Anvil of God

by J. Boyce Gleason

  Sunni went to him and folded herself in his embrace. She was surprised at the great sob that escaped her lips. But as the strength of him enveloped her, Sunni allowed herself to weep openly in his arms. Gunther, Childebrand, and the Compte de Laon could do little but look away.

  When she had composed herself and listened to Pippin’s proposal, she could not help but show her disappointment.

  “It won’t work,” she said.

  “It will.”

  “He’s not going to let you walk out of here with Gripho alive.”

  “But if I give you my oath of protection, he’ll have no choice,” Pippin countered. “He knows I’ll fight to preserve it.”

  “He’s got three thousand soldiers on that field.”

  “He won’t fight me.”

  “He will, Pippin. He’s different.”

  “He will honor my oath.”

  “He honors nothing.”

  Pippin stood and crossed the room, clearly thrown by her intransigence.

  “The world has changed,” she said. “You must change with it.”

  “No,” Pippin replied, with a vehemence she had never seen in him. “I will not change. If I don’t do this, I am complicit in it. Carloman has his reasons for doing this. I don’t agree with them, but he believes he is in the right. Three thousand soldiers can’t make this right. If I don’t do this, there will be no consequence of this betrayal.

  “I am the consequence,” he said, pounding his chest with his fist. “My oath is the consequence. If he insists on taking Gripho, he breaks my oath. If I stand before him, he either comes to his senses and compromises or faces a lifetime of war with me.”

  Pippin’s eyes had grown cold. Sunni shuddered, knowing that this was why men followed him. She thought of how much of Charles lived in his son.

  “We will go with you,” she said. “But know that the man you meet in parley is not the brother you have known.”

  “Who is he then?”

  Sunni matched the coldness of Pippin’s stare. “A monster,” she said.

  ***

  After Pippin had gone, Sunni sent for Gripho. When he arrived, she handed him a cage with pigeons fluttering inside. A large red ribbon hung from its handle.

  “What are these?” he asked.

  She gave him a look that suggested the question was stupid.

  “I mean, what are they for?”

  “They’re to signal our allies of Carloman’s victory.”

  “He hasn’t won.”

  “Yes he has.”

  “We repulsed the best he had yesterday!” Gripho shouted. “We will do it again today.”

  “Heden bested them yesterday. You,” she said, “sacrificed him out of vengeance. Without Heden, we’re finished.” Sunni picked up the pigeon cage and walked outside onto her balcony. Gripho followed. “Ask the simplest soldier you can find,” Sunni said. “He’ll tell you. They all know. You killed our only hope. You’ve abdicated without even realizing it. Carloman still has three thousand knights. We barely have enough men to stand in the breach. We’re done.”

  “I can do this, Mother. I can. There are enough Neustrians left who are loyal. The Thuringians will follow Bart. If we stop Carloman again today, we can negotiate. We came so close yesterday. Give me one more day.”

  “No.” Sunni opened the cage and reached her hand in to secure one of the birds.

  “No!” Gripho shouted, backhanding the cage and sending it to the floor. The violence of the act startled Sunni, but she stared at her son, refusing to be intimidated.

  “Will you sacrifice me next?” she asked. “Will you leave me to die as you left Heden? Will you burn me in effigy as you burned the priest? ‘Your past will betray you,’” she quoted to him. “I know now what that means. You did this to yourself. You brought about the end to your own succession. You’ve lost your place in history. Your power ends here.”

  “No, Mother, you can’t do this. It is my destiny.”

  Sunni picked up the cage. She opened its door and found another bird. “This is your destiny,” she said, letting it go. It hurtled down off the wall and climbed straight up the rampart into the sky. Within moments, it was a speck against the dawn.

  “Please,” Gripho said. He was desperate.

  “You have one chance left,” Sunni said as she released another bird.

  “Anything,” he replied.

  “Pippin is offering his oath of protection against Carloman. He believes Carloman will honor it.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “I see no other choice.” Another bird flew into the morning sky. “We either walk out with Pippin, or Carloman takes us by force. I doubt either of us will survive if we choose Carloman. We have a chance with Pippin.”

  “I don’t need Pippin,” Gripho said as he paced up and down the balcony.

  Sunni released the last of the birds.

  ***

  Rain swept over the battlefield. It was not a cleansing rain that washed over the streets and fields. It was a sodden rain. The dead on the battlefield sank into the muck, becoming indistinguishable from the brackish earth.

  After such a battle, it was commonplace for opposing commanders to offer a truce to clear the battlefield of the dead. Carloman had no intention of letting that happen. He had lost half his army pressing the breach and would not allow the city’s soldiers to repair its wall again. He had to finish the siege today. A delay would drive up the number of men it would take to overcome the breach defenses. And Carloman was already unsure that he had enough to do the job.

  He stood inside the shield wall on his makeshift rampart. His men formed into ranks before the gate. Soldiers were always less willing on the second day of a breach attack. Three new men knelt before him so he could thumb the cross on their foreheads. Again the priest came forward to speak as he had spoken the day before. Father Daniel gave his blessing and offered absolution to those who were about to make war.

  He again raised his sword high above his head to draw their cheers. Although they came, they were muted and lacked luster. Their hearts are not in it, Carloman thought distantly. Nor is mine.

  His attitude perplexed him. The defeat of Heden was honorably done. It paved the way for him to take the city. Surely, Gripho could not mount a comparable defense. But the memory of Heden turning from Drogo to face him haunted Carloman. Heden could have easily killed Drogo.

  Carloman feared the symmetry between life and death. Even the Bible spoke of it. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. You reap what you sow. Heden could have repaid the debt of his son. He could have extracted a heavy toll for taking the city.

  But he didn’t. There was no honor in killing such a man. If anything, Carloman felt shame.

  Looking up, he saw his army standing before him. The priest stared at him quizzically. Carloman realized that they expected him to speak. He had, after all, drawn their attention by raising his sword. Turning away from them to regain his composure, his eyes fell on the battlefield. Thousands of mutilated corpses lay before him on the muddy field. His face flushed in anger. He was furious for being so weak.

  “We must not fail,” he said, almost to himself. Resolve swept through him with a rush of blood. “We will not fail!” he shouted so that all could hear. “The death of our comrades yesterday has paved the way for our victory today.” Several shouts rose from the ranks, but Carloman waved them away.

  “Their deaths were given freely to avenge the desecration of our mother Church. Their deaths were given freely to declare sanctuary for the holy men and women who practice our faith. Their deaths were given freely to ensure that this land of ours remains a haven for those of the true faith!

  “I accept their deaths in God’s name. And I promise you as I promised them, we will not fail!” Murmurs of agreement bubbled from the ranks.

  “Yesterday, I killed the commander of the pagan army.” Cheers answered him. “I accept his death in God’s name.” Carloman paused, his doubts returning. “He was an honora
ble man. And I take no pleasure in killing honorable men.” His voice fell. “I took no pleasure in killing his son.” The blood of innocents. Carloman could feel the quiet expectation of his men. Ruthlessly, he pushed aside his reservations and thrust his sword into the planking at his feet. “But they were not innocents!”

  Shouts of agreement answered him. “They entered the fray as men of free will and took arms against the house of God. I take their life forfeit!” Cheers erupted before him. “I claim their deaths for the Church!” He shook his fist, and the cheers rolled before him into a roar. “Standing before me, they stood against the will of God.

  “His will be done.” Carloman ripped the sword from the planking and raised it above his head. As the men screamed their battle cries, Carloman pointed his sword and signaled for the gates to open.

  ***

  Rain was a bad omen. The day would be troublesome. Sunni was already drenched to the skin and miserable. She hated rain.

  Pippin began arranging his men into formation. Sunni rode on his right with Gripho beside her. Childebrand flanked him on the left and carried his green banner. In the rain, it looked black. Gunther, too, carried a flag, the flag of truce. It, too, was sodden. The rest of Pippin’s twenty men rode behind them. We look so small, Sunni thought.

  Samson also stood with them, though slightly apart from the group, his staff in hand. He had insisted on accompanying her. The lore master had been right to warn her of the night spirits. The ghosts would not let her go. Sunni felt their presence outside the gate and heard them calling to her as if they were still alive. She could not clear her head. She felt trapped between the worlds of the living and dead.

  Despite all her misgivings, Sunni nodded to the guards on the wall, and the gate opened before them. Pippin led. They moved out over the tortured battlefield, navigating between the bodies and barricades.

  The ghosts of the battlefield besieged her. They swarmed around her, their faces frozen in the grimace of death. They called to her, beseeched her, and Sunni did not shrink from them. She would not cower. Silently, she acknowledged them all, recognizing the debt she owed them. In time, they retreated to a respectful distance and allowed her to focus on the living.

  They were midway across the battlefield when a great, roaring shout, the voice of thousands, rose from behind the shield wall. Pippin raised his hand, and his small band halted to await Carloman’s army. The shield wall gate pushed open.

  Sunni was unprepared for the charge of Carloman’s army. A thousand men surged onto the battlefield, their shields raised high above them. Their voices screamed, and their legs pounded across the earth. Their numbers devoured the battlefield with a fury that shook Sunni to her core. How do men stand against such force? She quailed before the sight, every instinct screaming for her to run. Yet Pippin sat on his warhorse unaffected. She clung to his courage like a lifeline. She held herself straight in her saddle, sitting regally next to him despite her certainty that they would be overrun.

  Just as the first of Carloman’s soldiers reached them, trumpets sounded from the battlements, and Carloman’s army confusedly came to a halt before them. The men stared up at their party dumbly until recognition set in. Word passed through the ranks that Pippin rode with Sunni and Gripho.

  Everyone waited. All eyes remained on Pippin. He continued to sit comfortably in his saddle, his eyes focused on the gate of the shield wall. No one moved. Silence took the battlefield.

  Carloman came. He guided his warhorse through his troops. Men gave way before him, and as he passed, they closed ranks behind him. He pulled within ten paces of their party and halted. Sunni noted that the priest she had seen at Petr’s hanging rode with Carloman. His face was grim and red with anger.

  “Brother,” Carloman said.

  “Carloman,” Pippin said, his voice familial. “May I present the Lady Sunni, wife of Charles, son of Pippin of Herstal, and our half-brother, Gripho?”

  Carloman’s horse shied slightly, and he corrected it. He nodded to each in turn. “Sunni. Gripho.” His body was tense and rigid.

  “May we parley?” Pippin said.

  Again Carloman nodded. Both parties dismounted and approached each other. They formed a rough circle. Sunni stayed next to Pippin.

  “What in hell is this?” Carloman said.

  “A parley,” Pippin said. “Didn’t I just say that?”

  “This is no game, Pippin.”

  “No, Carloman, it is not.” Pippin’s eyes seemed lit by a fire of their own. “I’m ending this.”

  “There is only one end to this, and it has nothing to do with you.”

  “It has everything to do with me.”

  “Their rights to succession are forfeit,” Carloman said. “I am taking them into custody.”

  “You will not touch them. I have extended my oath of protection. We are going to leave this place now and will negotiate a settlement to this crisis later.”

  “They are going with me, Pippin.”

  “Not until I am dead.”

  Silence held the two brothers as they stared into each other’s eyes, each testing the will of the other. Sunni held her breath, knowing neither would give way.

  “Look around you, Pippin,” Carloman said, breaking the silence. “I have three thousand men here to support my cause. Who supports yours?”

  “Who will support yours if you violate my oath? The country is already on the verge of civil war. Would you pit yourself against me, too?”

  “I will not let you take them, Pippin.”

  “You have no choice, Carloman.”

  “This is ridiculous!” The priest in white stormed into the circle, his face wild with anger. He pointed to Sunni and Gripho. “Seize them!” the priest commanded. He pointed at Gripho. “The devil incarnate walks before us, and we parlay? We should strike him dead where he stands!”

  Gripho shoved the priest down into the mud and drew his sword. The sound of blades being drawn from scabbards echoed across the plain.

  Carloman’s sword was at Gripho’s throat.

  “This is a parley, Carloman.” Anger seethed through Pippin. “I don’t know what this priest’s role is here, but everyone will step away.” Without looking over his shoulder, Pippin called to Gripho. “Put away your sword.”

  Gripho withdrew his sword and then spat on the blade at his throat. “A pox take you!” he shouted at Carloman.

  Carloman withdrew his blade and slammed the pommel of his sword into the side of Gripho’s head. Gripho went down into the mud next to the priest. Carloman’s blade returned to Gripho’s Adam’s apple.

  “Carloman!” Pippin shouted.

  “No, Pippin,” Carloman said. “It ends here.”

  Betrayal. Samson’s voice echoed in Sunni’s mind.

  With a quickness that startled Sunni, Pippin’s weapon leapt into his hand.

  ***

  They buried Bradius under a tree. They could not find an ash, so Trudi instead chose the willow where she had harvested Bradius’s medicine. It was an ancient tree; its limbs drooped down over his grave in a great cascade of yellow and brown. An ash would have been better.

  Despite his conversion to Christianity, Tobias had spoken ritual words from a pagan burial ceremony. He could not remember much but did the best he could. At the end, he drew dust from the ground and allowed the wind to carry it away. It was supposed to be Bradius’s soul passing into the next world, but it was Trudi’s that wafted into the wind.

  She didn’t know how she could go on. She was not sure it mattered. Bradius’s loss took away her will to eat, to breathe, to wake, to bathe. Sleep was the only thing she craved. Tobias was worried. Trudi could tell by the way he fussed over her. She tried to reassure him that she would be fine but could not find the strength to say the words. She was exhausted. She lay curled up in the bow of the boat as they made their way downstream toward Regensburg, Tobias sat in the stern, steering with his paddle.

  She knew her appearance was hideous. Bradius’s blood wa
s crusted on her underclothes and clumped in her hair. They hadn’t had time to wash. More importantly, she no longer cared.

  It was the crying that unnerved Tobias. In all truth, it worried her as well. She could not stop. Tears leaked from her eyes in a never-ending stream that she could not control. At first she had tried to wipe them away, but had given up when they would not stop. She was sure that they drained something from her, something vital, something that kept her alive. She was so tired. The incessant motion of the boat made her head feel like it was splitting apart. Worse, it nauseated her. She had already vomited several times into the water.

  Sensing her discomfort, Tobias had turned the boat to shore. He leapt into the shallows and fought the river’s current to beach the craft. He tied it to a small tree. Trudi didn’t move. Tobias returned to lift her, mumbling something about getting her “cleaned up.” He struggled against the current. When he found his footing, he lowered her into the water and attempted to wash the blood off her. He apologized for needing to touch her body. Trudi made no effort to help.

  Tobias lowered her head into the water and released one hand in an attempt at washing her hair. The shift in his grasp made him lose his hold on her. He shouted as her body moved downriver with the current. Tobias stepped to retrieve her and stumbled. While he tried to regain his footing, Trudi’s head slipped below the water. His hands scrambled after her. They failed to catch hold.

  She welcomed the silence. Air bubbled from her nose and mouth. She let it go. It was then that she discovered there was a choice to make. She could breathe in the cool water and slip from this world, or she could pull herself out of the shallows. The last of the bubbles left her. They floated upward, entrancing her as they wobbled toward the light.

  She stood. The waters of the Danube swirled around her waist as her feet found traction.

  Shocked into silence, Tobias stood before her in the shallows, dripping wet. Trudi pulled her wet hair over her shoulder and twisted the water from it.

  Tobias smiled. “If I had known that drowning you would bring you back to your senses,” he said, “I would have done it yesterday.”