187. Hooves and Horns.
187. Hooves and Horns.
"What is that sound? You say riders have arrived at Sisak?"
Regensburg. The heart of Bavaria, the city where Charlemagne's eastern campaigns began and ended.
The very reason Carloman had so desperately wanted Bavaria, the reason he had dared to rebel against his father.
Perhaps because it was a place that practically symbolized the power of East Frankia. The presence of Carloman seated upon the highest chair of the palace, and the Comes gathered below him, was overwhelming for a messenger who had ridden hard all the way from the eastern lands.
"Is it the Bulgars? Or have the Moravians dragged in some new friends? How entertaining it has become, in any case. Father has been paying such keen attention to the second son in the Saxon lands, and yet enemies have invaded the south of the empire. Truly, it has become entertaining."
Even though he heard the messenger's urgent tone and the pressing news that Sisak was in danger. Carloman, the ruler of Bavaria, merely lifted his firm chin and smiled softly.
In his mind, the city of Sisak was nothing but a frontier outpost where Croats made up half the population and direct governance was difficult anyway.
It was a fortress originally built to stem the tide of heathens attempting to enter Bavaria, so it could be said to have fulfilled its duty.
"Gebhard, my beloved Comes. Speak, how should we govern those lawless heathens?"
The man singled out by Carloman, whose manner was at once languid and vigorous, was none other than Gebhard. A warrior with shoulders as broad as Carloman's own, a renowned lord of northern Bavaria.
Rising unabashedly, befitting his great bulk and fierce presence, he addressed Carloman.
"As Carlomannus Bavariae, King Carloman of Bavaria, has inquired, I cannot but answer! Carloman, my King! It would be right to dispatch reinforcements to Sisak immediately, but with the sowing season upon us, we must move with God's caution. I believe the lords of adjacent regions should each move while leaving the necessary manpower for sowing, but if the King wills it, Lahngau will march!"
Lahngau was a great fief in northern Bavaria. This Comes, who was for the moment more loyal to Carloman than to the Imperator of East Frankia, seemed to privately wish that southern affairs be resolved by the south.
And for good reason. The Imperator, situated between Saxony and Bavaria, had recently been directing all his attention to the second son in Saxony, citing unsettling movements in the North Sea.
'Could it be that Father intends the second son as his heir...?' Though he knew the law of the Franks was strict, Carloman, who had rebelled against his father to seize Bavaria last time, understood all too well just how powerful a ruler the Imperator of East Frankia was, and so he could not divert his gaze.
"Lahngau is the frontline against the northern threat, so it cannot be moved recklessly. Still, since we do not know the true intentions of those mounted heathens, we should muster a force of roughly similar size to confront them. Gebhard, as my princeps militiae, order the Dux of all Bavaria to command his Comes and assemble at Salzburg."
They cannot outrun the speed of those nomads anyway. Krain, in the southeast where Sisak stood, was a region without proper governance to begin with.
It was heartbreaking, but if those nomads filled their bellies and turned back, the damage the Krain region suffered could be fully restored afterwards.
'However, if their goal is not simple plunder, they will eventually have to take the mountain paths or come in by a wide detour. Whichever they choose, we can respond swiftly from Salzburg.'
Who could possibly be behind them? In any case, the list of candidates was long. His father? The cousin in Italy? The Emperor of East Rome?
Contrary to his leisurely demeanor, Carloman was a monarch long renowned for his outstanding military prowess.
Though he had been captured by his father once, that was due to the excellence of Imperator Ludovicus, not any deficiency in Carloman's own ability.
"I shall follow God's command. My King."
Carloman of Bavaria, who alongside his younger brother Louis of Saxony stood out in the viper's nest that was the East Frankish royal house, rose vigorously from his seat and gazed out the window.
Regensburg. The place where his ancestor Carolus Magnus had unfurled his grand ambitions. What was there that he himself could not do?
The wearisome Easter, the sowing season—rather than such things, a once-in-a-lifetime event that would set Carloman's heart racing surely awaited outside.
*****
"They're slow. These bastards are too slow."
Before the wooden palisade of Sisak, Árpád chewed on well-dried mutton jerky. Since he had eaten horse jerky yesterday, today was mutton day. Adding a little honey brought down from the North Sea made for a quick meal.
"Gyula! It's all done boiling, just taste it! It's quite edible!"
War for the nomads was synonymous with plunder.
Even if Sisak right before his eyes was a fortress made entirely of wood and looked quite sturdy, the limitation of such a fortress was that, while it might be good at safeguarding people's lives, it could not block an expansive land.
Having never neglected intelligence gathering on the powers beyond while confronting the Bulgars, Árpád did not underestimate the Franks' strength in the slightest and was approaching with the utmost caution.
In any case, what Félag of the North Sea desired was to divert their attention. In other words, the Magyars were to be the beaters, driving the prey for the hunter called Félag.
So that the quarry called Frank might let its guard down and expose its neck.
But what was this? He had probed them roughly just once, and these bastards' reaction was even more sluggish than expected.
"Now, now! Overthinking is not good either. On the steppe, they say you must eat when you can eat! Here, put at least a bowlful into your belly."
The son of Kond, the chieftain commanding the left wing of Árpád's army. Kurszán, who was also Árpád's close friend, made a fuss as he brought over a bowl of some unidentifiable stew.
Though Sisak was an unimpressive fortress, the land around it was truly fertile. Fortunately for the Magyars and the local Franks and Croats, the grain stores still held edible provisions, and Árpád's expeditionary army could fill both their bellies and their provision sacks.
"Thank you, Kurszán."
"Don't mention it. Ehehe~"
Taking a spoonful of the bowl Kurszán offered, it was a hodgepodge stew made by pouring water into a cauldron and tossing in hard bread, salt meat, spices from East Rome, and honey from the North Sea.
'Why is this delicious?'
"Slurp— slurp—"
Kurszán, who had plopped down beside Árpád as he emptied the bowl in an instant, grinned and looked toward Sisak.
"Gyula. I heard that even the Bulgars can't even twitch before those Franks, but aren't they more vulnerable than expected?"
"Slurp— I think so too. Or they are using this whole palisade as bait, waiting for us."
"Huh? Waiting? Ah— that could be. You mean they are setting a trap?"
"Yes, Kurszán. I heard this is the outskirts of East Frankia. If we go a little deeper in, a more proper response will come."
[Swish—]
As Árpád gathered his bowl and rose, Kurszán too brushed off his clothes and stood up.
"We must move again at dawn tomorrow. Send scouts to the north and tell the warriors to prepare."
"Yes! Gyula!"
'If you will not come, then I shall go myself. O ruler of East Frankia. Let us see just how much you must be plundered before you deign to show that precious face of yours. I shall watch and see.'
Along with the thought that this was a surprisingly decent land, the rich grasslands he had seen on the way here surfaced in Árpád's mind.
Though it was supposedly within the Bulgars' sphere of influence, the sight of settled folk and small-scale nomads living mingled here and there. The land north of the great river, where one could feel no Bulgar dominion at all.
A new ambition, unbeknownst even to himself, had taken root in Árpád's heart.
*****
While Carloman of Bavaria assessed the Magyar threat and racked his brain to pin it as his father's blunder, his father, the Imperator Ludovicus of East Frankia, was clutching his head in the face of the increasingly tangible great threat from the north.
"Werner IV... is there no particular word from Louis of Saxony?"
Werner. A descendant of a prestigious family whose ancestors first made their name on the Saar River in West Frankia and then continued crossing eastward, seizing the western fiefs of Franken, where the Imperator of East Frankia had established his seat.
This illustrious house, already passing the name Werner down for four generations, was called by the Franks, after its place of origin, the Salier.
Werner, who served Imperator Ludovicus as treasurer, administrator, and diplomatic advisor, bowed his head in response to the Imperator's grave tone.
"Imperator. That is... Louis of Saxony has reported that there are no particular signs yet, and even if something untoward should occur, Saxony can resolve it on its own."
"What? He can resolve it on his own? Hahaha—"
This Louis, the fellow has gone mad.
Ludovicus, who had just barely managed to tear his gaze from Werner—who was bowing deeply merely for the sin of relaying a messenger's words—stared at the ceiling, overcome by a dizzy sensation.
'They are my sons, but truly remarkable. The eldest waged war to demand Bavaria, and now the second son tells me to mind my own God-forsaken business? At this rate, I might even look forward to what nonsense my third son in Alemannia will spout!'
Ludovicus continued to emit hollow laughter. Though he likely did not know it, this situation was precisely what they called karma in the distant East.
Had not Ludovicus himself been a filially-devoted son who rebelled against his own father every year? Indeed, compared to him, the eldest in Bavaria and the second son in Saxony should be said to have gentler natures.
He did not dare voice it aloud, but Ludovicus, who was likely recalling such episodes from his own life, finally hung his head and muttered quietly.
"I truly did my father unforgivable wrongs. Unforgivable wrongs."
Raising the banner of revolt against his father, attempting to kill his younger half-brother Carlus of West Frankia, and fighting a bloody war with his own elder brother, Lothair I.
For what had he fought so fiercely? Had he shed so much blood just to finally see his own sons viewing Ludovicus himself not as a father, but as a political rival?
Yet, to be of the Frankish royal blood was to bear the destiny of accepting all of this.
Even if he regretted it, his father and elder brother, now in their coffins, would not return to life. Ludovicus had to continue carrying out the duty of the survivor.
"Werner. Helgi Ragnarsson, the new master of those beast-like Norsemen, is a figure who must never be taken lightly. I do not fail to recognize your efforts, but to Louis of Saxony— no. Send word directly to Otto, who should be in Hamburg. Tell him the Norsemen will move soon and he must prepare."
Paderborn and Hamburg, cities his great grandfather had personally established. Saxony was a place steeped in the very blood and sweat of this entire Frankish Empire.
It could never fall. Although it was partitioned into three, the Frankish Empire was the successor of Western Rome directly recognized by the Pope. Ludovicus himself, the Imperator of East Frankia, was not Widukind of Saxony, who had been defeated by his grandfather in olden days and died a lonely death.
"And, I shall have to send some men to the Obotrites and to Frisia."
His nephew in Lotharingia, Lothair II, had not given a proper reply to his last letter. This, in a sense, was likely a result Ludovicus himself had brought about.
'Everyone around me is turning their back on me.'
Now moving beyond hollow laughter to a bitter smile, Ludovicus shook his head again.
"The Obotrites I can understand. Imperator, but as for Frisia?"
To Werner, who asked with a puzzled look, Ludovicus answered.
"Hrólfr is in Dorestad, in Frisia. He and I share the memory of fighting against my half-brother in West Frankia together, so he might help us. Moreover, if those Norsemen have finally set their minds on crossing the wall and coming down, would Frisia be safe?"
"Your words are just, Imperator."
Beyond the bowed back of Werner's head, Ludovicus thought of Hrólfr of Dorestad.
He will help me. For it would be to Frisia's benefit.
Will he not?
☆☆☆☆☆Reference☆☆☆☆☆
Maximilian Dörrbecker (Chumwa), CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
The locations of Regensburg and Salzburg. And Árpád's advance route...!!!
The mountain range blocking the way is none other than the famous Alps...!!! Since Árpád is no Hannibal...! He's going around, lol