Year of our Lord, 866
The following short story has been inspired by the weekly Iron Age Media literature prompt "The Marquise" for Wednesday, April 26, 2023
It is the month of February in the year of our Lord 866. I, Ermentar of Noirmoutier, a humble servant of God under the guidance of abbot Hilbod, write these words so that the barbaric crimes of the Norsemen may be registered and laid bare for all of Christendom.Â
Ours has always been a community devoted to the worship of God. The accursed raiders, for all their bloodthirst and the wanton destruction they have wrought, have proven unable to quell our devotion. Though we were forced to abandon the monastery in Noirmoutier, erected through long labor under abbot Arnoul, may God rest his soul, we have kept Saint Philibert’s most holy relics safe from their desecrations. From Noirmoutier, to Déas, to Cunault and now to Messay we fled. Now, the Norsemen spread their depravity from the occupied island of Noirmoutier, from whence the light of God once shone onto the kingdom of West Francia.
Shaming all of Christendom, Salomon, Duke of Brittany, has allied himself with a Danish chieftain by the name of Hastein. Together, their forces have plundered the marches of Neustria, raiding the provinces of Anjou, Maine, and Touraine, and even sacked the city of Le Mans.Â
Though the marquis of Neustria, Robert the Strong, has in the past allied himself with the very same Salomon in revolt against the crown, our great king, Charles II, grandson of the great Charlemagne, has, in his wisdom, made peace with Robert, and charged him with defending West Francia from the barbaric Danes. For five years, Robert the Strong has repelled the Norsemen invasions into the marches of Neustria, and if God wills it, he shall drive them back once more.
I have traveled to meet Robert and join the army he has raised to fight the invaders. The marquis has shown me hospitality, for which I am thankful. His wife, a quiet, reserved woman named Adelaide of Tours, is rarely seen beside him, for she is with child. His eldest son, Odo, however, is a constant presence by his father’s side. The boy is curious and intelligent, and I predict he will follow in his father’s footsteps in defending the kingdom.
There are mixed views amongst the people of Neustria regarding the marquis. Robert is seen as a capable defender, having defeated in the recent past another raid brought upon by Salomon against the valley of Loire. He has had to raise taxes to pay the tribute of Danegeld to the Danes and keep them from further attacks. The people labor harshly, and with the Norsemen now breaking the truce with their attack, there is growing sentiment that the heathens must be driven off, instead of paid off. By God’s light, it shall be so.Â
Robert is joined by Ranulf, Duke of Aquitaine, and Hervé, Count of Maine. Robert’s men who are closest to him, soldiers who have undoubtedly followed his lead in former campaigns and shared in their lord’s success, seem confident we shall prevail. Having assembled an army, we shall depart in three days time to drive this Danish plague from Christian lands. I pray to the Lord that He may guide and bless Robert in this holy work.
March, the year of our Lord 866. As we left for the countryside, it was as if a weight had been lifted from Robert’s shoulders. Though the task we are charged with is serious, the marquis shows a bright disposition, even as he leaves his son and pregnant wife behind to do battle with the Norsemen and Bretons. Two days ago, a strange figure took her place by his side.
Her arrival was presaged by animals. It was dusk, and we were preparing to make camp near a small copse, after a long day’s march. Life in the monastery has ill-prepared me for these long travels, and even the soldiers felt relieved to be able to rest for the night. As we settled down, a great and terrible howl pierced the night. The region was known to be home to wolves, and though we numbered many, the men were uneasy. Robert’s men, however, reassured those alarmed that all was well. The howling grew closer, and with it came the crowing of birds and the creaking of wood, as the trees near our camp swung, though the wind was but a breeze as the day died down.
As Robert himself stepped closer to the trees, an enormous white wolf emerged from the long shadows cast by the last rays of sunlight. The beast was nearly the size of the marquis, fur pale as a ghost manifesting itself in the night. It stood there before him, as some startled soldiers serving under Count Hervé made for their weapons, but were kept from attacking by a command from Robert. As my eyes pierced the gloom, I saw that it was not a wild animal, for it was fit with some manner of harness or saddle, atop which sat a woman.
Her hair was white, much like the fur of her mount, and pale too was her skin. I could hear the men around me draw in their breath as her beauty washed over them. Her features were at the same time soft and commanding, warm and exalted, the kind that leads men astray from God as surely as a river current carries away a fallen leaf. A green cloak covered her shoulders, and the occasional gleam of jewelry flashed briefly in the dim light as she moved to dismount the wolf.
Robert stepped ahead to aid her, and after exchanging words, they shared an embrace. They displayed affection towards one another, an attitude unbecoming of a proper married Christian and someone of the marquis’ station. Robert’s men seemed to share in his joy, gathering around them in happiness, as if reuniting with an old companion, ignoring the impropriety of their lord’s actions.Â
She travels with us now, and I pray she will not distract Robert from his duty to the king and to his land.
The shadow of sin follows us as we travel in pursuit of the enemy. The white-haired woman and Robert unabashedly spend much time together. She also appears to enjoy spending time with his men. It is plain that she has known some of them for a long time, and she talks and mingles with them in a manner that I find surprising. I know of the dark desires that lurk in the hearts of men, but these soldiers do not treat her crudely or lecherously. Instead, they look at her with respect, reverence even.
I have overheard her talking with them, on occasion. She has an unusual accent, which I cannot quite place. She does not seem Frankish, that much is clear, and this fact troubles me. Robert’s past quarrel with the king still lingers like a black cloud over him, but the presence of the Duke of Aquitaine and the Count of Maine and their men reassures me he will remain on the right path.Â
More worrisome, however, is the woman herself, and what dark influences she might bring. I have watched her since her arrival. As she talked to the men one night, I caught a glimpse of one of her adornments, as she adjusted her cloak. It was a silver brooch of some sort, in the shape of three interlocking triangles. I have seen this very symbol being used by the heathens, and here is this woman, bearing the mark of some pagan false god in the midst of good Christians! She must have noticed I had seen it, for she turned to me and smiled, almost in a beckoning fashion, but I shall not carouse with a heathen.Â
This cannot stand. I shall have words with Robert and offer to pray with him. Maybe I can shepherd him back to the light of God.
April, the year of our Lord 866. I have become closer to the men. I initially offered to pray with them, and guide them towards God’s light, but few of the soldiers demonstrated much interest. They are simple, practical men, and I came to realize that, though they do not lack in faith, theirs is a devotion displayed in a different manner, more in actions than in spoken word. These are men who have fought and bled together, and they looked at me as some intruder upon a life I had not earned the right to be a part of.Â
Seeking to change that, I sat one night to drink and speak of more mundane things with them. Robert’s men were surprised to see I could hold down my drink. If only they knew the kind of beer brother Aimery brewed back at the monastery! As conversation flowed, they seemed to accept me more. We talked of their lord’s exploits, the battles they had fought alongside Robert, and of those waiting for us at home. I then asked of the marquis’ companion.Â
The men told me she was called Gesche, and that the marquis had met her in his younger years, while he still lived in East Francia. When he defected for West Francia, she had disappeared for a time, which took along a measure of Robert’s happiness even though he thrived under his new king, Charles II. In the years that followed, Gesche had resurfaced and breathed joy back into Robert. Though they were only together when he was away from home, the men told me the marquis always seemed at his best when she was near. She was at his side during his revolt against the king, and while he fought off the Norsemen invaders. Robert’s men had taken to calling her ‘the marquise’, and she was well regarded and loved by them.Â
Their tongue loosened by drink, the soldiers then talked of troubling things. They spoke that Gesche had powers. The great white wolf that she somehow had tamed and rode was but a small example of this. According to Robert’s men, all manner of animals are at her beck and call. They recounted times when she had called birds to peck at their enemies' eyes, or when a few strange words uttered by her lips had sent their foes’ horses wild. I fear this may be the devil’s hand at work, and that the men have fallen under some manner of witchcraft, Robert most of all.Â
As if summoned by talk of her, the woman suddenly appeared among our group, as we gathered around a campfire. The soldiers greeted her happily, and she smiled, enjoying their company. She would often join them in conversation and it was clear she knew many of them personally, for she knew their names and would ask them for news of their families and of their deeds since she had last seen them.Â
I had always been distant from such gatherings, but being present on that occasion, she addressed me eventually. She asked my name, her voice pronouncing the Frankish words with her odd accent. I did not answer her. I did not dare talk to the witch, nor look into her eyes, for fear of falling under her spell. One of Robert’s men, perhaps mistaking my silence for clerical ineptitude with women, told her in jest what I was called. As her lips formed my name, may God forgive me, my will faltered for but a moment, and I looked up and saw her smiling at me.Â
I must have mumbled something as an excuse to leave, and retreated back to where I kept my belongings. It is now that I write these words, oh Lord, after praying for Your guidance. Forgive this humble servant for his weakness. When I looked upon the witch, it shames me to say, I saw her earthly beauty. In her eyes, I saw warmth and caring, and her smile was sweet. But were not the words of the tempting serpent sweet sounding as well? Oh Lord, grant me the fortitude to endure her charms, and the strength to steer Robert and his men away from her evil influence.Â
We have had our first brush with the enemy today. We had spotted smoke rising over the horizon, and Robert, Duke Ranulf and Count Hervé sent a small scouting party ahead of the army to determine what it was.
Only three of the scouts came back. One was severely injured, having been hit by several arrows. I could all but administer the last rites before he perished. The surviving scouts told they had been ambushed while approaching a smoldering farm, that no doubt had been pillaged and burned down by the Bretons and Danes. Their ambushers had apparently fled and taken refuge in the wooded hills.Â
Our traverse over the farmland would have been difficult, harried constantly by skirmishing enemies, and both the Duke and the Count were already discussing the best course of action, when Robert called for Gesche.Â
He asked for her assistance in the matter, and she obliged. Raising her arms to the sky, she spoke words into the wind in a language I could not understand. Her eyes went white as her hair, and the warmth of her manners was peeled back to reveal the dark power beneath.
The air was filled with the calls of birds, and they flocked to her, covering her outstretched arms and perching on her shoulders. The witch then spoke to them, whispering some sort of vileness to the poor creatures. After she had finished speaking, the birds took flight, moving across the sky in many different directions.Â
The woman was in some manner of foul trance by then, eyes wide and expression blank. Robert took her in his arms and placed her atop the white wolf, and the creature seemed to lower itself to allow its rider to be placed onto it. After tying her safely to the saddle, the marquis signaled for all to advance. Duke Ranulf and Count Hervé and their men were taken aback by the heathen act we had just witnessed, as was I, but they followed Robert’s lead nonetheless. Praying to the Lord for deliverance from such evil, I had to do the same.
Robert rode beside his ‘marquise’, and we made steady progress through the enemy infested hills. Occasionally, a bird would come down from the sky, land on the witch’s shoulder and crow into her ear. She would then speak of things she should not have known, the dreadful witchcraft revealing to her the positions of our enemies. The marquis listened attentively, and reacted to the information as required. Some enemies were avoided, their ambushes unsprung, while others we charged and defeated, or routed from their hidings.Â
Thus we crossed the ravaged Neustrian farmlands. May God forgive me, but I cannot help but wonder if it would not have been preferable for our passage to have been bought with the blood of good Christians, rather than made safe by partaking in such devilry.Â
May, the year of our Lord 866. Again I have spoken to Robert about Gesche. I fear my attempts at clearing his clouded judgment have only angered him. While initially he rebuffed my words as those of a monk wide-eyed by his first time seeing the world outside the monastery, now he rebukes me more fiercely. What rapport I had built with his men has also begun to crumble. They look at me sideways now, as if my attempts to bring them to the light are a grave threat to something they hold dear.Â
Robert, in his anger, has once more shut me down and has ordered me to go into a nearby woods to gather kindling for the night. I shall do so now, after I finish scribbling these thoughts. I do not wish to incur his wrath, for I fear his soul is already too burdened by sin.
Oh Lord, I ask once more for Your guidance. My mind is fraught with doubt, my resolve no longer strong.Â
This night, as I was coming back from the woods after gathering kindling for our campfires, I was set upon by a group of Danes. The heathens somehow found me in the gloom, maybe as they prepared a surprise attack while we rested for the night, and no doubt thought a lone monk to be an apt quarry upon which to enact their barbarism.Â
I cried for help and fled, hurrying for the safety of our camp, but stumbled in the dim light and the heathens quickly caught up to me. I was certain I was to die that moment, and may God forgive me, but I feared for the loss of my mortal life. As the Danes advanced on me with weapons drawn, however, the forest suddenly came to life.Â
Before the axe of one of my attackers could strike me down, a large tree beside me twisted with an unnatural groan of wood, its heavy trunk hitting the man square in the chest and sending him backwards through the air. The other men hesitated, doubtless fearful of the demonic spirits and influences that populate their pagan religion, and which now seemed to manifest to come to the aid of a servant of God.
As they stood there uncertain, the woods continued their assault. A massive beech shifted near one of the Danes, its roots lifting from the ground and grasping the man’s leg, pinning him down as he screamed in fear and pain. Small branches came down all around his companions, grasping, entangling and holding them down.
Behind me, a loud creaking sound heralded the arrival of the Frankish forces, as the woods parted to give them passage. Ahead, there rode the woman Gesche, atop her great white wolf mount, and my mind, beset by fear, saw her as an apparition of the Holy Ghost. At her side, as always was Robert the Strong, and his men rode alongside them.Â
The Danes were made short work of, for the woman’s power gave them no chance of flight. She came to me then, as did the marquis, and after asking if I had been harmed, she helped me make my way back to our camp, while Robert stayed behind with his men to scour the woods for any more enemies.Â
Lord, please grant understanding to this humble servant. If Gesche’s power truly comes from the devil, should she not have let me die at the hands of other heathens? Would she not have sought to silence a voice that spoke to the marquis against her? I have twice now witnessed her powers, and know them to not be of this world. But if they are used against those that would defile Your work, how can it be the work of the devil?Â
I must rest now, but first I shall pray for Your guidance, Lord. Please, help me understand Your will.Â
June, the year of our Lord 866. This past month has been one filled with both thought and action. Our forces, under the command of Robert, have skirmished several times with the Bretons and Danes. Morale is good, as we continue to drive the invaders from our lands. With Gesche’s aid, we have managed to outmatch the enemy. Time and again, her abilities, mysterious as they still are to me, have come to our aid. On one occasion, her white wolf tracked a raiding party that had been eluding Robert’s men for some days, easily leading us to their camp and coming back from the attack with its pale fur painted red. Another time, she made shrubs and bushes spring forth from the earth and serve as concealment when one of our scouting groups was caught off guard by the approaching Danes. She knows much of herbs as well, which ones soothe the pain of the wounded and which ones help break a fever. It has become clear to me why the soldiers enjoy her company.
Over this month, I have also come to appreciate her presence. We have made it a habit of talking before retiring for the night. These conversations were initially awkward, given the way I had viewed her until recently. But she has shown patience and dedication, seeming intent on turning me from an enemy into an ally. Maybe even a friend.
I have given it much thought and prayer, and may God forgive me if I stray from His path, but I sincerely find her to be kind and good. We speak of God, philosophy and the nature of the world. She is quite knowledgeable, and has surprised me with her insights, though I am glad to say I have also made her stop and ponder on more than one occasion.Â
Whenever we talk, part of my mind focuses on her accent. Until last night, I had been unable to place it, and thus from whence she hails. When first we began talking, I asked her if she was from East Francia, as Robert’s men have alluded to, but she simply nodded it was not so. Since then, I have tried to guess she was a Dane herself, a Saxon or a Briton, all which were politely denied. She seems amused at my attempts at discovering more of her past, and remains quite secretive, but I feel I have finally discovered some of it.
As we were finishing our discussion yesterday, before she went to join Robert, I hazarded another guess. I asked her if she was of Frisian descent, and instead of the muted negative she usually offered, I was rewarded with a kind smile and a positive nod, as if she was pleased I had finally solved the riddle that vexed me so. She bade me good night, and I was left with more questions. How had she met Robert, and how had they ended up together? Was she of noble blood herself? Was she a Christian, after all? And, more importantly, the question to which I most desired answers, but which I had avoided, for fear of such answers: how could she do the things she did?Â
Tonight, I have peeled back some more of the mystery. We’ve had an intense day of marching, as news came the Danes had left their boats on the river Loire under light guard as they raided, and Robert seeks to attack quickly tomorrow, in order to capture and destroy their vessels. Gesche, having played her part in obtaining this information through her abilities, seemed quite tired, and I feared my questions would have to wait for another time. Still, she made a point of spending some time with the soldiers, and then of coming to speak with me.Â
I intended to begin sating my curiosity by asking of her past, of the path that had led her here. But when I opened my mouth, the question escaped my lips, and I ended up simply asking her how she could do it all. She chuckled softly, understanding immediately what I meant, as if already expecting such a question for some time.Â
She answered me with another question, asking if I thought her gift was of the devil. As much as that question has been keeping me awake for many a night, I did not have a ready answer, and could all but offer back that I did not know. Gesche pointed out that once I had been sure she was a witch, and asked me what had changed.Â
We sat there for a while, as the men prepared themselves for the morning attack and my thoughts struggled to settle into an answer. As the moments stretched out, I said I had talked to her, and saw that she did not match the image I had formed beforehand.Â
Gesche graced my plain answer with another of her kind smiles. She said that God had made us all in His image, and so we all have more in common than we think, for each of us carry that same divine spark of humanity. It should not be appearances, she continued, that mattered the most, but what we carry within our hearts. And if God is truly good and just, He would see it, and that should be enough.Â
We stood by the fire for a while longer, until the time came to retire for the night. I shall pray for Robert and his men, so that the Lord may bless and protect them when morrow comes. And I shall pray for Gesche as well. May you look into her soul, oh Lord, and find her virtuous.
July, the year of our Lord 866. Robert the Strong is dead.Â
Our attack on the Danish ships was met with initial success. Our forces managed to intercept the raiders near the town of Brissarthe, and cut them off from escaping through the river Loire. Gesche once again proved instrumental in our victory, bringing forth thorns to assault the enemy’s camp and calling wolves to harry and pursue their reinforcements as they attempted to recapture their boats.Â
We chased the Norsemen down, until they took shelter in a nearby church. Having barricaded themselves within, the heathens seemed prepared to make their stand. Their very presence in that hallowed ground was an affront to God. Our forces encircled the church, and the enemy’s escape looked impossible.
The day turned into night as we continued our siege. The heathens cowered inside the church, making few attempts to strike back as we sought to force our way in. Gesche once more aided us, but her power was much less effective against the dead wood that comprised the benches and furniture the Danish had blockaded the entrances with. Having spent much of her energy that day, she gathered what she had left and called forth a bear that led our assault as we briefly breached the barricaded doors. Robert’s men were pushed back, but the bear managed to gain entry, though it was slaughtered after taking down some of the defending Norsemen.
Robert ordered Gesche to step back to rest, and I joined her. We turned then to more conventional means in our besieging of the church. Though the enemy had to be driven out, I beseeched Robert not to burn down the church, which he obliged. Would that I had not asked this, oh Lord, and borne the full guilt of putting Your house to the torch.Â
The barricaded Danes had been quiet, too wounded or tired to continue resisting, we foolishly thought. Believing himself safe, Robert had taken off his armor, as to better labor with the men in our attempts to breach the defenses. Then, when we least expected it, the treacherous heathens launched a surprise attack.
Ranulf, the Duke of Aquitaine, was struck in his chest by an arrow, falling to the ground mortally wounded. More arrows crossed the air, killing unprotected men as they worked. As if the gates of Hell had been unlocked, the barricaded doors of the church flew open, and the accursed Danes spilled forth, possessed by their pagan bloodlust as they fell upon us.
Robert was near the doors, unarmored and unarmed. Let it be known that still he fought to defend himself, but even Robert the Strong could not face such an attack. With Gesche by my side, I witnessed as the marquis was cut down, falling down lifeless.Â
A terrible scream of grief and pain split the night as Robert fell. Roots heaved under the ground, lifting it and causing all to stumble, as the sight of the marquis dying caused Gesche to tap into whatever reserves of power she still had. That last burst of power took everything she still had, causing her to lose consciousness.Â
In the ensuing chaos, the Danes fled. Count Hervé emerged from the melee, wounded but still alive. I carried Gesche as we regrouped, now unable to give pursuit, as there were many wounded that required attention.Â
Eventually, Gesche regained consciousness. Her usual affectionate demeanor had now been washed away in tears, and her imposing figure gave way to that of a very mundane, grieving woman.Â
I write now as we return with Robert’s body. Count Hervé leads the surviving soldiers, and Duke Ranulf is not expected to survive the journey. The marquis’ men, those that survived, mourn his death alongside Gesche. She has accompanied us for part of the journey. I sought her out during the nights, intent on offering whatever succor I can to aid her. She has avoided me until this night, but I do not hold it against her.Â
Tonight, Gesche has told me she is departing. She said Robert’s men had attempted to convince her to remain, but that she had declined. Without Robert, she said, West Francia was no longer her place. I found myself crying, though I cannot say if it was for our loss at the battle, the loss of Robert, defender of Neustria, or the loss of a new friend.Â
I have given her my wooden crucifix, so that she might remember us by. It is a simple thing, but she accepted my gift as if it was a great treasure. She then called to the darkness beyond our camp, and her great white wolf mount appeared. With a final glance back, and a shadow of her former smile, Gesche rode into the night and was gone.
It is the month of August in the year of our Lord 871.Â
This morning, a strange occurrence has spurred me to revisit my writings of my time with Robert the Strong, and our campaign to rid Neustria of the Danish raiders. Much has transpired since.
After our defeat and Robert’s death at Brissarthe, king Charles II negotiated with Salomon of the Bretons. Our king has conceded territory, and now Cotentin and Avranchin are Salomon’s, as he has taken to calling himself King of Brittany.Â
The Danish chieftain Hastein continues to ravage the Loire Valley, apparently unsatisfied by the concessions granted to his ally. I hear he has pillaged Bourges the year after Robert’s death, and sacked the city of Orleans the year after. I pray he may be stopped, for his ravaging seems without end.
After delivering news of Robert’s death to his wife, Adelaide, I kept intermittent contact with the family. Robert’s second son was born the very same year he died, and bears his father’s name. Odo, the marquis’ eldest son, has inherited his father’s title, though misfortune once more befell him, as the king granted the title to Hugh the Abbot, a former son of Adelaide’s with Conrad, Count of Auxerre, and an opponent of the marquis when he was alive. I have faith that young Odo will reclaim his father’s title. He is, after all, the son of Robert the Strong.
As for me, I now lead a simple life back at the abbey. Abbot Hilbod has passed away, may God rest his soul, and I have now taken his place in leading our community. I pray that God may grant me the strength to keep us safe in these troubled times, so that I may preserve Saint Philibert’s relics from the heathens and their depredations.
Gesche is also often in my prayers. Though our paths crossed but for the briefest of times, she has left an enduring mark upon me. I miss the conversations we shared in our time in the countryside, and I feel I might not have the good fortune to meet one such as her in the future. I pray to God that she is safe, wherever she is, and this morning I believe He saw fit to comfort me in that regard.
As I was getting out of bed, preparing myself to perform my morning duties, I heard a small clicking sound by my room's window. As I opened it, much to my surprise, a small dove flew inside. It seemed to be carrying something. I tried clumsily to reach for the bird, to shoo it away, but then the small creature flew towards me, landing gently on my forearm and depositing what it was carrying into my open hand.
Oh, Lord, how else can I explain this? For in my hand I held a small wooden crucifix, the very same I had gifted Gesche when last I saw her, years ago. Delicately engraved on the back, I found the symbol of three interlocking triangles, and my heart was filled with the certainty that my friend was alive and well.
Maybe one day I shall see her again. God works in strange ways, ways we cannot always understand. But, as Gesche once told me, we can all but live with goodness in our hearts, and hope that suffices in the end. Perhaps, if I can live by this sentiment, and if God finds it sufficient, I will meet her once more.