Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles

by J. Boyce Gleason

  They left in the morning and marched a day before crossing the Danube at Donauwörth. Upon learning that the battle was already underway, Pippin hastened their pace, but it still took the better part of another day before they arrived at the battlefield.

  ✽✽✽

  They marched into chaos. The lines on both sides of the battle had disintegrated into a horrific melee. Thousands of bodies from both armies lay strewn across the field in a massive sea of dead. Carloman’s cavalry had been dispersed and was fighting in pockets. There was no sign of Carloman, Drogo, or the Frankish command.

  Pippin pushed aside the implications. “Sound the horn. Take the infantry and drive them towards the river.” He called to his uncle. “I’ll take the cavalry around their flank and attack the rear.”

  Pippin didn’t wait for confirmation. He led his cavalry in a wide arc around the melee and drove straight for the heart of Odilo’s rear guard.

  He heard the roar from Childebrand’s infantry as it swarmed across the battlefield like a cloud of locusts, devouring everything before them. Without a formed line, the Bavarians were helpless to stop the charge. Their trumpets called for order, and then retreat but the battle had disintegrated too far into chaos. There was no line to stop them. They swept over the battlefield in a concentrated wave of destruction.

  As Pippin circled the battlefield in search of Odilo, a phalanx of enemy fighters caught his attention. They alone were advancing against his army, cutting a path through it like a wet knife. They were superior swordsmen, dressed in exotic armor that Pippin had last seen in the east. They fought with an orchestrated vehemence that was defying his line.

  He sent Arnot forward with half the cavalry and took the rest towards the enemy phalanx. They were driving a section of Childebrand’s line backward. It should have become a rallying point for Odilo’s troops, but they were in too much disarray to respond. Without support the enemy phalanx would soon drive too deep into Pippin’s line and become surrounded.

  Pippin used his cavalry to cut the phalanx off from Odilo’s army, and then he rammed his warhorse into their rear guard, riding over several of the enemy soldiers on foot. He hacked down his blade on those near him as he plunged deeper into their ranks. The swordsmen closed in behind him, taking away his exit. The only way out was forward.

  Pippin kicked the flanks of his warhorse and pushed onward. The fighting seemed to collapse on itself in the phalanx as his infantry closed in around them. The enemy swordsmen were being cut down around him. In the end, their leader fought alone. He was a blur of technique, stepping into and out of harm’s way with his blade moving with violent grace as it took those who challenged him.

  Pippin signaled for his men to back away until the man stood alone.

  With the phalanx no longer a threat, Childebrand’s line swept forward unimpeded, churning through what was left of the Bavarians.

  “Fight me!” The swordsman called to Pippin.

  Pippin saluted him with his sword from his warhorse. “I bow to your superior skill. I haven’t seen a man fight like that since Fulrad was young.”

  “He was good.” The swordsman spat. “I am better.”

  “You are from the east. Why are you fighting with the Bavarians?”

  “I’m an Avar, a gift of my Kagan to Odilo.”

  “Odilo will be finished before the day is done. May I have your name?”

  “Kovrat.”

  “I am Pippin, son of Charles.”

  “The mayor. I’ve met your sister.”

  “She is well?”

  “Well protected.”

  Pippin frowned. “I would suggest a truce between us. As you can see, Odilo will not carry the day and I would rather not kill a swordsman so valuable.”

  Kovrat seemed to weigh his options before giving a shrug. “I’m a gift of my Kagan, but not a stupid gift. I agree to your truce.”

  “Do I have your word as a knight?”

  Kovrat nodded.

  “Then you may keep your sword.”

  The Bavarian rear guard was better organized than its infantry. By the time Pippin arrived, Odilo had formed a square with pikes to turn aside Arnot’s cavalry. All Pippin could do was make it impossible for Odilo to mobilize support for the Bavarian infantry in the field. He ordered a series of feints and flanking moves to harass the Bavarian column, effectively isolating Odilo from the battle.

  Pippin searched the battlefield for some sign of Carloman. He saw pockets of cavalry battling across the field, but nothing of his brother’s standard. The same was true of Hamar and Drogo. They were nowhere to be found.

  It took two more hours for the battle to be decided. With Odilo’s cavalry isolated from the battle, the Franks’ cavalry had the freedom to fall on the Bavarian infantry across the field. In the end they tried to run, but with the River Lech behind them, they had nowhere to go. The Frankish cavalry waded into the melee and the battle became slaughter.

  Pippin turned to Odilo, who was still trapped inside his boxed square, and shouted. “End this!”

  Odilo looked away.

  “End this! How many more men have to die?”

  The Frankish cavalry had become butchers, methodically carving wide swaths of blood through the Bavarians on foot. Most of those left fighting were peasants and no match for armored cavalry. Screams echoed across the battlefield.

  Disgusted, Pippin shouted again to Odilo. “Yield, goddamn you! Yield!”

  With fury on his face, Odilo threw his sword into the dirt. Horns signaled their surrender and those Bavarians and Slavs who were still fighting across the battlefield lay down their arms.

  Childebrand rode up to join Pippin. He was a figure out of a nightmare. His two-meter frame towered over everyone like a demon. His armor was bathed in blood and his eyes still carried his rage from the battle. Seeing Odilo, he spurred his warhorse forward. Odilo’s generals moved to intercede.

  “Hold, uncle!” Pippin intercepted him. “He has yielded.”

  “It took him long enough! I find no honor in killing peasants.”

  “He has yielded.” It was a command. With a grunt, Childebrand sheathed his sword. Pippin turned to the Bavarians. “Odilo?”

  Odilo’s face was red with rage, but the rebel dismounted and strode forward with a straight back. He stopped in front of Pippin.

  “Kneel.” Pippin commanded.

  Odilo knelt. “I will not kiss your cross.”

  The statement surprised Pippin. He hadn’t thought to make Odilo kiss the cross. But having raised the subject, it forced Pippin into a choice. Carloman certainly would have insisted upon it. And he would have killed Odilo if the man refused. So too, would most of his commanders, especially those who were Knights in Christ.

  On the other hand, killing Odilo would leave Bavaria without a Duke. Their nobility was already in shambles. If Odilo didn’t lead, there would likely be a civil war and Pippin would have to return to restore order.

  And then there was Trudi. Pippin didn’t think he could kill his sister’s husband. There were limits to what he would do for religion. He drew his sword and watched the rebel’s eyes widen. Pippin stabbed it into the ground before Odilo so that the hilt was level with the man’s face.

  “You will honor my commands and prohibitions,” Pippin said.

  It took only a moment before Odilo put his hands on the pommel of Pippin’s sword. “I will.”

  Pippin covered the Bavarian’s hands with his own. “You acknowledge my right to punish the transgression of my commands and prohibitions.”

  “I do.”

  ✽✽✽

  They found Carloman hours later. His body was beneath Hamar’s. His champion had fought to where Carloman had fallen and butchered those attacking him. He then stood over Carloman’s body, alone atop the small hill, fighting until he too was struck down. Several deep wounds covered his body and his right shoulder had been nearly severed from his torso.

  His effort to save Carloman, however, had been successful.
They found Pippin’s brother alive, but unconscious. He was so bloodied and bruised that he looked as if he had been dragged behind a horse. Only three of his wounds were of any significance: one to his arm, one to his back, and one to the head. They dressed his arm and back but could only pray for him to regain consciousness.

  Drogo, too, was alive. He had been isolated with one of the pockets of cavalry fighting across the field. After tending to his father, he gave Pippin a summary of the battle in a hollow voice.

  “Father’s cavalry charge broke the Bavarian line. But their pikes split our cavalry and our infantry was too weak to seize the advantage. Without organized lines, the battle disintegrated into melee. At first, I thought their greater numbers doomed us, but they kept most of their cavalry in reserve to protect Odilo. Their infantry was no match for our regulars. The fighting disintegrated into chaos. Only Odilo’s rear guard held its formation. If he had led them in a charge, it would have ruined us. For some reason, he held back, perhaps thinking his numbers were enough to win the day.”

  “It was suicide to lead a cavalry charge.” Pippin said. “What was Carloman thinking?”

  “He thought the battle lost. It was a forlorn hope.”

  Pippin stared at his nephew in silence. The accusation was plain. He had come too late and forced Carloman into a desperate situation. It was his fault.

  “He gave me his blessing before he charged.” Drogo’s eyes held Pippin’s. The boy was angry. “He wouldn’t let himself be taken by those pagans. He refused to acknowledge their God. He was willing to sacrifice his life for the Church. And you

  didn’t even make Odilo kiss the cross.”

  Pippin frowned. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Is it?”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Regensburg

  A single solider dressed in black with a coil of rope over his shoulder scaled the eastern wall of the palace using nothing but his hands and feet and the natural crevices in the palace’s stone walls. A dozen men waited silently below in the warm night air.

  Nicknamed “Scales,” he was a legend for doing this sort of thing. He would take bets that he could climb any tower or a wall without a rope or a stake to help him, with the higher the tower the larger the bet. Those in his platoon knew never to wager against him.

  Having learned of his unique capability, Theudebald bet Scales a solidus he couldn’t climb to the second-floor balcony of the palace. Scales hesitated, but only because the feat had to be accomplished at night. Theudebald doubled the offer and Scales readily nodded his head. He’d bet his mother for two solidi.

  He had already bypassed the shuttered first floor balcony and was making slow but persistent progress towards the second when he hit a snag.

  He had leveraged a toehold to push himself close, but when he tried to find a handhold using his right hand – the one closest to the balcony – there were none within reach. Shifting his weight to his other foot, he searched with his left hand.

  A worn edge of a stone block provided a grip, and he took it, knowing it drew him away from the second-floor balcony, but hoping that it would provide him a path above it. It did. He found a quick succession of toeholds and handholds and within seconds was elevated four feet above the targeted balcony. His only problem was he had no leverage with which to make the jump. His right hand searched for a new crevice or a natural ledge to grasp, but again he found nothing. He retreated to his prior handhold and searched with his foot. After some effort, he found a small outcropping – no more than a half-inch wide – and shifted his weight to it.

  The outcropping tore from the wall and all his weight followed. His right handgrip ripped away from the wall and his momentum dislodged his left foot. He dangled from the wall by three fingers and they strained as his body flailed thirty feet above the ground. He bounced once against the wall and then became still. With a concerted effort, he threw his weight to his right, searching with his free hand for any kind of purchase. Sweat stung his eyes and he blinked to clear them. He tried again and, at last, his right hand found a crevice to hold. He breathed a sigh of relief and searched to find a foothold, first for the right foot, and then the left.

  He took a moment to rest, knowing he had to start the process all over again. He shook his left hand to get some feeling back into it and then searched with his right foot for a higher anchor point. He found one, but it was much higher than he wanted, almost to the level of his waist. It was, however, the only chance he had of making the balcony. If it didn’t hold when he put his weight into it, he wouldn’t be able to stop from falling. He found a handhold high above his head and swung his right foot up to the small shelf. He pulled and pushed until he was upright but didn’t wait to see if the shelf would hold. He leapt for the balcony rail.

  Halfway into the leap, he knew it was too far. His body slammed against the side of the balcony sending a shock of pain through his chest and he began to fall backward. Out of desperation, he made one last swipe with his right arm and caught a gutter spout below the balcony. His body swung crazily as he tried to hold on.

  His hands started to slip, and panic filled him. He clawed desperately for any purchase, but each hand slipped on the smooth stone. He was losing ground, sliding farther down the gutter spout. A lip at the end of the outlet saved him. Using it for leverage, he hauled himself up until he could throw an arm through the railing and from there climbed up onto the second-floor balcony. He paused for several seconds, knife in hand, fearing that the noise from his jump had raised an alarm. When he was confident that all remained quiet, he secured the rope to the railing and let it down to the men waiting below.

  One by one the other soldiers scaled the rope until four stood with him. The balcony would fit no more; the others would have to follow after they gained entry. Scales edged into the window opening. He poked his head through for just a second to check for guards. There was one stationed about twenty paces down the hallway to his left.

  Scales flipped a rock into the opening and heard it clatter down the hall. In the stillness of the early hours, the sound echoed. The guard walked past the window to investigate and Scales scraped his knife against the stone wall. When the guard poked his head out of the window Scales buried his knife in the man’s eye. He caught the body as it fell and drew him out onto the balcony.

  They were told that the Duchess’s rooms were on the third floor, so the Alemannians scurried down the hall as quietly as possible looking for a stairway to the next level. After they turned the first corner, they found it. Unfortunately, three armed guards were descending towards them.

  “To the stairs! The stairs!” one shouted. “We are invaded! To the stairs!” Each of the soldiers had a spear and they lowered them to fend off the invaders. Thinking the guards might cost him his two solidi, Scales was first into the fray. He prayed that the men outside would hurry.

  ✽✽✽

  Trudi heard the commotion and rolled out of bed. By the time she got to her door, the guard stationed there had already joined the battle on the stairs. It took only seconds for her to assess the danger. Although the narrowness of the stairway would temporarily keep Theudebald’s men at bay, it wouldn’t stop them as more kept arriving through the window. Trudi fled deeper into the palace.

  “To the stairs!” she shouted. The only other guards on her floor were those from her personal retinue. All four of them poured into the hallway in their nightshirts and raced down the hallway to the fight.

  Two of Trudi’s nursemaids and her doctor also lived on her floor and Trudi ran to warn them. She found the nursemaids already out of bed. One even had a robe on.

  “Get to my room!” She ordered and fled down the hall to the doctor’s room. She found him still asleep.

  “Get up, you old fool! We’re under attack!” The man didn’t move. She rolled him over. “Get up!”

  A dozen stab wounds covered his chest, his stomach and neck. There was blood everywhere. Trudi stared into his unseeing eyes and fo
ught back the urge to vomit.

  She ran back to her room, panic assaulting her every step. It was the safest place, she told herself. They had rebuilt the door to be strong and it would buy them time until the guards on the lower level stopped the attack.

  But who killed the doctor? The question leapt into Trudi’s mind as she barreled down the corridor to her room. The fighting had backed up to the head of the stairs. Only two of her guards remained standing.

  She turned the corner into her room and swung the heavy wooden door closed. She lifted the wooden beam into the brackets. When it fell into place, she breathed a sigh of relief and let her head fall against the thick wood that stood between her and the attackers.

  She heard a whimper behind her and turned to find one of the two nursemaids lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

  The other nursemaid stood facing Trudi with a knife in hand. “Bitch! Did you think we would buy your Frankish lies? Did you think we were too stupid to see your treachery?”

  “You killed the doctor.” Her words sounded naïve, even to Trudi, but she was trying to make sense of the night’s violence.

  “And now I’m going to kill you.”

  Trudi wrestled with the logic. “The soldiers?”

  The nursemaid licked her lips. “My way out.”

  Something heavy slammed into the door, startling both women.

  Trudi circled to her right to give herself some room. “No one is leaving here tonight. You’ll be caught.”

  The nursemaid shook her head. “I’ll claim the soldiers did it. No one will ever know.

  “Why the doctor?”

  “So, no one would save you.”

  Trudi’s hand went behind her back. When she brought it forward, it held a blade of her own. She enjoyed the shock on the nursemaid’s face.

  Another blow shook the door.

  A horrible contraction seized her. With a groan, Trudi doubled over, clutching her belly. The nursemaid seized the moment to attack, rushing across the room with her blade held high. Despite the pain she felt, Trudi’s training responded to the threat. More out of instinct than intent, she ducked beneath the attack and grabbed the woman’s wrist. Using the blade’s momentum, she pulled the wrist up sharply behind the woman’s back until she heard the dull crack of a bone breaking. The nursemaid screamed and dropped her knife.