Reluctantly I abandoned my daydream of seeing an elephant, and tried to concentrate on what Alcuin was saying. ‘If a city or town prospers by trade, you can safely say that it has its share of Rhadanites, if only a family or two. In Carolus’s domain we are aware that they favour the trade artery of the Rhone and several families are settled in the riverside towns. But you never know where or when you’ve come across one. They merge into the background. It is said that they recognize one another by secret signs.’
He paused. ‘Our king has decided that he will match Caliph Haroun’s generosity by sending to Baghdad a selection of creatures as unique and special as a nearly white elephant.’ Up until now, Alcuin had amazed and intrigued me. Now he stunned me. ‘Sigwulf, the king has specifically directed that you be placed in charge of their transport to Baghdad.’
His statement was so unexpected that it was some moments before I found my voice. ‘What sort of animals will I be transporting?’ I croaked.
Alcuin treated me to a sardonic smile. ‘That I will leave to Carolus himself to inform you of. He will have finished chapel by now and have arrived back in the royal apartments. He is expecting to see you . . . without delay.’
The interview was over. Dazed, I fumbled my way towards the door and found myself back in the corridor. It was only as I closed the door behind me that I realized that when I had asked which animals I was to take to Baghdad, Alcuin’s eyes had flicked towards the enormous, silver-mounted drinking horn.
*
The night sky had clouded over and the covered arcade that linked the chancery building with the royal living apartments was in near-total darkness. The middle section of the arcade was unfinished and littered with paving slabs, yet I found my way without stumbling or tripping. I had taken that same route many times, usually well after sunset, though the excursions had been much less frequent in recent months. They had occurred on the nights when I was summoned by Bertha, one of Carolus’s large brood of daughters. She had swooped on me soon after my arrival as a young man in Aachen, judging me to be naïve, and – as I came to understand – exotically attractive with my strange eye colours and foreign background. The passage of time had cooled her ardour and I had slipped far down the list of those whom she took to her bed. Yet she still liked to tweak the string occasionally and would reel me in when she sought variety among her lovers. I knew very well that the relationship was increasingly unstable and very dangerous. If her father learned of the extent of his daughter’s wanton activities, he might decide to put a stop to them by making an example of someone he considered to have been particularly presumptuous and brazen with a royal princess. As an interloper within the Frankish court, I was the obvious candidate for exemplary punishment. I dreaded what penalty might be exacted – execution or castration were both possibilities – and I had already resolved to extricate myself from the relationship with Bertha. But I was wary. To deny her might make her vindictive, and, to be truthful to myself, I still found Bertha most alluring. She took great care with her appearance, staining her lips with berry juice and applying a delicate coat of powder to cover the first blemishes in her once flawless complexion. Doubtless she tinted the long flaxen braids that her attendants spent hours brushing and arranging. But her body needed no such artifice. As she matured, Bertha’s statuesque figure had become ever more voluptuous and desirable.
The king’s living quarters took up the entire first floor of a substantial building in the north-east corner of the royal precinct. At the foot of the broad sweep of stairs I ignored the smirk on the face of one of the guards, recognizing him as one of the men who took bribes to look the other way when I was visiting Bertha. His colleagues searched me for hidden weapons and passed me on to an under-steward who was already hovering and waiting to take my cloak. Carolus’s household staff were well used to dealing with late callers to see their master. It was the king’s habit to take a long nap in the afternoon and then work far into the night. If Carolus was restless, he was known to slip out of his official apartments in the small hours of the morning and wander about the royal precinct, unescorted, checking on what was going on. On one heart-stopping occasion I had almost bumped into him as I was on my way to a tryst with Bertha, and I was still not sure if he had seen me hastily dart away.
After a short delay the under-steward led me up the stairs and to a set of double doors. He knocked discreetly before easing them open just wide enough to let me slip inside.
I had to squint. In contrast to Alcuin’s dimly lit office, Carolus’s private audience chamber was ablaze with light. Clusters of tall, fat candles burned everywhere. They were suspended in holders from the ceiling beams, fixed on great iron floor stands, held in wall brackets. Many were fitted with polished steel mirrors. The effect was to heat the room, make it as bright as day and flood one’s senses with the sweet scent of beeswax. The spacious room itself gave an impression of comfortable opulence. The windows were filled with panes of glass to keep out the weather. Linen panels painted with colourful pictures of hunting scenes decorated the walls. A day couch covered with cushions and a rich carpet was where Carolus could take his afternoon nap. Another expensive-looking rug served as a cloth on a broad table, and beneath its edge was a glimpse of table legs intricately carved into animal shapes. Half a dozen folding chairs were made of some dark, exotic wood, and – inevitably – there was a crucifix. In Alcuin’s study the cross had been plain and unadorned, hung against a white wall. Here the cross was four times the size, standing on a base of pale green marble and placed where it was immediately visible to a visitor. Its arms were studded with patterns of semiprecious coloured stones that glowed in the candlelight.