Medieval 5: Elgar 1 Baby of the Family, part 2 of 2

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Edgar and his young son Eanric succeeded in overcoming the last Welsh stronghold in Somerset, the fortress of Watchet. King Beorhtric made Edgar ealdorman of an undefined Somerset because he was already doing the job of defining and defending the border with Hwicce to the north and Devon to the south. Beorhtric spent all of his time trying to hold on to his crown in the face of Mercian aggression. He honestly had little time to spend worrying about the western frontier.

When King Beorhtric died and Ecgbert returned from Gaul and the court of Charlemagne to take the crown of Wessex, his attention was all against Mercia and focused east on Kent where his father Ealhmund used to be king. He readily confirmed Beorhtric’s charters making the bishop of Sherborne responsible for the faith west of the Selwood, Oslac as ealdorman of Dorset, and Edgar as ealdorman of the still loosely defined Somerset shire. Edgar did not live long after that, but Ecgbert confirmed the son, Eanric, Elgar’s father, and made it, or at least suggested that the title might be hereditary as long as the family gave good service on what was considered the frontier.

When Elgar turned five, his older brother Eanwulf accompanied father who joined his men of the marshes to the army of the king. King Ecgbert crushed the Mercians at that time and Eanwulf got to know the slightly older son of the king, Athelwulf. They got along and became friends. The following year, Athelwulf led the army into Kent where he threw out the Mercian appointed king and took the crown. Athelwulf became the subking under his father Ecgbert and ruled in the east, in Kent, Sussex, and Surrey.

Most Saxons in Somerset were freemen and most owned a bit of property, which they farmed. That was fine in times of peace, but to be clear, Anglo-Saxon culture was a warrior culture. The men learned and knew how to fight, and they taught their sons to follow after them, and to be sure, the British people who were still free and still owned their land followed the Saxons in learning the art of war even as they followed the Saxons in battle. When the Danes came to Anglo-Saxon land in the 800s, they came to fight, raid, and eventually to invade and conquer. Some think the Anglo-Saxon kings and ealdormen fought at a disadvantage because their armies were full of conscripted farmers and tradesmen, but in truth, when the Saxons got to the battlefield and it was time to fight, they knew the business and fought like warriors. They could go just as berserk as any Viking on the field. It would be years, another century or two before the Anglo-Saxon warriors became full time Anglo-Saxon farmers.

With the power of Mercia broken, King Ecgbert and his son, Athelwulf got the kingdom of East Anglia, or at least Essex and the kingdom of Northumbria to acknowledge Ecgbert’s status as overlord of all the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms but apparently, that did not translate into the larger world because certainly the Danes saw England as a land divided among several squabbling kingdoms who did not have the unity to stand against being raided and eventually invaded. That was one of the things Elgar had to face when he came of age. In fact, it began when he turned sixteen.

“Father. Where are we going?” Sixteen-year-old Elgar rode behind his father, beside his two friends from Somerton. Osfirth, the Saxon was just fifteen. Gwyn, the Brit would turn seventeen first. They all wanted to know where they were headed because they rode to the northwest, toward the coast and Exmoor, the wilds of the shire, a direction Elgar and his friends never went. There were stories about strange things that happened in the wilds of Exmoor.

Eanwulf, who rode beside father, turned his head back to answer them. “Carhampton. It is a nice town. I’ve visited once when Father had me run the border and check on the defenses there. It is where my friend Odda lives. You remember Odda?”

Elgar nodded. Odda was one of the younger ones in Eanwulf’s gang. He must have married and moved to the border, or Father moved him to watch the border. Elgar had more questions. “But why are we and the king and this whole army going there? Have the Welsh broken the border?”

“Danes,” he said. “Danes have landed there and taken the town. We need to take it back and push them out of our land.”

That was all the boys were going to get out of their elders. They had to wait until they got there, but when they arrived, they were not permitted anywhere near the actual battle for the town. They were kept back with the king’s company where they could not see much, but what they could see allowed Elgar to give color commentary.

“You can see there are more Danes present than were expected. This is not just a raiding party like we have heard about. No one expected them to come out from behind the stockade and face the army. But I can see the sides are about even. The king brought his personal retinue and picked up a few from Wiltshire and Hampshire, maybe Sherborne while on the way to Somerton, but most of the army is from Somerset and maybe Dorset, and many did come out, but they did not expect to face so many Danes.”

“Not so,” Osfirth objected to Elgar’s assessment. “I think we have more than they have.” He had his hand up and pointed with his finger like he was counting.

“No, look beyond the two lines.”

“Where?” Gwyn asked and craned his neck.

“There, by the gate,” Elgar answered. “There are about a hundred, maybe two hundred men there not in the line.”

“Why are they not in  the line?” Osfirth asked. “Are they afraid to fight?”

Elgar looked at Osfirth like he went stupid. “They would not come all this way from Daneland unless they intended to fight. No. They are holding some men in reserve so when the lines begin to break and our line is all tired out, they will charge in, fresh troops anxious for the kill and it will probably be enough to completely break our line.”

All eyes turned to the battle as the lines met. The king’s men who listened in to what Elgar was saying paid close attention. One even said, “Now,” when the Danish line seemed to falter. The Danish commander waited a bit longer, until the Danish line straightened itself out again. He trusted his men. He had good men. Then he pressed in with the fresh troops, and as Elgar predicted, the West Saxon line fell apart.

The king and father Eanric were able to save plenty of their men. Unlike some such engagements, the Danes did not pursue their defeated foe. Elgar noted that they did not have the horses or horsemen to do that. Instead, they went back into the city while the king and Eanric set a camp two-days distance from the enemy and sent out riders to gather more men.

Elgar got called into the king’s camp to tell what he surmised about the battle. Some guardsmen overheard him and told the king. Father and Eanwulf were both there standing among the officials, looking stern, the same basic look on each of their faces. Elgar almost laughed to see it, but he kept his composure and stuck to what he saw and what he figured. He had not yet worked out the ideas of a coastal watch or strengthening of the ports and the walls around coastal cities and towns such as Genevieve did, or the idea of a rapid deployment force like the one Gerraint worked out with Percival and King Arthur. He stuck with what he perceived concerning the battle and felt glad his father and big brother did not say anything negative.

Elgar and his friends were sent home after that, but it did not matter.  The Danes must have assumed the West Saxons would be back and in much greater numbers, so they collected their loot and returned to sea. There were other fish to fry.

Medieval 5: Elgar 1 Baby of the Family, part 1 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Elgar

After 820 A. D. Wessex, England

Kairos 103 Thegan Elgar of Somerset

At four years old, nearly five, Elgar sat by the barn contentedly making a mess in the mud when a monster of a dog came roaring around the corner of the barn, barking, growling, and showing all of her teeth. Elgar tried to make himself even smaller than he was, but he looked behind him. A rabbit perked up its head and scurried away as fast as it could hop.

“Gifu!” Elgar yelled at the dog several times before the dog decided the rabbit was not worth the chase. It trotted back and plopped down beside the boy and Elgar slung one arm around the beast. “I’m glad you are watching out for me,” he told the dog. “Mother is inside, and my sisters are learning stuff about cooking and sewing and all that stuff.”

Gifu licked his face before she let out a little bark and stood up. Elgar looked behind again and thought he might stand up as well. The big boys were coming up to the house. Elgar wiped the mud from his hands and stared at his brother. Eanwulf and his friends, Ceorle, Odda, and the rest were all around eighteen, and they looked like men in Elgar’s eyes but he was getting tired of everyone treating him like a baby. He picked up his wooden toy sword and pointed it at his brother.

“Defend yourself,” he said.

Eanwulf threw his hands up and made a pretend scared face. “Oh, I surrender,” he said, and his friends laughed. He got serious for a second. “Isn’t it time for supper? You better not track mud into the house.” He turned to say goodbye to his friends. they went into the barn and got their horses for the ride home.

“Where are you going?” Elgar took that moment to ask. “You and Father?”

Eanwulf looked at his little brother, the wooden sword in Elgar’s hand, and smiled. “Mercia,” he said. “The king is taking us into Mercia to fight old King Beornwulf of Mercia.”

“But you just got back from Devon,” Elgar complained.

“The West Welsh needed to be put in their place,” Eanwulf agreed.

“But Mother and the girls…” Elgar paused and looked at Gifu who sat patiently beside the boys and panted. Eanwulf waved to his friends as they rode off before he turned Elgar to walk up to the house.

“What about Mother?” he asked.

“They treat me like a baby when you and father are not here,” Elgar admitted.

Eanwulf’s smile grew, and he let out a small laugh. He looked down at his brother like his brother was a baby, and Elgar thought to change the subject.

“You better not get killed.”

“Not planning on getting killed. Why?”

“I don’t want to be ealdorman. Not ever,” Elgar answered.

Eanwulf laughed again, and made Elgar take his muddy boots off before going inside. Father met them at the door and spoke to his elder son. “Eat up. We leave in the morning.”

Elgar got trapped by his sisters. “You are a mess,” Thirteen-year-old Eadburg scolded him, like she was his mother. She took one of Elgar’s hands. “You need a bath right after supper.” That was something Elgar was not looking forward to.

“Did you roll in the mud?” eleven-year-old Eadswip clicked her tongue and took the other hand. They practically carried him to the table and sat him in the highchair he hated where he had to sit still and wait for the servants to bring the supper. He considered wiggling and being uncooperative, but that would just get him in trouble with Mother. Mother thought it was lovely the way his sisters took care of the baby. Mother called it lovely. Elgar thought of it as repugnant. Even if he was not old enough to know the word, repugnant, that was what it was.

Father named him Eangar, using the Ean from his own name, Eanric, and the gar from his grandfather, Garric, and his own father, Edgar. But his mother called him Elgar and so did his sisters, and in time, so did the rest of the family and friends so father got outvoted.

When Elgar was old enough to make some friends of his own in Somerton, where he lived, he got some respite from being mothered to death by his older sisters. He did not escape their attention, however, until his older sister, Eadburg, married a thegn from Eddington in Wiltshire when she turned nineteen, and his other sister, Eadswip married Osric, son of Oslac, the ealdorman of Dorset in the next year when she turned eighteen. Osric got the job when his uncle, Oslac’s brother Ealdorman Ethelhelm, being childless, was killed by Danes in Portland early in the 840s. Elgar was twelve when Eadswip married. He felt relieved, though he did actually miss his sisters once in a while.

Mother was getting old. Elgar had been a surprise and unexpected child in her middle age, which in those days was around thirty-five. By the time the girls married, she turned forty-seven. Most of the time, the house was quiet and peaceful, but only because Father was away most of the time. When he came home, nothing was ever right. He yelled a lot. Fortunately, he still treated Elgar like a child, so Elgar was not the recipient of most of the yelling. He did occasionally yell that the boy’s name was Eangar, but everyone imagined that was just because he wanted something to complain about and not something to take personally.

Eanwulf escaped the house when he married two years before Eadburg married. Wulfrun was the daughter of Wulfheard, ealdorman of Hampshire. Eanwulf was twenty-four. Wulfrun was seventeen, and they joked about having a child and naming it Wulfwulf. They moved to Wedmore where they built a fine house on a very large farm and were happy. Their farm, like all the property around Somerton, was worked by some Saxon, but mostly British tenants, serfs in all but name, even as it had been worked since Roman times.

In some ways, things changed drastically when great-great-grandfather, King Cynewulf overran the southern end of Somerset, but in some ways things stayed the same. The big farms, the many islands, and the noble properties came under new Saxon ownership, though a few British families who joined the Saxons in the fight against their West Welsh cousins were allowed to keep their land. Some places, like Glastonbury and Muchelney were given to the church and the new bishop in Sherborne, but in all of the Somer Country, the British peasants continued to live and work the land as they had for generations, so much stayed the same.

Garric, one of Cynewulf’s sons who would never be king, spent his life driving the West Welsh from the hillforts around Exmoor at the east end of the fens and marshes that made up Somerset. He strengthened the border with Devon and established Carhampton, a watch town on the coast fortified to protect against West Welsh raids coming over the hills. The next town down the coast, Countisbury, remained firmly in West Welsh hands at that time. This was in the days when Beorhtric was king, back in the days when sons did not follow their fathers to the throne. Living a life on the front lines and in battle was not the way to live a long life, but Garric had a son, Edgar who took up the cause when his father died, and his son, Elgar’s father Eanric followed after him.

Medieval 5: Genevieve 7 Happily Ever After, part 4 of 4

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Genevieve’s Latin was reasonably better than most of the people, but not great. Leibulf and her children were much better at the language because they had a teacher. In fact, most of the children of the nobility were reasonably versed in Latin by then thanks to Alcuin and the palace school Charles made. Teachers came from there, and at least the nobles had their sons, and often their daughters educated. The common people, however, were already losing the tongue if they had not already lost it.

Genevieve looked around. Attendance was picking up, but she had other things to worry about other than the people not being able to honestly hear or understand the gospel. She prayed and thought. She did a lot of praying. Surely, the masters would not let something as momentous as the coronation of Charles happen. The Holy Roman Empire, for all its faults and failings and all its wars, brought a level of general peace and security to Central Europe and it allowed the church to grow strong. The Masters would not want that. But where is the enemy?

Genevieve looked up when she heard some commotion outside. She looked back. Charles had arrived. She looked to her right at the aisle he would march down to get to his front row seat, but she only saw church goers and penitents there, all except the remarkably beautiful young woman beside her. The woman sat still and looked down at her lap like she was contemplating something serious.

“Rose,” Genevieve spoke softly to the woman because it was one of her fairies and she knew the woman’s name.

“Lady.” Rose spoke very softly and never looked up.

“Are the fairies of the gardens of Saint Peter’s volunteering to help?”

“Yes, Lady. We know who you are looking for and we are looking everywhere.”

“No need to look everywhere,” Genevieve said. “Antonio is probably somewhere around the church today waiting for the chance to attack Charles, only I don’t know where. He is probably disguised and ready to strike, but everyone in this place seems ordinary enough, and we have a ring of guards all around the church. No one can get in or out without being seen. I don’t understand where he might be, only I can’t imagine he is not here.”

Rose pointed up and tapped her chin with her finger. “There is one inside your ring of guards, but he is not here, in the church, so maybe he doesn’t count.”

“What do you mean?” Genevieve asked. She was fighting back tears of desperation at that point, ready to grasp at anything.

“Just a workman,” Rose said. “He said there were a few loose shingles on the roof and he went up there to nail them down. He is on the roof.”

Genevieve sat still for a minute before she shouted. “Open Windows.” She stood, ran to the front of the church and outside, calling her armor at the same time so she would not trip over her dress. Rose could not move that fast until she reverted to fairy form. Then she raced out ahead.

Charles stood in the doorway and watched her rush outside. He stopped two soldiers from following her. “She is on a hunt. Pray for her success,” he said, and began the long, slow march to the other end of the Basilica.

“This way,” Rose shouted and led the way. They found a guard there near a rope that hung down from the gabled roof.

“Who is up there?” Genevieve yelled.

“Just a workman,” the guard said. “Hammering down a couple of shingles.”

“Do you hear hammering?” Genevieve yelled louder, grabbed the rope, and began to climb. It was too much for her at forty-five years old. She traded places with a young man named Elgar, someone she did not even know yet. He got all the way up to the gabled roof, and it was a long way down from there. Elgar looked down once at the stone walkway far below and swallowed. He traded places with Diogenes of Pella, Alexander the Great’s chief of spies, because Diogenes knew all about sneaking up on an enemy and not being seen.

“Of course, on a wide open roof there won’t be much sneaking,” he mumbled. He did his best.

Antonio, and Diogenes did not doubt who it was, kept his head covered with a hood, dyed his hair yellow, dirtied his face, and gave himself a scar that appeared to go through one eye and down his cheek. He dressed like a workman, and a poor one at that, but the crossbow he cupped in his hand as he looked through the open window looked like an expensive and excellent weapon.

The angle of the roof was not too bad. Diogenes got closer to his man than he expected. Antonio concentrated on the scene down below. Charles walked slowly and reverently up the aisle, a perfect target except he was flanked by too many priests and soldiers to get a clear shot. When Diogenes got noticed, Antonio quickly fired. He was aiming for Charles’ chest. The shaft caught a priest in the throat.

Antonio turned and swung the crossbow at Diogenes. Diogenes pulled his sword and caught the cross part of the bow. He pulled the weapon from Antonio’s hand and sent it through the window where it fell and clattered on the floor below. Diogenes had to let go of his sword to catch his balance. The whole roof was slippery and slick with patches of ice, and the sword slipped down and off the edge.

Antonio wiggled a little like he was not quite steady. Both men reached for the rope, but neither got it. They nearly bumped heads. Diogenes grabbed for the windowsill as Antonio threw his knife. It scraped Diogenes’ arm and made Diogenes back up from the window. Diogenes began to swing his arms wildly in an effort to regain his balance. He nearly swore but traded places with the Princess instead.

The Princess did not immediately feel like she was slipping, though she was. She felt stable enough to let her foot kiss Antonio’s face. A flock of fairies flew in the man’s face, following the foot, and Antonio threw his hands up to protect himself even as he slammed to his back and began to slide down the roof. He tried and failed to get a grip on the shingles. The rope was too far away. He rolled on his side a couple of times before he shot off the end of the roof. He went out of sight headed for the cobblestone walkway below.

At the same time, the Princess tried the wild arm swinging, but ended up falling on her rump, hard. She moaned and traded places again with Genevieve who twisted her ankle as she rolled to her belly. She managed to avoid rolling further but also began to slide down the roof. The rope was unreachable. She counted her life over but was glad at least that she finished her work. When she shot off the edge of the roof, however, the fairies caught her and brought her to a gentle landing.

Her two guards were climbing the rope, nearly at the roof edge, and Gottard was there about to follow them. But it was over.

Gottard said to her as he offered his hand to help her up, “He will give his angels watch over you lest you dash your foot against a stone.”

Genevieve curled her lip, waved off his hand, and rubbed her hurting ankle before she crawled to Antonio. He appeared to have broken his neck. He certainly broke his back. Charles and his soldiers raced up. Antonio still had a spark of life, and he tried to talk.

“The Masters don’t want…” Genevieve hit the man in the mouth so the message never got delivered, and the man died.

“Antonio,” Charles guessed, or maybe he saw through the disguise and recognized the man from his memory.

“Antonio,” Genevieve nodded and mothered her poor hand before she moaned because of her ankle.

Charles reached down and picked her up. She put her arms around his neck for stability, but he began to kiss her, passionately. He slowly let her slide to the ground to stand on one foot while he squeezed her tight. She kissed him right back. When they finally separated, she had something to say.

“History does not need to know what happened here. You need to not write about this or let anyone write about the dark one, Blondy, Baldy, or Signore Lupen. You especially need to leave me out of it. The Masters know they failed, but it is better that they do not know the details, especially about me. I am best not to be mentioned at all, ever.”

“You hear her Einhard?”

“I hear,” one of the young men said.

“Can I take you inside?” Charles asked kindly.

Genevieve almost said yes, but at the last decided otherwise. “I have been here praying and worshiping since eight this morning. I need to go home, all the way home. My maids are packing for the trip back to Provence as soon as we can get a ship to take us.” She poked Charles in the chest. “You, mister, need to go hear what the Pope has to say. And it is like I told you back when you invaded Italy. When you beat the Lombards into submission, you take the crown. Don’t leave it lying around for someone else to take. Now, that is all I am going to say. Boys.”

Her two guards came right up and each put an arm around her waist. She threw her arms over their shoulders. “We are going back to Provence where I will limp around like Otto for the next twenty years and then die peacefully in my sleep and that will be the end of it.

And she did. Of course, that was not the end of it. Among other things, in her last days she had a terrible nightmare about Flesh Eaters invading her happy home. She had to learn to use that sword and use it against Flesh Eaters and Saracens alike. No, not Saracens. Vikings. And she would be a he. His hands would use that sword. She knew she was never the same sex three times in a row. She had been Margueritte, and now Genevieve. Next time she would have to be a man, strange as that might seem. That was as far as her thoughts went. When she died, she found herself floating around in a mother’s womb, slowly growing into a new person of the Kairos.

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MONDAY

For the second story in this medieval tome we go to Wessex, Ano Domini 820 and the Story of Elgar, king’s man from Somerset. Until Monday, Happy Reading

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Medieval 5: Genevieve 7 Happily Ever After, part 3 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The inn sat on one of the back roads out of the city. It also sat right near one set of docks on the river where the riverboats and a couple of old fishing boats could come and go. Clearly, the men gave themselves every advantage if they needed a quick escape. Gottard got the men to surround the building so there would be no escape, then they went in the front door. It turned out Antonio had stepped out on an errand, but Berlio was there, drinking with his buddies.

Genevieve shouted. “Put your hands up. You are under arrest.”

Three of the men complied, but the rest ran for other doors and into the back room. They all got taken except Baldy. He tipped the table, spilling all the beer in the direction of the guards whose natural inclination was to back up and not get soaked. He sent a knife straight at Genevieve. Genevieve fearing for Edelweiss found the primal energy of being the goddess of the little ones rumble in her insides. The knife vanished and appeared behind her where it stuck fast in the wall.

Berlio found two arrows in his middle. He looked surprised before he fell down, dead.

It all happened so fast, the guards did not all get in the doorway. Margo and Nelly quickly put their bows away. Gottard watched, being concerned about the women in the room, but it looked to Gottard like the bows just vanished. “I believe you,” he mumbled.

“Damn,” Genevieve added her own mumble before she turned to Gottard, who seemed to be in charge even if he wasn’t the officer on duty. “Let three men be disguised as ordinary customers and stay here just in case Antonio returns. I don’t expect he will, but if he does, they can grab him before he escapes. And they better not get drunk.”

Gottard agreed and selected the men before he went outside to see to their prisoners. The officer went with him. Genevieve mumbled once more, “Back to the drawing board,” but this time it was not so easy. She figured Antonio would lock himself away somewhere to make his own plans. Sure enough, even the sky sprites could find no sign of him.

Genevieve hugged and cried with Margo, Nelly, and Edelweiss before she sent them home to their families. She said she would call them if she had further need, but for the present there was no reason they had to stick around in Rome.

Genevieve reported back to Charles what happened. When she mentioned Baldy, his eyes got big and he asked, “Who does that leave?”

“Antonio, the son, but no one has seen him and I fear what he may have in mind to do.”

“I guess this proves Pope Leo is innocent of the charges brought against him,” he said.

“No,” Genevieve countered. “But it does say the attack on him was not spontaneous and due to whatever he may have done. I suppose he could swear an oath of innocence.”

“That might do it,” Charles said, thoughtfully.

“But my concern is for you,” Genevieve continued. “I was thinking the attack on the Pope may have been to get you to Rome. I mean, if they ruined or killed the Pope, that would be fine, but mainly they wanted you in their familiar ground and maybe less guarded than normal.”

Charles nodded. “I’ll take the warning seriously. I am sure, as my guardian angel, you will find the son. Meanwhile, you will have to excuse me.”

Genevieve grinned. “Can’t wait to get to your big-breasted… friend? What’s her name, Regina?”

Charles looked at her in all seriousness. “All I need to do is look at you or hear your voice and I get excited.”

“We were young and that was a different world,” she said. He nodded and left the room. She left in the opposite direction.

The weeks sped by. Genevieve wrote a happy birthday letter to her son, Guerin, though she knew it would not get there until spring. On December twenty-third, the Pope swore his oath of innocence and the men responsible, mostly Antonio and Berlio’s henchmen, were exiled. Then, Genevieve fretted through all of Christmas Eve.

She had an audience with Pope Leo, and he hardly talked about any theology at all. It was entirely politics including his distaste for the woman Empress Irene of Athens of the Eastern Roman Empire. He said a woman had no business ruling over the nations, and then he apologized to Genevieve, her being a woman. He showed her the gold and bejeweled crown with which he planned to crown Charles on Christmas day. He said Charles and the Franks had retaken the west and proved themselves to be more than capable as the defenders of Rome. The eastern empire could hardly defend themselves. She said Charles is not going to like that.

“We don’t always get what we want,” he responded. “Sometimes we just have to do our best with the responsibilities that are thrust upon us. I learned that in just these last couple of years.”

She understood, but then she fretted for the rest of the day. She went to bed early. The day had been cold and wet with rain. The night would bring some frost and ice in places. It was cold enough so the ice might melt slowly. Not exactly a white Christmas, Genevieve thought. More of a slippery Christmas.

She woke up early on Christmas day and sat straight up in bed. “Crown. Christmas.” she shouted, and her maids all stirred and got up with her. She felt convinced Antonio would make his move on Christmas when Charles got crowned. She was not sure if it would happen before, during, or after the coronation, but she felt certain it would happen.

Genevieve got her maids to start packing for home and hurried to find Gottard. Two guards from Captain Hector’s troop followed her, but that was a given whenever she went out. She discovered Gottard and his men had been assigned to provide outside security around Saint Peter’s Basilica. Cold duty, but apparently Charles took her warning seriously. When she arrived at the church, Gottard met her at the door.

“The Pope and his entourage have arrived, but not many worshipers yet,” Gottard told her. It was about eight in the morning and time for the second Mass of the day.

“Have your men all seen the picture of the man we are looking for?” she asked, and Gottard nodded. “Good. We have five doors. We need a man at each, and one man at each window and door around the building, even if the doors are locked against intruders. You need to send one—two men with excellent memories for faces to check the Pope’s people from cardinal down to servants.” She took a breath and Gottard took advantage of the brief respite.

“Ruppert,” he called one man and the man looked up. “Go and fetch the rest of the troop. We have ground to cover.”

“Trouble?”

“Not yet, and I hope there won’t be any, but we have to be prepared.” He raised his voice again. “Girard, fetch Clemenc. I have a special assignment for you two.”

Genevieve thought that whole time, wondering how Antonio might gain access without passing by any guards. When Clemenc and Girard arrived, they both acknowledged Genevieve. “Margravine.” They bowed, being a couple of the men from Breisach.

That brought Genevieve out of her introspection and she started again. “You both remember the face of Antonio, the man we are looking for?” She hardly gave them a chance to nod. “Well, I was thinking he may have used makeup or something to disguise himself. That may be why we have not found him. He may have made himself look older, you know, with wrinkles and such. Maybe a bigger nose. He might be dressed like anything from a cardinal to a slave. You have to really look hard. And Gottard, he may have disguised himself and dressed in a wig to make himself look like an old woman. Everyone is suspect. Go on.” She waved them off and entered the church, her two guards on her heels.

 Gottard explained things to his guards and then took the newly arrived men on a march around the Basilica to place one or more at the doors and windows and he spaced them out to see each other so no one could sneak by them.

Genevieve checked everyone who had arrived early for Christmas Mass. The Pope would be speaking at noon, but Mass was said, sometimes with a short homily, about every hour since sunup. Charles might come at eleven, or anyway, in time to celebrate the Noon Mass and hear the Pope speak.

She sat down to pray.

Medieval 5: Genevieve 7 Happily Ever After, part 2 of 4

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“Lady,” Margo got her attention. “Edelweiss might help. She was always very good at picking out the people with evil intent a mile away.”

“The old gang back together,” Genevieve said as she, Margo, and Nelly all smiled at each other. “Edelweiss,” she called, and the fairy appeared hovering in midair and confused until she saw Margo and Nelly, and then saw Genevieve and she let out a small gasp, not that anyone heard her over the men. The officer let out another shriek over top. Gottard gasped with some volume, though he may have guessed from his youth after Genevieve told him Margo and Nelly were elves. One of the two guards screamed, loudest of all, and ran out of the room. Genevieve’s two guards that came with her and waited out front came crashing in.

“Lot of good you guys are,” Genevieve scolded her guards as she tapped her shoulder where Edelweiss came to hide in her hair.

Her two guards looked briefly at each other before one spoke. “We figured if you were hitting the officer on duty, we would rather not interfere.”

Genevieve did not pursue that line of thinking. Instead, she explained their predicament to Edelweiss, The fairy hardly had to think about it before she said, “Maybe my father or mother have seen them recently.”

Genevieve sighed and called Lord Evergreen. He did not know what they might look like, but he did know a fairy named Cherry who knew a fairy named Acacia who lived near the Lupen farm and might know what they look like. Lord Evergreen explained. “We tracked them when they came and went from your home and that way we found out where they live.”

Genevieve understood but she thought the small room was getting full. Fortunately, fairies did not take up much room. She called Cherry and Acacia, both, so they would not totally freak out. After explaining the situation, Acacia said he knew exactly what they looked like. “Can you picture them?” Genevieve asked and Acacia nodded. “Wait,” she said and went to the one window in the little room. “Sky babies come down. I need you.” she called to the clouds. It took a minute or two, but two sprites of the air, Teether and Soove, came floating up to the window.

“We are here,” said Teether.

“Ready to help,” said Soove.

Genevieve nodded and told Acacia to picture Antonio in his mind. He did, and she duplicated his thought in the minds of her cloud babies before she projected the picture on to a piece of blank velum on the officer’s desk. It came out looking like a poor photograph but clear enough. She found another piece of velum and said, “Now, Berlio.” She repeated her steps and turned to her sprites. “Spread these pictures to all the sprites of the air over Rome, please. We need these men found, and when they are found, come and tell me.”

“We will,” said Soove.

“Most certainly,” said Teether.

“Thank you Lord Acacia, Lord Cherry, Lord Evergreen. Hopefully, this will be the end of it.”

“Let us know if you need any further assistance,” Lord Evergreen said.

“Glad to help,” Lord Cherry added as Genevieve clapped her hands once and the three fairies vanished.

Edelweiss spoke up at last. “Lady, your golden hair has turned all gray.”

“And my perfect skin is getting all old and wrinkly.” Genevieve responded, and every man in the room said that was not so. She imagined that was kind of them.

The officer in the room finally found his voice again when he examined the pictures imposed on the velum in front of him. “I don’t know how you did that, but with these, my men could find the men within the week.”

“Yes,” Genevieve agreed. “But we don’t want them alerted. We want to surprise them and catch them unprepared. If they get the idea we are looking for them, they might leave the city altogether, do their planning elsewhere, and wait until they are ready to come back and start killing people.”

“People?” Gottard asked. “Who besides the Pope?”

“Charles,” Genevieve told him plainly. “Charles has always been the main target. The attack on the Pope might have been a ruse to get Charles to come here. We already stopped the dark one, Blondy, and Signore Lupen from assassination attempts. Baldy and Antonio the son are the only two left.”

Gottard nodded. “I know who you mean.”

Genevieve told them they had to wait, though the room was getting rather stuffy. While they waited, she turned to the guards, pausing to note the one who showed enough courage to stay in the room before staring down her own guards. “You boys did not appear to be surprised by anything so far. Why is that?”

The two looked at each other before the same one spoke that spoke before. “Captain Hector told us all about it and then threatened us to keep our mouths shut. He said he wanted to prepare us just in case something like this came up. I must say, though, seeing it in person is different than hearing about it.”

“Did a hundred dwarfs, ogres, and trolls tear over two hundred pirates to pieces?” The other guard asked suddenly. He sounded like an excited teenager.

“Only three ogres and a mountain troll,” Genevieve said. “And they did not get them all. Of course, the pirates that escaped begged to be taken prisoner, so you can imagine.” Suddenly, a ding went off in Genevieve’s head. She smiled, put up a finger to indicate they should wait, and turned back to the window. Teether and Soove returned, not that anyone else but Genevieve would know it was the same two as before.

“They are in an inn,” said Teether.

“An inn by the river,” said Soove.

“The sign has a fish,” said Teether.

“Maybe a dolphin,” said Soove.

“They got six men with them,” said Teether.

“Six bad men,” said Soove.

“Thank you,” Genevieve interrupted lest they go on for a while. She turned her head to the officer but Gottard spoke first.

“I know the place.”

Genevieve returned to look out the window. “Thank you Teether. Thank you Soove. It was very good of you. You have been a big help. Now you can go back to your very important business, and I will remember you. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, so long, see you later…” They kept up the litany until they got out of ear shot.

“So we go,” Genevieve said. “Bring the men from Breisach. I want the place surrounded before we move in so none of them escape.”

“Should we fetch Captain Hector and the men?” one of her guards asked.

“No,” Genevieve said. “We have no authority in this city. We need to let the garrison here make the arrests. Your job is to assist Margo and Nelly in guarding my person.”

“What is my job?” Edelweiss asked nice and loud.

“Your job is to stay on my shoulder, not pull on my hair, and be cute.”

“I can do that.”

Medieval 5: Genevieve 7 Happily Ever After, part 1 of 4

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Genevieve interviewed a hundred people that were present at the time the Pope got attacked. Most claimed to be in the crowd that lined the street and were reluctant to admit anything more, but they did not mind when she gave them a chance to cast the blame on others. No doubt they claimed their unruly neighbors were right there in the thick of the rioters, whether that was true or not.

She got the ringleaders of the mob to interrogate, and only added a few names when the Council released the names of who they planned to interview. From her notes, she found the name Antonio came up three times, and the name Berlio came up seven times. Somehow, she suspected, and that was probably in the back of her mind and probably the reason she came. Signore Lupen’s son Antonio and Berlio, alias Baldy were in the middle of it.

It took two weeks at that point to figure out where they were staying. She had three maids with her, women that later in the Middle Ages would be called ladies in waiting, but they were all young humans so of little value in detective work. Likewise, Old Captain Hector, now in his mid to late fifties and who probably should have retired, was not a great help. His ten soldiers made good guards but they did not have the run of a city that they knew nothing about.

Genevieve checked. A small group of fairies lived around Saint Peter’s and visited Rome’s churches and open spaces where the flowers grew. There were gnomes of a sort that could be found scattered around, even as they might be found around any human city, town, village, or habitation, but they mostly worked invisible and only occasionally had fun getting the dogs in the evening into a barking and howling contest. The elves, light and dark, and the dwarfs in between all abandoned the city ages ago. The sprites still swam in the water of the Tiber, and the sky sprites still floated overhead, but between them, only the sprites in the sky might be able to see a couple of men on the ground if they knew what to look for.

Eventually, Genevieve figure she had no other choice. She visited Charles’ garrison of Swabians and wondered how she could explain it to them. She got surprised when she stepped into the office of the officer on duty. An old sergeant immediately recognized her and came to offer his most sincere bow.

“Genevieve, Countess, how may we serve you?”

Genevieve looked at the officer behind the desk but spoke to the sergeant. “Do I know you?”

“Not likely,” the man said. “I am Gottard from Breisach, and I was the miller’s son. I remember growing up and watching you grow up. I knew your stepmother and both stepsisters, Gisela and Ursula, and I remember how sorry I was and how angry I got sometimes at the way they treated you, if I may say so.”

Genevieve’s face brightened. “A friend from home,” she exclaimed, and hugged the man.

“There are seven of us from Breisach, but the others are too young to remember,” he said.

“And what news from home, because I have heard nothing in years?”

“Ah,” he drew out the sound like he had to think. “I came here some five years ago but let me see. Your stepmother passed away a few years before I came. I am sorry if you did not know. They said her heart stopped. But both of your stepsisters married. Ursula married a freeman, the son of a knight down in your stepmother’s old home ground around Hapsburg. When I met him that one time, he did not seem to me to be the brightest light, but I heard they have three children, so I assume they are not unhappy. Your younger stepsister, Gisela, married a good man and has taken the house and the title for herself, since your stepmother passed away. They have two sons, and the farm now has some animals and is much improved. Gisela is tolerable as a countess, much better than your cruel stepmother, if you will forgive me saying so.”

“Forgiven,” Genevieve said, but by then the officer in charge had enough.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He stood and looked mean and put his hands hard on the desk. “This is a military barracks where women don’t belong. Gottard, this is not a social club.”

“Me?” Genevieve looked coy. “I am the Margravine of Provence, and I have just come from speaking with Charles. I am going to need you and your men to arrest some men when I find where they are.”

The officer sat down and swallowed. “What men? Where?” he asked in a completely different tone.

“They are the men who planned the attack on the Pope, and I am sure you will want to get them locked away.” Genevieve turned to the Sergeant. “Do you remember Signore Lupen’s son, Antonio, and his worker Berlio, the bald one?”

“Yes,” Gottard said. He hardly had to think about it. “But it has been years since I saw them. I am sure they have aged since then, even as I have. They might be hard to recognize.”

“We have all aged,” Genevieve said. “And hard to recognize was just as I was thinking, but you recognized me quick enough.”

“That was easy,” he said. “You are as beautiful as ever. And may I ask how are your maids, Nelly and Margo?”

Genevieve smiled at the sudden memory of Gottard as a young man trying to get Nelly’s attention. She remembered having to tell the young man that they were elves and not available to court, whether he believed her or not. She said they could only be appreciated from afar. “They have not aged one bit, as far as that goes,” she said. “Elves, you know.” She called out in her way, and Margo and Nelly appeared in the midst of them. The officer kindly only screamed a little.

“I believe you,” Gottard said as he got a good look at the two elves in the room with him.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Genevieve said, as two guards came rushing into the room wondering what was the matter. Margo and Nelly put on their old glamours of humanity once they got their bearings and realized where they were, and Nelly smiled for Gottard, whom she recognized. “I have to find a couple of men, Baldy and Antonio. The thing is, I assume they have aged so I am not sure what they look like now,” she told them.

Margo responded. “It would help to know where we are.”

“Rome,” Genevieve answered. “We are in Rome.”

“Going to be hard to pick out two people among so many even if we know what they look like,” Nelly said and smiled again for Gottard.

Genevieve stepped between them. “Don’t get any ideas.” She turned on Nelly. “Don’t go there. That will make me very cross, and that is not why you are here.”

“Yes lady,” Nelly dropped her eyes and Genevieve turned on Gottard.

“I was just thinking they have not aged one bit,” he said.

“Be sure that is all you are thinking,” Genevieve responded.

************************

MONDAY

Genevieve searches for that elusive happily ever after, but first she has to find the masterminds of the assassins. Until then Happy Reading.

*

Medieval 5: Genevieve 6 Internal Twists, part 3 of 3

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In 797, Charles and the Franks got handed Barcelona, the greatest city on the Hispanic coast. The Wali of the city and the Emir of Cordova had a falling out. In that same year, Angele turned seventeen and married William’s son, Gaucelm. William, Leibulf, and Louis arranged it all, and Genevieve had no say in the matter. William and Genevieve practically had a falling out.

Louis, wisely stayed away, having heard about Genevieve from his father and not wanting to suffer the woman’s wrath. William came with his wife, Witburgis. He spent no time with Genevieve except in gatherings where he passed pleasantries. She did take Witburgis for while one afternoon so William could spend some time with Guerin, Mother Oda being there to supervise. But most of the time she wanted to yell at William.

Gaucelm clearly preferred the company of his Gothic lieutenant, Sanila. She could not tell if the boy was gay, or what. She instructed Angele that if the boy refused to give her children, she should come home and she would have the marriage annulled. No doubt William instructed his son to do right by the girl, but it remained to be seen what would happen. William elevated his son to be Count of Roussillon as a wedding present, so that was something, anyway.

Guerin, at the end of 797, turned five and was a handful. Genevieve and her son nearly had a falling out as well when Angele married. Oda stepped in at that point and mothered the boy, even as she had done almost since she arrived, and Genevieve let her. In fact, at some point the boy stopped calling her Aunt Oda and started calling her Mother Oda. Oda and Leibulf practically served as Guerin’s parents through 798 and thereafter. That proved fortunate, because the following year, 799, was a momentous year in a bad way.

In the west, The Emir of Cordova reconquered Barcelona for the Umayyads. Louis, called the Pious, had been made king of Aquitaine by his father Charles some years earlier. But being only twenty-one, he turned to William and Leibulf for help and advice, and they raised the armies. William got the men from Septimania who were adjusting to his oversight, and this time, the Basques fought with them instead of against them. In 800, they marched over the Pyrenees and laid siege to the city. They would winter there. The city did not surrender until 801, over a year later.

In the east, on April 25, 799 Pope Leo III was attacked by a mob who tried to poke out his eyes and tear out his tongue. The Swabian garrison left in Rome by Charlemagne succeeded in their duty and quickly rescued the Pope. They dispersed the mob and arrested the ones who appeared to be leading the attack. The excuse first given was that Leo was not from the right social class to hold the office. Later, they made up stories about adultery and perjury, but it very much became a kind of he-said-she-said situation without any real evidence on either side.

Charles received the Pope at his camp in Saxony. He called for the ringleaders of the mob to testify, but nothing was clear, so Charles wisely called for a council of the church to decide the matter. They would meet in a year, in November of 800.

Genevieve also felt called to go because something felt terribly wrong in the events as described to her. She knew from history how once the lynch mob got sufficiently stirred up and began to act, the real instigators would back away and watch, and act like innocent lambs if they should be questioned. They could easily lie and say they were shocked and dismayed at seeing what transpired. The leaders of the actual mob were simply the most fanatic men that bought completely into the scheme, but they were not necessarily the masterminds. She also knew that since the attack failed, the ones who started it all would still be there, able to stand back, evaluate their failure, and come up with a better plan for the next time. She would have to investigate the matter herself to make sure there was no next time.

Genevieve escorted the Bishops from Lyon, Vienna, Embrun, Arles, and Aix. They sailed from Marseille in September, and Genevieve would see Charles again. Before she left, she hugged Leibulf and Oda, and smothered seven-year-old Guerin with kisses, whether he liked it or not. She visited Olivia briefly in June and encouraged her to begin a correspondence with her sister Angele.

“I’m not sure Angele will write back. I was terrible to her when she was young. I wanted to kill the girl, though the Masters did not care about her.”

Genevieve looked serious. “Believe it or not, that is a common, human reaction to suddenly having a younger sibling getting all the attention you used to get. Of course, in your condition at the time, you probably thought about the killing more seriously than most, but you did not do it. I understand your feeling of being replaced by another girl, and one that was Otto’s actual child where you were not. Of course, being daughter of the king has to be worth something.”

“Mother. Hush. No one knows that except the Mother Superior, and she is sworn to secrecy. I have made friends, and that was hard enough as the daughter of the margrave. I will lose them all if they find out the truth.”

Genevieve found a few tears and hugged her daughter. “I am so glad you have friends.”

Genevieve wrote to Angele in August outlining her reason for the trip and her thinking. She waited to send the letter because she did not want to get a letter in return saying she was crazy to put herself in such danger. If the culprits imagined she was on to them, her own life might be forfeit. She knew that and promised herself she would be careful.

The journey was uneventful. She got regaled with theology day and night, but the bishops mostly spoke of the trip and the weather with her, until they nearly drove her crazy with small talk. She decided she would rather talk theology, and that improved the voyage, and at the same time it allowed her to speak in favor of Leo and against the completely unacceptable and unchristian actions of the others.

When they arrive in Rome, Genevieve had four whole weeks to get her notes in order and ferret out the truth. It took more like eight weeks, and the council was four weeks into their deliberations by the time she found the truth of it. She found Charles just before the council began. His fourth wife had died, and he was on his fourth mistress, or concubine, a big-breasted young girl named Regina. He acted at first a little perturbed at her presence, but he agreed to see her in private when she insisted.

“Charles,” she immediately scolded him. “You are fifty-five or six. I am forty-five with my beautiful blonde locks turning gray. I am not here for that. I came to find out what you and a whole basket full of bishops would not find out in a million years. I am tracking down the real culprits—the masterminds behind the plot against Leo. I am close. When I have the truth nailed down, I will let you know and you can come arrest them or do what you want with them.”

“Why did we have to discuss this in private?” he asked.

“Because people in the court have big ears, and people with big ears usually have big mouths, too. If word gets out that I am tracking down the bad guys, they might come after me.”

“Makes sense,” he said, and she turned to leave but he stopped her with his words. “How is Olivia?” Genevieve turned again to look at him. He looked uncharacteristically contrite. “You know, you are not included in any record of my antics. I made sure of that to give credence to Olivia being Otto’s daughter. Only we know better.”

Genevieve said, “She is good. She is happy. She has made friends.” she began to cry softly, scooted forward and hugged Charles before she wiped her eyes, turned, and walked out without another word.

Medieval 5: Genevieve 6 Internal Twists, part 2 of 3

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Barely one year later, the Count of Toulouse was fighting in Vasconia and got captured by Adalric, the Basque duke. Arrangements were made to set the count free, but the count made certain concessions to the Basques for his liberty. Charles was not having that. He replaced the count with his own cousin, William, and made him a margrave with say over the counts in Septimania and all the coast to the Spanish March. By 790, William, the new Count of Toulouse, was raising an army to invade Vasconia.

Leibulf raised the army of Provence for his first time at twenty-five years of age. He would support William in Vasconia. Otto, who was completely bed ridden by then, wished him well. Genevieve and Angele could only watch as he rode off with his army to join William. Among others who joined them were the counts of Bordeaux, Clermont, and Septimania. They did not exactly have an overwhelming force, but they won their battle. Adalric was exiled from the land and Vasconia was subdued. Charles was much happier with that outcome.

Leibulf came home in 791 with a surprise. He married a girl named Oda. He was twenty-six. She was eighteen, roughly Olivia’s age, or a little older, and from Nimes which was practically next door to Arles. Apparently, they had been seeing each other on and off since she turned sixteen. Genevieve thought he made those regular trips to Arles to check on his property there and was surprised. Leibulf confessed he did not tell her sooner for fear of how she might tease him.

“I never would,” Genevieve told him, but she might have. She did not hold it against him.

Leibulf brought Oda to Aix so she could meet his father. He had a bad feeling that his father was not long for this world. He was right, but first Genevieve got a letter from William.

William praised Leibulf on the battlefield, though it was brief praise, and he concluded that Genevieve must have taught him well. He said he wanted to check up on her one last time before his duties in Toulouse took all of his time and attention. He wanted to visit with Leibulf and pay his respects to Otto, but his wife took sick with the pneumonia and passed away a month ago. Charles and the family already had a new wife picked out for him, and there is no avoiding it, he said, but he insisted that first he needed time to grieve. He escaped to Orange with the excuse of closing up his old home. He planned to stay in Orange until the spring bloomed. He knew it was asking too much, that she travel in the winter, but he would really like to see her again if at all possible.

Genevieve carried the letter around for two weeks, and Otto passed away. The house mourned, and all of Provence sent their condolences. It took two more weeks before he was buried. The Archbishop of Arles did the funeral and the Bishop of Aix assisted. The days dragged on, but basically, nothing much changed. Genevieve ruled in Provence, but Leibulf was beginning to take more and more responsibility. He sat down and wrote a large bequest to Lerins Abbey in his father’s name. He thought of his sister, Olivia, and wrote a note at the bottom, And for the convent in Cannes. The support of Lerins became a regular thing for Leibulf over the years, and his wife Oda went right along with him. She dearly loved Leibulf and he loved her right back.

Genevieve was happy about that, but she wrote to William and then packed her bag. She said she just wanted to get away for a bit, and Leibulf did not blame her. Captain Hector, now with some gray hair, took the duty upon himself to escort the Margravine with thirty soldiers to Orange where they arrived on the sixth of March. William greeted Genevieve warmly, and they spent two weeks together. They hugged and cried, and after two weeks, true to his word, on the spring equinox William reluctantly returned to Toulouse to marry.

Genevieve explained to Captain Hector. “He is my age, thirty-seven, soon to be thirty-eight. You are what, forty-eight?”

“About that.”

“For some reason William and I understand each other in ways it is hard to explain. Anyway, the loss of his wife, Cunegonde, was very hard for him. I think he is ready now to remarry. I only wish him well.”

“And what of you?”

Genevieve paused to think before she spoke, an unusual thing for her, but a habit she was developing as she aged. “The loss of Otto is hard, but I think in part it is because I spent so much time focusing on him over these last few years, especially when he got to where he could hardly get out of bed. I knew—we all knew it was only a matter of time, but it still came as a shock when it happened. I grieve for Otto. We had twenty good years together, but for me… Now, I don’t know what to do with myself. Now, I am left at a complete loss. Poor Leibulf has had to take over much of the running of the county since more and more of my time got spent on my husband. Poor Leibulf got the job whether he was ready for it or not. But for me, I don’t know. I imagine I will end up in some convent and fade away. Maybe I will go to be with Olivia.”

“Not so,” Hector responded. “I feel you still have much to do, and I felt that way since before I knew about your other lives and all your little ones that follow you around like lost puppies. The people of Provence could not love you more if you were their queen. They will grieve terribly when you fade away.”

“And you?”

This time, Captain Hector paused before answering. “I have loved you since the first moment I saw you. I will not deny that.” He stiffened his face and rode with his eyes straight ahead, not willing to look at her.

Genevieve chose not to respond to that. She knew it was so, but Hector was married and had five children, the eldest of which was a newly appointed member of the guard. She would never go there and spoke again only after a time of silence.

“Well,” she said. “William has moved on, and I have no doubt he will do great things under Charles’ son, Louis. He can be Louis’ Uncle Bernard and keep him pointed in the right direction. And I will go home and help Leibulf if he needs help, and encourage Oda to always love her husband, and find a suitable husband, eventually, for Angele, and let that be the end to it.”

Of course, that was not the end to it. Six weeks later, the midwife confirmed that she was pregnant. Leibulf kindly always accepted the child as his father Otto’s child, even if that meant Genevieve had the first eleven-month pregnancy in history. Leibulf would not hear otherwise, and Oda went right along with him. In some sense, Leibulf and Oda adopted the baby, and all the more as Genevieve aged and it looked like Leibulf and Oda would not have any children of their own.

Angele did not care about any of that. She was twelve and enamored with the whole idea of a baby.

Genevieve had a son, Guerin, a week before Christmas. She never wrote to William to tell him, though he eventually figured it out. Charles never questioned her. When he came through to confirm Leibulf in the position of Margrave of Provence, he said he was glad for her, though she complained that she was too old to have a baby. All the same, he was glad she had a son, and he played with the baby like a doting father. He never asked who the father might be, and she never told him.

Medieval 5: Genevieve 6 Internal Twists, part 1 of 3

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Genevieve had another girl she named Angele. Otto wanted a second son, but he was not unhappy with a girl. He said his life was now complete, having a son and a daughter of his own. He wanted to count Olivia, but she was so uncooperative, she made it hard. In those days, Otto stayed home. He limped around the palace and often sat by the window, staring out into the distance. Genevieve imagined he was remembering his youth, and probably his first wife and their love affair. Genevieve did not mind. She did her best to make sure his days were quiet and peaceful.

Genevieve went back to her fortification project, but not with the same fervor as before. After losing so many men and ships, the Saracens got the message and stayed away from Provence, at least while Genevieve was alive, and the pirates, what remained of them, decided to pick on other hapless shores.

Genevieve, herself, got very busy. She was concerned about the poverty and standard of living in her county. No one in Provence would know or even guess the poverty in which Genevieve had been raised, but from her upbringing, Genevieve developed a soft heart toward the poor. Too many people lived ragged lives and did not always have enough to eat. The county had fallen on hard times since the Romans left. The merchants had all gone away, and the river traffic down the Rhone Valley had all but stopped. She decided what she needed was merchants, salesmen, and sailors. Provence had olives and olive oil, wine, and grain that still grew in the Rhone Valley. She needed a way to market these things, and so she arranged things with Charles.

She imported several communities of Jews from Italy. The Jews were the ultimate middlemen and merchants in those days, and they built small communities attached to her five main ports, the places she called Nice, Frejus, Toulon, Marseille, and Arles. Arles especially got all that river traffic. Then her ships got built, at last, and she worked with the Jewish community to open trade all over the western Mediterranean, in the islands, in Italy and Southern France, in Barcelona and Hispania, and even with the Saracens of North Africa.

With all that effort, the standard of living in Provence grew, but slowly, very slowly. She cried to think that in her lifetime there would still be a majority of people in Provence struggling with the hard and rocky soil to make their daily bread. The poor you will always have with you, she quoted to herself.

In 783, when Leibulf turned eighteen, Otto granted him the domains and palace in Arles. He made it allodial land, so Leibulf would not be responsible to any other noble apart from the king. He would inherit Provence when Otto passed away, unless the king was unhappy, but this way he would have something if the king decided to appoint a new margrave for the county. It was Frankish-Germanic tradition to divide the inheritance between the sons. It was a good way to keep the boys from fighting. Everyone got something. But it was bad in the sense that the kingdom got continually broken into smaller and smaller pieces, and often the boys fought anyway to gain a bigger piece of the pie.

In this case, Otto only had the one son, but sometimes kings were not pleased and replaced those who they felt were not doing a good job. In his old age, Otto did not worry about that much. He did not worry about anything much. Genevieve, for all practical purposes, ran the March of Provence, and the various knights, barons, counts, city councils and town elders soon learned to listen to her. Her word was law, and they jumped to it. It became easy for them, however, because clearly Genevieve loved all the people, and most of these men and women, and the people in general loved her in return. Her word might be law, but they knew she only wanted the best for them, and that mattered most.

In 787, Charles came through on his way home from Benevento. William, who had taken up residence in Orange, met him in Aix where he said he wanted to see Genevieve again, and see how she was getting along. She turned thirty-three, and William said he was the same age. They smiled for each other, but then walked away. Charles did not mind. In fact, he placed Cousin William in Orange at the bottom corner of Burgundian territory where he could keep one eye on Genevieve and the coast, including Septimania, and the other eye on Toulouse that faced the Basques and the Spanish Marches.

Otto got up for the king, but he still stayed mostly in bed. Leibulf, who was twenty-three, was excited the whole time. He spent most of the time from the first year after the pirate raid to the present in school first learning his grammar, logic, and rhetoric, and second studying arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy. Alcuin sent a student of his, Albinus, and the girls were not let off the hook, though Angele was still too young, only being seven when Charles came to visit. Genevieve had a school built like a boarding school and brought in the children from the other noble families in her territory, so her own children, and Leibulf might have friends.

Olivia did not make friends. Genevieve encouraged her, but Olivia did not appear to want any friends. She turned fourteen and showed no interest in boys, either. She hated Charles. Genevieve reminded her that Charles was her birth father, but it did not matter. She hated Charles and did not cooperate with anything. Charles asked what was wrong with the girl, but Genevieve could only shrug and say she was a teenager.

There was more to it than that, and it all came out one night when Olivia snuck into Charles’ room with a knife. Charles was not so easily taken. He got cut in the arm but got the knife from Olivia’s hand and made enough noise so people came running. By the time Genevieve arrived, Olivia was in the corner screaming threats and horrible words and wracked with tears. Genevieve went to her, but she scooted back on her seat and would not let Genevieve touch her. She said something that made sense.

“Mother, help me. They are torturing me. The pain is unbearable. I am losing my mind. Help me.”

“What can we do?” Charles asked as Leibulf and Angele came in, helping Otto to a chair. They all, guards included, looked at Genevieve who found some tears in her own eyes.

After a good, long scream, Olivia spoke again. “Mother. I have to kill Charles. I have to kill William and Leibulf. Mother! Mother, I want to kill you. The Masters want you dead.” She got up to run at Genevieve, her hands extended like claws. The two guards in the room grabbed her, but it took both of them to hold her as she struggled with unnatural strength.

Genevieve had a face full of tears when she said to Charles. “The nightmare.” It took him a minute to remember, but by then, Genevieve was no longer there. Amphitrite, the Queen goddess of the Mediterranean Sea came out of the past to fill her shoes, and she continued to speak to Charles and the rest of the people in the room. “I am going to try and force her to trade places with herself in the far future.” She did not say if it would work, but after a moment, something changed.

Olivia still looked more or less like Olivia, and yet she did not look right. Her eyes bugged out. Her mouth was full of missing teeth. Her hair was longer, uncut, and sticking out in every wild direction. She looked like she never bathed, or cut her nails, and her mouth could only scream. Something came from the girl like miniature lightning and the two guards were blown back from her side. She had death in her eyes, but she could not move further. Amphitrite had her frozen in place.

“I am sorry Genevieve,” Amphitrite spoke through a few tears of her own. “I am sorry Charles. I am sorry, my poor future child.” She closed her hand and the wild Olivia was crushed into a ball of flesh and bone, the blood squeezed out to stain the floor.

Amphitrite waved her hand and the lump of flesh vanished while Olivia came back to fall to the bloody floor and weep. Amphitrite saw the wisps of darkness that hovered over the girl. They might never leave her alone, always being there to tempt her and torment her for the rest of her life, but they would not be able to enter into her or torture her. It would be a hard life.

Amphitrite went away and Genevieve came back to rush forward and fall to her knees, to hug her daughter and cry with her. Olivia no longer felt the need to kill anyone, but she was not entirely safe. She even told them they could not trust her. It was decided to send her to the convent near Cannes, to build it up with an endowment, and let it be under the watchful eye of Lerins Abbey. Genevieve visited often enough and let the Mother Superior know that Olivia was not to leave the convent under any circumstances, no matter how good, kind, or loving she might become.

“And I hope she may find love, and above all, peace,” Genevieve said.

************************

MONDAY

Internal twists continue as Otto takes to his bed, Leibulf goes off to war with William of Gellone, then Genevieve visits William as well before someone tries to assassinate the Pope. Happy Reading

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Medieval 5: Genevieve 5 External Attacks, part 5 of 5

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Leibulf helped her return to her tent. For some reason, she was hungry and tired, which was unexpected because she just spent the last six days resting in a kind of suspension. She should just be one moment of time from when she stood in the back room in Aix-en-Provence. Margueritte did all the living and working over the last six days. All the same, she was tired and hungry.

When Leibulf left her there, all she could think about was Margueritte’s question. Who would be so evil as to let pirates into the city? She heard from Amphitrite. I could go and look if you want. She did want.

Amphitrite identified the culprit before she arrived in the city, and her arrival in the city was instantaneous. She found a woman—a nun, or one dressed like a nun standing by the river gate waiting patiently for the pirates to arrive. Amphitrite hardly had to probe the woman’s mind to know who was behind it. Abraxas, the so-called god who refused to go over to the other side at the dissolution of the gods, empowered this woman to be his hag. She traveled from Northumbria in the British Isles to Aachen, Charlemagne’s capitol, with the scholar Alcuin. She left the scholars and priests behind and traveled all the way to Provence on her own, not that a monstrous hag would have any trouble reaching her destination.

Abraxas was currently confined to the British Isles. He knew returning to the continent would be his death, but apparently he believed if the people invited him to come, that would negate the restriction and allow for his safe return. Abraxas was counting on the idea that there were still Moslem sympathies in Provence. When the people became confused between Moslem and Catholic beliefs, so they no longer knew what to believe, the hag could move in with word of Abraxas, a living god, and with enough converts he might get that invitation.

“Not going to happen,” Amphitrite decided before another lifetime of the Kairos interrupted her. Danna, the Celtic mother goddess said, This is my place. I am the one who put the restriction on Abraxas’ movements and confined him to my islands. I will deal with the hag. Amphitrite agreed and traded places with the mother goddess. Danna turned up her nose. The hag stood by the river gate surrounded by the bits and pieces of humans, all that remained of the gate guards.

Danna dressed herself in a plain dress and toned down the signs of her goddess nature to practically nothing, so she appeared as an ordinary woman, albeit an inhumanly beautiful one. She also gathered a half-dozen city guards to her side for appearance sake. They were window dressing, as she stood near the gate and shouted to the woman. “Servant of Abraxas. Why are you here?”

The nun who was not a nun looked up and looked surprised before she smiled wickedly and responded. “Since you know who I am, whoever you are, you should know your little soldiers cannot stop me. No weapon forged by man can hurt me.” With that said, she began to change from an old nun into a hairy seven-foot-tall monster who roared as a challenge to the soldiers.

“They cannot harm you,” Danna agreed. “But I can finish you. You do not belong here. Abraxas knows he cannot come back to the continent. To do so will be his death.”

“Who are you to say what will be?” the monster asked.

“I am the Kairos, the Traveler in time, the Watcher over history. You might not know me, but Abraxas knows me and he knows what I say is truth.” Danna sprayed the beast with the fires of her earth, and the monster’s roar strengthened. The monster burned, but it did not hurt the beast. The beast actually grew another foot taler and became stronger but then Danna lifted the beast with her mere thoughts and tossed the hag into the river. The hag screamed of death as the fire, suddenly put out, broke whatever bond of life existed between her and Abraxas, the would-be god. The monster melted in the water. She liquified, turning back into a liquid remembrance of the woman-nun, and floated off in the current toward the sea.

Danna turned to the soldiers who stared, mouths open, but did not know what to say. “Tell the city that Margrave Otto was successful. The pirates are defeated and will not come here.” She vanished and reappeared in Genevie’s tent where Genevieve came back to contemplate what just happened. One day she would have to deal with Abraxas. The world did not need to be filled with hags—monstrous servants of Abraxas.

Genevieve decided to lie down. She had a restful and peaceful sleep for an hour and woke refreshed, though still hungry. After another hour of nothing more than sitting and waiting, Genevieve heard some noise in the camp. She thought she better see what was happening. She stood, slowly, and with a sight groan, put one hand on her belly, and waddled back toward the river. It was nearly noon, and she wondered if someone might be cooking. She smelled beef.

Leibulf found her and came running. It looked like the boy made some effort to clean himself up. He took her arm to help her walk over the uneven ground and brought her to Otto who was talking with a young, tall, dark-haired man who was explaining something.

“We came down the Rhone but turned off at Avenio. We followed the river road along the Durance until the turnoff for Aquae. We probably missed you by a day.”

“We got preoccupied,” Genevieve interrupted and turned to Otto. “I smell beef, and maybe lamb cooking. I’m hungry. You wouldn’t think so since I have been sleeping for the last six days, but is it time for lunch? You need to feed us, you know.” She took Otto’s arm and looked up at tall, dark, and handsome while she patted her belly. “Baby,” she said, and looked down at her balloon. The man appeared to suddenly understand.

“My wife, Genevieve,” Otto said. “William of Gellone,” he introduced the man who could not help speaking.

“You came all this way, and to a battlefield, in your condition, if you will forgive me asking?”

Otto and Leibulf both looked at Genevieve who shook her head to say no. “That is rather difficult to explain,” she answered. “You need to trust me. It was no hardship, for me to be here, I mean.” She looked at Leibulf. “Margueritte says she had some hardship.” Leibulf grinned and nodded.

“Well,” William did not know what to say, exactly, so he continued with his story. “We came to Massilia on the next day, but by the time we arrived, you had already gone. The sea was still burning a bit here and there, by the way. We found out where you were headed, and why. I made the decision to gather the ships to follow by sea. We arrived in time to catch the pirates on the riverbank. We caught the rest as they came racing to our side, begging to be taken prisoner.” He paused and looked at Otto. “What did you do to those men? I have never seen men, much less pirates act that way.”

“Ask my wife.” Otto grinned and looked at Genevieve.

Genevieve did not mind telling. She decided she liked this strapping young man, and he would likely believe her since he had witnessed the results. “The gnomes and fairies started with the arrows, and they don’t miss much. Then Leodek, the dwarf chief with a hundred dwarfs, a few ogres, and a mountain troll, attacked with their big clubs, hammers, and very sharp axes. I would hesitate to see that battlefield. Probably pieces of pirate spread all over the field.” She paused and let a few tears form in her eyes. “And seventeen of my little ones are dead or dying. I am grateful to the dwarfs. We were caught on the wrong side of the river. But I am so mad at them at the same time. Leodek has wisely started the march back to the Alpilles.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Now, I am hungry. Can we eat?” She blew her nose on Leibulf’s shirt sleeve.

Leibulf turned her toward the cooking fire. Otto and William followed. William kept speaking. “I brought some five hundred men from Aachen. I sent a hundred in three ships to assist your Captain Hector in Telo Martius. I hope things are well there. I left a hundred in Massilia to guard your prisoners while your men cleared the port from the burning hulks of Saracen ships, and I hurried here with the rest in five more ships to see if we could catch the pirates before they reached Arles. We arrived in the morning after they began to move up the river. We caught the ones left with the ships, mostly on the shore. Of course, we had no idea they had a small army of pirates. I never knew there were so many pirates, or at least I never heard of so many gathered in one place.”

They arrived at the cooking fire and found the most well-done piece for Genevieve to chew on while the rest of the beast cooked. Otto asked. “So, where are you headed?”

“Rome,” William answered. “Most of the men will relieve the troop left to guard the Pope. Cousin Charles raised mostly Swabians for that duty so he could keep his better trained Franks in his own lines.”

“Cousin Charles?” Genevieve asked.

“Distant. Not too close.”

Genevieve nodded that she understood. She showed a small smile and looked down at her lunch.

“So, you are a relief column,” Otto said.

“I am glad you came to our relief,” Genevieve added, and William returned her smile.

“And will you be staying in Rome?” Otto asked, not exactly happy with the eyes being shared between William and Genevieve.

“No,” William said and turned to focus more on Otto. “We are escorting a Northumbrian and his monks to see the Pope. They are concerned about a place called York and want it made an Archbishopric and the man confirmed in the seat. When his interview is finished, I will be escorting him back to Aachen.”

“Alcuin!” Genevieve suddenly shrieked. “Charles needs to keep the man in his palace to teach his children and the court. I need to write to Charles right away. Parma. That name is in my mind. He needs to meet Charles there. You need to keep Alcuin there until Charles can meet him.”

“They have already met,” William said softly.

“Seriously,” Genevieve continued. “Charles needs to keep the man. He is a teacher, you know. He teaches liberal arts. Both trivium and quadrivium. Oh, it is very important. You need to do what you can to make that happen. It is important.”

“Parma?” Otto asked.

“It is a town or small city or something in Lombardy, or Tuscany or somewhere in Italy, north of Rome. Seriously.” Genevieve paused to hear what William might say. He surprised her.

“I know who you are,” William said abruptly, imitating Genevieve’s outburst. “Charles calls you his guardian angel.”

Genevieve smiled and looked down at her lunch.