Saxon: The Book of Dreams (Saxon 1) (9 page)

I stood apart, watching warily.

‘Patch needs a horse, too.’ My armed companions had gathered in a group and were looking down at me. I could not make out who had spoken, but it sounded like Berenger. Two of the
grooms ran back into the paddock and, after an interval, led out a spare horse, ready saddled and bridled. They held the animal, waiting for me to mount. I walked towards them, knowing that I had
to go through with the performance. Any fool would have known that they were restraining an animal that was difficult, perhaps dangerous. The creature was very angry. Stiff-legged and tense, it was
showing the whites of its eyes, with nostrils dilated, and lips drawn back to show yellow teeth. Each groom had one hand on the bridle, the other tightly grasping the horse’s ear, twisting it
downward to induce submission.

A third groom helped me up into the saddle, and even before I was settled in place, the beast was let loose. The grooms dove for safety, and immediately the horse beneath me bucked violently. I
made no effort to stay in the saddle, but let myself be thrown clear, dropping one shoulder as I cartwheeled through the air so I landed unscathed into the soft mud. I had not expected the horse
then to launch an attack. The animal spun round and, as I was trying to rise, lashed out at me with its rear hooves. Fortunately I was still on all fours, and I felt the hooves slash past my head.
Next the horse bolted off for a short distance and turned, whinnying with rage, ready to rush at me. By that time I was running through the muck and climbing up the wooden fence of the paddock like
a frightened squirrel.

My mounted companions had broad grins on their faces.

‘You knew that was coming, didn’t you?’ Oton said. He sounded disappointed.

Walk, trot, canter, gallop, and stand – the rest of the morning was spent in a series of mounted exercises on a nearby training field. Again and again my companions divided into opposing
teams, rode to the opposite ends of the field, then turned, levelled their lances, and came charging towards one another. At the last moment before collision, the team’s leader gave a great
yell, he and his companions suddenly pulled up their horses, spun round and galloped away, pretending to flee and draw on their opponents. Then, moments later, they would wheel about and face their
rivals again, weapons ready. It was all about keeping formation, controlling the horses, riding knee to knee, coordinating their manoeuvres. The air was filled with excited shouts and commands, the
snorting of the horses, and the thud of hooves. Then, in smaller groups, they rode at straw-filled dummies and either hurled their javelins, or if they were carrying lances thrust and stabbed
before withdrawing to reform and attack again with swords and axes. Finally they divided into pairs and, this time with wooden blades, they chopped and hacked at one another’s shields until
exhausted.

I took no part in the war drill. Instead I observed, with Osric standing at my shoulder.

‘He’s more accustomed to a pony,’ observed my slave. He was watching Ogier who rode his horse, leaning far back, his legs extended straight downward as if he was walking.
Unlike the others, he rode without stirrups.

I was curious to know how my slave was so knowledgeable but at that moment Hroudland came thundering past us at a gallop, cocked his arm and hurled a javelin. It thumped into the target, dead
centre. He let loose a great full-throated whoop of triumph.

‘What about him?’ I asked. I could see that the king’s tall nephew was a first-class horseman. He guided his animal with the lightest pressure on the reins as if he and his
mount were one.

‘He’s good, but impetuous,’ Osric answered.

‘Then who’s the most competent among them?’ I enquired.

‘That one there,’ he replied. He nodded towards a man to whom I had paid little attention the previous evening. Gerin was a taciturn, rather grim figure, a big loose-limbed man with
close cropped hair and hard eyes. Now he carried a plain, red shield and I had noticed his tendency to hang back and watch his companions in their manoeuvres.

‘He doesn’t need to practise,’ said Osric, ‘he’s a professional warrior.’

Hroudland rode up to us. His horse was very distinctive, a roan stallion with dark patches on its neck and rump.

‘Time to get you cleaned up, Patch,’ he said in a friendly voice. I was still grubby with mud from my tumble in the paddock. He jumped down from his horse and handed his war gear to
an attendant and pointed towards a low red-roofed building in the distance. ‘I’ll introduce you to my uncle’s main indulgence.’

Side by side, we walked towards the building, leaving our servants to catch up with us. The rain clouds had gone, and the earth steamed gently in the hot sunshine. Hroudland waved a hand, taking
in the construction work going on around us.

‘It’ll be years before this place is completed to my uncle’s satisfaction. Sometimes I feel as cooped up as one of the animals in his menagerie.’

‘I met the king yesterday,’ I said. ‘There was a young woman with him. She looked so much like him that I guessed she was his daughter.’

‘That could have been Theodrada or Hiltrude or Gerswinda. I’ve several female cousins. It’s difficult to keep track.’

‘She wore her hair in two long braids.’

He pulled a face.

‘Most of them do. It’s the fashion.’

‘Are any of them married?’

He gave me a sideways glance of amusement.

‘Thinking of a local bride already?’

‘No. Just curious.’

Hroudland’s face took on a more serious expression.

‘The king’s not keen on having sons-in-law.’

I was dull enough to ask, ‘Why’s that?’

‘Possible rivals to the throne. He keeps the girls at home and close to him.’

‘How do they feel about that?’

‘As I do . . . overly confined. Mind you, they have their own ways of compensating.’

With that ambiguous remark, we had arrived at the colonnaded porch of the red-tiled building. There was a faint smell I could not identify. It reminded me vaguely of rotten eggs. I followed
Hroudland across the porch, through a small entrance hall, and then into the centre of the building. The sight before me was so unexpected that I came to a sudden halt. There was no roof. The
building was open to the air, designed to enclose a large expanse of grey-green, opaque water. All of a sudden I knew what the smell had reminded me of. It was the rotting stench of the bubbles
which had risen from stagnant water when we pulled my brother’s drowned corpse from the pond. The same smell had clung to his slimed clothes as we laid him out on the bank.

Hroudland was regarding me with concern.

‘Are you alright, Patch? You look as if you’re about to faint.’

I shook my head.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I assured him.

‘The thermae, the royal baths,’ Hroudland announced, ‘and the main reason why my uncle chose to build his palace here.’ He crossed to the edge of the water and dipped his
hand into what I now realized was a tiled pool. ‘See for yourself, Patch. The water emerges from the ground already warm.’

I forced myself to crouch at the rim of the pool and touch the sinister surface of the water. It was warm, almost hot.

Hroudland began taking off his clothes.

‘My uncle suffers from aches and pains in his joints. He spends hours in the water. It does him good. He’s even been known to conduct a session of the Council,
half-immersed.’

I straightened up and stepped back. My fear of water had returned as strongly as ever. The evil smell only increased my revulsion.

‘Come on, Patch!’ Hroudland chided me. ‘It doesn’t matter if you can’t swim. The water’s not deep.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t,’ I mumbled.

Hroudland was naked now except for his undershirt, open at the neck. He had the sculpted muscles and slim legs of an athlete. ‘Nonsense. I’ll see that you don’t drown.’
He made a playful lunge and grabbed me by the wrist as if to pull me closer into the pool.

Panicked, I wrenched away my arm and stumbled backward to escape. Not seeing where I was going, I reeled into Berenger, Oton and the others just entering the bathhouse. Berenger gave me an odd
look as I blundered my way past them, across the entrance hall and out into the open. Only then did I stop as I fought to catch my breath and ignore the tainted air.

A
COUPLE
OF
HOURS
LATER
Osric found me among the half-finished palace buildings
where I was watching a master carpenter scarf together two oak beams for a roof timber. By then I had regained my composure.

‘Count Hroudland told me to bring you to the royal stables. He’ll help you select a suitable war horse,’ he said.

‘Count Hroudland?’ I asked.

‘His title. He’s waiting for the king to assign him a region to govern.’

‘You seem to be well informed.’

Osric glanced around, making sure that we were alone.

‘One of the paladins’ servants is curious about you. He asked whether you had ever been at King Offa’s court.’

I felt a prickle of unease.

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I didn’t answer him directly. He told me that he had once been to England with his master, Gerin.’

I thought it strange that Gerin had said nothing when I mentioned Offa’s name the previous evening. But, on reflection, I remembered that Gerin had played no part in the conversation. He
was not someone who seemed like he’d volunteer much information about himself. Still, I wondered what he had been doing at Offa’s court.

‘Osric, see if you can find out more. If Gerin is King Offa’s agent, it will affect our future here in Aachen.’

‘I’ll do my best. I think the servant mainly wanted to boast about how widely he had travelled.’

As I looked into Osric’s lean, dark face with its expression of watchful intelligence, it occurred to me how much our relationship had changed in the days since Offa had sent me into
exile.

‘Osric, I’ve never thanked you properly for dealing with those treacherous pirates on the cog,’ I said.

‘Those cut-throats would have sold me on,’ he replied quietly. ‘I would rather continue to serve a master I know.’

‘That’s not what I mean. I’d prefer not to treat you as before, as if nothing had happened.’

He gave a small, eloquent shrug.

‘You have no choice. Here at court everyone expects there to be a great distance between master and slave. If it were otherwise, people would be suspicious.’

‘Yet without your help I doubt I will survive the court’s dangers,’ I said.

His voice kept its level, rational tone.

‘That is why we must keep a distance between us, at least for others to see. Servants and slaves always gossip among themselves, and I’ll be more useful to you if I am accepted as no
different from the rest, and keep my ears open.’

Reluctantly I had to agree with his reasoning.

‘What do you think of Count Hroudland?’ I asked.

‘He has the qualities and failings of someone born to high privilege. He’s self-confident and decisive, but that makes him high-handed and he is not easily deflected from what he
wants.’

‘Should I trust him?’ I asked.

Osric paused while he considered his reply.

‘I think so. He has a sense of honour.’ Then he added, ‘And he will not take kindly if we keep him waiting.’

*

Hroudland met us at the stables.

‘I’m sorry about the prank this morning. There was nothing I could do to stop it,’ he said briskly.

He led me along the double row of stalls until we came to a stocky bay gelding standing looking out at us and placidly chewing a wisp of hay.

‘Here’s the ideal animal for you, Patch. Eight years old, calm and steady, yet with enough spirit for the front rank of a charge.’

The horse stretched out its head, snuffling my scent and allowing me to stroke its velvety nose.

‘I appreciate your advice. I just need to learn to ride properly,’ I said guardedly, for I was puzzled why the count was showing such concern for me.

My face must have revealed my caution, for he said quietly, ‘Also, about what happened at the baths this afternoon, I apologize if I alarmed you.’

‘It’s nothing I want to talk about,’ I replied stiffly, feeling clumsy and ungracious even as I said it.

The count, clearly not a person who allowed a moment’s awkwardness to deflect him, pressed on.

‘Now you’ve got a war horse, you’ll need weapons to go with it. I’ve arranged with the seneschal to collect whatever we require from the royal armoury. He’s sending
a clerk to meet us there, so let’s go before he changes his mind.’

We set out across the palace grounds, striding at such a rapid pace that Osric with his lameness had difficulty in keeping up with us.

‘The king is being very generous to me,’ I said.

‘Think nothing of it. He owns vast estates, and his tenants supply all that his household requires.’

I recalled the shipment of live eels hauled for hundreds of miles across country.

‘Even swords and armour?’

‘Especially swords and armour, and the soldiers to go with them,’ said Hroudland firmly. ‘When my uncle launches a campaign, everyone is obliged to contribute to his armed
host, whether he’s a count or abbot or a lowly freeman with just a cottage and two cows.’