‘There’s nothing,’ I answered, rather more abruptly than I intended.
Osric and I had agreed that our fragments from the Book of Dreams were too valuable to leave behind in an empty house in Aachen. They were hidden in the outer, double folds of the same heavy linen wrapper that protected the bestiary.
Osric frowned, searching his memory. ‘Dreams of elephants were mentioned somewhere. Maybe in the complete version of the book. I remember translating them. What precisely have you been dreaming?’
‘Mostly, that I was riding on the back of an elephant. But sometimes the animal is trying to stamp me into the ground,’ I told him.
My friend thought for a moment. ‘If I remember correctly, to dream of riding on an elephant means you will meet someone of great power and influence, a king or an emperor.’
‘That sounds promising,’ I said with more than a touch of sarcasm. My vivid dreams were not only worrying. They meant that I had been losing sleep. ‘Maybe we will get to meet the caliph in person. What about the dream of being attacked by an elephant?’
Osric ignored my ill humour. He was serious. ‘If the elephant succeeds in crushing the dreamer, it foretells an early death. But if the dreamer evades the attack, it means the dreamer will face great danger yet escape with his life.’
‘I wake up before the dream elephant squashes me to pulp,’ I said. His words left me uneasy, and at that moment I felt the sudden sting of a biting fly on my neck. I reached up and slapped it. My hand came away with a tiny smear of blood and, despite my outward bravado, I wondered if it too was an omen.
My friend glanced across to where Walo had succeeded in calming the quarrelling dogs. ‘Did anything come of your dream of Walo with those wolves and the bees?’ he asked.
It was my chance to tell Osric that the bees foretold Walo’s death. But I shied away from admitting that earlier I had kept the truth from my friend. Instead I described how the sight of Walo in Kaupang seated between the ice bears in Ohthere’s bear pen was the fulfilment of my vision.
Osric heard me out in silence. ‘And now? Does anyone else appear in your elephant dreams? Like Walo with those wolves?’
‘Abram. I see him climbing onto the carcass of a long-dead elephant and delving through a slit in the grey skin. Then he pulls out great long white bones.’
A look of relief crossed my friend’s face. ‘Surely that dream is about the past, not the future. It’s about the death of the elephant that Abram was bringing to Carolus.’
There was a sudden flicker in the air as a bat swooped over the dying fire in pursuit of a flying insect. The night was drawing in. Though the air was still warm, I shivered. ‘I think I’ll stay in the tent after all. It’ll save me from the midges,’ I said as I got to my feet.
I made my way back to the tent, carrying the bestiary; something was nagging at the back of my mind. I crawled into our tent, slipped the book inside my saddlebag, and was fastening down the flap when, all of a sudden, I had a faint recollection that the Oneirokritikon did offer an explanation about elephant bones: someone seen extracting the bones from a dead elephant in a dream meant that the person would make a great profit from an endeavour. I racked my brains, wondering how the prediction might make sense. Then, in a flash of understanding, I knew: Abram was using our embassy as an opportunity to line his pockets. That explained the six laden pack ponies on the day he met me on the road outside Aachen, and the extra waggons hired for the overland journey to the Rhone. Our dragoman was carrying his own private trade goods, buying and selling as we travelled. As I tied the final knot in the leather lace, I wondered what items Abram was carrying that were so profitable. I decided I would not ask. If Abram wanted to keep his business dealings a secret from me, that was his affair. The dream of Abram and elephant bones was an omen. If he was to make a great deal of money from our journey then that, in turn, implied that our embassy would be a success.
That night, my mind at ease, I slept so deeply that Osric had to shake me awake when it was time to get up. He made some light-hearted remark that he and Walo had finally got a good night’s rest, without my wild dreams to disturb them. None of us could have anticipated that what lay ahead was to be as bad as any nightmare.
Chapter Eight
In the last week of August a broken bridge halted us. The crumbling stone structure looked as if it dated back to Roman times. The central arch had collapsed into the river below, cutting the road. Several flatboats were drawn up on the gravel bank, ready to serve as ferries. Their narrow shapes reminded me of weavers’ shuttles. Each had an ingenious arrangement so that the blunt bow and stern could be lowered to form a ramp and carts could be wheeled aboard. Worryingly, our oversize waggon for the aurochs appeared to be too wide to fit. Abram went forward to talk with the boatmen and when he came back after some time, I was surprised to see that he had a pleased look on his face and was carrying his itinerarium.
‘Let me show you where we are,’ he said to me, unrolling a section of the drawing and laying it out on the tailboard of the nearest cart. ‘This dark wavy line is the river ahead of us. Our road meets it at a point close to where you see that symbol for a monastery.’
He unrolled the itinerarium another few inches. ‘If you follow the line of the river you will note that it soon joins a larger one. That in turn flows into the Rhone.’
‘You’re suggesting that we travel by water once again?’ I asked. ‘The river here looks too small to be navigable.’
‘I’ve checked with the ferrymen. They say that last spring there was much rain, and there is still enough depth of water to take their craft downstream.’
I took a second look at the river. It ran sluggishly, its murky water an opaque green. ‘Where do we find boats?’
He pointed with his chin towards the waiting ferries. ‘With a little modification, those are suitable.’
I was still dubious and must have showed it in my expression because Abram quickly added, ‘The local monastery owns the bridge and charges a toll to use it. But the monks have discovered that they can make more money by collecting fares for the ferry. The boatmen are obliged to work for the monastery a certain number of days each year, and they resent it. Several of them are willing to work for us.’
He gave me a sideways look. ‘If the monks lose their boats, they’ll be obliged to repair the bridge. You would be doing a service to other travellers.’
I had to smile at his deviousness. ‘I’ll go to see the abbot.’
As it turned out, the abbot was away on business. I met instead his deputy, the cellarer. A small, timid man, he was suffering from hay fever and used his gown’s sleeve to wipe his streaming eyes as he read my letter from the palace treasurer. When I asked to be provided with the ferries, he let out a tremendous sneeze, then two more in quick succession, before recovering enough to tell me that first he had to consult with the abbot. I stressed that I was on royal business and short of time. I cautioned that, if necessary, I would simply commandeer the boats. He released another massive sneeze and used his sleeve again, this time to staunch his runny nose. It would be simpler, I suggested, if he agreed to my request and sent a claim for compensation to the king’s treasury. In a gesture of goodwill I offered to leave our horses with the monastery since they were no longer required. His eyes filled with tears and his chest heaved as I waited patiently for his answer. He was helpless, sucking in air before the next volcanic sneeze. All he wanted was for me to leave him in peace. He waved one hand at me in desperation. I took it as his agreement and left.
As soon as I got back to the others, Abram set about organizing our transfer into the boats. Two were fastened side by side to make a surface wide enough to carry the aurochs’ waggon. Supervised by Abram’s attendants, a team of ox drivers backed the waggon down the riverbank and manoeuvred the vehicle aboard. The boatmen then removed the large solid wheels and, with a series of levers, carefully lowered the cage with the aurochs inside it to sit firmly on the platform. Next it was the turn of the ice bears in their waggon to be placed on a second boat – again the wheels were removed in what seemed to be a lengthy and needless operation but the ferrymen insisted it was done. By the time they were satisfied the light was fading, and we set up camp and held a farewell feast for the ox drivers.