He was dying. The thought struck her as impossible. He was dying. She pictured his face in her mind and tried to imagine it gone. She started to tremble. She could no longer focus on the document. She couldn’t even read it. She watched her hands take up her pen. She watched them dip it in ink and sign the charter. Then she watched them apply wax to the parchment and affix her seal. She stood while her hands gathered the documents and presented them back to the clerk.
“Milady?” Brother David asked in exactly the same tone he had greeted her.
“Thank you, Brother. I feel the need for a walk.” Sunni watched herself walk the length of the corridor to where it met the staircase, and then watched herself descend to the villa’s main hallway. There she met several women and stopped to thank them for their help in organizing the fête for Gripho. She nodded to passersby and walked straight through the main entrance, out its doors, and into the fresh air of the courtyard.
Acknowledging curtsies and bows with a polite smile, Sunni took the path that led down to the water. She discovered that she was running. When she reached the water’s edge, she found a secluded spot and stopped to collect herself.
“Charles!” she said out loud. A small tear trickled from her right eye. She raised a gloved hand to wipe it away. A second appeared. She wiped it as well. More fell. She found a handkerchief. The trickle soon surpassed the capacity of such a small piece of cloth.
“Stop,” she commanded herself, but her breath caught in her chest, and she quietly began to sob. She tried to shake her head clear, but the sobbing grew inside her until she could no longer contain it.
“No,” she pleaded. But this word, too, worked against her and soon became a lament she could not stop.
She tried to run, but her feet refused to move. She doubled over. Her knees gave way. A howl forced its way past her lips, and she lay on the grass weeping. She wept for Charles. She wept for Gripho. And after a time, she wept for herself.
A handmaiden found her much later sitting by the water, disheveled, face streaked, and staring blankly at the river. When she could get no response from Sunni, the maid sent for Charles and the doctors.
***
After failing to agree on which potion would restore Sunni to herself, the doctors had left three for her to try. The stewed snakeskin gave the room a wretched stench, a smell only outdone by the mustard and garlic poultice the doctors had applied to Sunni’s chest.
Sunni waited until she was alone with Charles before she removed her robe and the poultice and began washing away its residue. When she had finished, she summoned a handmaid and handed her the robe and the tray with the three potions on it. “Throw these out,” she said. She picked up a white robe with a blue collar and blue cuffs and cinched it with its belt. She stood before her husband, who was sitting on her bed, watching her curiously.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“Sunni—”
“How long have you known?”
“Known what?”
“That you are going to die.” Sunni said it almost matter-of-factly. Only a slight hesitation before the word “die” betrayed her emotions.
“Sunni—”
“Don’t insult me, Charles. I saw the charter for the villa at Clichy. I know what it means for you to be buried at St. Denis. I know how hopelessly vain and stubborn you are. How long have you known?”
“We all die, Sunni.”
She threw a goblet from the table at him. It glanced off his shoulder and hit the wall with a sound of metal denting. As she went for another, he crossed to her and caught her in his arms.
“Narbonne,” he said quietly, hugging her to him. “I’ve known since Narbonne.”
“You think that I’d be the one person you’d tell.” She looked up at him, her eyes brimming, but her arms struggled to free themselves. “Instead you told Boniface.”
“Ah, my love. He’s a priest.”
“I’m your wife.” One arm broke free from his grasp. “I’m your wife,” she repeated, hitting his chest for emphasis when she spat out the word “wife.” “Have I failed you in some way? Have I lost your trust? Have I mistaken your love? Just nights ago, you said, ‘I’ll be fine, Sunni. I’ve been resting, Sunni. It’s time for me to be mayor, Sunni.’” She looked at him. “Liar.”
Charles tried to recapture her in his arms, but she pushed him away.
“Sunni.”
“Liar.”
“Sunni, listen.”
“Who’s speaking? The mayor or my husband?”
“Today, I’m both.”
“Yes, milord. How may I serve you?”
“Sunni, enough.” Charles picked her up by her arms and sat her on the bed. “I do love you.” Charles knelt before her. “I should have told you. I didn’t want anyone to know.” Seeing her begin to protest, he held up his hand. “I told Boniface because he is a priest. He cannot break the confidence.
“I am dying, Sunni. Of my three sons, only one is ready to rule. And that likely means war. How will they stand up to the Lombards, the Saracens, Hunoald and Waifar, the Saxons? Do you want me to go on? How about the Church? Or Theudoald?”
Sunni couldn’t stand the thought of that dilettante prig being mayor. When Pippin of Herstal had died, his wife Plectrude had tried to name Theudoald mayor, but the boy was eight years old. Civil war broke out, and Charles, although a bastard, had stepped in to seize control.
“So you see, it isn’t just a discussion between a dying man and his wife. You have a stake in this. Our son, Gripho, has a stake in this. The greater the number of people who know about it, the less control I’ll have over the outcome.”
Sunni laid her hand against his chest to stop him. “Charles, you didn’t even give me a chance.”
He folded her into his arms. “I’m sorry, my love,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Sunni surrendered to his embrace and wept quietly. After a time, she lifted her head from his chest to kiss him. His kisses and touch grew more passionate. Sunni’s became frenetic. Soon, she was pushing him back against the bed, pulling his clothes from him, desperate in her need for him.
* * *
“I could help.” They were still in bed, lying naked to cool their bodies.
“I’m sure you could.” Charles chuckled.
“I want to.”
“Sunni, once I’m dead, your every action will be seen as a move to benefit Gripho. You’ll be a partisan.”
“I’ve got relations with Plectrude’s family. I could help forestall Theudoald. I can rule for Gripho until he’s of age and keep Carloman and Pippin from fighting.”
“Gripho will get Thuringia and the tribute from Bavaria. Carloman will get Austrasia, Alemannia, and the tribute from Aquitaine. Pippin will get Neustria, Burgundy, and Provence.”
“If Gripho has Neustria, it may prevent some of the nobles from backing Theudoald’s claim,” Sunni said. “It could prevent a civil war.”
“Or cause one,” Charles said. “If either Pippin or Carloman believe that you have unduly influenced me, they may challenge his claim. Austrasia and Neustria are the keys to the kingdom. Giving Neustria to Gripho could pit brother against brother.”
“On what grounds?”
“They don’t need much of an excuse. Although I do like the idea of forestalling Theudoald’s claim. Perhaps it could be only a part of Neustria. I’ll have to think on it.”
“What about Trudi?” Sunni asked.
“Ah, good news. I had a long talk with King Liutbrand. He is proposing Aistulf.”
“Aistulf?” Sunni’s body turned cold. While Charles went on about “balance” and “keeping the border safe,” her mind turned to Odilo. “Trudi has met someone.”
“Who?”
“Odilo. She is very taken with him, and from what I can tell, he with her.”
“They found each other on their own?” Charles frowned. “Trudi barely looks at men. She’d rather fight one than meet one. No. You brought them together. Now you can separate them. It has
to be Aistulf. Liutbrand and I have agreed to terms. She will live near Rome. The dowry is set.”
As he spoke, Sunni again felt herself detach as she had in the clerk’s office. This time, however, when she tried to imagine the world without Charles, she could see it unfold before her. The orders and proclamations and missives he made today would not carry over into that world. In that world, she could not draw strength from him. She would have no power to wield in his name. She would lose the physical security he had built around their family and the wealth that secured their status. His family would turn against her and her son. The starkness of the world without Charles appalled her. When Charles finished talking, Sunni just nodded her head. “I love you,” she said.
“I know you do, my love.”
She kissed her husband on the forehead and on each one of his eyes. When Charles left, Sunni sent two messages. One went to Odilo, the other to Trudi.
***
When Pippin finally tracked down Carloman, his older brother was in the vestibule of the church having a heated argument with Boniface. Pippin stood to the side to let them finish. The bishop’s face was nearly scarlet, and his attempts to keep his voice at a whisper were far from successful.
“This is unacceptable,” Boniface fumed. “Charles can’t just postpone Gripho’s high mass. That is a church matter. And that woman is not ill. She has bewitched him!”
Carloman held up his hand in caution. It did little to calm Boniface.
“Yes, Carloman. I use the word intentionally. No God-fearing woman would undermine her own son’s mass. I will not abide it.”
“It is done, Boniface. Charles has sent word throughout the residence. I’ve tried speaking with him. He is adamant.”
Boniface took note of Pippin’s presence and frowned. “I will have to see to this myself.” He waved in Pippin’s direction. “You clearly have other affairs to attend to.” The bishop hoisted the hem of his robe and stormed from the vestibule.
Pippin took two minutes to relay the concerns he saw illuminated by Gripho’s elevation.
“Are you simple?” Carloman turned on Pippin, just inches from his face. “Of course the elevation was about politics. Of course it was about succession. Do you think Charles is going to live forever?”
Pippin bridled at the rebuke. This was how his older brother always spoke to him. He lectured. He scolded. He berated.
“You spent half your life on the Roman peninsula,” Carloman continued, “lying in the sun, and when you come back here, you spend the rest of it lying with your girlfriend. And you’re surprised that you’re being left out? Yes, I created the Knights in Christ to be a weapon. We’re going to need them. Yes, Boniface and I are trying to move the Church to support our claim. We’re going to need that, too. These old bastards are not just going to fall into line.”
As overbearing as his brother was, Pippin had to admit Carloman had a point. He, too, was worried about support for their claim. Charles had defeated most of the nobles at court. His sons had not. There would likely be at least one challenge to their claim.
“Our strategy is to avoid civil war,” Carloman said, touching off fingers as he listed each point. “Work through the Church to amass an army that will forestall any questions about our right to rule. In return, we give back some of the land Charles took from the major monasteries. Then we help Boniface consolidate the local churches, and in return, he supports our claim to the throne.”
“Do we need the Church?” Pippin asked.
“I am a Christian knight, Pippin. I intend to be a Christian mayor. We do need the Church. But the Church also needs us. And I, for one, will support her.”
“And if there is war?”
“Any trouble, we use the Knights in Christ as our early mobilization force and back them up with the support we have from Austrasia and Neustria. If we can’t quell the uprising, and it looks like civil war, we’ll have to raise a Merovingian to the throne.”
“No,” Pippin said.
Stating the obvious, Carloman lectured him about their role as mayors serving the Merovingian kings. He recounted the portion of the fealty pledge that included “allegiance to the king.” He explained that the nobles would not accept their claim to the throne as legitimate and would demand they raise a Merovingian.
“Father didn’t make war on the entire realm just to return it to the Merovingians,” Pippin said. “He means for us to be kings.”
“Unless he names himself king, that won’t happen. Even if he did, he’d still have to back it up with force,” Carloman said. “After Narbonne, I thought he had the perfect opportunity to clear the way when Pope Gregory asked for his aid against the Lombards.” Pippin looked up at this. “But he turned us down, cold. There must be something we don’t know.”
“Or maybe he just waited too long. Did you see him at the elevation yesterday?”
“He didn’t look himself.”
“What about Gripho?” Pippin asked.
“Sunni will make sure he gets something in the succession. Charles has three choices. Make me mayor of the realm. Divide the realm between the two of us and give Gripho landed estates. Or split the kingdom into thirds and make each of us mayor.”
“Gripho’s not ready,” Pippin said.
“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Sunni can act in his name until he comes of age. I wouldn’t count him out.”
“The nobles won’t support him.”
“Who, my dear brother, is going to support you?”
Pippin’s face reddened. When he began to make a mental list, there weren’t as many on it as he had hoped.
***
The next day, Charles held court for petitioners and held private meetings with nobles in preparation for the following day’s assembly. Sunni held a breakfast for the ladies of the court but adjourned it in plenty of time for them to prepare for the evening festivities. Carloman’s wife, Greta, was seemingly everywhere, fretting over arrangements, arguing with chefs, chasing down musicians, and placating dignitaries.
Sunni had hoped to find Trudi at the breakfast, but the girl never appeared. Seated at the head table with Carloman’s wife, Sunni had to sit through endless speeches by noble women who took every opportunity to refer to the military achievements of their husbands or the strength of their family bloodlines. Many found a way to talk about both.
She also had to acknowledge a horde of well-wishers and accept the sympathies and ministrations of countless women who chastised her for leaving her bed so soon after her “attack.” This, of course, meant she had to listen to them recount their own maladies even if they had nothing to do with Sunni’s perceived problem.
“Thank you so much. It was nothing,” she would say. “No, no. It was not a reaction to the food. I just had too little to eat.” Or, “Bless me, no. I’m not pregnant! I’m much too old for such things.” And, “You are so kind!”
When at last the tables were cleared, she went to Trudi’s room. The girl was not there. Frustrated, she sought out Odilo.
She found him in the main hall watching Greta lord over the preparations for the fête. Sunni frowned. Too many eyes would see them together. She flashed him a hand signal. Odilo waited a moment and then ducked into a service corridor for the kitchen. She gave some encouraging words to Greta about her decorations, and when the woman was distracted, followed Odilo into the corridor. Her eyes had to adjust to the darkness, and she stumbled.
“Here,” Odilo called. He was huddled in an alcove made for storing ale. The stench of it reeked from the walls.
“Did you get my message?” she asked.
“Yes. But it was very cryptic. What did you mean, ‘Now is everything’?”
She outlined what she knew of Charles’s health, what his plans were for both Gripho and the kingdom, and guessed that announcements would be made at the assembly.
“And Trudi?” Odilo asked.
“It’s to be Aistulf,” she said.
“It can’t be.”
�
��Charles would brook no argument.” She looked up at him, trying to gauge his reaction in the dim light. “It solidifies the southern border and surrounds the pope.”
“What does Trudi say?” Odilo asked.
“I have not seen her. Have you?”
“She stayed with me again last night but left early this morning. She’s quite a girl, Sunni. I cannot let Aistulf have her.”
“It may not be up to you, Odilo. And from what I’ve seen, you can’t afford a war with the Lombards.”
“This is intolerable. How could you get me into this?”
“It’s up to Trudi, Odilo. If she leaves of her own free will, Aistulf will have no grounds to come after you.”
The two talked through the different scenarios that could arise from Charles’s death. None of them looked good to Sunni.
“You think there will be war?” she asked.
“It may be unavoidable,” Odilo said, his face grim. A footstep in the corridor surprised them, and they fell silent while a servant made her way from the main hall into the kitchen. “Carloman will press the Church’s ambitions. And if there is no king to hold the realm together, there will be challenges to the boys’ right to succession. They will have to back it up with iron. They are good fighters, but none of them is Charles. I will speak to the nobles from Alemannia and Bavaria, those who will support Gripho. Though his youth will be perceived as a weakness, if several stand for him, he may survive unscathed.”
“There may be a challenge from Theudoald,” Sunni said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Odilo said. “That would keep Carloman and Pippin busy.”
“What if Gripho got part of Neustria?”
“Charles will never agree to that.” Odilo frowned. “Neustria is at the heart of his power. Besides, it would push the older boys into a war.”
“Maybe not. If we can pull Neustria into an alliance, it may help us to carve out a middle kingdom for Gripho.”
“Be careful. You don’t want war with the older boys. Let them fight everyone else. Gripho’s young. Give him time to grow up.”
Anvil of God Page 8
