and the air was warm yet not hot enough to trouble Arnulf’s oxen. An occasional shower kept down the dust along the road without turning it to mud. We walked for up to six hours a day, stopping from time to time to rest the beasts and give them forage and water. At night we camped by the roadside or stayed in the guesthouses of monasteries, of which there were a remarkable number. We were on monastery business so room was always found for us, and we were given food and fodder to take on the next day’s travel. The scenery was very like what I had known at home. The rolling hills were covered with oak and beech forest, and the farmers had cleared the bottom lands for crops of barley, rye and wheat. They lived in small hamlets, surrounded with vegetable plots and orchards, and it was clear that they were prospering. Their houses, built of wood, straw and clay were substantial, and it could take us twenty minutes to walk past the full length of a single field.
It took some time to win Arnulf over. He always went on foot in front of his two beasts, his guide wand over his shoulder like a fishing rod. In the beginning Osric and I ambled along at the tail of the wagon, out of sight and too tactful even to hang our baggage off the vehicle. Arnulf treated us as if we did not exist. At each halt, if he talked, it was only to his animals. He tended to them, petted them, walked around the wagon, carefully checking the wheels and axles and the load. It was not until we came to the first river ford that Osric and I were able to gain his grudging acceptance. Arnulf stopped the wagon in mid-stream to allow the oxen to stand in the water and cool their hooves. I nodded to Osric and took down the bucket which dangled from the tail of the wagon. Moments later the two of us were busily topping up the eel tank with river water. Arnulf did not thank us, but at least he waited until we had finished our work before he clucked his tongue again and the oxen began to move. Later in the afternoon he cut two leafy branches and gestured that we were to walk beside the oxen. We were to use the whisks to keep off the flies and midges that appeared as the sun began to sink.
Each mile increased my sense of well-being. I was in no hurry to reach Aachen and, for the first time in my life, I felt I had some control over my destiny. I was gaining in confidence and the only precaution I took was to replace the makeshift bandage which covered one eye. Passing through a small market town, I found a saddler to make me a proper patch of soft leather with thongs to attach it firmly in place. When I came to pay, there was a difficulty. He refused Offa’s silver coin, saying it was not legal tender. He directed me to a Jewish moneychanger who offered, for a twenty per cent commission, to take in all my Mercian silver and give me King Carolus’s money in its place. Without a moment’s hesitation I tipped out the contents of my purse. While the Jew weighed and scratched each coin to test for purity, it occurred to me that this was the last time I was likely to see King Offa’s image. At least I hoped as much.
Our journey also altered Osric. Exercise and the long days spent in the sunshine began to improve his health and posture. He held his head a little straighter, and by slow degrees his limp became less obvious as his crooked leg strengthened. He became much more relaxed and out-going. Previously he would have restricted himself to a few words at a time. Now it became possible to exchange a few sentences with him, though he would rarely start the conversation.
‘Would you rather have stayed on and served my uncle Cyneric?’ I asked him. It was the third day after leaving Abbot Walo’s monastery and the two of us were seated on the grassy verge of the highway. Arnulf had called a halt in the noonday heat and was fussing over his oxen in the shade of a gigantic chestnut tree.
Osric rubbed a hand along his twisted leg to massage the spot where the bone was crooked. ‘There was nothing to keep me there.’
‘King Offa may yet arrange to have me done away with. What would you do then?’
‘That will be for fate to decide,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Right now I’m looking forward to reaching Aachen and seeing if what I’ve heard about King Carolus is true.’
‘What have you been told?’
‘He has strange habits. He doesn’t keep normal hours, takes naps in the afternoon, wanders about his palace unescorted and wearing normal everyday clothes, nothing to mark him out as being the king, sometimes even summons his council meetings in the dead of night.’
‘It sounds as though you’ve been talking to his servants.’
‘Abbot Walo was several years as an official in the palace administration. When he was appointed to the monastery, he brought his butler and cook with him. They enjoy talking about their time in royal service.’
‘Is that just gossip or did they meet Carolus in person?’
‘The butler claims he met the king once, in a corridor very late at night. Carolus stopped him and asked him a lot of questions about the palace staff, who did what, and where they were from. He apparently likes to know everything that is going on. His staff is in awe of him.’
I thought about Osric’s reply. My father had been respected at a distance by his people. King Offa’s subjects feared their overlord. King Carolus sounded like no monarch I had ever heard about.
‘About the royal family? What are they like?’
‘Carolus has an illegitimate son who, it is widely believed, will inherit the throne.’
Again that sounded unusual. Kings normally did not recognize bastard children.
‘Doesn’t he have anyone closer to him?’
‘He’s a lusty monarch, and has had several concubines and sired several children, most of them girls.’
There was something about the way Osric made the last remark that made me look at him questioningly.
He allowed himself the sliver of a smile.
‘I was told he likes to keep the girls very close. But that’s just gossip.’
With that enigmatic remark, Osric rose to his feet. Arnulf had started his oxen on their steady plodding advance along the highway, heading west.
We met other wayfarers along the road — beggars, itinerant craftsmen, pedlars trudging from hamlet to hamlet, their packs crammed with everything small and portable from knives to needles. Dirge-like songs in the distance warned of the approach of bands of pilgrims on their way to a shrine. On market days there were farm carts laden with produce, children running alongside, live chickens dangling upside down, pigs trussed and squealing in the back. Everyone overtook us if they were travelling in the same direction except for those on crutches or with toddlers in hand. Horsemen swore at us. They shouted at us to clear the road. Arnulf ignored them, and they were forced to find a way around us. As they drew level, his angry scowl and the ugly blotch on his face was enough to deter them from complaining further.
Only once did Arnulf turn his wagon aside for other road users. A small party of mounted men came towards us, ordinary looking except that they had a small escort of soldiers. Arnulf promptly veered his wagon to one side, and they rode on past, stony-faced. Then a hundred yards down the road, one of them turned his horse and came back to us. He was a young man, a clerk perhaps. He reined in and asked Arnulf a series of questions — how long he had been on the road, where he was from, where he was going and how much he had paid at the last three toll points. His answers seemed to satisfy the young man who had given a curt nod and trotted off to rejoin his companions.
‘Who was that?’ I asked. I had never seen Arnulf so respectful.
‘King’s commissioners,’ he said. ‘Sent out with royal orders and the power to demand explanations. They poke and pry, making sure that the kingdom is running smoothly.’
‘Why do they have an armed guard?’
‘For show. No one would dare interfere with them.’
‘Are we near Aachen then?’
‘This forest is the king’s hunting preserve.’
It was a lonely, gloomy place, mile after mile of dense woodland. Evening was coming on and as the light faded I had an uneasy feeling that someone was tracking us from within the forest margin. But whenever I looked, I saw nothing. I mentioned my worries to Arnulf but he only grunted. Eventually we found a clearing where we could halt for the night. It was not worth lighting a fire, so we ate a meal of cold ham and bread provided by the last monastery kitchen, and lay down to sleep under the wagon. The two oxen, obedient as well-trained dogs, ate their forage and then sank down on their knees to rest.
Sometime later a faint scratching sound woke me. I raised myself on one elbow and peered out. A bright moon in a cloudless sky gave enough light to cast shadows. Everything seemed normal. I could make out the bulky outlines of the two oxen, and I heard the faint sound of chewing cud followed by the deep rumble of an animal gut. Beyond the beasts was the black margin of the forest, and somewhere deep in the forest an owl hooted. I sank
