Hroudland steered me to the long table on our left. Here the dishes were of silver and gilt, and the drinking vessels were beakers and cups of blue-green glass, some of them cleverly shaped to resemble traditional drinking horns.
‘This table is for the likes of us, the companions of the court,’ the count said, pulling out a bench. We sat down next to one another as Gerard, Oton and the others took their places nearby, along with several other people I did not know.
Hroudland nodded towards the far table.
‘Over there, you’ll see the king’s councillors and advisors.’
I followed his glance. Alcuin was with a group of priests. A couple of places away from him sat a middle-aged man in a yellow silk tunic. He had a clever, foxy face and a shock of iron-grey hair. As I watched, he happened to look in my direction and I had the impression that he was taking note of my presence at the table alongside Hroudland.
Again the trumpet sounded, and I nearly fell to the floor as the bench beneath me tipped when everyone jumped to their feet. I clutched at Hroudland and hauled myself upright in time to see the king enter through a doorway which I guessed must lead to his private residence. He was dressed in the same costume as I had seen him previously wear, with the addition of a long embroidered cloak of dark purple held with a gold buckle. He wore no crown or symbol of rank, but his great height and confident stride were more than enough to establish his commanding presence. Crossing to the raised table, he faced the assembled company, lifted one hand briefly to acknowledge his guests, and sat down. He looked bored. We remained standing. After a short interval a group entered through the same door and took their places on either side of the king. They were all women with just one man among them. He was in his late teens and I guessed he was Pepin, the king’s heir presumptive. I had not expected him to be a hunchback. But my attention was drawn to the young woman who had been with Carolus when I was introduced. She was wearing the same heavy amber necklace, but this time her long blonde braids were coiled up on her head, and she wore a headband encrusted with small jewels. Beside her were three other young women, ranging in age from their teens to early twenties. There was no mistaking the strong family resemblance.
‘Who’s the girl with the amber necklace?’ I muttered to Hroudland as we resumed our places.
‘That’s Bertha. If she’s the girl who caught your fancy, you’ll have your hands full. That’s true, isn’t it, Oton?’
Oton, who was seated opposite us, rolled his eyes in mock horror.
‘She’d eat you alive, Patch.’
A relay of servants was passing along our table, serving food and drink. I sipped cautiously at what was poured into my cup. It was red wine, the best I had ever tasted.
‘We never drank anything like that at home,’ I commented approvingly.
‘You’ve got Anseis to thank for that,’ said Oton. ‘His family’s Burgundian estates are obliged to send fifty barrels a year to the king.’
I noticed Anseis scowl; he must have been thinking that the vintage was wasted on foreigners like myself.
Oton reached for a loaf of bread and broke off a chunk, then passed it to me.
‘Here, Patch, have some of this. It’s flavoured with caraway and poppy seeds. The trouble with banquets is that Carolus only likes boiled or roast meat, no fancy sauces.’
A large dish had been set down in the middle of the table, heaped with what appeared to be a heap of twisted, dark-brown sticks.
‘Can you pass me a couple of those,’ I asked Berenger, who was seated on my other side. I had recognized smoked eel and wondered if it was a relic of my trip with Arnulf and his ox wagon.
‘Can’t wait for the hunting season to begin,’ complained Berenger, regarding with distaste the boiled pork and dumplings that had been put on our plates. ‘Venison and wild boar on a spit is something the cooks can’t ruin.’ He called across to Gerard, ‘I’ve a riddle for you:
‘I am black on the outside, wrapped in a wrinkled skin,
Inside I contain a fiery marrow . . .
I season delicacies and the banquets of kings,
But you will find in me no quality of any worth . . .’
Gerard gave a rueful smile and said, ‘No need to go on. You’ve made your point.’
He produced a small pouch from his sleeve and carefully extracted three or four black seeds which he passed across. Berenger laid them on the table and smashed them to powder with the handle of his dagger. He saw me watching him.
‘Patch, you’re good at solving riddles. What’s the answer to mine?’
‘I have no idea,’ I said.
Berenger picked up a few of the broken grains on the tip of his knife and said, ‘Put these on your tongue.’