Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles

by J. Boyce Gleason

  Given the military preparations that surrounded the city, few gave much thought to the quiet process she and Hans had developed for vetting potential candidates for her household guard. Hans would invite potential candidates to the training grounds where Trudi could evaluate their skills with a sword. Having been trained by Fulrad, Trudi felt more than qualified in her ability to judge a candidate’s ability with a sword. What concerned her more was something one couldn’t see on a training ground. She wanted loyalty. And that would require some discussion.

  Her interviews were always short. Those who expressed ambition were dismissed outright. A similar fate fell to those whose eyes wandered below her neck. She asked the candidates about their families, their service, and their faith. She preferred married men to those who were single, men who had grown up with a sword in hand versus a pike or cudgel, and pagans over Christians. Having watched Carloman subvert hundreds to his Knights in Christ through their faith, she wanted no such vulnerability in her guard. Fanatical worship of either faith was a cause for disqualification.

  By the time Odilo had returned, Trudi identified more than five score who qualified for the guard, including seventy-five swordsmen, twenty pike men, and ten proficient at the two-handed staff. Although pleased with her success, she recognized that convincing Odilo would be her real challenge.

  Her husband arrived like a summer storm, sudden and teaming with emotion.

  “Carloman has left Paris and is heading east.”

  “What about Pippin?”

  Odilo turned back to her. “He doesn’t ride with Carloman. He remains in Paris.”

  Trudi’s relief was palatable. “Induce him to intercede. With Pippin’s aid, you won’t have to fight Carloman.”

  “We’re well beyond suing for peace, Trudi. Theudebald has sacked Worms.”

  Trudi couldn’t hide her exasperation. “You have yet to engage!”

  “Why don’t you trust me in this? We’re going to win, Trudi. Carloman is not your father.”

  Trudi’s fear spiked at the boast. Odilo did not – could not – understand. “Carloman was my father’s right hand. He was raised on the battlefield. He’s ruthless and cunning.” Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of the consequences. “He never loses. If Pippin joins him against you there’ll be nothing you and your armies can do to stop them. Please, Odilo, please send word to Pippin. I’m begging you on the life of our child. Stop this before it’s too late.”

  Odilo’s face was furious. “You doubt me? Me?” He pointed to the window. “Look at the army outside our walls. It is every bit as large as those your brothers can field. Bavarians, Slavs, and Alemannians. This is our land! And we will defend it with our lives. I asked your brother to avoid this war and he ignored me. I won’t ask again.”

  “Please – ”

  “Stop this. Your place is here, beside me. Do not take their side!”

  Trudi threw her arms around him. “It’s your life I’m trying to protect. Yours and our child’s.”

  At her touch, Odilo’s tension abated. He put his arms around her and hugged her to him. “You’ve recovered from your injury?”

  Trudi stiffened, but held on to her husband. “I am better. The baby will survive.”

  “You must be more careful. You gave us all a scare.”

  She let go of him. In a soft voice she said, “I was very afraid. I still am. You were gone so long, and I’m a woman alone.”

  “You are my wife. You’re hardly alone.”

  “I’m vulnerable here in a way I never was at home.”

  “No one would dare touch you.”

  Trudi stifled a shudder but lifted her eyes to his. “How can you be sure? I am Charles’s daughter and Carloman’s sister. They have many enemies and not everyone celebrated our marriage.”

  Taking Odilo’s silence as agreement, she pressed on. “I must ask a boon.”

  “A household guard?”

  “You know?”

  “It’s hard to keep something like that a secret.” He smiled at her. “Of course, I understand. It will be done.”

  “I have one caveat,” she whispered. “It must be loyal to me. Only me.”

  “Sedition, my love?”

  “Peace of mind, should something happen to you…” Her eyes welled with tears. “Your child and I will become pawns in a much larger game.”

  “Then be at peace, my love. I will assign you men in the morning.”

  “I’ve already chosen those to serve. All you need do is make the announcement.”

  Odilo looked surprised but nodded his head. “It will be as you say.”

  ✽✽✽

  Trudi’s next task was to organize her men into a fighting force. She needed her own Fulrad to train them into a cohesive unit. Having spent so many days in the practice yard looking for candidates, she had the chance to size up most of Odilo’s top swordsmen. One, an Avar named Kovrat, was nearly as good as Carloman’s champion, Hamar. Fast, lithe, and confident, Kovrat fought with such grace and ease that Trudi had trouble remembering that his movements were meant to be lethal. She sent for him.

  Up close, Kovrat was shorter than she expected. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin and a chest as wide around as a barrel. He wore his hair long with a short beard to frame his face. Everything about him, from the way he stood to the slight smile on his face exuded confidence. He bowed upon meeting her. “Milady.”

  “You’re quite a swordsman, Kovrat.”

  He nodded, accepting the compliment.

  “Have you ever led men in battle?”

  The look on his face suggested he found the question amusing. “It is why I am here, Milady. I’m a gift to the Kagan.”

  “Kagan?”

  “My…lord,” he said.

  “Do you give this gift to others?”

  He shook his head. “Only the Kagan.”

  “My husband fights with the Kagan.”

  He nodded.

  “If he asked you to train my guard, would you?”

  Kovrat shook his head. “I am for the Kagan.”

  “I can offer you gold.”

  “I have all the coin I need, milady.”

  Trudi frowned. “Is there nothing I can offer you?”

  “No, milady.”

  She found another swordsman, but the difference in caliber was substantial, especially on the practice yard. This man belittled the men more than he taught them and pranced around the practice field like he was a prince. Trudi dismissed him after the first day.

  Frustrated, she coaxed Odilo into asking the Avar’s Kagan to attend a dinner he was hosting for some of the leaders of the rebellion. Clearly delighted to be invited, the Kagan overdressed for the occasion, wearing the traditional formal attire of the Avars. His hat was conical, and his red robe festooned with great medallions celebrating his many victories in battle. His skin wasn’t as dark as Kovrat’s but his eyes had the permanent squint of easterners.

  If he recognized his error in overdress, the Kagan didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed to feel he was entitled to be in such august company despite being a minor chieftain among the great armies of the rebellion. Trudi bade him to sit next to her.

  She flattered him throughout the evening, extolling the Avars as great fighters and swordsman. She worked the conversation around to Kovrat and tested the idea of loaning his services to train her guard. The Kagan cut her short.

  “He is a gift.”

  “Kovrat said that. It’s a strange thing to call allegiance a gift.”

  The Kagan waved away the assertion. “There was a great war among the Avars. Many claimed to be first among the Kagans and were willing to shed blood to settle the question. The war lasted for years and thousands died. Avar became weak with the loss of our youth. In the end, all but one Kagan fell before my army. Although the last was a lesser Kagan, his general, Kovrat, had a reputation so great that none wished to fight him.

  When at last I took the field against him, I had him outnumbered an
d surrounded. Rather than spill the blood of another Avar, I sued for peace and suggested “a gift” of the general’s service in exchange for their lives. His Kagan agreed and we withdrew the next day. I can’t offer Kovrat’s service to you. He serves a debt for his people. I won’t dishonor that debt by having him train your guard.”

  ✽✽✽

  The next day Trudi arrived at the practice yard in her armor. She had had to adjust her leathers and remove a plate to make way for her growing belly, but it felt good to be wearing them again. When she entered through the gate, however, Hans stepped forward. “You can’t do this, Milady. You’ll dishonor the men sworn to serve you.”

  “I can train them better than that last idiot I picked.”

  “That may be, but still they will be humiliated when others discover that they’re being trained by a woman.”

  “I was trained by Fulrad, himself. I can best any man here. You pick one. Anyone.” She grabbed the nearest man, a young Slav she had selected on the first day. “Draw your weapon.”

  The man looked at her stupidly. He didn’t touch his sword.

  “You.” She pushed Hans. “Come on.” She traced eights with her sword. “I order you to draw your weapon.” Hans didn’t move.

  “Milady?”

  Trudi turned to find Kovrat standing behind her, sword in hand.

  “Will I suffice?”

  She had no chance against the Avar and she knew it. Nothing would be gained by fighting him; he would humiliate her. He was humiliating her just by asking. She raised her blade to her forehead and extended it to the side, a gesture of submission. “I yield to your sword, sir. I am no match for you.”

  Kovrat nodded. “You are right to yield. Although I’m surprised you did. You’re wiser than I had thought. Why do you challenge these men? Do you really think you could best them?”

  “I’ve seen them fight.”

  Kovrat laughed. “Indulge me.” He brought his sword up to his ear in the ox position, his left leg forward.

  Instinctively, Trudi drew back her right leg, lowering her weapon’s point to the ground, the fool’s position. She turned her hand so that her left hand was on top. Kovrat attacked, a feinting stab followed by a cutting blow to her midsection. Trudi ignored the feint and raised her blade to block the first blow. Spinning, away from his sword arm, she counterattacked, slashing downward to attack his knee. Kovrat’s blade was there to block it and he spun with her to come face to face.

  His second attack was more forceful, using the roof position to rain blows down on her from above. Trudi parried each as they came but was forced to retreat before them while waiting for an opening to counterstrike. She saw her chance, a small opening to his midsection. It had to be a ruse. He was too good a swordsman to leave himself so vulnerable. She began to stab forward from the plow position and waited for his blade to parry. Spinning with it to move behind him, she again slashed downward and again, his sword trailed behind to catch it. He spun towards her and lifted his blade so quickly that Trudi hadn’t time to parry. The point found the soft part of her throat.

  Trudi froze. “As I said, sir. I am no match for you.”

  Kovrat lowered his blade and returned it to its sheath. “I’ve heard of Fulrad. You say he trained you?”

  Trudi nodded.

  He took the sword from her hand, hefted it, admiring the curve of its blade. “A Moor’s blade. Light. Deadly.” He turned back to her. “You are well trained. Most would have fallen for that opening. You anticipated it. Perhaps you could best these men.” Kovrat swung Trudi’s blade, testing its feel. “But not when I’m finished with them.”

  Trudi was stunned. “I thought you were prohibited.”

  “I’m my Kagan’s gift, to be sure. And I won’t forsake my duty. But I can give gifts of my own making.”

  He handed Trudi back her sword. “Your men wouldn’t attack you because you’re a woman and carry their Duc’s child in your womb. It gives them no honor to fight you and might cost them much if they lose. You are not the one to train them. I am.”

  “Why change your mind?”

  He turned to look at her as if evaluating her worth. “I’m not sure. Perhaps it is because I never before met a woman in armor. I certainly have never met one who could use a sword, let alone train men in its use. You are a surprise, Duchesse, to a man who is rarely surprised. If your brother is half as formidable, we’ll have a long, hard battle before us.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Hesse

  It took nearly three days to ferry his army across the Rhine. Although he was relieved to have finished the arduous task, Carloman was more than a little anxious to be on the east side of the river. After years of campaigns with his father in Alemannia, Frisia, and Hesse, he had come to realize that he was a man of the west where century-old roads and highways connected one province to the next, where cities with great churches and markets gave way to towns and villages, and where people worked the land and plied their trades. In the west, the language was common, the Church was ubiquitous and the power of the mayors, unquestioned.

  East of the river, chaos reigned. A Babel of tribal chieftains waged incessant war that left their people scarred, desperate, and violent. Dark and endless forests covered the landscape where huge wolves often held dominion over mankind. Even the mountains were made to intimidate, towering over their counterparts in the west with peaks so close to heaven that trees no longer grew.

  In such a place it was easy to understand the pagan worship of nature deities. The gods of such a wild and untamed land would have to be terrible gods, indeed.

  To Carloman’s amusement, crossing the Rhine had the opposite effect on Boniface.

  “This is the way the earth looked when God created it.” Boniface swept his hand across the horizon where the flat marshland gradually gave way to undulating green hills reckless with wildflowers. “It’s as if we are present on the fifth day of Genesis and only the beasts and plants inhabit the world.”

  Having made this journey with Boniface in the past, Carloman wasn’t surprised by the bishop’s enthusiasm. The east roused a wild nature in the man that one rarely saw at court in Paris. Crossing the river changed him.

  Carloman decided to tease his godfather. “I disagree, Boniface. One side of the river looks much like the other.”

  “Then you, Carloman, are a blind man. Do you see any roads, or towns, or cities to mar the countryside? Are there monuments here to man’s self-glorification as there are in the west? Here, the people are of the land. They don’t deform it for their purposes. Life lived here is as our Lord intended it should be lived.”

  “You are hardly objective, Boniface.”

  The bishop harrumphed. “I suppose you have a point. Though not my native land, Hesse is the land of my making. It was here that I first came under the tutelage of Willibord. It was here that I first ministered to the pagans and here that the fires of my spiritual passion took hold. My work east of the Rhine made me a missionary and ultimately a Bishop. Everywhere I look, the land conjures up such memories that I feel like laughing at the sheer joy of it.”

  Carloman had agreed to honor a request from the bishop to escort him to the Hessian monastery at Fritzlar and then a few days march south to Fulda where Boniface planned to found a new monastery. It was intended to be the central seat of three new dioceses. Carloman had gifted an old royal fort that long ago had been sacked and burned. He suspected that the bishop’s request involved more than just safe travel. Arriving with an army at his back would send a powerful message to the local chieftains.

  Carloman also hoped to use the northern detour to enlist the support of the local Hessian chieftains in his war against Odilo and Theudebald. Even their neutrality would be a benefit to his campaign. Although the Hessians lacked the military order and discipline of armies in the west, they were fierce fighters and not to be taken lightly. It would be difficult enough to fight the Bavarians and the Allemanians. He didn’t relish the idea of adding Hessia
ns into the mix.

  As they marched inland, the thin line of the horizon slowly swelled into an immense forest of pine and fir trees that towered over the army. The farthest reaches of the forested expanse exceeded the limits of their vision and made Carloman feel puny, even with an army at his side.

  There were no roads into the forest, only footpaths. And they were too few and small to be an adequate passage of an army such as his.

  Hamar hurried from the rear to ride alongside Carloman. “You’re committed to going in there?”

  “It is the way forward.”

  “We’ll be vulnerable. This forest can hide many sins and we only have one army.”

  “It’s a big army.” Carloman smiled for the benefit of his champion. “And we don’t have time to go around. Send scouts ahead and keep patrols on our flanks to provide us some warning. I don’t expect too much trouble until we’re further east.”

  “As you wish, milord.” Hamar raced back along the line to relay the instructions.

  Within moments, riders galloped forward in a semicircular formation to lead Carloman’s army into the perpetual dusk of the forest’s interior. The men had to halve their columns to cross the tree line, marching five abreast instead of ten. Still, their passage cut a path through the forest that could accommodate an oliphant.

  As day followed day, Hamar’s caution appeared to be unfounded. They advanced unchallenged by man, or boar or wolf. The only thing to harass their progress was the cawing of unseen crows.

  After another week, the terrain grew more mountainous and their march more labored. As they climbed, however, the forest thinned and Carloman saw evidence of humanity. They passed farms and villages nestled in the valleys along their path. Unlike their counterparts in the west, however, these villagers ran from the sight of Carloman’s army, shooing their children before them and drawing pagan runes in the air.

  He sent for Boniface. "I thought you had converted the pagans in these parts.”