Tim Severin - The Book of Dreams

His glance swept round the assembled company and I could have sworn that it lingered for a moment on my face as he recalled who I was. Ignoring the wooden throne, he walked straight to the map table, and was straight down to business.

‘I have summoned this meeting so that you are all familiar with our plan for the campaign in Hispania,’ he announced in his strangely high, thin voice, so much in contrast with his air of authority. He gestured toward the map on the table beside him. ‘I want you to take careful note of our dispositions because tomorrow I propose to divide the army.’

All around me was a collective intake of breath. Men shifted uncomfortably, clearly disturbed by the royal decision.

Carolus was aware of the disquiet he had caused.

‘I know it is considered foolhardy to divide one’s forces, but now that my nephew Count Hroudland has arrived with his Breton cavalry we have sufficient numbers to do so.’ Again he indicated the map. ‘A wall of mountains lies between us and the Saracens in Hispania who seek our help, here at Barcelona, Huesca and Zaragoza.’

I was standing too far away to be sure, but I had the impression that he was pointing out the three cities on the map without reading their names on the tiles because he could not do so.

Carolus paused briefly while he looked at his senior officers. He had their full attention.

‘I myself will lead that part of the army — the larger part — that will go around the eastern end of the mountains. We head directly for Barcelona to meet with the wali there.’

There was complete silence in the room. No doubt many of his audience were silently wondering which units would be detached from the main force.

The king turned to face Eggihard.

‘You as seneschal will lead the western division that will go around the mountains and head for Zaragoza where the wali is expecting us. The margrave will be your second in command.’

I felt a glow of satisfaction. It meant that I was likely to see Osric again.

Carolus once again addressed his wider audience.

‘Our spies tell us that our entry into Hispania may encounter opposition. By entering Hispania from two directions we will crush our opponents between us like a nutcracker. That is why I divide the army.’

His audience relaxed. There were murmurs of approval.

The king held up a warning hand and the assembly immediately fell silent.

‘The success of my plan depends on both halves of the army acting in concert.’

‘Your Majesty, what about the supply train?’ asked Eggihard.

‘Allocate the vehicles by their size. The smaller, lighter carts will go with the western division as it has further to travel and must move more quickly. Those details I leave to you and my other captains to arrange.’

Amid the general shuffling and conversation which followed, I heard someone ask his neighbour, ‘Anyone know who we’re likely to be fighting?’

The questioner was a pear-shaped, rather worried-looking man with a strong accent. I guessed he was the commander of one of the contingents from the further reaches of the kingdom, possibly Lombardy.

I missed the answer because Carolus had disappeared behind the velvet curtain and Hroudland was beckoning to me and Berenger. We pushed our way through the press of people and caught up with the count as he was leaving the pavilion and heading in the direction of the tents allocated to the Breton cavalry. The count was in a foul mood and scowling.

‘Eggihard knows how to put pottage into soldier’s bellies and boots on their feet, but if it comes to a fight, he’ll be useless.’

It was obvious that Hroudland resented Eggihard’s appointment over him. I also wondered if the count would have preferred staying with the main army where he would have been more directly under his uncle’s eye to impress the king with his military prowess.

‘Maybe there won’t be any fighting,’ I suggested. ‘We are entering Hispania at the invitation of the Saracens.’

Hroudland gave a snort of disbelief.

‘The Falcon of Cordoba won’t stand by idly.’

‘Who’s he?’ I asked.

‘The most dangerous man in Hispania. He claims that he is rightful overlord of those three rebellious Saracen walis who have invited us to help them. The last time there was an uprising against him, he lined up a hundred of their leaders, kneeling on the ground, and had their heads chopped off.’

‘Then all the more renown for us when we defeat him,’ boasted Berenger.

This was dangerous vainglory, but I held my tongue. Besides, something was nagging at the back of my mind. We were walking past the horse lines and a tall, big-boned stallion had caught my attention. It had its head in a feed bag while a groom brushed its coat. I had seen that same horse on the day I had gone to hunt deer near Aachen; it was the horse that the king had ridden. The memory brought a shiver to my spine. The next animal in the line was another stallion, not as tall as its neighbour, but broader and more heavily muscled, a true war horse. There was something eerily familiar about it, too. I stared long and hard at the creature, wondering where I had seen it before. With a sudden lurch of recognition, I knew. It was the same animal I had seen in my nightmare many months ago, looming over me, one hoof raised. I had looked up in terror and seen blood seeping from the eyes of the rider. It was also the bronze horse of the statue Carolus had brought from Ravenna, the statue I had seen dragged across the sheet ice.

I came to an abrupt halt, unable to take another step. A strange prickling sensation had come over me, paralysing me from head to toe. Unaware of what was happening, Berenger and Hroudland walked away, leaving me behind. I remained rooted to the spot, unable to take my eyes off the war horse until a hand touched me on the elbow and I turned to see a messenger, dressed in royal livery. He was looking at me strangely, and I heard his words through a haze. He repeated them.

‘Follow me, please. The king wants to speak with you.’

I was so numb with shock that until my boots were echoing on the wooden flooring I did not realize that I had been led back inside the royal pavilion. A small group of courtiers was in the outer chamber and they eyed me curiously as I was taken straight past them and handed over to an attendant. He peeked in through the velvet curtain, and then held it aside just far enough for me to slip into Carolus’s private quarters. As I entered I caught a whiff of roast flesh.

The king was eating a late meal. Seated at a plain wooden table, he was gnawing the stringy flesh from the leg of a partially dismembered goose carcass. A manservant was hovering nearby with a jug of water and a napkin over his arm, ready to wash the grease off the royal fingers. The inevitable clerk lurked in a corner, wax tablet in hand, ready to take down notes. Otherwise the king was alone.

He gnawed a strip of meat from the bone. His teeth were big and strong, a match for his great size. When he raised his face towards me, I again saw the grey, watchful eyes. A morsel of food was trapped in his moustache.

‘Have you anything to report?’ he asked, not unkindly but with a simple directness.

My mind was in a whirl. The face of the king and the image of the man on the horse crying blood were overlapping as if in a waking nightmare. I blinked hard, feeling confused and nauseous.

‘Well, what have you to say?’ The tone was harder now. Carolus did not like to waste time.

‘Your Majesty, I returned from Hispania some two months ago, by sea. I have been with Count Hroudland,’ I stammered.

‘I know that,’ Carolus snapped. ‘Did you learn anything among the Saracens? Did you dream among them?’

Desperately I thought back to all that happened when I was with Husayn. All I could remember was the horrible dream of the snake lying across my lap.