“My father named three mayors. What if I could restore the balance?”
“It’s too late for that. Carloman would never accept it.”
“But what if I could? What if I could end the siege and restore the balance and stop the war?”
“You’re no diplomat, Pippin.”
“Maybe,” he mused.
A long silence followed. “So,” Childebrand said, “you do have a plan.”
“I might be working on one.”
“Well?”
“It’s not quite ready yet. I need to talk it over with Bertie.”
“Bertie?”
“Yes, that woman you just chased away.”
“I didn’t know you got battle advice from a woman,” the big man said.
“She’s quite good, actually,” Pippin said, his eyes laughing. “But this is about intelligence.” Seeing the continued confusion on Childebrand’s face, he said, “Her father, you may recall, is the Compte de Laon.”
“Little good that will do us¸” he grunted, “unless she happens to have a secret way into the city.”
Pippin smiled and said nothing. Childebrand looked sideways at him, frowning. Pippin let the thought fester in his uncle’s mind.
“With that …,” Childebrand said, his one eye flickering. “Maybe we could …” His lips pursed, and his brow furrowed. “If he could …” His hand found his face and wrestled with his chin.
“Yes,” said Pippin. “We’ll need to take some time with it.”
“Bastard,” Childebrand said. “You knew all along there’s a way to intercede.”
Pippin nodded to his uncle and grinned.
***
Pippin and his party made their way down to the plain from the south. He had left Bertrada in a nearby village, lording over the staff of a small inn. In this area, she was better known than he was. The villagers fell over themselves to serve the daughter of the Compte de Laon.
When they reached the outermost of Carloman’s pickets, Pippin and his men were held up for several minutes while the soldiers sent for instructions. Although they clearly recognized Pippin, his status was unclear to them. Pippin understood this. If Carloman could war on one brother, why not another? When they finally received instructions, the men escorted Pippin’s party through camp rather than allow them to ride in freely. The Knights in Christ seemed to be everywhere and in charge of most regiments.
That’s a change, Pippin thought.
A quick look at the troops in camp showed that none of Pippin’s men were present. Carloman had brought only those vassals loyal to himself.
Taking all twenty of the knights he had with him, Pippin made his way to Carloman’s tent. There they were stopped once again, the guards barring their way with long pikes. Looking around for some authority, Pippin recognized Johann, who was acting as captain. They had fought together several times in the past. Pippin began to push past the picket, moving beyond the raised pikes.
“Hold!” Johann ordered.
Pippin stopped, surprised. Johann strode toward him, his gray eyes cold and uncaring. Pippin continued forward. He could hear swords being drawn.
“Johann, who has ordered you to stand between me and my brother?”
“Carloman said no one was to disturb him.”
“That doesn’t apply to me.”
“Unless he said it doesn’t, it does.”
Pippin had had enough. “You’ll have to kill me then,” he said, continuing toward Carloman’s tent. He heard more swords drawn, including those of his men. He turned and found Johann’s blade pointing at his neck. Pippin stared into the man’s eyes, spun on his heel, and walked into Carloman’s tent.
He found Carloman standing at a large table, poring over several handsomely colored maps.
“Hello, brother,” Pippin said.
Carloman looked up at the greeting. Seeing Pippin, he came around the table and clasped his brother to his chest.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Pippin said, his eyes welling.
“He was, too,” Carloman said.
Johann burst into the tent behind Pippin. Shouts and the clanking of swords could still be heard through the fabric of the tent. Seeing the two men embrace, he turned and left. Outside, Johann called off the guard.
“I heard about Hunoald,” Pippin said. “Did Waifar really—”
Carloman nodded. “I was standing right next to the casket.” His eyes squinted, distant with the memory.
Pippin felt the fury building inside him. “A pagan curse, that—spitting on the dead … a great insult.” His voice filled with certainty. “They should be dead men. I won’t let it pass. That’s where we should be with our armies, Carloman. Not here. They are the enemy. Not Gripho.”
Carloman shook his head, as if dismissing the subject. “Where is Trudi? Is she here?” He started for the flap of his tent.
“She’s not here. She’s on her way to Bavaria. She’s gone to marry Odilo.”
Carloman froze. Nothing could disguise the shock on his face. “Father had a pact with King Liutbrand. She’s to marry Aistulf.”
“Trudi isn’t willing. I let her go. She is already under Odilo’s protection.”
“You fool. Liutbrand will attack Rome. He’ll put the pope under his protection. You need to bring her back. You should have known not to act on something this important without asking me.”
Pippin ignored his brother’s insult and moved past him to the table. He picked up the map of Laon and turned it right side up to study it. “What are you doing here, Carloman? Why are you laying siege to Laon?”
“It’s a long story, brother. If you had been here instead of gallivanting around Champagne, you would know.”
Again, Pippin ignored the jibe. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve sided with Theudoald.”
“I’ve sided with the Church.”
“You’re proving Theudoald’s point.” Carloman had to know this. If Gripho was not a rightful heir, neither were they. Carloman, himself, was putting the succession in doubt and giving credence to Theudoald’s claim.
“I’m doing what has to be done.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you laying siege to Laon?”
Carloman snatched the map out of Pippin’s hands and turned away from him to restore it to its place on the table. “Leave this to me, Pippin. Politics is not one of your strengths.”
“Is it yours?” Pippin grabbed Carloman by the arm, forcing him to turn. “I’m not the one who agreed to raise a Merovingian. You’ve walked into a trap so obvious Drogo could see it.”
“Go play with your girlfriend, Pippin.” Carloman shrugged his arm free. “I’ve got more than enough men here to succeed.”
Clearly, Carloman had signaled that the discussion was over. Pippin’s anger flashed at the snub. It was always like this with Carloman. He never listened to Pippin’s counsel. Pippin’s voice dropped low, quiet with menace. “You would do well to remember that you were not the only one named mayor.” Carloman stiffened. Pippin’s tone had registered. “Or are you planning to make war on me, too?”
Carloman looked as if he might. His fists were clenched, and his face was red. Mucous leaked from his nose. Carloman pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve to blot the liquid. The movement served to break his tension. Carloman’s body relaxed, and when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Gripho burned a church. We can’t let that go unanswered.”
“I could. I would have left it to Sunni.”
“She can’t be trusted.” Again, Carloman was dismissive. Again, it irked Pippin. “She’s pagan! She’ll protect Gripho.”
“You never took her seriously,” Pippin said.
“You’re naïve!” Anger flooded Carloman’s face. He began pacing inside the tent. “We need the Church. They’re withholding their military obligation, saying their duty is to the king. They won’t back a pagan mayor and insisted we raise a Merovingian.”
“Christ!” Pippin stepped in front of his brother, arrest
ing his progress. Their faces were inches apart. “It’s everything Father fought against. You don’t have to do this. As long as we stay together, the Church will have nowhere else to go. Theudoald is no real threat.”
“The Church won’t support a pagan mayor.”
“It’s not theirs to decide.” Pippin pounded the table with his fist. “You have to stop this, Carloman. You are starting a war that won’t end.”
Carloman’s face bloomed red. “He burned a church, goddammit!” Flustered at his outburst, he crossed himself hurriedly. Again, he dabbed at the mucous at his nose. “I had to come,” he said.
“Let me stop it,” Pippin said. “Let me intercede. Call a truce. If I give them my oath of protection, they will come out, and we can work together to divide the kingdom. Sunni will be reasonable.”
“Gripho can’t be mayor.”
“Of course he can be mayor. We just have to decide that he is. Who will contradict us?”
“I will,” a strange voice answered.
Pippin turned to find a priest dressed in white standing at the flap of Carloman’s tent. Johann stood behind him. Carloman waved the blond knight off. “I will,” the priest repeated and stepped into the tent. “There is no room for a pagan mayor. There is no room for Gripho the Desecrator.”
“Who is this?” Pippin looked to Carloman.
“I am God’s eyes and His ears,” the priest said.
“There is an army of support for Gripho’s ouster among the church congregations,” Carloman explained. “This man is Father Daniel, their leader. A thousand of his followers have joined us.”
Father Daniel held his hand aloft in blessing, awaiting their obeisance. Carloman bowed his head. Pippin stared at his brother and then turned his back on the priest. “Here?” He was nearly shouting. “You brought them with you to a siege?”
Carloman’s face was a mask. “I couldn’t see a good way to stop them.”
“You’re feeding them?
“Yes.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Pippin shook his head. Then, surprisingly, he began to laugh. It was all so familiar. Liutbrand, the Church, the priest—Carloman was taking care of everyone’s interest, except his own. It was as if he were everyone’s older brother. “I’m going to end this,” Pippin said. “I’m going to go into the city and bring them out.”
“We’ve already parleyed,” Carloman said. “They won’t come. They’ve enlisted Heden, the Thuringian. He has proven to be quite effective at defending their interests.”
“I can do this.”
“No, brother, you’re too late.” Carloman had restored his composure. He put his arm on Pippin’s shoulder. Their eyes met. There would be no more discussion. “I won’t turn back. We attack at dawn.”
Pippin looked from his brother to the priest and back again. How had it come to this? He shook his head. “You attack at dawn, Carloman. I’ll have no part in it.”
Carloman turned away and busied himself with his maps. “Suit yourself,” he said clearly, trying to sound casual. “You’ll see when we—”
But Pippin was already outside. He had heard enough.
10
Stepping into Footprints
On the day of her departure, Trudi spent more than an hour lost in the emotions of her morning. When she returned to the present, she discovered that she and the Bavarians were moving steadily south through the rolling countryside of Champagne. The southern road had dried from the rain, and the day was warming with the sun. Trudi thought it ironic that they were taking the same road as she had ridden with Bradius. Unconsciously, she rubbed her wrists.
She tried to engage the captain in conversation, but the man refused to speak to her. Astonished, she looked over her escorts. All were men in their twenties. Each of them had a mustache but otherwise was clean-shaven. She tried to pick out attributes that might help her distinguish one from another but failed. They could be brothers. To make matters worse, each one was as rigid in posture and formal in demeanor as the next.
“Professionals,” she said under her breath.
They rode in a diamond formation. The captain took the lead in front, one knight on each side, and the fourth brought up the rear. Again, she tried to engage in conversation, asking questions of the knights flanking her. Again, she received nothing from them. They kept their eyes straight ahead and ignored her inquiries. It wasn’t until they had stopped to rest their mounts that any of them spoke. It was midafternoon.
“While on duty, we’re prohibited from speaking save on military matters,” one of the knights said.
“Then why can you talk now?”
“Hans can guard our position alone,” he said, nodding toward the knight standing at attention, watching the road. “When we ride, we are forbidden to speak with you.”
“That will make for a very boring journey,” Trudi said.
“Perhaps,” he replied, “but a safer one.”
Trudi decided to test her arm. She removed it gingerly from her sling and tried to let it slowly straighten toward the ground. Gouts of pain shot through her arm into her shoulder and slammed the side of her head. She nearly lost consciousness. Making a move to hold her arm up with her other hand, Trudi felt something tear in her shoulder. She grunted and started to fall until the knight beside her moved to her aid. He helped her to sit on the trunk of a nearby fallen tree and quickly unclasped the armor she wore. She felt blood run down her arm.
“You’ve opened the wound,” her knight said. “It’s to be expected. I’ll prepare a field dressing.” Trudi flexed her hand, marveling at the pain she felt. At least she would be able to use her arm.
“Stop that,” the knight said. “You’re making it worse.” He put a cloth bandage on her wound and took her free hand and placed it on the bandage. “Hold this,” he said. “This needs a few days more to heal before you can work it.” Although he wound her bandage tight, he surprised her with the gentleness of his touch. Within minutes, he had her wrapped and back into her armor.
“What’s your name?” she asked him.
“Juergen,” he said.
“So pleased to meet you.” She smiled, wondering if he heard the potential for sarcasm in her voice.
“Mount,” Hans called from the road. As one, the party swung into their saddles. Trudi stood next to her horse, knowing she couldn’t pull herself up alone. With a sigh, Juergen swung down, helped her up, and then regained his saddle. They resumed their formation and guided her back onto the southern road.
“It’s going to be a long ride,” she said.
No one answered.
***
After several hours of silence, Trudi decided there was no reason she couldn’t hold up her side of the conversation. She chatted about how glorious the new day was. She commented on the rolling countryside and pointed out the colorful flowers and birds they passed on the road south. Recognizing that this might be of little interest to her four armored friends, she told them stories about her training master and how difficult a curmudgeon the man could be.
“With Fulrad, there was no right way or wrong way. There was only his way.” She laughed. “At first, he did not want to teach me. He didn’t think a woman should be trained for battle. But my father insisted, and my father, he is—was—a hard man to refuse,” she said. “Fulrad finally agreed, but had a hard time with it. I wasn’t strong enough for the swords he used. He had to find a smaller and lighter blade. Same with the armor,” she said. “I couldn’t handle the good old Frankish stock. Charles brought me this,” she said, indicating her armor. “He got it from the Saracen.
“They fight differently, the Saracen,” she said. “Fulrad fought against them with my father at Poitiers. He said they used the shield wall, just like we do. But their sword fighting in melee is much more creative. He said the lighter sword allows for greater flexibility and speed. He had to put together an entire training program just so that I could learn to fight like them.
“One day, I hope to fight against
the Saracen myself,” she mused. “I want to see whether he really figured it out or just made it up.” She laughed again. No one laughed with her. She shrugged, wincing from the pain emanating from her right shoulder.
The knight in front of her, the captain, fell off his horse. His right foot caught in the stirrup. The horse continued forward, dragging him flat on his back. His arms flayed above his head. She could not understand why he made no movement to get up.
Then she saw the arrow imbedded in his chest.
“Wheel!” one of her escorts shouted. Hans, the one on her left, grabbed her horse’s reins and turned to his left. Juergen, to her right, turned with them, positioning himself between Trudi and their unseen assailant.
A second arrow whistled by them. A third planted itself in Juergen’s shield. They moved to leave the road. From a small copse of trees just ahead to the right, three men on horse appeared. It was Ansel, Monty, and Brand.
Trudi stared stupidly at her childhood friends as the Bavarians moved forward, creating a barrier between her and their assailants. “Ansel,” she said.
They charged. Their horses sprang forward, hurtling their riders directly at the attack. With the sound of shield crashing shield and bone breaking bone, the two forces collided.
Ansel and his horse went down. Damaged by the impact, the horse fell across one of Ansel’s legs. Ansel struggled to pull himself out from under it. It was left to Monty and Brand to fight the three Bavarians. Blades rose and fell, clanging against metal shields. The Franks stood at the center of the melee, their backs to each other surrounded by the Bavarians.
“No!” Trudi screamed. “Stop!” She wanted to say that these were friends, but the arrow sticking out of the dead captain’s chest made her pause. It took a moment for her to remember Ansel’s speech at the feast. Caught between fear and fury, Trudi did not know what to do.
The Bavarians were winning. Brand was already on foot and had lost his shield. Juergen and Hans had dismounted to stalk him. Monty was still on horse but bloodied. The third Bavarian closed in on him. Monty swung a mighty blow that glanced off the man’s shoulder. The force of it, however, pulled Monty off balance, and the Bavarian punched forward with his shield, catching him in the ear. Monty reeled backward, trying to use his reins to stay in the saddle. His sword arm flailed backward, leaving him vulnerable. The Bavarian ran him through. Trudi watched the blade enter her friend just below the chest and slide out almost between his shoulders. Monty futilely tried to grab at the blade with his hands.
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