John Schettler - Anvil of Fate

“No!”came a voice close by the governor’s ear. “The heavy cavalry!”

Abdul Rahman wheeled his horse about and saw the grey eyed Emir, Abdul Samad. “Did I not say it?” The Emir shouted at his general. “We should not fight here in this narrow place! Did I not warn you our tents were ill guarded? You must hold the reins tightly, my lord. Heed not these stirrings of unrest or the mighty host will flee, and many will die a martyr’s death on this gray road!” He pointed to the old stony road built by the Romans so many centuries ago.

Abdul Rahman reddened with anger, and he spurred his horse, riding out with the fire of battle in his heart to rally his men and turn them back to the battle with the Franks. But seeing the enemy give way, and quickly surmising what was happening, the Frankish general shouted at his men to take up their shields where they had long been planted and dinted with the barbs of the enemy lances. His soldiers raised their long broadswords, wet with the blood of their enemies, and with one voice they called out as they charged, sweeping down the slope of the hill in the wake of the fleeing horsemen, carrying all before them as they came.

Caught up in the swirl of battle, Abdul Rahman cried out, his curved scimitar raised high, when an arrow struck him full in the throat, choking off his voice and life. The sword of Islam had broken and died on the anvil of fate.

Nordhausenwas back, safely through the Arch and up in the lab now, where Paul and the others warmly greeted him. They were eager to hear his tale, and Kelly sat with one eye on the Golem monitors.

“You barely made it,” he said. “The singularity has developed a pretty bad wobble on the spin now. But I managed to compensate and pull you through.”

“In one piece, I hope,” said Robert, remembering what had happened to Rantgar. “Well, has it changed?” he asked, still somewhat breathless from the Time shift.

“We don’t know yet,” said Kelly. “I’ve only just regained control of the Golems, and I’m putting them back to work as foragers. It may take a while before a weight of opinion forms and we can get some reliable data.”

“Where did you go?” asked Paul.

Nordhausen told them of the abbey and his host, and the rubbing he had been called upon to translate. “It was a rubbing from the stela unearthed at Rosetta,” he explained. “They thought it might be the last clue they needed to unravel the weave,” he said. “But things were very unsettled there. The Berbers had come within arrow shot of the abbey, and Emmerich, the Abbot, had been busy packing off anything he could save. The scriptorium was a near shambles when I arrived.”

He told them of his long conversation with Emmerich, and how he had learned of that last note received from allies in the future. “They seemed to be in some difficulty,” he concluded. “But the note was very pointed. Just two words: Not Charles! It was then that I began to remember everything we had uncovered and discussed about the battle, and I made some rather alarming conclusions.”

When he had shared his thesis, Paul nodded his head. “Militarily, what you propose would make perfect sense. There is nothing Odo could have done by simply throwing in his lighter horsemen to reinforce Charles at a critical moment in the battle. How would they get through the throng? That sort of Cavalry is best used to surprise the enemy at the flank or rear, and unhinge the main attack by an indirect means.” He looked at Maeve, waiting for her to weigh in before he said anything more.

“It sounds reasonable to me,” she said. “But my god, the layers and layers of meaning in those lines from the stela are confounding! Every time we read them we were able to bend the words to fit the scenario we had concocted. They seemed to make perfect sense.”

“Motivation defines perception,” said Kelly. “We saw what we wanted to see, and perhaps that was all there was to it.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Paul. “It’s clear from what Robert has told us that the other side had no inkling that Odo might be the lynchpin here. They were bending all their resources at preventing Charles from taking power. Yet, in each intervention we made, the phrases from that stela did indeed make a good fit. This scribe Kelly told us about, Hamza, may have known more than we think if he carved them. My guess is that there was no single Pushpoint that could move an event of this magnitude. It took intervention at many places on the Meridian, the operation in 705 against Lambert, then in 714 involving Grimwald, and finally here at the battle in 732. It’s as if they were trying to bring down a building, and needed to blow the supports out on the lower floors first. Simply flying an airplane into it in a single operation wouldn’t do the job.”

Maeve considered things for a moment. “The horses gathered at the farm, at the ferry, and were gathered as well by Odo at the battle.”

“Loose twine everywhere!” said Robert. “And what about that last line on the stela? I remember it now, ‘For the unseen one that comes in the dusk shall unseat all….’ First we thought it was Dodo, riding at dusk to kill the Bishop Lambert. Then we drop the ‘D’ and it’s Odo, coming at dusk upon the enemy camp.”

“Possibly,” said Maeve. “But it could just as easily have been referring to a certain Professor Nordhausen, coming at dusk to the Abbey of Marmoutier!” She winked at him.

“Well, that’s an encouraging spin on the history,” said Robert with a smile.

“Speaking of that…” Kelly was pulling data from the Golem file now. “We’re getting some early returns. What was the name of that Chronicle you cited about this battle?”

“Try the Chronicles of Fredegar,” said Robert, and Kelly had a file up in a few minutes.

“Here’s a passage describing the first charge of the Muslims when they tried to break through to Charles …. ’The Muslim horsemen dashed fierce and frequent forward against the battalions of the Franks, who resisted manfully, and many fell dead on either side… The men of the North… a sea of arms that could not be moved… a wall; and drawn up in a band around their chief… with great blows of their swords they hewed down their enemy. Their tireless hands drove their swords down to the breasts of the foe.”

“Sounds like Charles’ personal guard was holding the line,” said Maeve.

“There’s more,” said Kelly. “Charles boldly drew up his battle line against them and the Warriors rush in… With Christ’s help he overturned the tents—“

“That line there!” said Robert. “That was the line I recalled when I was with the Abbot. The Continuator of the Chronicles here was buttering up the history a bit, at least I believed as much. How could Charles have overthrown the tents if he was locked in mortal combat with the Saracen heavy horsemen?”

“Right,” said Paul. The writer was ascribing the victory to Charles, and therefore every aspect of the battle was presented as his doing.”

“You’ve got that right,” said Kelly, reading again. “And Charles hastened to battle and grind them small in slaughter. The King, Abdul, having been killed, he destroyed them, driving forth the army, and he fought and won. Thus did the victor triumph over his enemies!”

“Then we did it!” Robert folded his arms, satisfied. “The Franks win the battle now! That’s from the Golems?”

“Right from the horse’s mouth,” said Kelly.

“No mention of Odo?”

“There certainly won’t be any mention of the upstart Duke,” said Maeve. “It wouldn’t be kosher. After all, Odo had gone so far as to ally himself with the enemy at one point, and remained an embittered opponent of Charles until his death three years later.”