Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant (38 page)

He passed the book to Abdallah and listened approvingly as the lad read out: ‘“
The Griffin: It has the body of a lion but the wings and head of an eagle. Some say it lives in the
Indian desert, others in Ethiopia. A griffin will tear a man to pieces or carry him to its nest to feed its young. Griffins are strong enough to carry away an entire live ox.
”
’

The illustration showed a fierce, predatory creature with a cruel hooked beak and huge wings sprouting from the shoulders of a lion-like body. Its paws had long curved talons.

‘That must be the same as our simurgh, that some call the rukh,’ said the caliph gravely.

Mohammed, the crown prince, leaned in and spoke quietly in his ear. I did not like the sly expression on the youngster’s face as he sat back straight and watched me.

‘Naturally, I shall be happy to oblige your King Carolus,’ announced the caliph. ‘This animal is known to us, though only by hearsay. It is a great bird so fierce and powerful
that it can even carry away elephants in its claws.’

He glanced approvingly at the crown prince. ‘My son reminds me that the rukh is found in the lands south of the Zanj.’

The caliph turned his full attention back to me, and his tone of voice left no doubt that he was giving orders. ‘I too would like to add a rukh to my animal collection. You and your
companions have shown great skill in these matters and I will ask Nadim Jaffar to make arrangements for you to travel to the land of the Zanj and on to where the rukh lives. Bring back at least two
of the creatures. One will be for my collection, the other to take back to King Carolus.’

I could only bow. The private audience had taken a totally unexpected and unwelcome direction and there was nothing for me to say. I had an uncomfortable recollection of Carolus telling me to
find a unicorn.

The caliph spoke to Abdullah. ‘I think our new emissary to Zanj should keep the book until he returns from his voyage. It may be useful.’

My hands shaking, I took the bestiary from Abdullah, and my consternation must have been obvious. The caliph looked down at me with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eye. ‘You can place it
with my royal library on your return, Sigwulf, and do not look so dismayed. Iskander travelled to the far ends of the earth, even to the Land of Darkness. In our Holy Book, it is said that he even
reached the fountain of life. Take him as your example.’

With those words the caliph rose to his feet and the curtain that divided the room began to close. But before it drew completely shut I caught a brief glimpse of a grin of malicious triumph on
the face of Abdallah’s rival, the crown prince.

*

The moment Osric and I got back to our lodgings in the Round City, I sent for Abram. ‘Where’s the land of the Zanj?’ I asked the dragoman when he arrived.

He gave me a surprised look. ‘On the coast of Ethiopia. Far south.’

‘Have you ever been there? Or any of your people?’

He shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Why do you want to know?’

‘The caliph is sending us beyond the land of Zanj to bring back animals to add to his menagerie,’ I said sourly.

Abram was visibly relieved. ‘Then I’m afraid I won’t be of any help to you. I have no knowledge of the languages of the people along that coast. You’ll have to ask for a
different interpreter to be provided.’

‘But you know what the people are like?’

‘Only that they are black.’ He looked at me quizzically, ‘And what sort of animals are you expected to bring back?’

Osric answered for me. ‘The caliph called it a rukh, or simurgh. It’s similar to the griffin pictured in the Book of Beasts.’

The dragoman regarded us with a mixture of incredulity and amusement. ‘Do you think that such a creature really exists?’

‘It’s not for me to say,’ I told him. ‘The expedition was the crown prince’s idea.’

The dragoman made a sharp intake of breath. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I’m sure that it was young Abdallah who persuaded his father to grant us a private audience. But it was his half-brother who suggested sending us to bring back a rukh from
Zanj.’

Abram spoke slowly and carefully. ‘Sigwulf, be careful. You’re on dangerous ground.’

I waited for him to go on.

‘I warned you earlier about the rivalries around the throne,’ Abram said. ‘Abdallah pleased his father by bringing you and Osric before him with the mysterious book. That would
have made the crown prince jealous. Mohammed has devised a way of discrediting Abdallah by sending you off on a mission that he hopes will fail.’

I hesitated, trying to think how it might be possible to avoid going in search of the rukh when Osric spoke up. ‘The rukh can’t be any more dangerous to catch and handle than a pair
of ice bears. Walo should be able to cope.’

Abram’s response held more than a hint of condescension. ‘I admire your confidence,’ he said meaningfully. ‘If a rukh does exist and is so easy to obtain, I’m
surprised that there’s not one already in the caliph’s menagerie.’

M
USA WAS ABLE
to provide a few more details about the rukh when Osric and I went to see him in the royal library. We found him in the same airless room
as before, surrounded by books and scrolls.

‘I never thought that there would be any use to the librarian’s list of animals mentioned in our books,’ he admitted, ‘but I was wrong.’

‘Our former dragoman doubts the rukh even exists,’ Osric told him.

Musa mopped the sweat off his glistening scalp with a length of cloth. ‘And until recently I would have agreed. But our archivists have turned up reports of similar animals.’

‘Like the griffin in the Book of Beasts?’ I asked.

‘Nearly so. Our texts from India contain several references to a giant bird called a Garuda, large enough to seize an elephant in its talons. We also have a mention from China, of a huge
bird known as a Peng. Interestingly, it is said to fly south each year to an unknown destination over the ocean.’

‘To the land of Zanj?’ I suggested.

‘Let me show you on a map.’ Musa lumbered over to a wall where hung a circular sheet of thin flat metal some two feet across. He unhooked it and laid it on the floor beside his low
table.

‘This,’ he said, leaning over and prodding the centre of the sheet with a thick finger, ‘is where we are now, in Baghdad.’

The surface of the sheet was incised with interlocking and irregular shapes. It took me a moment to work out that each shape represented a country. I presumed that what was written inside each
shape in Arab script was the country’s name.

Musa’s finger moved to a large empty space. ‘This is the sea southward from Baghdad. And here,’ he touched a curved line to one side of the space, ‘is the coast of
Ifriquia.’

The stark lines of the map brought to mind the geometrical patterns in the central courtyard of the library. It was an interesting way of seeing the world.

‘Each year,’ explained Musa, ‘half a dozen of our shipmasters set out as a trading squadron. They sail south along that coast, stopping off at various beaches. They drop anchor
and wait for the locals to come out to them to barter, buy and sell. There are no real ports.’

‘Have any of the captains ever gone further than the land of Zanj?’ I enquired.

‘The shipmasters are fearful of being left stranded. It’s a question of the winds. For four months a year the wind blows from the north, then there’s a brief lull, and
afterwards the wind blows from the south. If a ship goes too far, it may not be able to get back in the same season.’

The big man returned the wheel-shaped map to its hook on the wall, and came back to his desk. I concealed my disappointment. The map was so worthless for practical purposes and I remembered how
useful Abram’s itinerarium had been.

‘Have the captains made any charts from their voyages to Zanj?’ I asked.

‘I’m afraid not. They rely on star books.’ The big man gave a breathy chuckle. ‘As I said when you told me about your dreams of the future, our preference is to look to
the skies for guidance.’

*

Al-Ubullah, a roadstead and port adjacent to Basra, was where the trading ships were fitting out for the annual voyage to the land of Zanj. Jaffar’s staff arranged for
Osric, Walo and me to stay there in a merchant’s house while we waited for the shipmasters to complete their preparations. It was a fine, substantial building made of whitewashed coral
blocks, part storehouse, part residence, with large double doors that led from the street into a central courtyard where the owner stacked his trade goods. Al-Ubullah was not as bakingly hot as
Baghdad, but the sea air was more humid and stifling, and we sweltered as the days dragged by. Sulaiman, the shipmaster whom Nadim Jaffar assigned to take us to Zanj, was a gnome-like figure, all
skin and bone and with a rim of straggly white beard around his jaw. I put his age at approaching sixty but he had the bright eyes of a four-year-old and the sprightly energy to match. He invited
Osric and me to inspect his vessel lying at anchor just off al-Ubullah’s waterfront. The place echoed to the sounds of vessels being prepared for long-distance voyages: the work chants of
dock gangs handling heavy cargo, the thump of mallets as rope workers spliced cables, the rasp of saws, and the long-drawn-out creak and squeal of wood on wood as spars were hoisted, checked and
then lowered again, rubbing against their masts. There were smells of new-cut timber, foreshore rubbish, charcoal cooking fires and the fish oil smeared on hulls.

Sulaiman led us down into the dark gloom of the hold of his ship, clambering across a newly loaded cargo of sacks of dates.

‘Not a single stitch broken after more than fifty years,’ he said, pointing to the inside of the hull.

When my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw that the planks were held together with thick cords, and similarly fastened to the ribs of the vessel. There were no nails.

I thought back to how Protis’s ship had sprung a leak and foundered, and wondered what would happen if the cords burst. Sulaiman’s vessel would disintegrate, the planks dropping away
like the petals of a dying flower in autumn.

The shipmaster prodded a rope fastening. It was black with age. ‘Soaked in coconut oil every season. It will see me out my lifetime,’ he assured us. Tucking up his loincloth he
scurried up the ladder and back on deck so nimbly that Osric and I lagged far behind him.

‘When do we set sail?’ I called after him, as we emerged into the bright sunlight. ‘My companions and I are ready to leave whenever is convenient for you.’

‘We leave on the
mawsim
for Zanj,’ he said firmly, folding his legs under him as he sat down cross-legged on a tattered scrap of carpet on the stern deck. He gestured at us
to join him.

‘The
mawsim
?’

‘The correct day of departure. I’ve sailed to Zanj more than a dozen times on the appointed day, and come back safely,’ he answered.

‘And when is this
mawsim
?’

‘The end of the first week of October.’

‘Can we not leave earlier?’ I was eager to get the expedition over with as quickly as possible.

‘We sail in company with others.’ He gestured to the anchorage where three or four merchant ships, similar to our own, lay with their crews hard at work on mending sails and
rigging.

‘And how long before we reach Zanj?’

‘A month or two, depending on the wind and the speed of our business. Nadim Jaffar agreed that I can stop at the usual places along the coast and trade.’

He gave me a sideways, conspiratorial look. ‘If your interpreter could help out, it will reduce the time spent on these stopovers.’

I mumbled something about being prepared to assist in any way I could.

The shipmaster wanted a more definite undertaking from me. ‘The further we travel along the coast, the more difficult it is to deal with the locals. We bargain in a mix of Arabic and the
regional languages. Misunderstandings arise. They take time to untangle.’

‘My interpreter will help out as best he can,’ I promised.

Sulaiman burst out in a cackle of sheer delight. ‘Not he . . . she!’

I blinked in surprise.

The shipmaster rocked back on his haunches, still chuckling, ‘So you haven’t heard the rumour. Your interpreter is to be a woman, and what a woman!’ He rolled his eyes.

‘I look forward to meeting her,’ I said frostily. This was the first time I had heard that Jaffar was making such an unusual arrangement, and I felt put out.

Suddenly the old man became serious. ‘I do not mean to sound ungrateful or frivolous. Nadim Jaffar has been most thoughtful in providing such an interpreter. Very few are fluent in the
languages spoken along the coast –’ he paused, ‘and she cost him a very great deal of money.’

I decided it was time to turn the subject back to the practical arrangements for our voyage. ‘How far beyond Zanj are you prepared to take us?’

‘I have given my word to Nadim Jaffar that I will not turn back until my ship is as far south of Zanj as Basra is from Baghdad,’ he said.

‘And how will you know that?’ I asked. ‘I had understood that these are uncharted waters.’