HAGAN WOKE WITH a gasp from the clutches of a nightmare. For a few moments he lay in the dark, panting, eyes wide, as the last vestiges of the dream dissolved from his mind. Within moments he could not remember what it had been about, but the unease the dream caused in his heart lingered on, stopping him from falling straight back to sleep.
Gunderic had granted Hagan a room in an old Roman tenement across the main square from the feasting hall. It was a generous space for one man, having been originally built to accommodate an entire family. For someone like Hagan who had spent years sharing a contubernium, a Roman army tent, with other soldiers, then sleeping in the halls of kings, quartered with the rest of the warriors on the floor, being alone at night in this big empty room was a little unnerving.
He knew this was not what had caused his nightmare, though. Something else was disturbing him. Hagan lay staring at the dark above him trying to work out what it could be. The events of the last few weeks churned in his mind. The Burgundars’ new kingdom, Brynhild, the strange old man, Wodnas. Sigurd’s crazy jump across the chasm. Gunhild’s strange reaction to his amulet…
He sighed. The darkness told him it was still the middle of the night, but with all this going on in his head there was no chance of getting back to sleep.
Hagan swung his legs out of bed and walked to the window, nightmare-induced sweat cooling to chill his skin. The shutters were open a crack and let in a shaft of moonlight that sliced across the floor. Hagan swung the shutters fully open and took a deep breath of the night air. He leaned on the sill, taking in the view outside.
The old tenement was three storeys tall and stood along one side of the main square at the centre of Geneva. To his left was the great feasting hall. Facing it, to Hagan’s right, was the former Roman palace with its impressive marble steps and columns that now served as the personal residence of King Gunderic.
It was the contrast of a dark figure against the whiteness of those steps in the moonlight that caught Hagan’s eye. The square was empty, as far as Hagan could see, as befitted the middle of the night. Any warriors on guard would be at the gates, on the walls of the town or outside the bedrooms of whoever they watched over.
The figure on the steps was wrapped in a long black cloak with the hood pulled up, and from the way they scurried Hagan could tell they were being furtive. For an instant he wondered if he should grab his sword and run down to confront this person before they did any harm. Then he reasoned that the person was coming down the steps of the king’s residence. If he was an assassin, he had already done his work.
Anyone running around like that in the middle of the night could be up to no good, so Hagan resolved that he had to check what they were up to.
He was about to dress when another movement below caught his eye. Coming across the square from the shadows around the great hall was another figure in a similar black cloak. This person’s hood was down and Hagan could see they had long hair bound in a knot, which meant this was either a married woman or a warrior. From his vantage point high above it was not possible to see their face so he could not tell if the figure had a beard or not.
The newcomer was hurrying across the square to meet the other person coming from the palace.
Hagan’s exploratores’ training told him that sometimes the best thing to do was to wait and observe, and act only when as much information as possible had been gathered and you were sure of the situation you were rushing into. Aware that the light of the moon might illuminate him to the people below, he stepped back a little from the window. He could still see what was going on below but now the shadows of the room hid him from the sight of those below.
The two cloaked figures met in the middle of the square. They began talking but spoke in low voices, so despite the quiet of the sleeping city, Hagan could not hear what they said. This confirmed to him that they did not intend anyone else to know what they were up to.
Hagan felt a tingling sensation in the back of his neck, a weird thrill that he was watching something no one was supposed to.
Then the figure that had come from the hall looked up, glaring directly at the window Hagan stood at. Despite knowing those below could not see him, instinct made Hagan flinch back further into the shadows, losing sight of the scene below as he did so.
The instant before he moved back, however, was enough for Hagan to have seen Gunhild’s face, bathed in the moonlight, peering up at his window as if either double-checking there was no one listening or had she somehow sensed he was watching?
Nonsense, he told himself as he stood in the darkness of the room, trying to control his breathing so it did not give his presence away. There was no way she could have spotted him. Perhaps the presence of his open window had just drawn her suspicion.
After a few more agonising moments of silence, Hagan inched forward again. He moved on his toes, ready to jump back into the dark if he had to. To his relief he could see Gunhild was no longer looking up. Now she and the other cloaked figure were hurrying across the square, away from the tenement. Hagan watched them for a moment. He had not seen the face of the second cloaked person but from their size and the way they ran – and the fact Gunhild was there – he guessed that it was probably Gunderic.
What were they up to? Sneaking around in the dark in their own city?
The king’s wedding will need to be paid for. They will need to visit the treasure hoard before the wedding to draw on its wealth. Zerco’s words surfaced in Hagan’s mind. Was this a chance to find out where the treasure was? Sigurd was not with them, but what else would Gunderic and Gunhild be up to?
As fast as he could, Hagan dressed in his hunting clothes. Casting his own dark hooded cloak around his shoulders, he ran for the stairs.