After a short delay the under-steward led me up the stairs and to a set of double doors. He knocked discreetly before easing them open just wide enough to let me slip inside.
I had to squint. In contrast to Alcuin’s dimly lit office, Carolus’s private audience chamber was ablaze with light. Clusters of tall, fat candles burned everywhere. They were suspended in holders from the ceiling beams, fixed on great iron floor stands, held in wall brackets. Many were fitted with polished steel mirrors. The effect was to heat the room, make it as bright as day and flood one’s senses with the sweet scent of beeswax. The spacious room itself gave an impression of comfortable opulence. The windows were filled with panes of glass to keep out the weather. Linen panels painted with colourful pictures of hunting scenes decorated the walls. A day couch covered with cushions and a rich carpet was where Carolus could take his afternoon nap. Another expensive-looking rug served as a cloth on a broad table, and beneath its edge was a glimpse of table legs intricately carved into animal shapes. Half a dozen folding chairs were made of some dark, exotic wood, and – inevitably – there was a crucifix. In Alcuin’s study the cross had been plain and unadorned, hung against a white wall. Here the cross was four times the size, standing on a base of pale green marble and placed where it was immediately visible to a visitor. Its arms were studded with patterns of semiprecious coloured stones that glowed in the candlelight.
Carolus loomed beside the table, his presence dominating the room. I had forgotten what a big man he was. He was taller than me by at least a head, powerfully built with heavy bones, wide shoulders, large feet and hands. His luxuriant hair had gone grey but was carefully trimmed and oiled, and he wore the long drooping moustaches so fashionable among the Franks. As usual, he dressed modestly for someone of his exalted rank though the materials were of the very best quality. The wool of his deep-blue hose and tunic was as fine as silk, and the soft leather of his shoes and garters had been dyed pale blue, then over-stamped with leaf designs in silver. He wore very little jewellery – a heavy gold ring inset with a large red stone on his right hand, and a torc of twisted gold around his thick neck. Despite the warmth in the room he was wearing a waistcoat of short fur that I guessed was otter skin. It was left open at the front because Carolus, King of the Franks and Patrician of the Romans, had grown a noticeable paunch.
I bowed.
‘Sigwulf, I have a mission for you,’ said the king briskly. Like Alcuin, he too preferred to come directly to the point. In contrast to his advisor’s clear, quiet tones the king spoke in a surprisingly high, thin voice. It was unexpected coming from such a bulky frame.
I stood meekly, unable to tear my gaze away from the object that Carolus was holding. It was another of those huge silver-mounted drinking horns, the twin of the one I had just seen in Alcuin’s study. In the king’s massive grasp it seemed not quite as out of proportion.
‘This is from my grandfather’s time,’ said the king, observing my gaze and turning the great drinking horn this way and that.
I remained silent and waited.
‘Alcuin mentioned the elephant that the caliph had chosen for me?’ the king asked.
‘I am very sorry to hear that the creature did not survive the journey, Your Majesty,’ I murmured politely.
‘No matter. I will send in return a creature that is equally spectacular.’ Carolus hefted the horn as if he was proud of it. ‘Nothing the size of an elephant, of course. But two of these will be the equal!’
Carolus was boyish in his enthusiasm. I had no idea what he was talking about.
‘My verderer, Vulfard, tells me that it’s possible,’ he said.
He must have noted the puzzled look on my face or remembered that I was an outsider who had not grown up among the Franks. ‘Sigwulf, this is the horn of the largest, most dangerous animal in my kingdom. The man who hunts the aurochs requires skill and courage. If he succeeds, the horn is a mark of his bravery, a supreme trophy.’
The king’s large grey eyes scanned my face, his expression momentarily serious. ‘Sigwulf, you will take a pair of live aurochs to Baghdad for me, a bull and cow. They will be my elephants. Breeding stock for Haroun’s menagerie. That Saracen friend of yours will be a help.’
Carolus had an astonishing memory. It was one reason why his grip on more than half of Europe was so effective. He remembered small details and combined them with a shrewd judgement of people. Osric had played a vital part with me during the Hispania campaign.
Abruptly Carolus broke into a high-pitched laugh, almost a giggle. ‘I’m beginning to sound like the quarrelling hunters of the fable,’ he said, smiling at me to share his joke.
This time I knew what he was talking about. The tale was of two hunters, preparing to hunt a bear, arguing so bitterly over who should get the bear’s pelt that they fell out before they got started and never managed to kill their prey.
‘First we must catch our aurochs,’ he said. ‘I’ve given Vulfard all the men he needs. You are to join him and learn how the animal lives in the wild, what it eats, how it behaves, and so on. You must get to know how to look after the beast so that it survives the journey, unlike that unfortunate elephant.’
The king walked across to the table and set down the aurochs’ horn. I thought my interview was at an end and prepared to take my leave. But then he said over his shoulder, ‘Sigwulf, take off your eye patch. You need both eyes for what I’m going to show you.’
Obediently I took off the eye patch. Carolus had known about my different-colour eyes since my first arrival at his court.
When he turned to face me, he held an object I had not expected: a book.
Carolus could neither write nor read. Bertha had told me so. She had revealed that her father kept a stylus and wax tablet by his pillow so that he could practise his letters in secret but was making little progress. He knew how to write his name, of course. He had developed an impressive royal signature full of flourishes and cross-strokes. He scratched it on official documents prepared by his secretaries, and although he might puzzle out a handful of words, reading an entire book was well beyond the limits of his capability.
Carolus’s initial boyishness had been replaced by something almost conspiratorial, as if he was about to share a secret with me.
‘Besides learning how to look after an aurochs, you will procure some other animals as my gifts for the caliph Haroun,’ he said.
‘At Your Majesty’s command,’ I answered. There was no mistaking his tone of voice; this was an order and I had no choice in the matter. He had no need to remind me that I was an exile from my homeland and depended on Carolus for my entire existence. I was completely at the king’s disposal.
‘Alcuin told you that the elephant that died was near-white? And that white is the royal colour in Baghdad?’
‘He did, Your Majesty.’
The king opened the book. ‘Besides a pair of live aurochs, I have decided to present the caliph with a selection of different and interesting animals, all of them white.’
There was a note of self-congratulation in his voice. I sensed that what he was about to say had not been discussed with Alcuin beforehand. It made me all the more attentive and a little uneasy.
The king was turning the pages of the book, searching for something. From where I stood I could tell that the pages were covered with coloured pictures though, as they were upside down, it was difficult to work out exactly what they were.