Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles

by J. Boyce Gleason

  "Ware, knight, ware! Walk this path and walk as one. May god show mercy, for we have none!"

  Carloman gestured for Drogo to kneel. Before him stood an arch made of two posts bisected by two crossbeams. Between the crossbeams hung a live goat, muzzled and struggling against its restraints. A short Roman sword lay beneath the animal on the ground.

  The First fell silent. Carloman drew his sword and stood next to his kneeling son.

  "You have finished the tests of faith and loyalty. You kneel before the Gate of Passage. Through this gate is a life of service. Do you vow to serve our Lord through the Brotherhood?"

  "I so vow," Drogo said.

  "Your vow is sacred," chanted the First.

  "Do you vow to obey the covenants of the Brotherhood?"

  "I so vow."

  "Your vow is eternal."

  "Before you is a symbol of the false gods. Slay it. Devour its heart. Then you may take your place among us."

  Drogo stumbled to his feet and picked up the short Roman sword below the struggling animal. After only the briefest hesitation, he plunged it into the belly of the struggling goat and drew it up towards the beast's chest.

  "I am the lord your God," chanted the First.

  Blood and entrails poured from the writhing, suspended animal, covering Carloman’s son in viscera.

  "Who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.”

  Drogo thrust his right hand into the wound and shoved it up inside the animal's ribcage. Steam rose from the cascade of blood covering his body. After several attempts, he ripped his arm free and triumphantly held its heart aloft for the First to see.

  “You shall have no other gods before me!"

  Clearly, choking back a wave of nausea, Drogo bent his lips to the still-beating organ and, sank his teeth into the flesh. Carloman swung his blade in a wide overhand arc and severed the goat in two. Blood sprayed the floor. The First Order stood.

  "Those who walk this path, walk as one. Rejoice now, brother, for we are one!"

  Two of the First seized Drogo and forced him to his knees. A smoldering brand in the shape of a cross was pressed into his flesh, just above his right breast. Drogo screamed and began to pass out. A bucket of water was used to revive him, and he was escorted through an exit at the far side of the hall.

  A new goat was led into the room and tied to the crossbeams of the arch. Hamar accompanied Carloman back to the entrance to bring a new aspirant into the hall. The voices of the First rose behind him.

  "Ware, knight, ware! Walk this path and walk as one. May god show mercy, for we have none!"

  Hamar clouted the man on the head and removed his blindfold.

  Carloman gestured for him to kneel.

  Chapter Twelve

  Paris

  “Damn these seamstresses!” Bertrada fumbled with the neckline of her gown. She had failed in her mission to secure new ball gowns for Aude and herself. Not only was every seamstress in Paris already employed sewing gowns for the ball, they laughed at the audacity of a lady wanting two made in such a short time.

  This forced Bertrada and her sister into the uncomfortable position of choosing between the gowns they had worn the night Tedbalt had arrived in Paris or wearing older gowns they had brought from Laon. As all of the older gowns were woefully out of fashion, Aude chose the newer one. Bertrada's gown had been damaged, so she had been forced to use an older one. Tedbalt would have to forgive them.

  Again, Bertrada fussed with her neckline. Aude must have fastened her dress too tightly. At least she had her favorite earrings. They were jade stones set in circlets of gold. Pippin had given them to her after his campaign in Navarre.

  Tedbalt arrived on time to escort the two sisters to the home of Ragomfred the Younger. The man lived across the Seine in an ancient neighborhood that overlooked the water from the southwest. Tedbalt had rented an expensive carriage, that Bertrada was sure was more expensive than he could afford, and the three made their way over the wooden bridge to the lower bank of the river. As they did, they were assaulted by the odor of offal and human waste that was shoveled daily into its expanse.

  Tedbalt pulled down the shade covering the carriage window. It did little to suppress the stench.

  Aude, as usual, was maintaining the conversation for all three of them. She comically batted away at the awful smell, which drew a laugh from Tedbalt, and then returned the conversation back to the ball. Her excitement over meeting the Merovingian could barely be contained.

  “What if he talks to me?” she gushed. “Do you think we’ll be introduced?” Then her mood became more sober. “How does one address a king who isn’t yet a king?”

  Bertrada stopped listening. Tedbalt was clearly captivated by the girl and Bertrada had other things on her mind. She wasn’t sure about the politics of going to this ball. Ragomfred had been a known enemy of Charles. And no one knew that she was no longer Pippin’s lover. She wasn’t sure how her attendance would look to the nobles at court. She wished she could ask Pippin.

  A wave of longing swept over her. She was glad of the darkness inside the carriage; no one could see her face flush. She let her thoughts stray to the place in her mind where she kept her memories of him. She let them flood through her in waves. She saw him standing naked, high on the rocks near their pond at Quierzy, bold as a Spartan and foolish as an apprentice, casually flipping himself into the water far below.

  She saw his eyes as they were just before he entered her. Smiling but reverent, they held her fast beneath him as her body opened to take him inside.

  Bertrada shook her head. Enough of that! Instead, she watched Tedbalt and Aude banter and laugh in the darkness of the carriage. They seemed so happy and comfortable with each other. Why does it upset me so? she wondered. She had never wanted Tedbalt as a boy. But as soon as Aude desired him, so had she. Was she so frivolous?

  Tedbalt had grown into a fine-looking man. She could do worse than to marry him. But did she love him or was she merely jealous of the attention he showed Aude? She didn’t know.

  She also didn’t know if she could forget Pippin. Or forgive him.

  The carriage trundled forward, jostling its inhabitants with every bump in the dirt road. As her weight shifted, Bertrada’s hand went again to adjust the line of her gown. Damned seamstresses!

  ✽✽✽

  The ball did little to improve Bertrada’s mood. The affair was so crowded that their carriage was forced to wait in line out on the street before letting them off at the villa. They queued again to leave their cloaks at the door and yet again when they were announced. By the time all three got inside the great hall, the throng was so pronounced they struggled to find a spot to congregate.

  Tedbalt ushered them next to a large column near the doors to a broad patio, overlooking the Seine. As soon as they were settled, he disappeared to find them wine.

  Much to Bertrada’s irritation, she immediately became a focal point in the room. Her relationship with Pippin had given her a degree of celebrity and a stream of nobles made their way to her place by the column to pay their respects. No one knew that her association with him was over. Most expressed surprise at seeing her at the ball and asked about Pippin. Bertrada decided to forgo explaining their recent break.

  “Thank you so much! Yes, he’s out on campaign… You are so kind! I will be happy to tell him…that is such a lovely gown! May I introduce my younger sister Aude?”

  After an interminable absence, Tedbalt reappeared bearing three half-filled glasses of red wine. Bertrada finished hers in less than a minute. She began to wonder why she'd come. Despite being in a room full of people, she felt inexorably alone.

  By contrast, Aude’s excitement grew with each passing minute. She could barely restrain her enthusiasm. She smiled and curtsied to the nobles Bertrada introduced and commented on the gowns of all the women present. One would think it was the first time the girl had seen jewelry! She was hanging onto Tedbalt’s arm as if tethered. Worse, Bertr
ada was forced to introduce them together as if they were a couple.

  She saw Boniface at the food table. The Bishop apparently couldn’t get enough of the duck meat. As was his custom on ostentatious occasions such as this, Boniface wore a plain brown robe to contrast himself with the excessive couture of the invited nobles. He was making a great show of harrumphing at the low necklines of the noble women in attendance. Bertrada decided to keep Aude clear of the man.

  Bishop Aidolf of Auxerres was also present. After making his rounds to greet the hosts and the more notable nobles in the room, the small wiry man had joined Boniface by the food table.

  Bertrada fanned herself, feeling closed in by the crowd. So many were in attendance that the doors to the patio had to be opened to make room. She wondered which of the nobles were there to show their support for elevating the Merovingian to the throne and which had come out of curiosity. Many were knights currently out on campaign with Carloman and Pippin. Hedging their bets, she thought.

  Lady Ragomfred had done an excellent job as hostess, providing an abundant amount of entertainment, food and drink. Bertrada was stunned that such a young girl could move so competently through the room. She stopped at each cluster of nobles, greeted each person by name and made sure that their needs were being met by her host of servants. It was an excellent performance. Just a wisp of a girl – rather pale – but she lorded over the room like a queen.

  Bertrada watched as Boniface dribbled some of his duck meat down the front of his robe. He casually brushed it away, leaving small oil stains in its wake. Aidolf was not eating. He seemed too excited. The graying bishop was busy greeting every young nobleman who passed them by.

  Across the room two young trumpeters marched through a side entrance and took up positions on either side of the door. The long instruments they carried were nearly as tall as the boys themselves. Acting as one, they lifted the horns to their respective lips.

  They stood absolutely still, waiting for silence. It took some time and a great deal of “shushing” for the crowd to quiet. Still, the boys waited, their arms trembling from the weight of the trumpets. When the last murmur had faded away and the last glass had finished clinking, their chests rose in unison. As one, their cheeks ballooned outward and the horns trilled. It was a high and hesitant sound, the notes muted and confused. It was almost as if the boys were rehearsing. Guests looked about the room in surprise. Then the randomness of the notes evolved into a playful pattern where one coyly echoed the other as the two experimented with and rejected themes until at last, the hint of a fanfare emerged. It grew in complexity and force until the boys embraced it in a final triumphal progression. Its crescendo and strength filled the room. The last note was so high and clear it was an expression of hope and joy.

  The doors opened. Childeric stood behind them, relaxed, confident and regal. He was dressed in a white chemise, white pantaloons and an elegant purple doublet trimmed in gold. He stepped into the room with a flourish.

  The nobles erupted with applause. Childeric waved his hand and bejeweled fingernails in acknowledgement. The gesture brought cheers and Childeric smiled at them.

  He is, Bertrada thought, “comfortable” in his role as king. She was at once surprised by the support he received in the room and concerned over its import. Pippin should be careful with this man.

  Aude was begging Tedbalt to join her in line to meet the king. He looked hesitant to leave her alone, but Aude smiled so coyly and pulled on his arms so playfully that he had a hard time resisting her. Aude even found ways to “accidentally” press her body against him. My God, she was a flirt.

  Bertrada had had enough. “You two go ahead. I’m going out to the patio. I need some fresh air.” Without waiting for acknowledgement, she headed for the door. It took every ounce of her will not to run. She couldn't wait for this ball to be over.

  She burst out onto the patio and into the safety of the night air. To her surprise, she found herself crying. She bolted for the darkest corner and tried to wipe her eyes with the palms of her hands.

  “Bertrada!” a voice called from behind her. Not another noble! She struggled to compose herself. Not now!

  “Bertrada!”

  She took a deep breath and turned.

  It was Tedbalt. Bertrada burst into tears. He rushed to her and she collapsed in his arms, sobbing into his shoulder. He rocked her as he would a child and waited for her to calm down.

  “I’ve been such a fool.” She looked up into his eyes.

  Then, to her surprise, she kissed him.

  ✽✽✽

  “We will wait,” the Comptesse said, “until we’re announced.”

  Although Pippin thought such pomp utter foolishness, he had agreed to follow the Comptesse’s lead during the ball. They stood waiting on a small landing at the entrance while a plump little man in an impossibly ornate costume barred them from descending the staircase down to the revelers. Pippin pulled at the neck of his new doublet, trying to loosen its vise-like grip across his chest. Without looking at him, the Comptesse brutally pinched the inside of his arm. Pippin decided it might be prudent to stop.

  Her tailor had fitted him with a white chemise, black pantaloons and a dark green doublet with a matching green cloak. It was the most elegant clothing he had worn since leaving Rome.

  What had surprised him more, however, was the Comptesse. Already an attractive woman, she had transformed herself into an arresting beauty. She wore a stunning red gown that displayed her shoulders in the latest Paris fashion, but she covered them discreetly with a thin, almost transparent, lace shawl. It was risqué and conservative at the same time. Although clearly age had touched her, Pippin was hard-pressed to imagine that a woman could look more stunning.

  The plump little man at the head of the stairs finally turned to attend them. He held them in a haughty regard as if no one on the guest list could ever hope to impress him. When he recognized Pippin’s name, however, his eyes grew wide with surprise. The little man bowed, and then turned to a small table where an array of punch drinks was aligned. He offered each of them a glass while they waited. Frowning, the Comptesse refused. Pippin by contrast, accepted both, and downed each in a single draught. He grabbed a third to carry into the hall. There were still two more couples to be announced ahead of them.

  When it came their turn, Pippin was sure that no one would hear anything over the great din in the room.

  “The Lord Mayor, Pippin,” boomed the little man’s voice, “son of Charles, son of Pippin of Herstal and his guest, the Comptesse de Loches!”

  The hall hushed to silence. Everyone in attendance turned to find them and the air thickened with tension. Pippin felt a sudden, giddying sense of power.

  “Do they feel guilt or fear?” Pippin asked under his breath.

  “A little of both, I’d say.”

  “I’m betting on fear.” Pippin surveyed the room. “What do you suggest we do now?”

  “I think a smile might be in order.”

  Pippin chuckled and lifted his head to give the room his best smile. In a wave of relief, the nobles began to applaud. Pippin raised his drink in recognition and the room thundered its approval. It took every ounce of self-control not to laugh out loud. He could see why his father enjoyed stirring the political stew. He felt as if Charles was there beside him. He downed his drink and grabbed another from a passing waiter.

  “The heir is across the room on your right,” the Comptesse said.

  Pippin spied the man out of the corner of his eye. Childeric was sitting in a throne-like chair that was flanked on either side by the Lord and Lady Ragomfred. There was no mistaking him as a Merovingian. He had the long hair and bizarre fingernails made famous by the line. Behind Childeric stood two knights: one tall, bald and youthful, the other older, scarred and lethal. Pippin made a note of his face. There was something very dangerous about him.

  “Boniface,” the Comptesse said, “is directly across the room at the food table.”

  A
gain, Pippin felt the urge to laugh. “Now, that is a surprise.”

  “Hush. I suggest you make your way to him first, and then to the Merovingian. Remember, no politics! No acknowledgements. No challenges. No vows. Don’t engage the Merovingian. Simply demur, bow gracefully and move on. Your presence here, alone, will create enough of a stir. Let them wonder at its meaning.”

  Pippin took another moment to bask in his applause. He even waved smugly to a few nobles who had always hated his family. The Comptesse took his arm and led him down the short staircase into the room. Immediately, a swarm of well-wishing nobles strove to clasp his hand or clap his back. Pippin took his time to indulge them so that he could remember their names.

  The Comptesse guided Pippin across the room until they arrived at the food table. Boniface opened his arms in welcome.

  “Well met, Pippin!”

  “Bishop,” Pippin pointed to the stains on the man’s robe, “you look elegant in duck.”

  “You know, of course, Bishop Aidolf of Auxerres.”

  Pippin nodded and pulled the Comptesse forward. “May I present the Comptesse de Loches?”

  Boniface’s face froze. The Comptesse, by contrast, beamed.

  “So good to see you again, Wynnfred,” she said.

  Pippin was stunned. He had never heard anyone beside his father use Boniface’s given name.

  “Catherine,” Boniface acknowledged, his face reddening. Now everyone was looking. Before Pippin could recover his composure, the Lady Hélène leapt into the Comptesse’s arms and kissed both her cheeks.

  “Sister,” she said. “I had no idea you were in Paris.”

  “Ah, that is because I’m Mayor Pippin’s hostage,” the Comptesse replied, smiling. “He brought me to Paris after burning my husband’s castle.”

  “Take care, my lord Mayor,” her sister said. “Make sure you know who is captor and who is hostage.”

  “Milord Pippin,” the Comptesse said, “may I present my sister, the Lady Hélène.”