The Book of Dreams s-1

by Tim Severin

  ‘No. Just curious.’

  Hroudland’s face took on a more serious expression.

  ‘The king’s not keen on having sons-in-law.’

  I was dull enough to ask, ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Possible rivals to the throne. He keeps the girls at home and close to him.’

  ‘How do they feel about that?’

  ‘As I do. . overly confined. Mind you, they have their own ways of compensating.’

  With that ambiguous remark, we had arrived at the colonnaded porch of the red-tiled building. There was a faint smell I could not identify. It reminded me vaguely of rotten eggs. I followed Hroudland across the porch, through a small entrance hall, and then into the centre of the building. The sight before me was so unexpected that I came to a sudden halt. There was no roof. The building was open to the air, designed to enclose a large expanse of grey-green, opaque water. All of a sudden I knew what the smell had reminded me of. It was the rotting stench of the bubbles which had risen from stagnant water when we pulled my brother’s drowned corpse from the pond. The same smell had clung to his slimed clothes as we laid him out on the bank.

  Hroudland was regarding me with concern.

  ‘Are you alright, Patch? You look as if you’re about to faint.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I assured him.

  ‘The thermae, the royal baths,’ Hroudland announced, ‘and the main reason why my uncle chose to build his palace here.’ He crossed to the edge of the water and dipped his hand into what I now realized was a tiled pool. ‘See for yourself, Patch. The water emerges from the ground already warm.’

  I forced myself to crouch at the rim of the pool and touch the sinister surface of the water. It was warm, almost hot.

  Hroudland began taking off his clothes.

  ‘My uncle suffers from aches and pains in his joints. He spends hours in the water. It does him good. He’s even been known to conduct a session of the Council, half-immersed.’

  I straightened up and stepped back. My fear of water had returned as strongly as ever. The evil smell only increased my revulsion.

  ‘Come on, Patch!’ Hroudland chided me. ‘It doesn’t matter if you can’t swim. The water’s not deep.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t,’ I mumbled.

  Hroudland was naked now except for his undershirt, open at the neck. He had the sculpted muscles and slim legs of an athlete. ‘Nonsense. I’ll see that you don’t drown.’ He made a playful lunge and grabbed me by the wrist as if to pull me closer into the pool.

  Panicked, I wrenched away my arm and stumbled backward to escape. Not seeing where I was going, I reeled into Berenger, Oton and the others just entering the bathhouse. Berenger gave me an odd look as I blundered my way past them, across the entrance hall and out into the open. Only then did I stop as I fought to catch my breath and ignore the tainted air.

  Chapter Six

  A couple of hours later Osric found me among the half-finished palace buildings where I was watching a master carpenter scarf together two oak beams for a roof timber. By then I had regained my composure.

  ‘Count Hroudland told me to bring you to the royal stables. He’ll help you select a suitable war horse,’ he said.

  ‘Count Hroudland?’ I asked.

  ‘His title. He’s waiting for the king to assign him a region to govern.’

  ‘You seem to be well informed.’

  Osric glanced around, making sure that we were alone.

  ‘One of the paladins’ servants is curious about you. He asked whether you had ever been at King Offa’s court.’

  I felt a prickle of unease.

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I didn’t answer him directly. He told me that he had once been to England with his master, Gerin.’

  I thought it strange that Gerin had said nothing when I mentioned Offa’s name the previous evening. But, on reflection, I remembered that Gerin had played no part in the conversation. He was not someone who seemed like he’d volunteer much information about himself. Still, I wondered what he had been doing at Offa’s court.

  ‘Osric, see if you can find out more. If Gerin is King Offa’s agent, it will affect our future here in Aachen.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. I think the servant mainly wanted to boast about how widely he had travelled.’

  As I looked into Osric’s lean, dark face with its expression of watchful intelligence, it occurred to me how much our relationship had changed in the days since Offa had sent me into exile.

  ‘Osric, I’ve never thanked you properly for dealing with those treacherous pirates on the cog,’ I said.

  ‘Those cut-throats would have sold me on,’ he replied quietly. ‘I would rather continue to serve a master I know.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. I’d prefer not to treat you as before, as if nothing had happened.’

  He gave a small, eloquent shrug.

  ‘You have no choice. Here at court everyone expects there to be a great distance between master and slave. If it were otherwise, people would be suspicious.’

  ‘Yet without your help I doubt I will survive the court’s dangers,’ I said.

  His voice kept its level, rational tone.

  ‘That is why we must keep a distance between us, at least for others to see. Servants and slaves always gossip among themselves, and I’ll be more useful to you if I am accepted as no different from the rest, and keep my ears open.’

  Reluctantly I had to agree with his reasoning.

  ‘What do you think of Count Hroudland?’ I asked.

  ‘He has the qualities and failings of someone born to high privilege. He’s self-confident and decisive, but that makes him high-handed and he is not easily deflected from what he wants.’

  ‘Should I trust him?’ I asked.

  Osric paused while he considered his reply.

  ‘I think so. He has a sense of honour.’ Then he added, ‘And he will not take kindly if we keep him waiting.’

  Hroudland met us at the stables.

  ‘I’m sorry about the prank this morning. There was nothing I could do to stop it,’ he said briskly.

  He led me along the double row of stalls until we came to a stocky bay gelding standing looking out at us and placidly chewing a wisp of hay.

  ‘Here’s the ideal animal for you, Patch. Eight years old, calm and steady, yet with enough spirit for the front rank of a charge.’

  The horse stretched out its head, snuffling my scent and allowing me to stroke its velvety nose.

  ‘I appreciate your advice. I just need to learn to ride properly,’ I said guardedly, for I was puzzled why the count was showing such concern for me.

  My face must have revealed my caution, for he said quietly, ‘Also, about what happened at the baths this afternoon, I apologize if I alarmed you.’

  ‘It’s nothing I want to talk about,’ I replied stiffly, feeling clumsy and ungracious even as I said it.

  The count, clearly not a person who allowed a moment’s awkwardness to deflect him, pressed on.

  ‘Now you’ve got a war horse, you’ll need weapons to go with it. I’ve arranged with the seneschal to collect whatever we require from the royal armoury. He’s sending a clerk to meet us there, so let’s go before he changes his mind.’

  We set out across the palace grounds, striding at such a rapid pace that Osric with his lameness had difficulty in keeping up with us.

  ‘The king is being very generous to me,’ I said.

  ‘Think nothing of it. He owns vast estates, and his tenants supply all that his household requires.’

  I recalled the shipment of live eels hauled for hundreds of miles across country.

  ‘Even swords and armour?’

  ‘Especially swords and armour, and the soldiers to go with them,’ said Hroudland firmly. ‘When my uncle launches a campaign, everyone is obliged to contribute to his armed host, whether he’s a count or abbot or a lowly freeman with just a cottage and two cows.�
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  ‘That must take a lot of organization.’ I had been wondering how the Franks came to dominate less purposeful nations.

  The count was dismissive.

  ‘A swarm of inky clerks keep endless lists of everything from beds and mattresses to spare sets of harness and carts. The chief nobles are obliged to hold stockpiles of material whether it’s barrels of wine or bundles of firewood.’

  On the far side of the royal precinct we arrived before a substantial building of cut stone with barred windows that I would have mistaken for a prison. A small, unsmiling man with the guarded look of a store clerk was waiting outside in the evening sunshine, holding his wax tablet and a bunch of keys on a large ring. He had two attendants with him.

  ‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ he said to Hroudland. ‘I understand you wish to take away a full set of weapons for a cavalryman.’

  ‘Indeed, I do. I will select the items myself,’ answered Hroudland curtly.

  ‘The law requires me to remind you that any arms that are issued must remain within the kingdom. They cannot be loaned or sold abroad.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said the count testily. ‘The weapons are for my companion here. I can vouch for him.’

  The clerk unlocked a stout wooden door and led us inside and I saw at once the orderly hand of the ledger-keepers. The armoury was arranged in sections. Nearest were the projectile weapons — javelins, bows, bundles of arrows. Beyond them stood stack after stack of spears, neatly sub-divided according to length and weight, as pikes for foot soldiers or lances for cavalry. Next came edged weapons — swords, axes and daggers. Finally there was the defensive equipment with rows of wooden shields and a small pile of helmets and some body armour.

  Hroudland walked slowly along the array of weaponry. Quickly he found me a lance and a couple of javelins. He rejected an axe as unnecessary and picked out a plain shield with an iron boss which he said needed a new leather strap. The clerk made a note on his tablet and said it would be provided. Finding the right armoured jacket took longer. The metal plates sewn to the fabric made the garment very stiff and restricted the wearer’s movement unless the fit was correct. The choice of helmets was very limited — the clerk made cautionary noises about how expensive they were — and Hroudland reluctantly agreed to take one under which I had to wear thick wool and leather skull cap. A pair of heavy gauntlets completed the outfit. By then the two attendants had their arms full of my war gear.

  ‘Now for the most important item — his sword,’ announced Hroudland.

  We were escorted to the farthest corner of the armoury where a dozen swords were racked. Hroudland scanned the selection with a critical eye.

  ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ he demanded.

  ‘Fine craftsmanship, every single one of them,’ said the clerk primly.

  Hroudland reached out and removed a sword from the rack.

  ‘Antique!’ he announced, hefting it in his hand.

  He held it out to me.

  ‘Look, Patch, the edges of the blade run parallel almost to the tip. That makes a sword heavy and awkward to use.’

  The clerk bridled.

  ‘A fine weapon nevertheless.’

  ‘But no use to my friend here,’ retorted the count, replacing the weapon. ‘I’ve heard that you’ve got one of those new Ingelrii swords here.’

  There was a distinct intake of breath by the store keeper.

  ‘Not a genuine Ingelrii,’ he said.

  ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ said the count.

  Reluctantly, the clerk went to a large wooden chest, unlocked it, and lifted out a long item wrapped in cloth. I could smell oil.

  ‘This is it,’ he said, handing the object to Hroudland.

  The count unwrapped the oiled cloth and revealed a sword, its blade the length of my arm. I was disappointed. From the clerk’s behaviour I had expected something much more spectacular, perhaps a glittering blade and a handle encrusted with jewels. Instead I saw a workaday weapon with a plain iron handle. The only decoration was a small, insignificant crystal set into the triangular pommel.

  Hrouldland swung the sword through the air, testing its balance. Then he examined the blade closely.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘This is not an Ingelrii blade. He would have signed it.’

  The clerk gave a self-satisfied smile.

  ‘As I told you. We received the sword as a tithe payment from one of the Burgundian monasteries. We have no idea who was the swordsmith.’

  The count whipped the sword through the air, and then said, ‘It’s not an Ingelrii. But it’s as good. We’ll take it.’

  ‘I do not have the authority to let it out of the armoury,’ snapped the storekeeper.

  Hroudland fixed him with a glare.

  ‘Would you like me to raise the subject with my uncle?’

  ‘No, no. That won’t be necessary.’ The man was clearly unhappy with the arrangement.

  Hroudland put the sword hilt in my hand.

  ‘Now, Patch, how does that feel?’

  I swung the sword tentatively in a small arc. It was remarkably light and well balanced.

  ‘Note the difference in the blade, Patch,’ Hroudland said. ‘It tapers all the way to the point. That makes the weapon an extension to your arm. Also the quality of the steel is exceptional.’ He peered inside the sword chest. ‘I see there is a scabbard and baldrick to go with it,’ he said.

  Knowing he was beaten, the clerk nodded to one of the attendants and the sword’s fittings were added to our collection.

  Hroudland was looking pleased with himself as we walked back down the length of the armoury.

  ‘I should have driven a harder bargain with you, Patch. That sword is unique. You’ll have to find a name for it.’

  ‘A name?’

  He laughed.

  ‘Every really good sword has its own name. Mine is Durendal, “the enduring one”. The king presented it to me personally, a great honour. He has its twin, Joyeuse.’

  I rather doubted that I would ever be enough of a warrior to wield a famous sword, and was about to say that ‘Joyful’ was a strange name for a deadly weapon, when I was distracted by Osric calling out, ‘Master, this would be useful.’

  My slave had veered off towards a rack of bows and was tugging something out from behind the display. It was another bow but not like all the others. Their staves were as tall as a man and either straight or slightly curved. He had spotted a bow at least a third shorter in length and its stave had a peculiar double curve. He held it up to show me.

  Osric’s interruption annoyed Hroudland.

  ‘A bow is a foot soldier’s weapon. Your master rides into battle on horseback,’ he snapped.

  Osric ignored him, and before Hroudland could say anything more, I said quickly to the storekeeper, ‘Would it be possible to take that bow as well?’

  The storekeeper looked between us, obviously enjoying the apparent disagreement between his visitors.

  ‘Of course. Bows are cheap, and that one is worthless.’

  ‘And a quiver with a raincover and couple of dozen arrows,’ Osric insisted.

  The clerk treated him to a sour glance and nodded. Osric began to search through bundles of arrows, picking out the ones he thought suitable.

  The clerk added these final items to his list on the wax tablet, snapped the cover shut, and escorted us from the building, clearly eager to see us on our way.

  As Hroudland and I left the armoury, Osric was arranging with the two attendants that my new equipment should be delivered to him for cleaning and safe keeping. Hroudland insisted that I keep the sword with me.

  ‘Your slave and the bow are too misshapen to be of much use,’ he observed unkindly as we headed back to our quarters.

  I resented the malice in his remark.

  ‘Osric may be a cripple, but I trust him to know what he is doing. He’s saved my life once already.’

  Hroudland gave an apologetic smile.

  ‘Sorry, Patch.
I didn’t mean to offend you. If that bow keeps you safe from danger, then your slave is welcome to it.’

  His remark left me wondering, once again, what danger he had in mind.

  Chapter Seven

  The summer passed, the great storm and flood forgotten as I settled into the daily routine of my companions. I discovered that the bay gelding knew more about cavalry manoeuvres than I did, and I scarcely had to touch the reins in the mock charges and retreats. Instead I could concentrate on handling lance, javelin and shield. But I still felt clumsy compared to my companions, though I did better in the single-handed contests with blunted weapons, improving until I could hold my own with the likes of Oton and Berenger, the weaker members of our company. However, I never matched experts like Gerin or Hroudland, even though the latter showed me how to favour my left-hand side where my eye patch always left me exposed.

  During those sham fights it was never far from my mind that King Offa might decide one day that it was better if I was dead. It was not unknown for there to be a fatal accident on the practice field, and I found it strange to be swinging a blunt sword blade or feinting a jab with a lance at someone who might possibly become an agent for the Mercian king. Afterwards, relaxing in the royal guesthouse, I developed a habit of watching my companions and trying to gauge just how much I could rely on them, because I was very conscious that I was a latecomer to their fellowship.

  Berenger, always cheerful and open, was very easy to get on with. His sense of humour appealed to me. I was often the first person to laugh at his jokes so that he would fling an arm around my shoulders and proclaim that I must be his long-lost brother. The older man Gerard of Roussillon was more difficult to get to know, yet behind his reserve lay a kind heart and a tolerance born of long experience. I spent many evenings talking quietly with him, learning more about the Frankish world, and he appreciated the deference I showed him. But it was with Hroudland that I soon fell into an easy friendship despite the difference in our backgrounds. The count was open-handed and impulsive. One day, at his own expense, he sent his tailor to measure and make me a new and fashionable wardrobe. On another occasion he suddenly insisted that I accompany him to a meeting with a high-ranking official, telling me that it was the best way for me to see how the court worked. During those evenings when the paladins stayed in their quarters, discussing or arguing among themselves, he would often turn to me and for my opinion as if I was his advisor and confidant. Eventually I found a quiet moment, away from the others, to ask him why he was so considerate to me.