Anvil of God

by J. Boyce Gleason

  He next threw himself into commanding the siege. No report was of too little consequence for his attention. First he dealt with Father Daniel’s followers, “the Faithful,” as they now called themselves. Their presence once had bolstered his belief in the righteousness of his war with Gripho. But their numbers continued to grow while Carloman’s supplies grew short. He had put them on half rations to protect the food supply. The Faithful protested, demanding that Carloman keep them nourished. They seemed to care little for his explanations of siege warfare.

  The Knights in Christ were equally furious with his decision, insisting that the Faithful be cut off entirely from food distribution. But Carloman had no intention of fulfilling their request. He would not abandon those committed to his cause in Christ, especially after the visit from Boniface.

  He sent troops as far as Soissons to requisition new provisions.

  Discipline was also becoming a problem. Without combat to keep them occupied, the men grew restless. Carloman ordered twice the usual number of daily drills and had his captains regularly inspect the men and their equipment. Exhausted men were less likely to grumble, and Carloman didn’t care to hear any more grumbling.

  Disease, too, had struck. Daily, Carloman received reports of those newly dead or too sick to serve. The list grew longer each day. Carloman forced himself to read through the names, absorbing their losses like body blows.

  The fate of the siege, it seemed to him, had been reversed. Famine and disease were supposed to ravage those inside the walls, not outside them. Carloman took this as yet another sign of God’s displeasure.

  The cost of the siege was growing with each day, and thanks to Heden’s destruction of the catapults, the wall’s demolition could take twice as long as he had planned. Every day, Carloman climbed up the hill to the wall in hopes of seeing some sign of its imminent collapse. He always returned disappointed.

  He often met Pippin there. Despite his brother’s admonitions, Carloman was reassured by the presence of his younger brother. In some ways, his brother was—as he always had been—at home on campaign. Carloman would find Pippin laughing with the soldiers, poking fun at one man’s scar or teasing another about the size of his penis. The men were drawn to him. Pippin was relaxed, confident, and fearless—qualities that the men respected and Carloman envied.

  But something had changed. Pippin had surprised him by supporting Trudi in her decision to marry Odilo. More surprising still was Pippin’s condemnation of the siege against Gripho. And he was furious over Carloman’s agreement with the Church to raise a Merovingian to be king.

  “Father would never support that,” he had said. “And I won’t support it either.”

  Pippin was no enemy—they shared the same blood and the same faith—but his younger brother was becoming a force to consider.

  Carloman’s thoughts returned to the concern on Drogo’s face. “Yes, son. I’m fine,” he had said. But he wasn’t. He had abandoned, and been abandoned by, his Shepherd. He was lost. He could no longer see the way or walk in the light. The state of grace eluded him.

  Atone. Boniface’s words haunted him. He must atone.

  12

  Pursuit

  Bradius awoke the day after the beating, wincing with pain. Spying his clothes folded on a chair in the corner, he struggled out of bed, hobbled across the room, and stepped into his pantaloons. He could see but not clearly. One eye was swollen shut, and the other, although partially open, watered relentlessly. Bruises covered most of his body, and his left hand was so swollen it looked like a cow’s udder. When he tried to wriggle his fingers, they moved, but pain shot down his arm. Two of his teeth were missing, both on the upper right side of his mouth.

  Trudi. He had to find her. A wave of nausea passed over him. He needed to sit down.

  Myrna appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  Bradius raised his hand to cut her off. He had trouble forming the word “Don’t—” before continuing to dress.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she said. “Look at you. You can barely stand.”

  Bradius ignored her.

  Myrna’s voice softened. “They would have come here anyway, Bradius. They would have found her without me.”

  He said nothing. She had set them up to be captured. She had betrayed him.

  “You and I both know who she is.” Myrna shifted to anger. “I don’t understand why you were protecting her. What is she to you?”

  He continued to dress.

  “Have you forgotten what they did to you? Have you forgotten what her family did to Unum?”

  “It wasn’t her.”

  “It was her brother. How can you let your boy’s death go unanswered?”

  “Unum is buried. You’ve no right to dig him up.” Bradius picked up his sword belt and fumbled to put it around his waist.

  “You’re in no condition,” Myrna pleaded. “You can’t possibly do anything for her.”

  Bradius glared at her through his swollen eyes. Myrna tried to meet them but again had to look away. He fumbled with his belt. His hands were useless. After a painful minute, Myrna took his hands away. She adjusted the sword and scabbard for him and cinched the belt. She made him sit down on the chair and knelt to pick up his boots. One by one, she put them on and laced them. When she was done, she stood, picked up his cloak, and held it out for him. Tears filled her eyes. With some effort, he stood and shrugged himself into the garment. She picked up his saddlebag and lifted it over his shoulder. He winced. Surveying the room, he assured himself that he had all his belongings.

  Myrna’s eyes pleaded with him. He returned nothing but anger.

  Sighing, she looked down, drew a solidus and several denarii from her pocket, and put them into the pocket of his cloak. She walked to the door, opened it, and stood aside to let him pass.

  Without a backward glance, he walked past her. She let him get outside before breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

  “Don’t you want to know where they went?”

  He stopped on the landing, his back to her.

  “North, along the Roman road,” she offered.

  He turned.

  “Forgive me.” She began to cry.

  “Myrna.”

  “No. You must forgive me, Bradius. I made a mistake. I didn’t know. I can’t take it back. But I am truly sorry. I didn’t understand how important this was. Forgive me,” she said. “Please, Bradius.”

  Bradius reached out to touch her cheek. Myrna leapt into his arms, sobbing.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

  “I am, too,” he whispered and left.

  ***

  Trudi found a trail up the mountain and pushed her warhorse throughout the day to gain some distance from the Lombards. It was a grueling pace, but she wanted to reach Wissembourg by nightfall. There, at least, she could have a hot meal and sleep in a bed. The effort, however, was taking its toll. She was lightheaded, exhausted, and her shoulder racked with pain. During the latter part of the day, she cradled her arm, praying that the wound would not reopen.

  She rode into Wissembourg with the sun setting behind her. It was a small city with only one main street. She found a house with a sign out front that pictured a bed and knocked on the door to ask for a room. A gentle maiden lady took her in, paid a boy out front to stable Trudi’s horse, and poured her a bath. She helped Trudi undress and gasped at her injury. The woman’s face grew hard.

  “A man did this.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Trudi nodded.

  “You’re trying to get away.”

  Again Trudi nodded.

  “You will be safe with me.” The older woman doted on her like a child, helping her to bathe and to dress, then taking her downstairs for a meal of hot lamb stew and mead. As soon as it was finished, she insisted that Trudi get to bed. She even brought in an extra blanket and tucked her in. Trudi was so touched by the woman that her eyes welled with emotion at the
gesture.

  The next morning, Trudi couldn’t bear to face the road again. She succumbed to the woman’s urging to stay for the noonday meal before heading down the mountain into the Rhine Valley. She told Trudi where to find a ferryman to cross the river and gave her a stout coat to fend off the cold.

  The delay, however, was a mistake. Voices drifted on the wind behind her. Pausing to be sure, she heard the familiar clank of armor and knew, somehow, the Lombard soldiers had tracked her east. Damning herself for her carelessness, Trudi picked up her pace.

  She thought about using the same tactics Bradius had employed to elude Pippin but quickly rejected the idea. Her only possible path of escape was speed. Any backtracking or subterfuge would allow the soldiers to cut off her only route of escape. She would have to outrun, not elude, her pursuers.

  Her best chance was to obtain passage across the Rhine before the Lombards could catch her. She climbed a small hill to look down over the valley and was stunned by the size of the river. It was ten times the size of the rivers she knew.

  To the south was the fishing village where the ferry would be. If she could reach it first, they would have to wait for the ferry’s return before resuming the chase.

  She spurred her warhorse and drove him hard over the rugged terrain. Speed was difficult in many places; the road often didn’t allow for more than a walk. In some spots, she had to dismount to guide her horse over the broken landscape. Even where the path was even, it meandered, making it difficult to give her horse its head. She made no effort now to hide her tracks. She couldn’t afford the time.

  The weather began to warm as the day progressed. Sweat dripped from her forehead into her eyes, making them sting and tear. Trudi rubbed them, using the cloth from her sling. The path began to improve, and she spurred her mount for more speed. She stole a glance behind. Although she saw no riders, she knew they were still behind her.

  As the road turned toward the river, no trees remained to protect her from view. She turned back to gauge the distance from her pursuers. Her eyes caught a glint of sunlight off metal far up the road. They’re too close, she thought. I won’t have enough time to cross the river. All her instincts screaming, she spurred her horse and sprinted toward the river. She crossed into the open landscape, knowing she would be seen.

  She was. Shouts echoed in the distance.

  She reached the river and turned south, looking for the ferry across the Rhine. Her horse’s breath became labored. His nose was full of froth. I’m not going to make it. She passed into the small fishing village and stopped to look back. Soldiers appeared on the road behind her, twenty or more, black against the reddish brown landscape. They turned toward her.

  Up ahead, she saw the ferry, a broad, flat raft capable of holding ten horses. Buoyed by empty barrels and long pontoons, it was held against the current by a long rope, anchored on both shores, which passed through the eyeholes of three large posts on the ferry’s north end.

  She pulled up alongside the ferry and searched for the ferryman. She found him in a small shack with four stout men playing dice. A large, balding man with brown cracked teeth, he stank of fish. The men looked up briefly at her entrance and then returned to their game.

  “I need passage,” she said.

  “Have to wait,” he said. “One woman and horse, not much fare.”

  “I’ll pay double,” Trudi said.

  The ferryman looked up at her curiously and then shook his head.

  “Nah.” He went back to his dice.

  “Triple,” she said.

  Again the ferryman looked up. This time his eyes squinted in her direction. “And a denarius tip for the men.”

  “Done. But we have to leave now.”

  The ferrymen scrambled to their feet while Trudi made partial payment on her passage. Making their way outside, the ferrymen began to untie the craft from its mooring while Trudi led her horse onto its deck.

  “Hurry!” she called. Looking north to gauge the progress of the Lombards’ pursuit, she saw them clearly with dust billowing behind them as they bore down on the village. “Hurry!” Trudi urged, her eyes still on the soldiers.

  “Trouble?” the ferryman asked. “I’ll need an extra denarius from the looks of those soldiers. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “I’ll give you two if we leave now.” Trudi glared at the man. He nodded to his men, and the ferry moved out into the river.

  It was painstakingly slow. The ferry dragged in the Rhine’s current. The men pulled on the rope, straining under its weight. They had gone no more than a third of the way across when the Lombards reached the bank of the river. She could see them clearly, their horses lathered and the men frustrated. Trudi walked to the edge of the deck. She recognized Aistulf among them.

  “Ferryman!” the prince of the Lombards called out. “Ferryman, bring her back, and I’ll double your fare!”

  “Triple!” called the ferryman to Trudi’s shock.

  “Done.” Even from this distance, Trudi could see the smug look on Aistulf’s face.

  The ferrymen stopped pulling on their rope and began to reposition themselves to haul the ferry back to the western shore.

  “Sorry, miss.” The ferryman smiled down on her with his brown teeth. “Money is money.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Trudi said, pulling her hand out of her sling. She patted her horse’s neck and sighed. “We almost made it, didn’t we, boy?”

  The ferryman turned away from her to supervise his men. As soon as his back was turned, Trudi pulled her sword from the scabbard on her horse’s saddle. Moving it to the left side of her body, she took three steps to reach the western side of the ferry and swung the sword at the taught ferry rope.

  “Stop!” the ferryman cried. Several of the men let go of the rope and moved toward her.

  The rope held. Trudi swung again. This time, she threw her weight into it. Her shoulder lanced with pain, but the blow was true. The rope snapped, flinging one end west into the river and the other east, slithering through the eyeholes that held the ferry to the rope. It moved with amazing force. Two of the men holding the end closest to her were thrown overboard. The two others were quick enough to wrap the retreating rope around the middle post, straining against the burn as the rope passed through their hands.

  Grunting with the effort, they called for help. The ferrymen leapt to the rope, trying to anchoring it to the boat’s remaining pivot. The craft swept downstream with the current, arcing steadily toward the eastern shore.

  “I’ll kill you!” the ferryman shouted, anger contorting his face. He spat in her direction and then turned back to his struggle with the rope.

  “A deal made fast is a deal made.” Trudi tossed the agreed upon balance on the deck of the ferry. With an effort, she mounted her horse and turned it to face the fast approaching eastern bank of the Rhine. Just before it reached the bank, she spurred the horse forward and leapt to land.

  Her horse skittered up the bank, struggling to find footing. Seconds after Trudi’s mount found firm ground, the ferry slammed into the bank, splintering its pontoons and shattering its barrel floats. One of the ferrymen threw himself into the water to secure the raft to shore.

  Trudi turned her horse east and spurred its flanks. On impulse, she looked back to her pursuers across the river. Spying Aistulf, Trudi waved and smiled. The prince of the Lombards merely shook his head and waved back.

  ***

  Trudi purchased provisions and headed east toward Canstatt. She figured that without a ferry, Aistulf would lose a day trying to get across the river. She imagined that he would waste more time searching for some news of her passing.

  To use that time to her advantage, she asked for alternative routes east, and finding one, struck out before night fell. She walked her horse through streams to hide her tracks and backtracked in an attempt to throw off her pursuit. She didn’t think it would buy her much time, but she needed to do something.

  It was getting late. The moon had waned i
n the past few days and could no longer light her path. She needed a safe place to sleep. A footpath off the road to her left led to a small lake nestled among trees. She dismounted and walked her horse along the trail until it reached the water. Still visible from the road, Trudi continued to search for a good place to hide. She led her horse through a dense outcrop of underbrush and around a series of large boulders to reach a secluded stream flowing out of the lake.

  After tethering her horse in a spot shaded by several tall oak trees, she knelt next to the stream and drank her fill of the cool water flowing through it. Using one of her sacks as a pillow, she lay down beneath the trees. Her eyes followed the trunks skyward. They reached up into the evening light like hands trying to grasp the firmament. Birds chirped and flitted from branch to branch above her.

  She hadn’t realized how tired she was. The threat of capture was so intense that it had kept her going long into the day. Now she could barely keep her eyes open. She rested them, listening to the birds overhead and to the water flowing softly into the pool beside her. She didn’t even notice falling asleep.

  Groaning in her discomfort, she rolled away from her wounded shoulder and got to her knees. The sun had moved back across the sky. She must have slept through the night and half the morning. Pushing herself upright, she chastised herself for losing so much time. She packed her gear, watered her horse, and started to retrace her steps back to the road.

  When she had reached the boulders near the lake, the bark of a man’s laugh cut through the quiet. Trudi froze in place, straining to concentrate on the sound. She heard several voices, all men. Trying to stay low and out of sight, she made her way to the boulders and hid herself behind the largest of them. She could hear the men clearly now but couldn’t see them.

  “Why do you care?” a growling voice asked.

  “Don’t matter to me,” a second voice replied. It had a nasal quality to it that, excepting the accent, made Trudi think of Pippin’s man Arnot. “I do what they tell me. But it seems crazy spending all this time searching for a girl. We could have been back on the peninsula for all the time we’ve spent here.”