*
The next ten days proved how right he was. We came to a region where mile after mile of vineyards extended up the flanks of the hills that overlooked the valley. It was the season for the grape harvest, and the farmworkers – men and women – toiled in the warm sunshine among the rich greens and browns of the vines, stooping to cut the fruit, then carrying it in wicker baskets to waiting carts. Most of the crop was then tipped into huge open-topped wooden casks set up close to the river landing places. Here barefoot men were trampling the grapes until the juice ran off into barrels that were then rolled onto waiting barges. More families were on ladders in the orchards, plucking plums and peaches, quince and mulberry, while their more agile children clambered into the branches to shake down the ripe fruit. Amid such bounty it was easy to obtain the supplies we needed for the animals. Every riverside town had its own market where Abram’s servants purchased all we required, and we discovered that the ice bears were as happy to eat fresh rabbit as well as catfish and trout. Well fed, the animals settled down. The dogs were much calmer, and the ice bears spent much of each day asleep. By day, Walo took the thick cloths off the cages of the gyrfalcons so that the birds could preen and bask in the sunshine, and then covered them over for the night. By now he had them so well trained that, even from the moving boat, he could exercise them. One by one, he would let them fly free and, after a little while, bring them back to his hand holding out a titbit of fresh meat. Only the aurochs remained sulky and dangerous. It rolled its eyes if anyone came near, and thrust and battered with its great horns against the sides of the enclosure.
In the evenings, an hour or two before sunset, we would moor to the riverbank, as it was too perilous to use the river in the darkness and risk striking the occasional rocky shoal. We picked isolated locations to avoid attracting crowds of curious onlookers who might come to stare at creatures they had never seen before. Twice Abram asked us to stop within walking distance of a large town so that he could go ashore and spend the night with his fellow Rhadanites. From them, he told us, he could learn what we might find when finally we reached the sea.
Gradually the river grew in size. Large tributaries added not only their waters but also an increasing number and variety of river craft. We encountered ungainly rafts of timber floating down from the forests, barges loaded with great blocks of building stone, and scores of vessels bearing casks and barrels of wine. The river had become a great artery of commerce, and the bridges were high and wide enough to accommodate the traffic. We passed beneath their arches without incident now that the water level had dropped. On good days a breeze from the north allowed our boatmen to spread simple square sails and increase our speed. My spirits were lifted by the welcome sound of water chattering and lapping under the blunt bows of our ferries as we pressed onward. In such carefree conditions, Abram, Osric and I would exchange places on the different boats. Abram and Osric spent long hours talking together quietly, sometimes in the Saracen tongue. I joined Walo and his ice bears, keeping him company, for I wanted him to feel at ease in these strange, new surroundings.
It was always a challenge to find a way of engaging Walo’s attention. He seldom spoke to others and kept to himself, passing the hours in his own special world, apparently in a half-daze. Yet he must have been taking note of what was going on around him because, like a shutter briefly being thrown open, he would come out with a sudden perceptive remark. He was at his happiest and most alert when dealing with our animals and that, in turn, provided me with a means to draw him out of his isolation: he loved to hear more about the exotic creatures depicted in the Book of Beasts. Whenever I joined him on the boat, I would sit beside him on the deck leafing through the pages until he pointed to an illustration that caught his interest. Then I would read out the information written underneath. In nearly every case the animal was as unknown to me, as it was to him.
‘What’s that lion with a man’s face?’ he asked one hot afternoon. Our boats were passing low gravel cliffs where the river had undercut its bank. Sand swallows had burrowed into the cliffs, and a cloud of the small brown and white birds whirled over our heads as they made their way to and from their nests.
‘It’s called a manticore,’ I told him, reading the accompanying text.
‘Those great teeth must mean it is a meat eater,’ Walo commented.
The creature had the head of a man attached to the body of a lion. The artist had drawn a human face with a straggly beard and a wide open mouth armed with sharp fangs. The staring eyes were a cold blue but all the rest of the animal had been coloured blood red.
I quoted the text: ‘The manticore has three rows of teeth and eats human flesh. It is very active and can leap great distances. No one can out run it. Its voice is like a whistled melody.’
Walo was intrigued. ‘I would love to see such a wondrous creature, even if it is dangerous.’
‘But you would not want to come too close,’ I said. ‘Apparently the manticore can shoot poisoned spines from the tip of its tail.’
Walo detected the note of scepticism in my voice. ‘Surely the book is telling the truth.’
‘We’ll never know. It says that the manticore lives in India, and we are only going as far as Baghdad.’
I could sense Walo’s disappointment. His grasp of geography may have been non-existent, but he had a simple, direct shrewdness. ‘We can test the truth of the book. Read out what it says about an animal we know, then we can judge whether it is right.’
I turned the pages until Walo pointed to an illustration of a flock of half a dozen tall birds standing in a group. They had long necks, pointed beaks like herons and stilt legs. The nearest bird was standing on one leg and gripping what looked like a round stone with the other foot, holding it up from the ground.
‘Cranes!’ exclaimed Walo. ‘Flocks of them pass over my forest every spring, high in the sky, but they do not stop. They must be travelling to their summer home in a place I do not know. In autumn I see them as they return. Going back the way they came.’
‘Their Latin name is Grus,’ I said, reading. ‘They travel large distances, flying very high so that the leader can see the lands to which they are going.’
Walo nodded approvingly.
‘When the leader is tired, he changes places with another in the flock. As they fly, they post some of their number at the end of the line to shout orders and keep the group together.’
‘I’ve heard them calling to one another in the air. The voice is like a bugle,’ said Walo triumphantly. ‘You see the book tells the truth.’
‘But what about the crane in the front of the picture,’ I said, ‘the one holding something in its claw? The book says that when a flock of cranes rests at night, one of their number stands guard. While the others sleep, he stays awake, holding up a stone in his claw. If he falls asleep, the stone drops and awakens him.’
Walo thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know about that. But why shouldn’t it be true? Let’s check on another creature that we both know. How about a wild boar?’
I found the relevant illustration. The picture was certainly accurate, a pig-like creature with a curly tail, cloven hooves, dangerous-looking tusks and a malevolent expression as it charged across the page. Even the colouring – a greyish black – was correct.
‘The Latin name is Aper, and it is named for its ferocity,’ I read. ‘The boar is very rough when mating, and before they fight with one another, they rub their skin against the bark of trees to toughen it.’
‘I’ve seen boars doing just that,’ Walo confirmed. ‘In the forest you find places where the bark has been torn away. Boars also prepare for battle by whetting their tusks, sharpening them against trees.’