficulty to the plodding oxen. July was the time for haymaking so their fodder was readily available. The meadows were full of workers scything the long grass, turning and stacking it when dry. The monasteries along our path owned extensive lands, and I had only to produce my letter from the royal treasury for the local steward to supply whatever we needed – loaves, ale and wine for the men, meat for the bears and dogs, pigeon breasts and day-old chicks to feed to the gyrfalcons. Each day we set out an hour after first light, rested at noon, then walked until the sun was halfway down to the horizon. One of Abram’s servants rode ahead. He identified the open ground for us to stop and rest the animals for the noontime halt. He also made sure that water was available in a nearby stream or pond or drawn from a well by local people whom he paid in advance for their labour. When we reached our chosen camping place each evening, it was to find our tents had been erected and a cooked meal was waiting for us.
Men and animals thrived. Walo made wicker cages for the falcons. By day they were hung from a framework on one of the carts. At night he covered the cages with dark cloths. His training of them progressed so well that whenever we stopped, he could fly them off his hand and let them fly free for exercise before attracting them back with a morsel of fresh meat. He also fitted the five white dogs with collars and each animal was attached by its lead to a different vehicle so it, too, was properly exercised. In the evening after they had been fed, they were tied to stakes placed just far enough apart so they could not fight. The aurochs remained as truculent as ever, attempting to attack anyone who came close to its cage. It was extremely dangerous to feed and water the beast, and clear out its vast piles of dung. But the job had to be done.
Most of all, Walo concentrated on tending to his beloved bears. Try as I might, I still found it difficult to identify which was Madi and which was Modi. To me they looked alike and I saw no difference in their behaviour. Fortunately, they adapted to the summer heat. They kept their appetites and, with shade and water within their cage, they showed no sign of distress. Walo fed and brushed them, played them tunes on his wooden pipe until they laid their heads on their paws and slept for hour after hour.
I envied them. Despite the idyllic conditions I was plagued by disturbing dreams. In the four weeks it took us to make our ponderous way across country to the Rhone, there was scarcely a night when I did not wake up in the darkness, my heart pounding, covered in sweat. Occasionally, I was shouting in panic. My nightmares always concerned an elephant. Sometimes I was riding on its back, high above the ground, feeling the creature sway beneath me as we moved across a depressing, broken landscape of grey rocks and harsh mountains. The motion made me feel giddy and I would wake up nauseous. In other dreams I was on the ground and the elephant was deliberately trying to trample me. I would turn and run for my life, pursued by the monstrous, enraged beast.
My nightmares often woke Osric and Walo, who shared a tent with me. Neither of them said anything until one evening shortly before we reached the Rhone. We had completed our day’s journey a little earlier than usual. Our road lay through an extensive forest of oak and beech and we had come upon a broad clearing where a spring of clean water had been channelled into a pool lined with stone slabs. Charred marks of campfires showed that previous travellers had rested there before us. Very soon our waggons and carts were drawn up in a neat line, the draught oxen unyoked, and all our animals had been taken care of. There were several hours of daylight left, so we were relaxing in the last rays of sunshine before the shadows from the surrounding trees spread across the clearing. All traffic along the road had ceased, and the place was so quiet that I could hear the low mutter of the ox drivers talking among themselves as they prepared to spread their bedding rolls beneath the carts. Even the white dogs had fallen silent.