Waldo (English Version) E-Book

Klaus D. Wagner

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Charlemagne Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 266

Beschreibung

Charlemagne's Christianisation of the pagans in the Dark Ages of Medieval Europe was brutal enough. It could have been far worse without Waldo, a more considered Christian, by his side. 'Who was Waldo?' I hear you ask. An original document, written in Latin on sheepskin in the early middle ages verifies the donation of a Christian church by a certain Waldo in Seeburg, a small village in Southern Germany. No further historic records of this mysterious Waldo existed. So I spent two years of intense research to unravel his alleged identity. I concluded, that Waldo and Charlemagne, the mighty Carolus Magnus, Charles the Great, were like the priest and the soldier, who shared a lifelong bond forged in childhood. They saw themselves as Christianity's cross and sword, put on earth by God to build and defend Christendom in medieval Europe. Both men differed in their approach to converting the pagans. Charlemagne, the soldier, believed in a swift decision and the beheading by sword of the unwilling: 'My god is your god. My will be done.' Waldo, the priest, believed in a more gentle missionary way, bringing salvation with bread, wine and fear of the unknown, and the promise of a better life in heaven: 'Jesus died for us on the cross for our redemption. Thy kingdom come. Amen!' They also shared a terrible secret known only to themselves and God. It's a secret that history failed to uncover in the last 1250 years.

Leseprobe

Historical fiction.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, institutions, organisations or places including townships mentioned in this historical novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously without any intention to describe actual conduct or events.

In Memoriam

Dedicated to Waldo, who, on June 11, 770AD, donated a church, which he built in Seeburg, to the Cloister Lorsch and who inspired me to write this historic novel.

About the Author

Klaus D Wagner was born on June 11, 1952 in Esslingen, Germany and grew up in a small Swabian town called Bad Urach.

After matriculation he studied marketing at the ‘Stuttgart Media University’ later working for an international advertising agency in Frankfurt.

In 1982 he immigrated to Sydney, Australia working in advertising on major accounts before establishing his own successful marketing business.

In 2001 he was awarded the ‘Order of Merit’ by the German Federal President.

He lives with his wife and two children in Sydney, Australia and in Bad Urach-Seeburg, Germany where this story originates.

Books by this author:

The Charlemagne Trilogy

I Waldo - Charlemagne’s Priest

II Godsbert - Charlemagne’s Scribe

III Carolus - Charlemagne’s Life

Original document from the Würzburg archives

Donatio Waldonis

I am with God in Münsingen called Waldo and donate, as documented, for the wellbeing of my soul, and to the holy martyr Nazarius, who’s body rests in Cloister Lorsch, where the abbot Gundeland is responsible in the name of Rome, that I shall always be present in the Alemannic area of Münsingen and Auingen, a church, farmland and meadows and also a church in the village of Trailfingen and another one in Seeburg.

Documented for Cloister Lorsch on June 11 in the second year of reign of King Charles. (Charlemagne - 770AD)

Klaus D Wagner

Epistolary

Dear Reader,

“Who was Waldo?” I hear you ask.

An original document, written in Latin on sheepskin in the early middle ages verifies the donation of a Christian church by a certain Waldo in Seeburg, a small village in Southern Germany.

No further historic records of this mysterious Waldo existed. I spent two years of intense research to unravel his alleged identity.

I concluded, that Waldo and Charlemagne, the mighty Carolus Magnus were like the priest and the soldier, who shared a lifelong bond forged in childhood.

They saw themselves as Christianity’s cross and sword, put on earth by God to build and defend Christendom in medieval Europe.

Both men differed in their approach to converting the pagans. Charlemagne, the soldier, believed in a swift decision and the beheading by sword of the unwilling: “My god is your god. My will be done.”

Waldo, the priest, believed in a more gentle missionary way, bringing salvation with bread, wine and fear of the unknown, and the promise of a better life in heaven: “Jesus died for us on the cross for our redemption. Thy kingdom come. Amen!”

They also shared a terrible secret known only to themselves and God. It’s a secret that history failed to uncover in the last 1250 years.

At this point I want to highlight and acknowledge the immeasurable help of my friend and editor Roger McAuliffe who turned my often clumsy thoughts and words into the refined writing befitting the Charlemagne Trilogy.

And those who read this book with an open mind, will hopefully care more about the authenticity of their spiritual experience than the historical authenticity of every chronicled aspect in this novel.

‘Lege feliciter’ as Waldo might have said in his Latin writing language meaning ‘read happily’, he might have added a pious ‘Amen’.

Let me simply say: ‘Enjoy!’

Yours sincerely,

Klaus D Wagner

THE CHRISTIANISATION OF THE PAGAN ALEMANNI

Posterity Quote

“You will never be forgotten in this place. As long as this fleeting world exists, your name will be endlessly praised, Waldo, oh thou most holy man.”

Said the monks of St. Denis on Waldo‘s death in 814AD

Contents

In Memoriam

Epistolary

Posterity Quote

Prologue

Sword

Cross

Confession

Arrival

Baptism

Love

Death

Refuge

Childhood

Schooling

Reunited

Ravenna

Agony

Bloodbath

Farewell

Incarceration

Confrontation

Missionary

Symbols

Exams

Enlightenment

Ordination

North

Rejection

Belief

Devotion

Funeral

Mission

Visit

Donation

South

Sin

Epilogue

Postscript

Epiphany

Prologue

Paul the Apostle was in a hurry. Ever since he had a vision of the resurrected Jesus Christ on the road to Damascus, he feared that the Armageddon, the end of the world, was near.

His mission was to convert as many Jews and Gentiles to his new faith of Christianity as possible. He preached that only the true believers in Jesus the Son of God and a descendant of King David were destined for heaven, all others were doomed to the fires of hell for eternity.

He and his companions undertook many missionary journeys and eventually sailed for Rome, Spain and Britain before returning to Jerusalem where he was arrested and martyred.

This need for urgency, for fear of the end of the world, persisted throughout the Early Middle Ages in Europe during the Merovingian and the Carolingian Dynasties.

The Merovingian royal family took its name from the renowned, almost legendary, King Merovech. He was succeeded by his son King Childeric. When Childeric died at Tournai in Belgium around 481 AD, his son Clovis acceded to the throne and the Franks emerged from obscurity.

Their history was recorded by a Gallo-Roman aristocrat, George Florentius, better known by his ecclesiastical name of Gregory, bishop of Tours. King Clovis proved to be a bloodthirsty young ruler, but despite that, Gregory admired his courage and tenacity and lauded him as the first Catholic king of the Franks.

In the 7th century, the wealth and influence of the Merovingian dynasty rapidly diminished, due to the growing power of the noble families. By the 8th century it had all but dried up and the Merovingian kings were rulers in title only.

Charlemagne’s friend and biographer, Einhard, summed up the position of the last descendants of Clovis in colourful terms: “The king had nothing left but the enjoyment of his title and the satisfaction of sitting on his throne, his hair long and his beard trailing, acting the part of a ruler.”

In the early 8th century, while Spain was succumbing to Muslim armies, Charles Martel, ‘The Hammer’, emerged. When the Muslims invaded Frankish lands Charles drove them out and finally ended Muslim expansion in Western Europe. The Frankish empire then came under the rule of the Carolingian dynasty, named after Charles – ‘Carolus’.

Charles Martel was succeeded by his sons, Pippin and Karlman. Karlman eventually retired to St Benedict’s monastery of Monte Cassino and Pippin became sole ruler of Francia. His father, Charles Martel, never called himself king, but Pippin wasn’t so reluctant. In 754, he was anointed King of the Franks by Pope Stephen II.

When Pippin died in 768, his kingdom was divided between his two sons, Charles (Charlemagne) and Carloman.

The two brothers were in constant conflict, but in 771, at the age of only 21, Carloman died after a long illness, and conveniently for Charlemagne who took over as sole ruler of the Frankish empire.

†

Charlemagne was unrelenting, and often brutal, in his determination to convert Europe, the Frankish Empire, to Christianity and protect Christendom at all costs. And like Paul the Apostle, Charlemagne was in a hurry too.

The Carolingian dynasty saw Christianity as not only a means of salvation and the forgiveness of sins, but also as a tool to unite the people of the vast Empire and give them a feeling of national solidarity and belonging.

So, there were two powers at play, the Roman Catholic Church, which supported an apostolic conversion of the pagans, and the Frankish Kings, who wanted a much faster conversion.

The Church sent out missionaries to convert the pagan villagers through the power of the cross, by preaching Jesus Christ’s message of the forgiveness of sins and a life to come in God’s kingdom of heaven.

This apostolic approach was far too slow for the Carolingian kings. So they sent in their troops with swords and orders to kill all local noblemen who were not converting to Christianity as they were hindering the amalgamation of the Frankish Empire.

Two cruel historic events vividly illustrate the fierce determination of the Frankish kings to convert the pagans at all costs.

At the Bloodcourt of Cannstatt in 746AD, hundreds of helpless Suebi noblemen were killed by Charlemagne’s uncle, King Karlman.

27 years later, in 773AD, Charlemagne killed thousands of Saxon prisoners of war for not obeying his orders to convert to Christianity .

Eventually the empire was converted to Christianity, and the Pope in Rome, with the help of the Frankish Kings, eventually became the powerful guardian of the unified Christian kingdom of the Carolingians.

†

The story that unfolds here in this book, begins in the middle of the 8th century, with Waldo, the missionary priest from the Cloister of Reichenau.

Taught and inspired by Irish-Scottish Monks, he sets out to convert the last bastion of the Frankish kingdom’s barbaric pagans to Christianity, with nothing more than a cross, faith in God, and his own strength and courage.

His childhood friend, and King of the Franks, Charles the Great, also known as Charlemagne, pushes him to be less apostolic and more ferocious in his approach, explaining that the only power in a cross is the fear of the sword.

Prolepsis...

Abbey of St. Gall, December 6, 770AD

I

Sword

The moonlight floated to earth as a shimmering silver mist, illuminating the winter’s night. It bathed the landscape in a pale glow, betraying the nocturnal predators lurking in their hidden places.

A great eagle owl dropped from its moonlit perch without a whisper of sound to find a darker place to hunt. As it glided low across the ground towards the forest, its gleaming blood orange eyes caught a glimpse of a tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the purple sky.

The great owl had seen this majestic man before, but never alone like this. There were always protectors. Where were they now? As powerful as he was, he had too many enemies to be wandering alone in the shadow time of the gathering dark.

Even here, in his own land, there were savage barbarians waiting for the black of night to spill the blood of Christian conquerors like him. Worse still, there were traitors whose loyalty could be bought for silver and gold. And there were murderous assassins who would slit this warrior’s throat simply for the glory of their god.

He always had protectors, who would lay down their own lives to save his. But now there were none to be seen as he walked slowly, head bowed, as if in contemplation … or penitence. He stopped and looked up ahead, and then behind, the way he had come, as if he might turn and go back to the safety of his protectors. Or perhaps it was to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He turned forward again and his shoulders lifted as he sucked in a deep lungful of the cool night air.

His keen, bright eyes scanned the glowing landscape before him as he strode forward. Occasionally he peered deep into the shadows, made stronger and sharper-edged by the full moon, now partly obscured by the bell towers of the great abbey ahead of him in the distance.

The path he was following was taking him up hill to the abbey’s gate. It ran along a narrow ridge, with the forest pressing in on both sides just a little way below him. As he moved forward once again, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence. It came from close by in the trees to his right. He swung round to face the sound, drawing his sword in the same flowing movement.

The moonlight flashed a brilliant gold along the full length of the blade. He stood with the sword angled across his chest, his other hand on the dagger at his belt, and listened. The scream reached him again, but this time it was less violent. It sounded several more times – now just a squeal. Then, abruptly, it was choked off and its echo faded away in the wind. A bear killing a wild pig, he decided.

He listened a while longer to the restored silence. Then, satisfied there was no immediate threat, he wrapped his gilded blue cloak around him and continued along the path.

He moved at a brisk pace, but his gaze keenly followed the edge of the path on his left, as if retracing his steps, looking for something precious he had lost earlier. The object of his search suddenly appeared just ahead of him, easily seen in the bright moonlight. It was a small pile of white stones, which he quickly brushed aside retrieving the dark bundle of wrapped cloth underneath. He vigorously shook it loose, held it up, and smiled.

A perfect fit, he thought. He put the garment on over his own clothing and pulled the cowl over his head. The magnificent abbey loomed above him, an awe-inspiring shape against the night sky.

He stood and admired its vast, brooding magnificence for several moments before striding forward once again, now as a monk not a king. A short time later he stopped again and looked behind him one last time, before leaving the path and melting into the night as the shadow of the abbey claimed him.

II

Cross

On the other side of the abbey wall appeared a second figure flitting in and out of the shadows as he strode purposefully towards the vast building towering over him.

The small metal cross hanging around his neck was of a dull lustre and not designed to impress or intimidate. Despite his humble attire however, this man was no stranger to the trappings of power.

He too heard the scream in the night, but it was a way off and he was accustomed to such sounds. He had no fear of wild beasts. Only the fear of God filled his heart. If the Lord wanted him to be devoured by wolves, then so be it.

This part of the northern Alps, he reflected, was beautiful and spectacular in the daylight, but now, at night, even under a bright moon, it could seem savage and frightening with its prowling predators and Godless Barbarians. But much more than that, it was also awe-inspiring and terrifying for another reason.

He knew that one might meet devils and run the risk of losing one’s soul in this place, but one might also meet the Almighty. For all his holiness and devotion to his Creator, he wasn’t ready to meet him.

Not tonight, at least. Tonight he had a duty to an earthly lord that he alone among men could perform.

With such thoughts urging him to greater exertion, he finally entered the abbey from a hidden rear entrance. Minutes later, he reached a side door to the church. The door opened onto three stone steps that took him straight up into the sacristy.

He replaced his humble monk’s habit with his fine priest’s vestments and climbed five more stone steps to the first floor. He hurried along a vaulted corridor running along the side of the nave, past a row of emblazoned shields and flickering candles hanging overhead.

As he reached the narthex he stepped directly into the chapel. The high rectangular windows faced south, away from the full moon in the eastern sky, so only the faintest glow of light reached them, shrouding the chapel in a soft grey gloom.

Along one wall were three bronze latticed doors, each opening into confessional recesses. Each confessional recess was made up of two narrow chambers with a small wooden mesh window between them. Under each window was a narrow shelf, and in each chamber a bench with a prayer book on it.

The priest lit the candle, closed the lattice door behind him and settled in the chair on one side of the gloomy confessional chamber. He sat motionless in the semi-darkness, head bowed in prayer, waiting for the most powerful and important man in the land to come and confess his sin. It was just one sin, but one he knew would be committed. A terrible sin he was obliged to forgive, and forget. Forgetting his own sin would be much more difficult.

III

Confession

The great sinner came through the front entrance and made his way briskly past the gatehouse, into the church hall and through to the narthex. From there he could see the altar at the far end of the nave, and to his left he saw that the door to the chapel was open.

He knelt on one knee, drew his sword and placed it firmly on the stone floor in front of him. Facing the altar, he bowed his head in prayer and remained that way for several minutes.

†

In the confessional chamber close by, all the priest heard was a sharp clink of sword on stone. A short time later he heard the sinner take his place at the other side of the mesh window.

The priest didn’t bother to look up because there was nothing to see in the shadows behind the mesh, but he had a clear picture of the proud, regal head there with its white mane, strong nose and large penetrating eyes.

The deep voice resonated through the confined chamber. “Bless me father. Even a king must confess his sins.”

“But not to everyone.”

“To you only, my trusted Christian adviser, dear Waldo.”

“Your sins are my sins, Charles.”

“I plan to kill my brother. God forgive me!”

“First you will need Bertrada to forgive you.”

“She will not, she is his mother too.”

“But God will forgive you?”

“God is merciful.”

“And what mercy will you show to your brother?

“It is necessary to kill him to protect the Christian faith!”

“Even your own brother?”

“It has to be done ... before he kills me.”

“Christ didn’t kill.” said Waldo, the confessional priest.

No further response came from the darkness at the other side of the mesh window. The long silence condensed like dew on Charles’s conscience.

“Are you still there? Waldo, my brother.”

“Would you kill me then too, Charles … if it had to be done?”

“You are my soul brother. We are joined at the heart, you and I Waldo. It would be as stabbing myself in the heart. It will be my natural earthly brother I kill.”

“I could forgive you, in the name of the Lord. But I cannot bless what you plan to do. I wear a cross, not a sword.”

Charles laughed bitterly: “A cross is a sword, a sword is a cross. We are sword and cross together.”

“Then it will be ‘we’ who kill him, Charles – you and me.”

“My sins are your sins, Waldo.”

Some 21 years earlier...

City of Worms, July 1, 741AD

1

Arrival

“It is our sins that separate us from God,” said Chrodegang the Bishop-in-waiting of Metz.

“Amen,” came the response from the priests and monks gathered around him.

“We are conceived in the iniquity of sin,” one of the monks said. The Bishop raised his hands and lifted his eyes towards the church’s vaulted ceiling, as the others bowed their heads.

“Let us pray,” he said. “Lord, you raised up John the Baptist to prepare each of us for Christ. We are to repent and – “

“They come! They come!” shouted an unseen voice.

Seconds later a small boy burst into the church and ran up to the Bishop.

“They come!” he shouted again, unable to contain his excitement.

One of the monks constrained and calmed the boy.

“Hush Ruthard,” he said gently, “his Grace is praying.”

With a remarkable display of willpower, the wide-eyed boy obeyed.

“They come!” he whispered, looking up desperately at the monk who had his arm wrapped firmly around the boy’s shoulders. The bishop frowned severely at the boy, then turned away with a wide smile on his face and continued his interrupted prayer.

“We are to repent and be baptised for the remission of our sins through the holy faith of St John the Baptist, burning and shining lamp of the world. This is God’s instruction.”

He turned and smiled at the boy.

“Tomorrow we have a christening to celebrate the cleansing of the original sin from the soul of the infant Waldo, son of Richbold, Count of Wetterau … and baby brother of young Ruthard.”

The bishop ruffled the boy’s hair.

“So, they come!” he said happily. “Thank you Ruthard for this joyous news. And we thank the Lord for their safe arrival. Now let us go and welcome our exalted visitors.”

†

Exalted they were. This was indeed a gathering of the highest in the land. Nobles, abbots and bishops making the journey to the city of Worms on the river Rhine and its Cathedral to attend the baptism of Richbold’s second son, Waldo. And the most august guests of all were the future King Pippin and his brother Karlman, sons of the legendary ruler Charles Martel ‘The Hammer’. As well as being a future king, on this day, July 1st 741, Pippin was also to be godfather to the infant Waldo the next day. The two brothers had just returned from their sister Hiltrude’s marriage to the Bavarian Duke Odillo in Passau, two week’s journey from Worms.

“Our cherished sister Hiltrude is now the Duchess of Bavaria!” Pippin announced, as he greeted his dear friend Richbold.

“Hail to the Duchess of Bavaria,” Richbold declared to the gathered throng.

“To the Duchess of Bavaria!” they sang out with one voice. “May God fill her heart with joy!”

“Thank you my friends,” Pippin sang back with a beaming smile. He then thumped Richbold vigorously on the back and threw his arm around his shoulder.

“Wine for our great and honoured guests!” Richbold ordered. He need not have bothered for the wine was already being poured.

“Now everyone must hear about our journey from Passau,” Pippin said, taking a large goblet of wine in both hands, as if he were a priest grasping a chalice. “Karlman and I travelled along the Danube to Ulm where we disembarked our barges. We wanted to cross the Swabian Alb as we had heard so many strange and terrible tales about the pagan barbarians living in those God-forsaken lands at the far edge of our empire.”

“They were sub-human and uncivilized, we were told,” said Karlman, “and were guilty of the most vile and inhuman acts imaginable.”

The gathered guests were now listening intently, expecting to hear horrible stories of bloodthirsty devil worship and the gruesome sacrifice of innocent children.

“That is not so,” Karlman said, disappointing everyone. “It is true they are a rough-looking people clothed in animal skins and coarse linen. But they are no more bloodthirsty than anyone else. They are just poor, ignorant and living in squalor.”

“They are not organized,” said Pippin. “They have no civil rules or systems. The villages stink. All manner of filth and waste is tossed into the alleyways, and stays there until it rots. These barbarian people get sick all the time.”

“We cannot allow this to continue in our own lands,” Karlman said. “Life is not worth living as these barbarians live, and we must change it. No-one in the empire we rule has to live like a barbarian.”

All those gathered cheered mightily and drank heartily to the health and benevolence of Pippin and Karlman.

“Friends! Friends!” shouted Pippin, trying to calm them. “Let us thank my great friend Richbold for his hospitality. And let us not overindulge ourselves today, because tomorrow we must celebrate the holy baptism of my godson, the infant Waldo. And we must do so with great dignity and respect under the gaze of the Lord our God.” The gathered guests, now calm and quiet, nodded their agreement.

“Then, afterwards,” Pippin cried, “We can overindulge!”

Cathedral of Worms, July 2, 741AD

2

Baptism

A new day emerged from the pink glow that gently washed across the eastern sky. The arriving light was only just touching the top of the church’s bell tower, painting it with a rosy hue.

The western door of the cathedral was still in darkness, but an array of torches and candles illuminated the baptistery and there was already a bustle of activity. Preparation for Waldo’s baptism began early.

With the rulers Pippin and Karlman on the guest list, nothing could be left to chance. Richbold’s instructions were that everything must be ready two hours before the christening, which was set for midday.

At noon precisely the church bells rang out across the countryside announcing to one and all that the christening of Waldo, second son of Richbold, the Count of Wetterau, had begun.

Richbold, with Pippin and Karlman at his side, led the male guests and family members into the church, and the door was closed behind them.

They took their places in the pews as Chrodegang, the Bishop-in-waiting of Metz and his entourage of priests and monks assembled before them on a raised section above the baptismal font.

The Bishop led the men in prayers for the salvation of the soul of the infant Waldo. He finished with a plea to God that Waldo’s religious destiny would be fulfilled.

“As the second son, it will be Waldo’s duty to save the family’s souls for entry into the Kingdom of Heaven by devoting his life to the service of the Lord our God as a member of the clergy in the Holy Christian Church. Let us bow our heads in silent, fervent prayer that this is the will of the Lord and shall come to pass.”

The Bishop blessed the assembled men and signaled for the main door to be opened once again.

High overhead the sun shone directly down on the church with a benevolent warmth. When the doors were opened a burst of golden light filled the baptistery, glistening brightly on the water in the baptismal font.

For the men already inside, the figures entering the church were silhouettes carried forward in a giant halo of sunshine. As they moved into the church out of the glare of the light behind them, their form and features came into clear focus.

Leading the group, carrying the infant Waldo, was a girl called Bertrada of Laon, a relation of Waldo’s mother, Farahild, who as tradition decreed, was not present at her child’s christening. Bertrada was accompanied by Waldo’s godfather Pippin and his godmother the Duchess of Williswinda.

The Bishop of Metz was waiting just inside the entrance hall, ready to accept the child for baptism.

Bertrada presented the infant Waldo to the bishop, who was beaming with the joy of baptising his own nephew. But there were rituals to be followed as if he were anyone’s newborn.

“Has the child been baptised before?” he asked.

“No your Grace.” said Bertrada softly.

“Is the child a boy or a girl?” the bishop asked.

“He is a boy,” Bertrada replied shyly, “his name shall be Waldo.”

The bishop then blessed the infant Waldo and placed a pinch of salt in the child’s mouth to represent the reception of wisdom and to exorcise any demons.

He then turned to the godparents.

“Do you both know the prayers you are to teach the child?”

“We do, your Grace,” answered Pippin and the Duchess in unison.

With that, the bishop led the group to the baptismal font where he anointed the infant, immersed him in the font and named him Waldo.

His godfather, Pippin, raised him out of the water and held him while his godmother wrapped him in a chryson, a christening gown of fine white linen decorated with glittering seed pearls.

†

The final part of the ceremony was to take place at the altar. Bertrada took Waldo from his godparents and going ahead of the others, carried him up to the altar, where she waited for the others to join her.

At this point it seemed that the sun moved suddenly in the sky as a shaft of light beamed in from a window high up in the nave and shone directly on Bertrada and the infant Waldo nestled in her arms.

A murmur rose from many among the gathering. Is it a sign from heaven? The God-light illuminating Waldo’s certain destiny as a great holy man of the church. They saw the beam of golden light as a flame of devotion to the Lord and bowed their heads in silent adoration.

The only head not bowed was Pippin’s, whose eyes were glowing with the flame of an entirely different kind of adoration. His gaze was fixed on the young Bertrada, as it had been throughout the baptism ceremony. Pippin saw the beam of light striking the beautiful countenance of Bertrada as a sign from God too, or at least from His cherubs, whose golden arrows had found their mark.

3

Love

“Love is the key that opens the gates of happiness,” Duchess Williswinda said.

Pippin seemed not to hear. He was now standing right beside Bertrada at the altar, about to recite his godfather vows. The scent of her was intoxicating and making him feel light-headed. He was also having trouble breathing, and his pulse was racing.

Williswinda, Waldo’s godmother, was standing at his other side.

“To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven,” she said softly, close to Pippin’s ear.

His face flushed a deep scarlet, but he refused to look at the Duchess, who was smiling broadly. She seemed to have read his most intimate thoughts. Pippin was indeed thinking that the golden sunlight illuminating Bertrada’s dazzling garment of white silk and bleached linen, transformed her into an angel sent from heaven.

He felt a gentle nudge in his ribs from Williswinda, who was enjoying herself immensely at Pippin’s expense.

He realised that the Bishop was looking directly at him with a patient smile on his face.

“Forgive me, your Grace,” Pippin said, recovering quickly, as a great leader should. “I was lost in thoughts of the divine beauty of this holy ceremony.”

Waldo’s godmother snorted as she stifled a laugh, attracting a knowing look from the bishop, who was fighting his own battle trying not to laugh on such a devout occasion.

Once the baptism ritual had finished, Pippin found the courage to turn and look directly at Bertrada, who rewarded him with a glorious smile that lit up his soul and shone out through his eyes.

He was oblivious to the many other smiles on the faces around him who recognized a man hopelessly smitten by love.

To bring Pippin back to reality and the matters at hand, Richbold stepped forward.

“Our great and revered Lords, Pippin and Karlman,” he announced loudly, “My beloved wife Farahild and I are honoured, on behalf of the Duchess Williswinda, to invite you, and all our friends gathered here, to join us across the river Rhine at Lorsch, the Duchess’s family estate.

The holy baptism of my son Waldo has taken place in the sight of God and his heavenly angels. Now we celebrate this blissful event with the joy of earthly pleasures - beer, wine, food, dancing and singing - in the company of my beloved wife Farahild, who, as per tradition was not present during this holy ceremony!”

†

The ripeness of summer filled the afternoon air with gentle warmth and rich fragrances of the lush countryside as the happy gathering left the church.