It was the only great victory Odo could claim, unsung as it was, and it was all he knew then of the making of war, for standing as he did behind his shieldwall on the River Garonne, had brought him nothing but defeat and dishonor.
“We will find this narrow place,” Charles pointed at him, standing up boldly, his shoulders square, his blue eyes bright with the fire of battle under locks of fair blonde hair. “And yes, Odo, I will stand there. But we will not feign retreat in the manner of the Visigoths. It did them little good in Hispania, eh? My scouts have already selected the place for battle, astride the Old Roman road on a low hill. There I will take the main strength of this army, and we will dig a trench and plant our shields deep. One flank, on our right, we anchor on the river, the other against heavy woodland to the east.”
“They have archers!” Odo argued still. “The will tease and rush in, and unleash volley after volley upon your infantry. And many will die. When you are sufficiently bled, then the main attack will be made, like a mailed fist, for their host will array themselves in five parts. One shall ride in the van, and another to the rear. But the heavy horse he will hold in three parts in the center.”
“Our men are well armored,” said Charles, unconcerned. “Their helms are strong and their tunics are laced with iron and thick leather. We will endure, and if their archers will not cause us to flee, then the enemy must send in his horsemen, in as many parts as he may desire. We will let them come and hew them down behind our shieldwall.”
“They are heavy horse,” said Odo. “You have not seen their like in any of your feuds to the north. They will come with barbed lances, throwing javelins and wielding their cruel curved swords. You cannot endure such a charge with the numbers they bring! I fought in this manner on the River Garonne, and it went ill.”
“We will endure,” said Charles. “Let them come and we will stand. They will break upon the ranks of my chieftains and strong men at arms, and then, when the moment is right, I will sound the horn call to summon your cavalry.”
“You will summon me? Will I not be already embroiled in the fight?”
“You will stand on my left flank, lying in wait by the woods and making certain the enemy footmen do not use it to infiltrate and threaten our rear. Send out scouts and harriers as well, for the enemy is heavily laden with booty. They carry with them all they have pillaged in coming to this place. Their camp must be close at hand.”
“Yes,” said Odo, his face reddening with anger. “They have taken the fat of Aquitaine, horses, livestock, wives and children to be pressed into slavery. They will make a great camp, blotting the land with their tents! There I should strike them, and bring just retribution upon them for the crimes they have committed.”
“You will not,” shouted Charles. “Harry them, yes, prick at them, nip at their heels, but you will not commit the main body of your horsemen until I give the order.”
Odo shook his head, willful and obstinate, but Charles pointed a thick, gloved finger at him and fixed him with heavy eyes. “You will do this, or you may go, Odo. You have sworn fealty to me and my Palace. Hostages were taken to stiffen your pledge, and I command here, or would you have me lead this army away, and face the enemy yourself? Disobey and those we hold in keeping will all be slain. And then, when I have broken these Saracen heathens, I will turn my men upon your house and burn every living thing to the ground should you betray me now!”
Odo looked at him, squinting in the torchlight, his wounded eye puckered and still swollen, his brow lined and sweaty with the heat of argument. He had but three thousand horsemen, if even that. Charles commanded fifteen thousand heavy infantry, and thousands more in levies he commandeered from every town and hamlet as he marched to this place.
The other lords and chieftains closed ranks about Charles, and they would stand with him, come what may. Odo was alone again, isolated, a wounded old war horse, saddled and bridled, destined to plow the fields at Charles’ whim.
“As you wish,” he said unhappily. There was nothing more he could do, and he turned and left the council, his cheeks hot and the blood high on his neck.
“As you wish,” he said to himself in the cold night airs outside. “But we shall see who stands or falls when the battle is joined, bastard usurper. We shall see.”
Chapter 27
“Yes,” said Nordhausen. “I remember the line now… With Christ’s help he overturned their tents! The Continuator of the Chronicles of Fredegar wrote it. He was speaking of Charles, but it wasn’t Charles at all! The tents would have been well to the rear, in a clearing or on a small hill. Paul shifted in to scout out the area where we thought they might be located, but saw nothing at all—not even a battle underway. But that was on another Meridian!”
He had a grasp on something now, pulling his thoughts together quickly. “Maeve changed things. Lambert and Grimwald die as they should, and Charles wins the power struggle with Plectrude. And so now the battle is where we thought it would be, and the horses… They aren’t livestock taken as pillage by the Moors, no! It’s Odo and his cavalry!”
“Odo? You mean the Duke of Aquitaine?”
“Precisely!” Robert was shaken with the clarity and simplicity of it now. “The Pushpoint lies with him. It was Odo and his light horsemen that Charles thought to hold in reserve for an opportune moment. I can’t blame the man. Paul explained it all to me. The Franks are badly outnumbered when it comes to cavalry in this battle. Charles wanted Odo on his left rear flank, which he considered his weakest point given the firmness of the ground there. But Odo had other ideas. He was headstrong and quite stubborn, stolidly independent. Why, he had even gone so far as to ally himself with the Moors at one point so he could quiet his southernmost front and better confront the incursions of the Austrasians and Neustrians to the north. He was the willful beast! Not the damn horse!”
The Abbot was following along as best he could, at once excited yet still somewhat confused.
“Yes,” said Robert. “Odo was to be held in reserve behind Charles and his Infantry. But I’ll reckon he was most unhappy.”
The Abbot was truly surprised as the professor rambled on, speaking more to himself now.
“And here we thought it was Dodo all along—All we had to do was drop one letter to land on the real culprit. Curious how the accounts of these events are so rife with double meaning,” he said. “No my dear Abbot, the willful beast is the Duke Odo of Aquitaine. He’s was quite the rogue from what we know in the history.”
“Odo, and not the horse?” Emmerich was uncertain. “Yet your sources describe the Arabian steed, the eye, the fire of his hooves. Then something seemed to occur to the Abbot and he shrugged, “Well I suppose it could refer to Odo’s eye as well.“
“What that?” Nordhausen cocked his head to one side, curious. “Odo’s eye?”
“He was wounded,” said the Abbot. “Took a few hard blows upon his helm when he tried to stop the Saracens earlier this year. Some say he’s gone daft in the head, and his eye is still blackened from his earlier defeat on the River Garonne. It’s been slow to heal.”
“You’re certain of this?” said Nordhausen.
“Of course we are,” said the Abbot. “Because Odo is here, at this very moment. Right here in the city. He was waiting here for Charles to arrive with the main Frankish infantry, and he arrived some days ago, just in time to repulse the Saracen rush to take this place. Abdul Rahman has correctly assessed that he may have more in front of him than a few stubborn men at arms now, and he appears to be waiting while he gathers the full strength of his army before proceeding further. The two sides have been skirmishing for several days.”