Saxon: The Book of Dreams (Saxon 1) (5 page)

Relieved of their burdens, the porters were already making their way back towards the gate. They wanted to be back in their homes by nightfall.

‘How often do they bring eels up here?’ I asked the priest.

‘Every second month. They net them in the ponds and keep them until it is time to pay their tithe.’ He looked pleased with himself. ‘One of God’s wonders. Fish of the sea
and fish of the rivers come and go with the seasons, but eels are always there. A constant crop.’

A strikingly dressed figure emerged from the doorway of the main abbey building and darted across the courtyard to inspect the roiling mass of eels. A short, balding, rotund man, he wore a pink
tunic of fine wool with dark-blue leggings and orange cross garters. His fashionable shoes had long, pointed upturned toes and were bright yellow. There was an expensive looking chain around his
neck.

‘There’s Abbot Walo. You can explain yourselves to him,’ said Lothar.

I noted a jewelled Christian cross suspended from the neck chain.

‘You have done well, Lothar,’ said his abbot, rubbing his hands together briskly. The crucifix bobbed up and down on his paunch. ‘There is enough here to meet our
obligation.’

Abbot Walo reminded me of an active plump bird with bright plumage, an impression strengthened by the beady-eyed look he gave me.

‘And who are you?’ he demanded.

‘He came ashore near the village and says he is on his way to the king’s court,’ explained Lothar.

‘My name is Sigwulf,’ I broke in. ‘I am travelling to the Frankish court at the request of King Offa of Mercia.’ I had no need to mention Osric. Clearly he was my
attendant, however worse for wear.

‘Any proof of this?’ demanded the abbot.

I produced the letter that Offa’s scribe had provided me. The abbot’s flamboyant taste in clothes was misleading. There was evidently a sharp mind behind the colourful exterior. He
quickly scanned the document and handed the parchment back.

‘King Offa’s mark is known to me.’ He stepped back a half a pace though not before I caught a whiff of his perfume. ‘Lothar will see you to our guesthouse after a visit
to the lavatorium.’

Before I could apologize for my own smell, he added, ‘If you’re not in a hurry to get to Aachen, you can accompany my eels. They leave in the morning.’ With that, he turned on
his heel and strode off.

‘A remarkable man,’ said Lothar, watching his superior leave.

‘How long has he been your abbot?’ I asked. Walo did not strike me as very devout.

‘Less than three years. He was sent here to improve the revenues.’

‘His previous abbey must have been sorry to lose him,’ I said tactfully.

‘Oh no, he was directly created abbot by the king. Previously he was assistant to the royal chamberlain. Very efficient.’

I tried to recall whether Walo had a tonsure. Probably not. I sensed that Lothar was getting fidgety and remembered that he was keen to attend afternoon prayers.

‘I don’t want to delay you any further,’ I said. ‘My servant and I can look after ourselves now.’

Lothar brightened, evidently relieved to be rid of us.

‘I’ll show you to the lavatorium before I go to chapel.’

He led me and Osric into a small outbuilding attached to the main abbey. Bertwald had described how his grand abbey had a washroom with running water delivered through lead pipes and running
down a stone trough. Here, though, were just four large wooden tubs of water standing on a stone flagged floor with a hole cut in the outside wall as a drain. Lothar splashed water on his face and
hands, and then hurried off to his devotions. I washed more thoroughly, Osric handing me fresh clothes. As soon as Lothar was out of sight, I gestured to Osric that he could also use a tub. I knew
that my slave was meticulous in his personal cleanliness.

Afterwards, as I waited for Lothar to reappear, I wandered about the courtyard, peering into various outhouses and sheds. I had never before been in an abbey or even in a Christian church, and,
in truth, I had no religion, but Bertwald had talked enough about the Christian life for me to pretend that I was a believer.

I discovered the well, a bakery and a smithy, and also the laundry room where I left Osric to wash our dirty clothes. Everything seemed to be very well-run and orderly, a testament to the
efficiency of Abbot Walo. With divine service in progress, there was no one about, and I finished up in the stables, enjoying the peaceful sounds of the animals as they snuffled and munched and
moved about on their straw bedding. Unusually, two oxen were stalled beside the half dozen horses. At home my father’s tenants had kept plough oxen: working animals which were well treated in
return for good service. By contrast these two beasts were more like pampered pets. Their tawny coats had been brushed until they gleamed, coloured thread wound around their horns, and their hooves
had been oiled and polished to a shine. I gathered up a handful of hay and went to offer it to them.

‘Keep your hands off!’ warned an angry voice. I was so startled that I jumped. A squat, powerfully built man had appeared in the doorway behind me. He set down the wooden water
bucket he was carrying and scowled as he stepped past me and took the hay from my grasp.

‘I meant no harm.’ I said.

‘No one touches those beasts, except me,’ said the stranger. A gross reddish-purple birthmark disfigured the left side of his face, extending from his hairline down to his neck where
it disappeared under his collar. In his heavy wooden clogs, homespun breeches and smock he looked like a farm worker rather than a priest, and his Latin was heavily accented and clumsy.

‘I was trying to find the guesthouse. Perhaps you can direct me?’ I said.

‘How should I know? I sleep next to my cattle,’ he answered rudely.

I left the stable and found Lothar outside, looking for me.

‘I see you’ve met Arnulf,’ he said.

The surly stableman was standing in the doorway of the stable, hands on hips, making it plain that I was not to come back and bother his precious oxen.

‘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.

A
S
IT
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.