Charles Martel

M4 Margueritte: Broken, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The mail finally came in March.  She found two letters from Roland.  The first, a short note, such as he wrote, which told what they were doing on the frontier and professing his love for her and for her children.  The second seemed a response to her letter from a year earlier.  He assured her that the loss of their son was not her fault, and she should be assured that he was more determined than ever to give her and her children a safe and secure home, and he would in no way be distracted in his duty.  That letter had a note at the bottom from Tomberlain and Owien which essentially said, “Me too.”

Margueritte also received two unexpected letters.  The first came from Rosamund, Roland’s mother, and it came filled with news about the family, especially Geoffry and Sigisurd’s marriage.  It was signed with a hello at the bottom by Relii, who undoubtedly wrote the letter.  Margueritte was not sure if Rosamund could read and write.

The second letter was from Boniface, written about a year ago, dated April twelve, anno domini, 723.  He said with the full blessing and support of Charles, he was headed at last into the Saxon lands to bring them the good news.  He asked her to pray for him in the work, and she did right then.  She shared that letter with Aden and encouraged him to begin a correspondence with Boniface as they both faced such similar difficulties in their work.  Aden thought he might, and Margueritte prayed for them, too, that they might be mutually encouraging, and maybe even become friends.

Margueritte read Roland’s second letter for the tenth time and remembered when they were young and she wrote to him every day, whether she had news or not.  She laughed at her foolishness when Mother, Margo and Elsbeth came to her with concern etched all over their faces.  They carried Giselle’s letter.

Margo and Elsbeth babbled for a bit before Brianna handed the letter to Margueritte to read for herself.  Giselle confirmed that Abd al-Makti was behind the poison that killed her baby.  She said he had her family, and her own six-month-old son, and forced her to become as a servant to Margueritte.  She poisoned Margueritte’s father, but wrongly justified it in her mind as a mercy.  But she had no excuse for what she did to Margueritte’s child.

Giselle said she expected to never see her family again.  She knew now that the sorcerer had been lying to her all along.  But she wanted Margueritte to know that she felt eternally sorry, and miserable, and she loved Margueritte, and all her family, and all of her children, and she was willing to accept whatever punishment Margueritte might wish, even death.  She was going to Saint Catherine’s de Fierbois and stay with the nuns, but meanwhile, Margueritte should know what she heard in Anjou.

Margueritte finished reading and stood up to walk out.  Everyone wanted to ask her what she intended to do about Giselle, but they did not.

###

“All of the squires should be here by the first of May, but I expect some to straggle in any time in the first two weeks of May.  I am preparing a good speech to yell at them,” Peppin said as they looked down from the half-finished castle wall on to the Paris road.  Charles’ wife, Rotrude, was on the road with a hundred men at arms to escort her.

“Not a good time for a visit,” Walaric said.

“Now, we don’t even know if Ragenfrid is ready to bring out his army,” Brianna said.

“And I don’t know why he would bother with us,” Margo added.  “It is Charles he is after, not us women and children.”

Elsbeth and Jennifer both looked like they wanted to agree with Margo, but both looked at Margueritte as Margueritte explained.

“Ragenfrid won’t turn on Paris as long as we are at his back.  After Charles, he probably hates us most.  We humiliated him in front of his sons and made him pay rent for using the land.  Besides, with Charles’ wife and children here, the opportunity for hostages is too great for him to pass up.  He probably cannot beat Charles on the battlefield, but with the right hostages, he might negotiate for whatever it is he wants.”

“I’m not sure if we can negotiate anything to satisfy him,” Brianna said.

“We don’t have the strength to stand against him,” Jennifer said.  “Not without help.”  She looked at Margueritte, but Margueritte felt reluctant to involve her little ones if she did not have to.  Mother Brianna understood, but Margueritte thought she better speak again.

“We have sent word on short notice, but five hundred men have gathered from the county.  Stragglers due throughout May.  We will have five hundred young men learning the lance and almost a hundred better trained men and horses to lead them.”

“Can’t count much on the young men,” Pippin said.  “Some of them still need to practice sitting the horse.”

“If they can ride and point their lance, that is all we need for now.  I’ll not ask more.  But then we have a hundred arriving right now with Rotrude.  That is almost twelve hundred men, a goodly number for defense.”

“Not so good if Ragenfrid shows up with five thousand or more.”

“But even five to one against us, we have at least half-finished walls to defend.  Defending walls should give us at least a three-man advantage.  Pray he brings no siege equipment.”

“Still pretty-slim odds,” Walaric admitted.

“Let us see what Baron Michael brings from the south march, and Count duBois from the north against Normandy.  Even a few hundred from each might be enough to hold the fort until Charles can arrive.”

“Assuming our riders got through” Pippin said.  “They had the Paris road covered all year.  The post turned back three times before they found a way through.”

“And Bavaria is a long way from here, even if they did get through,” Walaric added.

“Let’s see who shows up before we surrender,” Brianna said sharply.  “Right now, we have a guest to welcome, and I expect all of you to keep your mouths closed about Ragenfrid and this whole business.”

“Yes,” Margo agreed.  “I was looking forward to pleasant conversation and hearing all the latest gossip, if you don’t mind.”

They went down off the wall and found the whole town turned out to see Rotrude and her soldiers march through the caste gate.  It had not yet become the fortress door Margueritte designed, but it stood a solid oak double door that would be hard to bust down.  Rotrude and her wagons came right up to the old oak which still stood at the edge of the courtyard, beside the house.  The captain of the troop looked to Peppin and Walaric for directions, which surprised the women until he removed his helmet.  It was Childemund, the man they thought of as their personal Paris postman.  They were all glad to see him, but they followed Margueritte up to the wagons where she spoke.

“Welcome to our home,” she helped Rotrude down from the wagon back.  She noticed Rotrude looked very pale, and she thought to say something.  “If you are not too black and blue to move, please come inside and refresh yourself.”

Rotrude grinned, but only a little.  She turned to introduce her children who were standing around looking uncertain.  “Carloman is my eldest.  He is eleven, and the studious type.  Carloman, say something to your hostess in Latin.”

“You have a lovely home,” Carloman said.

Margueritte responded in Latin.  “And you have lovely manners.  Thank you.”

Rotrude shook her head.  “He doesn’t get it from me,” she said.  “Gisele is his twin, also eleven.”  Gisele curtsied and Margueritte did not finch on the name, but Morgan, Marta’s eldest at twelve, and Jennifer’s Lefee, who was eleven looked happy to see someone their own age.  Margueritte could only imagine the pre-teen trouble they might cause.

“Pepin is my scoundrel,” Rotrude continued.  “He is nine going on trouble.”  Rotrude had to pause and cough.  It sounded unhealthy, like some serious fluid in her lungs.

Margueritte pointed out Weldig Junior and Cotton, both eight, and her own Martin who was the youngest at seven and a half.  “But Martin is not slow on the trouble department.”

“It’s the age,” Rotrude nodded as she recovered from her coughing fit.  She waved Margueritte off and pointed to her last two, both girls.  Aude was seven and Hitrude was just six.  Brittany was five, and Margueritte felt she could go either way, because Grace and Jennifer’s Mercy and Margo’s Adalman were all four, and Mercy and Grace were especially close, almost like twins, so there was not always room for Adalman or Brittany.

“Are you well?” Margueritte asked and reached out to take Rotrude’s arm.  This time she would not be put off.

“Yes, yes.” Rotrude said and tried to smile again.  “My doctor said I needed to get out of the city and visit in the country.  You have been twice to my home and been attacked by every man and priest with a request or complaint.  You know, and you were just my husband’s friend.”

Margueritte nodded.  “I promise to keep the annoyances to the minimum,” she said, though that was hardly going to be possible if Ragenfrid showed up with an army.

“My thanks,” Rotrude said again, and once more began a brief coughing spell.

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MONDAY

It is hard for Margueritte to get anything done when she is face with so many disturbances.  MONDAY Disturbances.  Until then, Happy Reading.

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M4 Margueritte: Sword of the Five Crosses, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Only one old priest served in the church, talking, and laughing with Charles and Roland.  Four of Wulfram’s men from Potentius and four of Hunald’s men from Aquitaine stood around looking bored when the women trooped in.  The men stood and followed as Mother Matilde brought them straight to the back of the altar where a flat stone had been carved with five crosses, painted red at some point in history.

“Don’t break the stone,” Margueritte kept saying.  “After it serves its purpose, it needs to be put back for the next person.”

It took a while to dig out the mortar and pry up the stone.  The big stone took a small chip, but that could be filled in.  It took four men to carefully lift the stone and set it gently along the wall, and then one man lifted a long, thin box. Margueritte tried to get the box, but the men crowded around and blocked her way.  They were anxious to open it, but Margueritte felt obliged to speak first.  She stepped back, raised her hands, and called.

“Caliburn and box.”

The box disappeared, startling all the men, and it reappeared in Margueritte’s arms.  Roland and the nuns were the least surprised.  The priest let out a shout and Giselle dropped her jaw.

“Now listen,” Margueritte said, though she certainly had everyone’s attention.  “The sword in this box was first made for a Greek princess two hundred years before Christ.  That makes it nine hundred years old, so it needs respectful treatment.  At the same time, you will find it stronger, sharper, and of a better-quality steel than anything that can be produced by Christians or Moslems.  It should serve you well, Charles.  The last one who carried this into battle was a man named Arthur.”

“Excalibur?” one man asked.

“No.  Excalibur is older, heavier, and pressed with meteorite in some way, I don’t know.  It is very pretty, but Caliburn in most ways is the better sword.  Caliburn is the one that was taken out of the stone.”  She took it out of the box, dusted it off and saw several spots that showed a rusty colored dirt, the remains of its former sheath.  She tapped it gently against the pew and used her sleeve to clean the sword.  The rusty spots easily fell off, and they all saw the blade itself, untainted by any discoloration.  It gleamed in the dim light of the church.  Charles and the others started to crowd forward again, but she stopped them.

“Charles,” she said.  “You must put your hand out and call for the sword.”

Charles paused before he lifted his hand and called, “Sword.”

“It has a name.”

“Caliburn,” Charles amended his word and the sword jumped once, flew through the air, and landed in Charles’ hand ready to strike at an adversary.  Charles looked more surprised than anyone else.

“What witchery is this?” the priest asked.

“No witchery.”  Margueritte rolled her eyes for Mother Matilde and Sister Mary.  “It is the sword’s only virtue, to return to the hand of its owner.  It is on loan, but at present, Charles, it is fit to your hand.”

“But how?” Roland asked.  “I mean a sword that comes when called.”

“It got forged in the fires of Mount Etna under the watchful eye of Hephaestus.  It got worked into shape and completed by the same family of dark elves that made Thor’s hammer.  It should serve well, but it is not indestructible so treat it well.”  Margueritte handed the box to Matilde.  “Save this,” she whispered before she turned again to Charles.  “The sheath it had is rotted.  I recommend a strong leather sheath to keep it from scratching.”

“It can be scratched?” a man asked.

“No, but it is sharper than any knife we have, and it will stay sharp.  You won’t have to sharpen it.  No, I was thinking to keep it from scratching your leg or your horse.”

“Ah,” Charles understood.  “But now these crosses in the circles?  There is one on each side of the block where the cross-guard meets the grip.”

“The wheel of Saint Catherine?” Sister Mary guessed.

“And on the pommel, at the end.  And reflected, like an imprint in the ricasso on both sides of the blade itself above the block.”

“The five crosses,” Roland understood, and Margueritte nodded.

“It is the symbol of the Athol valley where the Princess was a princess.  It is two crossed swords in a circle, but it does look cross-like.  God’s providence two hundred years before Christ, do you think?”

“And it has been hidden in the church from the beginning?”  The priest shook his head in disbelief.

“Lady Margueritte.”  Charles spoke in his formal voice and gave a slight bow.  “I never expected to have and to hold the sword of King Arthur himself.  I will do my utmost to take care of it.”

“No, Charles.  It is being given to you to use.  I hope the sword will take care of you.  I don’t know who the Masters may be, or anything about Tours, or what that man was talking about, but I know it is important that you be there, alive to meet it.  You understand, I can make no promises.  Caliburn is the best I can give you—that and some heavy cavalry if I have maybe ten years to organize the Breton March and train the men.”  Margueritte looked around at all the faces staring at her and decided she said too much.  “I don’t know what crucible you plan to put your men through in the next ten years.  That is not my job.”  She genuflected to the image of Jesus on the cross behind the altar, lit a candle for her father at the statue of Saint Catherine and left.

Margueritte held on to Roland in the night but said nothing.  She said nothing all the next day when they returned to Tours, though she listened while Roland explained to Charles how Tomberlain planned to divide up his property and rent it to faithful men, and how he planned to include military service as part of the rental price.

“And any who refuse the call to arms will have their land taken away and given to others,” Roland said.  He did not exactly get it right, but Charles grasped the concept.

“You know I have another half-brother, Childebrand,” Charles said.  “He has a small place in Burgundy.”

“You can’t trust your brother?” Roland asked.

“No.   He is content with his place and supported me in my struggle as you know.”

“Then what?”

“We are headed for Bavaria on the Burgundian border, even as your spooky wife guessed.  But the Burgundians are making noises about needing to tend the land, the fields, the grapes, and maybe not being able to raise many men to fight, even though the fight will be on their border and to their own benefit.”  Charles paused and rubbed his chin.

“I’m not following,” Roland admitted.

“I was just wondering how Childebrand might like being the Duke of Burgundy, and maybe there are some other Burgundian nobles worth replacing.”

Roland said nothing, and Margueritte said nothing until they got back to the inn in Tours.  Then she said something to Roland on an entirely different subject.

“Tomorrow is Sunday.  I need to go to church, at Saint Martins.  I told the abbot I would come back and check on his work.”

Roland considered when she might have spoken to the abbot.  “When was this?” he asked.

“About three hundred years ago,” she answered.

###

Giselle begged off when Margueritte went to church.  Margueritte felt concerned, because Giselle was very faithful in church, but Giselle said she just wanted some quiet time, and that had not really been possible when they were traveling.

As soon as Margueritte stepped into the sanctuary, Giselle walked to the woods by the stream where Abd al-Makti waited.  Giselle spoke first.

“The father is gone by my hand, and as you said, the Lady has taken on the responsibility of overseeing the organization of the Breton March.  She is occupied and out of the world, so why have you called me?  You promised to let my family go free once Lady Margueritte became occupied.”

“Because the job is not finished,” Abd al-Makti said.  “Charles is taking his army out to battle, and it is not my desire that the Franks should become good at war.  It is my desire that Sir Roland, Charles’ strong right arm, should leave his mind, if not his body, back in the Mark.”  He reached into a pocket in his vest and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid.

“I’ll not poison anyone else.  The old man suffered night and day.  I did not mind that, like an act of mercy.  But no more.  I will not harm the lady or anyone else in the family.  They are good people, and the lady, her mother, and Lady Jennifer are saints.  I will not do it.”

Abd al-Makti continued speaking as if Giselle said nothing at all.  “I am not asking you to harm any living person.  But I have seen a bit of what is to come, and I know the lady will again be with child.”  He held up the vial.  “This is for the last month when the lady is with child.  It will not harm the lady, only the lump of flesh in her belly will be affected.”

Giselle’s eyes got big.  “I will not harm her unborn child.  That would be murder.”

“But unborn, it is not yet a child.  I tell you it is just a lump of flesh until it is born.  It has no feelings, and cannot feel, not like a person.  And it will be quick.  The lady will be sad, and Sir Roland will turn his mind to his wife.  That is all.”

“You promised.  My family.”  Giselle got stubborn.

Abd al-Makti held out the vial.  “This time I do promise to set your family free when you do this successfully.”

Giselle closed her eyes for a moment and thought, but in the end, she took the vial and put it in her pocket.  As she walked off, she did not look like a person who was decided if she would do anything or not.  Abd al-Makti simply shrugged and called for Marco and the horses.

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

MONDAY

What can you do when everything gets broken?  Next time.  Happy Reading.

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M4 Margueritte: Sword of the Five Crosses, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“Lady.”  Giselle interrupted Margueritte’s thoughts.  “Lady, we are running out of linen to paint the Saracens.”

“So just paint the faces.  Cut the linen into smaller pieces.”

“Lady,” Grimly interrupted.  “Fair warning.  We are going to outgrow the new stables in two years, the way I figure it.”

“Understood.”

“Lady,” Peppin, master at arms, and Captain Wulfram came up together.  “The number of horses that meet your specifications that we can buy in Anjou, in the area we surveyed, are going to cost.”

“Please.  I understand, but we need the bright young men to go with the horses, not just the horses.  Let the men cover their own costs if they can.  We have limited scholarship money.”

“Lady, Lady,” Goldenrod fluttered up.  “Elsbeth is going to have a baby.”

“Lady,” Luckless came to complain.  “These lances are hard enough to make.  They could at least take care of them.”

“Margueritte,” Roland yelled from the house.  “Childemund arrived with the mail.  Charles is coming.”

Margueritte screamed, put her hands to her ears and marched back inside.  She picked up her children, ran to her room and slammed the door.  She had a headache.  She couldn’t think straight.  Roland and Giselle had to bring up supper.

Three days later, Margueritte stood with Roland at the top of the Paris Road, dressed in her Sunday best, watching Charles arrive at the head of a hundred men, thinking about the future and frustrated by not knowing what tomorrow might bring.  She understood something about Charlemagne—not much.  But after that time, things cleared up.  She grasped the middle ages, the renaissance and reformation, the age of exploration and enlightenment, the days of revolution and nationalism, the times of crisis and collapse, the opening of space, both the stellar and interstellar movements and migrations right up to the building of the arc called the Alice II, but tomorrow always remained a mystery.  Margueritte could not help feeling that she had missed something.  She looked around and wondered.

Tomberlain and Margo looked nervous.  This was his first real act as Count of the Breton March, to welcome the Mayor of the Palace, lord of all the Franks.  Mother stood by him, and she smiled.  She considered Charles an old family friend.  Owien and Elsbeth did not pay much attention, still being like newlyweds, and Elsbeth being pregnant and all.  Then there were the spectators, the workers, the Breton serfs, the free Franks from the village, all turned out to see the parade.  There were precious few entertainments in the dark ages, so people had to hang on to every special event they could.

Margueritte’s eyes rested on two men, two workers at the front of the crowd.  It took a moment to remember their names.  The short dark one with the big nose was Gunter, and the big, uglier blond, Sven.  She recalled the age she lived in and wondered what these medieval men could possibly know about germs.  She lost her smile and shouted the word.

“Germs!”

Margueritte swallowed her voice before she attracted too many eyes, and she got Owien’s attention.  “Owien,” she whispered, though the crowd started to cheer.  “Get Greffen there and several of the young men with him.”  She pointed out Gunter and Sven, told him what to do, and turned back to watch Charles ride between her men.  Wulfram had thirty on one side of the road, and Peppin had thirty on the other side, like honor guards.  They sat quietly atop their well-trained big horses, shields attached to their saddles, lances held straight up, resting in their cup holders.  She caught Charles eyeing them and thinking about it before he came up and dismounted.

Tomberlain stepped up to give his welcoming speech, but Mother Brianna interrupted by stepping forward and giving Charles a welcoming hug.  Charles readily reciprocated.  When they parted, before they could speak, there came a scuffle close by in the crowd.  They heard a metal sound clank against the cobblestones in the road.  Owien and Greffen had Gunter by the arms and Gunter had dropped his long knife.  Three young men pulled down Sven and took the sword he had hidden under his cloak.

Margueritte butted in front of Charles, Roland right behind.  The crowd backed away with sounds of shock and surprise.

“Who are you working for?”  Margueritte turned on Gunter.

He grinned a sly grin.  “Why you, of course.”

Margueritte presently had no tolerance for deliberate stupidity.  She stepped up and kicked the man between the legs.  He bent over and moaned.  “Who are you working for?” she repeated the question and had a thought.  “Got any more castor seeds?”

Gunter growled, broke free of Greffen’s arm as Greffen loosened his grip and looked pained, like he felt the kick, personally.  Gunther made a fist to swing at Margueritte’s face.  An arrow got there first.

At the same time, Sven pulled a knife he had hidden down his pants leg and slashed one of the young men as he broke free.  Roland, right there, pulled his sword.  There was not much Sven with a knife could do against a seasoned, first-class swordsman.  It was soon over.

Gunter stayed on the ground, one hand on the arrow that stuck out from his gut.

“Who are you working for?” Margueritte tried one more time.

Gunter laughed softly, though it hurt.  “The Masters decided they would rather have things turn out differently at Tours.”  He tried to shrug and closed his eyes.  “We will meet again,” he said.  He lingered for a time, but he said no more.

“Masters?  Tours?” Roland wondered.

The man with the bow, one dressed in hunter green, stepped up, and Margueritte acknowledged him.  “Thank you, Larchmont.”

Charles answered Roland.  “Tours is on the border of Aquitaine.”  They both looked at Margueritte, but she could only shrug.  She did not know anything special about Tours or who might be involved there.  To be honest, she felt more concerned with the Masters, a word that sent chills through her bones, but first she had an Alice of Avalon inspired thought.

“No, Charles.  You may not take my horsemen.  They are not ready.  And before you drag Roland, Tomberlain and Owien off to fight in Swabia, Bavaria, or wherever you are going, we need to take a trip.”  Charles looked at Roland, but it was his turn to shrug, so he looked again at Margueritte.  “To Saint Catherine de Fierbois Church.  I have a gift for you.”

Margueritte stayed surprisingly quiet in the days it took to get to Fierbois.  They rode through October days where the fall weather, fall flowers and the color change in the leaves all helped to distract her.  Giselle accompanied her, while Brianna, Jennifer, and Marta took turns back home, watching the children.  Fortunately, perhaps, Giselle did not say much on the journey either, and that helped Margueritte keep her mouth closed.

When they arrived in Tours, they took rooms near the abbey of Saint Martin and relaxed.  They intended to head to Saint Catherine’s in the morning.  While they sat around the table telling jokes and stories, Captain Wulfram and Giselle with them, soldiers of the duke of Aquitaine arrived and came in with drawn swords.  Margueritte saw them first, stood and shouted.

“No!”

Charles, Roland, and Wulfram paused long enough so they were taken without a struggle.  “In the name of what God do you threaten innocent travelers and pilgrims?” Margueritte let out her anger.  Several men, who might have ignored a man, stepped back under the woman’s wrath, but one young man stepped forward.

“Not in God’s name but in the name of my father, Duke Odo of Aquitaine in whose land you travel.”

Giselle dropped her face into her hands, like she was afraid of what might happen. Margueritte stepped around the table, walked up to the young man, and slapped him, hard, but not too hard.

“Ouch.”  He put his hand to his cheek.

“Hunald, has it been so long you do not know me?  Has your father’s chess hand become so lax to let you run free?”

“Lady Margueritte,” he said as he really looked at them for the first time.  “I did not know it was you.”

Margueritte reached up and the young man flinched, but she patted his cheek softly.  “Join us for supper,” she said in a complete turnaround.  She saw a familiar face at the door.  “Captain Gilbert.”  He recognized her right away.  “Captain Wulfram is my personal guard.  Would you two tell the men to put away their swords and put down their arrows.  We are friends and neighbors.”

“I heard there were soldiers scouting the area for invasion,” Hunald said as Roland guided him to sit on the bench.  Margueritte heard but decided not to ask who told him that.  She did not need another blank, staring face and an “I don’t know.”

Charles put a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder.  “Son, if I wanted to invade Aquitaine, I would not advertise it in advance.”

“No,” Hunald thought about it.  “I suppose not.”

Margueritte came back around the table to take her seat.  “Hunald, dear.  You should always look before you leap.”

“Trust this old soldier,” Charles said.  “The testimony of two is true.  It is never good to jump on what you think or what you hear.  It is always best to make sure of what you are dealing with before you deal with it.”

“Wine?”  Roland handed him a glass.

“Thank you,” he said, but hardly knew what else to say.

The following day, Hunald took half his men and scooted off, back to his father.  He left the other half and Captain Gilbert with Margueritte in Tours.  It turned out they were headed to the Breton March with heavy horses, saddles and lances abandoned by the Saracens around Toulouse.  Margueritte got excited to see what her horsemen would actually be facing, but first she had to complete her errand.

Margueritte directed Charles, Roland, and the men to the church while she stopped in the nunnery.  They did not wait long before the good Mother Matilde greeted Margueritte and Giselle warmly.  Sister Mary, a middle-aged woman with a kind face came with her.

“I have come to retrieve my property,” Margueritte said after the exchange of pleasantries.  “It is buried in the church, but you are the only ones who should know about it, and I will need you to go with us to not arouse suspicion.”

“I know of nothing buried in the church,” Sister Mary said kindly.  “The church, the monastery and this small place for nuns got built in this community more than two hundred years ago by disciples from Saint Martin’s in Tours.  We are a place where pilgrims may rest.  But after two hundred years, we would have no way of knowing what might be buried beneath the altar.”  Mother Matilde said nothing, but stared hard at the sister’s the last comment.

“Unless you were told by those who came before you that it was beneath the altar,” Margueritte smiled.  “If Rhiannon was a good girl, she placed it beneath a stone with five crosses,” Margueritte said

“Gwenyvair,” Mother Matilde spoke suddenly, nodded, and stood to take a thin volume from the ledgers on the shelf.  Margueritte began to cry softly, and Giselle became curious.

“Gwenyvair?”

“Wife of Arthur, King of the Britons,” Matilde said as she opened the book to the first page.  “The chapel was not finished when she arrived.”

“And Enid?” Margueritte asked softly.  “No.  Don’t tell me.  I don’t need to know that.”

“Lady?” Giselle comforted Margueritte, and Margueritte tried to smile.

“I’m all right.  Gwynyvar was a good friend, that’s all.”

Mother Matilde looked again at Sister Mary and Margueritte, and then decided.  “We will take you there.”

M4 Margueritte: Trouble All Around, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Margueritte said to her little ones, “Thank you, and please make sure they actually cross the river and leave.”

“How many minutes?” Oswald asked.

“I don’t know.  I don’t have a stopwatch.  Just as long as they leave.  And thank you again.”  She clapped her hands and the little ones vanished.  Her armor and weapons also went away, and she became clothed again in her many layers.  They were not as warm as the fairy weave, and her gloves were not as good, but they looked normal.  She had to breathe on her hands against the frost.

“So that was the next attempt?” Relii had come out of the barn with the others to watch.

“Yes, but he changed his mind before anything happened,” Margueritte said.  “I think our sorcerer was afraid for his life.  He got told by a greater power to stop picking on me.”

“Abd al-Makti,” Relii guessed.  “I thought it might be him.”

“Clever girl,” Margueritte said.  “But I cannot figure why, or who he is working for.”  She turned to Geoffry.  He spoke right up.

“Sigisurd told me, but I didn’t believe her,” he said.

Margueritte nodded.  “And keep it that way.  Don’t make more out of it than it is, and don’t be afraid to question even what you see.”  Margueritte breathed on her hands again.  “Relii and Sigisurd, please help our wounded men.”  She pointed.  “And check on the others to see if they are really dead.  Watch out for the Saxons who may just be too badly wounded to escape.  Geoffry and I need to go inside and check on the others.”

“Lady,” Sigisurd said, and curtsied the way she had seen Tulip curtsey.

Geoffry asked a question as they walked up to the door.  “So, are you a witch or a sorceress?”

Margueritte hit him, not too hard.  “I keep telling everyone, I am not a witch,” but when they went inside, she found the guard that Gunther the chief left and forgot about.  He had the children cowering in the corner, seated with their backs to him.  Ingrid, Aduan and Rosamund were in chairs, and Horegard lay on the floor where he bled from a stomach wound.  She had to do something.  “Gunther has abandoned you.  If you hurry you can catch him.”  Margueritte put out her arm to hold back Geoffry while the man looked at her.  He decided.  He looked like he might kill the hostages before he went in case she was not telling the truth.

Margueritte’s hands went up and a blue electrical charge escaped her fingertips and struck the man.  He jerked violently and just missed striking Rosamund’s face before he could no longer hold on to his sword.  The sword clattered to the ground as the man dropped to his knees.

Margueritte called to Oswald and Oswald’s friend, Ridgemont, and they appeared.  “Please take this one to Gunther.  No message.  I just don’t want this one to miss the boat and have to swim home.”

“Very good,” Oswald said, and they hustled him out the back door and then ran faster with the man than humanly possible, but no one other than Margueritte saw, and maybe a few of the children.  Geoffry got busy helping his sisters get their father up on the couch.  The man started getting delirious and had lost a fair amount of blood.

“Let me see,” Margueritte said, “And no screaming.  I am going to go away, and another person is going to stand in my shoes, but she is a physician, and she will do what she can to help.”  Margueritte pointed at Aduan.  “No screaming,” and she immediately went away so Doctor Mishka could examine the wound.  Aduan let out a small shriek, but she was the only one out of them all, including the children.  “Now let me see.”

Mishka had her bag with her, or she supposed in the current day and age it should still be Greta’s bag, but Mishka came because Greta was not a surgeon.  Doctor Mishka practiced all too much battlefield surgery in the first and second world wars.  She began by spreading an anesthetic cream to deaden the area before she looked.  “The wound looks clean,” she said, and got out some thread and a very fine needle and a hemostat.  After Ingrid and Rosamund got hold of Horegard’s hands, it took twenty-one stitches, and then iodine, which stung, and an anti-bacterial spray, and the cleanest cloth Aduan could find.

“I know it is asking a lot, but you must try to keep him off his feet for a few days.  Does he toss and turn in the night?”

Rosamund took a minute to realize Mishka was talking to her.  With Horegard tended to, she got a good look at the Doctor for the first time.  “Uh, some.  Not much.”

“Well, be careful with that, and keep him off his feet.  I will give Margueritte something when I leave that will help him rest and sleep, but only if he needs it.  Now some other men are wounded.”  Doctor Mishka stood and walked toward the front door, but she went away, and Margueritte came back before she got to the door, because Margueritte thought to say something.  “Oh, and it would be best if you did not talk about Mishka.  That is something that is best not to be public knowledge, if you don’t mind.  I am trusting you because you are family.”  She went out.

###

It turned out Grandma Rosamund blocked Mishka completely out of her mind and credited Margueritte with saving Horegard’s life.  Horegard, who was kind of out of it at the time, believed her.  Aduan knew better, but she, Geoffry, Sigisurd and Relii all discussed it and decided that Margueritte had been wise to tell everyone to keep it a secret.  Ingrid also knew, of course, but it seemed the blue lightning Margueritte produced from her fingertips much more than the appearance of Doctor Mishka that bothered her.  She felt sure that Margueritte was a witch, but then Margueritte saved her life, and her father’s life, and apparently, everyone else’s life as well, so she said nothing.  She and Margueritte were never that close to begin with, and Ingrid was not surprised her stupid brother would marry a witch, so nothing really changed between them.  What the children saw and understood remained to be seen in the years to come.  So, nothing much changed, except Geoffry and Sigisurd started spending time together.  If it was another day and age, Margueritte would have said they were dating.

###  

Count Adelard, Herlindis, Boniface and fifteen men at arms showed up about mid-March.  They did some rearranging, as the Count and Herlindis moved into the room with Relii.  Boniface got the eighth room by himself, and Sigisurd made peace with old lady Oda in the servant’s quarters.  Margueritte said Sigisurd could stay with her and the children, but Sigisurd pointed out that Roland would be due in about two weeks, and they should have their own room.

Poor Rosamund fretted about where she could put Charles, the mayor.  It felt like a visit from Royalty.  Boniface offered to share his room, but Rosamund liked to fret about it, and Horegard said it would not do to have the mayor and a bishop in the same room.  It started to look like Geoffry might have to sleep on the couch, and Margueritte could not help the comments.

“Separation of Church and State, huh?  Too bad you don’t have a convertible sofa.”

Boniface became anxious to begin his work in Saxony, but Margueritte delayed him.  She talked about church lands, and in the end convinced him to wait for Charles by practically promising Charles would be land generous to the church.  When Charles finally arrived, and his twelve thousand men tried to camp without destroying every nearby field, he got very mad at her.  He readily roomed with the bishop, but he would not talk to Margueritte for three days.  Margueritte would have been very upset by that if she and Roland were not so busy catching up on things.

Roland explained to Charles what Margueritte told him; that if Boniface went into Saxony just before Charles started his campaign, it would be like suicide for the bishop.  Charles understood that.  In fact, he argued that before gallivanting off into new territory, Boniface should first set about organizing the disorganized and overlapping Frankish church.  He tried to convince Boniface to go first to Paris, where Charles promised to meet him soon and talk about land donations to the church.  Boniface felt reluctant, until Margueritte reminded him that the Franks were his distant cousins as well, perhaps not as close as his Saxon brothers and sisters, but cousins all the same.

In the end, the matter got settled when Margueritte’s brother, Tomberlain rode up to the farm with twenty men from the Breton border, which Sigisurd imagined was on the other side of the world.  The message was not good.  Father had gotten sick; like he went dead on the whole right side of his body, and Elsbeth, Mother, and Jennifer were all worried sick.  They don’t know what to do, and Mother can’t raise Doctor Pincher or anyone.”

“Who is holding the Fort?” Margueritte asked.

Tomberlain looked put on the spot, though Margueritte did not mean that.  “Sir Peppin is there, and Owien is in your old room, plus the north end of the mark is covered now, thanks to Charles, and Michael is doing well in the south, and the Breton are not going anywhere after all the mess they made with the Curdwallah hag.  Everyone is safe if that is what you mean.”

“No, I’m sorry.  It isn’t your job, and you have held the fort long enough.  You deserve a chance to be here with Charles and Roland.  It is my turn to hold things together back home, but from the sounds of it, I doubt there is much we can do for Father, except make him comfortable.”

“Not even—”  

“No, not even with extraordinary help.”  Margueritte said, not wanting to get into it in detail.

“So, I rode a month through the snow for nothing,” Tomberlain said.

“Not for nothing,” Roland said to cheer him.  “I am sure Charles has just the right place for you in the army.  We are headed into Saxony.”

“Charles plans to be the hammer and the Wesser River will be the anvil, and we shall see how well he can flatten the steel in between and put a sharp edge to it,” Margueritte suggested.

“That is very good,” Roland praised her.

“Can I quote you?” Boniface and Charles walked up.

Geoffry came up holding Sigisurd’s hand and she looked shy and embarrassed.

“Let me do the introductions,” Margueritte said, and she took Tomberlain’s hand and took him to everyone and remembered everyone’s names, though Tomberlain would never remember that much.  He was terrible with names.

M4 Margueritte: The Saxon March, part 3 of 3

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A time of silence followed, while Relii stared at the fairy, and Tulip tried to hide in Sigisurd’s long blond hair but did not entirely succeed because it was wispy hair.  After a bit, Relii looked ready to speak, but Margueritte got there first.

“So, your job was to convince me to become a nun and be locked away from the events of the world?”  It came out as a question, but Margueritte said it more like a statement.

“I guess,” Relii said.  “I didn’t know that was my job, but I think you are right.  That was what was in the back of my mind the whole time, pushing me.”

“Just so you know,” Margueritte said. “Herlindis and your father were feeling the same compulsion, and that is probably why they encouraged you to go on this little trip.”

“Yes, now that you mention it.  Father is still angry with Aduan for deceiving him.  He wants me to have nothing to do with that wicked girl, as he calls her.  And Herlindis is reluctant to let me out of her sight unless I have two nuns with me to guard me at all times.  But when the opportunity came up to go with you on this journey, they both insisted I go.  That doesn’t make sense.”

“They were enchanted,” Margueritte said.

“You were enchanted,” Tulip spoke to Relii with only her head peeking out from Sigisurd’s hair.

“I must have been,” Relii said.  “But how?”

“Like a bad cold spread from one person to the next, but you are all free now, and so is your father, so we will see if your father decides to come after you.  Meanwhile, I have something to run by you so you can keep your eyes and ears open.  Please don’t talk about this with others, but someone, some great power wants to remove me from this time and place.  I suspect great events are planned for the future and they don’t want me around to mess things up.”

“Seriously?  What can you, a woman, do to mess things up?”  Relii asked.

“Roland said you were responsible for making Charles into a hard taskmaster,” Sigisurd offered a thought.  “He said you kept annoying Charles about training the men to follow orders and hold their position at all costs, and after the defeat at Cologne, he finally took you seriously.  He said you were the one who first suggested the need for a standing army that was there all year to train and be the best, instead of a called-up army of untrained farmers and fishermen.  Roland said you told Charles to select his battleground, to take the advantageous position, to add the element of surprise to his bag of tricks, as you called it.  He said you told Charles about that eastern trick of pretending to retreat and pulling an enemy into a trap.  Roland said you are the reason Charles prevailed in this civil war.”

“These things are just common sense,” Margueritte said, with a shake of her head.  “But I will admit common sense has always been in short supply in the human race.  But here is the thing.  I don’t know what the future holds, exactly, or what my part in it might be, but the fact that someone wants me out of the way is clear.”  She gathered her thoughts and began at the beginning.  “First, it was probably not an accident that Ragenfrid’s men picked me up outside of Cologne.  As far as I know, Ragenfrid did not send any men around to the hill, but suddenly, there they were.  I think whoever is behind this hoped Ragenfrid would just kill me and be done with it, but Ragenfrid thought hostage and Radbod encouraged that thought, and I feel Boniface argued mightily on my behalf, I should say on our behalf, so we survived.”  Relii looked embarrassed so Margueritte asked, “What?” 

“I know the bishop argued several times for us.  I spoke with him several times while we were there, you know.  I was not always sneaking off to get into someone’s bed.”

Margueritte nodded as if not surprised.  She continued.  “Then I think the castor seeds were meant for me, but maybe they were too easy to trace and point a finger, so at the last there came a change of mind.  Something blunted my appetite that night, and Sigisurd’s appetite, so we didn’t have any soup, but then plan B was to have us captured by soldiers from Aquitaine.  If the Neustrians and Frisians failed to kill me, maybe the men from Aquitaine would.  That did not work either, because the hostage idea was too good an idea.  So now whoever it is has to get creative.”

“If you went into the Abbey, you would leave the word behind,” Relii nodded.

“But wait, before the Abbey idea, he tried to get me into a Muslim harem.”

“What is a harem?” Sigisurd asked, not having understood the full story when it was going on.  Margueritte explained and Sigisurd and Relii both got big eyes and said, “Oh.”

“But why are you speaking of this now?” Relii asked.

“Because I want you to look out for whatever the next attempt might be.”

“Why doesn’t this power just kill you himself?”  Relii wondered.

“Oh no,” Tulip joined the conversation.  “To kill the Kairos is very bad Karma.  A sin of all sins.  Even the gods of old were prevented from killing the Kairos outright.  Our Lady might die of natural causes, and those causes might even include an enemy sword, but for any power it would be an invitation straight to Hell for the killer.”

“So, they are trying to manipulate me into a position where someone does the killing for them, or where I voluntarily remove myself from the playing field, like to the Abbey, or involuntarily get removed, like to a harem.”

“So, what will be the next move?” Sigisurd asked.

“So, what is the big coming event where you will play such an important part?” Relii asked.

They were both good questions.

###

Near the end of December, about the twenty-fifth, Captain Ragobert, his twenty men and two overloaded wagons showed up at a farm which sat on a rise above a wide river.  Margueritte thought the manor house looked huge, almost as big as the barn.  An elderly man with a limp came out of the house, stopped when his leg would not go further, and he frowned.  An elderly woman came up to the captain, spoke briefly, and then ran to the wagon.  Grandma Rosamund took baby Brittany in her arms and looked very happy.  Martin went with his mother to confront the old man.  A woman, only a couple of years older than Margueritte came running out of the house and gave Relii a big hug and kisses.  Margueritte thought it looked more than just friendly, but what did she know?  A younger man also came out of the house and stopped to stare at the strangers and imitate his father’s hard glare.  Margueritte guessed the woman was Aduan, Roland’s younger sister, and the young man, about nineteen, was the baby of the family, Geoffry; but first Margueritte had to confront Grandpa Horegard.

Margueritte said nothing.  She had no doubt this was Horegard since he had been described to her in such detail. She stepped up and kissed the man on the cheek, and then brought Martin up to her hip, though at two, he started to get big and heavy.  She spoke to Martin and pointed at the frowning face, turned curious.

“Martin.  This is your grandfather.”  Martin took his cue from his mother and reached out for the old man.  

Horegard looked at Margueritte and asked.  “Margueritte?”  She nodded, and he put his hand out for the boy.  “Let’s go inside.”

Martin took his grandfather’s hand and at two years old, he walked about as well as the man limped, and as long as his mother was right there with him, they went inside to the big open rooms, downstairs in the manor.  Festuscato and Gerraint both said it looked a bit like a great hall in a Roman fort, and the table looked big enough for a family of twenty, which they nearly were.

Ingrid, the eldest, about age thirty, and with her husband Theobald, had two girls and a boy.  Clara was eleven, Thuldis was eight, and the boy Childebear was six.  Roland came next in line at twenty-seven, going on twenty-eight, and Margueritte had two and already started thinking about three of her own.  Aduan and her Gallo-Roman husband Cassius also had three; boy, girl, boy.  Dombert was six, the girl Corimer was three, and Lavius was one.  Then there came Geoffry.  He was not married and said he was not going to get married.

Theobald and Cassius came in from the fields at dark, exhausted.  They welcomed Margueritte almost in passing and reported that they got a good start on clearing the far corner, wherever that meant.  Horegard said they better get it cleared by spring, the way the family kept growing.  Margueritte got an idea of the land in her mind, where the serf houses were, filled mostly with some combination of Gallic and Roman people, and where the dependent free Franks lived, the ones who would make the bulk of Horegard’s fighting force if they should be needed.

Supper became a madhouse.  The kitchen, out back, included two big brick ovens and a fire pit for the pig, lamb or occasional deer or beef.  Most of the time, they ate vegetable stock soup with some eggs, with chicken, or fish from the river.  Not a bad diet overall, but everything had to be cooked in bulk and the washing up took forever.  After supper, as the children slowly dropped off to sleep, the exhausted adults went with them.  Every family had their own room, and they were big rooms, like families were anticipated in the building, and there were eight bedrooms in that big house. Margueritte and her children got Roland’s room, and it felt more than adequate.  They even moved in a small bed for Martin, though he preferred to sleep with his mother.

After the Master bedroom, Ingrid, Roland, Aduan and Geoffry all had rooms.  The sixth room, one of the biggest, was for the servants, which presently consisted of only one very old woman named Oda who did not actually do much of anything as far as Margueritte could tell.   Margueritte guessed the woman might be something like Grandma Rosamund’s nanny, and that had to make her very, very old, like close to seventy if not already arrived.

Relii got the seventh room, with Sigisurd, though Sigisurd got offered a bed in the servant’s room with the old woman.  Sigisurd slept mostly in the room with Relii, though occasionally she preferred to stay with Margueritte and the children.  She said sometimes Relii got carried away with her prayers and devotions and more devotions, and Sigisurd was more comfortable with the children.

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

 

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Between today and the end of the year, you can get Avalon, the Prequel, Invasion of Memories, Avalon The Pilot Episode, and all six seasons of the Avalon series in e-book format for free.

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They can be formatted to your needs, including for the Kindle.  Look for the author M. G. Kizzia (mgkizzia).

Happy Holidays, and Happy Reading.

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

MONDAY

Margueritte settles in, but it is not so easy. There is trouble all around. Until Monday. Happy Reading

*

M4 Margueritte: Prince of the Franks, part 3 of 3

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The first evening across the border, they had a visit from a rider.  He caught the captain by the fire, and Margueritte sat right there, listening.  The rider said the duke had moved on to get behind the stout walls of Bourges and they were to meet him there.  From Bourges, he had plans to send word to Languedoc and to Bordeaux and Poitiers to call up the army.

“So, you expect the Franks to follow?” the captain asked.

“I don’t know what to expect,” the rider answered honestly.  “But the duke has the Neustrian king with him, so someone is bound to follow.”

“What happened?”  The captain missed all the action.

“It was a complete disaster,” the rider answered with a heavy sound.  “The king and his mayor were only able to raise six thousand men, and I think they were only the ones dependent in some way on the mayor.  They were able to double that number with conscripts, but you know militia doesn’t always fight well.  The numbers were more even when we got there, but still.”  The man paused to sip his drink.  “It was an utter defeat.  Charles, the Austrasian and Ragenfrid the mayor stared at each other for three days, and Ragenfrid blinked.  That is the only way I can explain it.”  He shook his head.

“So how did the duke end up with the king?”

The rider shrugged.  “I assume the king asked for protection, maybe sanctuary.  All I know is the duke said he was lucky to get out with as many of his men intact as he did.”

“How many?”

“About a thousand.  Nearly three thousand of our men ended up dead, wounded or captured.  It was a disaster.  And I don’t think the king of the Franks saved that many.  Ragenfrid appears to have fled.  Who knows where?”

“And now Duke Odo thinks Charles may be coming here?” Margueritte asked.  The two men turned to stare at her, the rider with his jaw open.  “What?  I’m sitting right here.  You didn’t think I was listening?”

“I heard she is a witch,” the rider said, calmly.

“Hello.  I’m right here.  Are you asking if I’m a witch? I may become one if you don’t answer my question.  Does Duke Odo think Charles is coming here?”

The rider shook his head and spoke plainly.  “I don’t know what the duke thinks, but I think Charles is bound to come, for you if not for the king.”  He turned again to the captain.  “When the duke heard who you captured, he got bad angry.  When he calmed down, he said maybe she would make a hostage, but he said to tell you if Charles or his advanced scouts catch you, don’t harm the woman.  Give her back, unharmed.  He said, no point in pissing off Charles more than necessary,” The rider took another sip.  “I tell you the duke was badly shaken by the way the battle went.  He said Charles was like a cat playing with a mouse.  It was bad.”

“So, wait a minute,” Margueritte interrupted.  “If the duke did not send you to take me prisoner, who sent you.  And how did you know it was me?”

The captain stared at her again and the rider kept looking back and forth between the two of them.  The rider looked for an answer, but in the captain, Margueritte could just about see the millstone grinding away at the wheat in the desperate attempt to make flour.

“I don’t know.  I don’t remember.”

“Well, someone sent ground castor seeds to spice the soup.  Deadly poison.  My friends at the inn where you found me are probably all dead, and I want to know who did it.”

The captain nodded and fingered his lips, like it might magically help him remember.  Margueritte could just about see the water wheel this time going around and round but not getting anywhere.  “So do I,” he said.

###

Captain Gilbert and his men stuck around for three months.  They watched the army gather in May, escort the duke, the king and Margueritte to Toulouse in June, and get bored in July.  It started to look like everyone guessed wrong, and Charles was not coming.

Margueritte staved off the boredom by playing chess with Odo.  He seemed a nice enough man, and she did her best to keep the conversation pleasant.  She wanted to be clearly distinguished from Chilperic II, who was an annoying and demanding sort of person that no one would ever guess used to be a monk.  Margueritte, by contrast, got Odo to talk about his favorite subject, himself.  She asked about his people and his land, his staff and counselors and such.  She asked nothing about his army, so he had no reason to be suspicious.  But in all that time she got no indication that anyone might have sent the captain and his men to kidnap her, and she found out nothing about castor seeds.  It seemed like whoever stood behind the crime simply vanished, or maybe they vanished.  She admitted the poison and the kidnapping might have been two different people. 

She heard nothing to indicate it was not Abd al-Makti, but nothing said it was, until an ambassador from Cordoba showed up in Toulouse and became smitten with Margueritte.  All he could talk about for four days was her hair, her fascinating green eyes, her figure.  Good grief, she had gotten four months along and began to show.  Apparently, that did not matter.  The fact that she was married did not matter either.  He got overheard saying unbeliever marriages were not real marriages.

On the fourth night, he offered Odo a great deal of gold for ‘the girl’.  Odo stayed strong and refused.  In fact, everything the ambassador did and said seemed to offend the duke.  The duke prepared to escort the man back to the border, when the ambassador tried to steal Margueritte in the dark.  The man would not settle for no.  All he could talk about was putting her away in his harem.  He said he had to lock her away where she could be safe and not get into trouble.  Captain Gilbert had to kill the man.  His company had to make sure none of the Ambassador’s people, mostly Visigoth slaves, escaped.

The duke went into a tizzy.  Naturally, Charles showed up.  The duke tried to stay strong with Charles, but he mostly worried about what he could possibly say when the Iberians came looking for their ambassador.  He suddenly felt surrounded by strong enemies, and at this point, due to recent experience, he feared Charles more.  He only knew the Muslims by rumor.

Charles made it easy.  He offered to confirm Odo as Duke of Aquitaine for life, as long as the duke did not make any outside alliances with anyone but the Franks.  He also offered to take Chilperic off the duke’s hands, which the duke was eager to allow, so in all, it became an amenable discussion until Charles brought up the issue of money.  Duke Odo got testy.  He had an army of his own.  But then again, he saw what Charles’ army could do, and the money was not worth the risk of losing everything.

“What about the ambassador’s gold?” Margueritte whispered in Odo’s ear.  “That leaves no evidence that the ambassador ever arrived here.”  Odo smiled at the thought and said he could do that.  As a result, the down-payment for Charles’ standing army got paid for by the Caliph.

Roland carried Margueritte out of Toulouse, talking the whole way.  “Charles gave Chilperic a choice.  He could proclaim Charles Mayor of his palace in front of the assembled Neustrian nobles, and Charles would proclaim him King over all the Franks.  Then Chilperic could stay in the palace or go back to the monastery, his choice, as long as he shut up and kept his opinions to himself.  The alternative was to go and meet his maker.”

“He didn’t really say that did he?” Margueritte asked.

“Basically.  Those were his words.”

Margueritte wondered when she stepped into a grade B western movie.  She laughed, then she told Roland about her experiences and concluded with, “That is twice now.  Someone wants me out of the way, and it is getting serious.”

“Poison is serious,” Roland agreed.

“I almost went into a harem,” Margueritte objected.  “If I ended up there, I would look for poison myself.”

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

MONDAY

Battles and the political struggle for dominance is nothing. What is hard is Margueritte birthing child number two and them traveling all the way to the Saxon March to introduce herself to Roland’s family. Until then, Happy Reading.

*

M4 Margueritte: Prince of the Franks, part 1 of 3

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Charles marched his army in their units to Cologne, rather than soldiers strung out for miles along the road.  Any stragglers were met with a swift boot.  He found some older men among the Austrasians and Neustrians who fought with him or for him when he fought for his father.  They knew him and believed to a man that he should be Mayor of all the Frankish lands in the place of his father.  These veterans were given the responsibility to integrate the new men and the Neustrians who pledge themselves to Charles, and by the time they arrived at Cologne, Charles had a working army of more than fifteen thousand.  He thought to himself if he could get a good grip on Neustria and he could hold Burgundy as well, he might double his numbers.  That would be an army to reckon with.  But he kept that thought to himself for the time being.

Charles asked first to speak to the city fathers in Cologne.  He told them straight out if they resisted, he would kill them all.  If they let him into the city and turned over Plectrude and her son, they would live.  “I am not Ragenfrid.  I am not here for treasure, to be bought off.  And I am not Chilperic, claiming rule where I have no authority.  You knew my father, and I have Austrasia supporting me.  I would like to have the support of Cologne.  I would rather not burn your homes to the ground and kill your families, but the choice is yours.  Life or death?”

“A little harsh, don’t you think?”  Margueritte complained when Roland told her what Charles said.

“It worked.  I think Charles feared they outlasted Ragenfrid and paid him off.  They were maybe overconfident.  He wanted to be sure they understood that this was a completely different situation.”

“But he slammed them with trebuchets and boulders from catapults.  They got holes in their walls and some crushed houses before they had a chance to surrender.”

“He gave them until sunup and kept the deadline.”

“Men died,” Margueritte complained again.

“It worked,” Roland repeated.

Margueritte fell silent.  She considered her life.  Festuscato reached out to Merovech, father of Childeric, grandfather of Clovis, the first and greatest of the Merovingian kings, as they were named after the grandfather, Merovech.  Clovis would one day rule over all of Gaul.  He became a great and powerful king.  How sad to see his descendent, Chilperic II, reduced to a figurehead while other men fought over the land.  Margueritte prayed for peace in the land, and she thought if the Merovingian line had finished, maybe some new leader could take over and bring peace. She believed in Charles.

She recalled there was a Charles that was important to the Franks somewhere in history.  Sadly, the next hundred years or so always appeared shrouded in shadows of uncertainty.  The further she looked into the future, the clearer history became, but for the present, it made her God-given job of keeping history on track impossible, not knowing what tomorrow would bring.  She normally lived with a deep fear in the back of her mind that she would mess up and irrevocably change the future.  Then again, it helped her stay human, her own person, in her own time and place.  In this lifetime, she was wife of Roland, Viscount of the Saxon March, mother of Martin and maybe more children, and she smiled at Roland.  He had no idea what she was smiling about.

Margueritte argued mightily for Plectrude and her son.  After a time, Charles gave in, or he simply got tired of hearing it.  As a result, Charles made peace with Plectrude and her son, his half-brother.  They would retire to a quiet, private life and live.  They acknowledged Charles as the rightful Mayor of the Franks in front of many of the Austrasian nobility, so there was no taking it back.

Charles took that surrender as the end of the Ragenfrid chapter as well, or it would be soon enough, and now he needed something to counter the claim of Chilperic.  He sent to Metz, and in the same way Daniel-Chilperic got fetched from a monastery, Charles got Clothar, a nephew of sorts of Theuderic III, and had him proclaimed Clothar IV, King of Austrasia.  It was all show, but important show.

Now with the support of the nobles and royal blessing, Charles drilled ten thousand men until they cried.  In the early spring, he raised an additional five thousand militiamen by levies and marched his men for the second time into Neustria.  He made his point at Vincy, the first battle in Neustrian territory, but since then he got no word from Ragenfrid or Chilperic.  They did not offer to discuss peace or to find an equitable solution to their differences.  They did not even send him a threatening message, as Margueritte said.  Thus, Charles decided the time came to end this.  He marched on Paris, but he doubted he would get that far.

Charles was right.  He only got as far as Soissons before Larchmont brought word that Ragenfrid and Chilperic were coming out to meet him, and they had indeed enticed Duke Odo of Aquitaine to join them.  Odo’s force seemed small, a token of three or four thousand men, but it was enough to make the sides more or less even, and Ragenfrid overall had more horsemen.

Charles had figured this, planned for it in advance, and set his troops, again taking the advantageous ground for his army.  He had his militia to gather food for the veterans and to hold the camp so his seasoned and trained fighters could all be in play on the battlefield.  The enemy would have to come to him and fight on his terms if they had any hope of driving him out of the country.  In fact, Charles planned things so well, he even paid an innkeeper just outside of Soissons in advance to take Margueritte and her women.

“You will be safe here,” Roland kissed her.

“Sorry you won’t be able to critique my performance,” Charles said, and he did not sound sorry at all.  He turned to ride off.

“Really,” Roland said.  “I worry about you and Martin.  I want to be sure you are safe.”  He turned and galloped off to catch up with Charles.

“That was nice of him to think of us,” Mother Mary said.

“Maybe we can help-out around here and get some of the money back,” Rotunda suggested.  She liked money almost as much as she liked eating.

“If the innkeeper is cute or has a cute son, I could volunteer to help-out,” Relii said with some cheer in her voice.

“You and Festuscato,” Margueritte said, without explanation.  She had Martin up on her hip.  Sigisurd kept making faces at him and he kept hiding in his mother’s shoulder, like in the last month he suddenly got shy.  He turned a full thirteen months old, but now Margueritte started feeling sick again in the morning.  But this time she did not say anything to Roland.  He had enough to worry about.

M4 Margueritte: Strike Back, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Gertrude the midwife got out of the city just before things got bad.  She fretted for her family, but she expressed gratitude for the bread.  What is more, she took her duty seriously, which encouraged Margueritte to relax.  When Gertrude examined Margueritte, Sigisurd always stayed there and watched, Rotunda always stayed near, making food, Mother Mary came to supply the clean linens, and even Relii stopped in to encourage her.  The result was a frustrated Abd al-Makti.  Margueritte felt it in the air.  She had no idea what nefarious plans the sorcerer had in mind, and honestly did not want to know.  She just felt glad the man was unable to do anything or get her alone.

The siege lines broke up in early November when Margueritte calculated she had about six weeks.  Gertrude said four, but at least she was not due that day or that week.  Over the last month, she spent most of her time missing Roland.  She wondered why circumstances always seemed to work in their lives to keep them apart.  Now, Margueritte had to move, and she got the option of riding in the wagon or walking.  She walked most of the time, she said for the exercise, but in truth the wagon hit every bump imaginable, and she got tossed around like a proverbial sack of potatoes, and bruised everywhere, so it felt safer to walk.

Boniface said good-bye when the army packed to leave.  He had three monks with him, and on Chilperic’s insistence, a dozen men at arms to protect him on his journey to Rome.  Margueritte wished him the best, said to call her when he got back so they could do lunch, without explaining what she meant, and waved for half the morning.  Then it came time to move.  Fortunately, the army moved slow.  They ambled along about three or four hours in the morning, took a four-hour mid-day break to let everyone catch up, and shuffled off another three or four hours in the afternoon before making camp early in the evening, before the sun went down.  At that pace, Margueritte wondered how any army could come to the rescue of any city, but she decided in this case, they were feeling victorious, like they conquered the city, and inclined to take it easy.  Besides, she figured Ragenfrid needed the time off to count his ill-gotten gains.

Margueritte and the camp wagons stopped for lunch near the town of Malmedy on the top of a rise where they could look down on the majority of the army.  She sat, holding her belly and feeling a little pain, when the rear guard came in.  The whole camp would sit and relax for another two hours yet before the first units started out and the army strung out like a slinky.  She pictured a well-timed charge at the middle when the worm spread out, and that would leave the rear guard cut off and easy pickings.  For some reason, a picture of Roncevaux Pass entered her mind, and she objected.  That was not her Roland, and not her Charles.  That was her Charles’ grandson, she imagined.  She missed her Roland.

“Lady.” Sigisurd interrupted Margueritte’s melancholy thoughts and pointed down below.  “Whose men are those?  Where are they coming from?”

Margueritte shrugged and squinted to see in the midday sun.  “They are not Ragenfrid’s friends,” she said, and they watched as a battle broke out.  It appeared all one sided at first, as the oncoming men caught Ragenfrid’s army literally napping.  Men, unaware, got cut down by the dozens, but eventually, Ragenfrid and Chilperic formed up the lines and counterattacked.  The men who fought without mercy when they had the advantage of total surprise, suddenly started to flee, and Ragenfrid followed.  He gave chase into the woods, and then Margueritte lost sight of them all.

Gertrude came up when Margueritte moaned a little.  She felt bloated and crampy.  “Aha,” Gertrude said.  “I told you four weeks.”

“What?” Margueritte got stupid.

“Come, get in the tent.  Sigisurd, help her so she can come lie down.”

Sigisurd grinned, but Margueritte did not get it.  “What?” she asked again.

Margueritte could not see the open field beyond the woods, and the slight rise in the field that lead up to a hillside meadow, still covered by tall grasses in the early winter.  The retreating men, some three thousand, ran through the trees and up the rise and over, but there they stopped and turned.  The Neustrian Franks chased the men with abandon, without proper leadership, and only their anger for fuel.  When they got to the top of the rise, they found ten thousand Austrasian Franks waiting for them, and it became the Neustrian’s turn to be slaughtered.

Margueritte stayed in labor all afternoon.  She still labored when Roland and Charles arrived.  Margueritte managed a yell.  “Roland.  We are having a baby.”  Then she needed to save her voice for a good scream.  She had a boy, Martin, who went to her breast, and when Roland stood there sweating, like he was the one who just gave birth, she spoke to him.  “Now we have to have a girl.”

###

Charles kept the men in training all winter long.  He let them go home to plant in the early spring, but he spent those weeks talking about the need for a standing army, like the Romans had.  “A permanent standing army,” he said.

“Yes, but you need to make a phalanx,” Margueritte said.  “That box thing you formed up outside Cologne was bound to fall apart, even if your commander didn’t turn stupid.”

Charles grunted.

Roland held Martin and tried to get him to stop chewing on the little wooden five-inch sword Roland carved for him.  Martin seemed determined to chew on something, going on four months old, but he found his father’s finger just as good.  Charles tried to help distract the child, but every time Martin saw Charles, Martin laughed out loud.  It was the cutest thing.

“I think he needs to be changed,” Roland finally admitted.

“So?” Margueritte said.  “Are your arms broken?”

“I’ll take him,” Sigisurd volunteered, and Roland gladly let her.

“So, we need a phalanx,” Charles said.

“Gerraint says you need heavy cavalry, and I am allowed to show you the lance and stirrups, since the Arabs and Moors are using stirrups in Iberia.”

“We have lances,” Roland said, now wanting in on the conversation.

“We have fancy spears and better saddles, so we don’t knock ourselves off the horse so easily.  We have what they have had in Great Britain for two hundred years, and ours are just as good, but it is not the same thing as lances and stirrups.  If we run into some Muslims, you will see what I mean.”

“Yes, I had been looking forward to meeting that Abd al-Makti fellow.  What happened to him?” Charles wondered.

Margueritte shrugged, but she knew the snake was slinking around somewhere, and no doubt up to no good.  “You are still worried about Septimania?”

Charles nodded and Roland spoke.  “It is even as you called him.  He’s a Septimaniac.”

Charles got serious.  “We are surrounded by annoyances, Saxons, Alimani, Frisians, Thuringians, Swabians, Bavarians, Lombards and Goths, but none of those are real threats to the realm, provided we can stop fighting ourselves.  But the Muslims of this Caliphate thing.  Who knows what kind of resources they can bring?  They have already threatened Narbonne.  From there, they can threaten us, all those I named, plus Aquitaine, Vascony, Greater and Lesser Britain and maybe even Rome itself.”  Charles got hot.  “We need a permanent standing army.”

Martin made some noise from the tent.  “Excuse me,” Margueritte stood.  “To quote my husband, this is where we started.”  She stepped into the tent because Martin was hungry.  Having a clean diaper always made him hungry.

###

Charles moved his army in the early spring.  With word of his victory over Ragenfrid and Chilperic at Ambleve, Charles found his ranks growing.  He hoped Ragenfrid’s support might be dwindling, but he doubted it.  He chose Vincy as the location and settled into the advantageous position to take advantage of the natural terrain.  Vincy sat just inside Neustrian territory, and a victory there would send a strong message to all the Neustrian Franks.  The show-down occurred on March 21, 717, when Martin got ready to have his four-month-old birthday party.

Ragenfrid and Chilperic attacked like they had once before, but this time Charles had prepared for them.  His long line box that Margueritte refused to call a phalanx stayed disciplined enough to hold formation and not break.  The Neustrians attacked three times in the morning and were soundly driven back all three times.

On the third attack, near the noon hour, Charles sent word to Roland who had twelve hundred men on horse, waiting.  While the main force under Ragenfrid and Chilperic engaged Charles’ infantry, Roland moved into the enemy camp, easily took prisoners, women and soldiers, and had a thousand men set behind a barricade of wagons when the foot soldiers came trudging back.  The Neustrians were tired and ready to take a break, as armies did at midday in those days. They got close before a volley of arrows found them.  Their ranks were unformed, they were unprepared, and they did not have the training of the Austrasians.  What is more, after driving off the third assault, Charles counted to a hundred and then sent his ten thousand to counterattack.  The Neustrians were strung out and half-beaten already after their third failure to break the enemy line.  Fortunately for them, Charles wanted prisoners.  Otherwise, not many would have survived.  

Roland could not hold the enemy camp for long.  The sheer numbers of enemy soldiers eventually overran the position, but Roland had the horses handy and made an easy escape.  He had not been expected to stick around.  What had been expected was that Ragenfrid and Chilperic would take their horsemen, abandon the field, and leave their army of footmen to face their own fate.  Roland followed the horsemen, or more nearly chased them all the way back to Paris.

There were plenty of Neustrian soldiers who escaped, including many in the camp who had the good sense to get themselves untied.  But there were also plenty of prisoners, and among them were quite a few who were willing to fight for Charles once they found out he intended to go back and deal with Cologne and Plectrude.  After all, they spent all that time there and saw nothing for it.  They certainly did not get any of the treasure.

“Besides,” one commander said.  “I can see how this whole thing is going and I don’t want to be on the wrong side when it is settled.”

From an enemy, Charles might have thought twice, but these were Franks.  They were his people.  “Cologne first,” Charles said.  “Then we end it with Ragenfrid and his allies.”

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

MONDAY

Charles has to clean up the mess and then meet Ragefrid one more time. Third time is the charm. Until Monday. Happy Reading.

*

M4 Margueritte: Strike Back, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

On the first day of the siege, when some soldiers set up two tents for Margueritte and her women, other men dug a great pit in the woods and constructed two wooden seats and a wooden covering with a curtain so the women could go in private.  Sigisurd knew what went on there, besides sitting and thinking, but no one else knew.  After her first conversation with Abd al-Makti, Margueritte knew she could not trust anyone, and even Sigisurd’s memory got deliberately blunted to be safe.

Abd al-Makti came to her tent after giving her a week to settle in for a long wait, as sieges often become.  “If the Lady is at liberty, I would ask a few questions about things of the Franks and such.  I am a stranger here, and I do not understood as I should.”

Margueritte would have corrected the man’s grammar, but presently she felt something like a fly speck against her mind, and she tried not to laugh.  When she became invested as the Kairos in ancient days, given the responsibility for the little spirits of the earth, air, fire and water, and counted among the gods as the god or goddess of history, the gods understood her mind contained too much information about the future; information that would be dangerous in the wrong hands.  Therefore, it was decided to establish unbreakable barriers around her mind.  Even the gods could not read her mind.  This Islamic sorcerer had no chance, but in trying, he gave himself away.  She would have to be careful whom she trusted and with what information as long as this man walked around the camp reading people’s minds.

“Can I help you?”  Margueritte finally spoke and watched the frustration cross Abd al-Makti’s face.

“Indeed.  I thought a lady such as yourself might offer a more pleasant conversation than these men of war.  It appears we will be here for a long time, and full of much boredom.  I hope things are settled before the diseases begin.”

“As I think.  Cholera, dysentery, and such are not to be hoped for.  I say, the things I have seen in long sieges would make you shudder.  I suppose it is a good thing you cannot read my mind.”  She could not resist the jab.

“Indeed.”

The conversation continued for a time, but Margueritte represented herself well as a paragon of Christian virtues, and otherwise just the ordinary Frankish woman that she was, well, half Frankish, half Breton.  And Abd al-Makti kept saying indeed until he had enough.  He would not get anything out of her by direct questioning.  If she was a witch, or worse, the power his Lord and Master insisted, he could not prove it.  For her part, Margueritte saw no other signs of the man’s power, though she did not doubt he was a powerful wizard.  She suspected there was more to it, something more behind this man of power, but she caught no indication of what or who that might be.  This man appeared to be a genuine Muslim missionary, well versed in the Koran and his faith.  She checked with her Storyteller who studied all that and could look things up.

“I must be off,” Abd al-Makti said at last.  “My servant Marco has much to be watched, but I may return, and we will speak again.”

“We may speak again, another time,” Margueritte said with a smile, and thought, then again, we may not, God willing.

“That was interesting,” Sigisurd said.

“Don’t be fooled,” Margueritte responded.  “Christ is the way of life.  The Prophet is the way of death to all who will not submit to their greedy ambition.  Besides, they treat women like cattle.”

“And how is that different from the way we are treated now?”

“Trust me, you have no idea.”

When they reached the toilet, Margueritte called out.  “Tulip.”  The fairy appeared and immediately sprinkled Sigisurd with dust.

After a moment, Tulip announced, “She’s clean,” and Margueritte checked to be sure Tulip was clean as well.

Margueritte called, “Maywood.  Larchmont.”  Both fairies appeared, and Maywood spoke first.

“Plectrude is still in isolation, but she has spoken with a local midwife.  The feeling I get is she has heard about your situation and is willing to send help if Ragenfrid will let the woman through the lines.”

“We shall see.  That is good news.  I know Doctor Mishka and Greta can only do so much, being me, if you know what I mean, and I am sure Ragenfrid does not have a midwife in the camp.”

“Mother Mary checked on that,” Sigisurd said, and shook her head.

“And how is my husband?” Margueritte asked Larchmont.

“Impatient.  Every time I tell him you are fine; he keeps saying he is missing it all.  He wants to go yesterday, but Charles keeps saying, not until they are ready.  I get the feeling if this siege goes on much longer, they will get ready.  Charles has twice as many men as before, and he is pushing them hard to prepare.”

“Good for him.  Please tell him I had a talk with the bishop today.  His name is Boniface, and they should meet one day.  Remind him if he will support the Church, the Church will surely support him.  Then tell him Abd-al-Makti the Sorcerer has plans and is gathering information on our strengths and weaknesses, which I have no doubt will be shared with the invading Islamic generals in Iberia.”

“I do remind him of this and will again.  Charles is worried about the south coast of Septimania, it being in Visigoth hands.  He says the Visigoths in Iberia have put up little struggle against the invading Muslims and he feels sure they will not stop at the Pyrenees.”

“And I agree,” Margueritte said.  “Thank you.”  She waved her hand, and Larchmont and Maywood went back to the place from which she called them.  Then she went behind the curtain and left Sigisurd with Tulip because she really did have to go.

“What is the news from the coasts?” Margueritte asked from behind the curtain.

“All is quiet, and lovely,” Tulip reported.  She was in love with a fairy named Waterborn and had been for going on three hundred years.  Tulip now neared seven hundred years old.  But everything was lovely when a fairy was in love, so Margueritte asked.

“Tell me about the Christians in Frisia.”  Tulip was certainly old enough and mature enough to not ask, “What about them?”

“The priests and churches are mostly gone,” Tulip said.  “But the people are mostly good neighbors, and families that have been friends for generations remain friends, and what one family believes does not make them bad neighbors.”  

Margueritte considered Abd al-Makti.  Muslims could also be good neighbors until they got the upper hand.  Islam spread, not as a religion of gentle persuasion, like Christianity for the most part.  Christians had their convert or die moments, but they were rare.  Convert or die became standard practice for Islam, from the beginning, and Margueritte decided if that made her prejudiced, then so be it.  Boniface was right about that.  She felt driven to save life, not take it.

“Thank you, Tulip,” she said, as she came out from behind the curtain.

“Can I stay this time and be friends with Sigisurd?” Tulip pleaded sweetly, and Sigisurd looked hopeful, but Margueritte shook her head.

“Not this time.  Not as long as the sorcerer-spy is around, but some day things will be better.”  Tulip vanished as Margueritte sent her back to her troop that lived and worked along what would one day be called the Dutch coast.  Sigisurd looked sad, but understood, and in short order she forgot all about the fairies.  It was safer that way.

###

Summer became autumn and the leaves began to change.  Ragenfrid saw that the local harvest got brought in and took the lion’s share for his army.  No siege is perfect, especially when the General wants to own the city, not destroy it. The trick is to let just enough food inside the city to keep the population near starvation, but not too little so the people are not forced to survive on rats.  Ragenfrid sat on the fence about that with Cologne.  He would destroy the city if he had to.  Chilperic had been declared king of the Neustrian Franks, not the Austrasian Franks, and Cologne was a very Austrasian city.  Both the king and Ragenfrid assumed if the people turned from Plectrude and her son, they might just as easily swear allegiance to Charles rather than to him.

The city had the normal supply of foodstuffs until the harvest, but after that, they were at the mercy of Ragenfrid, and instead of standing watch on the walls, the people began to protest in the streets.  Rat was a dish not to be taken lightly, no matter the sauce.

Plectrude came out of her isolation when things in the city began to turn.  She had to do something before hunger caused a revolt and the people handed the city and her life to Ragenfrid.  To be sure, surrender seemed her only option, but she was not above haggling.  When her husband Pepin died, she brought much of his treasure, the treasure of Austrasia, with her to Cologne.  She trusted in Chilperic, a man who once went under the name of Daniel, who got dragged out of a monastery and given a crown, and trust in his forgiving Christian nature, that Plectrude turned over the treasure and renounced the mayoralty of her son on condition Ragenfrid go away and leave Cologne, and her, alone.

Chilperic agreed, and after great arguments, Ragenfrid and Radbod agreed, especially after Radbod got paid off.

M4 Margueritte: Strike Back, part 1 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

In a week, the army got settled into a siege around Cologne.  They cut the city off from the countryside and took the food that would have gone to the city residents.  Cologne had a strong garrison, and the population augmented the troops, at least at first.  It seemed enough to discourage Ragenfrid from taking the city by straight assault.  Besides, he wanted to talk with Plectrude and see if something might be worked out.  Unfortunately, he waited all spring and all summer while the woman locked herself in her rooms and saw no one.

Margueritte got along with her new friends, for the most part.  Rotunda liked to cook, she said, because she liked to eat.  That explained a lot, as Margueritte thought.

Gray haired Mary stayed out front, in closest contact with the soldiers and officers of Ragenfrid’s army.  She ran errands and did the laundry when she could, and the women began to call her Mother Mary to remind the enemy that they were good Christian women who deserved their consideration, if not their respect.

Sigisurd acted like Margueritte’s handmaid.  She was a shy and quiet soul who said little as she tried to anticipate Margueritte’s wants and needs.  Never far away, she even slept at Margueritte’s feet.  It could get annoying, but most of the time it was nice, as long as Margueritte did not let it spoil her.

Then there was Relii.  As far as the others could tell, her talents included eating and sleeping late.  Fortunately, she was not around much.  Margueritte had the good sense not to ask where she went, and she volunteered nothing, so they kept a conspiracy of silence for as long as no one came asking for her or complaining about her.  Margueritte did confess to the bishop once that she found Relii in a brothel in Orleans, having learned that Relii came from that area, and she thought to save her from that environment.

“I felt it was my Christian duty,” she said, and the bishop bought it.  He seemed willing to buy about anything she said, because he felt worried.  He saw the pagan priest with the Frisians, and worse, the teacher Abd al-Makti from Iberia as real threats to his flock.  He very much wanted Margueritte and her ladies to be Christians, and models of piety, which for the most part, they were, except maybe Relii was not so pious.

Margueritte talked often with the bishop, and she got the feeling that he ran interference for her with the powers in the camp, and she felt grateful.  It got to where she could see King Chilperic II, and pass pleasantries without him shrieking and running away, so that seemed a plus.  True, Ragenfrid continued to snub her when she walked about, but Margueritte figured that might be a plus as well.

King Radbod of the Frisians came to visit her on three separate occasions over the spring and summer and his pagan priest, Org came the third time.  They believed she was a very powerful witch, which proved good, because they stayed respectful of her person the whole time, and the king instructed his troops to stay away as well.  But to be sure, there was not much she could tell them, even on the third visit when they asked about the spirits of the earth.

“I have spoken to Neustrian men who know your father,” Org said.  “They say there were spirits that lived at your farm when you were growing up, and those spirits answered to you.”

“Rumors, and hear-say,” Margueritte said.  “Soldiers, like sailors, often see things that are not there, and superstitious men, like drunks, see all sorts of things.  Life is such a wonderful mystery, but I know some people need to explain everything and if there isn’t an easy explanation, they make one up.”

“No.  These are steady men, not superstitious or drunk as you suggest.  My sources say you can call up the earth spirits and compel them to do your bidding, and I would see if this is so.”

“Org.  King Ratbot,” she said, deliberately mispronouncing the man’s name, “If I have ever seen a little spirit, it is only because I love them as I love all of the great mysteries of creation.  And if they should ever do anything I ask, it is because I ask out of love, and they do it out of kindness, and I am always grateful.  Spirits though they be, I imagine they have their own minds and their own hearts and like people, they cannot ultimately be compelled without affecting some great evil upon them, which I would never do.”

Radbod twirled his moustache while Org thought for a minute and Margueritte smiled a kind, cooperative smile, and waited patiently, as was her womanly duty.  She often had to wait patiently for all of the ideas, multi-faceted notions and ramifications to work through the morass called a man’s mind.  Org spoke at last.

“So, we will not be seeing any sprits of the earth around here, and you will not be cooperating.”

“I would be glad to cooperate if I knew how.  All I can say is if you come across a spirit of the earth someday, I suggest gentle persuasion.”

“Thus says a woman,” King Radbod said, and they left.

Sigisurd took a breath.  “That was close.”

“Close to what?” they heard from the tent door.  The bishop stood there.

“Close to accusing me of something for which I am not guilty.  They seem to think I have some power over creation, but I have only prayer.”

“Ah,” the bishop came in and sat while he raised a knowing finger.  “But prayer is the greatest power in the universe, and that is something those pagans fail to understand.”

“Indeed,” Margueritte said.  “And I have prayed for you because I know you are deeply troubled by the pagans in the camp.”

The bishop shifted in his seat and looked down for a moment before he opened-up.  “When Lord Pepin died, many people were quick to take advantage of that, not just Plectrude wanting her son to be recognized as Mayor over the Austrasian Franks, though he is just eight years old, and not just Ragenfrid holding King Chilperic by the neck until he recognized Ragenfrid as Mayor over the Neustrian Franks.  King Radbod took the liberty to throw out every Christian priest in his land and burn every church.  Poor Wilibrord had to flee to an abbey on the edge of Frisian land.  The Frisians are reverted to paganism by royal decree, and Christians there are suffering terrible persecution.”

“Worse than the Bretons,” Margueritte nodded.  “But as I told Charles, the old ways have gone, and the new ways have come.  I told him if he strongly supports the Church, the Church will strongly support him and the Christian Franks, Austrasian and Neustrian both will flock to his banner.”

“It is true.  I have heard many Neustrians whisper support for Charles, and I understand there are many Austrasians who feel the same way.  Some real sign of support for the faith and he could win the whole Frankish nation, and no doubt Burgundy besides.”

Margueritte stood before Sigisurd could help her.  “These are glad tidings for my ears,” she said.  “I will pray that he does this very thing, but now you must excuse me.”  She stepped to the tent door but paused there to ask him a question.  “All this time you have not given me your name because you said you were still thinking about it.  I wonder if you decided.  You see, back home we had two Breton servants who came to the Lord.  One decided right away his Christian name would be Andrew.  The other could not decide between James and John.  One week he was James and the next he was John.  I have not yet heard his final decision, but most people call him John-James or James-John and leave it at that.”

“Yes,” he said.  “I have decided, I think.  I have been so impressed by your beneficence with regard to your love for life, your saving these women who were not originally known to you, as I well know, and in the way you so openly give all that you have to encourage others to save life in these days rather than take life.  I have considered how you put yourself in danger to save the lives of these women and joined with them in their plight when you might have remained silent and had comforts.  You confessed yourself in front of pagans and men of questionable faith, even as Boniface of Tarsus confessed himself to persecution.  I have decided the only name I can take is Boniface.  It must remind me to save life and not remain silent, even though it may bring me suffering.”

Something in Margueritte’s head echoed down through time and went, ding!

“I was born Winfrid, in Britain,” he went on.  “And right now, I should be at Nursling, teaching, but my heart won’t let me rest.  The Frisians and Franks and especially the Saxons are all my cousins, my brothers and sisters, and they deserve to be saved.  They need to hear the good news of life.”

“You have my blessing, for what it is worth.” Margueritte smiled.

“You have called me Bishop, and the others have begun to do the same, though I have no such authority in real life.  I am a plain priest, not long ordained, truth be told.”

“So, go to Rome.  Meet the Pope.  See if the Pope will confirm the name Boniface.  Apply for a Bishopric and be what we might call a minister without portfolio.  Go convert the Saxons and the Alemani, and maybe the Frisians, but watch out for them.  Org does not seem the friendly sort.  Build the church, an organized church.”

“You seem to have my whole life planned out for me.”

“Just a guess,” she said.  “But now you have to excuse me.  I really have to go to the bathroom.  But I tell you what.  When you come back from Rome, if things go as I hope and pray, I will introduce you to Charles and maybe you and he can work something out.”

“I would be pleased to meet him.”

Margueritte nodded and stepped out, Sigisurd one step behind.  Margueritte saw Abd al-Makti slinking around in the shadows, and she yelled at him.  “I don’t have time for you right now.  I have to shit, and you don’t want to be part of that.”

Abd al-Makti looked terribly embarrassed by the conversation.  It took him by surprise, and he shook his head.  By the time he got hold of his thoughts, Margueritte had going into the woods, holding her belly.  She was six months pregnant, after all.