“My Dearest Lord Pippin…”
It had been written using one of his family codes. The key was in the address. She could have addressed him as “Pippin,” or “Lord Pippin,” or “My Lord Pippin” or “My Dearest Lord Pippin.” By using his name as the fourth word in the address, it told him that only the fourth words of each sentence were relevant.
He reread the message. What it really conveyed was, “I have what you seek.”
It could only mean one thing. Bertrada was at Chelles.
After a minute Sunnichild crossed herself and turned to face him.
A broad smile took her face. “Pippin!”
He strode down the aisle to meet her. “Am I permitted to embrace a nun?”
She threw her arms around him with a laugh. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
The emotion welling in him took him by surprise. Despite the events of the past year, they had been a family. They had cared for and protected each other. To Pippin, after so much time alone, just being in her presence was a relief. They sat next to each other in one of the pews.
“You look terrible, Pippin.”
“These past few months have been somewhat…difficult.”
“And now you are going off to war.”
He nodded. “Odilo left us no choice.”
“There is always a choice, Pippin.”
“Not this time. Theudebald has returned. He’s allied with Odilo.”
“Odilo should know better. The man is a monster.” Sunni’s face paled. “Trudi –”
“Can take care of herself. She and Odilo married.”
“She’s still in grave danger, Pippin. Theudebald will hurt her to harm you.”
Her urgency gave Pippin pause. Being of Bavarian nobility, Sunni knew the region’s politics better than most. Charles had held her counsel in very high regard.
“What would you have me do?”
Sunni’s face was a stark mask as if all humanity had left her. “Kill him.”
Pippin raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A surprising thing for a nun to say.”
Sunni’s tone tolerated no banter. “Do it soon. The man is a demon.”
Pippin nodded and showed her the letter. “I received your message.”
“I thought that would get your attention. Yes. Bertrada is here. She and the Lady Hélène asked for sanctuary.”
“Where is she?”
“I asked Lady Hélène to fetch her. But, before she arrives, you must promise me that you will hear her out.”
Although confused, Pippin nodded. “Of course. Is she well?”
A look of concern took Sunni’s face. “You need to speak with her.”
“What are you talking about? Where is she?”
“Here.” A voice called from the side entrance of the chapel. It was Bertrada. She was dressed as a prelate; her hair black and cut shorter than Pippin’s. Lady Hélène stood beside her.
An overwhelming sense of relief flooded through Pippin. All the fear and anxiety, all the doubt and worry about Tedbalt, disappeared in a moment of clarity. Bertrada was alive and well and that was all that mattered. He ran to her, swept her into his arms, and lifted her off the floor. As before, she didn’t return his embrace. This time, however, Pippin didn’t care. She was alive and well. That was all that mattered.
He set her down. “I’ve been so worried. I searched nearly every home in Paris looking for you.”
“Pippin, we need to talk.”
“I know about the baby.”
“Please sit down.”
“If you want, we can marry. He won’t be a bastard.”
“Pippin!” It was Sunnichild. “Sit down.”
He sat down in the nearest pew. Bertrada sat next to him.
“You may have noticed that I’m wearing the dress of a prelate.”
“A good disguise.”
“It isn’t. I’ve asked to take the vows.”
The words struck Pippin like a blow. “But why?”
“It is my choice.”
Anger and despair wrestled within Pippin. “Please, don’t.”
She laid her hand on his. “You know that I love you. But this is the right thing to do. I can’t live the life you live. I can’t raise my child in fear. I’m hounded now and we aren’t even wed. What will my life be if we marry? How will our children be protected? If I take the vows, these walls will protect me.”
“Bertie –”
“Sister,” Bertrada interrupted.
“What?”
“You must call me, Sister.”
The rebuke wounded him, but he acquiesced. “Sister, I beg you to reconsider.”
“I will not.”
“What about the child?”
“It will be raised here. There are many women here, like me, with child. It will be raised in an orphanage and told of its parentage when he or she is of age.”
Anger shook him. “I could take the babe.”
“You would endanger it, just as you have endangered me. I can’ stop you. But if you take our child, I will never forgive you. You will never see me again.”
He saw the certainty in her face and in that moment, all hope vanished.
“Good-bye, Pippin.” Bertrada stood and walked out of the chapel.
Frustration roared within him. He wanted to tear the abbey down block by block. His mind sprinted down the myriad of choices he had, pushing each to their conclusion. None showed any promise of a future with Bertrada or his child. At best he could return for the child, but it would always be a bastard. It would always be without Bertrada and it would always end in misery.
“I tried to talk her out of it.” He felt Sunni’s hand on his shoulder. “I tried to talk about our days before Charles died, but it only made matters worse. Once the idea of taking vows occurred to her, she embraced it as her salvation. Her hair was shorn the very next day.”
“Can she change her mind?”
“Until she takes her vow.”
“When will that be?”
“Whenever the abbess decides to let her. Some kneel right away; some take years.”
His despair led him back to the same place he had been before she vanished after the ball. She was gone. Truly gone. “Will you watch over her and the babe?”
She smiled. “What else would a grandmother do?”
He nodded, emotion welling within him. “Thank you.”
Sunnichild reached out and took his hand. “I have something to ask you. I meant what I said in the letter, Pippin. I’d like you to free Gripho. It’s one thing to send me away in my waning years, but Gripho is a young man. Carloman is wrong to put him in prison.”
Pippin nodded. “It wasn’t among his better decisions.”
“Can’t you intercede?”
“Not now. And not without force. As angry as I am with Carloman, I won’t take up arms against him.”
“Then promise me that, after you deal with the rebellion, you will try to gain his freedom.”
Pippin looked at the woman before him. Even trapped in her role as a nun, she exuded strength. He could see why Carloman had been afraid to let her establish regency for Gripho. But had Carloman listened to reason, they wouldn’t be facing a rebellion at all.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“There’s one more person you need to speak with.”
Pippin lifted his head.
“Lady Hélène.” Sunnichild gestured for Hélène to approach. “You need to understand who and what she is. For years, I thought your father was having an affair with her, but the truth is far more … useful.” She kissed Pippin on the cheek. “Give Trudi my love. And try not to kill her husband.”
Pippin barked out a laugh and stood to say goodbye. Sunnichild hugged him and turned to leave the chapel.
Pippin tried to reconcile the woman who stood before him with the Lady Hélène he knew at court. The short-haired woman had been a socialite, a widow who was welcome in almost every home in Paris. Here, standing in the Abbey chapel, H�
�lène looked as if some warrior demon had stolen her soul.
Catherine had told him that Hélène belonged to a sect of the church devoted to a strict martial code and that she was capable of protecting Bertrada. Seeing her here, with the grace of a swordsman, he began to believe it.
He stood to greet her. “I am indebted to you and your sister for protecting Bertrada.”
“It was the Merovingian. He sent soldiers to kill her and make it look like a robbery. We fled the city, thinking you were already out on campaign. We didn’t know you were still in Paris until we reached the Abbey. Otherwise, I would have tried to bring her to you.”
“For the moment, this might be a better solution. I can’t take her with me on campaign – not if she’s with child. And with the army gone, Paris may not be safe. Here, at least, she’ll be hidden from view.”
Hélène nodded and an awkward silence grew between them.
Pippin didn’t know where to start. Question upon question thundered inside his head. He picked the most obvious. “How did you know my father?”
She smiled. “I knew him well.”
“I’m in no mood to banter, my lady.”
“My sister arranged for an introduction.”
“Why?”
Her eyes took a far-off look to them, as if they danced within her memories. When she spoke, her voice rang with passion.
“When the Saracen Abd ar-Rahman crossed the mountains with his false god and thirty thousand men, he defeated the Berber Munuza. He defeated Eudo of Aquitaine. He defeated all who stood before him. The River Garonne ran red with Frankish blood as the Saracen plundered Autun and the land of Bordeaux. Flush with victory and treasure, they turned their eyes north to the holy relics at the Abbey of St. Martin of Tours. With less than half of their number, Charles took up the high ground outside Poitiers. For seven days the Saracen cavalry fell upon them and for seven days they were rebuffed. On the last day, a great battle ensued and it appeared that Charles would be overwhelmed.
“In a feint, Charles attacked their rear-guard, threatening the Saracen looted treasure. Their army panicked, scurrying like animals to save the ill-gotten gold. Charles chased them down long into the night. By morning, twenty thousand lay dead on the battlefield and Abd ar-Rahman’s head stood atop of a pike.”
Hélène's eyes were filled with righteous fury. “Charles was our savior. He gave us justice. I knew then that I would serve him till the last of my breath.”
“How exactly did you serve him?”
Her eyes squinted as if she were judging him. “Some have called me his death knight.”
For years, there had been rumors of an assassin in Charles’s court, but Pippin had never given them much credence. That it could be Lady Hélène struck him as
preposterous. Yet here she was with a calm face suggesting she was that killer.
“You are a murderer?”
“He called me ‘his Justice.’ He even knighted me.”
“A woman?”
Her eyes twinkled. “It was our secret.”
A cold feeling stole over Pippin. He remembered rumors linking Hélène to the death of one of Charles’s rivals. She was telling the truth. The idea both repelled and intrigued him. Sunni had said she was useful. Now he understood what she meant.
“Whom do you serve now?
She met his eyes. “I have yet to find someone worthy.”
The rebuke was plain. “Carloman isn’t worthy? I’m not worthy?”
“Are you?” She stepped towards him. “Tell me this, Pippin, son of Charles. Will you be king?”
“I – I don’t know.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “How would your father have answered that question?”
Pippin eyed her suspiciously. It was the same question her sister Catherine had asked him. He closed his eyes and imagined Charles standing in front of this woman. His father would have laughed at her question. “He would have said yes.”
Hélène crossed her arms as if that explained everything. “I will honor my sister’s request and protect Bertrada until you return from the war. Then her fate will be in your hands.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Reichswald Forest
Carloman had never seen anything so formidable. With a howl, the blaze swept through the forest in a wave of fire that sent gouts of flame dancing over the forest canopy. Treetops blossomed at their touch, creating a never-ending wall of fire, roaring fifty feet in the air. It was like standing before the gates of hell as they opened onto the world.
Even from his perch across the shallow river the heat was searing. Carloman ordered a general retreat and his men streamed back across the same wooden bridges they had used to mount the attack. A panic ensued among the forward ranks as they pushed to escape the blistering blaze. Order broke down as men crowded onto the bridge. Others forged into river rather than wait.
Like the breath of a dragon, a plume of fire spewed from the forest into their ranks. Screams pierced the air as men became human torches, their torsos erupting in flames.
Carloman ordered the horns to blow to maintain order but his men stampeded into the shallow river. Those who fell were trampled and drowned as hundreds clawed their way to the other side. He dispatched lieutenants to control the shoreline, funneling those who arrived into ranks to provide room for those still to come.
Dozens of his men were burning and Carloman began to fear that the river wouldn’t be enough of a barrier to save them. If the fire leapt across to the forest behind them, there would be no escape. He knelt and prayed to God for mercy and he wasn’t alone on bended knee.
His prayer ended, Carloman stood to await his fate. The flames towered above him, alive and majestic, taunting him for his impotence. Scorching smoke filled the air, stinging his eyes, throat, and lungs. Rearing its head as if to laugh, the blaze hurled itself towards the forest in the south, and east roaring away from him over the trees until there was nothing but an inferno as far as Carloman could see.
He had summoned a monster, a demon of incredible power, and he thanked God that it hadn’t devoured him and his army.
✽✽✽
Nothing of the forest lived after the fire. Not a hare, a boar, a raven, or deer. The wind had swept the conflagration across the horizon and all creatures that could have, fled before it. Every village, every farm, every road, every sign of life was gone. In their place were the burnt and broken specters of the forest’s giant oak trees. It took days before Carloman could advance his army with any degree of safety, and even then, his men had to cover their faces to stave off the scent of fire, ash and decay.
Although, Carloman had gotten his wish to take away the enemy’s cover, the boon came at a staggering cost. There was no land to forage, no farms to seek grain and eggs, and no wells to give them water. Mile after mile, they rode in the wake of the fire. In some places the ground still burned.
Carloman rationed his army’s food and water and sent scouts to search for anyplace untouched by fire. They returned with nothing but growing desperation as no such place appeared to exist.
For two days they advanced through the ghost wood finding no drinkable water as every stream was filled with ash. Their purgatory was endless. Determined to take advantage of an absent enemy, Carloman pressed on. But with each passing day, his men grew weaker. If he didn’t find forage soon, his men would starve.
On the fifth day after entering the burnt forest, a scout reported that the Tauber River was just ahead and that it had broken the path of the conflagration. Carloman’s army stumbled to its edge, a specter of the robust force that had entered the forest’s desolation. Carloman knelt by the water and gave a prayer of thanksgiving.
It went unanswered. After crossing the river, Carloman found desolation of a different kind. Refugees from the fire overwhelmed the far shoreline. Filthy and barely clothed women and children begged the soldiers as they passed. Hunger ravaged their shrunken faces, and their waste littered the shore. The stench of it wa
s everywhere.
Carloman marched his men onward, finally making good time due to an old Roman trading road that allowed for a quickened pace. But every town and village was similarly overwhelmed with refugees. Hundreds of them huddled in makeshift huts at the edges of each town, while the few men who remained patrolled the village centers with clubs, axes, and swords.
It was clear that the human throng of refugees had already consumed what there had been to forage, so Carloman had no choice but to press on. His men stayed hungry and weak, but marched forward, knowing that there was nothing for them to gain by stopping. The shitting disease resurfaced in his ranks and soon thereafter Carloman’s daily accounts showed increasing numbers of his men dying.
As if they weren’t challenged enough, it began to rain. The water fell in wide sheets, slapping his ranks in successive blows. The ground beneath their feet became a bog, sucking their boots into the mud with every step. Still, they marched on, pushing southward towards the rebellion. Although their progress slowed, the men seemed to welcome the downpour as the rain diluted the stench of the fire.
When the next morning’s sun rose on their encampment, the men discovered they were on the cusp of a broad valley. Although a forest still covered much of the landscape, huge tracts of farmland were visible from their perch. Carloman made the sign of the cross. He knew a gift from the Almighty when he saw one. His army had survived the fire’s devastation and now their supplies would be replenished, and their health and spirits restored.
He sent out foraging parties to gather food. When they returned a day later there was a celebration among the men. They had cattle to slaughter, pigs to roast, bread to eat, and wine to drink. Carloman let them enjoy the moment and ordered them to encamp for two days.
Once he was assured that pickets had been set, Carloman afforded himself the luxury of bathing in a nearby stream. A thick sill protruded into the water’s edge creating a small cataract and he sat beneath it, letting the water flow over his head and shoulders. Closing his eyes, he let its thrumming cascade drown out the sounds of the camp and gave himself up to the gentle buffeting of the rushing stream. He let the water carry away the stench of the fire and the taint of its ash. He let it wash away the weariness in his bones and the despair he had harbored for days. He let it cleanse him of the doubts that had plagued his journey.
Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles Page 27
