Anvil of God

by J. Boyce Gleason

  Samson nodded. “Your thread is still strong.”

  “Stop. You know I have forsaken the lore,” she said. “I’ve lost so much. There is nothing left out there that matters. Here, I am comfortable. I want for little. And there is little here I can lose. I will be content here for the rest of my days.”

  “The Sisters weave the pattern,” Samson said.

  “I no longer care what they say,” Sunni said. “Besides, in here, you would have a difficult time holding a rite of foretelling.” She kissed him on the forehead and made her way back across the garden to the convent halls.

  Samson waited until she had gone and then ambled toward the ash tree in the corner of the garden. He uncovered a small square stone that had been placed among its roots. From his pocket, he produced a small clump of weeds that had been moistened and hardened into a ball. From this, he cut a plug and placed it inside his cheek. With his knife, he cut into the palm of his left hand and let a trickle of his blood fall onto the stone. He closed his eyes, and his body began to weave in circles.

  ***

  It was late in the day. The sun descended gracefully over the blue water west of Regensburg. A horn sounded inside the city gates, signaling a changing of the guard. New soldiers stepped into place on the wall, saluting smartly in the twilight.

  It was a stout wall. Built by the Romans in the first century after Christ, it surrounded the city and was protected by four large towers, one at each of its corners. The Romans had built the fort to protect their army of the Germanic territories. For four centuries, it had served its purpose well. Recognizing that a landed aristocracy could manage their assets better, the Romans eventually abandoned the massive fort. They turned the administration of their territories over to a land-rich aristocracy that had, over time, evolved in the territories. The Agilolfings moved into the fort and made it their family’s center of power. From there they ruled Bavaria.

  Entrances, each with two arches, faced the four winds. The main archway faced north less than one hundred paces from the banks of the Danube. Guards on the western wall saw the lone soldier first. They shouted down for instructions. It was near dark, and entrance to the city was forbidden at night. The soldier would not make it in time. He traveled on foot, leading a horse, laden down with a large burden.

  As the soldier drew closer, the guards’ ability to see dimmed with the fading daylight. It was not until he had stepped into the light of the gate’s torches that they saw that the soldier was, in fact, a young woman. She wore men’s clothes that were clearly too large for her and sported a long sword across her back and a short blade at her side. Her face and clothes were covered with blood and dirt. A body lay across her warhorse, tied clumsily to the saddle. It was not clear that the man was dead or alive. Exhaustion haunted the woman’s face. The guards barred her way.

  “The gates are closed,” one said. “You can enter in the morning.”

  “I am here to see the Duc.”

  The guard hesitated. “State your name and business.” The question seemed to tap a resource deep inside the girl. Her back straightened. Her head lifted. Her eyes cleared and took on a diamond-like sparkle that had not been present only moments before.

  “I am Hiltrude,” she said in a clear voice that carried in the night air, “daughter of Charles the Hammer, son of Pippin of Herstal. I’m here to marry Duc Odilo of Bavaria.”

  One of the guards laughed at the absurdity of her claim until he saw the look of his own death cooling her eyes. He ran for instructions.

  Author's Note

  Although this story is drawn from history and is set in a very real time and place with many real characters and real events, it is fiction … pure and simple. Please don’t take offense if I have treated a beloved personage harshly or seek to “set the record straight” if I’ve made a character come to life in a way that you find inaccurate or offensive. I make no claims to know the personalities of those who lived over twelve hundred years ago.

  History for this period is sketchy at best. Most of what is recorded was written long after the fact and usually by those who prevailed in the conflicts of the day. As a result, their biased perspectives defined what was “true.”1 Most historians readily recognize this fundamental flaw and work hard to piece together the record from what limited sources exist into a common thread of what happened and what did not. And even then, they don’t always agree.

  For those who are interested in knowing which pieces of the story come from that common thread of facts versus my fiction, I offer the following:

  General Plot Outline

  For much of Frankish history, the power behind the Merovingian kings was ensconced in the office of the “Mayor of the Palace.” Mayors were men who commanded the military and ran the government over one or more of three primary states in the Frankish Kingdom (Neustria, Austrasia, and Burgundy) much akin to the way the Shogun in Japanese history ruled in the name of a “divine” emperor. Other states within Francia operated somewhat more independently as “duchies.” These included Alemannia, Bavaria, Thuringia, Hesse, and Aquitaine, all related through agreements and fealty to the offices of mayor, although some were allies to a greater or lesser degree. Often passed from father to son, the office of the mayor created powerful families that ruled large territories over many generations. By the beginning of the eighth century, the power of the mayors had coalesced into two regions, Austrasia and Neustria, and increased so substantially that the Merovingian kings of this time are often referred to as “puppet” or “shadow” kings.2

  Much of this consolidation of power was due to the military and diplomatic machinations of Pippin II of Herstal. After seizing power and the title of mayor through force of arms in Austrasia in 675, Pippin and his family spent much of the next twelve years battling for control over neighboring Neustria. Following a rash of assassinations and a decisive battle at Tetry in 687, Pippin II succeeded and ultimately took the title of mayor in Neustria as well. By the time of his death in 714, Pippin’s influence dwarfed the power of dukes in the other states of the Frankish territories.

  Pippin and his wife, Plectrude (from a powerful Austrasian family), had two sons named Drogo and Grimoald who stood to inherit the bulk of this power. Drogo died in 708, leaving Grimoald as the only legitimate heir. Shortly before his death in 714, Pippin named Grimoald mayor of Neustria. Unfortunately, Grimoald was murdered in the chapel of his patron saint, Saint Lambert, shortly after Pippin’s death.

  Grimoald’s assassination set off a cascade of events: Plectrude sought to retain control over both states by naming Grimoald’s six-year-old son, Theudoald, mayor of Neustria and another grandson, Arnulf, mayor of Austrasia. She imprisoned Charles, the twenty-six-year-old bastard son of her late husband, to prevent him from asserting a claim. The Neustrians revolted, displaced Theudoald, and tried to establish their own mayor. Charles escaped, battled Plectrude and her allies, seized his father’s treasure and, using it to buy support, named himself mayor. Ultimately, this displaced both his nephews as mayor and pulled much of Francia into a civil war. One by one, Charles fought the states within the Frankish kingdom to assert his claim as mayor and reconquered what today constitutes Western Europe.3

  Historically, Charles is most famous for the battle of Poitiers in 732. There, he stopped an invasion of the Saracen (Muslim) army under Abd ar-Rachman, then governor of Spain. The Saracens’ advance threatened Tours, which was where many of the kingdom’s holy relics were kept. Charles’s army stepped in to arrest the Saracen progress north. The battle ended in the death of Abd ar-Rachman and the rout of the Saracen army. It was for this battle that Charles was named “Charles Martel” or “Charles the Hammer.” For over a thousand years, historians credited him with saving Christianity in Europe.4

  Charles reigned as mayor of the palace for twenty-seven years. His power grew so great that in the last years of his reign, he openly ignored the rights of succession of the Merovingian kings. When Theuderic IV died in 737, Charles refused
to elevate another Merovingian to the throne and led the kingdom himself, without a king, for four more years until his death.

  Charles Martel had four children. His eldest three, Carloman, Pippin, and Hiltrude, were born of his first wife, Chlotrude. Charles had a third son, Gripho, from a second marriage to a Bavarian princess from the powerful Agilolfing family. Her name was Sunnichild.

  After putting down a rebellion by Maurontus in Septemia and Provence, Charles Martel died at home in his villa in Quierzy on September 22, 741. No cause is listed for his death. Just before he died, he named all of his sons mayor and divided the kingdom equally among them.

  History shows that upon Charles’s death, his two eldest sons warred against the younger Gripho and his mother, laying siege to them at the city of Laon where they had taken up residence. Sunnichild and Gripho were captured and imprisoned. Gripho was sent to Neufchateau, and Sunnichild to the nunnery at Chelles. Questions have arisen among historians as to whether the two older brothers were actually united in this endeavor. Later events clearly indicate that the two may have disagreed on the treatment of Gripho as well on the question of raising another Merovingian to the throne. There is no question, however, that the two brothers divided Gripho’s territories between them.5

  The succession following Charles’s death was immediately renounced by Hunoald, Duke of Aquitaine, and his son, Waifar.6 A challenge to the succession was also raised at the time by Theudoald, the above-mentioned grandson of Pippin of Herstal and Plectrude. I have suggested that he may have been aided in this by Bishop Wido of St. Wandrille. Given Theudoald’s lineage, his claim would have had considerable merit. His challenge for the office failed, however, due to his untimely death. One text indicates that Theudoald may have been killed but did not specify by whom or why.7 The poor man died so suddenly that year, however, one must wonder at the turn of events.

  A scandal during that time involving Charles’s daughter, Hiltrude, plagued the family well into the ninth century. Much to the consternation of her two older brothers and their court, Hiltrude fled to Regensburg following Charles’s death to marry Duke Odilo of Bavaria, the uncle of Sunnichild. Hiltrude met Odilo during a prolonged visit he had made to Charles’s court. Further complicating matters, Odilo was suspected of fomenting rebellion among the states of the Frankish empire and leading the kingdom into civil war.8

  Religion

  None of the texts I have read refer to the civil war that followed Charles’s death in religious terms. The Church had long had a stronghold on the ruling aristocracy of the Franks. The Merovingians had been Christian since Clovis was baptized by Bishop Remigius of Reims in 496 (after a military victory against the Alemans). Most of the regions of Francia are believed to have been Christian by the mid-700s. Recognized exceptions to this are few. In Spain, the Saracen ruled, and paganism prevailed in the Frisian and the Saxon territories.

  That being said, there is evidence, cited below, that Christianity’s hold over Europe was not so comprehensive in the mid-eighth century, particularly in the eastern regions. And given the role that religion has played and continues to play in violently dividing peoples, I felt comfortable in sowing the seeds of rebellion in a clash of faiths. For the skeptics, I offer the following:

  St. Boniface was a missionary who spent most of his life in the eastern Germanic countries converting the pagans to Christianity … particularly in Frisia, Hesse, and Bavaria. The bishopric at Regensburg, which Boniface founded, was not established until 739, two years before our story begins. If Europe were already Christian, this life’s work would not have been so worthy of Boniface’s attention, let alone the papal recognition he received for it.

  Another indication of Christianity’s tentative hold on Bavaria is the lack of Christian symbols buried along with its dead. Prior to 800 (nearly sixty years after our story), few in the Regensburg region were buried with crosses or other symbols of Christianity. In fact, most corpses were buried with treasured artifacts and enough wealth to sustain them through the afterlife. Christians need no such help in the kingdom of heaven. According to a leading archeologist of the region, this practice stopped abruptly and almost entirely after AD 800. This indicates that Christianity’s reach into the countryside was still new to the region and that Christianity wasn’t dominant among the populace until years later, during Charlemagne’s time.9

  There is also ample evidence that the Church was very concerned over the continuing practice of pagan rituals throughout the kingdom. As late as 830, Halitgar, bishop of Cambrai, produced a handbook for confessors. It was an example of the questions a confessor should ask a penitent about specific beliefs and practices.10 The Church issued specific warnings about pagan practices (it was upon these that I drew many of the rituals I describe in the novel). These infractions involved penances so light that one must assume that the practices were still widespread at the time.

  Two other facts pushed me into the direction of having religion be a critical factor for the rebellion following Charles’s death. When the story begins, Trudi presses Sunni about Charles’s intervention in Bavaria and recounts a tale of how Sunni’s uncles married the same woman and practiced pagan rituals to heal their dying hexed son. This story is documented history.11 Clearly, if the nobles of Bavaria were practicing Christians, they were still only “practicing” and were not above resorting to paganism when they felt the circumstances warranted it.

  Much of the ritual and source of the pagan religion I describe originates in the Nordic and Germanic countries. The use of runes and the mythology surrounding them, I pulled from a short book on runes by Nigel Pennick.12 As mentioned above, I also drew upon the Church’s condemnation of pagan practices, which matched the practices Bishop Haltigar describes. Finally, I drew from an older religion that likely preceded the Norse Gods to Eastern Europe, namely Hinduism and particularly Tantrism. For the Tantric rituals, I drew on several sources, but primarily on a book by André Van Lysebeth on Tantrism.13 Since older religious practices and rites are often “adopted” by newer religions, as is evident in the adoption of Greek mythology into that practiced by the Romans and also Christianity’s adoption of rites and symbols from many cultures, I felt comfortable merging some aspects of the older Tantric faith with the “newer” Nordic religion.

  Characters

  Sunnichild: Also called Swanahilde in the history texts, Sunnichild first appears in history following Charles’s intervention into Bavaria to solve civil unrest in the territories. As mentioned earlier, Trudi recounts this story early in the book, alluding to the fact that Charles Martel returned with Sunnichild as both his hostage and bride. Coming from the powerful Agilolfing family, Sunnichild would have been considered an advantageous political marriage for Charles.

  There is a great deal of evidence, however, that over time, Sunni won Charles’s love and confidence as well. She was empowered by Charles to run his government while he was out on campaign. I chose to portray this influence in a scene between Sunni and a fictitious “Brother David” where Sunni first divines Charles’s impending death upon the discovery of a donation of the chateau at Clichy to the monastery at St. Denis. Much as is described in the novel, Sunni did impose taxes on the merchants at the Fair of St. Denis in Paris (much to the consternation of the merchants) and did sign off on the charter for the donation of the chateau at Clichy in exchange for Charles’s burial at St. Denis.14

  More importantly, Sunni’s influence over Charles can be seen in Charles’s provision for Gripho with prized land for a “middle kingdom” when it came time for him to split the kingdom amongst his sons. Given his young age at the time, this created great consternation among Frankish nobles and likely would not have happened if her influence was not great.

  Nothing in the history texts describes Sunnichild as pagan. Given her Bavarian background, however, and the practices of her uncles (see above), I felt I had adequate license to describe her as such.

  Boniface: It is also clear that Boniface, (née Wynfreed) n
ow St. Boniface, held great sway over Charles and at least Carloman. A legate of the pope, Boniface personally ministered to Charles’s family, was godfather to Charles’s sons, and a close advisor to the family. A passionate missionary who spent much of his early life converting the pagans, Boniface was named by the pope a “bishop at large.” Boniface held enormous influence over the other bishops of the region and was partly responsible for gathering the synods to address Charles’s taking of Church lands.

  Hiltrude: There is no evidence that Charles intended for Hiltrude to marry Aistulf. At the time, however, she was certainly past marrying age. And since her sudden marriage to Odilo was deemed such a scandal (well into the ninth century), I surmised that other plans must have been in place. Aistulf would certainly have been a likely candidate.

  Carloman: As Charles’s eldest son, Carloman was actively involved with his father’s rise to power and was considered a formidable military force as mayor. Tutored by St. Boniface, Carloman was also greatly influenced by religion throughout his life. In the novel, I credited Carloman with founding the “Knights in Christ.” No such organization existed at the time. Given the later rise of several formal religious orders among the knights (The Templars, etc.), I felt at liberty to define the “Knights in Christ” as an early prototype under Carloman’s care.

  Pippin: As Charles’s second son, Pippin (also referred to by historians as Pepin), would have been on campaign with his father from early adolescence (he was twenty-seven at the time of Charles’s death). Unlike Carloman, however, Pippin left Charles’s court to be educated and live with the Lombards on the Roman peninsula (in what today is Italy). Pippin was, in fact, “an adopted son” of King Liutbrand and would have been a contemporary of Prince Aistulf. Pippin’s sojourn to the Roman peninsula would have likely diminished Boniface’s role in his upbringing. Therefore, I’ve portrayed Pippin as the less religious of the two older brothers.