‘Osric, do you ever dream?’ I ventured to ask.
‘Only nightmares I would sooner forget,’ he replied quietly.
We worked on the translation for over a week before I received my next summons to the king’s residence. Leaving Osric to puzzle over obscure Saracen phrases, I set out across the royal precinct. The weather had turned bitterly cold and a thick coating of frost covered the raw piles of building materials with glittering crystals. I felt sorry for the workmen balanced on the scaffolding of the half-finished audience hall, their hands wrapped in rags against the chill wind. They were still mixing mortar and setting courses of bricks. The construction work was behind schedule and the king was insisting on having the building in time for Christmas. To my surprise the guards at the main entrance to the king’s residence directed me to a side door. Here an under-chamberlain met me and escorted me to a small reception room, comfortably furnished with low stools and soft rugs and with a fire burning in the corner. To my delight, Bertha was waiting for me. The moment the door closed behind me, I started forward, about to embrace her. The warning look in her eyes stopped me.
‘So this is the man of dreams,’ said a slightly mocking voice. Standing off to one side was a woman who, I guessed at once, had to be one of Bertha’s sisters. The two were very alike. They had the same fair hair, blue eyes and creamy, slightly freckled skin. But the stranger lacked Bertha’s voluptuous curves and was not as tall. She seemed more mature, more worldly, and I presumed she was the older of the two. She was eyeing me with an expression of curiosity tempered with disbelief. I wondered if she was comparing me to her sister’s previous lovers.
Bertha wasted no time in coming straight to the point.
‘Sigwulf, this is Adelaide, my sister. Our father has had a dream that could be important.’
I could tell by the way that Bertha held her hands clasped in front of her, her face animated, that she was excited.
‘He told us about it yesterday. We want you to interpret it for us.’ She cast a conspiratorial glance towards her sister.
‘I’m less than halfway through translating the dream book,’ I apologized.
‘I’m sure you can locate the part that matters.’
Her high-handed manner irritated me. Then I remembered that she was a king’s daughter.
‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said.
Adelaide moved across the room to stand beside her sister.
‘Do you find this dream book believable?’ she asked.
‘I haven’t had time to judge.’
‘So now’s the time to put it to the test,’ Bertha interrupted eagerly.
‘It’s not as simple as that. .’ my voice trailed away. I wanted to please Bertha but I was beginning to wonder if I was wise to have spoken to her about the Oneirokritikon. I had a feeling that there was more to the sisters’ questions than they were letting on. I sensed that I was approaching something sensitive, a dangerous topic that I was not equipped to handle.
‘What are these difficulties?’ asked Adelaide. Her voice was low and musical but there was a probing edge.
I prevaricated.
‘The interpretation of a dream depends on so many factors — the time of the dream, the status of the dreamer, his or her health, whether the dreamer has anxieties.’
Adelaide waved aside my excuses.
‘You know my father’s status — he’s the king. He dreamed shortly before midnight. It’s no secret that he’s a light sleeper, and he awoke soon afterwards.’
It was clear that she was not someone who was easily diverted.
‘Perhaps Your Highness could relate the contents of the dream,’ I suggested.
‘Our father dreamed he was travelling through a foreign country. He had no idea where it was. The people dressed strangely and they spoke in languages he did not understand. He was invisible to them so they ignored him even when he tried to engage them in conversation.’ Unexpectedly Adelaide hesitated. She flushed slightly as if embarrassed.
‘Go on, Addy,’ said her sister. ‘That patch Sigwulf is wearing is a fake.’
‘What really troubles my father is that in his dream he had only one eye. The other had been lost,’ said Adelaide.
I relaxed. Artimedorus had written about dreams of blindness or the loss of an eye in a chapter that Osric and I had already translated.
‘There are two possible explanations of the dream,’ I began.
Quick as a flash Adelaide gave a sniff of disbelief.
‘Just as I told you, Bertha. Soothsayers are always devious. They’re deliberately vague so you can read into their prophecies whatever you want to believe.’
‘Hear him out, Addy,’ Bertha said, springing to my defence. ‘Give him a chance to explain.’
I gave Bertha a grateful glance and went on.
‘According to Artimedorus, a person who dreams of travelling through a foreign country while having only one eye means the journey will be hindered and full of difficulties.’
Adelaide looked doubtful.
‘I’ve not heard that the king intends a foreign trip.’
‘The interpretation of the dream does not allow one to say when it will come true,’ I cautioned.
‘More weasel words from the soothsayer,’ Adelaide promptly accused.
Her open scepticism prodded me into saying what I had not intended.
‘There is another interpretation of the loss of an eye,’ I said sharply.
‘And what’s that?’ Adelaide scoffed.
‘The loss of an eye means the loss of a member of the family,’ I said quietly.
That caught their attention. The two sisters looked hard at me.
‘What member of the family?’ asked Bertha. Her voice was flinty, but there was a trace of fear.
I was committed now, and could not draw back.
‘A parent or a child.’
‘Well, both the king’s mother and father are already deceased,’ said Adelaide. Her eyes were alert with interest.
‘And does your Greek offer any further details?’ Bertha asked slowly.
‘You will have to tell me which eye was missing in your father’s dream.’
‘The right one.’
I smothered a sigh of relief.
‘According to Artimedorus, the loss of the right eye means that the dreamer will lose a son.’
No sooner had the words left my mouth than I regretted them. I pictured the royal family seated at their table at the banquet. There had been only one son — Pepin. He was the heir, yet he was illegitimate, the offspring of a concubine. Both sisters in front of me were daughters of legal marriage.
I tried to hide my thoughts, keeping my face blank. But I noticed that the two sisters exchanged a quick, meaningful glance.
Then Adelaide said brightly, ‘We are forgetting our manners.’ She went to a side table, removed the glass stopper from a flask of wine and poured me a drink. ‘Here, Sigwulf, you need something to warm you up before you go out into the cold again.’
It was clear that my audience with the royal sisters was at an end.
My thoughts were in turmoil as I left the royal residence. I had a queasy feeling that I was teetering on the edge of palace politics, a very dangerous area. What I had said about the king losing a son had struck a chord with both sisters. Yet nothing I had heard about Pepin led me to believe he was near death. I had not laid eyes on him for some time and he had not been with the royal hunting party, but that was not surprising in light of his physical attributes.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I did not look where I was putting my feet. All of a sudden I skidded, flailing wildly to keep my balance.
‘Look where you’re going!’
A building foreman, wrapped up in a heavy sheepskin coat, was waving at me to get out of the way. Behind him a squad of labourers were advancing in a line, tipping buckets of water on to the frozen ground. As the water spread it was freezing into a sheet of ice.
‘Keep off if you don’t want to break your neck!’ bellowed the foreman.