Anvil of God

by J. Boyce Gleason

  He found his son, his decomposing head next to what was left of his body. Gently, Bradius took off his coat and used it as a shroud to carry the boy. He retreated past the oaks and through the clearing. A dark figure stood in his way. It was Carloman. He was swinging an ax in a lazy figure eight. He looked at Bradius expectantly.

  Bradius ignored him. He walked past him to the other side of the clearing and into the woods. He didn’t care that Carloman followed. He came to the ash. A fire burned before it. On a blanket nearby, a woman slept. She was naked. He laid his shrouded burden on top of the fire and watched the flames lick the contours of its newfound fuel. Carloman stood beside him in silence, watching the orange flames rise up to consume what was left of his son.

  “Now for the tree,” Carloman said. He turned to the ash and raised his ax. Bradius found himself on his knees. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t watch. He wept for the tree, knowing he could not save it.

  A hand touched Carloman’s shoulder. It was the woman on the blanket. Carloman turned, clearly surprised to find her there. “No,” Trudi said to her brother. Looking back over her shoulder at Bradius, she said, “I choose you.”

  ***

  Daylight found its way around the corners of Trudi’s eyelids. At first, it was just a brushstroke of red against the blackness behind her dreams. Then the red deepened and yellowed, pushing away the dark. She tried to resist. She clung to the darkness. She felt rested and warm. She wanted no part of the light. But it would not be denied.

  She awoke to find Bradius next to her. They were wrapped in a blanket together near the dwindling fire, the length of him entwined in her arms and legs. She checked to make sure he still lived and was relieved by the regular rise and fall of his chest.

  No sign of the pagan priestess or her assistants remained. The ash tree had been restored to its original form, its exterior as seamless and as graceful as it had been when Trudi first saw it. Their horses grazed nearby, and their clothes had been returned, folded on a rock by the fire. A thin, morning dew had formed on the outside of the blanket, and Trudi shivered at the chill of the air against her skin. She ducked back under the covers to the warmth of Bradius’s body.

  They had survived the night. Surprisingly, she felt fine. In fact, she felt refreshed. She tried to remember her visions from the ritual, but she retained only glimpses. Two stood out in her mind. One involved her father and a little boy. The other had to do with Carloman and an ax. That one she remembered.

  Bradius groaned and shifted his body toward her. His face burrowed into her shoulder. When his eyes opened, he smiled at her dreamily. She almost laughed out loud when he suddenly realized how close they were. He didn’t pull away, however. She felt his body relax in her arms.

  “Where is the sibyl?” he asked, peering out from beneath the blanket.

  “They’ve all gone,” she said. “I think the rite is over.”

  His eyes took on a faraway look.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, her hand touching his chest. “Was it difficult?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you think she healed you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think it works that way. I think she finds a way for you to heal yourself.” He stretched his arms outside the blanket and yawned. “Are you all right?”

  “I feel wonderful.” She brushed the hair out of his eyes. A stray thought took her, and she laughed despite his seriousness.

  “What?” he asked.

  “No, it’s nothing,” she said, trying hard to restrain her smile.

  “You laughed.”

  “It’s just those runes on your face look a whole lot sillier by daylight.”

  He shifted his weight, rolling her onto her back. “You think yours look any better?” They both laughed. Then he kissed her. She wasn’t surprised by it. It was what she had hoped he would do. His lips touched hers lightly and then again, but harder. His tongue darted inside her mouth, and she met it with hers, playfully engaging it. He stopped to gauge her reaction, and she smiled a great wide smile to show him the happiness she felt.

  It wasn’t the only thing she felt. She wanted him inside her. She tried to spread her legs, but they were pinned by the blankets. He rolled on top of her, hoping that would help, but it only trapped her beneath him.

  She laughed. “You’re going to have to loosen the blankets,” she said.

  “Only a little,” he replied. “I like being wrapped up with you like this.” He struggled with the blanket, shifting their weight, first one way and then another. She arched her pelvis upward to let him pull the cloth free, and he slid into her.

  It startled both of them. They laughed and relaxed in each other’s arms. She liked the hardness of him filling her. She pivoted to better feel the length of him, and he started to pull back.

  “No, no,” she said softly. “Stay there a moment longer.” Her eyes closed, and she concentrated on the fullness she felt. A smile again took her face, and she opened her eyes. “Now.” She giggled.

  In time, the blankets loosened, and Bradius straightened his arms to lift his upper body off her. She held his waist, urging him faster and opened her legs wide. When he tired, she rolled him over and sat astride him, rocking her hips forward and back so that she always had him fully inside her. The muscles in her abdomen clenched, and she ground herself down onto him. With each thrust, the tension and heat within her built until it was overwhelming. Deep within her, a dam broke, releasing spasm after spasm until the tension was gone.

  Bradius pulled her to him, arched his back, and whispered, “Oh,” as if he were surprised. His body convulsed, and then he sank back into the blanket with her on top of him. They lay together for a long time. Neither spoke. At last she sat up, holding him hostage with her legs. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

  “She does good work,” Trudi said, smiling. He looked confused. “The sibyl!”

  Bradius grinned. His brows knit together as he had remembered something. “Did you ever make your choice?” he asked.

  She looked into his eyes and said, “Yes.”

  ***

  Trudi and Bradius washed themselves in the Wormitt River, delighting in its cool, fresh water. They splashed around like children and wound up making love in its shallows before they were finished. Back on shore, they donned fresh clothes and decided to head south on the well-traveled path that bordered the river. They made their way leisurely, relaxing in the surprising warmth of the early spring day and taking pleasure in each other’s company. Less than half of the morning had passed before they left the road to make love again. Trudi seduced him again after dinner.

  As day followed on day, they began to travel less and make love more. They made their way south, stopping as often as they could in nearby villages and towns to enjoy the local wines and to explore each other’s bodies. Sometimes it was a look that triggered their passion, at others, just a touch. Bradius would laugh and carry Trudi into the bushes, or she would tackle him behind a tree to pull off his clothes. Trudi was amazed at Bradius’s ability to find clever places in which to conceal their lovemaking.

  Neither asked where they were heading. Neither wanted to know. In the weeks that followed, the journey became their destination, their lovemaking a way of marking time. Trudi refused him nothing. In fact, he rarely had to ask. She had never been so happy. And he was a changed man.

  Although he had insisted on showing her his method for savoring wine, he drank only sparingly. He slept irregularly at first and then well and through the night. Nightmares rarely haunted him, and never during the day. The dark circles under his eyes began to fade. And more often than not, he smiled. Trudi was amazed at how such a simple thing as sleep could change a man’s face.

  She asked him questions about paganism and was moved by his passion for his beliefs. He told her the ancient stories of the founding of the three worlds and of the gods’ discovery of the runes. He showed her how to draw each of them and helped her to memoriz
e their meanings. As they traveled, he pointed out runes made naturally by the branches of trees or by stones alongside the road. Trudi saw them in the handiwork of the villagers they met. She realized suddenly that she had always seen them on intricately carved canes or woven into the fabric of clothes. She just hadn’t recognized them for what they were.

  Wherever they stopped, they were welcomed. The villagers recognized new love when they saw it and warmed to the couple instantly. Although the people they met were kind, their accents were harsh. In some places, their accents were so guttural that Trudi could barely understand what they said.

  Trudi put flowers in her hair and wore her dress instead of her armor. This she did more for convenience than anything else. She wanted little to stand in her way when the desire took them. She had even stopped wearing undergarments.

  She sang to Bradius as they traveled and told him stories of her past. When she spoke of her father, Bradius would retell the tale from the perspective of those Charles had conquered. When Bradius boasted of his military exploits, Trudi would describe the fear and suffering he had caused. Together they slowly bridged the gaps between their lives, resolving their shared history through conversation. But it was the lovemaking that bound them together. Again and again, they each lost themselves in the passion of the other and forged a bond that held them both tightly.

  When they arrived at the outskirts of Donauwörth, instinct led Trudi to avoid the city. A marketplace at the confluence of the Wormitt and the Danube, Donauwörth was home to travelers from all parts of the continent. Trudi feared discovery. They circled widely to the west around the city and stayed in a small town on the north side of the Danube. They found a small inn and took a modest room.

  The innkeeper, a thin, balding man with a curved back and hunched shoulders, was quick to settle them in but slow to excuse himself. He chattered continuously. He commented on the weather, offered suggestions for shopping in the town’s small market, and confirmed Trudi’s worst fears. Foreign soldiers, the old man explained, were in Donauwörth and offering good money for information on a woman wearing armor. They had been in the city several days. He suggested that this was no cause for alarm since the soldiers never came this far west. When the innkeeper left their room, Bradius took Trudi in his arms. She wept against his chest.

  “I chose you,” she said when she had composed herself. “We’ll go wherever you want. We can go back into the mountains or we can go north. I don’t care where it is, just so long as it is away from Aistulf and Carloman and all the rest of them. I just want to be with you.”

  They were, however, trapped by geography. With the Wormitt to the east and the Danube to the south, they could go no farther as long as Aistulf blocked their way. Without access to the bridge in Donauwörth, their choices were few.

  “We’ll leave in the morning,” Bradius said. “We can head back north to put some distance between us and Aistulf. We’ll find a way across the Wormitt somewhere along the way. But tonight we stay here. I like the look of this bed.”

  Trudi laughed at his obvious leer. She pushed him playfully, and he fell back on the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she said, turning. She walked to the door, closed it, and turned the key in its lock.

  ***

  Bradius emerged from the inn whistling. It was an old song his mother had taught him. He no longer remembered the words, something about young lovers and springtime. He was in search of wine and cheese and bread to sustain them on the trip north, but he tarried at the stalls in the marketplace to purchase a bracelet for Trudi.

  The vendor directed him to the east end of town where he found a merchant named Tobias, who sold local wines. The two engaged in a spirited conversation about the vintages he possessed and about the best the two had ever tasted. Tobias was from Provence and had traveled the world but had settled near Donauwörth for the love of a woman. He disparaged his cellar as “unworthy,” but it was more than adequate for Bradius’s needs. Recognizing Bradius as a true lover of wine, Tobias opened several flagons, and they tasted each, commenting on the distinctive flavors and colors. Bradius purchased eight of them and told Tobias he would be back. He strolled back into town with his knapsack on his back and his face tilted toward the sun.

  He heard the horsemen before he saw them. He looked for places to hide, but there was not enough time. The horsemen thundered into the town, disrupting those afoot and forcing the merchants to scramble to protect their wares. To hide, Bradius had to content himself with turning away from them and assisting a pottery vendor in shielding his stock.

  They were Lombards. They thundered past, ignoring those they inconvenienced, and left the merchants enveloped in the dust of their departure. Curses and obscene gestures followed them out of the marketplace.

  Bradius began to sweat. He had no way to warn Trudi. The Lombard knights would reach the inn on horseback long before he could get there on foot. And they would, of course, check the inn. They would find her. He began to panic. He could not lose her, not now. His heart pounded in his ears, and his breath became short. Do something! His mind screamed at him. Do something! He started to run, his feet following the hoof prints the riders had left. In his heart, he knew it would be too late. They would take her. She would be gone. He would have nothing.

  His chest began to pound from the exertion. He slowed his pace to avoid exhaustion and discarded his knapsack to rid himself of its weight. He grew lightheaded, and his legs throbbed. I mustn’t panic, he thought. He steeled himself into the calm he used in battle and forced himself to breathe. He began to plot strategies for tracking Trudi’s captors and executing her rescue. His pace slowed to an even, determined stride that he could sustain all the way back to the inn.

  He never noticed his tears.

  ***

  The soldiers were already at the inn. He was too late.

  Their warhorses were tethered outside, and two soldiers stood guard at the door. Bradius had slowed to a walk before reaching the inn to avoid attention. He walked past the building, cursing himself for his carelessness. Of course they would go to the inn. He had to find the innkeeper. He had to have news of Trudi. His heart pounded despite the fact that he was no longer running.

  Two streets past the inn, he turned left. Two streets more, he turned again. He walked another three before turning again and heading toward the rear entrance of the inn. Unfortunately, it too, was guarded. He waited for over an hour, hoping to see one of the servants. He saw only soldiers.

  Frustrated, he returned to the front of the inn and found an inconspicuous place across the street from which to watch. He didn’t know what else to do.

  Near dusk, he saw the innkeeper leave the inn. The old man looked frantic. Despite his age, he moved quickly, heading east down the main street of the town. As discreetly as he could, Bradius followed, setting a walking pace that was faster than the old man’s. It took Bradius four streets to catch him. The innkeeper was muttering to himself and spitting as he walked. When Bradius stopped him, it took the man a moment or two to recognize Bradius. When he did, the old innkeeper flew into a rage.

  “You!” he shouted, hitting Bradius ineffectually in the chest with his fist. “They nearly killed me. It’s you they’ve been looking for! And you knew it all along,” he said. “I even told you about the soldiers! Why didn’t you leave? Have you any idea what you have done?”

  “What about Trudi?” Bradius asked. “What about the girl?”

  “They found the armor! That’s all they needed to know she was here.”

  “What about the girl?” Bradius was shouting.

  “I haven’t seen her. She was out when they arrived. They sent word to Donauwörth.”

  Hope bloomed inside Bradius. “Where is she?”

  The innkeeper shook his head. “I don’t know.” He shook his head again. “I don’t know. I thought she was with you.”

  Bradius was so intent on news of Trudi that he didn’t hear the horses until they were almost upon them. When he did
look up, Bradius knew that it was too late to run.

  There were three of them. And the lead rider was Aistulf. He drew reins before Bradius and the innkeeper. He signaled his men to stop. He placed both his hands on the pommel of his saddle and looked down at Bradius.

  “Bradius, isn’t it?” he said.

  Bradius nodded.

  “How unfortunate it is to find you here.” Aistulf signaled to his men. They dismounted and took Bradius by the arms. In the meantime, Aistulf turned his attention to the innkeeper.

  “And you, sir?”

  “An innkeeper, your grace,” the little man said, bowing repeatedly.

  “The inn at which this man stayed?”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  “I have only one question for you, good sir. Did he and the girl share a bed?”

  “Yes, your grace. They did.” The man leered up at the prince. “Tight as two squirrels, they were, and as loud.”

  “More unfortunate, still,” Aistulf said. He dismounted and drew his sword.

  Bradius struggled against the two men holding him. They shoved him back against a wall. Aistulf lifted his sword so that its point was inches before Bradius’s face.

  “I thought,” Aistulf said, “that I made myself clear, when last we met, that Charles’s daughter was no longer your concern. And now I find you here, again in her company. Do you make a habit of sleeping with other men’s fiancés?” The sword flicked, and a line of red split Bradius’s cheek. “Where is she?” he asked. Bradius said nothing. The sword flicked again. A second red line appeared on the other cheek. “Where is she?” Aistulf insisted.

  Bradius said nothing.

  “You must realize that I cannot let you live.”

  “At least let me die with a sword in my hands,” Bradius said.

  Aistulf frowned again, considered the request, and then took a step backward and bowed mockingly. “Give him your sword,” Aistulf said to one of the men holding Bradius. Although surprised, the Lombard soldier did as he was told. Aistulf, Bradius noted, was not a man to give an order twice.