M4 Margueritte: Tours, part 2 of 3

March 22, 2022February 19, 2022M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The Princess, dressed in her armor and weapons, the cloak of Athena streaming out behind, rode all the way from Tours on good, old Concord. Margueritte was well enough to ride, but her side still got sore when she rode far and fast. The Princess thought when this was over, the old horse needed to be put out to pasture and Margueritte should get a gentle mare for her age. She suggested the name Concordia. Margueritte said she would think about it.

When the Princess arrived on the hill overlooking the enemy camp, she called a halt while the men were still hidden by the rise. Walaric and Peppin went up the hill with her and Calista, and the four men assigned to keep Margueritte safe, no matter what she looked like. Other men held their horses, out of sight. Abdul Rahman just then left the camp, and the Princess saw that the camp would be minimally defended.

“You should have the element of surprise, and the men left in the camp are probably not the best, but watch out for special, well-trained troops he may have left around his own tents. You don’t need to kill them all, but you might. Just keep in mind, the main idea is to liberate their human captives and as much treasure as you can. When you hear the signal, you must return to the hills, so listen for it. The signal will mean our ruse is working and the enemy is returning to protect their treasure. Now, wait until I tell you to start. Go on.”

“What will you be doing?” Walaric asked.

“I have a date with a sorcerer,” she said. “Don’t worry. I will be in good hands.” As Walaric and Peppin walked back to join the men, Danna, the mother goddess of all the Celtic gods took the Princess’ place. “Melanie,” she called. The elf maiden Melanie appeared and fell to her knees.

“Great Lady,” she said, and lowered her eyes.

“You and Calista need to watch and protect us from any of the enemy that may be tempted to escape the camp and head for this hill.” Danna called in all her little ones from the hills on both sides of the camp. They were not allowed to enter the camp, but they were allowed to keep men from escaping the camp by going overland. “Gentlemen,” she turned on her four guards who trembled in her presence. “Focus on the enemy camp,” she compelled them. “Calista and Melanie may need you to back them up.”

Abdul Rahman finished exiting the camp, though it would be a couple of more minutes before all his men made it to the gentle tree covered rise that lead up to where the Franks were waiting. Danna used that time to call Odo and his horsemen. They came to her as surely as Melanie came. They appeared instantly and had no power to resist her call, and she turned to Odo and stilled his heart, because he was an old man, and she was afraid for him.

“My dear friend,” she said. “This was your idea. I thought you might like to be in on it.”

Duke Odo did not recognize the person talking to him, but he looked behind the hill and saw Peppin, Walaric and a thousand horsemen ready to ride, and he smiled. He saw the enemy camp and nodded.

“Boys,” Danna called again and clapped her hands. Pepin, Weldig Junior, Cotton and Martin appeared on foot, their horses in the hands of the men behind the hill. Martin immediately complained.

“Mom!” It did not matter that Danna was not exactly his mom. He knew who she was.

Danna let out a little smile. “I admire your courage,” she told the boys. “But at sixteen and seventeen years old, you may watch, but not participate. Squires only, and older.”

“Not fair,” Weldig Junior groused, but their feet got planted beside Margueritte’s four guardsmen, and they were not going anywhere. Danna gave the signal, and a thousand men of the Breton March attacked the Muslim camp, Walaric, Peppin and Duke Odo in front. Once they passed by, Danna called again and clapped once.

“Abd al-Makti.”

The sorcerer came, saw her, and screamed. He babbled. “I did not know. He lied to me. He said you were just a woman of the Franks.” The man looked so afraid, Danna thought he might die right there for fear of what she might do to him. In fact, she took away his magic, so he fell to his knees a wept, an ordinary human being. Then Danna let Margueritte return, and Margueritte spoke calmly, as Danna made sure Abd al-Makti’s ears were open, and he would hear.

“Long ago, a man named Julius Caesar came to conquer this land. The Gallic people of the land tried to fight, but only one king successfully stood up against the power of Rome. That was me,” she said, and took a deep breath. “In that day, in that lifetime, I was a man named Bodanagus. But I went to Caesar to talk peace because peace is always better than war. My love, Isoulde, was killed in the fighting, and I hardly had the strength to go on without her. But even as Caesar and I talked, we were interrupted by the gods of Aesgard. You see, the time for dissolution was near. The gods would be going over to the other side. But Odin wanted to defend his German and Scandinavian people so they would have time to become the people they are even now becoming, centuries later. It was Odin and Frig, Syn and even Loki who empowered Bodanagus to keep other men with other cultures and traditions from pouring over the border and ruining what Odin set in motion.” Margueritte paused. not sure how much Abd al-Makti, or anyone standing there understood. It did not matter. She felt compelled to finish the story.

“I am the life in all of time that is the perfect genetic reflection, say, the perfect female version of King Bodanagus. As he was empowered to protect the Germanic people, so I reflect the gifts given to him. You see, I am not a witch. I simply reflect in a small way the gifts of the gods.”

Margueritte turned to where a dozen Muslims were trying to escape the bloodshed in the camp. As suspected, some made for the hills, and Calista and Melanie were running out of arrows. Margueritte raised her hands, and something like blue lightning poured from her eyes and fingers, but unlike the Taser effect it had on Franks, or even fellow Bretons, to knock them unconscious, this looked more like real lightning, and the dozen Muslims burned to ash and charred remains.

“And I simply reflect his gifts in a small way,” Margueritte confessed. Abd al-Makti wailed, trembled, and covered his eyes. “Iberia is full of Germanic Visigoths. North Africa is full of Germanic Vandals. I could sweep the land clean of Islamic usurpers, right up to the border of Egypt, and there are other things I could do in Egypt and the Middle East. But I won’t. Why? Because men need to fight their own battles. You claim Allah is the one true god and Mohamed is his prophet. I will show you what kind of men have taken up your cause. They are men filed with greed for riches, lust for power, covetousness for land, and hatred unto the death for anyone opposed to them—even the innocent, including women and children. Let me show you the kind of people you have.”

Margueritte called Larchmont and his men. She traded places again with Danna as she spoke to the fairies. “You must whisper in the ear of Abdul Rahman’s men and commanders that their camp is attacked, and they are losing their slaves and their riches. If they want to go home rich, they better come and defend their camp.” Danna made the fairies temporarily invisible and sent them on their way. “Greedy men,” she said. “And now the end.”

Abd al-Makti screamed again and threw his hands to his head. It felt like someone was walking around in his mind, and Danna was, before she mumbled. “He really isn’t that smart. He ran away when you sent men to assassinate Margueritte, and failed, but he neglected to remove the connection.” Danna raised her voice and called, more than she ever called before, and it was one word. “Abraxas.”

Danna’s voice roared through the Muslim camp like a whirlwind. It raced south, crossed the Pyrenees, and echoed throughout Iberia. People, especially of Celtic descent, looked up at the sky and wondered. The call crossed over at the straights of Gibraltar, bounced off the Maghreb, crossed the Nile and landed in Damascus, where Abraxas worked to save the Caliphate from the Abbasids. Abraxas vanished from there, and appeared on a hill south of Tours, and once he stood on Danna’s soil, he could not move.

Danna tuned out everyone else and stared hard at the goatee face. “Bastard son of Morrigu, my self-centered daughter-in-law,” she said. She glued his presence to that spot and went away so Amun Junior could take her place. You are hereby banished from Africa, Egypt, and the Middle East right through Persia and up to the Aral Sea and Lake Baikal. If you return to interfere with the people there, it will be your instant death. Amun has spoken,” he said, and went away so Amphitrite could take his place. Abraxas strained to get his feet free, and sweated, a little-known commodity among the gods.

Amphitrite imagined Abraxas might be cute to some girls, like Galatea, in a wicked, skinny, black hair, goatee sort of way. She could see Janus in him a little around the eyes—that two-faced moron and back stabber when he got drunk. “As Amphitrite, called Salacia in Rome, wife of Poseidon, called Neptune by his grandfather Saturn, I stand as the last of the Olympians, or near enough, and I banish you from all the lands of Olympus, and from the Mediterranean. In fact, I banish you from all my waters around the globe. Drink milk, wine, ale, tea, but let pure water, salt or salt-free, be poison to you, and to step on Olympian land will be instant death.”

“Please,” Abraxas started to cry. “I am fire and water. You cannot take the water from me, or I will burn and die.”

“Steam,” Amphitrite called it. “Also called hot air. So be it,” Amphitrite said, and Danna returned to have the final word. “Nameless gave you a chance when he banned you from the lands of Aesgard. You could return, which would be suicide, or you could find the courage to do what you should have done centuries ago. Give up this little bit of flesh and blood and go over to the other side. The time of dissolution is long past.

“But —”

“Quiet. I have now taken from you every place on this planet where you might have staked a claim other than this land, the land of the Celts, the land of my children.”

“Please. I have nowhere else to go.”

“Why should I give you a third chance. Will you go over to the other side?”

“I will. I swear it.”

“In an elf’s eye,” Danna said. “But this is it. There will be no fourth chances.”

M4 Margueritte: Tours, part 1 of 3

March 21, 2022February 19, 2022M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Abdul Rahman stopped in the gap before the forest, where the road ran between the hills. He seemed a bit surprised to find an army blocking his way, but he did not think much of it. He had little respect for the military prowess of what he considered the Germanic barbarians. Certainly, the Visigoths fell quickly enough, and the Vascons cowered as he passed by. He came over the mountains with fifty thousand men, and even after two bloody battles and the siege of Bordeaux, he still had forty thousand who could fight like fresh troops.

Abdul Rahman al-Ghafiqi had fifteen thousand men at that point, out in the province, killing locals and taking everything of value they could, including humans who would serve as slaves. He found the white Visigoths made acceptable slaves and saw no reason why the Franks might not be the same. So, he waited, and felt more concerned about the coming cold weather than he did about facing a Frankish army. He counted his gold, and that warmed him, as his men counted their loot and thought about blonde barbarians waiting on them and meeting their every desire.

“The cavalry will run them over, as they ran over Duke Odo, twice,” he said. His scouts told him the Franks had no horsemen to speak of. Abdul Rahman raised his eyebrows a little when his men reported campfires in the hills on both sides of the road. But he still did not fret. He imagined the Franks might equal his numbers after all, but that would not help them if they were spread out through the hills. True, it would prevent him from circling around behind the enemy, but he did not plan to do that. He planned to plow right through the Franks and head straight for the riches of Tours.

Abdul Rahman stayed for six days in the same spot. He waited for his men to come in from the surrounding area and waited to see if the Franks would be foolish enough to charge his position. He rather hoped they would, that this Charles would lack the patience the other Germanic people he faced had lacked. But Charles stood his ground, and his men, used to the cold October winds and rain, made no complaint.

By the third evening, Abdul Rahman called for the madman. “What do you make of the fires in the hills,” he asked.

Abd al-Makti’s eyes got big, and he muttered nonsense for a minute before he shouted, “Spirits in the night.” He looked like a broken man and laughed like one as well. “The hills are full of ancient and powerful spirits, and they are against us. They are all against us. I have the power to drive them off, but when I grow tired, they come right back. They always come right back.”

“I cannot deny what he says may be true,” one of Abdul Rahman’s generals spoke up. “We send scouts into the hills, and they do not come back. We send a troop, and they believe there are Frankish soldiers in the distance, drinking and laughing around the fire, but they ride to the firelight and find nothing there when they arrive. There is not even an extinguished fire. It is like they are chasing after ghosts.”

“Spirits,” Abd al-Makti repeated. “It is her doing. The spirits obey her. The witch. The spirits obey her wicked bidding, and they are against us.”

Another man stepped up, one from Septimania. “I have heard this mad man speak of a woman since the day he arrived in Narbonne,” he said. “I have never discovered the identity of this witch, but apparently, she is with the Franks.”

“Witchery from the Franks would not surprise me,” Abdul Rahman said. “But I am not a superstitious man. We ride in the name of Allah, by the Holy Prophet. We will be strengthened, and the victory will be ours. Bring me some of the Franks from the hills,” he ordered, and for three more nights, men went out, and while they saw the fires in the distance, they never found one, and sometimes the men never returned.

By the sixth evening, Abdul Rahman’s men were up to full strength of forty thousand. Roland, Lord Birch and Charles all judged that the Saracens would attack in the morning. They got their men ready, and Odo came up with a plan to ride around and attack the Muslim camp with his horsemen, and any that Charles could spare.

“I cannot spare any,” Charles said. “But the idea does have merit.” He had no idea that before the light dawned on the seventh day, Margueritte, Calista, Walaric and Pippin lead a thousand of their veterans on horseback from Tours and traveled by secret elf ways to the battlefield. It would still take them most of the morning to arrive, but Larchmont’s messenger told her what Odo proposed, and Margueritte also thought the idea had merit.

Abdul Rahman sent his heavy cavalry first thing to clear the road. True, they had to ride up hill and through trees so they could not build up to a good charge, but they were experienced at moving through all sorts of unfavorable terrain, and they quickly came to the Frankish line. The Frankish archers hardly slowed them.

The Franks, to the great surprise of the Muslim cavalry, stood like a stone wall. As horses crowded against each other, the men on their backs became easy targets for Frankish spears and javelins. The Franks were supposed to break and run away, like all barbarians did, but the Saracens instead began to fall in great numbers.

One Muslim commander held back to judge where Charles would most likely be. He led a concentrated charge on that spot and almost broke through. For a few brief moments, Charles got exposed. Three men on foot, one of whom was the commander, having lost their horses, faced Charles, and thought the day was won. Charles pulled Caliburn and easily sliced the first man across the middle. The second man, the astute commander, parried Charles’ sword, so Charles did what he had been told and thrust—an utterly unexpected move. Caliburn sank deep into the man’s chest. The man knew instantly that he was dying, but he grinned as his hands grabbed the sword. His fingers and thumbs got cut off, but he yanked the sword right out of Charles’ hand as he fell. The third man smiled, thinking he had Charles trapped, but Charles called.

“Caliburn,” he said, and the sword vacated the commander’s chest and flew back to Charles’ hand. The third man, wide eyed, turned and ran away as Tomberlain, Roland and a dozen veterans came to drive off the rest. To be sure, Ragenfrid’s elder sons, Bernard and Adalbert were in the front of the line to rescue Charles. The Franks closed-up the gap, and that one man running away started the retreat.

With his heavy cavalry beaten back, Abdul Rahman realized that this would not be as easy as he supposed. He took nearly an hour to think about it, while Charles, Roland, Tomberlain, Owien, Wulfram and all of Charles’ commanders and sergeants, and eventually all of the Frankish nobility shouted.

“Hold the line. Archers to the front. This isn’t over. The battle has just started,” and many encouragements to get the men ready. Hunald also picked up the yelling, and it helped his men. The men of Aquitaine were shaking and might have broken if not for the courage of the Franks beside them.

This time, Abdul Rahman thought to send his light cavalry. He had fifteen thousand to send, and he figured they would wend their way up the hill and through the woods better than the heavily burdened cavalry he normally depended on. Many of the light cavalry were Berbers who rode smaller, more agile horses, almost ponies, and they did not need as much ground to get up a good charge.

The Franks, however, were just beyond bowshot of the trees. While the light Muslim cavalry had practiced at shooting bows from horseback, they could hardly draw a bead on the enemy when the minute they popped their heads out of the trees, they got shot. This kept them from even getting started in any sort of charge, until one commander forced them forward. They were not going to ride in and out of range and hit the Franks with volleys of arrows, at least not without being hit in return, so they drew their swords and attacked. Again, the Franks were unmoved, and while these smaller horses did not get tangled up the way the big horses got in each other’s way, the toll on the Muslims became even more devastating. Wulfram had been right as far as it went all those years ago. In circumstances, such as close quarters, the man on foot had the advantage in being able to move, bob and weave. Plus, these lighter cavalry men also had lighter armor, where the Franks had solid armor, mostly chain, that could stand up to many sword thrusts and even arrows.

It did not take long before the Muslim light cavalry called it quits and went back down the hill to rest. Abdul Rahman gave them an hour and felt astounded that any barbarian army could stand up to such an awful beating. He was not aware, though his commanders were, that Rahman’s forces were the ones getting the worst of the beating.

Abdul Rahman put his armor on and had his horse saddled. He intended to end this and planned to throw everything he had at the Frankish line, including nearly ten thousand men on foot, to follow the horses. That would leave only two thousand to guard the camp, but he was not thinking at that point about guarding the camp. He got angry and stomped around like his personal honor was impugned. How dare these Christians stand in the way of the armies of the Prophet. He would crush them and kill them all. As he mocked the barbarians for being impatient, one might say he became equally guilty of arrogance. Pride, after all, is the first sin, and Abdul Rahman had plenty of it.

M4 Margueritte: Banners of Christendom, part 3 of 3

March 16, 2022February 19, 2022M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Charles moved at the beginning of September. Abdul Rahman had groups of men looting and pillaging all over western Aquitaine. He met Odo at the river Garrone and defeated Odo a second time. Odo limped north and begged Charles for help. Charles moved and expected to meet the Wali at some point in early October. He noted that Abdul Rahman’s men had not moved into eastern Aquitaine, had avoided Tolouse, and had not come up to Bourges, but the rest of the duchy was being burned.

Margueritte and her family, and all the horsemen and footmen they could muster went to Tours. She made a note of the flags and coats of arms on display. Flags and painted shields became yet another relatively new thing, not well displayed in the past, if the lord even had a flag to display. Then there were tunics with symbols worn over the armor so men could better tell the good guys from the bad guys. But they were becoming the Middle Ages, leaving the old Roman world well behind, like ancient history, and making a new way of living and doing business. Margueritte felt saddened by the fact that she could not build any public schools for all the children of the Franks, and Bretons for that matter, but she dared not. She had introduced enough innovations and was already in danger of going too far. Besides, the first university of sorts would not be built until Charlemagne and that monk, what’s-his-name, got around to it.

When Charles arrived in Tours he was impressed by her turnout, but he said something that Margueritte had forgotten. “Do you think this is what that assassin meant when he mentioned the battle of Tours?”

Margueritte shrugged. “It may be, and he said he wanted to change the outcome. Too bad he did not say how the battle came out.”

“I know,” Charles agreed. “And it has bothered me for these ten or so years.”

“Not yet. The ten years are not up.”

“And I know this too. I am fully convinced of the great potential of your heavy cavalry, but they are still like a half-cooked meal. You need to keep them here with yourself in reserve. If my veterans break, we may need them to defend Tours.”

“Between Tomberlain, Owien, Wulfram, Walaric and Peppin, we have over a thousand veterans, though not veterans who fought with a lance.”

“Keep them here. I will take your footmen, and Tomberlain, Owien, Childemund and Wulfram. You keep Walaric and Peppin with you.”

Roland came into the tent and Margueritte turned on him. “You put him up to this, didn’t you?” she accused.

Roland wanted to say no, but he nodded. “You are still weak from your wound. The battlefield is not where you belong.”

Margueritte frowned. “But maybe I do belong. I have no doubt Abd al-Makti has come out of his isolation and is with Abdul Rahman. In fact, it has been confirmed for me. No doubt Odo’s men were affected by the man’s sorcery, and I fear your men, veterans though they be, may be affected in the same way unless you have some extraordinary protection.” Margueritte got as blunt as she could.

“I will overlook the aberration in your defense of Pouance. You once said we humans have to fight our own battles, and this we have done. My men need to stand on their own feet or not, as God will decide.”

Margueritte looked down before she nodded. “You are right. The Almighty will decide.”

“Besides,” Roland added, though he almost started it up again. “I suspect Abd al-Makti was behind your attempted assassination in the Vergen forest.”

“You need to live long enough to finish training the men,” Charles said, thought for a second, and added, “And hopefully a long and happy life.”

“Abd al-Makti was behind the attempt, but not for the reasons you think. The man is a scholar, not a general. For all his time hanging around armies and military men, I doubt he has learned anything and has no idea how it works, and he does not care. He is a man who is so enamored with his own bits of power, he does not have room for such a strange subject. He has others to do that work for him. No, it is simple. He has been told I am a danger to the plan, and for that reason he has tried for years to remove me or have me removed from the playing field. The attempted assassination was desperation on his part. But will he warn Abdul Rahman about our cavalry? I doubt he could tell heavy cavalry from plow horses or describe the difference between a sword and a sheath.”

Charles’ hand went to his side. “Caliburn served me well,” he said.

“And this battle may be the reason I gave it to you,” Margueritte said, and she took Roland out from the tent to have a little private time before he rushed off again to war.

Two days later, Charles, Roland and all their officers and lords, including Tomberlain, Owien and Count Amager of Tours, sat around a great fire with the Bishop of Tours who came to offer a blessing for the troops. That done, they sat and relaxed, and took an early lunch. They would be moving out in the morning.

“It would be wonderful to know God’s will in all of this, to hear his voice, but that would be too much to ask,” the bishop said.

“I would like to know what pit of Hell these Saracens came from so I can put them back where they belong,” Charles suggested.

“To actually hear God’s voice would certainly be something,” Count Amager said.

Roland saw Margueritte come up to talk a moment with Tomberlain, and he spoke up. “I don’t see why that should be so special. I talk to God every morning when I wake up, and God talks to me and reminds me of everything I need to do that day, and how I need to set a good example for my children and the people in my care, how I always need to consider grace and mercy, and justice, and how peace is better than war. Let me tell you, talking to God sends shivers down my spine.” The others looked at him with staring, open-mouthed expressions. “Yes,” he continued. “What is most remarkable, however, is how much God sounds like my wife.”

The men paused before the laughter broke out. Their eyes turned toward Margueritte, who had turned and heard enough. She felt a response was necessary, so she said, “In the immortal words of my sister, Elsbeth,” and she gave Roland her best raspberries before walking off. Of course, the men merely laughed harder.

###

When Charles moved down from Tours, he put Saint Catherine’s behind him and took a position off the road to Poitiers. He set his men behind a wood at the top of a slight rise and waited. Charles had ten thousand men in his army, and another five thousand veterans from various campaigns. He also had five thousand conscripts whom he sent off to gather the necessary food stuff from the countryside, and while twenty thousand was not the largest army in the world, he was confident that his was the best

Abdul Rahman would have to travel up the road with his main force if he wanted to get at Tours and the abbey of Marmoutier, which was Saint Martin’s. The abbey was said to have riches beyond dreams, which it did not have, and Christian relics, which the Muslims loved to destroy.

“He could sidestep in this area and go across country,” Wulfram pointed out.

“We need to hope he does not,” Charles said. “There is no better position for what we are facing between here and Tours.”

“Let me see if I can do anything,” Roland said, and he left Charles’ tent to talk to Margueritte’s people.

Since our Lady is in Tours,” Birch spoke. “She said it would be best to help you here, but it is for you to decide how we may best serve.”

Roland considered the elves, brownies and kobold, the hundreds of gnomes and dwarfs, and the goblins who waited his command. Hammerhead the ogre even brought his whole family to help, if they could, and there were trolls and hobgoblins and others that he had never seen, but he knew them all, being married to Margueritte. It became a heady experience, but he felt a deep, abiding love for every one of them and he hated the idea that any of them should be hurt. Then he had a thought.

“Can you make yourselves appear to be Frankish soldiers?” he asked.

“What did he ask?”

“He wants us to pretend to be human beanings?”

“Eww,” the little ones objected.

“It’s a terrible idea, Lord,” Grimly said. “You ask a lot”

“Just pretend,” Roland said. “To trick the enemy is all. I thought you liked to trick people.”

“What us?”

“No, never.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the little ones said.

“Well, just do it,” Roland responded. “And here is what I want you to do.” He explained his plan, and they understood right away. Roland thought, for people who did not like tricking people, they took to the idea without a second thought.

“Right Lord,” Luckless said at last. “Now where do you want us when the battle starts?”

“Nowhere near the battle,” Roland answered, and some of the dwarfs and some others threw a fit, until a hobgoblin named Ringwater stepped up with a proposal.

“Since you are forcing us to do terrible, nasty tricks on the Saracens, the least we can do is set a haunting in the woods to scare them when they move through to attack the Franks.”

“As long as you don’t have to stay in the woods,” Roland said. “Margueritte would be very upset if I let any of you folks get hurt.” The little ones all nodded and smiled at how much they loved their goddess and how much she loved them.

Roland finished by sending Larchmont’s men to scout the Muslims and keep Margueritte informed as to their progress. The very next day, Larchmont himself came in with Duke Odo, Hunald and five thousand men of Aquitaine. Charles shook his head, but since this was their land, he could hardy tell them to go away. He set them on his right where the hill went steeply up. He figured there they would be less likely to break and run

The men of Aquitaine made the old duke stay at the back of the formation. Hunald took command and placed two dozen horsemen around the duke. They were to whisk him away if the Muslims broke through the line. Charles said the Muslims were not going to break the line, so he had no need to worry.

“We have been practicing for this very engagement over the last ten plus years,” he said. “I think we know our business by now,” but he had some private concerns. He figured he could count on fifteen thousand men, while the men from Aquitaine and his conscripts could help, but he could not count on them. Abdul Rahman came up the road with twenty-five thousand men in tow, and Charles figured they were all battle-hardened veterans.

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

MONDAY

Tours. There is a battle to be fought. Until Monday, Happy Reading