speck glittered, both malevolent and enticing. Gently I touched my index finger to it and was shocked to feel a tiny pinch of pain. As I withdrew my hand, a single drop of my bright red blood
dripped on the tile. This time I knew, without question, it was an omen.
*
In early September came my first royal banquet and my life changed yet again. The feast was to celebrate the completion of the cupola on top of the royal basilica. For weeks the
masons had been attached like spiders by safety ropes around their waists as they nailed in place the last tiles, the sound of their hammering drifting down to us. The banquet was to be held in the
as-yet-unfinished Council Hall, the massive rectangular building whose shape had reminded me of my father’s mead hall, though on a far larger scale.
‘Don’t expect too much,’ Hroudland said to me as we loitered with the other guests outside the entrance, waiting to be summoned inside. ‘This place is little more than a
shell, and the builders are standing by to stretch a canvas awning to keep us dry.’
I glanced up at the sky. It was midday and the air had the first edge of autumn’s chill, but the few clouds did not threaten rain. I felt self-conscious in a short cloak of very expensive
dark blue velvet trimmed with marten fur which Hroudland has loaned me for the occasion.
‘Who’s going to be there?’ I asked.
‘Carolus, of course, with Queen Hildegard, and young Pepin, whom everyone presumes is the heir to the throne, though it’s not official. Plus whichever of his other children care to
come along.’
‘It sounds rather casual,’ I said, feeling relieved.
‘Carolus dislikes formal banquets. He much prefers taking his meals with just his family.’
‘And what’s your opinion of your cousin Pepin?’
‘It’s difficult to think of him as my cousin. Carolus never formally married his mother though she was his concubine for years.’
‘I thought the king was deeply religious, a devout Christian who believed in marriage.’
Hroudland gave a cynical laugh.
‘The king is a Christian in whatever way suits him. He uses the Church to his advantage.’
At that moment a trumpet flourish announced that the guests were to proceed into the building.
As we filed inside, Hroudland whispered, ‘Stick close to me. Otherwise you might finish up sitting next to some ancient bore. There’ll be plenty of those.’
The absence of a roof made the interior of the Council Hall feel even larger than it really was. The enormous brick walls with their double lines of windows towered around us, open to the sky,
and I could see a flock of doves wheeling in the air high above us. Finally completed, the place would be able to hold at least three or four hundred people, but now only the area next to the main
entrance was being utilized. Two long tables had been set up, facing one another with a large open space between them. A smaller table, raised on a low plinth, had been placed across the end of the
open space. This table was covered with a white and silver cloth, and gleamed with a display of gold ewers, goblets and other costly vessels, among them a remarkable salver carved from solid
crystal and rimmed with a broad gold band inlaid with enamels of every colour.
Hroudland steered me to the long table on our left. Here the dishes were of silver and gilt, and the drinking vessels were beakers and cups of blue-green glass, some of them cleverly shaped to
resemble traditional drinking horns.
‘This table is for the likes of us, the companions of the court,’ the count said, pulling out a bench. We sat down next to one another as Gerard, Oton and the others took their
places nearby, along with several other people I did not know.
Hroudland nodded towards the far table.
‘Over there, you’ll see the king’s councillors and advisors.’
I followed his glance. Alcuin was with a group of priests. A couple of places away from him sat a middle-aged man in a yellow silk
dripped on the tile. This time I knew, without question, it was an omen.
*
In early September came my first royal banquet and my life changed yet again. The feast was to celebrate the completion of the cupola on top of the royal basilica. For weeks the
masons had been attached like spiders by safety ropes around their waists as they nailed in place the last tiles, the sound of their hammering drifting down to us. The banquet was to be held in the
as-yet-unfinished Council Hall, the massive rectangular building whose shape had reminded me of my father’s mead hall, though on a far larger scale.
‘Don’t expect too much,’ Hroudland said to me as we loitered with the other guests outside the entrance, waiting to be summoned inside. ‘This place is little more than a
shell, and the builders are standing by to stretch a canvas awning to keep us dry.’
I glanced up at the sky. It was midday and the air had the first edge of autumn’s chill, but the few clouds did not threaten rain. I felt self-conscious in a short cloak of very expensive
dark blue velvet trimmed with marten fur which Hroudland has loaned me for the occasion.
‘Who’s going to be there?’ I asked.
‘Carolus, of course, with Queen Hildegard, and young Pepin, whom everyone presumes is the heir to the throne, though it’s not official. Plus whichever of his other children care to
come along.’
‘It sounds rather casual,’ I said, feeling relieved.
‘Carolus dislikes formal banquets. He much prefers taking his meals with just his family.’
‘And what’s your opinion of your cousin Pepin?’
‘It’s difficult to think of him as my cousin. Carolus never formally married his mother though she was his concubine for years.’
‘I thought the king was deeply religious, a devout Christian who believed in marriage.’
Hroudland gave a cynical laugh.
‘The king is a Christian in whatever way suits him. He uses the Church to his advantage.’
At that moment a trumpet flourish announced that the guests were to proceed into the building.
As we filed inside, Hroudland whispered, ‘Stick close to me. Otherwise you might finish up sitting next to some ancient bore. There’ll be plenty of those.’
The absence of a roof made the interior of the Council Hall feel even larger than it really was. The enormous brick walls with their double lines of windows towered around us, open to the sky,
and I could see a flock of doves wheeling in the air high above us. Finally completed, the place would be able to hold at least three or four hundred people, but now only the area next to the main
entrance was being utilized. Two long tables had been set up, facing one another with a large open space between them. A smaller table, raised on a low plinth, had been placed across the end of the
open space. This table was covered with a white and silver cloth, and gleamed with a display of gold ewers, goblets and other costly vessels, among them a remarkable salver carved from solid
crystal and rimmed with a broad gold band inlaid with enamels of every colour.
Hroudland steered me to the long table on our left. Here the dishes were of silver and gilt, and the drinking vessels were beakers and cups of blue-green glass, some of them cleverly shaped to
resemble traditional drinking horns.
‘This table is for the likes of us, the companions of the court,’ the count said, pulling out a bench. We sat down next to one another as Gerard, Oton and the others took their
places nearby, along with several other people I did not know.
Hroudland nodded towards the far table.
‘Over there, you’ll see the king’s councillors and advisors.’
I followed his glance. Alcuin was with a group of priests. A couple of places away from him sat a middle-aged man in a yellow silk
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