Osric was quiet for a long moment. ‘What does the Oneirokritikon have to say?’
I hesitated before replying. Both of us knew that the dream book could be as dangerously ambiguous as any charlatan fortuneteller.
‘Artimedorus writes that seeing a madman in a dream is a good omen. He points out that madmen are not hindered in anything they have set their hearts on. So to dream of someone who is insane means that a business venture will succeed.’
‘An unlikely argument,’ Osric observed sardonically.
‘Enough to persuade me that taking Walo along with us would be more than repaying his father’s sacrifice. Walo could prove a lucky mascot.’
‘You’ll be exposing him to situations for which he is completely unprepared, perhaps to a new danger.’
Puzzled, I looked at my friend. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘The last I heard, King Offa still rules Mercia as ruthlessly as before. He has his informants at Carolus’s court. He’s still your enemy, and he might well still be thinking that he was foolish for not killing you when he wiped out the rest of your family. Now he has his chance to finish the job.’
‘But we’re not going anywhere near Mercia.’
Osric’s face clouded momentarily. ‘Offa will have heard about the caliph’s splendid gifts to Carolus and the preparations to send a mission to Baghdad in return. His agents may even have reported that you have been put in charge of the mission. Mercia and Frankia are on good terms.’
It was true. Relations between the two kings, Carolus and Offa, had become increasingly cordial of late. They were exchanging letters regularly and recently there had been a formal trade agreement between their kingdoms. All of a sudden I felt foolish. If Offa knew how high I had risen in Carolus’s favour he might now see me, the legitimate heir to the plundered throne, as a threat. Offa was brutal and ruthless. Regretting that he had let me live, he might try and undo his mistake.
‘I doubt that the spies will think it’s worth reporting that I’m being sent to gather together the white animals,’ I replied.
‘Offa hasn’t tried to harm you while you are at Carolus’s court. That would be an insult to the Franks. But once you’re away from Frankish territory on this animal-collecting trip, you’ll be vulnerable . . .’ Osric let his voice trail off.
‘Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t know exactly where or when we are going,’ I said firmly. Osric’s caution was oppressive.
He treated me to a sceptical glance. ‘Offa’s no fool. He’ll work that out for himself.’
His remark hit home. Carolus’s mews master had already told me that the source for white gyrfalcons was the market in Kaupang, on the furthest border of the kingdom of the Danes.
My friend grimaced as he tried to stretch his crooked leg. ‘Just how far north is this Kaupang?’
‘A month’s travel. The market is temporary, just a few weeks every summer. Traders come to it from all over the Northlands.’
‘And just as I was hoping to enjoy a few weeks of summer warmth,’ Osric grumbled.
‘Everything is being arranged by the chancery and we should be back before the summer’s over,’ I assured him. ‘There’ll be an armed escort from here to Dorestad on the Rhine, a ship from there direct to Kaupang where we purchase the white bears and falcons, then back home.’
Osric shook his head in disbelief. ‘And a moment ago you said that we would conceal the timing of our journey. Not with an escort of Frankish troopers clattering along with us, we won’t.’
‘Then I’ll have the size of escort reduced to the bare minimum. Just enough to make sure we arrive in Dorestad without being robbed. We’ll be carrying a small fortune in silver coin. Carolus is providing a massive budget.’
‘Sufficient to buy a unicorn?’ My friend was gently mocking.
‘We’ll do our best to find one, and if we fail, the king will have to accept our excuses.’
Osric sighed. ‘That part of our mission is probably a fool’s errand. But I can see that you’ve already made up your mind about Walo coming with us.’
I got to my feet. ‘I must go and check how soon the chancery can have our escort and money ready for us.’ As I made my way across the royal precinct, I wondered if I should have been more honest with Osric. The Oneirokritikon had offered an alternative explanation for my dream. According to Artimedorus, a dream of bees was only a good omen for farmers. For everyone else, to dream about bees was highly dangerous. Their humming signified confusion, and their stings were symbols for wounds and hurt. If the bees settled on the dreamer’s head, it foretold his death.