Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles

by J. Boyce Gleason

  She told one of the cooks to fetch the midwives and to advise Pippin that her time had come. She then tried to make her way back to her room, wobbling awkwardly across the yard. She was no more than halfway there when liquid splashed down her legs. She was running out of time. She soldiered on, leaving a trail of fluid behind her.

  She reached her chambers and climbed into bed. The lead midwife and Pippin arrived soon afterwards and took care to make her comfortable. She was about to make a joke about her timing when a wave of pain hit her. She tried to hold back from crying out from the pain.

  Pippin was on his knees beside the bed, holding her hand. “Is there anything I can do for you, Sister? Anything?”

  She looked up at him, his face so open and vulnerable. He loved her. It was obvious. And in that moment, she knew she loved him too. She held onto the thought, liking the way it made her feel. She reached out to touch his face, caressing it with her hand.

  She was surprised to see his eyes well up with tears. She must have made a face, because he grew embarrassed and brushed them away.

  “I’m sorry, Sister. I was carried away.”

  “Stop!” she said. “As the father of this child, from now on, you must promise that you will do one thing for me.”

  “Anything. Just name it.”

  “Please, call me Bertrada.”

  He laughed and stroked her hair. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it with all her might. A look of pain lanced across his face, but it was tiny compared to the cramping in her stomach. She cried out, needing to push the baby out. Again, and again the pain took her, and she pushed and pushed until it felt like her body was splitting in two and then she had to push all the more.

  ✽✽✽

  When they gave the boy to him, Pippin was afraid to hold it. Although the midwife had wrapped it in a blanket, the babe was still half covered in mucous and screaming like a banshee. Pippin tried to seek help from the midwife, but she was too focused on Bertrada. It was then he noticed that all of the midwives were surrounding Bertrada and none of them were smiling.

  He tried to move into the circle around the bed, but the lead midwife shooed him away. There was something wrong. Bertrada lay back on the bed, she was pale and nearly unconscious. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?!”

  “She’s bleeding too much,” one of the midwives said. “We’re trying to stop it.”

  Pippin knelt beside the bed, holding the babe in his arms. “No, Bertie. Not now. Stay with me. The babe needs you. I need you.”

  Bertrada’s head lolled toward him and she looked at him through delirious eyes. “You love me,” she smiled and then her eyes rolled back into her head as she lost consciousness.

  The midwives pushed Pippin aside and propped Bertrada’s legs open. Using towels, they tried to staunch the blood that seeped from her. Pippin nearly wept at the sight of it. It was as if her life was pouring from her.

  He retreated to the back of the room, still holding the child. It twisted and squirmed in his arms. A crippling fear took hold of him. Although he hadn’t prayed alone to God in half his lifetime, Pippin bent his knee.

  It took several hours before the midwives said with any confidence that Bertrada would live. When she was ready, Pippin brought the babe to her. Bertrada looked weak and pale. With a small smile, she opened her robe to let the babe feed. She seemed grateful to have the child in her arms.

  They sat in silence simply watching the infant together until the babe had finished. Bertrada handed it to Pippin while the midwives covered her. Once she was presentable, others crowded into the room, including, Childebrand, Gunther, Arnot, Catherine, and Hélène.

  Pippin displayed the child for his new audience. “A boy!” Everyone in the room applauded. “He’ll be named after my father, Charles.”

  Gunther produced mugs and handing them around the room, poured drinks from a large flagon.

  “He should have an epithet,” Childebrand said, “Charles the Hammer has been taken and we need one that is better than the child’s father’s.”

  Gunther chuckled. “It’s not hard to surpass Pippin the Short.”

  They all looked to Bertrada expectantly. She held out her arms for the baby and Pippin gave the infant back to her. As she looked down into his face, the baby opened his eyes and turned his head as if looking for her. When their eyes met, he smiled. Bertrada’s cheeks flushed with emotion.

  “He’s magnificent,” she said.

  Catherine chuckled. “That’s perfect. Le magne! ‘The magnificent’ it shall be.”

  Gunther raised his mug. “To Charles le Magne!

  They drank to the babe’s health.

  ####

  Author’s Note

  Although this story is drawn from history and 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 was 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 these stories 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 more than others. Often passed from father to son, the office of the mayor created powerful families that ruled large territories over the course of 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 succeeded and ultimately took the title of mayor in Neustria as well. By the time of his death in 714, Pippin’s influence dwarfed considerably the power of dukes in the other states of the Frankish territories.

  Pippin and his wife, Plectrude (from a powerful Austrasian family) had a son named Grimoald who stood to inherit the bulk of this power. 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 26 year-old bastard son of her late husband to prevent him asserting a claim; The Neustrians revolted, displaced Theudoald and named their own mayor; Charles escaped, battled Plectrude and her allies, seized his father’s treasure and named himself mayor. Ultimately, this displ
aced 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 re-conquered 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’ 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 27 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 (legitimate) children. His eldest two sons, Carloman and Pippin, were born of his first wife, Chlotrude, who also gave Charles a daughter named Hiltrude. After Chlotrude’s death, Charles had a third son, Gripho, from a second marriage to a Bavarian princess from the powerful Agilolfing family. Her name was Sunnichild (also seen as Swannahilde).

  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’ 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 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’ 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’ death to marry Duke Odilo of Bavaria, the uncle of Sunnichild. Hiltrude met Odilo during a prolonged visit he had made to Charles’ 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 and rebellions that followed Charles’s death in religious terms. The Church had long had a strong hold 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 700’s. 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 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 pagan to Christianity…particularly in Frisia, Hesse and Bavaria. The bishopric at Regensburg, which Boniface founded, was not established until 739, two years before the story in ANVIL 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 800 A.D. 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, Haltigar, 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 in part upon these that I drew the rituals I describe in the novels). 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’ death. When ANVIL’s story begins, Trudi presses Sunni about Charles’ intervention in Bavaria and recounts a tale of how Sunni’s uncles married the same woman and practiced pagan rituals to heal their dying and 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 pagan faith I describe in ANVIL and WHEEL 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

  Carloman

  As Charles’ 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 a religious military order called the “Knights in Christ.” I have no evidence that 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.

&n
bsp; After Charles’ death, Carloman laid siege to his half-brother Gripho and his stepmother Sunnichild at the walled city of Laon. After they capitulated, Sunnichild was sent to take orders at the Abbey at Chelles and Gripho imprisoned at Neufchateau. The hanging of Duke Heden’s son depicted in ANVIL during the siege of Laon is a fiction I created for dramatic purposes.

  In 742 Carloman did indeed lead an army eastward across the Rhine, help Bishop Boniface found a monastery in Fulda, and then ravage “with fire and sword” the breadth of the Alemannic duchy to the banks of the Danube where the Aleman Duke Theudebald capitulated.[14]

  This conflict, along with the combined brothers’ effort to put down Duc Odilo’s rebellion in Bavaria (which actually happened in 743), formed the basis of Book II. I condensed the timeline for plot simplicity and because Theudebald participated in both events.

  A new Merovingian – the last – Childeric III was also raised to the throne in 743. It has been argued that Carloman – not Pippin – raised the king. Historians surmised that this was a political move necessitated by the year-round military operations of both brothers requiring large masses of troops to fight on several fronts at once.[15]

  Pippin

  Having been on campaign with his father from early adolescence, Charles’ second son, Pippin (also referred to by historians as Pepin) would have been a well-blooded warrior in 741 (he was 27 at the time of Charles’ death). Unlike Carloman, however, Pippin left Charles’ court for several years to 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.