Chapter 3

Before I returned to Audoflede and the others, Clovis and I established a code of sorts. Using Audoflede’s name at the beginning of a message I sent would indicate that the message was true. Mentioning Gotberga’s name would indicate that an immediate attack against the Romans was necessary. Mentioning neither name would signify danger, probably an imminent attack on Tournai.

The women were relieved when I returned from the castle. Audoflede was going stir crazy by the afternoon since she couldn’t leave the rooms. She relaxed a bit when I told her that her brother would visit after dark. To keep her mind off being cooped up she dragged me to bed. Afterwards I finally did a thorough inventory of the extra duffel bags that had arrived with me. One contained hand glued and lettered seed packets made of cotton cloth. That surprised me since I hadn’t made the packets and knew nothing about them. The handwriting was my mother’s, the memory of her causing my vision to cloud as my eyes teared up.

The packets held seeds for everything from anise to zucchini. There were seeds for fruits, vegetables, fruit trees, nut trees, berries, herbs for cooking, and medicinal herbs. In addition, there were five-pound packages of oats, rice, three varieties of wheat, and two varieties of corn--sweet corn and field corn for corn meal and animal feed. Those were in cloth packages tied closed with narrow rawhide thongs.

There were smaller packages of barley, sorghum, millet, rye, buckwheat, and alfalfa. There was even sugar cane cut into two-foot lengths, pups from a banana tree, cuttings of berry canes, several seed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and two bare root saplings each of Valencia orange, Navel orange, lemon, and lime. There were even four of the trees that citrus buds are grafted to, and seeds for a hundred more of those trees and a couple avocado seeds. The bare root trees and the berry canes had damp sawdust around the roots or cut end of the canes. More cloth held the sawdust in place.

I went through the bag that held my books, and my “fundamentals” notebook. That notebook contained my centennial comparisons of what technology was available in each region of the world, especially Europe. I was happy to find the handwritten books with “how to” instructions and diagrams for many types of equipment and machinery, notes on manufacturing processes for metals (smelting techniques, recipes for different types of iron and steel, and techniques for refining and working with most other common metals), glassblowing tips and recipes, recipes for soaps, and diagrams of weapons--including a rifle.

There were even instructions for making black powder and other explosives. Dad had worked with me four years ago and we made the black powder. There were recipes for various ceramics, instructions on how to build and use clay or brick ovens, how to burn lime, instructions on the manufacture of certain chemicals, and any other “fundamental” subject I had considered critical.

Another book contained fairly detailed plans for building two different types of ships, an Archimedes screw, and water powered mills for grinding grain, sawing logs, and weaving cloth. There were plans for windmills and wind or hand-powered pumps, and even a water-powered pump to lift water over two hundred feet in elevation. There were designs for wagons, plows, harnesses, and even a cloth pattern for every piece necessary to make a U.S. Cavalry-style saddle. Yes, Dad and I made one of those, too, although another member of the tribe guided our efforts. The final set of books held the basics for making advanced equipment and machines, ones requiring Industrial Age capability. The bag with the trail rations also held several flints and a little dry tinder.

The bag with hand tools Dean and I made together (mostly Dean) brought tears to my eyes as I fondly remembered more friends I’d never see again. Tools for woodworking, leatherworking, working with stone, and the steel heads for digging and farming tools were there. Even my crude sewing needles were there. The women ooohed and aaahed over each item, especially the books, although I didn’t let them look at most of the pages of the books. That would cause them to ask questions I wasn’t yet ready to answer.

Clovis finally showed up with his captain. He used the second room I’d paid for to talk quietly with his sister for a good half hour. When they returned, he clasped my arm. “David Whitehorse, it appears that you have made even more of an impression on my sister than on my captain,” he said grinning at the blushing captain. “My sister suggests that you would be willing to take her as a wife should you survive your planned assassination of Syagrius. I would be inclined to agree with her choice.”

“It would be my honor to accept her as a wife,” I acceded, bowing. Clovis snuck the girls and me into the castle that night. I left in the morning, a bit bedraggled because each of the women wanted me at least one time before I left. Aside from the horse I rode, I had a packhorse, my tent, food, weapons, and a crude map showing where I was going. Taking a third horse so I could change mounts, I easily made the trip to Soissons in three days. My map was drawn on a piece of animal skin. At the end of each day, I cut off the part showing what I had just traveled and burned it in my campfire. The last day, I dispersed the remaining pieces in streams where the water-based ink would wash away since I would be in Soissons before making a campfire for the day.

Mid-morning of the fourth day, I crossed the broad ditch surrounding the city and presented myself to the guards at Noviodunum’s gate. “I am here to speak with Syagrius on an urgent matter regarding Aquitania, a finger, and a ring,” I told the guard. As a messenger ran off, a cadre of guards quickly assembled to accompany me to the castle. The messenger had plenty of time to inform Syagrius of my visit before I reached the castle.

After relinquishing my weapons, I was searched thoroughly and ushered in to see Syagrius. “My Lord, I bring the items you asked Captain Antheric to obtain and the code word Aquitania,” I explained as I handed the package with the finger and the ring to one of the guards.

“Where is Captain Antheric and who are you?” he demanded angrily before looking at the contents of the package.

“I am called David Whitehorse, son of Ambrosius Aurelianus and a Moorish serving girl, a sixth great grandson of Emperor Constantine,” I lied with great aplomb. At the time, Ambrosius Aurelianus was in overall command of Roman forces in Britain. I’d had to dig through the history “book” to come up with a credible name for my “father.”

“What are you doing here,” he gasped.

“My father feels that his new offensive now has the rabble on the run in Britannia and sent me to trouble the enemies of Rome here,” I replied.

“What of Captain Antheric?” he asked.

“I am afraid the captain and his men were caught with their pants down,” I answered grimly. “They insisted on sacking and burning a small village for fun and profit even though I advised against it. After killing the village’s men, they were busy raping the women and girls when a patrol of fifty Frankish soldiers arrived to check the source of so much smoke. Captain Antheric and his men all died in the fight.

“I refused to participate in sacking the town, choosing to remain as a sentry. The Frankish soldiers came from the opposite direction and I can only guess at what that sentry was busy doing that left him unable to provide any warning. I made sure the surviving Frankish soldiers and the women and girls were dead. I burned the bodies of Captain Antheric and his men before I left so nobody would know what happened there. I found the carriage with the girl and her twenty guards the next day and killed them all to complete the task you assigned your men. You have in your hand the proof you asked for,” I explained.

“You expect me to believe that you singlehandedly killed fifty Frankish soldiers and then twenty guards?” he asked belligerently.

“Captain Antheric and his men fought to the last man and killed most of the Frankish troops that attacked them before they succumbed. I heard the fighting and flanked the Frankish soldiers, and then finished the job. The rest is easy to prove. Have ten of your best men attack me with practice swords since you’ve already lost enough men. Also, I suggest we demonstrate someplace where the ground is soft so they won’t be injured when they fall. You judge each strike I land and whether it would kill or incapacitate a soldier.”

“Do it,” he commanded the captain.

The captain found wooden practice swords for his men while I got my bokuto and sai from my horse. An hour later, well over a hundred people stood around watching, wondering what they would be witnessing. I spent the time warming up and centering myself by doing my kata until they called for me. Once I was ready, the captain told his men to attack. With the bokuto, it took me twice as long to work through the attackers as it would with my katana since the katana would have cleaved an arm from the body rather than just bruising it severely. Syagrius was reticent to call all the lethal or maiming blows as such, and I had to strike many of the men more than once. I can only estimate that it took five or six minutes since time has no meaning once the dance begins.

When I finished, I’m not sure who was more stunned, the captain, or Syagrius. They quickly ushered me inside to a private chamber and treated me with utmost respect this time. “I now understand why your father has the rabble on the run,” Syagrius said thoughtfully, “and you wish to join my troops?” he asked hopefully.

“I wish to be at your personal command, but I do not function well with regular troops. I generally work alone, and in most cases I am able to wreak more damage than a full century of troops, and then escape undetected. Nothing I do is normal and regular soldiers don’t understand what I am doing or how I do it. I rarely attack directly, preferring to sneak into an enemy camp and do my damage, then withdraw before they even know I’m there. If the enemy comes after me, they lose even more men,” I bragged.

“So, you could kill Clovis?” he asked excitedly.

“I could, but one of his top lieutenants would replace him. They would guess that you were behind the assassination and would attack. Instead, I intend to raze Frankish villages and kill the villagers. A different small village every night or two will quickly spread fear into the hearts of the Franks. Clovis will send soldiers to protect the villages, which will leave his capital weakly defended.

“Then I strike the capital and kill as many officers and troops as I can in one night. Afterwards I resume attacking villages, killing the troops guarding them before destroying the village, but leaving the people alive. They will flee to his capital, Tournai. After a few weeks, I return to Tournai and kill as many more of their troops as I can, then return to razing villages. Tournai will become overcrowded with refugees. Clovis will have to pull his troops back to protect Tournai, leaving the villages undefended. That will infuriate his people.

“Eventually, they will turn against him and his entire territory will be yours for the taking. You need only capture any small group of his soldiers and execute them after publicly proclaiming they were the ones raiding the villages. When the raids stop, you will be a hero to their people.”

Both Syagrius and the captain were stunned. “How long would this take?” Syagrius asked excitedly.

“It will take me a few days to work my way back into their territory and then go north or east. I won’t make the attacks near your border. Instead, I will make it look like the Burgundians or Alamanni are behind the attacks, which will keep Frankish troops away from your border. After that, it will probably be one to two weeks before troops start to arrive in the area. From there I can only guess, but in all likelihood within six months, the Frankish crown will be yours,” I said.

“What will your services cost me?” he asked warily.

“If I fail, it will cost you nothing and will still weaken your enemy, but I have never failed to accomplish what I set out to do. If I succeed, my price is a large estate of my choosing anywhere in Frankish lands, possibly two smaller ones instead, plus two thousand gold aurei or the silver equivalent,” I answered. I knew it was a high price and his face showed it.

“Consider the cost of a war against the Franks, the number of men you would lose, and the likelihood of winning. My services are quite reasonably priced,” I reminded him.

“When can you begin?” he asked.

“Two days after I get the payment for the ring and the finger. I will need it to supply myself,” I answered, reminding him of the debt for the supposed death of his former intended.

“You will have the money shortly. Tomorrow we will celebrate,” he answered enthusiastically. His reaction reminded me about how so many cons in the modern world are based on the greed of the person being conned.

Within the hour, I received my money--nearly twenty pounds of gold and silver coins. “When this is done I would like to speak with you and learn anything you are willing to teach me about waging war. There must be some way to use your ideas with troops instead of sending a lone individual,” he said.

“There are many ways and I will be glad to tell you of them when we meet in Tournai,” I promised, knowing that at least one of us would never see Tournai.

I spent the day wandering through the forum, seeing what they had to offer, as well as looking for items to use in my assassination attempt. A woman selling fruit, flowers, and vegetables was happy to sell all eight stalks of foxglove flowers, some nightshade, and several of her fruits. The woman selling herbs looked at me questioningly when I made my purchases. She nodded her head in understanding when I showed her the short missive from Syagrius ordering all to assist me in any way they could. She even suggested a mortar and pestle to grind the herbs and a cage cup to mix herbal brews. I thanked her and bought them.

A raucous commotion in the marketplace drew my attention. A dozen men were bidding on three young slave girls who appeared to be a couple of years younger than I was, probably about Denise’s age when I saved her. The girls were nearly in tears, forced to display their nakedness to the men and allow them to run grubby hands over their most intimate places in public, then knowing what would happen to each of them before the night was over. I had to admit, although younger than I would have looked at before Denise, they still sent my blood surging southward. The men all looked up when a new voice entered the bidding. Some of them must have seen or heard about my demonstration earlier and edged away from me, quickly dropping out of the bidding.

Two more men left soon after that and the bidding was quickly down to me and one other man, an older, morbidly obese fellow who was practically drooling when he looked at the girls. My final bid of thirty-six gold aurei sent him storming off muttering epithets under his breath. The Magistrate received my money, noted it in his large book, and then gave the money to the seller who handed the ropes and the girls’ ragged clothing over to me. I gave the girls their clothes and told them to get dressed; their nakedness was only for me to enjoy now.

Before he left, the seller slipped his hand between the legs of one of the girls and whispered, “I will miss your lips on my cock.” Even before she could blush, my backhand sent him flying. “You were properly paid the agreed upon amount. Nobody touches my property without my permission,” I growled as he started to get up, rubbing his jaw. The look of hatred in his eyes told me I was going to enjoy the next few minutes.

Obviously, he had missed my demonstration earlier. Knife in hand, he lunged at me, growling like a rabid animal. I sidestepped his attack, redirected his arm, and sent him sprawling on his face. The commotion brought several spectators who cheered. “Pulling the knife was a mistake. Put it away and leave here now and you will live,” I warned.

Knife still in hand he stood again. The spectators laughing at him and cheering for me enraged him further. This time, though, he tried subterfuge.

Changing the knife to his left hand, his right hand disappeared briefly into his sleeve. Even though he was waving the knife in his left hand at me threateningly, I concentrated on the right hand. I saw the second knife appear and then watched it flying towards me. Thank God, the man was good with a throwing knife. It flew straight at me like an arrow, not tumbling end over end, as some prefer to throw them.

There was a large, collective gasp when I simply caught the knife. Yeah, okay, I misjudged and cut a finger on the blade. So, sue me. While the seller stared in disbelief, I returned the knife to him in the same manner he sent it to me. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t even try to catch it and it struck him in the eye, driving the long, thin blade straight into his brain. He was dead well before the audience gasped a second time.

I apologized to the Magistrate for the violence, but he waved it off. “Shall we go?” I asked the girls. The tallest of the three looked over at the dead man and looked like she wanted to say something. “If you ever have a question or feel that you should tell me something, feel free to speak. You do not need my permission, and you will never be punished for speaking up,” I chided the three girls.

“Wh ... what about his property?” the girl asked nervously.

“What about it?” I asked, displaying my lack of understanding.

“She is correct,” the slowly recovering Magistrate said as he stood. “This man tried to kill you simply because you defended your property. You killed him legally in defense of your person so everything he owned is now yours,” he pronounced.