Oneirokritikon until I’m called for the evening meal. I have a feeling that the wali will want to talk to me about it.’
Washed and changed into a gown, I sat down cross-legged on a cushion to use the low desk the wali provided for his guests. There was a metal stylus in place of a quill, and though the inkpot was familiar there was neither parchment nor vellum, only leaves of what looked like pale stiff fabric.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, holding one up to the light to examine it more closely. I could see what looked like matted fibres in the material.
‘Old rags soaked in quick lime, then washed and pounded together and dried into a sheet you can write on,’ explained Osric.
‘It doesn’t feel very durable,’ I said dubiously and wrote out a trial sentence. The tip of the stylus scratched and skipped on the rough surface but the result was legible.
Osric resumed his place in the Book of Dreams where we had left off our translation, and we settled down to work. We had reached the last few pages of the book by the time the light began to fade, and not long afterwards we heard the call to evening prayer and then a knock on the door. The chief steward was outside, waiting to escort me to dine with the wali. To my surprise, I saw that the meal was to be in the central courtyard, in the open air despite the winter chill. Carpets had been spread under the arches of the colonnaded gallery, lamps and cushions for two people arranged, and a row of lanterns lit and placed along the marble rim of the pool. The reflections shimmered in the ripples radiating from the fountain which was still sending up its jet of water. Above, the dark immensity of a cloudless sky was full of stars.
Husayn was waiting to greet me. He had changed into a pale-grey robe edged with gold brocade and when he stepped forward into the light of the lamps I saw he had refreshed the black eye-lining and his lip colour. He looked relaxed and self-assured, very much the master in his own home.
‘It is such a fine night I thought we should dine in traditional style,’ he said.
I took my seat on to the carpet. To my surprise it felt warm. I laid my hand on its surface to make sure. Husayn noted my interest.
‘We have to thank Zaragoza’s early rulers for installing a system of sending hot air beneath the floor tiles as well as leaving us with strong city walls and a never-failing water supply,’ he murmured, a subtle reminder of his city’s strength to resist attack.
The wali was a gracious and attentive host. A relay of servants brought out the trays of food, and he explained in careful detail how each dish had been prepared: lamb baked within a coating of olive oil, salt and turmeric; rice flavoured with saffron and then a handful of dried and chopped jujube mixed in; sherbet prepared from the juices of crushed pomegranate and orange. So many of the names and tastes were new to me that I almost failed to notice the alcachofa roasted in oil that the wali had remembered to order from his kitchen.
‘Nearly everything you have eaten this evening was produced within a day’s journey of Zaragoza,’ he said contentedly as we finished the meal. He gestured for the servants to clear away the remains of our feast. A plate of dried figs was set down between us, along with a silver ewer of water and a bowl so that we could wash our hands. Then the attendants collected up the nearest lamps and withdrew, leaving only the lanterns around the pool and, close to us, a single lighted wick floating in a small earthenware bowl of scented oil. The wali waited until we were alone, then he turned towards me. His face was in shadow making his expression inscrutable. I sensed that he was about to broach the main topic of the evening.
‘How can I convince you to part with the Book of Dreams?’ he asked gently.
‘Your Excellency, Count Gerard is still the owner of the Oneirokritikon. The book is only on loan while I translate the text.’
‘And will you return it to him when you have completed the work?’
‘I will.’
The wali was silent for several moments, then in the same soft, even tone he asked, ‘But you will keep your copy of the translation?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ The answer seemed obvious.
‘Then you accept that you have the right to allow a copy to be made.’
Too late, I saw the trap that I had fallen into.
Husayn’s voice took on a more urgent edge.
‘That book belonged to my people for generations. It is written in our language and in our script. Wise men studied it. Rulers consulted it.’
I thought quickly. Rather than offend the wali by stubbornly denying him the book, I should use it to my advantage.
‘Your Excellency, I am willing to allow a copy to be made, but on two conditions.’
Husayn leaned forward into the lantern light and there was a hint of a smile on his pink lips. ‘Name your price.’
‘I intend to give my servant his freedom. I want you to appoint him to a position in your court. If Osric later chooses to return to his own country, you will assist him in doing so.’
The wali reached forward and selected a dried fig from the bowl.
‘Easily done, and what is your second condition?’
I took a deep breath.
‘You must tell me what Count Ganelon discussed with you privately on the day that we left the others and took the direct route to Zaragoza.’
Slowly and deliberately Husayn sank his teeth into the fig, closing his eyes as he savoured the flavour. He swallowed and then asked, ‘Why is that so important to you?’
‘It may help me understand who my enemies are,’ I replied.
Husayn finished eating the fig, picked up the silver ewer and began to trickle water over his fingers.
‘Ganelon offered to advance my interests on his return to Karlo’s court,’ he said calmly, using the Saracen name for the Frankish king.
I was not entirely shocked. Hroudland had often spoken of Ganelon’s double-dealing.
‘What reward does he expect?’ I asked.
‘Money, of course. Naturally I accepted his proposal, though I told him that the amount would depend on results.’
‘How did he react?’
‘He asked for a down payment of five hundred dinars when I got back to my treasury in Zaragoza. He needed a note — he even had a document ready for me to sign — in which I promised to pay over the money.’ Husayn dried his hands on a towel and there was a low popping sound in the dark. The wali was cracking his knuckles. He spoke casually, as if talk of treason was an everyday occurrence. ‘Ganelon said that the down payment would help him to dispose of a rival at court and increase his influence as a royal councillor and that would therefore also be to my benefit.’
I already knew the answer, but I asked anyway.
‘Did he say who this rival was?’
‘Karlo’s nephew. Ganelon intends to lay evidence before the king that his nephew offered to betray the Frankish army in return for my silver.’
‘But that is absurd!’ I burst out. ‘The king’s nephew, Count Hroudland, is too far away. He’s been appointed the Margrave of the Breton March. How can he have made such an offer to you?’
Somewhere in the city a dog barked, and was answered by another. There was a furious storm of barking as other dogs joined in. When silence returned, the wali spoke quietly.
‘The note I signed for Ganelon says that
Now I was truly stunned. I believed what the wali had just told me. Hroudland would know nothing of the deceit until the moment he was summoned before the king and asked to defend himself against a charge of treason. Then it would be his word against Ganelon’s, and Ganelon would produce the note from the Wali of Zaragoza as evidence. No wonder Ganelon had been keen for me to go with the wali; Gerin would confirm that I had chosen to leave the other Saracens and ride off directly to Zaragoza. I was known as Hroudland’s close friend
