When she opened the door wide to reveal the buttocks’ owner, he had turned. Now the doorway was filled with pigeons. Dozens housed in four or five containers cooed and fluttered in discordant pandemonium. Sunni stepped back. The man straightened. She finally recognized her mystery visitor. It was Odilo.
“Forgive me, Sunni, but I was hoping you would keep these for me,” her uncle said. “It’s only for a little while, and they are really no trouble at all. You just have to feed them.”
Carrier pigeons! Sunni thought.
Without invitation, Odilo strode through her chambers, carrying the flapping cages out onto her balcony. “I brought them along for Gripho’s elevation,” he said, lining them up along the wall. “I assumed I would be gone for a while but now believe you will have greater use for them.”
Sunni noticed that each cage was marked with a different colored ribbon. Odilo fussed with their organization so that every cage could be easily accessed. Once satisfied that all was in order, he returned to Sunni to greet her more properly.
She kissed him three times on alternate cheeks and laughed at his ever-present grin. “I don’t know if we can feed them,” Sunni countered. “We are, after all, expecting a siege.”
Odilo responded by producing a large bag of seed that he handed to her. This was followed by a number of tiny canisters meant for attaching to the legs of the pigeons. Looking up, his face sobered.
“The white cage,” he said, “is for keeping in touch. There are six birds. I will send them back with news from Bavaria so you will never run out. The blue cage is to announce Carloman’s arrival. Those birds already have canisters attached to their legs and messages already written. Release all the birds at once. The same is true for the green cage. But only release these if Carloman leaves. The red cage signals that Carloman has breached the wall, and defeat is imminent. Again, release all the birds at once. Their messages are already written.
“Use the white cage birds to provide details, if you have time.”
Sunni looked perplexed. “Why different cages?”
“The white cage is for me. The others are for our allies. If Carloman declares war, this is the fastest way to inform the rest of the kingdom and mobilize a response. Carloman won’t be able to maintain a siege if everyone else rebels.”
“Unless we accidentally burn down the city.”
“Yes, avoiding that would help.” Odilo cleared his throat. “What did Gripho say about the priest’s charges?”
“It was the same priest who went to the Compte about Gripho earlier this week. Gripho said that he wanted to teach the priest a lesson but only threatened him. He claimed the priest fainted so quickly that it was pointless. Gripho left. He said the church was intact at that point.”
“You should let your son know we don’t need anymore ‘lessons,’” Odilo said.
“Believe me, I have.” She shook her head, exasperated. Looking up at Odilo, Sunni asked, “How can I convince you to stay?”
“You can’t. I must go, or there won’t be an eastern front. I would also like to see if I can find word of Trudi. I was upset that she hadn’t reappeared by the time we left.”
“If she is with Pippin, I’m sure she is safe.”
“I hope so.” Odilo’s face turned dour.
“Exactly what are your intentions for her?” Sunni asked. “She is betrothed to Aistulf. When she returns, Carloman will pack her up and send her off with him and King Liutbrand.”
Her uncle seemed to wrestle with this. His casual manner was replaced by one more urgent and intense. He started to respond to her question twice, but each time checked his words.
“I didn’t expect this,” he said, “and I’m not really sure how it happened. I was intrigued by the politics of such a marriage. She is a unique girl. And I’m not some foolish boy who gets swept away by a woman simply because she throws me a smile. Yet, for some reason, I cannot stand the thought of her marrying Aistulf. I cannot stand the thought of her being with anyone at all.” He looked exasperated. “Were this a different time …,” he started. “I’m not even sure how she feels.”
“What will you do if you find her?” Sunni asked.
“I’ll ask her to go with me,” he said.
“Will you marry her?” Sunni’s voice was almost a whisper.
Odilo nodded, as if to himself.
Sunni took Odilo in her arms and hugged him to her chest. Looking up into his face, she smiled a broad beatific smile. “She will be a lovely bride,” she said. “And you will have beautiful children.”
Odilo laughed. “All mothers are the same,” he said.
“What will you do about Pippin?”
Odilo looked at her questioningly.
“Pippin’s not going to let her leave with you,” Sunni said. “And both of them will want to come back to mourn their father. If Trudi returns to Paris, she’ll leave with Aistulf, not you. If you find her, you’ll need to take her from Pippin.”
Odilo nodded.
Sunni laughed. “I’m not sure which of us has the easier task.”
“Speaking of love,” Odilo said with a glint in his eye. “What are your intentions with Heden? That mustachioed man seems to have quite a bounce to his step.”
Sunni reddened and then laughed some more. “Oh, I don’t know, Odilo.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I was so young then.”
“He wants to be more than your champion,” Odilo said.
“Yes, yes, I know.” She sighed. “He has already pressed his advantage.”
Odilo raised his eyebrows.
“It was nothing.” Seeing the doubt on his face, she added, “It’s a long story.”
He raised his eyebrows further.
“Stop it.” Sunni laughed, shoving him with her hand.
“Sounds like you are under siege both inside the city walls and out.” Odilo chuckled. “Be careful, niece,” he warned.
Sunni’s face sobered. “Will you return to aid us?”
Odilo shook his head. “It’s a long way to Regensburg. And bringing our armies this far west would leave us vulnerable. We do better by giving him reason to abandon the siege and come east where he will have to fight a growing rebellion. I would prefer to fight on our ground.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I’m sorry, Sunni. But you and Heden are on your own.”
***
It was already late when Samson snapped the neck of the chicken and let it run around the courtyard, its head flopping from side to side. Children doing chores nearby stopped to point at the dangling head and laughed when the bird ran toward them. They scattered before its random fury, howling when it chased the littlest boy. When the fowl finally collapsed, Samson grabbed its legs and stuffed it into a large sack.
Making his way to the western end of Laon, Samson passed the ancient walls that had once fortified the city. The walls had been extended to enclose fields and pasture so they could prolong its food stores during a siege. Using a shoulder-high walking stick covered in runes, Samson followed the old wall north until he found the footpath Sunni had described to him. He took the path west and then north again to a pasture that sat high on a plateau.
Sunni, Gripho, and Heden waited for him there with three soldiers. They stood at the center of the field on a broad flat stone that was blackened from many fires. Samson nodded to Sunni and smiled.
“The rite is held here?”
“Yes,” Sunni said. “That is what I have been told.”
“Small to hold a fire,” he said.
“They would try to be discreet.”
Samson frowned. Handing Sunni his staff, he paced off the stone by length and by width, three paces by three. He shooed his companions off the stone, stood at its center, and faced east and then north. He shook his head as if disappointed. Then he began to pace again, but this time away from the stone to the north.
“Is something wrong?” Heden asked.
Samson stopped, kicked the turf two or three times with his toe, and smiled. �
�Shovels,” he said.
Heden dispatched his soldiers for shovels, and when they returned, Samson set them to digging into the soft ground that surrounded the stone. Each blade sank just a knuckle into the turf before it hit stone. Samson urged them on. One by one, the soldiers unearthed eight large square stones of equal size. They surrounded the one on which Samson stood. Together, they formed a grid of nine, three rows of three. The center stone, the one blackened by fire, was slightly raised in comparison to the others.
“Better,” Samson said, satisfied. “Better.”
Sunni, too, was smiling. “A rune square,” she said. Heden nodded.
Samson stood on the center stone. “The stones are of the Eternal Ones,” he declared, his voice resonating with authority. “To Wilbet belong the first three.” He pointed to the northernmost row. “There the future will be.” With a wave of his hand, he indicated the row. “To Barbet belong the second three. There the present be.” He gestured behind him. “To Einbet belong the last. There what lies is past.”
As the sun began to descend over the city to their west, Samson instructed the soldiers to build a small fire on the northern edge of the center stone. Stepping back to the last row, he began to empty the contents of his large sack.
He produced a large wooden bowl, which he set upon the stone. Next he withdrew the chicken carcass and a knife. With a swift but sure stroke, he severed the chicken’s head from its body and cast it aside. He held it up by its legs until its blood filled the bowl at his feet. The sweet, pungent smell of fresh blood mingled with the smoke of the lit kindling. Discarding the carcass, he reached again into his sack for a large bag of stones and an ox pelt. Stepping forward to the center square, he unfurled the ox pelt. A painted version of the same nine-square rune grid filled the skin. This he placed at the center of the stone. He next positioned Sunni to the east of the grid, Gripho to the north, and Heden to the west.
Facing the fire and Gripho, Samson sat cross-legged before the pelt and set the bag of stones beside him. From his belt he took a twig with dried leaves, which he lit from the fire. He brought the smoldering leaves toward him, surrounding his face in smoke. He inhaled deeply several times and then cast the twig into the fire. The smoke seemed to swirl through him, lifting above the nine squares.
Closing his eyes, he began to hum, his upper body swaying before the fire. He circled one way for several minutes before retracing his path for several minutes more. The moment the sun touched the western horizon, Samson stopped. Without opening his eyes, he lifted the bag of stones, opened it, and cast its contents behind his back.
Each of the twenty-four smooth, water-worn stones had a rune painted on its face. Reaching behind him, Samson found one stone after another. Each stone he touched, he placed on the grid before him. When the grid was complete, he collected the unused stones and returned to Sunni to retrieve his walking stick. Holding it at arm’s length before him, he walked to the bowl of blood and dipped his staff in it. On each of the nine great stones, he traced the same rune that was placed on the rune grid before the fire. The last to be drawn was the center stone.
He touched the edge of his staff to the flames of the fire and in a soft voice intoned, “The Eternal Sisters have spoken. He pointed his staff to each of the three stones behind him, the stones of the past. “Einbet calls ‘Ansuz, Sowulo, Ken,’ naming Yggdrasil, the sacred Ash, the Tree of Life. Our link to the other worlds is strong, giving us strength to overcome our trials.”
He pointed to the second row, the stones of the present. “Barbet calls ‘Jera, Raidho, and Thurisaz,’ naming JorTh, the earth. Our presence here is favored but is not in harmony with the world. The course of events cannot be changed.”
He tapped the final three stones, those of the future. “Wilbet calls ‘Uruz, Naudhiz, Hagalazm,’ naming strength, adversity, delay. Our path, though strong, will be waylaid. So the sisters speak.”
Samson slumped against his staff. Sunni moved to help him. Heden followed. Gripho stood alone, still to the north of the rune grid, hands on hips. “What does that mean?” he demanded. No one acknowledged his question. Sunni and Heden tried to make the lore master sit, but he insisted that he must leave the stones. They helped him to the grass where he sat on a nearby stump.
“What does it mean?” Gripho repeated. He rushed to the old man and leaned into his face. “The course of events cannot be changed? Our path will be waylaid? Waylaid by whom?”
“Gripho,” Sunni cautioned.
“I need to know!” he shouted. “Tell me, old man. How is our path waylaid?”
Exhausted, Samson looked up into the boy’s eyes. “Betrayal,” he said distinctly. “You will be betrayed.”
“Who?” Gripho shook Samson by the shoulders. “Who will betray me?”
Samson shrugged as the sun lost its last light in the west. “Your past,” he said.
7
Carloman
“… Fiat voluntas tua sicut in caelo et in terra.” Kneeling beside the bed, Carloman took his face in his hands and tried to block out the day through prayer. Unconsciously, he used the heel of his palms to rub the weariness from his eyes. The pressure caused his sinuses to run. A familiar trickle of mucous ran down his right nostril and onto his upper lip. Fumbling for a handkerchief, he tried to sustain his concentration. “Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie.”
Boniface had used his influence with the bishops to purchase another three days, but they had found no alternative to the ultimatum given by the enclave of bishops. In less than two days, Carloman had to decide if he would make war on his brother Gripho. The idea appalled him. “Dimitte nobis debita nostra …”
“I have had the most frustrating day,” Greta said, striding into their bedchamber. She swept past Carloman’s kneeling form and dropped into a chair before her table, the one filled with creams, lotions, powders, and brushes. At twenty-five, Greta had no need for such accouterments. Yet she spent most evenings primping before the large mirror on the wall.
“First, that vache Eileen had the nerve to suggest that her son was ‘clearly’ the best warrior his age. She acted as if Drogo wasn’t even a consideration—”
“… sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris …”
“She said he had won every competition for sword and ax. Is that true? Carloman?” After a moment, Greta shrugged off his silence and began brushing her long blonde hair. “Then Jeanine promised Hélène that we would attend her social gathering tomorrow night. I just couldn’t turn her down, Carloman. I know you find the Lady Hélène a bit strange, but I really think it would be good for us to go out. You’ve been so absorbed with your ‘succession,’” she said, imitating his voice and rolling her eyes. “I hardly get to see you anymore.”
“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem …”
“Most of the court will be there. But it’s to be very informal. Without Sunni or Gripho or Pippin or Trudi, we’re all the family that’s left. That is, unless you count Theudoald, of course. So, you see, we really have to go.”
“Sed libera nos a malo. Amen.”
Crossing himself, Carloman glared at the mirrored image of his wife. “I was praying,” he said.
She continued to brush her hair. “You’re always praying. If I had to wait until you were finished praying every night, we’d never have a conversation.”
“That wasn’t conversation. It was a monologue.”
“No, dear,” she said. “I just filled in your parts. Someone has to.”
“I was talking to God.”
“Oh, and was He listening?”
“Damn it, woman!”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said without looking up. “You spend far too much time on your knees, Carloman. You won’t find Theudoald waiting for God to give him answers.”
“What did you say?”
“Don’t look so shocked. He’s a man who knows what he wants. Everyone’s been talking about him.”
“And just what has he ever done to deserve s
uch talk?”
“They say he was born to be mayor. They say he’s a different kind of leader. One who leads with ideas, not threats.”
“They’re forgetting Gripho.”
“They think you’ve already decided against him. Theudoald acts as if your decision has already been made. Most of the Neustrians are beginning to believe him, too.”
“And what do they have to say about me?” Carloman asked.
“The church crowd is happy.” Greta applied lotion to her hands. “Everyone else is waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Waiting to see if you’re Charles’s son,” she said. “They were afraid of Charles. They don’t seem to be afraid of you. It’s time to get off your knees, Carloman. You are nearly thirty. Decide who will be mayor. Lead.”
“It’s not so simple. I won’t condemn us to war so easily.”
“There will be war either way.”
“But if I renounce Gripho’s succession, I renounce mine as well. And if I do that, Theudoald, as well as every noble in the Frankish Kingdom, is open to challenge my claim. I’ll be fighting for the next twenty years, just as Charles did.”
“Unless you and Theudoald strike a bargain to divide the kingdom.”
“I’d never trust him. Once the damage was done, I’d be at a permanent disadvantage.”
“Assurances could be made.”
“Why are you so strongly for Theudoald?” Carloman asked. “I always thought you were close to Sunni.”
“What happens after you’re gone, Carloman? What happens if you split the kingdom as Charles has split it? Austrasia and Neustria will be divided into pieces, and Gripho will have the heart of the kingdom. I can’t imagine that the Neustrians will accept that. The moment you are gone, Drogo will be forced to fight Theudoald’s family all over again, and he won’t have the army you have to survive such a challenge. And you can be damn sure that Drogo’s Uncle Gripho won’t come to his aid. If you don’t redistribute the kingdom to keep Neustria and Austrasia intact, you’re simply leaving the battle for your son to fight.”
Anvil of God Page 18