Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles

by J. Boyce Gleason

  It wasn’t until they reached Donauwörth that news of Carloman’s army came to light. One of his scouts brought a trader in from the marketplace that swore he had seen an army of Franks south of the Danube, encamped by the River Lech. It seemed impossible. How had Carloman’s army crossed the river? How had they done it without being seen?

  Odilo called his men to a halt and summoned his generals. They would have to make their own way across the river.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Banks of the River Lech

  Carloman leaned back against a boulder, letting the morning sun warm his face and the rich, wet, verdant spring assault his senses. He and Hamar had ridden out to the northernmost picket to await one of his scouts. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done something so indulgent as to bask in the sun.

  The decision to shift the field of battle had proved to be a good one. It allowed the men to rest, mend their battle wounds, repair their armor and hone their weapons. Carloman had roamed among the campfires the previous night as the soldiers clustered in groups singing bawdy songs and recounting fantastical tales of their battlefield exploits. It had taken only a few days of plentiful food and a victory over Theudebald to restore vitality to his army.

  Carloman still didn’t believe in luck, but if he did, he would have said it had finally turned in his favor. They had acquired a dozen large boats to ferry his men across the Danube. It was a challenging affair as the Danube’s current was swift. It took them the better part of a day for the crossing, but hardly anyone witnessed the feat. People tended to avoid armies when they could and the aftermath of the battle with Theudebald was no exception. Once Hamar had secured the boats they were left alone to make their crossing.

  “Without Pippin, we’ll still be outnumbered.” Hamar picked up a rock and threw it at a nearby rabbit.

  “We are better trained. Odilo has recruited the Slavs and people from the east to fill out his ranks. They’ll be no match for our regulars.”

  “Depends on how long the battle drags on. Numbers matter, my lord. They always have.”

  Carloman nodded. “Pippin will come.”

  Another rock targeted a passing squirrel. “I just hope he’s in time.”

  A rider approached the picket from the north and the guards on watch waved for him to stop. Carloman and Hamar rose to their feet to move closer. The man’s horse was lathered from a hard ride. It was the scout they were expecting. Carloman waved him forward.

  “Odilo’s army is crossing the Danube, milord. They should be here by late tomorrow.”

  “How many?”

  “Close to twelve thousand men.”

  “Cavalry?”

  “About five hundred.”

  Carloman and Hamar exchanged a look. Odilo’s army was much larger than they had expected.

  “Keep me informed as to their progress.” Carloman said, dismissing the man with a wave. He turned to Hamar. “It will take Odilo longer than a day to move that many men.”

  “But surely, no more than two days at the most. That doesn’t give Pippin much time to find us.”

  “Maybe we can improve our odds.”

  Hamar arched an eyebrow in question.

  “Break camp.” Carloman clapped his champion on the shoulder. “We’re heading west. I want to keep Odilo thinking we’re on the run.”

  “We’re not?”

  Carloman shook his head, smiling. “We waited here so his scouts could find us. I want him to bring his army here. If we attack from the west, they’ll be penned in by the River Lech to the east and the Danube to the north. And it will give Pippin time to find us.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Carloman frowned. “Let’s just hope that he does.”

  ✽✽✽

  Carloman set a leisurely pace, allowing his men to enjoy the mild spring weather. Although the sun had little to temper its direct gaze, a breeze off the Danube kept the infantrymen cool. They marched the better part of a day, camped for the night, waited another day, and then turned around to march back. He wasn’t surprised to hear some of his men grumbling at the about face, but it was better to keep them busy than leaving them idle before a battle.

  Even Drogo groused at the turn-around.

  “Choosing ground is half the battle,” Carloman told him. “If they cross the Danube to the east of us, we’ll have them at a disadvantage. They’ll be caught between the two rivers and us and have nowhere to run.”

  “Once we best them,” Drogo said.

  “Do you have doubts?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Carloman grew serious. “Pippin and I have been in many battles, Drogo. Each one is different. They are ugly, brutal affairs that cost us far more than we anticipate in men and treasure. But we win. We always win. We come better trained, with better cavalry, and we seize every advantage available.”

  “They have a bigger army.”

  Carloman nodded. “Then we’ll have to be smarter. We can’t afford a prolonged melee. Their numbers would overwhelm us. We have to use our shields and our cavalry to advantage.”

  “Gunther says the Slavs are brutal fighters, savages who drink the blood of their enemies.”

  Carloman smiled at his son. “Gunther likes to tell stories. They are a savage people, but that’s a disadvantage when facing a trained fighter. What did Fulrad tell you about your heart during battle?”

  “He said to keep it cold. Anger and passion breed mistakes. It’s best to be cold and devoid of emotion and let the other man make the mistakes.”

  “That’s right. That’s what he taught me. We have to be cold or we can’t do what needs to be done.”

  “Are you ever afraid?”

  Carloman thought on this for a moment, and then shook his head. “We are holy warriors. We have no need for fear. Ours is a righteous path. We’re nothing but an instrument in His hands. And even if we die, we will be welcomed to His table in heaven.”

  ✽✽✽

  They had followed the Danube, using a road that dated back to the days of Rome’s legions. It was well built and designed for the rapid movement of troops. Despite Carloman’s leisurely pace, they made good time. By late afternoon, Odilo’s army came into view. Even with his scout’s advance warning, Carloman still was astounded by the size of the rebel force. Their rank and file stretched across the horizon in an impressive array of might.

  “They’re signaling for a parley,” Hamar called out.

  “We’ll be happy to oblige.” Carloman nodded to Hamar and Drogo and the three of them rode forward to meet Odilo and his entourage.

  ✽✽✽

  If Odilo recognized that two rivers penned him in, he didn’t show it. He sat confidently in his saddle with a slight sneer on his face. Carloman did his best to contain his surprise at the presence of the pope’s legate. How could Sergius side with a pagan? It left him dumbfounded.

  Odilo and Carloman greeted each other in a polite exchange before Carloman addressed Sergius directly.

  “Does the pope now endorse pagans, Sergius? What could bring you to stand against the Christian Knights of Francia?”

  “I was summoned by your sister, Hiltrude.” Sergius was as imperious as ever. “As you may recall, she was baptized by the same hand as you.”

  “To what purpose did she call you?”

  “To stop this war. You must recognize – ”

  “That there’s no need for war.” Carloman finished, addressing Odilo directly. “If you are here to renew your pledge of fealty and faith, I’ll be happy to withdraw.”

  Odilo said nothing.

  “Theudebald stood against me and was vanquished. His army of Hessians and Alemannians kissed the foot of the cross and pledged their fealty to me, just as you once pledged. Yet here you are with an army at your back. Must I make you kneel again?”

  “I asked you to avoid this war, Carloman. I begged you to. It was you who broke the terms of succession. It was you who went to war and imprisoned Gripho.”


  “It couldn’t be avoided.”

  “Of course, it could have been avoided.”

  “There can be only one religion in Francia.”

  “You are in Bavaria now, Carloman. By what right–”

  “Peace, good sirs!” Sergius held up his hand to forestall further argument. “I’m here at the behest of His Holiness the Pope. You will listen to his wishes!”

  Despite his growing anger, Carloman nodded.

  “Surely you both recognize our true enemy,” Sergius began. “We are besieged by the Saracen in the south, the west, and in the east. We cannot afford to waste our blood warring amongst ourselves.”

  “These men are pagan,” Carloman protested.

  “But they’re not Saracen. If you want to save Christianity, Carloman, save this war for another day. None of us can afford its consequences. The church has need of all your armies in the war against Islam. It’s been only seven years since your father stopped the Saracen horde at Poitiers, and a year since you beat them back at Narbonne. You were there, Carloman. Have you forgotten them so quickly?”

  Carloman’s face was a mask. “You of all people should see that there can be no peace without adherence to the faith.”

  “All in good time, Carloman.” Sergius pleaded. “But this…this isn’t the time. You rule without a king. You violate your own succession. You have rebellions in the east and west. Let us negotiate a truce until a Merovingian sits on the throne of Francia.”

  “Will you support the Merovingian, Carloman?” Odilo asked.

  “He has yet to be proved legitimate.” Carloman knew it was a weak answer, but it was all he had to offer.

  Odilo chuckled at his evasion. “And if he is?”

  “We’ll make a decision at that time.”

  “The church has already deemed his claim valid.” Sergius said. “Unless you have information that contradicts our findings – ”

  “We will make a decision at that time!”

  Odilo grinned. “It’s not like you to defy the church, Carloman.”

  “You don’t speak for the church!”

  “And you are not a king. If you agree to put the Merovingian on the throne, I’ll accept a truce until we have a king to address our grievances.”

  Sergius was quick with his support. “The church agrees, Carloman. Delay this war. Elevate the Merovingian. Save our might for the true enemy of the church. The pope has made his position very clear. Accept the truce. And I promise the church will act as an arbiter for settling this dispute.”

  Carloman wasn’t happy with this turn of events. Sergius was offering a complication he hadn’t considered, and it made him uncomfortable. He understood why the pope might want to intercede, but was it the right choice?

  Odilo’s army was substantially larger than either he or Pippin had anticipated. Defeating it would be a challenge and the loss of men substantial, but could he afford to leave Odilo’s army intact? If he backed down now, they effectively would lose Bavaria and have a hostile enemy to the east. With the Lombards in the south and Waifar in the west, enemies would surround them.

  One other factor clouded his thoughts. With Pippin childless, Drogo stood alone to inherit the family’s power. He was already old enough to exert his authority. But if Odilo and Trudi had a boy, the child would have every right to claim his legacy as a grandson of Charles and to challenge Drogo’s claim. With an army the size of Odilo’s, he would be able to enforce it.

  Odilo interrupted his thoughts. “You are far from home with half an army. You’ve been bloodied in battle, while my men are fresh and ready to fight. We have you outnumbered, and the odds are likely that we will prevail.”

  He paused. “Take the peace, Carloman. It’s the right choice.”

  Carloman shook his head. It wasn’t the right choice. They had to fight. It was either war now or split the kingdom and allow paganism to prevail. There was no room for a truce. For the hundredth time since he left Paris, Carloman silently cursed Pippin for his absence in a time of need.

  “Either pledge fealty and kiss the cross or I’ll see you on the battlefield in the morning.”

  Sergius swore under his breath.

  Odilo nodded. “Until morning, then.”

  ✽✽✽

  As the sun peaked over the horizon it threw long shadows over the field of battle, obscuring Carloman’s view of Odilo’s troops. He had heard, rather than seen, their march to the battlefield in the pre-dawn hours. It was hard to disguise the sound of an army’s approach. Drums counted out the cadence for thousands of synchronized marching steps. Metal clanged against metal and horses whinnied and huffed in the cold morning air.

  Carloman watched with Hamar and Drogo as Odilo’s infantry marched across the field in four broad phalanxes, each backed by cavalry and archers. He would have preferred to see a single phalanx – two at the most – to avoid stretching thin his own line. Given the superior size of Odilo’s army, it was an intelligent strategy. It was what he would have done in the Bavarian’s place.

  A trickle of mucous ran out of Carloman’s damaged nose and he blew it out onto the ground. “Four lines!” he commanded.

  “Huh-yah!” Hamar wheeled his horse and gave orders to arrange the troops to mirror Odilo’s formation.

  Drogo seemed uneasy. “We’ll be only two regiments deep.”

  Carloman nodded. “We’ll have to rely on our cavalry.”

  The two armies marched in formation towards the center of the field. At fifty paces, Odilo raised his arm, calling for a halt. Carloman mirrored the gesture and waited. A single combatant strode forward. He was a giant of a man, dressed in Bavarian armor with broad shoulders and powerful arms. He was screaming, his face contorted in rage, and Carloman had trouble deciphering his words.

  “He’s challenging our champion.” Drogo said. “He says we’re women dressed in men’s clothes.”

  Hamar laughed. “Doesn’t say much for Bavarian women.”

  “He says our God is a weak God, a puny man who refused to defend himself.”

  “Half right.” Carloman said.

  “He spits on our God.”

  “That’s enough,” Carloman said. “Hamar?”

  Hamar unsheathed his sword and scissored his legs to dismount. “Happily, milord.” He strode to the center of the field with a swagger of confidence. When he stood face-to-face with the challenger it became clear how much smaller Hamar was. He looked like an adolescent next to the challenger.

  Drogo’s face blanched. “Good Lord, he’s big.”

  The two combatants circled each other. The giant shuffled, adopting the Window Guard stance that held the pommel high against his ear and the sword pointing forward. By contrast, Hamar walked casually, holding his weapon low between his legs in Full Iron Gate.

  The giant attacked with a broad sweep of his sword. Hamar stepped back in a fade to avoid the blow. The giant lunged, stabbing for Hamar’s midsection, but Hamar deflected the thrust with his own blade and again they circled. Again, the giant lunged. Hamar met the blade and, with a quick riposte under the attack, stabbed the challenger’s left shoulder. The man howled in rage and advanced, chopping down with a series of overhand blows. Although Hamar’s sword met every one, the power of the blows forced him back. Seizing the moment, the challenger advanced, raining down blow after blow. Hamar continued to retreat, overwhelmed by the assault, his sword flashing to defend against each strike of the challenger’s attack.

  “He’s faltering.” Drogo said.

  “He’s looking for weaknesses,” Carloman said with more confidence than he felt.

  Hamar regained his footing and, again, the two combatants circled. Hamar struck an overhand blow, which was easily met. He swung a blow meant for the giant’s left shoulder, but the huge man parried, and their blades crossed above them. Hamar tried to grapple for the pommel of the man’s sword, but the challenger butted Hamar in the face and he staggered away from the attack.

  The giant leapt to take advantage. Again, Hama
r fell back beneath a series of overhand blows, trying desperately to find space to regain his footing. With a roar the challenger swept his blade in a wide arc designed to cut Hamar’s torso in two.

  Hamar jumped back to avoid it, then leapt forward in an empty fade, positioning himself behind the giant’s sword arm. With a quick lunge, he stabbed up, catching the man in his armpit. When Hamar removed his blade, blood cascaded downward. The giant spun to face him roaring in defiance. He slashed down with his blade in a diagonal cut; Hamar stepped aside to evade it; the man lunged again; Hamar deflected. The giant stumbled; Hamar withheld his attack. The challenger lunged and again Hamar faded backwards, ignoring the opportunity to riposte.

  Soon the entire right side of Hamar’s opponent was covered in blood and the red liquid pooled at his feet. The giant shuffled two steps, trying to lift his blade, but instead fell to a knee. He looked up in surprise as Hamar raised the pommel of his sword to his head in salute. The Giant pitched forward, face-first into his own blood.

  Hamar raised his blade skyward and the Franks roared their appreciation. He turned back to face Odilo’s army, and with spread his arms wide, waited for a new challenger.

  None came. Instead, at a barked command, all four phalanxes of the Bavarian infantry stepped forward as one. The battle had begun.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The Abbey at Chelles

  The abbess readily agreed to Miette’s request. After telling Salau she would be spending the night, Miette returned to the Abbey where the abbess herself showed her to a dormitory that housed twenty other women. The room she gave to Miette was the size of a small closet, just enough for a bed, a prie-dieu, and a chamber pot.

  The abbess was a large woman with a deep Germanic accent that Miette found intimidating.

  “You will stay here in this room. You’ll wear no gold or jewelry, no makeup, no gown. I’ve provided you with a robe to wear and a scarf to cover your head. Wear them at all times. Supper is at the seventeenth bell. Vespers one hour later. Collatio at nineteenth and then Compline to end the day. Matins will be at the third bell. After that you are to pray on your own until Terce, at eight. You’ll be expected to share in all chores until dinner at the fourteenth bell. Sister Sunnichild will direct you.”