Anvil of God Read online

  “All appropriate responses.” Boniface nodded.

  “But it only makes it worse. Thoughts of Trudi, of, of Hiltrude return. And she is always naked and—”

  Boniface again raised his hand to stop him.

  “You are not to speak of this again. Not to anyone. Not to Hiltrude. Not to me. Not even to yourself. And you will stay away from Hiltrude. You will no longer ‘practice’ your swords with her. You are forbidden to be in the same place as her. She arouses a demon in you that you can barely control.

  “Now. As to your penance.” Rising again, Boniface went to a closet in the back of the sacristy and brought out a leather flagellum. He held it by the handle so that the whip’s tails hung before the young man’s eyes.

  “Do you know what this is?” Boniface let the fear grow in the young man’s eyes. Ansel nodded. “This will be your path to salvation. And you must not spare yourself from its power. In the end, you will be stronger for it. And with God’s help, you will tame your demon and restore your self-control.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Boniface put his left hand on Ansel’s head and with his right made the sign of the cross, saying, “Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab omni vinculo excommunicationis et interdicti in quantum possum et tu indiges. Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

  ***

  Boniface found his godson inside the family chapel praying.

  “Sed libera nos a malo,” Carloman said, one hand extended before him across the altar with its palm turned upward in supplication. The other hand clasped a holy icon that Boniface had given Carloman the day of his elevation to knighthood. It was a finger bone of the blessed St. Martin of Tours. Carloman wore it around his neck in a small wooden canister.

  Though still young, Carloman’s unusual height and lean body gave the impression that he was a man hardened by time. The right side of his face and his nose had been broken in battle and had never quite healed. From time to time, he had to sniffle the small amount of mucous that occasionally dripped from it. Though he reeked of intensity, Carloman’s actions always were measured. Boniface took great pride in the religious conviction of his godson. Together, they had planned an alliance with the larger monasteries to rid the world of the pagan horde. Carloman’s “Knights in Christ” were dedicated to this work. Yes, thought Boniface, Carloman was the key.

  When his godson stood, Boniface led him back to his chambers.

  “Charles has announced that he will raise Gripho to knighthood,” Boniface said. “He named a day early in September to let it coincide with the fall assembly.”

  “How he dotes on that boy,” Carloman said. “Gripho’s barely been in battle. In Provence, my father kept him with the rear guard until Maurontus’s line broke. He only sent him in for the kill.”

  “He is young, Carloman.”

  “My father is growing soft. He had me in the front lines at that age, Pippin as well. He’s raising this one differently.”

  As the two walked down the hallway, Carloman glanced into a chamber off the hallway and stopped abruptly. Boniface followed his gaze and saw Ansel, kneeling on the floor, naked to the waist, flogging himself. A grunt escaped the knight’s lips as each blow landed. Blood covered his back. Ansel’s face was distorted. His eyes shined with fanaticism. Carloman looked questioningly at Boniface, who merely waved his hand at the chamber.

  “Nothing to worry about. The young man came to me in the act of confession. Sometimes mortification of the flesh is the only solution to the carnal desires of young knights.”

  “He seems awfully intense about it,” Carloman said.

  “It is … a special case,” Boniface said.

  Once in his chambers, Boniface unrolled the maps to show Carloman the monasteries whose allegiance they would need. “There are some, such as Saint Wandrille, we could approach now,” Boniface said. “Others will have to wait until you and your brothers are named mayor.”

  “Brother,” Carloman corrected. “Gripho is too young to be mayor. Father will never raise him up as an equal to Pippin and me.”

  “Nonetheless, you’ll have to regard him as a successor. Bavaria and Neustria will help him assert his rights.”

  “Let them.” Carloman pointed to the map. “Why will these monasteries have to wait?”

  “Charles seized much of their land early in his career and left them with less than a third of the resources they had acquired.”

  “Are you saying we should give it all back?” Carloman asked.

  “Only to those that are important for the relics they house or the influence they wield. If we combine your endowment with a papal decree to centralize the church, we can align your family with the church and mandate Christianity throughout the continent.”

  “What about the pagans?”

  “Conquer them. Take their hostages. Baptize them.”

  “If they refuse?”

  “Over time, the Church will win out. We supplant local rituals with our own, oftentimes using their words and rites. Birth, death, wedlock, knighthood—it is our rituals that tie us to God. It may take a generation or two to succeed.”

  “You’re being optimistic,” Carloman said.

  “Then we will take stronger measures,” Boniface said.

  Carloman frowned.

  “Have you seen their rites?” Boniface began to pace. “They are an affront to God. They drink blood. They sacrifice humans. Their ‘communion,’ a name that insults the Church, involves unspeakable debauchery.

  “Yes, stronger measures may need to be taken,” Boniface repeated, his face reddening. “Christians cannot coexist with such as them. If they do not submit to the Church, we must drive them from the land, imprison the leaders, and purge their followers. They are sin itself.”

  “Yet you suffered Charles’s marriage to Sunnichild.”

  “Charles was adamant that he have her. She converted and married him within the Church. There was little I could do.”

  “I’ve heard rumors that she still practices the lore.”

  “If she does, she hides it well,” Boniface said. “The real question, however, has always been Gripho. What if a son of Charles was pagan? Imagine the legitimacy that would give their lore.”

  “I asked him to join the Knights in Christ,” Carloman said. “He refused.”

  “Perhaps that is merely a younger brother wanting to be seen as an equal.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Carloman said, “for his sake as well as ours.”

  ***

  Twice Trudi turned away from the door to her stepmother’s chambers, and twice she turned back. Could Sunni be trusted? What could she do, if Charles made all the decisions? And what did she mean by “power”? Trudi had disdained Sunni’s advice so often that she couldn’t believe she was asking for the woman’s help now.

  She offered, Trudi reminded herself. Standing outside Sunni’s chambers, however, she felt a new fear take hold. How do I dare tell her about my thoughts of Ansel? She flushed with embarrassment. How can I tell Sunni about the hunger inside me, my need for him? Oh Jesus, how can I tell Sunni any of it?

  I can’t. The clarity of this knowledge swept across her, quickly followed by enormous relief. I can’t tell her, Trudi decided. I won’t. She turned to go.

  “I was beginning to think you had changed your mind,” Sunni said, appearing in the doorway.

  Trudi’s stomach squeezed into a knot. “I can’t.”

  Sunni took her hand and smiled. “Of course, you can. You have nothing to fear from me.” Without waiting for Trudi’s response, Sunni led her into her private quarters.

  The rooms were small but thoughtfully adorned. Though too feminine for Trudi’s tastes, the rooms were not overdone like those of some girls at court. Sunni used color as a subtle weapon to banish the coldness of the plaster walls. Red pillows lined the bed, and blue tapestries adorned the walls. And her furniture, though delicate,
was purposeful and reserved—a desk and chair in the outer room, a small couch and chairs inside. In the bedroom, a gray mat lay in front of the hearth, which housed a small fire that took the chill from the air. Across the room, Sunni’s bed was piled high with blue and gray pillows and white blankets. It was there that Sunni led her, and together they sat on the edge of her bed.

  Oh my God, thought Trudi, I’m going to tell her. Trudi’s face reddened, and her breath grew short.

  “Tell me,” Sunni said, her eyes reassuring.

  To Trudi’s horror, tears flooded from her. Before she could stop them, sobs wracked her frame, and she fell helplessly into Sunni’s arms. The older woman cradled her, rocking her like a child until the tears were gone. When Trudi spoke, the words poured from her mouth in a torrent. Sunni said nothing. She just stroked Trudi’s hair. When Trudi finished, Sunni sighed.

  “That boy will never do,” Sunni said.

  “But I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  “You need a man,” Sunni said.

  Trudi didn’t understand.

  “You have grown into a powerful young woman,” Sunni said. “Why should you be surprised to find powerful forces inside your body?”

  “You know I can’t sleep with a man out of wedlock,” Trudi said, reeling internally. “Father would—”

  “No one condemns Pippin or the girl he lies with.”

  “That’s different.” Although she wasn’t sure why it was different.

  “Your father wants to barter with your body for an allegiance or a treaty. That is why he will not suffer you lying with a man out of wedlock. There are fewer questions about succession if the bride is a virgin. Boniface, of course, will condemn your sin. But you must remember that you are the daughter of Charles Martel. You will be his daughter even if you have lain with a man. In the end, your hand will still be sought by every noble family on the continent.”

  Sunni’s calm in the face of Trudi’s emotion was troubling. She sees no shame in desire? Another man? It was inconceivable. “But isn’t lust one of the seven deadly sins?” she asked.

  “There are no deadly sins,” Sunni said. “Those are the teachings of people who seek to steal your passion for their own purposes.”

  There it was. Heresy. And Sunni had stated it as if it were obvious.

  “So,” Trudi whispered, “the rumors are true. You are pagan. This is what the Church warns about.”

  “A Church run by men,” Sunni said. “It banishes all teaching that is not focused on serving the needs of men, particularly those men who run the Church. You were born of woman. Your body is a vessel that brings the power of the earth into focus. The passion for physical communion is only one of these focal points. You have many. Instead of subjugating those passions, you need to harness them.”

  “I don’t think I could do that,” Trudi said.

  “Can you live without the passion you feel for Ansel?”

  Trudi hesitated. “No,” she said.

  “Then you have already defied the church. The question you must ask is: will you defy yourself?”

  “But I want Ansel.”

  “You already know you cannot have Ansel. Your father would have him flayed, then drawn and quartered. Besides, Ansel is a brute, unworthy of a woman like you. He wouldn’t come close to satisfying your needs. No, you need a man.”

  “I don’t think I could do that,” Trudi repeated.

  “You have more power than you know,” Sunni said. “When you are ready to harness that power, come to me. But you must promise me that you will speak of this to no one. Not your father. Not Boniface. Not Carloman or Pippin. They are men and do not understand our bodies or our needs. Helping you will put me in grave danger. But I can see that your need is great, so I am willing.”

  “I can’t take your advice,” Trudi said. “But I came to you in confidence, so I will leave you in confidence.”

  Sunni walked Trudi to the door, hugged her, and kissed both her cheeks. “Consider who has been teaching you and ask yourself whose interest they are trying to protect. If you decide you want my help, come see me.”

  Trudi left more disturbed than when she had arrived.

  Two days later, Trudi rounded a corner to find herself directly in front of Ansel. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. Her face blushed deeply as she took a tentative step toward him. “Ansel.” She reached out her hand to touch his chest.

  “Stop!” Ansel said, his voice so strained it sounded like a gurgle.

  “Ansel,” she said again, surprised.

  Ansel’s face twisted into a grimace. His eyes seemed to push out of his head. “Temptress! She-devil! Stay away from me. I can have nothing to do with you!”

  That night, she returned to Sunni’s chambers, pausing again on the threshold. Sunni invited her in and closed the door behind her.

  “How can I help you?” Sunni asked.

  “Tell me about power.”

  2

  Jeu de Moulin

  After Charles announced that he would raise Gripho to knighthood, Sunni whirled into action. She lorded over couriers, cooks, servants, and stable hands to make the villa at Quierzy suitable for her son to become a knight. She persuaded Carloman’s wife, Greta, to host a celebration the evening after Gripho’s elevation and summoned minstrels from Aachen and musicians from Paris.

  Though the fête would strain the skills of the local seamstresses and the pocketbooks of his nobles, Charles did not complain about it to Sunni. So she decided to carry on until he did. She ordered hunts to gather venison and boar meat. She ordered bulls butchered, pigs slaughtered, and warehouses tapped for grain and grog. She even bullied Boniface when the bishop insisted that the knighting ceremony be followed by a high mass, saying that if there were going to be a mass, it should be a mass worthy of her only son.

  Nothing escaped her eye. Tapestries were cleaned, rugs beaten, hallways mopped, stairwells scrubbed. She enlisted the local monastery to letter invitations on rare parchment intended for nobles across the continent. To ensure full attendance, she asked Charles to convene an autumn assembly of knights. It was the one time Sunni actually paid him attention. When he agreed, she grabbed both his cheeks in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth in front of Boniface, Carloman, and Greta.

  Charles inquired after her on several evenings only to wait outside her chambers like a petitioner until she demurely came out to greet him and beg his indulgence as she and Trudi attended to matters “more appropriate for women.”

  After nearly a week of neglect, Charles sent for her. She blew into his chambers, bringing with her a seamstress, a cook, enormous bolts of cloth, and a minstrel. She showed him her two favorite gowns and asked his opinion. When he gave it, she frowned and said she’d have to “think about it.” She made him taste the specialties the cook was preparing for the feast and showed him bolts of cloth to be used as decoration for the ball. He sat patiently until the minstrel started playing a ballad written specifically for Gripho’s elevation.

  “Everyone out of the room,” he ordered. When Sunni stood to leave with the others, he roared, “Not you, Sunni!”

  “As my lord wishes.”

  “Stop that!”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Sunnichild!”

  Laughing, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him hungrily on the mouth.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” she said, pressing the length of her body against him.

  He kissed her neck.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to hear the ballad I had written?” she asked. “I can have the minstrel back here in a second.”

  He laughed and started pulling off her clothes.

  When they finished their lovemaking, Charles padded naked across the room and told the sentry outside his door to order bread, cheese, and wine from the kitchen. When it arrived, he sat at the opposite end of the bed.

  “You don’t look well, Charles.”

  “It is nice to see you, too.”

  “
Your color is bad, your skin is clammy, and you look exhausted. Was it a hard campaign?”

  “Harder than we expected.”

  “Have you spoken to the doctors?”

  “They had nothing to offer.”

  Sunni crossed the bed quickly and took his face in her hands. She looked at his eyes and then placed both hands at the base of his neck to feel his pulse. She grabbed his forearm and turned it over, inspecting it like a piece of meat. “They bled you,” she stated. “What did the doctors say?”

  “Nothing of value. ‘Demons in my blood,’ that sort of thing.”

  She leapt out of bed, took the bread and cheese from his hands, and upon finding her robe, turned on him.

  “You are not getting out of this bed, and you will fast for at least two days.”

  “Sunni—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll have cold compresses sent up immediately. Of all times for this to happen! I’ve got to finish the menu and select the wine. Decide on the—”

  “Sunnichild!”

  “There’s so much—”

  “Stop. I am fine. I rested well after the battle, and I’ve done everything the doctors have asked of me. I’ve been bled. I’ve fasted and had my fill of compresses. Now it’s time for me to be mayor.” When she still didn’t move, he said, “I will be fine, my love.”

  After a few moments, Sunni bent and kissed his forehead. “All right,” she said. “But no sex.”

  “You would take away my reason to live?”

  She hugged him, and he wrestled her back into bed.

  “We have to talk about Trudi,” Sunni said, pushing him away.

  Charles groaned. “Let’s get through this knighting. Then we will talk about wedding plans.”

  “It won’t wait, Charles. She’s been of age for years. The anticipation is killing her … not to mention that she’s an attractive and healthy young woman.”

  “What do you think of Liutbrand?”

  “The Lombard? He’s ancient, Charles. She’d be a widow inside three years.”