Free Saxon: The Emperor's Elephant by Tim Severin Page B

him that Oleif sent you!’ he called after me as I trudged on, Osric limping beside me.
    ‘What did he mean about finding Sleipnir before we came across a unicorn?’ Osric asked.
    ‘It was his way of saying that there’s no such creature as a unicorn. Sleipnir is the horse Odinn rides. According to the old beliefs, Sleipnir travels on eight legs.’
    We were passing one of the large boat-shaped houses with a turf roof. Three men stood in the open doorway, deep in conversation. Judging by the tints of grey in their neatly trimmed beards, two
of them were in their mid-forties. Their companion was younger, perhaps in his twenties. All three were dressed in the same unobtrusive style – loose trousers of dark wool, a long shirt
belted at the waist and soft knee-length boots. Two of them were bare headed; the third wore a round felt cap with an unusual trim of alternating patches of glossy dark and light fur.
    Osric nudged me with his elbow. ‘Over there,’ he murmured, flicking a glance towards the strangers.
    At first sight there was nothing noteworthy about them apart from the fact that their skins were a darker shade than most visitors to the market and they appeared to be more neatly groomed.
    ‘Look at their belts,’ Osric prompted under his breath.
    I took a second glance. Their broad leather belts were stitched with complicated interlocking red and green patterns in loops and whorls. The buckles were ornate and of massive silver.
    ‘Slave dealers,’ muttered Osric. There was sadness in his voice and I remembered that once he too had been traded as a slave.
    I felt the pressure on my arm as he steered me so we passed close enough to the three slave-dealers to overhear their conversation.
    The three men ignored us as we sauntered past and when we were at a safe distance I asked, ‘What were they talking about?’
    ‘I picked up a few words. Enough to guess that they come from Khazaria, well beyond Constantinople.’
    ‘Redwald mentioned that Saracen traders come to Kaupang to buy slaves. I’m surprised that the emperor in Constantinople allows Saracens to cross his lands to get here. They could be
spies,’ I added.
    Osric grimaced. ‘Trade leaks through frontiers. Slaves bought in Kaupang can finish up serving in the palace at Constantinople.’
    Presently we found ourselves in the rougher end of Kaupang’s market. Rubbish littered the ground and the buildings were even more seedy. Stray dogs, scabby and malnourished, nosed for
scraps at the side of the roadway. A group of what looked like vagrants were squatting or lying in the shade of one of the flimsy sheds. There were tear streaks on the grimy faces of some of the
women and girls, the men looked sullen and bored. They wore no chains but I knew at once that they were for sale. They could have been taken prisoner in local battles, kidnapped by slave catchers,
or sold into slavery to pay debts. I tried not to think of my own people made captive when King Offa conquered us. Most would have been allowed to stay on and work the land, paying their taxes to
their new lord, but others would have been sold. It was my good fortune to have been sent into exile.
    At the far end of the roadway, at the point it turned back into a footpath, we finally found where hunting birds were sold. A dozen or so birds were fastened by cords around their legs to a line
of wooden blocks on the ground. They watched our approach with their fierce, bright eyes. The ground around their perches was soiled with their droppings. Fresh bloodstains and shreds of mouse
carcasses on the blocks showed that they had been fed recently. The smaller merlins and sparrowhawks were easy to identify, and Carolus’s mews master had taken me on a tour of the royal mews
so I was able to distinguish the big gyrfalcons from their cousins the peregrines. Disappointingly, of three gyrfalcons only one was white. The plumage of the others was patterned in dark brown and
black. They were not what I