Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles

by J. Boyce Gleason

  “She is many things, Bertrada. As am I. We provide choices to those such as you. Right now, you have to choose who you will be. Will you marry Pippin? Will you bear his child, be his queen?”

  “Pippin is the mayor, not a king.”

  Hélène voice grew quiet. “On my life, Bertrada, Pippin will be king. It’s best that you understand that now.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her voice sounded frail, against such surety. “What about the Merovingian? What about Carloman?”

  Hélène shook her head. “I don’t know if they will rule. I only know that Pippin will.”

  “Most women would sell their soul to be queen.” Agnès’s voice too was just above a whisper.

  “I’m not like most women,” Bertrada said.

  Agnès nodded. “You can have until tomorrow morning to decide. After that, you won’t have another chance. I’m guessing it is already somewhat late for such measures. I will have Patrice bring in water for a bath. Although we’re far from the road, it’s best that you stay out of sight. I’ll go into town to see if anyone is searching for you and be back before sundown.”

  ✽✽✽

  It was a cold bath, but Bertrada relished the opportunity to wash the stink of the night’s attacks from her. Patrice had provided half of a barrel for her to stand in and two large pitchers of water before attending to chores on the farm. Bertrada stood in the barrel and soaped her body with a rough wet cloth until her skin was raw.

  Hélène had agreed to help serve as her attendant as long as Bertrada returned the favor. The older woman stood next to her with the pitcher of cold water and tilted it carefully to rinse off the suds without splashing water all over the floor.

  As the shock of the cold water hit her, Bertrada’s skin prickled. Looking down, she became acutely aware of how naked she was and how close Hélène was standing. It shouldn’t have bothered her. Throughout her life, Bertrada had taken countless baths with attendants, but never with another women from court. She lifted an arm to cover her breasts and used her other hand to conceal the hair between her legs.

  Hélène caught the movement and raised an eyebrow. Embarrassed, Bertrada smiled sheepishly. Hélène dumped the rest of the pitcher over her head.

  Screaming from the shock of the cold water, Bertrada struggled to push the wet hair from her face.

  Giggling at her joke, Hélène offered Bertrada a towel. “Out you go, my queen. It’s my turn.” And without a second thought, she untied her shift.

  Bertrada laughed in spite of herself. Why had she been so foolish? She used the towel to rub the water from her hair and turned to watch Hélène step into the bath. Her breath caught at the sight. Hélène’s body was vastly different than any woman’s she’d ever seen. Every one of her muscles was strongly defined, yet still lithe and proportional. When she moved, she exuded strength, grace, and surety. Two jagged white scars marred the skin on the right side of her back. Bertrada had seen the like on Pippin. They were knife wounds.

  Hélène caught her eye and Bertrada realized she’d been staring. Again, the woman’s eyebrow arched and this time it was Bertrada who giggled.

  “Don’t just stand there, staring. Help me with the pitcher!” Hélène turned her back and waited. On impulse, Bertrada dumped the entire bucket of water over the older woman’s head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Paris

  Pippin’s rooms at the palace on the Isle de la Cité were never luxurious. Most of those who visited him would describe them as stark or at best Spartan. To Pippin, they were temporary quarters – a place to stay when he couldn’t return to their villa at Quierzy. And the few comforts he did have – a rug, a sofa and a bathtub – had all been due to Bertrada’s influence.

  Now, it looked even less livable. Maps covered the walls of his salon and bedroom and half-filled mugs of ale covered nearly every table in the room. Servants had tried to clear away the detritus, but Pippin shooed them out of the way.

  A soldier entered his eyes grim. “Sector five is clear.”

  “Noted.” Pippin dismissed the man with a wave and drew a diagonal line over a small section of countryside surrounding Paris on his map. When he was done, he gently put the pen down, picked up his chair and threw it across the room.

  He hated being powerless. Bertrada’s rejection had crushed him like an empty suit of armor, but his impotence in the face of her danger –and his child’s danger – was crippling him.

  After the ball, Catherine had informed him in no uncertain terms that Bertrada was with child. And early the next morning, Bertrada’s father had come to the palace to announce that she hadn’t returned to the inn with her sister Aude or the young man she had accompanied to the ball. Pippin had put his army’s departure on hold in order to search for them. Two days had passed, and he had little to show for it.

  An image of her with the young man on her arm – Tedbalt –flooded his mind. Pippin tried to push the thought away. Was the child even his? She had refused to see him again and again. And if it were his, would it bring Bertrada back? Could they be a family? Given the way she had left him, he had his doubts.

  None of that mattered now. He had to find her. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t be with him. Charles’s blessing turned over and over in Pippin’s mind. “Our name to defend; our blood to protect.” It had become a litany for him, a distant light as a guide from the darkness that crowded around him. If the child was his, he had a duty that left no room for weakness.

  Within an hour, two more soldiers reported. Two more sections of the map were clear. Teams of men had searched every inn and tavern within ten miles of Paris and rousted anyone acquainted with the two women. Other than a confused account by Lady Hélène’s stable master, they had little information to guide them. Pippin had even searched the Ragomfred’s mansion, much to the amusement of the Merovingian. Everywhere the result was the same: no sign of Bertrada.

  Reason told him to stop. Either Hélène had found Bertrada some sanctuary or Childeric had taken her. Either way, one of them would send for him. He accomplished little searching door to door through every neighborhood. Plus, there was a war to fight.

  But “our blood to protect” wasn’t a vague challenge. Pippin vowed to not fail his father again.

  A cough brought him out of his reverie. Childebrand stood in his doorway, a frown as deep as the catacombs scarred his face. Pippin waved him in.

  “Any progress?” Childebrand looked over Pippin’s maps.

  “Nothing’s changed. Her carriage was spotted heading east. But another stableman swore she took horses, heading for St. Denis. We have nothing to direct us one way or the other.”

  The big man frowned. “We don’t have time for this, Pippin. You need to make some decisions.” Childebrand picked up Pippin’s chair and put it back in its place by the desk. “Carloman won’t win this war without you.”

  Pippin’s gaze moved from his uncle’s face to the maps and back again. His voice fell to a whisper. “What if she’s carrying my son?”

  “Your son won’t have much to inherit if Carloman loses. Half our combined forces are sitting idle while you search for Bertrada. Leave me here with a battalion to search for her, if you must, but take the army south. Carloman will need every man.

  Pippin sat down at his desk and used the palms of his hands to massage his eyes. He knew Childebrand was right. It was a bitter choice, but one that must be made.

  “I agree. But you take the army – save one battalion – and ride for Regensburg.” He waved off Childebrand’s protest. “I’ll follow in a week. I need to ensure we aren’t leaving the city vulnerable to insurrection while our armies are away on campaign. On your way through Austrasia and Burgundy I want you to gather more men. We’ll need more than the token number who attended the Spring Assembly.”

  “And if they claim they’ve already met their commitment?”

  Pippin went to a cabinet and lifted out two sacks of gold. He put them onto the table. “Thanks to the Compt
esse de Loches we have enough coin to entice an emperor.”

  Childebrand lifted one of the bags, weighing it. “This should help.”

  “I’ll keep Gunther here with the battalion. Whether I find Bertrada or not, I’ll ride south with Arnot to overtake the army before you reach Regensburg.”

  “Gunther won’t like missing all the fun. He gets surly when he’s left out of a good fight.”

  “I don’t have much choice. With the Merovingian here, I can’t afford to take all our troops out of Paris. If Childeric and Ragomfred try to seize the city, I want someone who’ll defend the palace without getting confused by politics.”

  “Then Gunther’s your man. He never met a Merovingian that he didn’t want to gut. I’ll give orders to break camp in the morning.” Childebrand picked up the sacks of gold and turned to take his leave. “Don’t be late, Pippin. We can’t afford to lose.”

  ✽✽✽

  Bertrada’s father, the Compte, was next through Pippin's door. Not wanting to face him alone, Pippin requested that Catherine join them at her earliest convenience.

  By the haggard look of the man, Pippin guessed the Compte hadn’t slept since his daughter went missing.

  “Anything?” Bertrada’s father asked.

  Pippin shook his head.

  “St. Denis?”

  “No sign of her.”

  “I received a message that Aude is alive and on her way to Soissons with Tedbalt. They were attacked by knights dressed as outlaws. As you suspected, Bertrada is with Lady Hélène.”

  Pippin tried to put a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder but the moment it made contact the Compte rounded on Pippin.

  “This is your fault! You did this. Why couldn’t you listen? She told you she didn’t want this life. She hated the politics, hated the killing, and hated who you’ve become.” His voice choked. “And now you’ve put a target on her back.”

  “I can protect her.”

  “Protect her? You can’t even find her.”

  Pippin set aside his anger and tried a different tack. “Why didn’t she tell me about the child?”

  “Are you deaf as well? She doesn’t want this life!” The Compte slammed the palm of his hand on Pippin’s desk. Oddly enough, the violence of the blow seemed to restore a sense of humility to the man. “In truth, I didn’t know she was with child, either. Maybe she didn’t know of it.”

  “I will find her.” Pippin said.

  The Compte sighed. “If she’s alive to be found.”

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance.” Catherine stood at Pippin’s door. Relief flooded through him.

  The Compte looked doubtful.

  Pippin hurried to bring her into the room. “The Comptesse de Loches was the first to recognize the danger to your daughters.”

  “Your daughters left the ball in my sister’s care. I can assure you that they’re safe.”

  The Compte looked back to Pippin. “Is that supposed to comfort me? How can a lone woman stand against the king’s men?”

  The Comptesse shrugged. “If she were dead or in the Merovingian’s custody, we would already know.”

  “Phah!” The Compte waved a dismissive hand.

  “I can assure you that your daughters are alive and safe.”

  “Are you the one who claimed Bertrada is with child?”

  Catherine nodded.

  “Just how did you decide that?”

  The Comptesse crossed her arms. “Swollen breasts, shiny skin, raw emotions. It doesn’t require a physician to assess such things.”

  The Compte frowned. “She did have the nausea. We thought it was a catching disease.” The admission seemed to leech the anger from him and he sat down. “If your sister has them, why hasn’t she contacted you?”

  “Perhaps she has no safe means of reaching us. She will when she can.”

  The Compte turned to Pippin. “What will Childeric do if he finds her first?”

  Pippin frowned. “Hold her as hostage to ensure my loyalty.”

  The Comptesse shook her head. “Childeric isn’t a reasonable man. He’s a dangerous one. You can see it in his eyes. I’m afraid he might kill her.”

  The Compte again looked to Pippin.

  Color flooded the mayor’s face. It was the truth. “Yes, I believe he could.”

  ✽✽✽

  While his men continued their search for Bertrada and Aude, Pippin began a separate investigation into how vulnerable the city was to insurrection. Many of the Neustrian nobility had openly supported the Merovingian heir. After seeing the numbers that attended the Ragomfred ball, Pippin was having doubts about the strength of the court’s support.

  He tapped Arnot to help him. The young blond nobleman was quite popular with the ladies at court and just as welcome in many of the city’s inns and taverns. If anyone could ferret out information about the noble families supporting Childeric, it would be Arnot.

  What the young man learned, however, wasn’t encouraging. By most accounts, the Merovingian had made considerable inroads among Neustrian families, primarily through the good graces of Lord Ragomfred. It was also rumored that Ragomfred had amassed a sizable cache of treasure and arms to bolster the heir’s claim.

  Pippin developed three lists: one delineated noble houses loyal to him, a second, the houses loyal to Carloman and the third, those loyal to the Merovingian. A fourth list catalogued those who could be bought. When the lists were complete, Pippin sat back to study the political landscape. There was only one conclusion he could draw: he and Carloman were vulnerable. Carloman had men but no treasure. Pippin had treasure but fewer men. And with the Church’s support for elevation, the Neustrian families could conceivably corner them into raising the Merovingian.

  Eyeing the list of nobles supporting the Merovingian, Pippin was glad he had kept a battalion with him in Paris. He was beginning to think he should have kept two.

  “Pippin?” Arnot stood at the entrance to his room a curious look on his face. “There’s a lady outside asking to see you.”

  “Catherine?”

  Arnot shook his head. “The Lady Ragomfred.”

  The shock brought Pippin to his feet, dread sweeping through him. She could only be a messenger – a messenger with bad news. “Did you show her in?”

  “She’s in your outer salon. Shall I send for a servant?”

  Pippin was already out the door. “Yes. Yes, that’s good.”

  He tried to remember what he could about her. A merchant’s daughter with a sizable dowry, she had married a much older titled man. It was likely her dowry that had given Ragomfred the means to support the Merovingian’s claim. A small wisp of a woman, she had impressed Pippin with the ease by which she had managed the court at her ball for Childeric. But why would Ragomfred send his wife?

  He found her standing at the entrance of his salon. She was even smaller than he recalled with skin so pale it seemed absent of color. Her dark hair contributed to this effect, making her look hauntingly beautiful.

  “Lady Ragomfred.” Pippin made a short bow in greeting.

  “My Lord Mayor.” She curtsied and offered her hand. Pippin bent over it, ceremonially kissing the air above her fingers and caught the scent of her perfume. It had a delicate hint of lavender that lingered with him.

  Looking up into her eyes, however, Pippin forgot what he planned to say. They were as brazen as they were arresting. Alive with passion and sensuality, they looked at him with the intimacy of a lover ready to abandon her clothes. Too late, he realized he was still holding her hand and that it had been far longer than was appropriate. Flushing with embarrassment, he let it go.

  “Lady Ragomfred,” he said again, and then felt even more foolish for repeating himself.

  She laughed and took his arm as if they were old friends. “Miette.” Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “You must call me Miette. Shall we sit, my lord?”

  “Yes, of course.” Thinking he had magically been turned into a buffoon, he directed her to a sittin
g area across the room. He had to remove some maps to make room for her. He saw a servant waiting by the door. “May I offer you some wine?”

  “That would be lovely.” She settled into her chair and smoothed out the folds in her dress.

  Pippin told the servant to bring wine and to clean up the mugs and rubbish in the room before sitting down across from her. He felt like a giant next to such a delicate woman. He struggled to regain some composure. “I must admit to being surprised by your visit, my lady. How may I be of service?”

  “I’m here at the behest of the king.” She leaned forward to whisper. “Although, you aren’t supposed to know that.”

  “I’m not?”

  “I’m supposed to play the role of a naïve young woman, new to the court, whose impotent husband is recklessly betting her endowment on the elevation of the king.”

  Pippin smiled despite himself. “And how does that differ from the truth?”

  “It doesn’t.” She grinned. “Except that I’m far from naïve. I’m supposed to tell you that my husband is swimming beyond his depth when it comes to Childeric and that I’d be willing to help you.”

  “What would you expect in return?”

  “Enough to live without my husband. That is ridiculous, of course. You don't have that kind of treasure, do you?”

  Again, her eyes held him again, and again he felt as if it was a prelude to something intimate. He coughed. “And if I did?”

  “It would still be ridiculous. You and I both know that once Childeric is crowned, I’ll have social standing nearly equal to yours. Why would I give that up to be an impoverished court pariah? To be rid of a husband?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “You would never fall for something that stupid.”

  Pippin wasn’t so sure. “What does Childeric want to know?”

  “How much longer you’ll remain in Paris.”

  “Why wouldn’t he just ask me?”

  “He doesn’t believe you’d tell him. You made it very clear at the ball that you two are rivals. He thinks you’ll be far more willing to share information if I trick you into thinking I’m disloyal.”