Anvil of Fate (Meridian Series)

by John Schettler

  So it was that Odo was able to make his way north through his family lands, riding on the old Roman road that led to Poitiers. He had little doubt that the Saracen horde would soon be at his back. I was a fool, he thought. I should never have given battle in the manner of Charles.

  Yet it was north to the Franks that he rode now, for he had no choice but to throw himself upon the mercy of Charles the Bastard, and beg him to bring his men at arms to the battle that would surely decide the fate of every kingdom and fiefdom in all these lands.

  Odo rode north in the night, as fast as Kuhaylan could take him. As he went, a few men gathered to his side, joining the elite core of his comitatus, and word was sent out before him that great peril was riding at his heels. Messengers reached Charles, again warring with rival Frisian lords to the east, intent on bringing all under his heel.

  When he first heard the news Charles did not seem overly concerned. The year before, other riders came with news that yet another Saracen fleet had come to land at Narbonne, and that these men now unloaded siege engines and other machines of war. Their outriders had already come up the coast of the Middle Sea to Nimes and Avignon, and raided north up the Rhone valley as well to Lyon, and further, to Chalons. Yet Charles ignored them, being more concerned with potential rivals in Austrasia and Frisia to the north. Not even when the old Roman center of Autun fell would he bestir himself to intervene. Then, having sufficient booty and captives for their harems and slave labor, the Arabs migrated south again for the winter.

  Odo bristled over the fact that Charles had dared to cross the Lyon River and attack his lands, using his alliance in marriage with Manuza as a pretext. This while he left the whole of Burgundy and Septimania prostrate before the Muslim raiders! And now, in the year 732, they had returned in force.

  The summer was red with fire and blood in all of Gaul while the thick, raiding columns of Abdul Rahman pressed farther north, yet no other army of the Franks came to challenge them. Odo thought to make a stand at Poitiers, thinking to buy time until Charles could come, but with just a few thousand light horsemen, he wisely decided to fall back on Tours and wait.

  The summer gave way to the cold winds of autumn while the Moors looted and pillaged all the lands to the south. Odo chafed restlessly at Tours, his bruised eye long in healing, his pride wounded even more so. He could do nothing on his own, and he brooded, until word finally came to him that the Saracens had come at last to Poitiers, burning the great basilica of Saint Hilary, which lay outside its fortified walls. The priests and monks had begged him to fight, but he knew he had not the strength to contest the foe until Charles came.

  “I will not waste the last of my horsemen to save your altars,” he raged. “When Charles comes, then we will fight and settle the matter once and for all.”

  And that night Charles finally came, leading the strength of his battle hardened heavy men at arms, and many levies he had gathered from the provinces of Austrasia and Neustria. Odo was summoned to the council of war at his camp near Ballan-Miré, and he meant to tell all he knew of this fearsome enemy host and, in so doing, decide the outcome of the battle that would soon be fought. But Charles the Bastard was proud, and would not hear him.

  “If the enemy has so many horsemen, as you say, then we cannot hope to array ourselves on the field in open order,” Charles had said. “He will be too fast, and too quick to turn our flanks.”

  “But if we can strike them in a narrow place, as I did at Toulouse,” said Odo, “then we may press them back upon their own ranks and trample them beneath our feet! It is only by such guile that we may prevail here, Charles. So we must find a place where our flanks may be well protected. The rivers to the south, not far from here, will serve that purpose well. The ruin of the old Roman mansio is in that area. There is an abandoned amphitheatre, and a tower. Let us make as if to stand there, but give back, as in much dismay. Then, when our enemy advances, ever compressed in the place where the waters meet, I shall strike him from the rear with all our horsemen, as I did at Toulouse!”

  It was the only great victory Odo could claim, unsung as it was, and it was all he knew then of the making of war, for standing as he did behind his shieldwall on the River Garonne, had brought him nothing but defeat and dishonor.

  “We will find this narrow place,” Charles pointed at him, standing up boldly, his shoulders square, his blue eyes bright with the fire of battle under locks of fair blonde hair. “And yes, Odo, I will stand there. But we will not feign retreat in the manner of the Visigoths. It did them little good in Hispania, eh? My scouts have already selected the place for battle, astride the Old Roman road on a low hill. There I will take the main strength of this army, and we will dig a trench and plant our shields deep. One flank, on our right, we anchor on the river, the other against heavy woodland to the east.”

  “They have archers!” Odo argued still. “The will tease and rush in, and unleash volley after volley upon your infantry. And many will die. When you are sufficiently bled, then the main attack will be made, like a mailed fist, for their host will array themselves in five parts. One shall ride in the van, and another to the rear. But the heavy horse he will hold in three parts in the center.”

  “Our men are well armored,” said Charles, unconcerned. “Their helms are strong and their tunics are laced with iron and thick leather. We will endure, and if their archers will not cause us to flee, then the enemy must send in his horsemen, in as many parts as he may desire. We will let them come and hew them down behind our shieldwall.”

  “They are heavy horse,” said Odo. “You have not seen their like in any of your feuds to the north. They will come with barbed lances, throwing javelins and wielding their cruel curved swords. You cannot endure such a charge with the numbers they bring! I fought in this manner on the River Garonne, and it went ill.”

  “We will endure,” said Charles. “Let them come and we will stand. They will break upon the ranks of my chieftains and strong men at arms, and then, when the moment is right, I will sound the horn call to summon your cavalry.”

  “You will summon me? Will I not be already embroiled in the fight?”

  “You will stand on my left flank, lying in wait by the woods and making certain the enemy footmen do not use it to infiltrate and threaten our rear. Send out scouts and harriers as well, for the enemy is heavily laden with booty. They carry with them all they have pillaged in coming to this place. Their camp must be close at hand.”

  “Yes,” said Odo, his face reddening with anger. “They have taken the fat of Aquitaine, horses, livestock, wives and children to be pressed into slavery. They will make a great camp, blotting the land with their tents! There I should strike them, and bring just retribution upon them for the crimes they have committed.”

  “You will not,” shouted Charles. “Harry them, yes, prick at them, nip at their heels, but you will not commit the main body of your horsemen until I give the order.”

  Odo shook his head, willful and obstinate, but Charles pointed a thick, gloved finger at him and fixed him with heavy eyes. “You will do this, or you may go, Odo. You have sworn fealty to me and my Palace. Hostages were taken to stiffen your pledge, and I command here, or would you have me lead this army away, and face the enemy yourself? Disobey and those we hold in keeping will all be slain. And then, when I have broken these Saracen heathens, I will turn my men upon your house and burn every living thing to the ground should you betray me now!”

  Odo looked at him, squinting in the torchlight, his wounded eye puckered and still swollen, his brow lined and sweaty with the heat of argument. He had but three thousand horsemen, if even that. Charles commanded fifteen thousand heavy infantry, and thousands more in levies he commandeered from every town and hamlet as he marched to this place.

  The other lords and chieftains closed ranks about Charles, and they would stand with him, come what may. Odo was alone again, isolated, a wounded old war horse, saddled and bridled, destined to plow the fields at Charles’ whim.
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  “As you wish,” he said unhappily. There was nothing more he could do, and he turned and left the council, his cheeks hot and the blood high on his neck.

  “As you wish,” he said to himself in the cold night airs outside. “But we shall see who stands or falls when the battle is joined, bastard usurper. We shall see.”

  Chapter 27

  The Abbey at Marmoutier, Tours, Oct. 24th, 732 AD

  “Yes,” said Nordhausen. “I remember the line now. …With Christ’s help he overturned their tents! The Continuator of the Chronicles of Fredegar wrote it. He was speaking of Charles, but it wasn’t Charles at all! The tents would have been well to the rear, in a clearing or on a small hill. Paul shifted in to scout out the area where we thought they might be located, but saw nothing at all—not even a battle underway. But that was on another Meridian!”

  He had a grasp on something now, pulling his thoughts together quickly. “Maeve changed things. Lambert and Grimwald die as they should, and Charles wins the power struggle with Plectrude. And so now the battle is where we thought it would be, and the horses…They aren’t livestock taken as pillage by the Moors, no! It’s Odo and his cavalry!”

  “Odo? You mean the Duke of Aquitaine?”

  “Precisely!” Robert was shaken with the clarity and simplicity of it now. “The Pushpoint lies with him. It was Odo and his light horsemen that Charles thought to hold in reserve for an opportune moment. I can’t blame the man. Paul explained it all to me. The Franks are badly outnumbered when it comes to cavalry in this battle. Charles wanted Odo on his left rear flank, which he considered his weakest point given the firmness of the ground there. But Odo had other ideas. He was headstrong and quite stubborn, stolidly independent. Why, he had even gone so far as to ally himself with the Moors at one point so he could quiet his southernmost front and better confront the incursions of the Austrasians and Neustrians to the north. He was the willful beast! Not the damn horse!”

  The Abbot was following along as best he could, at once excited yet still somewhat confused.

  “Yes,” said Robert. “Odo was to be held in reserve behind Charles and his Infantry. But I’ll reckon he was most unhappy.”

  The Abbot was truly surprised as the professor rambled on, speaking more to himself now.

  “And here we thought it was Dodo all along—All we had to do was drop one letter to land on the real culprit. Curious how the accounts of these events are so rife with double meaning,” he said. “No my dear Abbot, the willful beast is the Duke Odo of Aquitaine. He’s was quite the rogue from what we know in the history.”

  “Odo, and not the horse?” Emmerich was uncertain. “Yet your sources describe the Arabian steed, the eye, the fire of his hooves. Then something seemed to occur to the Abbot and he shrugged, “Well I suppose it could refer to Odo’s eye as well.“

  “What that?” Nordhausen cocked his head to one side, curious. “Odo’s eye?”

  “He was wounded,” said the Abbot. “Took a few hard blows upon his helm when he tried to stop the Saracens earlier this year. Some say he’s gone daft in the head, and his eye is still blackened from his earlier defeat on the River Garonne. It’s been slow to heal.”

  “You’re certain of this?” said Nordhausen.

  “Of course we are,” said the Abbot. “Because Odo is here, at this very moment. Right here in the city. He was waiting here for Charles to arrive with the main Frankish infantry, and he arrived some days ago, just in time to repulse the Saracen rush to take this place. Abdul Rahman has correctly assessed that he may have more in front of him than a few stubborn men at arms now, and he appears to be waiting while he gathers the full strength of his army before proceeding further. The two sides have been skirmishing for several days.”

  “Then the final battle is drawing near?”

  “On the morrow,” said the Abbot. “Charles moved his main body up this evening, past the old Roman mansio on the road south. He’s setting up his shieldwall, and planning the defense even as we speak. God be with him, for all Christendom and the fate of the West hangs upon the outcome here.”

  “Yes,” said Nordhausen, “But Charles was only the anvil in this battle—the stubborn defense. He was certainly essential to the victory here, but he is not the one who decides the issue. It was Odo! Odo and his few thousand light cavalry! They were the horses referred to on the stela. And you shall know him by his eye, and the fire of his hooves! Even the Arab source writes about him. That line has a double meaning as well! It was Odo and his cavalry. That was the commotion in the enemy camp. He must have staged a raid on the camp as the long day’s battle waned— right at dusk. Fearing the loss of all their plunder, this caused the Saracen horde to break off their attack and flee to the defense of their tents. This must be the solution,” he said at last. “It was Odo! The Pushpoint lies with him.”

  The Abbot blinked nervously, his eyes ever on a great wooden box that sat at the far end of the Scriptorium. They had been speaking for some time, now, and Emmerich eyed the candles with growing anxiety.

  “Lord, guide me,” he whispered. Then looked firmly at Robert, resolved. “Be very careful now,” he said. “Are you certain of this?”

  “The line from Fredegar’s Chronicle is clear in my mind,” said Robert. “I have no doubt about that. But the writer obviously flattered Charles because he retains power and goes on to hammer at the Saracens until he drives them out completely. Odo dies three years after this, unheralded and bitter to the end.”

  “Then you believe it is Odo that causes the confusion in the enemy camp?”

  “It had to be,” said Robert. “Charles was heavily engaged with the main body of the enemy cavalry. How could he be responsible? Odo had the only force mobile enough to pull off a raid on the Saracen camp. He commanded the Frankish Cavalry. Yes, he was held in reserve, but it’s clear that he had every reason to launch an attack like this. He comes to Tours after being roundly defeated by Abdul Rahman, and suffers the humiliation of having to beg his rival and enemy, Charles, for aid and succor. He’s bristling to restore his honor. The only victory he can really claim was won by just such a raid, striking the enemy flank at Toulouse while they were heavily engaged at the walls of the city. It’s exactly the sort of maneuver he would plan. In fact, it’s the only thing he could do given the circumstances. Odo’s raid causes a segment of Abdul Rahman’s army to retreat to secure their camp, most likely his undisciplined Berbers. Then the whole thing falls apart, and when Abdul tries to rally his men, he is killed. Only then does Charles launch his counterattack, just like the garrison of Toulouse sortied out when Odo won that battle. It’s Odo. I’m sure of it.”

  “So how can the Assassins prevent his maneuver, short of killing the man outright? That would be difficult, given that Odo is much on guard now, and surrounded by the last remnant of his comitatus guard.”

  “Don’t you understand?” said Nordhausen. “They haven’t figured any of this out either—the other side is as much in the dark as you are, as we all were! Every intervention the Assassins have been running has been aimed at Charles. They tried to prevent his ascension and put Grimwald in his place, but we’ve stopped them. They think it all has to do with Charles, but they’re wrong, and I’m right, by God. And that’s the end of it.”

  The Abbot bit his lip, hesitating, an inkling of fear in his eyes, and much anxiety evident on his face.

  “This is maddening,” said Nordhausen. “You mean to say that even given all your resources in the future, whatever year it is that you have come here from, your people cannot find the Pushpoint?”

  “All our resources?” The Abbot gave him a wry smile. “We had two Arch complexes left operational after the Heisenberg Wave generated by Palma struck home. Exactly two. They are most likely still protected by Nexus fields until the outcome of these events, but they have limited capabilities, even as you operate within the limits of available petrol and quantum fuel in your era. And they were focusing most of their effort at solving the thre
at of Palma. We’ve only just been warned about the danger here at Tours. The remainder of all our assets, Agents, Supervisors, Controllers, Messengers, are scattered throughout the history, and at grave risk now. This abbey, for example, is now in jeopardy, and in like manner the remainder of our forces will be harried, hunted down and eliminated, throughout the whole of the Meridian if we fail to stop Abdul Rahman and his Saracens here.”

  “So you fear your people are in no condition to assist you further?”

  “You saw the message. Did you note the scrawled hand? It was obviously written in great haste. It could be that it originated at one of our Arch complexes, and was hastily sent through just before it failed. Perhaps that explains why I have received nothing further these last few hours.”

  Nordhausen nodded, understanding. “I have seen you eying that box for some time. And you have opened it twice. The messages come though at that location?”

  “Yes, they shift things into the chest there, but I have had nothing for hours,” said the Abbot. “Well,” he sighed, deciding. “I have nothing else to go on, and this information is most unsettling. I must put men on it immediately. The enemy may come round to this as well, and they could be hatching a new plot against Odo even as we speak.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Robert. “This is all new, you see. I suppose it’s another throw of the dice here after all these interventions. On the Prime Meridian Odo makes his raid, but this is new…Odo must be a what Paul calls a Free Radical. It is his choice that decides this battle, so it could go either way now. What will you do?” he finished.