Anvil of God

by J. Boyce Gleason

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Heden draw reins. Something had taken the man’s attention. He was looking toward the city. With a short punch of his shield, Carloman stunned the man fighting him and dispatched him with a thrust of his sword. Carloman turned to see what Heden had seen.

  The Franks were under attack from the rear. Sweat leapt from Carloman’s face as he realized that his charge to save Drogo had effectively split his cavalry in two. A line of knights had followed him around the flank while his main force had turned to face the threat from the rear. Heden could see it. And he was redirecting half his force to the flank—to cut Carloman off from the rest of his own cavalry.

  Carloman said a short prayer and spurred his horse forward to Drogo’s position. With Heden’s force redirected, he met little resistance reaching the boy. The two joined forces. Carloman nodded quickly to Johann. Johann saluted.

  “Father!” Drogo said, clearly glad to see him.

  “Form a line!” Carloman shouted, searching the battlefield for an advantage.

  Carloman smiled at his son reassuringly. “Learn anything?” he asked.

  “I won’t do that again,” the boy replied.

  Carloman returned his attention to the Thuringians. Heden had succeeded in breaking the cavalry into two parts and was forming a line to advance on their position.

  On this part of the battlefield, Carloman realized, the Franks were outnumbered.

  “Stay with Johann!” he called to Drogo and spurred to rally his left flank.

  ***

  The sounds of battle had always struck Heden as uniquely macabre. Most people could recognize myriad sounds from their daily lives: water from a brook spilling into a pool, fire crackling through a wet log, a horse’s hooves clopping against hard earth. No one had to see these things to know what they were.

  Soldiers knew sounds of a whole different kind: arrows puncturing lungs, swords cleaving arms, pikes penetrating horseflesh. These were catalogued alongside the death rattle of a man’s lungs, the scream of a soldier being mortally wounded, and the whimper of a man seeing death come for him. Heden knew those sounds all too well. He had heard them throughout his life. He heard them now. The opposing cavalry lines came together with a sickening crunch. The crux of the battle had begun.

  The Franks fought well. They were disciplined and methodical. They didn’t panic over being isolated on the battlefield. They simply bent to the task of fighting a larger force. Heden wondered how much longer he would have. Gripho’s Neustrians had attacked the Franks’ rear guard in a ragged formation and hadn’t the numbers to succeed. All Heden could hope for was a sustained fight that kept the bulk of the Frankish force occupied while he went for Drogo. The stark truth settled on him like a shroud; there was no other choice. It was either Carloman or the boy. He made for the boy’s position.

  Heden’s cavalry line had disintegrated, and the battle had become a melee. Heden charged the Frankish knight before him and surprised the man by slashing the neck of his horse before they engaged. The steed collapsed, throwing its rider forward and off balance. Heden slammed the man with his shield and knocked him to the ground.

  Heden thrust his sword into the face of a second knight who leaned backward to avoid the blade. Heden lifted his wrist to shift the weight of the blade. He sliced upward with it and brought its edge down on the man’s exposed thigh. The Frank screamed and pulled forward, just as Heden thrust again, catching him in the stomach. The blade caught there, temporarily leaving Heden exposed.

  He warded off a blow from his right by throwing his shield over his right arm to protect his shoulder. A second blow fell, followed by a third. He yanked frantically at his blade until it came free. Then he turned to face his attacker. His horse sensed his newfound liberty and surged into the attack. Heden held his shield high above his head and thrust his sword beneath it, disguising the blow and catching his assailant’s armpit before the man could react.

  Heden had always excelled in melee, in part because he was a good horseman. He could feel his horse tense for the next attack and knew by the way it shifted where his enemy would be. It was not unusual for Heden to thrust his sword in one direction and extract it to counter a blow from another.

  Two Frankish knights assailed him at once. He retreated, backing his warhorse up to gain space, and then spurring it forward and to the left. This had the effect of positioning both of his attackers to his right, one behind the other. The ploy, however, cost him dearly. The closest knight cut Heden’s right leg deeply when he passed. Heden punched the Frank with the pommel of his sword and shoved him off his horse. Gritting his teeth to fight through the pain, Heden pressed forward.

  ***

  Pippin allowed time for a hasty reunion between the Compte and his daughter back at the inn. He had hoped that the meeting would lift Bertrada’s spirits. She had been cool to Pippin since Carloman had hung the Thuringian boy. She seemed to hold it against him somehow, as if he had been the one holding the rope.

  The Compte too, seemed to blame Pippin for Carloman’s siege. He railed for half an hour over the lives lost and the damage done in his city. When Pippin explained his strategy for stopping it, the Compte dismissed his plan out of hand.

  “That won’t stop Carloman. Perhaps you might have convinced him before the siege, but not now. Too many lives have been lost. Your plan, however, might save my city. All Carloman wants is Gripho’s head on a pike. If you walk out with him, Carloman might end the siege and leave Laon to bind its wounds. For that, alone, I’d take you inside the wall.”

  Bertrada saw them off. Pippin watched as his lover kissed her father on both cheeks and then hugged him to her breast.

  “Be careful,” she scolded the man. “I’m not sure how you got into this mess, but I’d consider it a favor if you got yourself out of it.”

  Her father smiled at her warmly and winked.

  She kissed Pippin on the cheek.

  “I’m doing the right thing,” he blurted. She ignored him and shifted her attention to Childebrand and Gunther. They, too, received little in the way of warmth. She offered each her hand and then curtsied. They had just been dismissed.

  Once outside, Pippin and his men mounted their horses and rode east toward the farmhouse with the wine cellar and their tunnel into the city. The Compte de Laon moved alongside Pippin’s, and the two rode in silence for some distance.

  “You’ve got some work to do, young man,” he said.

  “Oh, I think Sunni will see the wisdom in this,” Pippin said.

  “I meant Bertrada, you oaf.”

  Pippin’s face reddened. He looked away.

  “You’d have to be blind not to see it,” the Compte continued. “And I know her well enough to know that she won’t get over it with time.”

  “But it’s nonsense! I had nothing to do with it.” Pippin said it more loudly than he had anticipated.

  “So I understand. But your family has a history, a rather violent one. I was there to see a good deal of it myself. My family,” he waved toward the walled city of Laon to their east, “benefited from it.

  “But to Bertrada, that history is nothing more than a few ancient stories she’s heard embellished over the years at fireside. Petr’s execution,” the Compte shook his head sadly, “made all those stories real for her. She is not sure she wants to be part of a family like that.”

  “Ruling is not always a gentle art,” Pippin said, quoting his father.

  “Nor does it require murdering children,” the Compte said. “For some time, my daughter has been enjoying the company of a pleasant, young, and very wealthy nobleman named Pippin. Now she has to confront the reality that he is part of a family legacy. And that legacy has often been violent and cruel, and it dates back generations.”

  “My family has also brought peace and order,” Pippin said. “We have protected the kingdom from invasion after invasion. We have fought back the Vikings, the Goths, the Saxons, and the Saracen. We have made the roads safe for
travel and used the king’s edict to establish a rule of law. If we did not rule, who would?”

  The Compte held up his hand. “You don’t have to defend your family to me. You have to defend it to her. And because I like you, I’ll give you a piece of advice. Don’t talk to her about the Vikings and the Goths and the benefits of your family’s rule, as important as those things are. Speak to her about what kind of ruler you are.”

  “I’m not sure I know yet.”

  “Yes you do. Or I wouldn’t be taking you back through this tunnel.”

  Pippin wished he shared the man’s confidence.

  The day was waning rapidly when they arrived at the farmhouse. They quickly stabled their horses and moved to the wine cellar. The Compte led them past the hundreds of wine casks and through the trick door, down the long, narrow tunnel, through the small door, up the staircase to his treasure room.

  Childebrand whistled at the size of the Compte’s treasure trove. Pippin hurried them through the room and up the stairs to the tunnel and then to the villa.

  The Compte led them through his villa into his personal quarters. They encountered few servants, and Pippin doubted that they had been recognized.

  Childebrand whistled again, this time at the villa’s sumptuous décor. The Compte chuckled in response and thanked him for the compliment. The view from his rooms faced the north, away from the battle, but the Compte closed the curtains anyway, fearing someone would discover their presence. Before he left, he made a point of shaking Pippin’s hand. “Good luck, son.”

  In a rush of feeling, Pippin embraced the man, and then the Compte was gone.

  ***

  From her balcony, Sunni watched with alarm as Heden took the field on his second sortie. It wasn’t until she saw the ragged Neustrian charge that she understood her lover’s strategy. Even then, she recognized it for what it was—desperate.

  Heden and Carloman had moved their cavalries across the battlefield like giant chess pieces throughout the afternoon. Carloman played a patient game of strength, Heden, an endless game of feints and traps, always hoping to tempt his opponent into a mistake that might even the odds. Sunni’s heart leapt when Carloman split his cavalry to protect Drogo’s square. She cheered when Heden moved to take advantage.

  Heden fought with passion, his horse moving with grace and purpose while his blade arced and thrust in a flurry of blows. He dispatched knight after knight. Sunni gave a short cry when Heden lost his shield. But he quickly replaced it with his short sword and continued the fight unabated.

  His killing spree now had a purpose, Sunni realized. Heden cut a path directly to Drogo. Tears streamed down her face. She understood Heden’s need. The battle was desperate and nearly lost. Yet the horror of the past few weeks overwhelmed her. The cost was already too high, far higher than she ever imagined. And she was responsible. Her stubborn refusal to jettison her son’s rights had brought her and Heden to this place.

  She could see Drogo clearly from her balcony. Johann was with him. The blond knight wheeled his horse furiously to fend off attackers. Sunni understood Heden’s point that Drogo was on the battlefield to kill and so could be killed in turn, but in her heart, Drogo was the young boy she had seen in parley, the one with the innocent wave and the embarrassed smile.

  Sunni turned her eyes to Heden. Even from her balcony, his fury was evident. His hair and mustache flew around him in a whirlwind as he howled in incoherent rage. His blades seemed part of him, descending and plunging with precision and skill. He cut through knight after knight in successive fury, dodging and pivoting on his warhorse. Soon, there were only two Franks left between Heden and Drogo. Both attacked Heden at once. One of them was Johann.

  Across the battlefield, the Neustrian line collapsed, and Sunni grasped at the wall. I could lose them both, she thought. Despite the fading daylight, Sunni found her son. He was attempting to organize a retreat to the gate. Several knights had clustered near him. They battled fiercely, working their way to the wall. Her relief, however, was short-lived. His retreat had left Heden and his men alone. The bulk of the Frankish cavalry turned back to the Thuringians. Heden’s cavalry was caught between two Frankish lines. There was no way back.

  Sunni’s knees were trembling. Carloman was again racing to reach Drogo. She watched as the two men closed on his position, leaving a wake of dead in their paths.

  With his short sword, Heden deflected a two-handed, overhand blow from the first knight. It glanced off Heden’s blade and cut into his shoulder. Heden screamed with rage at the wound and hurled a sweeping blow with his long sword. The blade caught his foe just below the ear. Gore splattered them both. His horse wheeled protectively, turning Heden to face his attacker. It was Johann. Swords rang as Johann pressed his advantage. The horses wheeled again. Johann struck a blow, just above the waist. Heden hunched over in his saddle, his sword pointing out awkwardly before him. Johann charged again. Heden didn’t move. Just as Johann’s mount reached him, Heden pulled his horse to the side and lunged, impaling the blond knight on his broadsword. It ran Johann through. Heden had to struggle to push Johann off his blade.

  Drogo was alone. Heden spurred to close the distance between them. Drogo hesitated. Heden’s speed accelerated.

  Sunni doubted Carloman would reach Drogo in time. Heden was nearly on the boy, and Carloman was a good fifteen horse-lengths away.

  At last, Drogo spurred to face the threat, but his attack lacked momentum.

  “No!” Sunni screamed from the wall. “Please, Heden, no.”

  Drogo swung his blade in a high overhand arc. Surprisingly, Heden did not strike. Instead, he crossed his two swords and caught Drogo’s blade between them. With the pommel of his long sword, Heden slammed a backhanded blow to the side of Drogo’s head, knocking the boy off his horse. Drogo lay on the ground vulnerable. He looked up at Heden, waiting for the deathblow.

  Heden ignored him and turned to wait for Carloman, blood streaming from his shoulder and his side. His hair and mustache were drenched with the gore and sweat of the battle, and his armor was dented and scored. He tried to sit straight, but the wound to his side forced him to hunch over it.

  Sunni wept at his nobility.

  Carloman closed on him with all the power his warhorse could bring, attempting to use his shield as a battering ram.

  With startling speed and grace, Heden moved. His warhorse pranced aside, and Carloman hurtled past. The two turned to face each other again. This time Carloman was more wary. The two horses danced to gain advantage. Their masters exchanged blows and retreated only to close again. Their swords rang together repeatedly into the growing darkness.

  Heden grunted with every blow. Even from her distance, Sunni could see that he was favoring his side. One of Carloman’s blows fell, and Sunni did not hear the clang of a sword blocking it. Carloman backed his horse away from Heden, waiting.

  The Thuringian leaned forward in his saddle. He straightened with significant effort, raised his sword again, and closed on Carloman. Carloman blocked his blow and struck. Again, Sunni heard no clang of sword meeting sword. And again, Carloman backed away.

  Heden was now hunched far over his horse, his head close to the steed’s neck. Slowly, he pulled himself upright. It took much longer this time to raise his sword. Carloman’s horse pranced slightly to the side as its master held the animal in check. Sunni held her breath, wondering what was causing Carloman to wait.

  With military precision, Carloman raised his sword aloft, its point skyward, and touched the blade’s pommel to his forehead, saluting the Thuringian.

  Heden spurred his horse. They closed. Carloman thrust his sword past Heden’s short bade and drove it into the Thuringian’s chest. The momentum of the horses’ charge sent the blade through Heden’s body to the hilt, bringing the two men face to face.

  Sunni howled into the growing darkness. She shook violently as she watched Carloman catch Heden’s slumping body and hold him upright in his saddle. Carloman drew the Thuringian to h
im in an intimate embrace and whispered into his ear. Sunni’s knees gave way as Carloman eased her lover’s body to the ground.

  16

  Endings

  Trudi had collapsed when Bradius fell beneath Aistulf’s sword. She didn’t care if they found her anymore. She didn’t care about anything. She was numb. A man tried to help her up. She shook her head, waving him away.

  “I am a friend of Bradius,” he whispered. Trudi looked up through her tears, astonished. “I saw you fall. I knew it had to be you. You must leave, lass—now!”

  Trudi shook her head. It was too much.

  “By the Sisters, woman. Get to your feet! You must leave this place!” He pulled her up by the armpits and walked her toward the nearest side street. When they had turned the corner, he handed her a knapsack. “Take this to the docks and give it to a man named Heinrich. Use the name ‘Tobias’ and tell him you need a place to hide. I will come and get you after I recover his body.”

  Trudi turned back to look at the square. Aistulf had wiped his sword on Bradius’s shirt. “Go!” Tobias whispered, pushing her down the street. “Find Heinrich.”

  She stumbled away, trying to contain her grief. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be that Bradius was gone. Yet, in her heart, she knew he was. And each time the thought surfaced, she stopped and wept for him. She wanted to pray but didn’t know the pagan words to say.

  Without knowing how, she made it to the river and found the docks. There was a boathouse there run by a disheveled, bearded man in a filthy greatcoat. She asked for Heinrich.

  “Who wants him?”

  Trudi searched for the name. “Tobias.”

  “What does that old badger want now?”

  “I need your help.”

  Heinrich looked her up and down. “You look like it, lass. Come inside.” He took her into the boathouse and had her sit by the stove. “Here.” He gave her a cup of wine. “Not the like stuff Tobias drinks, but it will help.”