The Book of Dreams(49)

‘Hroudland thinks I was poisoned as a means of getting at him.’

Gerard considered my suggestion.

‘That’s possible. Everyone has noticed that you and Hroudland are very close. He is the king’s nephew and could be the target for ambitious rivals.’ Abruptly he changed the subject. ‘Did your servant Osric manage to translate any of that book I gave you?’ he asked.

‘He’s about halfway through. It’s not a leech book. It’s about how to understand the meaning of dreams,’ I answered.

‘Does it contain any truth?’

I decided to take Gerard into my confidence. The old man was wise in the ways of palace politics. Maybe he could suggest how I could deal with the consequences should Bertha and her sister speak to others about my interpretation of their father’s dream.

‘I’ve put it to the test, but it’s too early for any result.’ I told him how I had used the book to interpret the king’s dream of losing the sight of one eye.

Gerard sat very still, his face grave.

‘If your interpretation is accurate, that book is more powerful than any sword.’

‘Double-edged, then. Every dream has more than one explanation, and I’ll need to learn how to choose the right one.’

When the old man next spoke, he was deadly serious.

‘Patch, if the dream book is genuine, others will want to get their hands on it. The more you learn how to use it, the more danger you will be in.’





Chapter Eleven




PROOF OF THE DREAM BOOK’S accuracy came in mid-January when Bertha asked me to explain another of her father’s dreams. The winter, though intensely cold, had brought very little snow to interrupt the king’s favourite sport. Day after day he was away at hunting camp, returning to Aachen briefly to attend to affairs of state. In his absences I had spent several more nights with Bertha for I was far too besotted with her to pay any heed to the sly comments of Oton and the others. But on this occasion I was summoned in mid-morning and arrived to find her sister with her in the same reception room as before. Both women were dressed against the cold in long gowns of heavy velvet, the bands of embroidery at the neckline almost hidden beneath short fur capes.

‘Last night the king dreamed of a strange horse,’ Bertha informed me.

I had a momentary qualm, recalling my own vision of the bronze horse, its rider weeping blood. Her next words reassured me.

‘It was a beautiful animal, a glossy, dark chestnut with white blaze on its nose. It had neither saddle nor bridle. Yet it was not wild, for its coat and mane were brushed and well cared for.’

‘And what happened?’

‘The horse came walking quietly towards where he was standing, and turned in through the gate of a paddock. My father was intrigued. He did not recognize the horse and he had no idea who owned such a magnificent creature.’ She looked at me expectantly. ‘What does your dream book have to say about that?’

I relaxed. The appearance of a riderless horse was one of the visions that the author of the Oneirokritikon had dealt with.

‘Your father’s dream means that he will receive a visitor, a person of importance. The more splendid the horse, the more powerful the visitor.’

Adelaide was as sceptical as before. She gave a sigh of exasperation.

‘Bertha, I don’t know why you pay any attention to this nonsense. Of course the king will have an important visitor. He receives important visitors all the time, whether from Byzantium or Rome or a hundred other places.’

I had to defend myself.

‘But this visitor will arrive when he is not expected and the outcome could be far-reaching.’

Adelaide did not bother to conceal her disbelief.

‘And when will this mysterious visitor grace our presence?’ she asked. Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

‘When did your father have this dream?’

‘Last night, as Bertha just told you.’

I ignored her rudeness.

‘That is not what I meant. Did the king have this dream last night soon after he retired, or in the middle of the night? The timing is all-important.’

‘In the morning, shortly before he woke. He told us about it at breakfast,’ snapped Adelaide.

‘Then the visitor will arrive very soon, in the next day or two,’ I said firmly.

‘Why couldn’t you say when the earlier dream would be fulfilled?’ Adelaide asked caustically. ‘The dream of my father losing an eye?’

‘Because I had not yet come across the passage in the book that deals with the timing of dreams and their fulfilment,’ I said.

‘And now what can you add?’ Adelaide demanded.

‘The earlier in the night one has a dream, the longer it will take to come true,’ I said.