Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant (43 page)

When we docked in al-Ubullah, the barid’s agents whisked Zaynab away to bring her more speedily to Jaffar’s home while Osric and I proceeded upstream to Baghdad by barge. There
Jaffar’s steward was waiting on the quayside to bring us to meet his master.

*

‘I was losing hope of ever listening to my favourite singer again,’ said the nadim with a welcoming smile when we were ushered into his presence. Attended by a
secretary, Jaffar received us in a small, open courtyard in his riverside palace where the steward had taken us straight from the docks. The nadim was evidently not due to meet the caliph, for
Jaffar was no longer wearing black, but dressed in loose trousers of white silk, a long purple tunic, and a light cloak of the same colour trimmed with gold. Bare-headed, he was standing in the
shade of a miniature pavilion of yellow-and-blue striped silk erected among the immaculately tended flowerbeds. Even here in the open air, I noted, the air was subtly scented with perfume and I
wondered how soon Sulaiman intended to deliver his precious lump of whale phlegm to his patron.

Inside the carpeted pavilion were soft cushions and a tray with a jug and cups for guests, but Jaffar did not invite us to be seated. It was clear that he was in a hurry. ‘My young friend
Abdallah will want to know how you got on with your search for the rukh,’ he said.

‘Your Excellency,’ I began, ‘we found traces of the creature, but not the rukh itself.’ I unfolded the length of velvet I was carrying and showed him the largest fragment
of the eggshells Osric and I had gathered. ‘We came across what we believed was a rukh’s nest but it had been abandoned. Here is a piece from one of the eggs.’

Jaffra took the eggshell from me and examined it. ‘I shall give this to Abdallah, though I doubt it will settle his argument with the crown prince about the existence of the rukh. I expect
there will be a deadlock.’

He beckoned to a waiting attendant and handed him the eggshell. His voice took on a more formal tone. ‘The Commander of the Faithful has instructed me to make the arrangements for your
return to Frankia.’

Anxiously I waited for him to continue. A wild, irrational idea surfaced in my mind: maybe I could persuade Zaynab to come with me . . . that Jaffar would allow her to leave.

‘You will be attached to a return mission to the court of the King of the Franks,’ the nadim continued. ‘The mission takes a further message of goodwill from the Commander of
the Faithful.’

There was a brief interruption as someone appeared at the entrance to the courtyard. He looked like a member of the vizier’s staff, anxious to call away his master. Jaffar flicked a
dismissive finger and the man ducked back out of sight.

‘May I ask when the mission is expected to leave?’ I asked.

‘In three weeks’ time. There will also be gifts, among them another elephant. I am told that the previous animal he sent died before it had reached its destination.’

‘I will do my best to ensure that the elephant survives the journey this time.’ Abram, our former dragoman, must have reported to the caliph’s secretariat what had happened to
the first elephant. ‘It is unfortunate that my assistant, the man best suited for caring for animals, lost his life in Zanj.’

‘The health of the elephant need not concern you,’ Jaffar assured me smoothly. ‘The elephant will be given to the charge of experienced handlers. It is your experience of the
route that will be valued. I would be grateful if you could give them the benefit of your advice during the journey.’

‘I will do everything in my power, Your Excellency.’

Out of the corner of my eye I was aware of another movement in the archway. A different staff member was hovering, clearly anxious that the nadim should conclude the interview and attend to
other business.

The vizier treated me to a quick smile. ‘Prince Abdallah was telling me about that book you brought with you from Frankia, the one with animal descriptions. He found it
fascinating.’

‘King Carolus had it specially prepared for the Commander of the Faithful. It lists all the animals we know of, with notes in Arabic as well as Frankish.’

‘Arabic and Frankish? Young Abdallah didn’t mention that.’

‘I took the book with me to Zanj and the caliph required that I place it in the royal library afterwards,’ I volunteered.

‘Then I’ll have the librarian send it over to me in due course. It will be a good text for the prince to study. As his tutor I believe he should learn something of your Frankish
script.’

Jaffar gathered his cloak around him, making ready to leave. ‘I am sorry to hear about the death of your assistant,’ he said graciously. ‘A journey is often marred by mishaps,
however carefully it is planned. With the help of God, your return to Frankia will be trouble free.’

Then he was on his way out of the courtyard, hurrying through an archway in a swirl of expensive silk, and leaving Osric and me standing in the exquisite garden. My friend cleared his throat
with a small, strained cough.

‘Sigwulf,’ he said, sounding more serious than I could ever remember, ‘I will not be accompanying you back to Aachen.’

I gaped at him. All my life I had known Osric, right from the earliest days when he had been a slave in my father’s household. It had never occurred to me that he might choose to go his
own way and no longer be my companion.

‘You’ve decided to stay in Baghdad?’ I blurted. ‘Why?’

My friend looked me in the eye. ‘I feel I have a future here.’

My head swam. ‘A future? How is that? You know no one. How will you find employment? Somewhere to live?’

‘I hope to be taken on as a member of Nadim Jaffar’s household.’

‘As what?’ I demanded. I was so taken aback that I spoke more sharply than was justified.

Osric spread his hands in a gesture of apology. He knew he had shaken me. ‘I have some medical knowledge, or I could join Jaffar’s secretariat. As a senior vizier he needs a large
staff. I could be useful to him.’

My thoughts were in turmoil. ‘Have you approached Jaffar about this?’ I demanded bitterly, my voice tailing away as I realized the truth.

The voyage back from Zanj had been long and sombre, overshadowed by the memory of Walo’s death. On most days Osric and Zaynab had spent many hours together, sitting on the foredeck and
talking quietly.

‘Zaynab is asking Jaffar on your behalf, isn’t she?’ I said, trying not to sound accusing.

‘Sigwulf, I’m hoping you will understand my decision,’ Osric explained gently. ‘I feel more at home here in Baghdad than I ever did in Aachen.’ He gave a wan smile.
‘Even with the summer heat, the weather suits me better. I have fewer aches and pains than in the damp northern climes.’

‘And what happens if Jaffar will not add you to his staff?’ I demanded.

My friend’s answer was firm. ‘Then I will offer my services to the royal librarian. My knowledge of Hispania and the northern lands will help them in compiling maps and registers of
foreign countries.’

‘Are you sure about this?’

Osric shifted on his feet, but his steady gaze held mine. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about the best thing to do. I would hate you to think that I am abandoning you, but I see my
future here in the caliphate.’

‘And Zaynab? Is she in your future too?’ I knew I was sounding resentful.

Osric shook his head. ‘She’s less than half my age, more like a wise daughter that I never had. Remember that we share an experience of slavery and that makes one dream of a quiet
settled life in charge of one’s own daily existence.

‘Yet Zaynab is still a slave,’ I said.

Osric was patient with me. ‘A slave for now, and a valued singer. Jaffar is generous, and he’s more of a patron than a master. Last year he promised to give Zaynab her freedom as
well as a present of money if she would continue to sing so beautifully. He says that the gift of freedom would remove the sadness from her voice.’

‘And Zaynab agreed to his proposal?’ A lump gathered in my throat as I asked the question. I already knew the answer.

My friend regarded me with such profound sympathy that I realized he had guessed my feelings for Zaynab. ‘Yes, Zaynab has agreed. When she has her own house, she says, there will be room
for me to live there if I wish.’

I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach with all the wind knocked out of me. In a single moment I had lost my friend and companion since childhood, and the woman I dreamed of had passed
out of reach.

I could have wept with frustration and disappointment. I knew Osric well enough to know that he would not change his mind. I had no right to expect him to fall in with my own plans. Long ago he
had ceased to be my slave or servant. He was my friend and now I should wish him happiness.

What cut me to the quick was to be told that Zaynab saw her own future with no place in it for me or, perhaps, for anyone else. Given a choice, she preferred to be alone. For a bitter and savage
moment, I felt betrayed. I loathed her for misleading me into a false dream. Then, with a great effort, I pulled myself together. I told myself that I should never have presumed on what Zaynab
would wish. Her beauty and my delight in her company had been so overwhelming that I had projected onto her a desire for a loving partner that she did not share. Zaynab had not intended to deceive
me. For whatever reason – her nature, her past experiences as a slave – she had built a wall around herself and was unattainable.

Nevertheless, I was crushed. I knew that if I saw Zaynab again, it would tear me to pieces. At that moment all I wanted to do was to leave Baghdad as soon as possible. From somewhere in the back
of my mind rose an image of bald, sweating Musa seated in his room in the royal library consulting his star books for Osric and me. He had predicted from the star conjunctions that the future held
death and great happiness and a return. Walo had died, and Osric was finding happiness. I, however, would return to Aachen on my own and this time I would ensure that fewer obstacles and dangers
were put in my path.

*

There was a strained silence between Osric and me as we left Jaffar’s palace. Neither trusted himself to speak without the risk of causing further disquiet. The steward
brought us to the same lodging house in the Round City that we had occupied months earlier, and at the doorway I muttered something about needing to have some time to myself. I told Osric that I
would join him later. Then I set out to walk the streets. My thoughts were crowding in on me – memories of Osric from my childhood, of when I was sent into exile, of campaigning with him in
Hispania, and, most recently, the journey to the Northlands in search of white beasts. Osric had been with me either as guardian, companion or advisor – and always friend. He would no longer
be a constant presence. I felt disoriented. The recollections of Osric mingled with painful visions of Zaynab. I struggled to stop myself from thinking of her but it was impossible. She was so easy
to picture in all her loveliness. Zaynab was deeply entwined in my emotions and it would take months, maybe years, to disentangle her.

It was late afternoon, and I walked for an hour or more, with these notions tumbling back and forth in my head. Eventually my footsteps brought me by chance to the tall double doors of the
massive building that housed the royal menagerie. There it occurred to me to check on how Madi and Modi were faring. It would divert me from my inner turmoil. I went inside. The interior was just
as I had remembered it – vast, smelling of hay, piss and dung, while muffled snufflings and other unidentifiable animal noises came from behind lines of closed doors to the stalls. I walked
down the central aisle to where I had last seen the ice bears. The door to their pen was open. Their enclosure was empty.

I turned away, intending to find a keeper to ask what had happened to the bears. But there was no one about.

As I walked back along the central walkway I heard a gentle clinking sound. I stopped and went to look over the open upper half of a door to one of the larger stalls. A great grey elephant was
standing in the straw. The sound came from a slim chain, polished from much use, around the ankle of its back leg. The other end of the chain was fastened to a metal hoop set in the wall.

I was standing there, gazing in at the great animal and wondering why it had been tethered when I was conscious of someone standing at my shoulder. I half turned. It was Abram, the dragoman.

‘There’s a certain season of the year when a male elephant is dangerous,’ he said quietly. ‘They become difficult to handle, treacherous even. That dark matter oozing
from near his eye and then down his cheek is a sign.’

He gazed over the door thoughtfully.

‘Will you be accompanying the new mission to Aachen?’ I asked him.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Another of my people will act as dragoman. While you were away, I’ve been building up my commercial contacts in the caliph’s empire. There’s a
fortune to be made here.’

I looked back at the elephant. It was standing swaying gently on its feet, the ears fanning slowly.

‘Was the first elephant that Haroun sent really white?’ I put the question casually and waited for an answer.

There was a long silence.

‘Why do you ask?’ Abram said.

‘Because there was only your word that it was white. No one in Aachen ever saw it, and Nadim Jaffar didn’t seem to be aware of the fact.’

Abram did not reply. He reached into the pocket of his gown and pulled out a dried seed. He prised the shell open with his fingernails and popped the kernel into his mouth, then held out the
empty husk on his outstretched palm. The elephant shuffled its great feet in the straw and took a few paces until it reached the end of its chain. Then it reached out with the long snake-like trunk
and, very delicately, picked up the tiny offering. The trunk curled back and the beast placed the shell into its mouth and the jaws moved.

‘I was waiting for you to understand,’ he said quietly. I caught a faint whiff of a familiar smell on his breath.

‘On the voyage back from Zanj our captain Sulaiman had a great liking for those same seeds that you chew on,’ I said. ‘He told me they come from India.’