Constantine's Legacy: The Carolingians Series, #1

By Rhobin Lee Courtright

Raised by his aunt, whose learning made her a very unusual woman, Leonard knows it makes him different, too. His powerful father's duty has kept him from home, so at fifteen Leonard finds it unusual to now ride and learn the art of a warrior with his father, Radulf the Dux Provinciae. An important new duty will take his father and Leonard to Rome where chaos reigns. Three popes will hold power within a period of a few months, all while the Lombard king attempts to take the Church's lands for his own, and the Emperor Constantine V demands the Church regain his lands already conquered by Lombards. Only the Franks can save the Church, or maybe a lie conceived within the Church.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093856

Book preview

One

Anno Domini Nostri Jesu Christi 751, November, Soissons, Francia

In the year of our lord Jesus Christ, November 751, Soissons, France

Today, the world changed. Leonard looked across the courtyard where the last Merovingian do-nothing King Childerick III stood on the portico. Four of Maior Palatii Pepin’s men secured Chiderick though not much protection was needed. Others filled the courtyard, waiting for their leader in all but title to claim the power of his position.

Leonard raised his face to the day’s sunny warmth. Above the roofline of the wooden buildings encasing the courtyard, the distant tower of Saint Medard Abbey pointed into the sky toward heaven. Today’s cloudless sky enveloped the abbey and the gathering of men like the blue of the Virgin’s mantle, proof, perhaps, of God’s approval of what would take place. Bishop Bonifice would consecrate Pepin as Francorum rex, the Franks’ new king, in the church sanctuary tomorrow.

At least, so his father had declared. As if denying their relationship, he had ordered Leonard to address him by his title, Dux Radulf, especially in public. Leonard did not mind, for he hardly knew the man, except for his infrequent visits to his own manse, Albrecht. Radulf had added in a dry voice that today the long and madness-riddled dynasty of Clovis, the first Merovingian king, would end.

Leonard spoke to his charges. The bones of Saint Medard prove his power over good weather. For November, the saint has provided Maior Palatii Pepin a rare, summer-like day.

He lowered his gaze and smiled at the boys.

They stink. Karl, Pepin’s son, sniffed and nodded at the men crowding the courtyard. One of the day’s sporadic breezes caught the boy’s pale blond hair and blew it across his face. Karl pushed the strands away. He stood tall for his age, nearly to Leonard’s shoulders. I noticed their stench when we walked among them. They should have bathed before presenting themselves to their future king.

Your nose is too open, Nithgard said. Karl’s young cousin hung from a cross bar between portico supports, swinging from his extended arms. Nithgard, younger and smaller, made several exaggerated sniffs to show how his cousin sought out smells. And no one washes as much as you. Nithgard grinned as he shook the hair out of his eyes. He looked little like his cousin. Light reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes did not distinguish his blunt, child’s features.

You do not walk, you race, Leonard said, and roughed Nithgard’s hair while he looked around the courtyard. Your fathers will be displeased with your conduct.

Leonard knew both the boys’ minds and bodies galloped in wild activity. His charges’ antics had tried his patience during the wait for the meeting to begin, but Pepin had ordered him, probably at Radulf’s suggestion, to this duty. Pepin wanted young Karl and Nithgard to watch him take power, although they were too young to participate in the proceedings. Leonard was their watchdog, but Radulf had referred to the duty as guard.

Franks from all over Gallia gathered. Pepin’s loyal duces and comtes, bishops, and court officials, had come with their liegemen from Neustria. Others came from Burgundia, Provence, and Austrasia, and a few solemn-looking leaders arrived from Aquitaine. They stood in the courtyard, most dressed in the furs, leather, and linen common to the Franks. Leonard smiled. Franks had ruled ancient Gaul so long they called the land Francia.

The men’s voices created a drone of noise broken by sporadic shouts and laughter. The air held the scent of the wood burning in the center of the courtyard.

Those from Austrasia stood on the crowd’s edge. Leonard recognized their discontent and knew the reason for their sullen and edgy looks. Their leader, Pepin’s brother Carloman, had abdicated his position as their maior palatii to join a monastery.

Leonard also knew disguised enemies gathered here but felt surprise to find himself present. Until a year ago, he had never traveled. Now, he rode with Radulf every day and saw the world as he had never known it. His brief travels had expanded his concept of living outside the confined home he knew at Albrecht. He had lived with Radulf’s sister with infrequent visits from his father. Now Radulf wanted Leonard to become one of his liegemen. He did whatever his father asked, including learning the warriors’ craft in the harsh training drills his father ordered. His always aching body testified to that.

On the ride there, Radulf had told him how Roman Gallia had become Francia because the Franks held the land. Clovis, the first Frankish king, had claimed this villae, the home of the last Roman to hold power in Gallia. When Clovis defeated Syagrius, his Roman enemy’s home became Clovis’s favorite place, a sign of his power over Rome and the reason Pepin had chosen it for this gathering.

Today, as Clovis had claimed Roman’s power so long ago, Pepin would seize the power of Clovis and become Francorum rex, the king over all Frankish territory.

A subtle noise change in the crowd drew Leonard’s attention back to the courtyard.

There is your father, Karl said, pointing.

Karl’s comment drew attention from those standing nearby. Few there knew he was Radulf’s son. Many turned their heads to stare briefly at Leonard. He understood not only most Frankish dialects, but also Latin and Greek, so had heard the subtle slurs toward the ‘Roman,’ against Radulf, despite his Frankish name.

Leo’s gaze found his father on the porch gallery across the courtyard, holding position next to Pepin. His father stood a head taller than Pepin, but somehow appeared finer and more powerful than the other men standing behind Pepin. His short hair differed from most of the braided and chin-length hair of the other men, and his clean-shaven face made him stand out.

The first time Leonard had heard the slur Roman against Radulf, his father had looked at him and smiled. We have the blood of old Rome, not of Eastern Rome.

Is that why you shave?

Radulf had shrugged. Long hair and a full beard feel uncomfortable to me and itch.

His claim might be true, but Leonard thought his father blatantly proclaimed his Roman heritage to those who vilified his claim to power. This did not stop the haters of the Eastern Roman Empire and its emperor. To them, Roman was Roman. Most of Roman ancestry in Francia tended the land rather than ruled over it.

Some few in today’s crowd, like his father, wore costly silk garments beneath their leather and fur. Radulf always told him, Do not flaunt either ancestry or wealth, but do not hide your past or your possessions for fear of offending anyone. If they think we are Roman, well, such is the truth. Many Franks bear Roman blood. Most just do not acknowledge it.

Movement caught Leonard’s attention. He watched Childerick, the last Merovingian King, led to stand at Pepin's side. He also noticed his charges drew the stares of nearby men.

Karl and Nithgard exchanged casual insults while the younger boy hopped and twirled in circles. The portico’s wooden planks reverberated with the sound. Leonard returned to watchdog duty. He grabbed Nithgard to still him. Quiet! Both of you. Karl gave him a hurt look. Looking into the boy’s face he said, The change begins, and glanced at Childerick.

The young king appeared strange in his impassive withdrawal. With his chin tucked against his chest, the king’s gaze remained on some undefined place in the courtyard below him. His long hair fell behind his shoulders and his full beard brushed his tunica. Soon he would lose those last symbolic vestiges of his royal rank. Leonard felt no pity. If the monkish Childerick had ruled as a true leader, he would not be in such an ignoble position.

Nithgard pulled on his sleeve. Will they blind him, Leonard? He released his hold on the boy, who for once stood still and watched the scene across the courtyard.

The proceedings also held Karl’s attention. One hand lay against an upright pole, but Karl appeared to support the pole, not brace against it. Today, dressed in his heavily embroidered linen tunic, fair-haired Karl exuded confidence. An otter-skin vest covered his tunica like most of the Franks present, but a gold and garnet inlayed pin held his cloak at his right shoulder. His charisma attracted many at court. Leonard stared, envious of the younger boy’s bearing. Karl already seemed a leader, as if he belonged there.

It reminded Leonard, if not for Pepin’s request to watch Karl, he would not be present. His resultant view from the porch gallery opposite the proceedings made up for his duty. The Abbot Fulrad moved to stand a short distance from Childerick, and within his mind, Leonard heard his father’s words, Only power counts.

Unlike his father, even unlike Karl at his young age, Leonard knew he held none.

The rumble of voices faded, and Leonard looked at Pepin’s group.

Fulrad, the Abbot of Saint-Denis, his formal vestments swaying with his movement and holding a parchment before him, stepped to the front of Pepin’s group. Fulrad waved his hand downward in a signal for quiet and waited for silence.

Leonard noted Archbishop Bonifice also stood next to Pepin as Bishop Fulrad prepared to read the message. Months earlier, Pepin had sent Bishop Burchard of Wurzburg with Fulrad to Vicarius Christi Zacharias. Some in this crowd now called him Pope Zacharias. Radulf had escorted the clerics to Rome, taking Leonard with his troop of men.

Leonard, often warned about his curiosity, wondered at Pepin’s message to the great Bishop of Rome, and wondered at Bonifice’s part in the proceedings. Everyone knew those sent to Rome had returned a few days earlier with a message from Zacharias. While on escort duty, Radulf had talked to Leonard about fealty and training as they rode, explaining the land and some history along the way, but he never mentioned why they journeyed to Rome.

In great dignity, Fulrad raised the parchment. His voice echoed through the courtyard speaking in Latin.

His Holiness, Vicarius Christi Zacharias, Pastor of pastors, greets the Franks.

Nithgard elbowed his cousin Karl, who pushed back with equal vigor. Leonard grabbed both boys by their necks until they ceased their aggression. Sorrel brown hair fell over his left hand, blond over his right. He kept his grasp on them, giving each boy a hard, single shake. Quiet, I wish to hear.

Stupid talk. Nithgard twisted like an eel trying to escape the net. Like Karl’s. He stuck his tongue out at his cousin.

Karl cuffed Nithgard, who kicked in retaliation but hit Leonard’s shin instead. Leonard spread his arms wider, separating the boys further.

Across the courtyard, he heard Abbot Fulrad speaking, ...asked that Christ’s Vicar should give divine guidance in the matter of who should rule. Abbot Fulrad gave the sign of the cross. His voice sounded clear over the deep silence. Murmurs began to arise among those listening in the crowd as they crossed themselves, not understanding the Abbot’s words.

The blond headed boy squirmed under his grip, drawing his attention. Karl looked at Leonard with his great blue eyes. Eyes filled with all the innocence of the Virgin. Three-years older than his cousin, his back was bent uncomfortably in Leonard’s clasp.

Please Leonard, let go of my cloak. I can barely breathe.

Leonard released his grip, but experience told him to hold the smaller hellion.

Few of those present understood the Archbishop, so hushed questions hissed through the listeners. Quiet, the Vicarious Christi speaks, someone demanded in Frankish as voices rose among the gathered men.

What does the Vicarius Christi say? Karl asked, sotto-voice, his Latin unequal to the task of translation. At least he knew the bishop spoke Zacharias’s words.

He has decided, Leonard translated the words, in regard to the question of the king of the Franks, who leads by another’s power, does this make a rightful king? He noticed several men cock their heads in his direction, and he spoke a little louder. He should be king who possesses the royal power.

What does it mean? Nithgard asked loudly as he lifted his feet and curled his legs to swing from Leonard’s hand. The sudden weight pulled Leonard’s arm down. He shook Nithgard, and the boy regained his feet. Quashed laughter sounded from the men around them. Several comtes stood just below the porch where he and the boys stood. Smiles crossed their faces at the boy’s antics.

It means Childerick is no longer king, Leonard said, swallowing his groan. Radulf or Pepin would hear of his inability to control his charges, although the boys displayed the fighting lust and leadership common to well-bred Franks. Switching to Latin, he added sotto-voice, The line of kings for hundreds of years ends today. Before anyone could ask what he said, he hushed his charges. Despite their fathers’ insistence, their uncle claimed Karl and his six-year-old cousin Nithgard were too young to be at so important a gathering of men. Leonard agreed. In short order, with a low voiced threat and a cuff or two, he had the boys in order.

In controlling, Karl and Nithgard, Leonard missed the rest of the bishop’s reading. He wished he could read the vellum the Abbot held and decipher Vicarius Christi Zacharias’ message for himself. Radulf accused him of being monkish and more suitable to be a scribe. He often said, You get your curiosity from my sister. She collects parchments with too much passion.

Leonard frowned, looking at the men near Pepin. In these unsettled times, all men maneuvered for position and power, and none with more finesse than Karl’s father Pepin. He sought power over his brother’s kingdom of Austrasia as well as his own kingdom of Neustria. Since his brother Carloman’s abdication, Pepin had nearly achieved his desire. If he could but hold it.

Pepin turned and spoke to Bonifice before speaking to the Comtes of Austrasia and Neustria who surrounded him, at least those greatest in their loyalty to Pepin. Childerick III already knelt between two of Pepin’s men, a broken and bewildered man. Pepin stepped forward and spoke. By this exhortation from our great spiritual leader in Rome, Vicarius Christi Zacharias, the Franks of standing shall decide on this king.

Many voices rose at once, with different shouts in different languages peppering the assembly, End this useless reign. Remove this coward. Remove Childerick!

By God’s decree, and the voice of the Franks, Childerick is disposed as the Francorum rex. Pepin turned to his men. Shave him.

Reflected sun gleamed on the short sax sword blade, showing its slashing movement, and Childerick’s luxuriant long beard and his equally long hair fell in rough swipes of the blade. They tonsured him as befitted a monk. Childerick remained motionless, stripped of the symbols of kingship and manhood, waiting to hear his fate.

Leo, will they blind him now? Nithgard asked again. His excited voice sounded much louder than a whisper and interrupted Leonard’s investigation of his own emerging facial growth. He lowered his hand.

I do not know, maybe not at all. He began as a frater, and it appears, will end as one, Leonard said.

Radulf had told him Pepin found Childerick, the last descendant of Clovis, in a monastery a few years ago. After many years without a legitimate king, the crafty Pepin and his brother Carloman had needed a figurehead to settle political disputes between the unruly Frank provinces. Now, with Carloman retired to a monastery, Pepin had found a way to dispose of his last obstacle to complete power.

Only six years Karl’s elder, Leonard felt their keen disappointment at the lack of bloodshed. It matched his own. He shrugged. Only those capable of leadership are blinded. No one would ever follow such a fool.

But he was king! Nithgard said.

A frown line formed between Karl’s brows with his cousin’s exclamation. His family was descended from gods. The stories all say so.

Perhaps, but he descended from the old gods, and a water demon at that, not the true God at all. Your father wielded the power in all but name, and now the God of Christ says Pepin is the rightful king.

Then my father is king? Karl asked.

Overhearing, Dux Bernard turned to look at his nephews from where he stood a short distance from them on the portico. Both of your parents carry the blood of Clovis, but by Vicarius Christi Zacharias’s decree, and the Franks’ will, Pepin will be king. If you are a brave leader, nephew, then someday, so shall you be. While speaking he stepped closer to tousle Karl’s long hair.

Will they raise my father on a shield? Karl’s eyes shimmered with excitement at the prospect, his head turned to Bernard, seeking the answer.

Leonard kept a respectful silence. Not only was the dux brother to Karl’s mother, he claimed the same descent from Clovis.

He will be anointed with God’s grace—this is how Franks will now become kings. What other ceremonies will happen, waits to be seen, Bernard smiled at the boys, turned, and walked away with one of his men.

Karl watched as Pepin’s close circle of advisers followed the maior palatii, soon to be anointed king, into the building behind them. He pulled on Leonard’s sleeve, leading him to a section of the porch free of men. Even in this apparent privacy, he lowered his voice. Come, I will show you something special.

What? Leonard asked, wary.

You will see! Come.

Tell me and I will decide.

It will not be a surprise if I do. Please, Leonard.

Please, Leonard, I want to see! Nithgard pleaded.

You must be quiet, Karl said, turning on his cousin.

I will, I swear by Jesu’s blood. Nithgard’s hands moved in the oath pledge and his face lost all trace of guile except his too eager smile.

Leonard cuffed the boy’s head. Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.

Leonard? You will come? Karl looked so hopeful, and Leonard liked the boy enough not to disappoint him.

He nodded. Show me.

Karl grinned, his eyes bright, as he swiveled to lead the way.

Karl! His mother called from behind them. Karl ignored her.

Leonard grabbed Karl’s arm and twirled him about to greet his approaching parent. He briefly glanced at the boy’s petulant expression, yet one did not ignore the sister of a great landowner like Dux Bernard from Laon, and the wife of the soon-to-be king. With the dispersal of the crowd, Bertha approached. A gaggle of women followed her. She walked forward carrying her infant son, Carloman. Leonard noticed Bertha wore silks and linens dyed in red and purple under her heavy outer fur-lined robe. Women, Leonard remembered from his father’s advice, always sought rare fabrics and jewels. It seemed true with the Maior Palatii’s wife. She wore garnet rings and a large garnet and pearl necklace, and the silk borders edging her long wool tunica bore the ornamentation of elaborate embroidery encrusted with more garnets.

Greetah, Mother.

Leonard glanced at his charge. Karl’s words seemed unduly forced.

While Bertha talked with Karl, Leonard’s gaze fell upon the woman trailing behind Pepin’s wife, the one who filled his night dreams with lustful yearning his concubine, Oda, could not slake. Adelberga smiled as she caught his gaze. Only a few years his senior, Adelberga already served Bertha. Flaxen braids wrapped around her head, and her finely sculpted features set her apart in the court. Although Adelberga did not wear the jeweled wealth of Bertha, her dress and tunica were beautiful. However much he desired Adelberga, she remained untouchable, the wife of the Comte Langres, his uncle, the only remaining legitimate son among Radulf’s brothers.

She stirred his body and inspired his mind with desire, unlike his slave Oda, who was a gift from Radulf. He relieved his body’s drives on Oda’s skinny shanks, but she seldom talked, never laughed, and rolled away when he was done. Radulf had told him men had mishandled Oda at too young an age and advised him to be kind to her. He never hit Oda or yelled at her in anger, yet great difference existed between a compliant animal and coveting a high-spirited and well-bred mare. Oda cringed. Adelberga preened.

Bertha spoke, drawing his mind from its wanderings.

Did you watch and listen? Bertha asked, cupping her son’s face with her palm. Today’s events change your life.

Karl eyed his mother with a mix of pride and impatience. My father’s too.

Very true. Bertha turned her blue gaze on Leonard. Karl likes you, Leonard. You have done a good job of keeping these two from disrupting the proceedings. I am sure Radulf must be proud of you.

It was an easy duty, domina, Leonard assured her while wishing her claim true. Radulf felt no pride in his son. He envied the look in Bertha’s face as she looked at her son. His own mother had died birthing a sister who also died, and his aunt had never been demonstrative.

I suppose it is too much to expect you to return to your tutor before this evening’s banquet?

I will make up for it tomorrow. Karl assured his mother.

Nithgard hopped in twirling circles. Bertha called his name and motioned the boy to her side. And you, young one, were you impressed by today’s events?

They did not blind him. Are they going to?

Oh, my! You are bloodthirsty, are you not?

I have not ever seen it done. Will the men raise my uncle on his shield?

Bertha smiled. We all have to wait to see what happens.

Is Karl a prince?

He will be when Boniface gives the blessing to his father tomorrow.

Do I have to bow to him? And say yes all the time? I do not think it will be any fun.

Karl shoved Nithgard. Like you would anyway. You are always most disrespectful, even your father says so.

Nithgard stuck out his tongue.

Ahh! Your tongue skills display a good way to collect bird shit, Karl admonished his cousin.

Enough, Bertha said. She glanced at Leonard. You will continue to watch them?

Yes, domina. He nodded his head in respect.

Good. You boys behave for Leonard. Come, Adelberga, I am exhausted and wish to rest. She transferred her baby son Carloman to her woman.

Leonard treasured the smile on Adelberga’s beautiful face before she followed in the wake of her mistress. Karl was already pulling his arm. Come, Leonard, you must come.

Me, too! Nithgard pulled on Karl’s tunic.

No, you are stupid and will tell everyone.

No I will not! I did not tell your mother anything.

Let him come, Karl. Leonard wanted to leave and a touch of curiosity pushed him. He frowned at Nithgard. Swear to Karl!

Nithgard’s expression turned solemn as he faced his cousin, and Leonard nearly laughed. He contained himself remembering his own first oath.

I swear by Jesu’s blood to be loyal to you, and keep all your secrets, Nithgard spoke his word in earnest tones.

Karl nodded in a suitably regal fashion. I accept your oath.

Leonard hid his amusement. The oath was not in any normal form, but it satisfied Karl. He poked a finger into Nithgard’s chest. Remember, you have given your oath to remain silent.

Nithgard nodded. His eyes flicked to Karl. I promise as Leonard has witnessed.

Karl’s eyes squinted at Leonard. You will not tell anyone, will you?

I give you my oath, also, to always be your loyal man. His words went far beyond the required, and Karl’s regard showed he knew it. Leonard looked directly into Karl’s clear blue eyes, perceptive enough to realize he might be swearing to his future king, but a flicker of doubt deepened his voice, which promptly cracked into a higher pitch. Both boys laughed. He glared at them through his embarrassment. Their humor at his expense ceased.

Karl’s smile widened further. Follow me. He took fast steps toward the main building. Nithgard ran after Karl’s longer stride. Leonard sighed, wondering what trouble he had agreed to.

You swore to be quiet! Karl warned as he slid between two wooden portico slats.

No, I swore not to tell, Nithgard replied, lowering his shrill child’s voice to a whisper.

What was an adequate space for a large nine year old was a tight squeeze for Leonard. He pulled his body between the wooden slats hiding the understructure of the porch. He ducked low to avoid hitting his head on support beams, swore softly, and followed the boys as they squirmed their way through the debris beneath the porch flooring. The strong scent of earth and human waste assaulted his nose. Karl and Nithgard were quickly far ahead of him down the length of the building. Crawling, he swore again and saw the boys’ shadowed shapes disappear. He hurried forward, sometimes in a hunched-over walk and sometimes in a near crawl using his hands on supports to help pull himself forward. The light from between the slats diminished as he turned the corner where the boys had disappeared. He watched their shadowed movements through the foundation supports of the building. It took his eyes a moment to readjust to the near pitch darkness, but some light filtered in from the floor slats overhead. Losing sight of his charges, he followed the whispers ahead of him. A hand pulled him to the side, and he let out a low squeal at the assault.

Quiet! Karl hissed in his ear, just a little further.

They crawled down what seemed a crack in the earth and piled into a small space between support beams. Leonard flopped down, supporting his back against one of the beams, and saw the boys only as dark outlines except for the dim light’s reflection in their eyes.

Here, Karl whispered. We can listen to the council meet.

Leo’s heart tripped in fear. How had he let himself be dragged into eavesdropping on his leader’s private conference? If caught, he would be whipped. He could feel the lashes. Although he had never been whipped, he had seen it done.

It was too late to retreat. Footsteps sounded on the floor planks above their secluded spot. From the sound, he judged several men stood overhead. Hearing the voices above him, he dare not speak. He swallowed in panic, recognizing his father’s voice. Leonard knew he was committing an act of treachery. He glared at Karl, who must have seen his look, for he shrank back against the opposite beam.

I cannot see anything, what...? As Nithgard’s near normal voice broke their stillness, Leonard quickly grabbed him and put a hand over the child’s mouth. Nithgard did not squirm for release but held deathly still. The enlarged gleam of the boy’s eyes showed his shock. Nithgard faced no punishment for his actions. Most likely Karl did not face discipline either, but Leonard knew as their guardian, he would suffer the consequence if anyone discovered his charges’ location. If not by Pepin’s order, by his father’s hand, maybe both. With what he hoped was a blood-curdling whisper, he demanded, Quiet.

With dismay, Leonard heard Maior palatii Pepin speak. The first step is complete. I have ordered the scribes to draw up copies for the missi to deliver the news to all the magnati, including those of Austrasia who failed to come.

A voice, Dux Bernard of Laon, heard but a few minutes before, spoke. Jesu’s blessings on you, Pepin. You have unmade a king and ended a dynasty. May your dynasty reign as long.

Perhaps not the first step. Your father, Maior palatii Karl, took that in Poitier in defeating the Saracens. Leonard recognized the deep baritone of his father, and felt a chill run up his spine. But certainly, today’s events are an excellent and a vast improvement for governing the Franks. Only with a king who holds unified power can we protect our lands from our enemies.

Leonard wanted to move, to escape, but knew the noise of any action might be heard. He felt sweat along his brow and dripping down his hairline at this accidental eavesdropping. The voices continued, unaware of their hidden presence.

And take back our rightful lands. Pepin