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.
Adelaide turned to her sister, and again I detected that air of conspiracy between the two sisters.
‘Did the king mention at what time he had the dream?’ I asked.
Bertha thought for a moment.
‘I think it was soon after he retired to bed.’
Adelaide swung back to face me.
‘How much longer could it be before the king loses a son?’
I did not like the ambitious look in her eyes.
‘According to the book, the longest time between a dream and its fulfilment is twenty years.’
Her lip curled in disbelief.
‘So no one would be around to see it come true.’
I held my ground.
‘If you remember, Joseph dreamed of seven years of plenty in Egypt, followed by seven years of famine. So it was fully fourteen years between the dream and when the final year of near-starvation came about.’
She glared at me angrily, and then strode out of the room.
‘Let’s hope your interpretation of my father’s latest dream is correct,’ said Bertha. She was looking nervous, fearful of her older sister. ‘Otherwise Adelaide may no longer keep our secret.’
The very next morning the stone masons and bricklayers on the scaffolding of the great hall stood gaping down at a foreign-looking cavalcade of strangers riding into the royal precinct. It was a Saracen embassy from Hispania. The newcomers had thrown open their heavy sheepskin riding coats to reveal long flowing gowns and broad silver-studded belts. Their heads were wrapped in great white turbans that contrasted with their dark skins and thick, immaculately barbered black beards. Two musicians preceded them blowing wind instruments of wood that looked like reed pipes and made an unearthly wailing sound.
The king had not received notice of their approach. He was away in the forest, hunting.
‘Look at their horses. No wonder they made such good time,’ muttered Berenger as he stood beside me in the small crowd, observing the spectacle. The embassy’s horses were small and neat, with high arched necks and well-muscled hindquarters. They moved with a high-stepping grace, almost dancing, and their well-brushed manes had been allowed to grow like curtains until they reached almost to the ground. With bright red bridles and saddle cloths edged with gold braid, they made a splendid sight in the wintry sunshine.
The flamboyant procession made its way past the admiring spectators as far as the portico of the great hall. There the visitors dismounted in a swirl of expensive silks to be greeted by the count of the palace and led inside.
‘Their leader is the governor of Barcelona, name of Suleyman al Arabi.’ said Engeler. He had spoken with one of the officials making hasty preparations to accommodate the embassy. ‘He’s brought with him two other walis, as they call their governors, from Zaragoza and from Huesca.’
‘What could possibly bring them all the way here in midwinter?’ asked Berenger.
‘Whatever it is, this is more than a courtesy visit,’ said Gerin.
A royal messenger was hurrying across to intercept us. He headed straight for me and said in a loud voice.
‘Your presence is requested by the Princess Bertha.’
Otto sniggered.
I gave him a nasty look and followed the messenger to the side entrance of the royal apartments. Bertha was waiting for me in the private audience chamber. She was jubilant, eyes sparkling with triumph. Adelaide was nowhere to be seen.
‘The king is not yet back, but I’m sure he will want to meet you as soon as he hears how you interpreted his dream,’ she said.
I recalled Gerard’s warning about the dangers of being recognized as an expert in dream prediction.
‘There’s more than one way to interpret a dream,’ I protested.
‘That’s why you must talk with the king,’ she insisted. ‘He will want to hear from you the different meanings.’
She laid a hand on my sleeve.
‘Don’t worry, Sigwulf. It will be for the king to decide which outcome to believe.’
The summons from the king came a week later. Whatever had been discussed with the Saracen embassy was kept confidential to the king and his advisors, so I had no idea what to expect when I entered the royal chambers. It was the same room where I had first met the king more than half a year before, and little had changed. The clay model of the palace was still on the central table, and Carolus, standing by the window, was again dressed in the belted tunic and leggings of an ordinary citizen. I noted that he had less of a paunch, doubtless the result of so much energetic hunting in the forests. As I bowed, I realized that his view from the window overlooked the private entrance that I used for my visits to Bertha. I felt suddenly uncomfortable.
To my surprise, Gerard was in attendance. The old man was seated in a chair, a heavy woollen shawl wrapped around his thin shoulders. I had not thought him well enough to leave his sick bed.
‘Count Gerard has been sharing his knowledge of the Saracens with me,’ began the king briskly. ‘My daughter tells me that you foretold the arrival of their embassy.’
‘You foretold their coming yourself, Your Majesty,’ I said diplomatically. ‘I merely interpreted your dream with the help of a book.’
The king looked unimpressed.
‘You also claim that their visit will have important results.’
‘That is what your dream would indicate, sire. But there is no clue as to what those results will be.’
The king turned to Gerard.
‘What do you make of them?’ he asked, referring to the three Saracen ambassadors.
‘I do not know them personally, my lord,’ Gerard said. ‘I understand that they are seeking your help against their overlord.’
‘And I have to decide whether to give it to them,’ the king grunted. He began to pace up and down the room with long, heavy strides. Occasionally a floorboard creaked beneath his weight. ‘The Saracen Lord of Barcelona takes the lead. He asks me to bring an army in Hispania to aid him against his rival, the Emir of Cordoba.’
‘There is always much rivalry among the Saracens,’ Gerard agreed. ‘They form factions and fight among themselves. It was what saved Septimania in my father’s day. The leaders of the Saracen invasion quarrelled among themselves.’