Roland was the keeper of his most northern borders and warden of Brittany. For the last two years, the king had been organising and sending supplies and troops north. From every corner of his empire they had been coming to Brittany. Italy sent archers and pike men, and from Germany came horsemen and infantry. Finally, he had come north himself, from his capital Aix-la-Chapelle, with the heart and bulk of his army and his elite cavalry. He scrutinised his loyal and battled-hardened Frankish troops.
For thirty long years he had fought with these men and they had never let him down. Now he was calling on them again in what undoubtedly would be a long and difficult campaign. They had arrived ten days before and had spent the time making the final preparations for their onslaught on Spain. All was now ready. His plans were set and tomorrow, at dawn, the army would move. Another army, under the command of one of his three sons, had already been sent to invade Spain through the south of the country. They would take Barcelona and then head north to join him. He intended to carve the country up with his army, establishing fortresses along the way to secure the land for his family forever.
The hunt, which was one of many that had taken place over the last ten weeks, would provide the salted boars, and the meat and venison would feed the army over the coming days, together with all the fresh supplies that could be obtained. Sat in his saddle, in the hot morning sun, he mused over his preparations. The use of the Benedictines had been a masterstroke. They had not let him down. Their intelligence reports had been first class and their use of the Sisters of the Moon an inspirational move. Zaragoza had been secured and this would give him an excellent base from which to strike at the very heart of Spain. He relished the thought of putting more Muslims to the sword. He, and his father before him, had driven the Muslims from the south of France and he now intended to drive them out of Spain. At Tours he had fought a week long battle against the Moors and against all odds, won. Many lessons had been learnt that day.
He was the traditional Germanic warrior, who had spent most of his adult life in battle, but the Holy Roman Church had taught him how to fuse different nations through a common religion and to this he had added another ingredient. He had learnt that men fought best when they had something to gain, and so, he gave lands and titles to all that came under his banner. Cruel and heartless in battle, he was nevertheless, the model for all future kings in his adroit use of possible allies.
The hunting horns were sounding four notes now. They had made contact with the wild boars. Charlemagne raised an arm and the group of mounted men behind him spilt into two and moved to the right and left of him, forming a semicircle, like the horns of a bull, at either side of the king. At the centre was the king with his noblemen. When the boars broke cover, they would be drawn onto the spears of the king and his noblemen by the horns of the semicircular mounted guards. It would happen within the hour. In the meantime, Charlemagne let his mind wander. He was feeling pleased with himself and it was such a pleasant day. He had achieved much recently and his plans had gone well. In the last two years, he had established a permanent royal capital at Aix-la-Chapelle, in Germany, and built a palace and church there. At his court he had gathered scholars and clerics from all over Europe and had established a school and a library under the most famous scholar of the time, Alcuin of York. His administration had flourished. He now had 250 administrators who dealt with a broad range of topics. They controlled, through the power given to them by the hundreds of decrees that Charlemagne issued, the effective management of his army, royal estates, monasteries and schools, which left him free to concentrate, among other things, on Spain and the Moors.
At that moment, he was sharply brought out of his daydream by the appearance of the largest silverback boar he had ever seen at the edge of the woods. The animal stood for a few moments. It was fully grown, with large tusks and his small tail was fully erect. Its two small, dark, bright intelligent eyes perceived the danger before him immediately and he turned tail and disappeared back into the woods. Charlemagne knew from years of hunting the animal that behind the silverback would be a number of adolescent males and mature females with their young. He knew that the wild boar was the most intelligent of quarry, secretive and dangerous, especially when driven out of cover. He had witnessed on numerous occasions, how these animals would, without warning, turn on their pursuers. Ripping open men and dogs with their tusks and tossing them into the air. Totally unpredictable, they could be chased for hours, and then without warning they would turn on their pursuers, and turn the tables on them. The hunter would suddenly become the hunted. A boar that turned on a hunter would kill and maim anything in its path. It took only the bravest to stand in the path of a charging boar. He had witnessed many a man and dog turn tail and run in the face of a charging boar. A boar hunt produced acts of heroism in both dogs and men and informed the king of who among his following had those qualities. It was with deep interest that the king followed the hunt, since the information it produced gave him men who could be trusted under pressure and produced future captains for his army.
A prime example was Roland: the only man who would dismount and face a charging boar on foot with only his sword, Durandel. All others remained firmly seated on their mounts with their hunting spears. These were broad bladed, to inflict the maximum injury, and had a thicker shaft than normal spears, since the force with which the boar hit the spear was such that a normal shaft would break in two. The woods became alive with noise now, as the boars turned and charged their pursuers. Dogs barked and yelped as they were injured. Men shouted warnings and gave orders. Some men screamed as the boars ripped their flesh opened. Suddenly there came to their ears the sound of crushing undergrowth.
Into the meadow, twenty sows and forty piglets broke out of the woods, closely followed by ten young boars. As this group moved into the open, then there appeared at their rear, three large fully-grown silverbacks, with their tusks gleaming in the sunlight. Charlemagne beckoned his son, Ludovic, to his side.
“Give the order. Let the sows and their young through. The dogs and their handlers can take care of them. The young boars will provide sport for the nobles. The silverbacks are yours and mine.”
Ludovic turned and barked out the orders. The nobles moved to one side, providing an opening to the funnel. The dogs and their handlers moved to the other side and prepared to release the dogs. The boars, seeing a way to escape, raced for the opening. They passed on either side of the king and his son. Behind them dogs were unleashed and the nobles lowered their spears and struck the wild boars. The carnage had begun. Charlemagne paid no heed. He steadied his horse and levelled his spear. The first of the silverbacks was quickly approaching at a tremendous speed. He sunk his stirrups into the horse’s flanks. The horse reared and leapt forward. At ten paces he adjusted his spear once more and with cold precision, sunk it between the shoulder blades of the animal. The force of the impact moved him back in his saddle and the spear was forced out of his hand. He looked back to see the animal leaping from side to side and tossing his head in an effort to dislodge the spear in his back. A dog handler ran quickly forwards with drawn hunting knife and dispatched the boar with a swift blow to the back of the neck.
At that moment, the second silverback passed close by the king. His horse leapt involuntarily to the side, almost dislodging the king. It ran on and hit the dog handler full in the stomach, tossing him into the air. As the man landed the boar charged again, sinking its tusks into the man’s side. Ludovic, who had guessed the boar’s intentions, had spurred his horse at the boar, but could not reach the man in time. He drove his spear into the boar’s side as the animal was goring the man on the ground and continued to push on the weapon until the animal lay dead.
The king moved his horse to his son’s side. Together they watched as dogs, huntsmen and nobles despatched boars, females and piglets. It had been a good day hunting. As they watched, Roland and the rest of the hunt joined them. They had killed several more animals in the wood and
brought with them two injured men. One a nobleman called Martel, who had tried to emulate Roland and kill a boar with his sword, had been badly injured in the leg and would require a hot iron to stop the bleeding. The other had a badly broken leg.
“Have you had good sport, My Lord?” Roland cried as he approached.
“Yes,” said the king, “but remind me to send a few silver coins to the families of those injured or killed.”
“It will be taken care of,” Roland replied.
Together they surveyed the scene before them. Animals lay dead well into the distance and huntsmen were blowing their horns and calling their dogs back. It would be several hours before the dogs returned and the boars were gutted and loaded onto carts.
“Shall we return to Bordeaux, My Lord, and let the men collect the game?” Roland asked.
“Yes,” said Charlemagne, “we have much to discuss tonight, for at dawn we march on Spain and the Moors.”
That night, Charlemagne and his nobles held a council of war over a feast of wild roasted boar, broiled lamb and various wild fowl. Afterwards, Charlemagne retired to his study with a group of trusted advisors. They sat around a table with goblets of wine. A scribe sat at a small desk. Amongst the gathering was a Benedictine Abbot and it was to him that Charlemagne turned first.
“Einhard, what are the reports you have from Spain?”
Einhard cleared his throat and opened some parchments.
“The first report, My Lord, is from the north west. An army of 20,000 Moors has been sent to put down the insurrection by Pelayo and the Asturians. They are expected to arrive at any time within the next few months. Next, it is reported that the town of Pamplona has been fortified and garrisoned with fresh troops.”
“What is the strength of the garrison?”
“We do not know, My Lord.”
“Send a letter to the King of Navarra.” He spoke his thoughts out loud. “Inigo Aritza is a weak king and a coward. Offer him a treaty and protection on condition that Pamplona is given over to our royal protection and find out the strength of the garrison.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Is there anything else to report?” asked Charlemagne.
Einhard took hold of a parchment.
“The town of Zaragoza is yours. The governor agrees to open the gates on your arrival and submit himself to your rule. The Sisters of the Moon hold his son at your discretion.”
Charlemagne thought for a moment.
“The plan was to take both cities, but one is better than none and we may still get Pamplona by treaty. Have any of you anything further to report?”
“The troops are in good spirits, My Lord and all is ready,” Roland smiled as he said these words. “However, the attacks by the Norsemen have increased along the coast and they have penetrated further inland along the rivers. Their raids are becoming bolder.”
“Put all the harbours on full alert and support them with the troops in Bordeaux. We will deal with them on our return,” the king said.
“And now let us to bed. We have an early start and a long march ahead of us at dawn. In the morning, Archbishop Turpin will bless the troops.”
Einhard bowed, turned and left the room. The others followed suit and left. The king stood, stretched and went into his bedchamber. Two guards entered and took up their post at his bedroom door.
Einhard moved swiftly along the corridor to his chambers. He had a report to write and it would have to be written before dawn, coded and in Latin. Ostensibly he was the king’s head of intelligence and confessor, but he had a greater master, the Pope in Rome. The report would contain every detail of Charlemagne’s plan, including the number of troops at his disposal and the reports from Spain, together with his own personal commentary. He entered his chamber and took off his cloak, sat at his desk and began to write in Latin. Just before dawn a monk knocked on his door and entered. He carried a bowl of milk and some bread. As he ate, Einhard re-read the documents carefully. When he had finished he put them carefully into a leather wallet and gave them to the monk.
“Put these into code and make sure they leave for Rome today.”
The monk bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him. Einhard sat for a little while longer, deep in thought as he finished his food. There was one other thing that he had to do before too long. He would have to replace the king’s son’s confessor with someone that he could rely on, and he knew the very person to whom he would give this important task. That would be Abbot of Roncesvalles. It was imperative that the son of Charlemagne continued, as king, to place his immense power and prestige, after his father’s death, at the service of Mother Church. If anything happened to the king, they must have the son privately and properly advised by a servant of the church. He had to assure that the monastic life, the teaching of Latin, the copying of books and teaching of the Christian doctrine continued and spread under the rule of Ludovic. Angel Garai, Abbot of Roncesvalles, would be the perfect tool to ensure this would happen. After all, he was obedient, intelligent and totally devoted to the cloth and he knew Spain, which was to be Charlemagne’s gift to his son. It was a perfect choice. Einhard stood, drained off the bowl of milk, picked up his cloak, gave a long, longing look at the unslept bed and left the room.
On the morning of the June 778AD, Charlemagne, together with his court attended Mass. Afterwards he rode out of Bordeaux at the head of his nobles and reviewed his army, which had assembled outside the city walls. It was an impressive force of mixed origins: 10,000 mounted men, his personal heavy cavalry. Never defeated, they had crushed all that had stood before them. They were heavily armed with spears, swords and shields. They wore iron helmets on their heads and their bodies were covered in long leather coats that reached down to their ankles and had small plates of iron sewn all over them. This was the heart of the army, best equipped and trained, with exquisite mounts, whose charge had not been defeated in thirty years. They were mostly Franks by birth and were paid for and equipped by the noble houses of his empire. The army contained whole families, all hoping to gain wealth, plunder and land from the campaign in Spain. On foot, were 30,000 lesser nobles and mercenaries, who had fought with him over the years, many of whom had, through force of arms, gained estates and wealth. They were a breed of men who had sprung-up all over medieval Europe, used to military life and paid for by the pickings of war. They were battle-hardened troops, who had not known defeat in Charlemagne’s service. Finally, there were other auxiliaries, including the 200 archers and pike men sent by the Pope from Italy, in the hope that by providing men he would profit not only from the campaign politically, but with lands in Spain. In total it was an army of some 60,000 men.
As the king passed they cheered, waved banners and brandished weapons. Charlemagne looked at the scared and weathered faces and was well pleased. He had spent his life in the saddle with these men, fighting and conquering. It was all he knew. He had been bred for this and he lived for it. He moved to the front of the army, and as he did, the orders ran out to march. At the rear were the supply wagons, herds and flocks that would sustain the army together with around a thousand camp followers, of which there were carpenters, armourers, blacksmiths and women. They were amp followers, who would cook and wash and follow lovers or husbands into battle and tended them when they were wounded. It was an army born out of desperation and greed. Built on warriors who fought for personal gain and who measured wealth in silver and gold, and on the acquisition of land on which to breed and graze horses, cattle and sheep. It was an army forged by the iron will and discipline of Charlemagne, maintained by greed, and plunder, together with the chance to show courage in battle and gain glory, wealth and land. It was spiritually nurtured by the church and propelled by a constant need to plunder new wealth and acquire land.
Slowly, the great force uncoiled itself like a giant snake and took to the route of marched, towards Roncesvalles and Spain. Spain beckoned and threatened. It beckoned because it offered land a
nd riches; it threatened because of its warlike inhabitants, the difficulty of its terrain and its occupation by the Moors, who were the most powerful and dangerous adversary known to him at this time. Charlemagne had much to think about. Only swift and decisive victories would keep his army intact. Failure would mean the disintegration of the army; an army that lived and breathed for the land that it conquered, but would disperse if the pickings were not good.
As long as his royal houses and mercenaries succeeded in battle, then his house and his sons were secure and the loyalty of his army assured. Failure in war meant the death of the king and his empire. The stakes were very high, but so was the prize. Spain had untold wealth and would mean an added kingdom for his son. Most of all it meant the final destruction of his most dangerous enemy, the Moors, for the greater glory of God. It would secure the future for the Royal House of Charlemagne. A Royal House that had been built on thirty years of successful warfare and endless campaigns. His was a society founded and forged in battle. Its very lifeblood was war. The plans had been carefully laid. Charlemagne would come from the north with his army. His eldest son and Guerin, a trusted and experienced troop commander, would come from the south of Spain. Both armies would meet at Zaragoza, take it and then march on Cordova. If they could take Cordova, Spain would be his. The thought pleased him. He had good, tested troops and the sun was shinning. Charlemagne had good reason to feel confident that this enterprise would be as successful as all the others.
The Moon Worshippers Page 15
