The Book of Dreams(29)

‘And if he does decide to send out his army?’ Alcuin asked softly.

‘Then he must first secure his borders; make sure that no enemy invades while his troops are elsewhere.’

‘Which is precisely what I and the other members of his council have been telling him,’ said Alcuin. He began collecting up the figurines and returning them to the box.

My companions sensed that the lesson was over and began to head for the door. A clerk came over and requested Alcuin’s presence at a nearby conference with some other priests. But I lingered beside the table, staring down at the map. It was more detailed than I had first noticed. Thin, meandering grooves were rivers; straight lines almost certainly the old Roman roads. Someone had drawn a comb through the wet clay before it was fired, leaving ridges and furrows to indicate the extent of mountain ranges. I allowed my imagination to wander across the modelled landscape as I devised a make-believe itinerary for myself. I sidled slowly around the table, selecting which of the towns and cities I would choose to visit. Their names were not always easy to make out. I bent over the table, concentrating so hard with my single eye that it made me light-headed and giddy. In places the tiles had dark blotches where the clay was poorly mixed, and the lettering was indistinct. The tile labelled SAXONIA, for instance, showed an irregular dark stain the colour of dried blood where Gerin had proposed mustering an invasion army. I shivered, not knowing if this was a portent. Then a glint from the far side of the map caught my attention. It was a pin prick of light, unmissable. Curious as to what caused it, I walked around the table and looked closer. A speck of shiny material had been exposed when the mapmaker scraped his comb through the clay to mark the range of mountains dividing the kingdom from the Franks from the lands of the Saracens. The speck glittered, both malevolent and enticing. Gently I touched my index finger to it and was shocked to feel a tiny pinch of pain. As I withdrew my hand, a single drop of my bright red blood dripped on the tile. This time I knew, without question, it was an omen.

*

In early September came my first royal banquet and my life changed yet again. The feast was to celebrate the completion of the cupola on top of the royal basilica. For weeks the masons had been attached like spiders by safety ropes around their waists as they nailed in place the last tiles, the sound of their hammering drifting down to us. The banquet was to be held in the as-yet-unfinished Council Hall, the massive rectangular building whose shape had reminded me of my father’s mead hall, though on a far larger scale.

‘Don’t expect too much,’ Hroudland said to me as we loitered with the other guests outside the entrance, waiting to be summoned inside. ‘This place is little more than a shell, and the builders are standing by to stretch a canvas awning to keep us dry.’

I glanced up at the sky. It was midday and the air had the first edge of autumn’s chill, but the few clouds did not threaten rain. I felt self-conscious in a short cloak of very expensive dark blue velvet trimmed with marten fur which Hroudland has loaned me for the occasion.

‘Who’s going to be there?’ I asked.

‘Carolus, of course, with Queen Hildegard, and young Pepin, whom everyone presumes is the heir to the throne, though it’s not official. Plus whichever of his other children care to come along.’

‘It sounds rather casual,’ I said, feeling relieved.

‘Carolus dislikes formal banquets. He much prefers taking his meals with just his family.’

‘And what’s your opinion of your cousin Pepin?’

‘It’s difficult to think of him as my cousin. Carolus never formally married his mother though she was his concubine for years.’

‘I thought the king was deeply religious, a devout Christian who believed in marriage.’

Hroudland gave a cynical laugh.

‘The king is a Christian in whatever way suits him. He uses the Church to his advantage.’

At that moment a trumpet flourish announced that the guests were to proceed into the building.

As we filed inside, Hroudland whispered, ‘Stick close to me. Otherwise you might finish up sitting next to some ancient bore. There’ll be plenty of those.’

The absence of a roof made the interior of the Council Hall feel even larger than it really was. The enormous brick walls with their double lines of windows towered around us, open to the sky, and I could see a flock of doves wheeling in the air high above us. Finally completed, the place would be able to hold at least three or four hundred people, but now only the area next to the main entrance was being utilized. Two long tables had been set up, facing one another with a large open space between them. A smaller table, raised on a low plinth, had been placed across the end of the open space. This table was covered with a white and silver cloth, and gleamed with a display of gold ewers, goblets and other costly vessels, among them a remarkable salver carved from solid crystal and rimmed with a broad gold band inlaid with enamels of every colour.