Free Saxon: The Book of Dreams (Saxon 1) by Tim Severin

enough to cast faint shadows. Something moved in the gloom, low down beside the timber. I tried to make out what it was,
half expecting to see a badly wounded victim lying in the mire. Again nothing. Then out from the shadow strutted a bird. It stood taller than a chicken, with large feet and a small, fine head on a
gracefully curved neck. The body was almost the size of a goose and, though it did not waddle, the creature had a stilted, ungainly walk. The tail was very odd. The bird dragged behind it a
drooping train of feathers out of all proportion to its size. I was still puzzling about this strange creature when it raised its head and uttered that same spine-chilling, ugly scream. Once again
my heart raced, but by then I knew what was in front of me. Near my father’s house had been the ruins of an old Roman villa, once the home of a rich merchant. On its mosaic floor had been
depicted all manner of exotic creatures, lions, sea monsters, fish, ducks and . . . peacocks.
    ‘Escaped from the king’s zoo,’ said a voice I recognized, and Alcuin materialized from the shadows, giving me yet another scare that morning. ‘I’m sorry if I
startled you. I take a stroll after lauds. It helps clear the mind.’
    ‘That creature has a shocking call,’ I commented.
    ‘The voice of the devil, the gait of a thief, and the body of an angel,’ replied Alcuin.
    The bird heard our voices, turned towards us and slowly raised its tail into an enormous fan. Straining with effort, for a moment the creature looked as if it would topple forward on its beak.
Despite the comic stance, I was impressed. The Roman mosaics had not come near capturing the magnificence of the live display.
    ‘The hundred eyes of Argos,’ I said.
    Alcuin gave me a shrewd glance.
    ‘Where did you learn that?’
    ‘A tale my tutor told me at home. He loved the ancient stories,’ I replied.
    ‘A priest?’
    I nodded.
    ‘He would have done better to tell you that the patterns of the peacock’s fan represent the all-seeing eye of God.’
    I decided to tease.
    ‘And the flesh of the dead peacock doesn’t corrupt? So it mimics the eternal body of Christ.’
    Alcuin showed a flash of irritation.
    ‘Pure myth. If this bird is mauled by one of the king’s hunting dogs, you will find that the body rots just like any other fowl.’
    He began herding the peacock across the ground, as if he was a goose girl, and I helped him.
    ‘What other animals does the king have in his collection?’ I asked.
    ‘Bears, a leopard or two, cranes, wolves, some monkeys, several types of snake – most of them survive only a year or two before they die.’
    ‘How do they get here?’
    ‘Some are brought by hunters who’ve heard of the royal menagerie. The more exotic animals are sent by foreign rulers, as gifts.’
    I saw my opening.
    ‘What about that metal horse, the big statue? Was that a gift?’
    ‘That came from Italy, from Ravenna. It represents a Roman emperor, Theodosius. Carolus asked for it to be sent to him.’
    ‘A strange request.’
    ‘Not really. Theodosios was a Christian emperor in Rome. He spread the word of Christ with his conquests. Carolus sees him as an example.’
    I said nothing, wondering whether my dream was of the Roman or the Frank.
    The peacock stalked ahead of us, not hurrying. Now it stopped and uttered another of its raucous wails. In response a servant appeared at a run. He must have been one of the keepers of the royal
menagerie because he had a small bag of grain in his hand. He sprinkled a trail of seeds on the ground and the peacock pecked at them until he was close enough to grab the bird.
    Alcuin watched the captive being carried away.
    ‘How are you settling into your new quarters with your new companions?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m still trying to put names to faces.’
    ‘Their families are influential and from all over the kingdom and beyond.’
    ‘The one called Hroudland claims to be the king’s nephew.’
    ‘That’s