His men were creating a smooth, slick pathway from the unfinished great hall. Behind them was another gang of men. They were hauling on ropes attached to a crude sledge. On it stood the great metal horse and rider which had shocked me on my first day. They were sliding their load along the ice.
I went across to the foreman.
‘Where will the statue eventually be placed?’ I enquired.
‘Search me,’ was his gruff reply. ‘Right now the master mason wants it out of his way. Says it interferes with his brick hoists where it is.’
The foreman wiped a drip hanging from the end of his nose and turned round to yell more instructions to his men.
I continued on to the chancery where Osric was still engrossed in the Oneirokritikon. I asked him whether Artimedorus had written anything about seeing bronze statues in a dream.
He searched the pages of the book.
‘According to him, a large bronze statute is a good sign as it symbolizes wealth. On the other hand, if the dream statue is truly enormous that portends extraordinary dangers.’
‘What about a statue of a horse and rider?’
‘I haven’t come across anything like that. Artimedorus does say that a man who dreams of riding a well-schooled and obedient horse will have friends and family to support him throughout his life.’
‘I’m sure he also provides a more bleak interpretation,’ I said.
Osric gave a thin smile.
‘If a poor woman dreams that she is riding a horse through a city street, he says it means she will become a prostitute.’
I sat down at my desk and took up my pen, but before I started on Osric’s dictation I told him what had been said during my visit to Bertha and Adelaide.
‘As far as I know, Pepin’s in good health. Yet one interpretation of the dream is that the king will lose his son,’ I concluded.
Osric glanced towards the door to make sure that we would not be overheard.
‘Master, as I mentioned earlier, slaves and servants gossip. Pepin has not been formally declared as the heir to the king. There are important men around him who fear that if the king has another son, Pepin will be passed over.’
‘Because the king never married his mother?’ I said.
‘Precisely. These so-called friends of Pepin are encouraging him to seize the throne before it is too late.’
A chill ran through me. Should Pepin be plotting to seize the throne, and his scheme was discovered, he was almost certain to be put to death. Before that, there would be uproar within the royal family, accusations and counter-accusations as to who knew about the plot, and who was involved. Any outsider who might provide information would be questioned. If Bertha or her sister breathed a word of what I had said about their brother’s doubtful future, I would be under suspicion of knowing about Pepin’s plan and not warning the authorities. They would want details from me, extracted on the rack if necessary. I had already experienced the lengths to which a ruler would go to protect his position against rivals. My blunder with Bertha and her sister meant that King Offa was far from the only threat to my survival.
I found myself wishing that I had never told Bertha about the Book of Dreams.
Gerard mended very slowly. For his convalescence he was moved to a house within the town, the property of a rich contractor. I went there to tell him about the poison mushroom Osric had identified, and found the old man sitting up in bed, a marten fur cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His face looked strained and pale under the thick felt hat that hid his white hair. But Gerard was hardier than his frail appearance suggested. His eyes were bright with intelligence.
‘So that’s what nearly did for the two of us,’ he said after I had explained.
‘Osric came across it growing in the forest.’
The old man snorted.
‘The kitchen is staffed with fools.’
‘I’ve been wondering if it was more than an accident,’ I said cautiously.
He shot me a glance from under bushy eyebrows.
‘You think it was put into the pottage deliberately?’
‘The thought had occurred to me, but I don’t know who might want to injure me.’
He smiled grimly.
‘In other words you believe that I have enemies.’
‘I meant no offence,’ I apologized. ‘But if you do, it is best if you and I were aware of them.’
A thin, blotched hand emerged from under the cloak to scratch his chin.
‘Everyone acquires enemies sooner or later.’
It was my turn to draw an inference.
‘I don’t believe I’ve been here long enough to merit them.’
‘What about enemies you left behind. They could have a long reach.’
I thought about King Offa and my turncoat uncle.
‘I’m much too insignificant,’ I concluded.
‘Less and less so,’ he replied. ‘I gather you made quite a stir at the hunt and that a certain princess thinks highly of you.’
I avoided the old man’s sly gaze. It seemed that servants were not the only ones to gossip.
‘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 dreambook’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?’