Introduction

It is 741. After subduing the pagan religions in the east, halting the march of Islam in the west, and conquering the continent for the Merovingian kings, mayor of the palace Charles the Hammer has one final ambition-the throne. Only one thing stands in his way-he is dying. Charles cobbles together a plan to divide the kingdom among his three sons, betroth his daughter to a Lombard prince, and keep the Church unified behind them through his friend Bishop Boniface.

Despite his best efforts, the only thing to reign after Charles's death is chaos. His daughter has no intention of marrying anyone, let alone the Lombard prince. His two eldest sons question the rights of their younger pagan stepbrother, and the Church demands a steep price for their support. Son battles son, Christianity battles paganism, and Charles's daughter flees his court for an enemy's love. Based on a true story, Anvil of God is a whirlwind of love, honor, sacrifice, and betrayal that follows a bereaved family's relentless quest for power and destiny.

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Excerpt

Arriving at the top of the stairs, Sunni discovered she would not be alone. A dozen steps away, Charles’s daughter Trudi stared out at the horizon. They watched as the sun dipped low and cast a reddish glow to the underside of the cloud cover. A cold blast of wind made the girl shiver. Without thinking, Sunni kissed the locket she wore around her neck to ward off the night spirits.

“God help me,” Trudi said. There was pain in her lament, but Sunni was reluctant to intrude. Stepmothers, she knew, are not always welcome. She found her own place on the rampart to watch the eastern road.

Trudi had her own reasons to await Charles’s return. She was eighteen, old for a maiden. Charles had declared that, upon his return, he would decide whom the girl would marry. Although Trudi had never spoken to Sunni of this decision, her distaste was visible to any that knew her. Her body was coiled tight, her face a stew of emotions.

Sunni had argued for the girl, hoping to stop Charles from using his daughter as an instrument of his diplomacy, but he had insisted. Trudi would wed someone of noble blood. Charles would send her away to marry a noble on the Roman peninsula, or in Alemannia or Frisia, wherever there was an alliance to solidify, a political gain to be made. Her marriage would seal a bargain she knew nothing about.

She would be forced from the people she loved, away from the life she knew. She would be alone. Sunni’s eyes welled. It was not so many years ago that she had shared a similar fate. It was, perhaps, the only thing they had in common.

Trudi had her father’s face, which, although a man’s face, was still handsome on her. Unfortunately, it was not the only trait she had inherited from him. She was tall for a woman, with broad shoulders and uncommon strength. Thank God, the girl had breasts and hips, Sunni thought, or she might be mistaken for a man. Trudi’s hair was by far her best feature. It cascaded past her shoulders in waves of brown curls that Sunni envied for their thickness.

To Sunni’s frustration, Trudi rarely did anything to enhance her beauty. Most girls her age were using the latest creams and powders. Trudi wore none. She refused to wear a dress, preferring pantaloons and vestments more suited to boys. Sunni had never seen her flirt. She had never seen her blush. The girl talked to boys her age the way they talked to each other.

Sunni had, over the years, tried to involve Trudi with the other girls at court. Such efforts, however, never kept Trudi’s attention.

“They spend their time spinning thread and mooning over knights,” Trudi would say, her eyes rolling. “They talk about each of the boys as if he was a prized horse. ‘Look at his legs,’ or ‘I just love his shoulders.’” Trudi preferred to find her friends among the boys her age.

Making matters worse, Charles had indulged the girl’s fantasy of becoming a warrior. Against Sunni’s objections, he let Trudi train with the boys who would become his knights. Trudi strutted about court in armor and dismissed Sunni’s advice. Sunni gently persisted, only to suffer the girl’s continued rebuff. The one time Sunni’s advice had been welcomed was when the girl’s menses had set in.

“How do you stand it?” Trudi demanded, without turning to look at her. Sunni jumped in surprise. She hadn’t thought the girl was aware of her.

“Your pardon?”

“How do you stand being married to someone you don’t love?”

“I do love your father.”

Trudi turned to confront her. “It wasn’t even an arranged marriage. He just took you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course, it’s true.” Trudi turned back again to the horizon, reciting the history. “When Charles stormed Bavaria, he deposed the crazed pagan Duc—”

“Grimoald isn’t crazed.”

“Grimoald married his own brother’s widow, flogged a priest, and performed pagan rituals over his own son.”

“His son was dying. The doctors couldn’t save him,” Sunni said.

“So Charles got rid of Grimoald, put your uncle Odilo in his place, and married you, a Bavarian princess, to bear his third son. Am I missing anything?”

Sunni’s face flushed. She looked down at her hands.

“So how do you stand it?” Trudi repeated.

How dare the girl? Of course, Sunni knew the stories. She had helped spread most of them. She was the “price” for making young Odilo Duc de Bavaria in place of Grimoald. She had been “tamed” by Charles, who subdued her pagan upbringing through his iron will and firm hand.

The truth was that Sunni had seduced Charles from the start. She had seen the reality of their situation. The Bavarian royal family was in disarray, and Charles’s army was too large to resist. Poor Grimoald would never be acceptable to Charles or his alter ego, Bishop Boniface. And an alliance between her family and the Franks offered not only a solution, but a tremendous advantage to both families.

The day she met Charles, Sunni knew she would have him. Tall, strong, fearless, Charles had been forty-two and a widower for a year when he came to Bavaria. He had a light in his eyes that made everyone else’s seem dull. He was magnificent.

And he looked at her in that way that a man does when he needs to bury himself between the legs of a woman. In less than a week, she had bound him to her. He was bound to her still.

Now at thirty-two, she played the part of the “tamed” Sunnichild for Boniface and the court. She said all the Christian words, performed their rites so that she could have Charles. But she was no Christian. She still had her cache of herbs. She still prayed to the morning sun and the phasing moon. She still communed in secret with her brethren. She even shared some of their rites with Charles. Wedding Charles Martel had been her choice. She hadn’t lied to Trudi. She did love the man.

“Hiltrude,” she said, “mostly I find that men’s stories tend to be about men. I do love your father. And if truth be told, I chose him. Women are not powerless, despite what you think. I wasn’t powerless when I met your father any more than you are powerless now.”

“What do you mean?” Trudi turned abruptly.

“Rarely do men tell you anything about the role that women play in their stories.”

“No. Why do you say that I’m not powerless?”

“Because you are not.”

“You of all people should know my plight,” the girl said.

“Women are never powerless,” Sunni said. “Perhaps when you are better prepared to listen and less prepared to judge, I will tell you about it.”

Sunni started for the stairs. She could feel Trudi’s stare follow her.

“If anyone is interested,” Trudi called down after her, “the army has arrived.” view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

How does the conflict between religions portrayed in the book compare to the world we live in today?

Are the characters three-dimensional? Do they fit nicely into protagonist/antagonist categories?

How are the women characters treated vs. the men?

Do the different story arcs reach their conclusion?

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