“Am I to understand,” Carloman said, “that you won’t invade Rome if your son marries my sister? That’s the crux of the arrangement?”
“Crudely put, but yes.”
“And we’re to look the other way while you effectively imprison the pope and confiscate the Church’s land?”
Liutbrand raised his hand at this. “Recognize, my young friend, that I have no desire to see any harm come to the pope. My grievances are purely related to land—land my family has laid claim to for centuries. And given your predicament and the emperor’s lack of support—” Liutbrand shrugged and opened his arms. “The distance from Constantinople to Rome these days is great, both geographically and spiritually. Someone must see to protecting the Holy See.”
“I doubt the pope will see it that way.” Carloman moved closer to the Lombard king, towering over the shorter man. “And as if that weren’t enough, we are also committed to raising Aistulf and Trudi’s son here in our court and donating enough grain for you to feed a small kingdom?”
“Yes.”
“No.” When Liutbrand sought to interrupt, Carloman overrode him angrily. “If you invade Rome, we will throw you out. If you so much as threaten Rome, we will send legions there to ensure no one is harmed.” A rivulet of mucus appeared under his damaged nose. “I don’t have to barter Trudi to keep you out of Rome. I have other ways of doing that. I will show you how to protect the Holy See.” Carloman had to interrupt himself to wipe his nose with his sleeve. “What do you mean by ‘my predicament’? What predicament is that?”
“It seems clear that you have your hands full with your own family’s problems,” Liutbrand said. “The kingdom is split. Your claims to being mayor certainly will be challenged. And even if they stand, Gripho’s ‘middle kingdom’ creates certain problems, don’t you think? With his family ties in Bavaria, he now controls much of your way to Rome and the Mediterranean. There is even talk that he will lead as a pagan, uniting all the former pagan regions.” Liutbrand paused and repeated his gesture—arms spread wide, palms facing up. “And I haven’t even mentioned calls for raising a Merovingian king. My guess is that you will have more important things to do than to ‘throw me out’ of Rome.
“No, my young friend,” Liutbrand continued, his eyes cold now, “you need a peaceful southern border. You need access to the Mediterranean. You need an ally on the Roman peninsula, not an enemy. When Hiltrude marries Aistulf, I will have every incentive to support your family. The pope will be left alone, save a minor loss of land, and he will be grateful for your sister’s presence in my court. And once you are firmly established, you and your brothers may have, with my help, the means to remove the Merovingians forever. Refuse, and I may have to protect my own interests to your south.”
At a signal from Boniface, Carloman asked Liutbrand’s indulgence while the two spoke privately. The two retired quietly to one of the chapel enclaves.
“I will chop him to pieces,” Carloman said.
“You are far too good a strategist to make that kind of error,” Boniface said. “This is not a new situation, Carloman. This is why your father chose not to help the pope.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father knew he was dying. He knew there might be civil war. He knew you would need the army here. That is why he refused the pope’s request. That is why he agreed to the marriage with Trudi. It keeps Liutbrand at bay and the pope safe.”
“Why didn’t he tell me he was dying?” Carloman’s voice choked.
“Your father told me.” Boniface put his hand consolingly on Carloman’s shoulder. “It was my burden to bear.”
Carloman took a moment to gain his composure. He didn’t like Liutbrand’s logic, but he couldn’t argue with it, just as Charles had not. The talk of a pagan uprising was ridiculous, but if their claim to the office of mayor was challenged, they would have few troops available to send to Rome. Fewer still if Gripho didn’t comply. He would need to talk to Sunni and to Pippin. He wondered why Pippin had gone off in the night. Carloman’s eyes strayed to the casket. Not for the first time in the last two days, he felt very much alone.
Carloman had always prided himself on knowing the best course. In this case, he knew instinctively that Liutbrand had just outlined it. There were few alternatives. He looked to Boniface and saw his mentor nod.
“Very well, King Liutbrand,” Carloman said when they returned. “Trudi will marry Aistulf. I will send an armed guard to ensure her safe return. But know this, should you break faith, I will hound you no matter how ‘full’ my hands are. There will be no invasion of the Holy See, and the pope is not to be touched.”
King Liutbrand bowed. “It is the least I can do for family.”
***
Trudi rose before dawn to find their camp already beginning to wake. A makeshift breakfast was being prepared. Two of Pippin’s men had begun to strike tents and stow packs.
“Plenty of time,” she said to herself, rubbing her hands together to ward off the chill. She rolled up her small bed rug and gathered her cache of herbs. A twinge of guilty pleasure nestled itself in her stomach, and she caught herself grinning stupidly. She hurried outside the tent. Stopping only to light a small taper in one of the camp’s smoldering fires, Trudi walked to the river alone.
She waved to the pickets standing guard, pointed to a large cluster of trees to indicate her intentions, and, receiving nods, found a place to pee privately. When she finished, she quietly moved deeper into the woods. In a small clearing well hidden by trees, she spread her rug on the ground. She placed the lit taper carefully on a broad, flat stone and drew from her cache a twig with dried leaves. She touched the leaves to the taper and watched them catch fire. Leaning forward, she inhaled the smoke and held it in as Sunni had taught her. The smoke seemed to seep into her body through her lungs. After several repetitions, she ground out the burning twig and the taper and let the darkness subsume her.
When her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, Trudi stepped back to her rug, took off her robe, and stood naked in the clearing. Feeling foolish and somewhat giddy, she knelt, sat back on her heels, and folded herself into the S shape that Sunni had shown her. She laid her arms alongside her legs with her hands facing up beside her feet. She touched her forehead to the ground.
“What is here is everywhere,” she intoned. Nearby, the river lapped the shore, and she slowed her breathing to match its rhythm. She let her thoughts drift, imagining herself at the edge of the river, water lapping quietly over her body in small, warm, soothing waves. In moments, she was afloat, the current carrying her along its path. Then she was the current, its power flowing through her body and driving her further downstream.
“We are of the earth,” Sunni had told her. “All the power and substance of the earth is here within us. It is in all things. What is here is everywhere. What is not here is not at all.” When Trudi had looked puzzled, Sunni had explained. “The earth gives our bodies sustenance. We eat and drink her bounty every day. Everything that makes up the earth is within us. This is also true of the earth’s power. All that sustains us: the plants and animals that nourish and clothe us, the trees and stone that provide our shelter, the sacred water that sates our thirst are alive. The earth gives us the spark of life, and in that spark, we are connected to everything.”
With Sunni’s help, Trudi had become conscious of that power. She spent every evening in Sunni’s chambers preparing for her fertility rite, attempting to sense the earth’s spark, and becoming aware of the life in all things. Her sessions always began with water and its flow. Only once had Trudi made the transition between feeling her body in the current and being the current. But Sunni had said that was enough. It only took the one time to be conscious. It should be easy to return, now that she knew.
Other than her fertility rite of passage, the two had not had time to go further in her instruction. There were more levels, Sunni had told her. Trudi was only an initiate. Although she had become conscious, she had not yet unde
rstood her connection through time. After that came the sacred act of creation.
Knowing she had limited time for her meditation, Trudi released the power of the current from her mind. But instead of returning to her place on the shore, she found herself hovering in the mist over the water. Trudi let herself float in its upward-drafting currents and eddies.
Curious, she let her mind shift and became the mist. She drifted high in the air above the river. Looking down, she could see the pickets standing guard in the moonlight next to the copse of trees that hid her. Drifting higher, she could see the campfires from their camp. She saw Pippin’s men saddling horses, and when she looked east, she saw the orange glow of the morning sun cresting over the horizon.
“Enough,” she said aloud, trying once more to return to her place on the rug. But again, she found she could not return. She stayed with the dawn and felt its warmth wafting over the horizon. The heat lifted her higher still, and soon she looked down on the earth from a great distance. The surrounding landscape fanned out beneath her on both sides of the river. She could see the deep forests to the north and east and far in the distance, the River Rhine. To the northeast, she saw the Quierzy Road. To the south, their path wound through fertile countryside and farmland as far as she could see. It led through Reims and Châlon sur Marne into the heart of Burgundy.
Attempting to see more, Trudi stretched to climb even higher, venturing near the small wisps of cloud high in the morning sky.
“Trudi?” Trudi teetered and fell the great distance back to earth. Her mind reeled back inside her head. Someone was near. Very near. Disoriented, she tried to pull herself up. She scrambled to find her robe.
“Trudi,” Pippin said again. This time more softly. He was standing in the clearing, holding out her robe for her. “I think this is what you’re looking for.”
Trudi looked up at her brother. Thankfully, he was alone. Despite her initial embarrassment, something about Pippin struck her as odd.
He stood several paces away, holding out her robe in front of him like a curtain to block out her nudity. When she took a step forward, he took one backward. And he clearly had no idea what to do with his eyes. One second he’d avert them, and the next she’d catch him peeking at her breasts.
“Pippin,” she chided him. His expression was a cross between shameful curiosity and a plea to her for assistance.
Trudi couldn’t help laughing. He looked so helpless using her robe as a shield. His battle armor only added to the irony. She put one hand over her mouth in an attempt to control herself, but her giggling continued. Taking pity on him, she took the two steps between them, turned, and slipped her arms into the robe. She pulled the robe around her and cinched the belt. She allowed herself one more giggle before turning to meet his eyes.
“So how long were you standing there?” she asked.
“Not long.” As Trudi bent to roll up her rug and pick up her herbs, her brother kept talking, filling the silence she left between them. “We started to break camp, and I came looking for you. The pickets said you had been in here for quite a while. I thought something had happened. And then I found you like this,” he said, motioning to the ground where he had found her. “Trudi, what were you doing?”
“Nothing worth the worry on your face, brother.” Trudi smiled. “But thank you for coming to my rescue.” She kissed him on the cheek and started for the edge of the clearing.
“Seriously, Trudi.” Pippin hadn’t moved. “What were you doing?”
Trudi never missed a step. “There are some things, my dear brother, that a man should never ask a woman. This,” she said, “is one of them.”
***
Carloman struggled for composure. Boniface was not giving him a chance to grieve. When Carloman refused to leave the side of his father’s corpse, the bishop had brought the realm’s nobles to the vestibule, insisting that further delay would undermine Carloman’s strength and leadership. Carloman, however, did not feel very strong, and he was sure that he didn’t look much like a leader. After King Liutbrand, Theudoald was next into the chapel. He arrived with two Neustrians: Ragomfred the Younger, son of Charles’s early nemesis, and a tall gray-haired man named Maurice, whom Carloman had always respected for his acumen as a merchant. Carloman was, in fact, surprised to find Maurice in this company.
Theudoald strode through the chapel with the gait of a man taking charge. His blue coat and breeches were impeccably clean. Tapered at the waist in the latest fashion, they gave him the look of someone incredibly fit. He also wore a white shirt with a lace collar. This, too, was a new trend among the nobles at court. As he approached the casket, Theudoald pulled a perfumed handkerchief from his sleeve to ward off the smell of the corpse. The man did not kneel or bow or pray next to Charles’s casket. He regarded the body briefly and turned his back on it to face Carloman and Boniface.
Johann, with hand on the pommel of his sword, stood in his way.
“My respects, Carloman,” Theudoald said over the young knight’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” Carloman said, nodding to his protector. Johann gave way.
“Of course, Charles’s death raises a number of questions worthy of discussion,” Theudoald said.
“Confronting death always does,” Carloman said.
For just a moment, Theudoald seemed confused by this response, but he plunged on.
“The first revolves around the division of the kingdom into three parts.” Carloman looked at the man, as if recognizing him for the first time. This, too, distracted the nobleman, but again he continued. “Historically, there is precedent for this, of course. There have been mayors of Austrasia, Neustria, and Burgundy before, but never has Neustria been split in such a fashion. Neustria is the key to power in the kingdom. Even Charles understood that. Although he was my grandfather’s bastard son, he knew that his power stemmed from combining the might of Austrasia and Neustria. He spent seven years fighting to control both of them.”
Carloman’s eyes searched out Ragomfred. He understood the reason Theudoald had brought the nobleman along. The young man’s father had been the architect of the Neustrian resistance to Charles. The implied threat of their combined interests was obvious.
“Despite your father’s dramatic show at the assembly,” Theudoald continued, “the current division of the kingdom cannot stand. It is clearly the work of that witch Sunnichild. She manipulated your father to benefit Gripho and her family’s power. The result is an abomination. Aligning the northern end of Neustria to Alemannia and Thuringia is like mating a prize horse with a dog. The match won’t take. The boy’s too young to be mayor, and Neustria should be ruled by someone who can protect its interests.”
“And you, I am sure, have thoughts about who that should be,” Boniface said.
Theudoald looked to Carloman. “I’m not here to bargain, boy. Split the kingdom in thirds. Leave Neustria whole and to me. You take Austrasia, let Pippin have Burgundy, and we’ll divide up the rest of the pieces later.”
“You laid your hands between Gripho’s just days ago,” Carloman said.
“Don’t be naïve. Do you want civil war? I have the troops.” He nodded to Ragomfred. “I have the resources.” He nodded to Maurice. “And I have the legitimacy that your father could only dream of. I am the grandson of Plectrude and Pippin of Herstal, not a bastard son. I was named mayor before Charles seized my grandfather’s treasure and lay siege to the kingdom. I will be mayor of Neustria. Your choice lies with how. My way, everyone gets what he wants except the witch’s son. Any other way, and there will be war. And if there is, I may not just settle for Neustria. I’ve got just as much Austrasian blood as you.”
“My father made his wishes clear,” Carloman said, looking at the casket. “I see no need to renounce them.”
“Your father took my rightful place as mayor and took the throne as if he were king,” Theudoald said. “I mean to right both wrongs. Join me in this, and we will have peace. Oppose me, and I will make my claim with ir
on.”
Boniface stepped in. “This is a time of great family grief, and Pippin is away on campaign. Perhaps you could wait a few days until he arrives and can be consulted.”
“You have until the funeral.”
Carloman fought to clear his head. He tried to count the number of nobles who might back Theudoald. When he reached a dozen, he stopped counting. Looking at Ragomfred, he saw nothing but anger in the young man’s face. Clearly, the son had inherited the family’s feud from the father. Theudoald was not bluffing, thought Carloman. No one was bluffing today. Carloman’s eyes sought out his father’s casket. He felt his face flush with embarrassment. If there was going to be a bluff, he realized, it would have to be his own.
“That’s a nice coat,” Carloman said to Theudoald without looking up.
The noble looked at him warily. “Thank you,” he said.
“I would hate to have to bury you in it.”
Theudoald stiffened, and Johann took a step forward. Nodding to his two companions, Theudoald strode out of the chapel, much as he had strode in.
***
Outside the doorway to the chapel, Sunni stood in the vestibule. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. She had intended to join Carloman in the chapel, both to grieve for her husband and to participate in the political discussions surrounding Gripho. She knew that no time would lapse between Charles’s death and the political maelstrom about his succession. Frankish nobles were known for their plots and secret deals. “Nary a friend among the Franks,” the saying went. She had seen Theudoald stride into the chapel and had meant to join the discussion with Carloman and Boniface, but some instinct held her back.
When Sunni heard Carloman’s response to Theudoald, she left the shadows and hurried down the hall. Her grief for Charles would have to wait. She had too much to do in too little time. She had messages to send, clothes to pack, and as she made her way back to her chambers, she, too, started counting nobles. She didn’t stop at twelve.
Anvil of God Page 11
