used the sea as a symbol of hostile, purifying space, now start to use the
desert as their metaphor instead. The sea is too busy, too practical; the desert is
still pure and utterly strange. The sea was beginning to be known. When the mystic
Hadewijch writes about water in the thirteenth century, she does not see it as the
terrifying prospect it once was; the abyss is no longer a threat to life or the end
of the world, for her it is a way to think about the tempestuous nature of God
himselfand the way you can be lost in
love. Leviathan has, for the moment, gone away. 27
There were other monsters still present
and they travelled. Polar bears and their pelts hardly ever turn up in customs
records, but the ferocious live beasts were brought to Norway as bribes, and
successful ones: they even turn up, but not often, at the French and English
courts. 28 The edgy North had become like Africa and Asia: a distant
place, a strange place, but a source of wonders that could be known, traded and
used.
Take the medieval tale of Audun: a man
with almost nothing, who had to work and live with relatives in the Westfjords of
Iceland and had a mother dependent on him. He did have luck, though, and it got him
a bear. In Iceland almost everything was sold on credit, because people had to be
able to eat in spring even if the wool and the cloth that they traded for food would
not be ready until summer. They depended for supplies on sea captains from Norway,
who had a pressing interest in knowing who was truly creditworthy. Audun helped one
captain so well that he was offered passage to Greenland. He sold off his sheep to
support his mother, because by law he had to provide her with enough to take her
through six seasons – three winters, three summers – and he sailed out. 29
On Greenland he met a hunter with a
polar bear that was ‘exceptionally beautiful with red cheeks’. He
offered the man all the money he had to buy the bear; the man told him that
wasn’t wise, and Audun said he didn’t care. He wanted to make his mark
on the world by giving the bear away to a king: a gift as exotic, as rare, as any
rhinoceros given to a Pope in later centuries.
Shipping a polar bear for days out at
sea in a small boat is wild, but not implausible. A bishop on his way from Iceland
to the mainland to be consecrated took with him ‘a white bear from Greenland
and the animal was the greatest of treasures’; the beast ended up in the
Emperor’s menagerie. When Greenlanders wanted a bishop of their own in 1125
they sent a bear to the King of Norway to encourage him, and the ploy worked. 30 Bears went much further, in fact. King Håkon of Norway sealed his deal with King
Henry III of Englandwith gifts of
falcons, furs, whale tusks, a live elk and a live polar bear. 31 The monsters of
the North start to seem almost domestic; the law in Iceland, where any polar bear at
all was a rare sight on the floating ice, laid down that ‘if a man has a tame
white bear then he is to handle it in the same way as a dog’.
Audun found himself penniless, in the
middle of a warzone, with a starving bear who could be forgiven for considering his
minder as lunch; his journey south took so long that even if the bear was a cub in
Greenland it must have been big and hungry now. The King of Norway offered to buy
the beast, but Audun refused and kept moving. He made it across to Denmark, but now
he had quite literally nothing except a bear that was starving to death; a courtier
offered both of them food, on condition he could own half the bear. Audun had no
choice.
This is a story, so naturally the Danish
king saves Audun and his bear. He pays for Audun to go to Rome and back again, and
even the King of Norway acknowledges that Audun probably did the right thing when he
refused to sell him the bear. Norwegian kings gave ships, food and time like Danish
kings, but not silver; by
Janwillem van de Wetering