Anvil of Fate

Chapter 13

Dodo took a long draught from his chalice, swirling the deep purple wine about in his cup when he had finished. “A pox on Lambert,” he said. “And all his family.” He was dining in the citadel at Heristal, where his sister Alpaida had begged him to come and hear her complaints.

“You see this now, brother, as I have said it all along,” said Alpaida. “Is it not enough that he commissioned the death of your domestics, trumping up false charges to cover his fell deed? He had it said they pilfered church property! He made them out as common thieves—an insult to our family, even as he slanders me at every turn as well. I am made out to be a harlot and whelp of Satan in his eyes, and he is keen to say it to any who will listen.”

She was a young woman, her hair falling in two long gold braids that framed her high red cheeks beneath sharp blue eyes. Well shaped, hardy and strong in limb, it was no mystery how she had soon drawn Pippin’s eye at court, and come to find herself in his bedchamber shortly thereafter. But her virtues went beyond the shape of her rump or bosom, resting also on the fact that her family held extensive holdings in the provinces to the east. These rich lands, and the profits they generated, were well received by Pippin when he formally took her as consort, promising much more in a marriage that would be arranged in due course.

But such arrangements were often complex and bitter affairs, particularly while Pippin still remained wed to Plectrude. The dark haired woman was aging now, supplanted by the youth and fire of Alpaida in the bedroom chamber, but nonetheless a prominent figure at court and one full ready to challenge any pretension to the heritage she envisioned for her two sons by Pippin.

Her first had passed an untimely death, stricken down by illness, and Alpaida knew that Plectrude now placed all her hopes on her second son, Grimwald. And why not? He was fully grown, a swarthy dark haired man at arms, and the natural and legitimate heir to Pippin’s seat as Mayor of the Palace. Plectrude had every right to assert his ascendancy to the seat of Mayor, though she had embittered the airs of court with willful and direct attacks against any and all who she perceived to be threats to Grimwald and her family lineage.

The unwed consort, Alpaida, had been first and foremost on her list in this vile effort, and she spared no effort to shame her, diminish her, and make her out to be a common harlot. In this Plectrude had lately enlisted the support of the church itself!

“Do you not see it, brother?” Alpaida said sullenly. “She has now poisoned the ear of the Bishop himself. Why else would he be so quick to denounce me, and shame me as he does?”

“He fancies himself a saint in the making,” said Dodo. “This is obvious to see. He labors up and down the river, from Heristal to Maastricht, preaching his gospel, showing his face in every farm and hamlet, dropping off monks and churchmen like turds in his wake, the better to fertilize the ground he thinks to sanctify with the tread of his foot.”

“Yet he was quick to take up residence at the Roman villa, like all churchmen, lining his pockets with gold as much as piety.”

“Indeed,” Dodo agreed. “Yet what can be done about him, sister? Can you not gain the favor of Pippin himself in this matter?”

“I have argued it endlessly with him, but even as I bend one ear, Plectrude bends the other. He is pulled this way and that, and can come to no mind of his own in the matter. Yet Plectrude is certainly of one mind on the subject, the sultry scheming witch that she is! The Bishop Lambert is a kinsman to her family. We should have foreseen this! It is only the beginning, brother. Do you think Lambert seated his pious rump at that villa simply for his comfort there? No! In doing so he has set himself squarely in the midst of our own family lands. No doubt he will soon covet these as well. The charges brought against your cousins Gallus and Rivaldus were false. Their murder was but a ploy, an excuse to further entrench himself in our province, and lay claim to these lands as well. So does he diminish our holdings as a means of hobbling us and silencing our voice at court. It is plain to see! Plectrude fears my son Charles, and so she stops at nothing now to dishonor me. Lambert is her tool in this.”

“Does he not risk much by denouncing you so openly?” said Dodo. “Is Pippin not man enough to restrain him? He has slandered you, that is plain, and in so doing he sullies the honor of Pippin himself.”

“He can do nothing while Plectrude enfolds him in her gown and whispers of Grimwald and warns of strong willed rivals who would seek his lands and titles. So does she poison his mind against my son Charles. She makes him to be a brigand! She has it said he is heedless and wanton, and that his hand is more often on the sword because he has no skill to govern, and so must he beat upon his rivals to achieve any purpose. It is all in one. Do you see it now? Plectrude and the Bishop Lambert conspire together!”

Dodo took the dregs of his wine and put down his cup, wiping the last bitter-sharp taste from his lips with the back of his hand. His eyes hardened, steely dark under the grey-black hair. “There is no doubt that what you say is true,” he smoldered.

“Yes,” said Alpaida, “first slander, now murder against our house, brother. What else must we endure? What can I do, a mere woman, if you remain silent and unmoved?”

“No longer,” said Dodo. “The murder of Gallus and Rivaldus will be avenged—I swear it. Bishop or no, I will not be so aggrieved. Nor will I countenance his presence here in our ancestral holding, where he fattens himself at his villa. Yes, you speak it well, sister. He holds forth there so that he might better endear the peasantry by his smile and his soft blessings and his oh so pious preaching. Yet his real intent is to install himself in these lands as future warden and liege lord here. I see it plainly now, and I will not abide it!”

Alpaida rushed to her brother, embracing him. “I knew you would defend our family. I knew I could count on you, dear Dodo, first above all others. My son Charles is away where he wars in Frisia, or else he would surely stand with you in this.”

“Yet it is no small matter,” said Dodo. “It must be done quietly, away from Lambert’s devoted clan.”

“Tonight!” Alpaida urged. “Lambert has returned to his villa. On the morrow he will journey south, and some say it is to Plectrude he is bound. She will undoubtedly move him to undertake even more outrageous slanders and affronts. He will denounce me formally, before God and in the presence of the Bishop Hubert of Maastricht as well. Plectrude has put this in his mind, and darkened his heart against us.”

“Then I will run the man through,” said Dodo, “And I will silence this would be saint and usurper once and for all. Let him become a martyr first, if sainthood is his claim. I will take three retainers, that should be more than enough. We will ride south and come upon Lambert in his sleep, this very night, and he will not live to see the dawn and run off to Plectrude on the morrow. This I swear…”

Dodo did not linger, and resolved to set himself upon the old Roman road at dusk and time his journey so as to come upon Lambert’s villa in the middle of the night. He had it said that he was bound for Echternach so that tongues would not wag. But as he mounted his horse and rode to the outskirts of the small settlement he noticed the beast was clearly hobbled with a bad hoof. His sergeant of arms noted a livery nearby, and he dismounted, leading his horse into the stall where a man hammered loudly, shaping metal at a crude iron anvil.

“Good day, sir,” said the blacksmith when he saw Dodo. “Oh, my lord Dodo! Your pardon, sir. I was so intent with my hammer that I did not hear your approach. How may I serve you, my lord?”

“My horse has come up lame, even as I must make my way now to Echternach. Will you have a look?”

“Of course, my lord.” The Blacksmith was quick to set down his hammer and tongs, pulling off this leather gloves. He went to the horse where it was now tethered in the stall and immediately saw that the beast was favoring his right rear leg. He stilled the animal, feeding the horse an apple he took from a sturdy wood basket, then looked at the hoof, muttering to himself as much as the horse as he worked.

“Why, he is unshod, Lord,” he said at last. “He must have thrown his shoe and then took a granite stone in his hoof to make matters worse. It is not serious. I can have it out in a minute or two and easily remedy the situation by fitting a new shoe.”

“I am in some haste,” said Dodo. “How long will this take?”

“Not long, my lord. An hour at best.”

“That long? Have you no other horses stabled here? I would just as easily leave this beast and take another if it would speed me on my way. The weather looks foul and does not promise an easy ride if I linger here.”

“Alas, lord, my livestock is mostly afield, bringing in harvest ahead of the rain you speak of. And my only other worthy mount was sold not an hour ago to a woman on the road, with two companions. You will not want that old plow horse. He gestured to the only beast in the stable.”

“A woman? On a day like this?”

“Yes lord, strange she was, yet amiable. Perhaps she was a nun. Spoke in the old Roman tongue, yet she paid well for the horse, so I gave it no further thought.”

Dodo wondered who the woman was, most likely a baroness or wife of land holder returning from Maastricht with her retainers. Well enough.

“Then shoe the horse, man, and be quick about it, will you!”

“My lord,” the blacksmith proffered a respectful nod, and was quick to his stocks, selecting a shoe he judged the correct size for the horse, yet noting it needed just a little work before he could make the fit.

He threw another log on his forge oven, the dark smoke billowing up into the graying sky. Soon the sound of his hammer fell hard on the heated shoe, ringing against the cold metal anvil beneath it with each heavy blow.

Dodo chafed like a restless horse himself. He wanted to be well on his way by now, down the stone tiled Roman road that would lead him south to Bishop Lambert’s villa. The sound of the hammer seemed to deepen his mood with every blow, kindling a vague disquiet in his heart. It resounded in the enclose space of the livery, ringing sharply on the cold air of the early evening, and it seemed to mark him in some way. He began to feel that every eye was upon him, and every ear would heed that sound—that it would ring like a church bell, raising alarm and warning throughout the land.

A feeling of guilt enshrouded him for a moment, causing him to look up and down the road, as if saints and legions were mustering at one end or another, yet the way was empty. The sun fell through darkening drifts of cloud to the west, tingeing their bottoms with blood red as the light faded. He breathed in the evening air, smelling mutton roasting for a late meal at a nearby farmstead.

The hammer rose and fell, beating hard on the anvil, and then one last heavy blow sang out, and faded into silence. The Blacksmith had satisfied himself that the shoe would now be a perfect fit, and he cooled it in a bucket of cold water, the steam hissing up and strangely bothering Dodo again, as if the voice of some recriminating detractor had come to make accusation against him.

Twenty minutes later it was cool to the touch and the smith had the shoe securely mounted on Dodo’s steed. “Well enough, sir,” he said.

Dodo thanked the man as his sergeant handed the smith a coin in payment. Then the four men took to their mounts and trotted out into the gloaming light, the sound of their hooves falling darkly on the cold stone tiles as they rode.

Dodo was in the van, and not a moment later he looked and spied two figures, standing close by a low tree stump at the edge of the road. It was an odd place for someone to be at this hour, and his mood soured when he looked closer and saw they wore the plain brown woolen cassocks of monks.

“Damn clergy,” he said to himself. In Lambert’s keep, most certainly, he thought. Always about, like so many lice infecting the land now. He made for them, a disdainful look on his face as he pulled up short, stopping his party abruptly. He eyed them with a suspicious glance, adjusting the fit of his leather gloves as he spoke.

“Dark night coming,” he said. “Are you not late for Matins, monks?”

The two men gave him a sheepish look, obviously cowed by his sudden interest and commanding presence. “What? Have you nothing to say to me? Then get off this road, you slovenly piglets. Get off to some nice warm fire and say your prayers well this night. A storm is coming.”

He smiled darkly at the two men, and then clucked, nudging his horse to ride on. The sergeant spat at them as they rode by and the four men cantered away, their riding capes fluttering out behind them on the cold air, four shadows darkening the night as they went.

Chapter 14

Kelly cleared his throat and spoke next. “Dodo’s plot fails,” he said flatly. “Or at least the way it looks to be shaping up now. In this history Lambert hounds Alpaida and condemns the infidelity of Pippin, but he isn’t killed at his villa by Alpaida’s brother Dodo in 705. The plot fails when Dodo meets with a mishap on the road. Lambert, alerted to the danger, mitigates his censure somewhat, but goes on to be an influential bishop, strongly supporting Plectrude and her son Grimwald when he takes the throne in 714. You see, he isn’t assassinated that year either, because Lambert lives. The bishop never becomes a martyr.”

“Hence there is no shrine and no chapel for him to visit on the way to his father’s bedside,” said Maeve.

“And no place to be piously at prayer when a javelin goes through your heart.” Nordhausen put a fine point on the issue. “The place where Grimwald was to have had his rendezvous with death never existed!”

“And the foiled plot against Lambert must have galvanized Plectrude’s clan, and put them on guard,” said Kelly.

“The soup is thickening,” said Paul. “It seems our adversaries, the Assassins as we call them, had to prevent these two murders in order to forestall the ascendency of Charles. How ironic.”

“Right,” said Kelly. “So in the altered history old Odo gets his ass kicked by Abdul Rahman and instead of appealing to Charles, he has to go to Grimwald.”

“The fate of all Western history is now in the hands of Grimwald, and not Charles,” Nordhausen said in a low voice.

“The battle of Tours is fought under his command,” Kelly continued. “He fails to choose his ground well, as Charles did. The Moorish columns are still scattered, some as far north as the Abbey of St. Martin at Tours. Instead of ignoring the city and marching south to confront the Moors main body closer to Poitiers, as Charles did, Grimwald tries to come to the aid of Tours. That’s why there was nothing going on at the site where you manifested, Paul. The battle was fought somewhere else. He takes the bait, as it were, and is engaged with one of the Arab light raiding columns near the abbey when Abdul Rahman shows up with his main body.”

“And all the heavy cavalry,” said Paul. “What’s the date?”

“It just says Ramadan, the year 114. They hit the Franks on their exposed flank and rout them. The infantry weren’t in prepared positions as Charles had them arrayed in our Meridian.”

“No Phalanx, no shieldwall,” said Paul.

“No victory to end the Saracen invasion of Gaul,” said Robert. “It’s insidious! In order to crush Christendom and the West, a Catholic Bishop has to be spared a martyr’s death and subsequent sainthood.”

“But how?” said Paul. “We haven’t found the Pushpoint yet. And we have another, even bigger problem as well…”

Paul’s face was darkly troubled. “I landed spot on, right in the middle of the Battle of Tours. There was nothing wrong with Kelly’s numbers, and the field was abandoned, empty, unblemished. If Kelly’s historical account is the answer to that riddle then the Heisenberg Wave has been generated, because I must have been seeing the altered time line! It’s already altered events in October of 732. That’s 27 years after Lambert was to have been martyred.”

“How is that possible?” Robert asked.

“Time appears to be coming to some conclusion concerning these events,” said Paul. “Unless we were completely wrong about the location of the battlefield, then I should have seen our history there when I manifested. But I didn’t. I saw an altered Meridian. Only a Heisenberg Wave can work such a transformation. So the wave is either active now as we speak, or in the process of generating itself. The implications are so radical in this intervention that the wave builds up, gathering strength and power before it explodes across the continuum and completes the change. It’s like a great tsunami, rearing up over the landscape of Time and overshadowing the closest events to the point of intervention. That shadow has already influenced events after the year 705. It altered Grimwald’s death in 714, and it certainly altered the events surrounding the Battle of Tours. That was probably the major fulcrum, and now things may still be changing, ever more rapidly, even as we speak here. We have to act quickly. Who knows how long it will take for the wave to reach our time?”

The lights fluttered ominously even as he spoke these words, dimming slightly and then brightening before fading again.

“And we’re running out of fuel for the generators as well,” said Kelly. “I’ll have to bring in a reliever from the Bullpen, Paul. The number one backup generator just ran dry.”

He toggled a switch and the low vibration was at least reassuring. The number two backup came on line, pre-charged with residual power from number one, and the lights held steady. “No loss of integrity on the Arch field,” said Kelly. “Don’t worry, we still have a Nexus, but Paul is correct, we won’t have one for very much longer.”

“So where do we focus our attention?” Paul pushed them to the next question. “It sounds like we should be looking at Lambert’s death, not that of Grimwald.”

“Lambert, without question,” said Maeve. “Not only does it precede the elimination of Grimwald on the Meridian, but it also provides the place of his death.”

There was no disagreement on this point. “Then how is Lambert’s assassination prevented?” Paul’s next question was more difficult to answer, but Nordhausen suddenly remembered something Kelly had said.

“You read it a moment ago, Kelly. Some mishap on the road?”

“Let me see if I can find it again,” said Kelly. He searched the text, calling up a few supporting articles. “OK, here it is. In the altered Meridian Dodo took four men, two servants and a member of his house guard. Apparently Dodo had a lame horse. He had it worked on but later helped himself to a horse they found where he stopped on the road the night before. He needed a fresh mount, and was riding what the Chronicle describes as… ‘a willful beast.’ Their mission was foiled when he was thrown from his steed and injured.”

He began to read: “the willful beast would not bear him, and then did he fall. The servants take this as a bad omen and flee, leaving Dodo and his sergeant alone. He subsequently decides to seek aid for his injury, and calls off the attack on Lambert. This is an Arabic source, and it casts the whole thing is an almost mythical light. The steed taken from the farm ends up foiling the mission, according to the writer, and he is revered as an ancestor of one of the five, whatever that means. Here’s the text… ‘and you shall know him by his eye, and the fire of his hoof, he that felled heathen.’”

“The five refers to the five horses that returned to Mohammed in the desert and became the sires of all Arabian steeds,” said Maeve matter of factly. Remember Kuhaylan? That was one of the five, and this breed is often found to have a circle around the eye.”

Nordhausen was suddenly energized. “The hieroglyphics!” he said excitedly. “Here, here, here…. Where is that damn image of the stela again?” He called up the file. “There’s the cartouche with the name Kuhaylan… and here is the text: “The weave undone… A loose twine… where horses were brought to gather…”

“I thought that was an admonition to the Moors not to heed the stampede of the horses they had captured in their camp,” said Paul.

“What camp!” Robert exclaimed. “The battle wasn’t even to be fought there in the altered Meridian. And look here, I failed to notice this before, but these various sections of the stela are all separated by solid lines. They’re separate stories,” he said definitively. “Why didn’t I see that before? This bit about the weave is separated from the narrative of the battle above it, and this wavy line here was often used to indicate a journey of the soul through transformation in the afterlife.”

“Then the stela is recording information derived from the original Meridian, as well as the altered one,” said Paul. “The story of the battle comes before the wave, and this other text comes later, after the wave that transforms the soul,” he said.

“The Heisenberg Wave,” said Kelly.

“And look here,” said Nordhausen. Remember this line? ‘Plunder taken… the road becomes the path of Martyrs. For he who would be slain must live…” The whole thing has a double meaning. That line could apply to events in either Meridian. I thought that referred to the death of Abdul Rahman before, but now that we have this new perspective, it could be talking about Lambert! This road leads to his martyrdom, and it’s saying that he must live.”

“It’s the damn horses again,” said Kelly. “They are the Pushpoint in both Meridians.”

“Right,” said Paul. “In our time they could be connected to the commotion in the enemy camp at the battle of Tours causing such confusion that the Saracens break off their attack, and when Abdul Rahman tries to rally his men he is killed. Now, here in the altered Meridian, Dodo is thrown from his saddle by a willful beast and the plot to kill Lambert is foiled.”

“I’m willing to bet the loose twine is the rein on that horse,” Maeve said quietly.

“Just a second,” said Robert. “I missed this symbol before. It changes the meaning of this line slightly.” He was squinting at the hieroglyphics again. “The weave undone… A loose twine… where horses were brought to gather…” But this symbol here at the beginning makes that whole line a command, and imperative phrase. In effect it would be saying you must undo the weave, the twine must be loosened, where the horses were brought to gather. Damn! It’s telling them what to do in the altered Meridian! How could this scribe know this?”

“Easy,” said Kelly. “People were arriving from the future all the time, carrying scrolls, like that fellow you encountered in the desert. It appears that Hamza is creating more than a record of days there,” he concluded. “He’s archiving a record of the interventions the Assassins make at key points on the Meridians. The dual meaning of these hieroglyphics makes that obvious now.”

“Makes sense,” said Paul. “Let’s admit it, we’ve had a little help from the Order as well. They sent back Mr. Graves, and then this LeGrand fellow with similar information on what we needed to do to alter the history.”

“Well we could certainly use a little help now,” said Robert. “I didn’t like the man, to be honest with you, but where’s LeGrand when you need him?”

“I don’t think we can expect any help this time,” said Paul. “Remember, we’re back on the Prime Meridian now, the line of causality that results in the Palma event in our time. That event strikes a blow at contemporary Western history, and most likely severely weakens the Order. Isn’t that what LeGrand told us? They had twenty Arch complexes, but only two remained after the Palma Heisenberg transformation surged forward to their time. The Assassins get the upper hand, which is probably why they are able to plan and execute this complex mission involving all these points on the Meridian aimed at Charles Martel. Now it’s the Order hounded into caves in remote areas of the world. Perhaps they are still holding out. LeGrand did mention they had an Arch that was very well hidden. But Palma casts an enormous shadow on the Meridian now. It was all they could do to send Graves back to us before that first mission, and that was when they had all twenty Arches operating.”

“And he still missed his target date by seven years,” Kelly reminded them. “He had to wait in a Trappist monastery all that time until the night of our first mission.

“So I doubt if they can get through the Shadow now,” Paul concluded. “It’s up to us then. We’re the last line of defense.”

“Alright,” said Robert. “What do we do?”

“We have to make sure Dodo doesn’t get thrown from the saddle and fall on his ass!” Kelly put it bluntly.

“Where?” said Paul. “Does it say where this happened?”

“Just when,” said Kelly. “The night before the battle. Oh, it’s on the road to Lambert’s estate. Listen: ‘At the citadel, where Pippin held court, he did roil in banquet with his sister, then did Dodo depart to carry out his fell deed and slay the Bishop Lambert.’”

“At the citadel? That would have to be some prominent fortification within a day’s ride of Lambert’s Villa,” said Paul.

“Namur is a possibility,” said Kelly. “Wiki says the Romans built a fort there as early as Julius Caesar. The Merovingian’s improved those fortifications considerably. In fact, the place is still called the Citadel today. You can take tours of all the underground caverns and passages there. And I make it no more than 30 to 40 miles to Liège, Lambert’s Villa at Leodium.”

Nordhausen was looking at the history and quickly had another possible solution. “And there’s also—”

“So Dodo must have stopped for the night somewhere on the old Roman road between the Citadel at Namur and the Villa,” said Paul.

“But it could have been anywhere,” said Robert. “I was going to say that Pippin’s stronghold was at Heristal, just 16 miles north of Lambert’s villa.”

“Well, that’s much closer,” Kelly piped in.

“Probably Heristal, then,” said Maeve. “Does it say where this accident happened?”

“It says it was at a farm.” Kelly put in. “But there’s nothing more specific in this chronicle. If you assume he needed to freshen his mount, then a farm would make sense. They’d have animals.”

“Lord,” Nordhausen breathed. “How can we work up a breaching point with this? At least the location of the battle of Tours was fairly well surmised. But Dodo could have stopped anywhere, on that road, and that’s a lot of ground to cover on foot. Particularly in these shoes,” he pointed. “They’re still a size small, Maeve.”

“Right,” said Maeve. “So don’t worry, Robert, you won’t have to walk, because you aren’t going anywhere.”

“What do you mean? I’m scheduled for the next reconnaissance. We’ve already decided it.”

“Things have changed,” said Maeve. “I’ll have to go in your place.”

“You?” Robert gave her a bemused smile. “Why you couldn’t walk that distance either.”

“I won’t be walking,” Maeve said calmly. “I’ll be riding.”

Chapter 15

“Riding?” said Nordhausen. “Are you daft, woman? Riding what?” Nordhausen was quite perturbed. He had been all set for a look at the 8th century and, true to form, his old nemesis, Maeve, was mucking up the brew.

“Riding a horse,” Maeve said quickly. “I can’t very well take a motorbike through, can I?”

“A horse?”

“I’ve kept and ridden horses all my life, Robert. I’ll find something close to the breaching point. You can set me down somewhere on the road. I’ll ride south toward Lambert’s villa.” She folded her arms, ready for a fight that she was determined to win.

Neither Kelly, nor Paul said anything when the professor looked at them for support, but Paul seemed to be thinking hard about the problem.

“Looking for Dodo? This is nonsense,” said Robert. “How will you even know who Dodo is? Are you going to interrogate everyone on that road; stop at every inn and farm you encounter? You… a woman alone on the road?”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I’ll only have to concern myself with those that seem to have horses at hand. That will narrow things down considerably. A horse was expensive to own and maintain in those days. This is why the Franks were largely an infantry force at Tours. Right Paul?”

Paul raised his eyebrows, nodding in the affirmative. “There might only be a few estates or inns on that road that would be keeping horses,” he agreed.

“And what?” Robert was still arguing. “Is she just going to steal the damn thing and ride off looking for this Dodo?”

“No, thievery would be very unwise,” said Maeve. “So I’ll simply buy one.”

“Buy one?” Robert frowned. “I don’t think they’ll be accepting Federal Reserve Notes, Maeve. They’re damn near worthless anyway.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Robert.” She reached in her pocket and fished out a small nugget that gleamed with the sheen of gold. “I’ll use this!”

Kelly immediately recognized the object. It was a gold nugget the two of them had found together on a hiking trip in the mountains, a rare and special find when they were digging out a pit for a camp fire. It was a token of the bond they had forged, and he realized what Maeve was proposing.

Paul remembered how Maeve had shown the nugget to Kelly when they were reunited here in the lab. She had whispered something to him… Heart of Gold, so he assumed it held some special sentimental value between them.

Maeve looked at Robert. “I think they’ll accept this in payment,” she said. “Gold is gold, then and now, and this will buy me a couple horses, along with bed and board at the finest inn on the road. I’ll take a rock hammer and break it into a few smaller pieces before I leave. It should meet all my needs—and then some.”

“That it will,” said Paul.

“You mean to say you agree with this?”

“Look, Robert,” Maeve pressed her advantage. “You said yourself that it’s all of sixteen miles or so from Heristal to the Villa.”

“The chronicle says Dodo left after ‘roiling at banquet’ with his sister. When would that be? Sometime around sunset?”

“No,” said Maeve. “The main meal of the day was taken at mid-day, most often at noon or shortly thereafter. It was an ostentatious display of wealth, for those that were well off, and Alpaida certainly was. That’s why she was taken as Pippin’s consort in the first place. The word ‘banquet’ leads me to believe that this was indeed the main meal of the day. It could last hours, so let’s say Dodo finishes up and gets on the road by four or five in the afternoon.”

Nordhausen was listening, clearly upset, but not in disagreement. He knew the history as well as anyone there.

“Around dusk, when we have our main meal today, they just took a light supper, usually eaten right at or after sunset.” Maeve continued. “Folks went to sleep soon after that. It was expensive to illuminate homes with candles in those days. Or even to waste firewood that could be better used for cooking.”

“OK, Dodo leaves the citadel late in the afternoon, or perhaps even closer to dusk.” Paul began to reason the scenario out.

“He was probably planning to ride at night,” said Maeve, “using the cover of darkness to forestall any rumor of his approach. Most dirty deeds were done in the thick of night, eh?”

“We calculated sunset time earlier for Tours in October at about 6:40 PM.,” said Paul. “This is in mid-September, so you’ll have just a tad more daylight. But my question is this. Kelly said this fellow changed mounts at a farm before the planned attack on Lambert. Well, that’s not a great distance for a horse to travel. Why would he need a fresh mount?”

“How fast would he be going?”asked Kelly.

“A horse walks about four miles per hour, but the most common gait on the road would be a trot, about twice that speed. I’d say he could make the 16 miles in two hours, then. Four if they were taking their time.”

“Then he could easily arrive at Lambert’s villa before midnight,” said Paul.

“That’s what the history says,” said Maeve. “Dodo and his retinue arrived ‘around about the middle of the night.’ He probably left at dusk, rode a few hours, then stopped briefly after dark to secure a fresh mount. We don’t know why, or exactly where, but we really don’t need to either. The history says he needed a fresh horse. That’s all we need to know.”

“This is preposterous!” Nordhausen had been listening, shifting restlessly as they talked, but now his disapproval was obvious. “The man could have ridden south from the old Roman town of Tongres, as well. You’re making too many assumptions. That’s what got us in to trouble earlier, and we jumped the gun at Tours.”

“No,” said Paul. “Our reasoning was sound then, but our adversaries pre-empted us with this counter-operation aimed at preventing Lambert’s martyrdom.”

“Well, assuming you do all this, just appear there and find a horse to buy with that gold, then what? How do you plan to stop Dodo from securing this ‘wilful’ horse for himself and having this mishap?”

“Our assumptions are valid here as well,” Maeve argued. “We’ve already selected Heristal as the most likely site for the banquet. Dodo leaves the citadel to approach under cover of darkness, stopping somewhere along the road to change mounts.” She paused, taking a breath as she realized the scope of what she was proposing.

“So I’m going to be on that road as well,” said Maeve.

“Looking for Dodo? Do you realize how dangerous this is going to be?”

“Forget Dodo,” said Maeve. “I’m going to be looking for an Arabian horse, a Kuhaylan, and as the Chronicle states, ‘you shall know him by his eye, and the fire of his hoof, he that felled heathen.’ And believe me, Robert. I know these horses. I can spot an Arabian in a heartbeat, particularly one with a spirited temper. I’ll find him, damnit. One way or another I’ll find that horse.”

The silence was thick. Robert just blinked at her, saying nothing. He knew in his stubborn heart that she, among all of them, was the only one who could possibly pull a mission like this off. She could ride, by day or night, an experienced equestrian. The gold in her hand would buy her anything she desired. And she alone could find and recognize this steed, and somehow prevent it from running afoul of Dodo.

“I hate to say it, but I wouldn’t know an Arabian stallion from a mule,” he confessed at last. “But a woman alone? It just wasn’t done, Maeve. It would be highly irregular. You would be immediately noticed on your own like that, particularly if you had the means of buying a horse.”

Maeve shrugged. “That’s possible, but I’ll be wearing a heavy riding cloak with hood. Yet an escort at the beginning when I bargain for a horse would be welcome. Perhaps someone should accompany me in. Once I secure a mount I’ll have to ride off on my own, and I can just keep to myself as much as possible. So anyone who wants to come along for the entry had better get suited up. And Kelly, you had best run numbers for the 16th of September, 705, mid afternoon. By the time Lambert is killed it would be the 17th, and that date is still celebrated today as the feast of Saint Lambert, marking his death. Put us on the road just south of Heristal. That way I would come to any farm site before Dodo. If I spot the Arabian I’ll propose a trade, my horse for the Kuhaylan. If the owner balks I’ll still have some gold to persuade him.”

She folded her arms.

Robert was still troubled. “Then we’re assuming the Assassins’ operation was to drop in, find a ‘wilful’ steed as this story says, and rig the reins to fail? How could they know Dodo would choose that steed and be thrown from the saddle?”

“Good point,” said Paul. “I mean their whole plan sounds pretty weak.”

“Unless they made sure there was some reason Dodo would need to change mounts,” Maeve suggested. “They could have done something earlier as well. Perhaps they cause injury to one of the hooves on Dodo’s mount at the citadel. The horse would come up lame shortly after he departed, prompting him to look for another mount.”

“That answers my question about why they would need a fresh horse,” said Paul.

“Yes, and it just stacks a few more assumptions onto the pile we already made here to concoct this scenario,” said Robert.

“And here’s one more for you,” said Kelly. “Suppose they are the farmers—the Assassins! It would explain how they could easily rig the reins on this stallion. In fact, they could have prepared this mission for some time, sending someone in to find just the perfect horse and then bringing it to this roadside farm. The fact that it’s an Arabian, ‘one of the five’ as Maeve says, makes this ever so suspicious.”

“Good point,” Paul agreed. “It strengthens the mission from their standpoint, and removes a raft of assumptions they would have to make about this as well. They’ve selected the horse, and they make sure Dodo’s mount is going to come hobbling along as he heads south. I’m willing to bet this horse will be easy to spot, Maeve. They’ll have it tethered at an inviting place, close by the road to catch Dodo’s attention. Deliberate sabotage to force a need for a fresh mount would fill the bill nicely. All they have to do here is find a way to impede Dodo and spare the life of Lambert. So yes, it’s also possible that they will be at the farm site with the Arabian.”

“Which means Maeve may need more than a good offer and a chunk of gold to get that horse,” said Robert. “Assuming, of course, that Dodo and Alpaida were at the citadel in Heristal, and that this was the road Dodo took to Lambert’s villa at Leodium, and that the loose twine was the rein on this Arabian horse we assume is quietly waiting there at a farm for Maeve to find.” The sarcasm in his voice made his point plain enough.

Maeve fixed them all with those steady hazel eyes. “Someone have another suggestion? Yes, Robert, we’re making a lot of assumptions here, but there is sound reasoning behind them as well.”

“The citadel at Heristal is the most likely candidate for this banquet. In fact it’s the only one close enough to fill the bill. So it’s reasonable to assume we’ve got the correct road. Look, this is as good as we’re going to hone this down given the situation. We won’t have to mess with a Prime. We’ve got the time, we’ve got the place, we’ve got the Arch, and brothers, I’ve got the gold.”

“But you may have to mess with the Assassins if Kelly is correct,” said Paul, an obvious warning in his voice. “Considering the consequences involved here, they may not be as friendly and polite as they have been in our encounters with them thus far.”

“Yes,” Maeve agreed. “It’s going to be dangerous, I know. But I’m willing to do what I can, Paul. What other option do we have?”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” said Paul. “So we also need to consider what we do if you should fail to find this horse, or carry out any other part of your mission as we envision it here.”

“Well…” Maeve thought for a moment, her eyes hardening as she spoke.

“You two shift in with me as an escort to pose as a couple of my retainers while I secure a mount near Heristal, perhaps a couple of monks. I head south, and if I don’t return riding that Arabian in a reasonable period of time, then you’ll know what you have to do.”

Robert gave her a bemused look. “Now what have you dreamt up?” he said. “What do we have to do?”

“Why, you have to kill Bishop Lambert,” she said flatly. “If Dodo doesn’t get him, then you’ll have to do it.”