Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant (35 page)

Seated on a low couch beside the pool was the man I presumed to be our host. Some thirty years old, he was dressed entirely in black, as was a lad of about nine or ten beside him. Between them
on the couch were ivory pieces on a chequered board.

‘Welcome to the City of Peace,’ said the man, glancing up. He rose to his feet and advanced round the edge of the pool to greet us. My eyes had grown accustomed to the half-darkness,
and I could see that he was remarkably handsome. Slim and graceful, he had a perfectly proportioned face. Dark, almost feminine eyes under long lashes gleamed with a bright intelligence. A thin
belt studded with emeralds held in his black silk coat and accentuated his slender waist. A discreet spray of diamonds was pinned to the front of his black turban.

Our escort bowed and, without a word, left us, disappearing back down the path into the darkness.

‘My name is Jaffar. It is my privilege to greet you on behalf of the Prince of Believers.’ The man’s speech was a match for his good looks, beautifully modulated and clear.

‘We are honoured by your invitation and thankful to have reached our long-sought destination,’ I replied respectfully.

Jaffar clicked his fingers so softly that I almost missed the sound. Instantly, a servant materialized out of the surrounding darkness. ‘Cushions and refreshment for my guests, if you
please,’ he murmured. Turning towards the boy who still sat on the couch, he said, ‘May I introduce my young friend Abdallah. He was about to beat me at chess, but checkmate must wait
until you have told me what I can do to make your visit to our city agreeable.’

Before I could answer, a line of half a dozen servants came forward. Two of them carried an inlaid tray as large as a cartwheel, laden with small dishes Other servants brought large velvet
cushions that they set down on the carpets beside the pool, arranging everything so that when Jaffar indicated to us that we should be seated, Osric and I were facing the nadim. He took his seat on
the tiled surround to the pool. The lad Abdallah stayed where he was on the couch, watching and listening.

I opened my mouth to speak but Jaffar lifted a hand to stop me. ‘First, please eat and drink. The evening is to be enjoyed.’

Two more servants silently appeared at my elbow. One held a basin, the other a ewer from which he poured scented water over my hands, before offering me a towel. The moment he withdrew, another
servant brought forward a silver tray on which a small drinking bowl stood, eggshell thin and patterned blue and white. Yet another servant leaned forward with a matching jug and poured a pale gold
liquid. I picked up the bowl and the cool surface on the palm of my hand told me that the drink had been chilled with ice from the mountains. I took a sip. It was a mix of exotic fruit juices
slightly fizzy on my tongue.

Our host waited until we had sampled the food set before us – I tasted pickled fish, both sweet and sour, and chicken marinated in different sauces that, apart from orange and ginger, were
impossible to identify. Among the sweeter dishes the flavour of cinnamon brought back a vivid memory of the meal we had shared in Rome with the Nomenculator.

‘I’m on tenterhooks to hear about your journey, Sigwulf,’ said Jaffar courteously, looking at me.

‘Your Excellency, it would take far too long to recount everything that happened,’ I answered, wondering just how much the nadim already knew. He had used my name though I had not
formally introduced myself. It was a reminder, probably deliberate, that this man, so full of charm, was also head of the caliph’s intelligence department.

‘The evening is young, and tales of travel are never dull,’ he replied. ‘Tell me how your journey began.’

So I started with the day I had been summoned to Alcuin’s study and seen an aurochs’ horn, and how Carolus himself had instructed me to go into the Northlands and obtain the white
animals that dwelt there. I said nothing about the unexplained attack on me in Kaupang, nor the strange events that followed in Rome and on the Mediterranean. As for the death of the aurochs, I
explained that the creature had escaped and been eaten by lions, and made no mention that it had been set free deliberately. I wished to avoid distracting the nadim from the purpose of my mission
– that the animals I had brought to Baghdad were a gesture of friendship from Carolus to the caliph.

Jaffar listened attentively, his head tilted slightly to one side. He interrupted only twice: firstly to ask me to describe Carolus’s physical appearance and what he thought of the
presents that he had received from Baghdad; then secondly to enquire about Alcuin and his role as an advisor.

‘You and your companions are to be congratulated,’ observed the nadim when I had finished my recital. ‘It was a magnificent achievement to have transported those animals for
such a great distance and kept them alive, except for that giant ox.’

Something in his voice made me wonder if there had been a hidden reason for wanting to hear my tale. His next words confirmed my unease.

‘To return for a moment to the beginning of your story . . .’ the nadim’s manner was as soothing and courteous as ever. ‘You say that King Carolus sent you to the
Northlands to obtain white animals because these creatures would be rarities, previously unknown in Baghdad.’

‘That is correct, Your Excellency,’ I replied. ‘King Carolus showed me a book, a bestiary, and pointed out the white animals I was to search for.’

‘A book?’

‘I have brought a copy with me, Your Excellency. It is another of Carolus’s gifts to the Commander of the Faithful. Unfortunately, I did not think to bring it with me this
evening.’

‘There was no need,’ said the nadim, with a graceful, dismissive wave of his hand. ‘This evening is private and informal. I am sure that the Emir of the Believers will enjoy
looking into this book. It will reassure him . . . and me.’

He must have noted my look of incomprehension for he added, ‘The colour your King Carolus chose for the animals he sent us is surprising.’

‘I’m sorry, Your Excellency, I do not understand,’ I stammered. I was beginning to fear that something had gone very wrong.

For a brief moment Jaffar looked at me, judging my reaction. ‘Some might say that the gift of white animals was provocative.’

It felt as though the pit of my stomach had fallen away. With a terrible certainty I knew that the nadim’s jet-black clothes had special significance. ‘But King Carolus was advised
that white is the royal colour of the caliphate, that all must wear white when they enter the Round City . . .’ I said shakily.

‘The latter is correct,’ Jaffar acknowledged. ‘White is worn in the Round City so that no one can draw undue attention to themselves with costly garments or flamboyant colours.
But anyone who enters the caliph’s presence must dress entirely in black. It is the colour of the turban worn by Allah’s Messenger – may Allah honour him and grant him peace
– when he preached from the pulpit. Our caliph follows the true path. He wears the prophet’s cloak and carries his staffs – may Allah honour him and grant him peace – and
the colour of his house is black.

‘Your Excellency,’ I blurted, ‘King Carolus meant no disrespect.’

Jaffar leaned forward. ‘It is equally evident that your king was unaware that white is the colour worn in the presence of the usurper in al Andalus, the false Emir of Cordoba.’

My throat was dry. I recalled vividly what Alcuin had told me of the feud between Haroun and the Emir in Andalus. Haroun’s ancestors had slaughtered the Emir’s family in the fight
for power and laid claim to the true heritage of Islam.

Jaffar’s eyes suddenly twinkled with mischief. ‘Sigwulf, do not look so aghast. No one would be so crass as to deliberately insult the caliph in this manner and I shall tell him
so.’

‘Your Excellency, if King Carolus had known, I am sure he would have despatched me to find animals of the deepest black and bring them to Baghdad.’

The nadim flashed a brilliant smile. ‘Sigwulf, your tale rings true, though I must confess that when I heard that Carolus was sending white animals I thought it was a less-than-subtle hint
that he favoured an alliance with nearby Andalus and not with the Commander of the Faithful in far Baghdad.’

He rose to his feet. ‘So now you will understand why the public presentation of white animals to the caliph is impolitic. I’m sorry.’

Clearly this announcement was the true purpose of our meeting. I felt utterly numb, stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

Jaffar saw my dismay and was swift to offer a consolation. ‘Sigwulf, His Magnificence will wish to view the white animals, but discreetly. Also I’m going to recommend that he grants
you a private audience so that he, too, can hear your remarkable tale.’

It was obvious that the evening was at an end. I stood up groggily, sensing that Osric beside me was equally confounded. Then I remembered something I had forgotten in my sudden confusion.

‘Your Excellency, the elephant your master sent as a gift to Carolus was white. That added to our misunderstanding.’

Jaffar brushed my excuse aside. ‘That is not a detail I am aware of.’

My knees were shaking and I felt my shirt sticking to my back. I was sweating; not from heat, for the evening had turned cool, but with a cold sweat from the realization that my mission was a
total failure.

Jaffar was still speaking. ‘The palace staff will send word when the date of your audience with the caliph has been settled. Meanwhile, you can oblige me by recounting the details of your
remarkable trip to the scribes in the royal library. It will make a valuable addition to their collection of travel accounts.’

I gathered myself together sufficiently to thank the nadim for his hospitality and then a servant guided Osric and me back down the path to where our original escort was waiting at the
wharf.

When we got back to the privacy of our rooms, we found that Abram had been waiting up, eager to hear our news.

‘How did the meeting go?’ he asked.

‘A disaster,’ I replied sourly. ‘We should have brought black animals to Baghdad, not white ones. Black is the caliph’s royal colour. White is associated with his rival
in Hispania.’

Abram looked utterly taken aback. ‘But everyone wears white in the Round City, that’s a requirement.’

‘Yes,’ I said, trying not to sound aggrieved. ‘But all who appear before the caliph on a formal occasion must be dressed in black. Why didn’t you warn us?’

The dragoman spread his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘As a Radhanite I’ve never been summoned to appear before the caliph in person. The inner workings of the court are shrouded in
secrecy.’

‘Both Jaffar and a young lad with him were dressed in black from head to toe.’

Abram’s eyes lit up with curiosity. ‘What young lad?’

I described Abdallah and when I had finished, Abram sucked in his breath. ‘Do you know who that is?’ he asked.

‘I have no idea, except that he was listening to every word.’

‘Abdallah’s father is Haroun himself,’ the dragoman said, clearly impressed. ‘Not only Jaffar will report to the caliph what he thinks of you, so too will his favourite
son.’

‘Then I hope Abdallah liked what he saw and heard,’ I answered peevishly.

The dragoman gave me an anxious look. ‘Abdallah’s mother is a Persian concubine. He has a half-brother, Mohammed, of the same age and born to one of Haroun’s legitimate wives.
Mohammed is the crown prince. There is much jealousy between the two youths.’

I shrugged. ‘How would that affect us?’

‘If Abdallah makes a favourable report to his father, then Mohammed will try to make your life in Baghdad as difficult as possible.’

‘But Abdallah and Mohammed are both youngsters.’

‘Sigwulf, you have no idea of the in-fighting that goes on beneath the glittering surface of the caliph’s court. Each young man has his own supporters and they compete for power and
influence, hoping their own candidate will one day ascend the throne.’

‘You’re sounding like the Nomenculator in Rome when he warned me about the hidden conflict for the selection of the next pope.’

‘This is far more vicious than Rome,’ said Abram grimly. ‘The previous caliph, Mahdi, died before his time. Some say he was poisoned, others that he was smothered with
cushions. He was Haroun’s brother.’

‘And Haroun arranged his death?’

The dragoman dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘No, their mother did. She feared she was losing influence over her eldest son and preferred to see Haroun on the throne.’

‘I
STILL DON
’
T UNDERSTAND
that mistake between black and white at the caliph’s court,’ Osric remarked to
me the next morning. We had emerged from the menagerie building where we had gone to check on Walo. Despite not speaking Arabic, he had struck up a working friendship with the keepers and was
comfortably installed in their dormitory. Madi and Modi were being given their proper food and the hollow walls of their pen were regularly replenished with ice. Walo was confident that they would
soon be back to full health.