Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant (14 page)

‘Shouldn’t last long,’ I commented cheerfully. I tried to recall where I had seen them before. They were both thickset, rather jowly men dressed in plain, unremarkable clothes.
The shoulders of their jackets were only speckled with raindrops so they must have ducked in to shelter just before the cloudburst. The taller one had a heavy, rather stupid-looking face that
emphasized his hulking menace. His colleague was even less attractive, with a bull neck and deep-set black eyes that looked as if they had been poked in his pudding-like head with the point of a
charred stick.

Neither man responded directly to my greeting. They edged further into the little room, then the taller one closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and folded his arms.

‘Odd-eyes aren’t welcome in this town,’ said Pudding Head nastily. Another crash of thunder drowned the rest of his words.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked. It was a feeble response as I tried to work out why the men wanted to pick a quarrel.

Pudding Head moved closer. ‘A seidrmann brings bad luck.’

‘I may have odd eyes, as you call them, but I’m no seidrmann.’

He laughed coarsely. ‘Then why do you keep company with a cripple who looks as if he came from Niflheim and a moonstruck idiot servant?’

Niflheim was the home of the dead. Osric’s dark skin must have seemed outlandish to these yokels.

‘I’m not a magician,’ I repeated, a tight knot of fear gathering in my stomach. Belatedly I recognized the two men. They were the same pair of guards that I had seen from time
to time outside the jewellery shop. The jeweller himself had closed up and departed from Kaupang a week earlier so I wondered who now employed them or whether the two men were acting on their own.
I could only suppose that they were planning to rob me. I looked for a means of escape. The window behind me was too small, and the ruffian at the door was too burly.

The heart of the thunderstorm was now right over Kaupang. Outside, the torrential rain fell in a steady roar. Peal after peal of thunder shook the building. The air suddenly felt chilly, though
that was not what made me shiver. Pudding Face pulled out a knife. The two men were not here to frighten me or even to beat me up. They intended to kill me.

I had long since returned to Redwald the sailor’s knife he had loaned me, and now my only weapon was the knife I used for cutting up food, a blade just four inches long. I pulled it from
my belt as I backed away towards the window and saw the look of disdain in the hard, black eyes of my attacker.

I had fought in pitched battles, on foot and on horseback, and with sword and shield. But being trapped in a small room by a pair of cut-throat killers was outside my experience.

Pudding Head was circling to my left, my exposed side, his knife held low in front of him. He jabbed it towards me menacingly. I jumped back out of range, then realized that he was intent on
driving me round the little room in a circle, until my back was to his colleague Stupid Face. There I would be clasped in those thick arms and held while his companion put the blade into a fatal
spot.

I backed away further, felt the edge of a stool against my knee, and – not taking my eyes off the knife man – picked it up to use as a shield. Pudding Head took a half-pace forward,
his expression cold and calculating.

I bellowed for help, shouting at the top of my lungs. With sudden desperation I knew there was little hope of being heard over the crash of thunder and the drumming of the rain and, even if I
was, my cries might well be mistaken for a noisy brawl in the nearby drinking den.

Nevertheless, I kept yelling and yelling, thrusting the stool at Pudding Head’s head making him step back.

He waited his moment, then suddenly reached out with his free hand and grabbed the stool, and used it to propel himself forward. I tried to dodge his knife, but he was too quick. I felt a sharp
burning sensation as the blade cut me, on my right side, sliding off a rib.

I yelped from fear and pain. He had not let go of the stool, and for a moment we wrestled together, each trying to tug the stool from the other. My initial surge of energy was ebbing rapidly. I
would either drop the stool or be forced backward within range of Stupid Face guarding the door.

I shouted again for help, and the cry had scarcely left my throat when there was a great splintering and smashing of wood. The man with his back against the door was propelled head first into
the room as someone shoulder-charged the door from the passageway outside, carrying away its hinges.

Ohthere. He burst in, carrying the same heavy stick that he had used to fend off the dogs from the bear cage. He wielded it as a cudgel. Before Stupid Face could recover his balance, Ohthere
drove the blunt end of the stick hard into his stomach. The man doubled up with a grunt. Ohthere then stepped across to where I was fending off Pudding Head and brought his stick down with a
resounding crack on the hand that held the knife. I made the mistake of letting go the stool, and Pudding Face had the wit to swing it at Ohthere, who failed to duck in time. The edge of the stool
caught him on the side of his head and he staggered back. Taking advantage of the moment, both attackers turned and bolted for the door.

I was too exhausted to do more than take jagged gasps of breath and press my hand against my wounded side, feeling blood.

‘How badly are you hurt?’ asked Ohthere.

‘Nothing fatal,’ I managed to answer. Then, dizzy and in shock, I staggered to the stool that lay on the floor, righted it, and sat down. ‘Who were they? They were trying to
kill me . . .’

Ohthere was rubbing the side of his head. ‘I’ve no idea. But they’ll have made themselves scarce by now.’

‘Should we report the incident?’

‘There’s no one to report to. The only law in Kaupang is the one you take into your own hands. If you can track them down, you could take revenge. But if they are the jarl’s
men, it’s a waste of time. They’ll have his protection.’

I noticed that Ohthere’s clothes were soaking wet. ‘It was lucky you came by, despite the rain. Otherwise I’d have been done for.’

He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘A little damp won’t stop me from calling on Redwald to arrange the final payment for the bears. I heard shouts and recognized your voice.’

‘I got a good look at the two men. Perhaps Redwald knows where to track them down,’ I said.

I got up from the stool and hobbled out of the building, leaning on Ohthere’s arm. The rainstorm had eased as rapidly as it had started. The last few raindrops were flicking down, and the
ground outside was muddy slop. Just before we reached the door to Redwald’s office, I turned to Ohthere. ‘Could you find Osric for me? He’s good at dealing with wounds.’

‘Of course. I left him at my place, with Walo.’

While Ohthere squelched off, I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts: Northmen rarely killed those whom they believed to have magical powers. They feared retribution from the Otherworld. If
there was a different motive for the attack, someone must have known that I was by myself, sheltering from the rainstorm. Immediately Redwald sprang to mind. The shipmaster, I recalled, had
identified to me the same two brutes when they were on guard outside the jeweller’s shop. Redwald’s office was just a few steps away. He could have spoken with the two would-be
assassins in the adjacent drinking den to tell them that the moment was right. Redwald already had his hands on what remained of our silver hoard aboard his ship. If he killed me, all that would
remain would be to dispose of Osric, perhaps on the voyage back to Dorestad. With us out of the way Redwald could also claim his commission from Carolus’s mews master for bringing back the
gyrfalcons, and probably get a reward for obtaining the ice bears as well.

I limped into the shipmaster’s office, alert to his reaction when he saw that I was alive.

Redwald was seated alone at his changing table, leaning forward and concentrating, and he ignored my arrival. He was placing matching weights into the two pans of his moneyer’s weighing
scales to check the balance. When he looked up and saw blood on my shirt, he made a sucking sound through his teeth.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked as I sank down on a bench facing him.

I told him of the unprovoked assault and described the two men. ‘I think they were previously guards for the dealer in precious stones, the man who had his premises a little way along the
street.’

I watched him closely for signs of guilt but he only tugged at an earlobe as he considered his reply. ‘You could well be right.’

‘Do you know anything about the dealer?’

He sat back with a sour smile. ‘I make it a policy to stay clear of him. His line is in gems and fine ornaments. If he thought I was infringing on his trade by doing more than changing
money and handling broken silver, he would try to put me out of business.’

‘Would he set his men on me because I’m with you?’

He shook his head. ‘Only a madman would carry a commercial rivalry that far.’

‘Surely you don’t believe they tried to kill me because they thought I practise black magic!’

‘No, though it’s common knowledge that Ingvar caught two gyrfalcons in the same trap when you were with him. Everyone says that’s not natural.’ He paused and gave me a
look of shrewd calculation. ‘What about King Offa? You told me that he had a grudge against you.’

‘How would he have found out that I’m in Kaupang?’ I said.

‘Of course he has his agents here, though I wouldn’t know who they are, or want to,’ Redwald answered. ‘I don’t pry into King Offa’s affairs. My trade with
Mercia is too valuable . . .’ His voice tailed away, and a heavy silence hung in the air between us. ‘There’s a coincidence, though. If your identification is correct, one of the
attackers came to see me last week. He wanted money changed.’

Redwald reached inside his tunic and pulled out a small soft leather pouch. ‘Northmen trust gold coins even less than silver ones. They get rid of them as quickly as possible.’

He untied the little pouch and shook the contents on the table, a mix of half a dozen gold coins of varying thickness, shape and size.

He picked up one of the coins and handed it to me. ‘Take a look.’

The coin was the size of my thumbnail. It was recently minted so the markings were clear. I recognized the wavy lines of Saracen writing.

‘That was one of the coins that your mysterious attacker – if we have the right man – wanted me to change into silver,’ Redwald said.

I turned the coin slowly in my fingers. ‘Advance payment for a murder?’

‘Possibly. Equally, it might have been his gambling winnings or part of his legitimate wages from the jeweller, though the latter would have been very generous.’

Unwisely I took a deep breath and winced as I felt the stab of pain from my wound. ‘I’ll get Osric to translate the writing after he’s bandaged the gash in my side. If we know
where the coin comes from, that might tell us who was behind the attack.’

‘You don’t have to ask Osric. Turn the coin over and read what it says,’ said Redwald.

I did so. Among the Saracen symbols was an inscription in Roman letters: ‘Offa Rex’.

‘This is Offa’s coinage?’ I said, puzzled. ‘Why the Saracen writing?’

Redwald leaned back on his chair and I recognized the look that he had on his face when he was about to impart one of the secrets of his trade. ‘A couple of years ago, Offa decided to
issue a coin in gold, not his usual silver. He wanted to expand Mercia’s trade with Hispania. Having a coin that the Saracen recognized would make payments easier. So his mint master took his
mould from a genuine Saracen coin, a gold dinar, and changed a single detail – inserting Offa’s name.’

‘So those cut-throats were Offa’s hirelings.’ The thought that Offa had not forgotten my existence and was prepared to have me killed made my stomach twist.

‘Not so fast,’ warned Redwald. He slid a second gold coin across the table towards me. ‘This was another coin your knife-wielding friend wanted me to change for
silver.’

This coin bore a cross on one side, and two stylized heads on the other. Both wore crowns, one with long pendants hanging almost to the shoulders. I looked up at Redwald questioningly.
‘Where does this one come from?’

‘Constantinople. That’s a Byzantine solidus.’ Redwald raised an eyebrow. ‘The figure on the left is the young Basileus Constantine.’

‘And the one with the dangling decorations?’

‘His mother, Irene. She acts as regent. Can you think of any reason why someone in Constantinople wants you done away with?’ He gave a bleak smile. ‘Just in case they try
again, I think we should bring forward the date of our departure from Kaupang. I seem to remember that I gave my word to deliver you and your friends safely back to Dorestad . . . and that’s
when I’ll be paid my bonus.’

At that moment Osric limped into the room. He made me stand up and peel off my tunic so that he could examine the wound. As he cleaned the gash with a rag soaked in rainwater, I reflected to
myself that either Redwald was innocent of my attempted murder or he was a most ingenious liar. He had provided me with two suspects. The first was King Offa whose agents had hired the killers to
rid their master of a longstanding nuisance. The second was the basileus in Constantinople. As Osric had pointed out, the Emperor of the Greeks had reason to wreck Carolus’s mission to the
caliph.

I racked my brains trying to understand how the Greeks could have known why Carolus had sent me to Kaupang. The Khazars could not yet have carried back their report to Constantinople. Then I
recalled Osric’s other warning: the Greeks have their spies everywhere. Their sources at Carolus’s court could have alerted the basileus even before Osric and I left Aachen.

*

Redwald lost no time in preparing for us to leave Kaupang. He sold off the rest of his wine cheaply and arranged for the remaining quern stones to be left with a local factor.
On the morning before the cog was due to set sail, I went with Walo to fetch the three white gyrfalcons and the eagle. They had been left in the care of Gorm, and the bird dealer’s son had
already picked the stitches from the eyelids of the more recently captured birds so that they could see, and had been gentling them so that they were easy to handle.