The Moon Worshippers (19 page)

Elexoste and Aguirre had entered the town by the north gate. The town was full of people, selling and buying. As a result few gave the strangers a second glance, and they moved about the market place with ease. The town inhabitants were mostly Mozarabes, which are Christians who had taken-up the Muslim religion to keep their possessions and lands. They lived in a twilight zone. They were despised by both Christians and Arabs alike. They belonged to neither one side nor the other and were persecuted by both. Consequently, those of the inhabitants who did take a harder, closer and longer look at the two Basques made no effort to denounce them. The insecurity of their own fragile position made them unsure and apathetic.

After completing their purchases, Aguirre and Elexoste were resting on the steps of the great Mosque, eating some fruit. Below them, a man was sitting on a silk cushion. In front of him was a small desk with quills and parchment. As they watched a succession of people would approach the Arab and he would write down their words, but keep the parchments, which he would place inside a leather bag beside him.

“What on earth is he doing?” Elexoste said, between mouthfuls of apple.

“Don’t know, but I mean to find out.” Aguirre got up and approached one of the people waiting for the scribe.

“Friend,” Aguirre said, “what does that man you are waiting for do?”

The man glanced at Aguirre, saw his great size and the battle-axe in his belt and thought it would be better to be polite, not wishing to offend him.

“He writes letters.”

“Letters?” queried Aguirre.

“Yes, letters. You know, if you have a message for someone, he will write it for you and send it. Depending on how long it is and how far it has to go he will charge you accordingly.” Then he added. “But, you must haggle or he will overcharge.” He didn’t wish to get on the wrong side of Aquirre.

“I am obliged,” Aguirre said.

“Don’t mention it.”

The man said moving quickly away, thankful that the conversation had ended.

“Well?” Elexoste asked.

“Stay here and don’t move.” Aguirre went over to the scribe.

“I wish to send a letter.”

“Sit down!” the Arab said. He gestured to a cushion before the small desk.

Aguirre sat down.

“Where do you wish to send your letter?” the Arab said.

“To Zaragoza.”

The Arab wrote a few lines down in Arabic.

“And to whom?”

Aguirre paused for a moment. “Captain Umar-el Bakr.”

The Arab looked up from the parchment and stared at Aguirre. Aguirre stared straight back with a blank expression on his face.

“Who is sending this letter?” The Arab was still staring at Aguirre and had put his quill down.

Aguirre, giving no sign of his thumping heart, said in a matter-of-fact voice: “From my master, the merchant Jean Luc de Tours of Lyon.”

The Arab picked up the quill again.

“What is your master’s message?”

Aguirre made as if to clear his throat. He was beginning to enjoy his play-acting.

“Most illustrious Captain Umar-el-Bekr, of the Guard at the palace of the governor of Zaragoza.”

Aguirre paused, and then continued.

“The merchandise that you ordered from the Benedictines has been collected and will be outside Zuera on the north road in three days time.”

“Not so fast. Give me time to write and it is customary to start the letter with salaam,” said the Arab.

Aguirre paused. “So be it. Do it.”

“Go on,” the Arab said after a moment.

“The goods are on three mules. No, make that, two mules. You will need but a small escort to take them into Zaragoza. Your humble servant,

Jean Luc de Tours. Merchant of fine quality goods.”

*

The Arab finished and smiled. “You want to keep some of the profit for yourself?”

“I am but a humble muleskinner.”

“That will be three silver pieces,” the Arab said still smiling.

“I will give you one,” Aguirre replied.

“The price is three.”

“Two if you can guarantee it reaches Zaragoza tomorrow.”

“Very well, two and it will be in Zaragoza tomorrow.”

“You swear it by the Blood of Allah?”

The Arab looked uncomfortable, but nodded slowly. Aguirre handed over two silver coins. He stood and bowed and joined Elexoste. The Arab had carefully watched Aguirre’s departure. He was no muleskinner. Of that he was sure. He looked down at the letter. A man that dealt with the Captain of the governor’s Guard was not to be trifled with. He picked up his quill and carefully wrote down the date at the bottom of the parchment. He wrote, 1
st
August 778 and his name. Charlemagne had entered Spain and would be at the gates of Zaragoza in five days.

“Let us get out of here. We have stayed too long already,” said Aguirre.

They left the town and made their way along the north road. When they had reached the hillside, they carefully made sure that no one could see them and took a track leading off the road towards the hill. After they had been on the track for sometime, Roka appeared out of a thicket. He came bounding over to his master and made a great fuss over him as if Aguirre had been away for a very long time. He placed two great paws on his chest and licked his face. Aguirre laughed and scratched the great head behind both ears. The dog growled his pleasure.

Roka soon led them towards the camp and as they approached, Arturo appeared from behind a tree, bow at the ready. To his left, Storm suddenly rose from some long grass. His head was low and he stared intently with his yellow eyes.

“That animal still gives me the creeps,” Elexoste said. “His ability to appear out of nowhere is uncanny.”

“That’s the wolf in him,” Arturo replied, smiling. “You will find the camp a hundred paces ahead of you. Have you any food? I’m starving!”

They gave Arturo some food and made their way to the camp where Inaki was in deep conversation with the boy. He looked up and greeted the two men.

“Did it go well?” he asked as they sat down beside him.

“Better than in your wildest dreams,” Aguirre replied.

In short sentences he explained about the Arab scribe and what he had done.

“You have been cheated. You paid too much,” said the boy without being asked for his opinion.

“I will have his head,” he said seriously.

Bloodthirsty little devil, thought Aguirre
. However, he had a burning question which he did give voice to.

“Will the letter reach Zaragoza?”

“Oh yes,” said the boy matter of factly. “It will get there all right.”

“Let us move,” said Inaki, “we have an appointment to keep.”

As they did so, Aguirre turned to Inaki and said: “Is there something I should know?”

“What do you mean?” said Inaki defensively.

“Well, as we approached the camp, Storm was waiting in ambush.”

Inaki looked at his old friend.

“He has been acting strangely, but we can talk about it later.”

“Are you sure?” said Aguirre.

“Yes.”

With that, Inaki turned away and hurried the men to get started.

Chapter Thirteen

Charlemagne

At the far end of a deeply wooded valley, a company of horsemen waited. It was a hot summer’s day and the air was alive with insects. Bees hummed through the air and brightly-coloured butterflies flittered amongst the meadow flowers. At the head of the mounted men, a man of royal bearing sat on his charger. He was tall, with shoulder length blond hair and bearded. He wore chain mail and had a deep purple cloak about his shoulders. His posture had the bearing of one who was used to hard military training and his body had the scars of many battles. In his hand, he held a thick-shafted hunting spear. The ash shaft was strong enough to take the full force of a charging boar without shattering into splinters. He had that unique authority about him that made men follow and obey. He was a natural leader, who men would die for. Behind him were 300 mounted guards and various noblemen; together with a number of hunting dogs and their handlers. He was Charlemagne, King and soon to become Emperor; the most powerful man in the known world at that time, and he looked it.

In the distance he could hear the sound of Roland’s mighty hunting horn. An hour earlier it had sounded the start of the hunt. Now it sounded the three short notes that indicated the dogs had found the wild boars and that they were on the scent. As he sat on his charger, Charlemagne could picture the scene. Roland, his beloved nephew and the greatest of his warriors, would be right behind the great mastiffs. These were specially bred dogs for hunting, with exceptional noses that could follow a scent for hours. They were large dogs, descended from Roman war dogs, but lighter in weight; bred for their speed, strength and fearlessness. Their ancestry gave them certain characteristics; they were black and tan or alternatively, all one colour with large floppy ears, short rough coats and long tails. They were handled in pairs or, if the handler was skilful enough, in fours. They were kept on long leather leashes until the boars took to cover and then released to flush them out of the thickets and onto the waiting spears of the huntsmen. Several horns could be heard now as the forty odd dogs that were being used that morning found the scent of the prey. But above them all, the distinctive note of Roland’s horn could not be mistaken. Twice the size of any other horn, the great Oliphant, boomed out of the valley. No other man had the lungs to blow it and in battle, as in the hunt, it was a means of communication between the great king and his most trusted kinsman.

Roland was the keeper of his most northern borders and warden of Brittany. For the last two years, the king had been organising and sending supplies and troops north. From every corner of his empire they had been coming to Brittany. Italy sent archers and pike men, and from Germany came horsemen and infantry. Finally, he had come north himself, from his capital Aix-la-Chapelle, with the heart and bulk of his army and his elite cavalry. He scrutinised his loyal and battled-hardened Frankish troops.

For thirty long years he had fought with these men and they had never let him down. Now he was calling on them again in what undoubtedly would be a long and difficult campaign. They had arrived ten days before and had spent the time making the final preparations for their onslaught on Spain. All was now ready. His plans were set and tomorrow, at dawn, the army would move. Another army, under the command of one of his three sons, had already been sent to invade Spain through the south of the country. They would take Barcelona and then head north to join him. He intended to carve the country up with his army, establishing fortresses along the way to secure the land for his family forever.

The hunt, which was one of many that had taken place over the last ten weeks, would provide the salted boars, and the meat and venison would feed the army over the coming days, together with all the fresh supplies that could be obtained. Sat in his saddle, in the hot morning sun, he mused over his preparations. The use of the Benedictines had been a masterstroke. They had not let him down. Their intelligence reports had been first class and their use of the Sisters of the Moon an inspirational move. Zaragoza had been secured and this would give him an excellent base from which to strike at the very heart of Spain. He relished the thought of putting more Muslims to the sword. He, and his father before him, had driven the Muslims from the south of France and he now intended to drive them out of Spain. At Tours he had fought a week long battle against the Moors and against all odds, won. Many lessons had been learnt that day.

He was the traditional Germanic warrior, who had spent most of his adult life in battle, but the Holy Roman Church had taught him how to fuse different nations through a common religion and to this he had added another ingredient. He had learnt that men fought best when they had something to gain, and so, he gave lands and titles to all that came under his banner. Cruel and heartless in battle, he was nevertheless, the model for all future kings in his adroit use of possible allies.

The hunting horns were sounding four notes now. They had made contact with the wild boars. Charlemagne raised an arm and the group of mounted men behind him spilt into two and moved to the right and left of him, forming a semicircle, like the horns of a bull, at either side of the king. At the centre was the king with his noblemen. When the boars broke cover, they would be drawn onto the spears of the king and his noblemen by the horns of the semicircular mounted guards. It would happen within the hour. In the meantime, Charlemagne let his mind wander. He was feeling pleased with himself and it was such a pleasant day. He had achieved much recently and his plans had gone well. In the last two years, he had established a permanent royal capital at Aix-la-Chapelle, in Germany, and built a palace and church there. At his court he had gathered scholars and clerics from all over Europe and had established a school and a library under the most famous scholar of the time, Alcuin of York. His administration had flourished. He now had 250 administrators who dealt with a broad range of topics. They controlled, through the power given to them by the hundreds of decrees that Charlemagne issued, the effective management of his army, royal estates, monasteries and schools, which left him free to concentrate, among other things, on Spain and the Moors.