Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles

by J. Boyce Gleason

  “How long are you going to ignore the fact that these Bavarians genuflect when you’re with them and worship trees when you’re not?”

  “Trudi is not Bavarian,” Boniface said. "I baptized her myself and taught her the liturgy. She has done nothing against the church. Leaving her father’s house to escape an arranged marriage might be embarrassing, but it is no crime against God.”

  “It’s an insult to her two brothers. As mayors, they should denounce her.”

  “That’s up to Carloman and Pippin.”

  “She must be with child.”

  At this, Boniface raised an eyebrow. “Then at least she had enough sense to marry the man. Perhaps you take this incident too seriously.”

  “Odilo’s leading the revolt!” The bishop fumed. “Marrying Trudi legitimizes the rebellion. If Carloman and Pippin don’t crush them soon, there will be two recognized religions in the land.

  A small spray of spittle accompanied Aidolf’s words. “If they have a son, he’ll be the grandson of Charles Martel, rivaled only by Carloman’s son, Drogo. What if Trudi raises the boy to be pagan? If he makes a claim to be mayor, it may be the Bavarians who elevate the next king to the throne, not you or me. And if they raise a pagan, it will set back the church for a hundred years.

  “I know you have a soft spot in your heart for this girl, Boniface, but this marriage is a disaster. We must act now to stop it.”

  Boniface frowned. Although arrogant, the bishop had a point. If Trudi were pregnant, the child would have a legitimate claim to Charles’s legacy as mayor of the palace.

  “I won’t excommunicate her,” Boniface said. “She has violated none of God’s laws.”

  “Then we should condemn her from the pulpit. We should bring down the weight of the church against her legitimacy and that of her offspring.”

  “We’re not even sure she is with child!”

  “What else would send her halfway across the world?”

  Boniface put his arm on the shorter bishop’s shoulder. “Don’t condemn her yet from the pulpit. Raise questions about her sudden scandalous behavior. Express concern for what her marriage to Odilo might mean. If she is with child and delivers her babe too soon, you’ll have your answer and can rightly condemn her. Her child must never be in a position to contest Carloman’s son, Drogo.”

  Seeing the surprise on Aidolf’s face at this sudden capitulation, Boniface smiled. “Although I have a certain fondness for the girl, the Church has already chosen its champion, Bishop. And, without question, it is Carloman.”

  Aidolf frowned. “What of his younger brother?

  “Pippin is a force…and will be a powerful mayor, but our interests align with Carloman. He is a true man of God. It’s quite fortunate that he’s the only one with a male heir.”

  Aidolf looked as if he was about to say something further but was distracted by the appearance of a young monk who arrived to clean the dishes. The boy was comely with brown curly hair and a strong chin. Aidolf’s eyes seemed to rest on the monk far longer than was necessary.

  Boniface coughed to regain Aidolf’s attention and dismissed the boy.

  "Let’s turn to our more discreet endeavor.” Boniface waited for the boy to leave. “I called you here because I’ve had a change of heart. Although, I once had harbored hopes that Charles would claim the Merovingian throne as his own, the opportunity was lost with his demise.

  “Half of Francia will soon be in rebellion. Raising a Merovingian to the throne will help resolve questions about the succession and hopefully quell the rebellions in the east and in the south. If we’re blessed by heaven above, it may even restore some of the Church lands Charles confiscated.

  “Will the mayors agree?”

  Boniface belched. “Carloman will see the logic of it. I don’t yet know about Pippin.”

  “You better bring the younger brother in line. Without a king, all Francia will be at war.”

  “The question is moot until we find someone of the royal blood.”

  They both secretly had searched in vain for months trying to find a surviving member of the royal family. The Merovingian line was on the verge of extinction. The once great line of Frankish Kings had waned across the centuries as their military power shifted into the hands of regional mayors. And when Charles Martel subjected every mayor within the kingdom, he assumed their authority and ruled as if he were king. When the last Merovingian died, Charles left the throne vacant for the last four years of his life. Now that Charles was dead, the question of royal succession was once again in play.

  “Then my news is quite timely.” Aidolf grinned.

  “You found someone?”

  “Childeric, son of King Chilperic III,

  “I didn’t know Chilperic had a son.”

  “With Charles Martel’s ambitions for the throne, you can imagine why that knowledge might have been suppressed.”

  “Where did you find him?”

  “He was sent to be raised by a rich, noble, Neustrian family with an estate outside of Narbonne. He appears to have been waiting for just this moment to make his presence known”

  “Which noble family?”

  “Ragomfred.”

  Boniface frowned. Ragomfred was no friend. He had allied with the Agilolfings and challenged Carloman's right to succession.

  Aidolf laughed, apparently enjoying the discomfort this caused. “Yes, that Ragomfred. His estate in the south is quite large.”

  “I doubt that Carloman and Pippin will support him.”

  Aidolf spread his arms wide. “You and I know that the king’s power is mostly ceremonial, but it gives the mayors legitimacy. Once Childeric gets to Paris, we announce that the Church supports him. That will give the rebellions the fig leaf they need to drop their swords. The boy mayors will have to accept it. Besides, Childeric’s the only one left. The bloodline is at an end. All the civil wars over the last fifty years have decimated their progeny.”

  “Is Childeric lucid?”

  “Yes.”

  “His hair and beard are long?”

  “As are his fingernails,” Aidolf waved his own. “He’s a real Merovingian.”

  Boniface frowned. The Merovingian line of kings was rumored to have mystical powers. They wore their hair, beards and fingernails long and were rumored to be conjurors and enchanters. They claimed they were descendants of Mary Magdalene and could see the future. The few Boniface had met years ago were a strange lot, touched by a madness that afflicted their line.

  “Is he willing?” Boniface said.

  “He seemed almost impatient. It was as if he were waiting for me.”

  “How quickly can he be in Paris?”

  “They’re already making their way. He should arrive within the month. He’ll stay with Lord and Lady Ragomfred until you can talk our two young mayors into elevating him.”

  That, Boniface thought, might take some time.

  “ Oh,” Aidolf said, “I nearly forgot. He asked me to relay a message to you.”

  “Childeric?” No one was supposed to know that he and Aidolf were talking, let alone laying the groundwork for a new king.

  Aidolf put his hands in the air. “I didn’t tell him. He just seemed to know.”

  “What’s the message?”

  “He said, ‘Tell Boniface, his Bible will not save him.’"

  Suppressing a shiver, Boniface made the sign of the cross.

  Chapter Three

  Regensburg, Bavaria

  Trudi sank into the bath’s near-scalding water, allowing the heat to permeate her aches and pains. Sliding down the brass tub until her nose was just above the waterline, she watched little tendrils of vapor lift off the water and curl before her eyes. Here, in Odilo’s elegant suite of rooms with its rich tapestries and ornate furnishings, she was safe.

  She began to cry. No more running. No more fighting. No more hiding. Soon sobs shook her whole frame and she let them come. After all she had been through, she was here in Regensburg and Odilo still lov
ed her. She held onto that truth despite the lies she was going to tell him.

  It had taken her three months to reach him. Three months! It should have taken three weeks. But, in that time her entire world had changed.

  She had fallen in love with Odilo at her father’s court during last year’s Fall Assembly. Although he was older than Trudi, she had been taken by Odilo’s tousled looks and boyish charm. It didn’t take long for her to share his bed. She had counted on Sunnichild to bring her father around, but Charles surprised them all by promising Trudi’s hand to Prince Aistulf of the Lombards. Furious, Trudi had fled Charles’s court in the middle of the night with the help of her brother Pippin.

  How was she to know that her father would die that very night? Charles might have relented in time, but not Carloman. He and Aistulf chased her across the kingdom. They ambushed and killed the guard Odilo had sent to meet her and forced her into hiding as she made her way from Quierzy to Regensburg.

  If it hadn’t been for Bradius, she would have never made it.

  Bradius. Just thinking his name, produced more tears. An outlaw pagan knight, he was nothing like the men she knew. He was noble, devout, fierce-and damaged. For someone who had suffered a life of violence, he had been so tender that it made Trudi’s heart ache. It was Bradius’s child she was carrying. It was Bradius who had helped her avoid capture.

  Aistulf had killed him without ever even knowing his name.

  With the help of Tobias, one of Bradius’s lieutenants, she again had avoided capture and made it all the way to the banks of the Danube where they were attacked by one of Carloman’s knights. They barely survived. When she arrived at the gates of Regensburg, she was wounded and dressed in men’s clothes, leading a horse with Tobias draped across the saddle. The guards had laughed at her. They laughed all the harder when she announced she was there to wed Duc Odilo.

  But Odilo had swept her into his arms, dirt, blood and all, and carried her across the fort to his palace and his suite of elegant rooms, shouting for assistance. He sent guards to care for Tobias and ordered his household servants to prepare a hot bath for Trudi and fresh dressings for her wounds,

  Trudi let him indulge her.

  When she emerged from the bath, an attendant – a large, stout middle-aged woman named Eta – applied a fresh poultice to her shoulder and bound her wounds with all the rough competence of a surgeon. She then presented Trudi with a clean shift and a modest dress that, although snug around the waist, fit her quite comfortably. With the brisk pull of a comb, Eta freed the knots from Trudi’s hair and gave her a short grunt of approval before sending her downstairs for dinner.

  Word of Trudi’s arrival had spread through the city and half of the Bavarian nobility had already joined Odilo in attendance. After some prompting, Trudi regaled them with the tale of her perilous, three-month journey from Quierzy to Regensburg–omitting, of course, any mention of Bradius.

  The nobles chuckled at her ability to elude Aistulf and grew furious at Carloman’s ambush of her Bavarian guards. As Trudi warmed to her audience, she imbued her story with colorful details and not a little embellishment.

  She caught Odilo’s eyes and watched as they sparkled with delight. He was as she remembered him, rugged, handsome, and a bit disheveled. And he looked at her as if he wanted to take her right there with all his court in attendance. It gave her confidence, and her story grew with its telling.

  She was near the end of her journey, describing the attack within sight of their fortress, when one of Odilo’s knights laughed.

  “It’s already a good story, milady. No need to lie.”

  “I’m not.” Trudi said, taken aback. “He attacked just before we reached the fort.”

  “And you killed him yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not your man Tobias?”

  No amount of insisting would convince them. They laughed and told her how lucky she was to be alive.

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. Despite her exhaustion, Trudi stepped forward to challenge the bellicose knight, but a look from Odilo brought her up short.

  “I can assure you, gentlemen, she is every bit the warrior she claims to be,” Odilo stood with his hands up to stop further quarrel. “She was even trained by Fulrad, Charles’s captain of the guard. She used to spar with Charles’s knights. I’ve seen it myself!”

  Although Trudi was grateful for his intervention, she had the feeling that no one believed him either.

  ✽✽✽

  To Trudi’s relief, Odilo asked for her hand in marriage that evening. In her condition, every day counted. By her calculations, she would already deliver at least a month early, if not sooner. If Odilo had delayed the wedding, it would be unlikely that she could carry off the ruse that the babe was his. Just to be sure, she went to his bed that very night.

  His rooms were dark, with just a sliver of moonlight illuminating the chamber. He leapt out of bed and she was in his arms before he had taken two steps. His embrace was as she remembered it, gentle but urgent in his need. He pulled her face to his and kissed her and bent to carry her like a bride to his bed.

  She stopped him. “Careful. I’m wounded.” To go through with this, Trudi needed to be in control. She needed to keep her emotions at bay and concentrate what had to be done.

  With grim determination, she took Odilo’s hand, led him to his bed and untied his shift. He stood naked before her, already half-aroused. She pushed him down onto the bed and took off her own shift, wincing with the effort.

  She stood before him, watching him watch her. She took a step towards the bed but as she did, a mental image of Bradius assaulted her. Her breath caught in her throat. Grief and self-loathing filled her but still she crawled into the bed, straddled Odilo’s body, and took hold of his erection.

  His hips thrust upward in response and she caressed him, slowly making a circular motion with her hand. When he groaned, she leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth and guided him, sitting back to take the length of him inside her.

  In the darkness, Trudi could hide her tears. It filled her with remorse to be so cruel. Yet, she could not abort Bradius’s child and she wouldn’t raise it as a bastard. This was the only way forward.

  She had loved Odilo, once. She tried to remember herself in love with him as her hips rocked back and forth, undulating above him. Unlike other men, he had celebrated her strength. He had enjoyed her for who she was. They soon fell into a familiar rhythm that, with time, grew more rapid and Trudi surprised herself by groaning with pleasure.

  She stopped, embarrassed by her body’s betrayal.

  Odilo looked up at her, his eyes arched in a question.

  “Shh.” She put her finger on his lips, feeling guilty for what she was doing to him. I will love Odilo, she promised herself. I will find a way back to him. Bradius is dead and Odilo deserves more than a shadow marriage.

  She shook her head to clear it of her doubts and grief. Odilo looked up at her like a love-besotted youth and she smiled back at him. She leaned down to kiss him as her hips rolled beneath her. He moaned in response and she let herself give in to the moment, her passion mounting with his.

  He climaxed before she could and she slid off of him, nestling herself beneath the crook of his shoulder. She felt warm and safe and content to be with him.

  For now, that would have to suffice. At least, she was safe.

  ✽✽✽

  They decided on two ceremonies, one in the church, to protect Trudi’s reputation with her brothers and Boniface, and the other under the ash for Odilo and his pagan brethren.

  The church ceremony was private, with only a small wedding party. Led by the Bishop of Regensburg, it was a perfunctory affair. The Bishop, a small man with rodent-like features, lorded over the ceremony facing the altar and running through the Latin mass as if it were for his own purposes. Odilo knelt when he was supposed to and stood when it was required. Beyond that, Trudi marveled at his ignorance of the church ceremony. At home in Quierzy, everyon
e attended mass.

  Tobias stood for her at the wedding, giving her hand to Odilo and tying the marriage bond around their joined hands. He dutifully played the role of the indignant father, preventing the wedding party from following Odilo when the newly married couple retired to bed.

  This time when they made love, Bradius failed to haunt her thoughts and it allowed Trudi to rediscover the passion she had once known for Odilo.

  In contrast to the Christian wedding, the pagan ceremony was a lavish affair attended by most of the nobles at court. Back home in Quierzy, Trudi had received instruction in the pagan religion by her stepmother, Sunnichild. Her training hadn’t progressed very far, but Trudi had fully embraced the spiritual and physical facets of the religion, even celebrating the rite of fertility with Odilo. It had awakened in her a profound sense of physical and spiritual power.

  Even so, she knew enough about the upcoming rite to be somewhat intimidated. It was well beyond anything a woman from the west normally would experience.

  Conducted in the countryside at dusk, the evening had an almost mystical feel to it from the time they arrived. Light from the bonfires and torches danced across the faces of celebrants while pulses quickened to the rhythm of drums.

  The early parts of the ceremony involved a ritual where the women and men danced in separate circles. As the music progressed, the circles intertwined becoming a figure eight that then broke into a spiral that spun around Trudi and Odilo. Trudi lost count of the horns of ale she was given to imbibe and, although she didn’t know the words, she tried to join in on most of the singing.

  A sibyl presided over the final bonding before a large ash tree. A grid of nine stones lay before it with a small fire on the center stone. Trudi watched as the sibyl threw dried herbs into the fire and inhaled the smoke from it deep into her lungs.

  The sibyl was a short woman, with dark hair, and tattoo-covered arms. She had bones in her hair that clacked together as she walked. She held herself regally as if she, not Trudi, were the Duchesse.