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

correct but his mother remarried; he doesn’t get on with his stepfather who is one of the king’s chief ministers. Life is quieter if they are kept
apart.’
    ‘There’s a big, shaggy fellow in our lodgings who doesn’t say much. Just watches.’
    ‘Son of the Danish king. He’s a hostage for his father’s good behaviour. But a steady man and reliable.’ Alcuin stopped and faced me. ‘Sigwulf, if you take my
advice you will do the same. Look and listen and keep your own counsel. Among the so-called royal guests there are rivalries and hatreds swirling beneath the surface. Beware of them.’
Somewhere in the distance a church bell sounded. ‘That’s the signal for a royal council. I’ll see you this afternoon, in class.’
    I watched him walk away. He had the confident stride of a man who knew his own mind. His warning had been remarkably like my brother’s.
    *
    I got back to my new companions in time for a breakfast of meat broth thickened to a porridge with barley meal and washed down with beer. There was a cheerful atmosphere at the
table.
    ‘Any good on a horse, Patch?’ asked Hroudland. He pushed aside his empty bowl and stood up. He was almost as tall as his uncle, though not as heavily built.
    ‘Just the basics,’ I said, thinking of the dozen horses we’d owned at home; they had been ordinary nags that we’d ridden when hunting and they’d served as pack
animals to carry back the deer and wild pig we’d killed.
    ‘Then you have much to learn,’ said Hroudland, laying his hand on my shoulder in an unexpected gesture of friendship.
    There was good-natured banter as all of us, including white-haired Gerard, filed outside where a cluster of servants was waiting. They were burdened down with an impressive assortment of weapons
– helmets and body armour, swords and shields, javelins and heavy lances. Only Osric was empty handed. Followed by our attendants we set off along the muddy footpaths, and once again
Hroudland picked me out to say a few words, but quietly this time.
    ‘Expect a little foolery.’ His glance indicated Engeler and Oton walking ahead of us.
    ‘I hope I didn’t give offence last night,’ I said.
    ‘Some people are touchy, or they resent a quicker wit than their own. You would do well to doubt the first beast that is offered to you.’
    We reached the edge of a paddock. A herd of some thirty excited horses was milling around, whinnying and occasionally baring their teeth at one another, their hooves splattering mud. The animals
were larger, stronger and more spirited than any I had seen at home. Most were stallions. Grooms darted here and there to catch particular animals, and even to my untrained eye, the horses that
they led out were clearly the best ones in the herd. Meanwhile our attendants were busy helping their masters to put on padded surcoats and mailed jackets, baldricks, helmets and thick gloves.
Finally they assisted them into the saddles of their selected horses and handed up the weapons.
    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