The Book of Dreams(11)

‘King Offa’s mark is known to me.’ He stepped back a half a pace though not before I caught a whiff of his perfume. ‘Lothar will see you to our guesthouse after a visit to the lavatorium.’

Before I could apologize for my own smell, he added, ‘If you’re not in a hurry to get to Aachen, you can accompany my eels. They leave in the morning.’ With that, he turned on his heel and strode off.

‘A remarkable man,’ said Lothar, watching his superior leave.

‘How long has he been your abbot?’ I asked. Walo did not strike me as very devout.

‘Less than three years. He was sent here to improve the revenues.’

‘His previous abbey must have been sorry to lose him,’ I said tactfully.

‘Oh no, he was directly created abbot by the king. Previously he was assistant to the royal chamberlain. Very efficient.’

I tried to recall whether Walo had a tonsure. Probably not. I sensed that Lothar was getting fidgety and remembered that he was keen to attend afternoon prayers.

‘I don’t want to delay you any further,’ I said. ‘My servant and I can look after ourselves now.’

Lothar brightened, evidently relieved to be rid of us.

‘I’ll show you to the lavatorium before I go to chapel.’

He led me and Osric into a small outbuilding attached to the main abbey. Bertwald had described how his grand abbey had a washroom with running water delivered through lead pipes and running down a stone trough. Here, though, were just four large wooden tubs of water standing on a stone flagged floor with a hole cut in the outside wall as a drain. Lothar splashed water on his face and hands, and then hurried off to his devotions. I washed more thoroughly, Osric handing me fresh clothes. As soon as Lothar was out of sight, I gestured to Osric that he could also use a tub. I knew that my slave was meticulous in his personal cleanliness.

Afterwards, as I waited for Lothar to reappear, I wandered about the courtyard, peering into various outhouses and sheds. I had never before been in an abbey or even in a Christian church, and, in truth, I had no religion, but Bertwald had talked enough about the Christian life for me to pretend that I was a believer.

I discovered the well, a bakery and a smithy, and also the laundry room where I left Osric to wash our dirty clothes. Everything seemed to be very well-run and orderly, a testament to the efficiency of Abbot Walo. With divine service in progress, there was no one about, and I finished up in the stables, enjoying the peaceful sounds of the animals as they snuffled and munched and moved about on their straw bedding. Unusually, two oxen were stalled beside the half dozen horses. At home my father’s tenants had kept plough oxen: working animals which were well treated in return for good service. By contrast these two beasts were more like pampered pets. Their tawny coats had been brushed until they gleamed, coloured thread wound around their horns, and their hooves had been oiled and polished to a shine. I gathered up a handful of hay and went to offer it to them.

‘Keep your hands off!’ warned an angry voice. I was so startled that I jumped. A squat, powerfully built man had appeared in the doorway behind me. He set down the wooden water bucket he was carrying and scowled as he stepped past me and took the hay from my grasp.

‘I meant no harm.’ I said.

‘No one touches those beasts, except me,’ said the stranger. A gross reddish-purple birthmark disfigured the left side of his face, extending from his hairline down to his neck where it disappeared under his collar. In his heavy wooden clogs, homespun breeches and smock he looked like a farm worker rather than a priest, and his Latin was heavily accented and clumsy.

‘I was trying to find the guesthouse. Perhaps you can direct me?’ I said.

‘How should I know? I sleep next to my cattle,’ he answered rudely.

I left the stable and found Lothar outside, looking for me.

‘I see you’ve met Arnulf,’ he said.

The surly stableman was standing in the doorway of the stable, hands on hips, making it plain that I was not to come back and bother his precious oxen.

‘Perhaps someone should remind him that an abbey is a place of welcome,’ I grumbled. I was still smarting from the rebuff.

‘Arnulf’s not with the abbey. That’s his wagon there.’ He pointed towards a vehicle standing in one corner of the yard. It had the usual four large, solid, wooden wheels and a single shaft. Someone had fixed an enormous coffin-shaped wooden box on the flat bed where the load was normally stowed.

‘For our eels,’ explained Lothar. ‘Arnulf has been hired to carry them to Aachen. That’s what Abbot Walo meant when he offered you a way of getting there.’