“Men march off to war because the women are watching.” So said Socrates. In “THE HARD GODDESS”, the second book of his trilogy—“The Song of Charlemagne”, the author introduces his reader to the women behind the men on the medieval battlefield. In so doing, one comes to understand and appreciate how French expressions such as “Feminine Mystique” and “Femme Fatale” must have originated and which are today, universally recognized and understood in the international lexicon without translation. Along the way, one also discovers a few of the ulterior motives underlying Charlemagne’s alliance with the Roman church as well as organized religion’s functional utility in the hands of potentates (be they Christian or Muslim) as a societal control mechanism. In the process of the troubadour’s telling of the story, the reader experiences visceral descriptions of Dark Age battle against the gloriously detailed backdrop of a France that is still there if one knows where to go and look. There is a reason Eleanor of Aquitaine is always credited with having “invented” the concepts of Romance, Chivalry and Courtly Love. She was far removed from the times in which he actually lived. Yet somehow, she must have sensed and understood Charlemagne’s hidden agenda regarding women within the church and the greater social order. But, in the final analysis, is anything within the pages of this work relevant with regard to contemporary world events and social issues confronting us all? Sadly, terribly.

THE SONG OF CHARLEMAGNE

BOOK TWO THE HARD GODDESS By Thomas F. Motter

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Thomas F. Motter KSJ
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-0900-5

Contents

Prologue....................................3I Aachen....................................7II Vienne...................................22III Battle of the Meuse.....................60IV Bestowal.................................92V Avignon...................................97VI Invocation...............................119VII Carcassonne.............................125VIII Rome...................................137IX Rescue...................................156X Battle of Aspromonte......................174EPILOGUE....................................221

Chapter One

Aachen

Aachen was an ancient town. Its earliest inhabitants had been drawn to settle there because of the multiple hot springs and great pools of warm, mineral water in its immediate vicinity. Its close proximity to the Wurm and Rhur rivers, both of which emptied into the nearby Meuse, made it an ideal location for a settlement.

When the Romans took control of it in fifty-two BC, they installed terracotta plumbing and converted the whole town into the only community in Northern Gaul with hot and cold running water. The king loved to swim year-round and thoroughly enjoyed indulging in the natural amenities of the good life that Aachen afforded all its inhabitants. For that reason alone, he'd decided early-on, to make Aachen his permanent residence instead of Paris.

His palace, the "Aula Regia" was at the center of the town. It was a five—story, stone affair in the Romanesque style of architecture with lofty turrets, echauguettes and soaring, stained-glass windows imported from Venice. One of the windows, he claimed, was enchanted and allowed him to see all that was going on in the world. His subjects and a good many of his enemies believed it to be true! But in reality, he simply had "missi" everywhere. The palace itself stood at one edge of an ancient, cobblestone square that had served as a centralized, regional marketplace for merchants and traders since ancient times.

Opposite the royal palace on the other side of the market square was the great, ruffle-domed, stone Cathedral of the Magdalene that Charlois had had built, not only to worship the Christian deity, but also to honor womankind. Inside were huge frescos in tile mosaic; the most famous being that of the four and twenty counselors. Here, was to be found his formal throne of state carved of stone on an elevated, stone pedestal with stone steps. From it, he dictated his capitularies or liturgical protocols like the "Correctio" surrounded by clergy and the most learned men of the time (Alcuin of Angleterre, Theodulf, the bishop of Orleans, Paul the Deacon and Angilbert of Saint—Riquier among others.)—and this, at any hour of the day or night.

Narrow, cobbled streets ran away from the market square like spokes off the hub of a wheel. Encircling the town's "spoke streets" like a wheel's rim was another cobbled street that had originally been the first wall built by the Romans when Aachen became the outpost of their northeastern frontier. Charlois had had it dismantled and converted to a street as the town had grown and had used the stones from the old wall to help construct the new wall encircling the city further out.

The king's presence had drawn many from the outer regions of the realm who wanted to be at the center of all that was happening. This dynamic had caused the town's diameter to grow to twice what it had been prior to the royal family's having taken up permanent residence. Their presence ensured that Aachen's market square would remain the hub of commerce and trade in the region as well as the center of political activity and public discourse for many years to come.

At the present moment, it was night-time in Aachen. It had been a holiday throughout the town in celebration of the king's victory over Desiderius and his triumphal return. There had been much drinking, dancing, music, mirth and merriment over the course of the day's festivities. Now, it was the hour just past midnight and the streets were deserted. The ambient light from the celebration fires that still burned hither and yon throughout the town, as well as the great bonfire in the center of the square, (now burning low) was the only source of illumination in the palace bedchamber. It penetrated the soaring, blue, stained-glass windowpanes (gifts from the doge of Venice) casting a bluish aura over the two naked figures within. Their silhouettes against the window, presented an erotic dance of passion.

The man was tall and when he reached to caress or embrace the woman, the definition of his muscled arms was easily perceived against the contrasting blue glow of the great, translucent panes of poured glass. The woman was equally fit as any would have noted had there been eyes to bear witness. Her hair flowed down long and wavy over pendulous breasts that were perfect in proportion to her lithe and regal stature.

The two embraced, kissed and caressed in all manner of reckless abandon, as if they must surely have been one another's greatest erotic fantasies. Their slow, almost stylized movements built to a frenetic crescendo. They acted as two depraved demons bent on the satisfaction of a mutually unquenchable lust for one another.

Any observer would have deduced that this had to be the first (and perhaps last) time they would ever be left alone together. Every conceivable position in which one could imagine the sexual act, they engaged in joyously; completely devoid of any inhibition. The seemingly inexhaustible depth of the ardor between the two, coupled with their obvious mutual trust, spoke volumes about their enviable relationship.

These two were lovers; real lovers, who knew their own skins and that of their mates so well and yet, after so many years, were still excited to the point of pure, unbridled lust almost every time they were left in a room alone together. Who can explain such a mutual attraction over long years of constant stress from the relentless issues eternally confronting their maternal and paternal responsibilities of state? Was it magic? Was it an enchantment placed upon them by a witch or wizard or fairy queen? They knew not, nor did they stop to question or care.

The joy in their hearts for one another was pure bliss. That's all that mattered and they reveled in it. Their erotic dance of heated passion continued non-stop into the early morning hours until the two collapsed from complete exhaustion into one another's arms. Finally, they slept.

Six hours later, light from outside began to brighten the great bedchamber with that dull illumination that invariably precedes the sun's first appearance on the far horizon. It was summer; the first of June, so there'd been no need to draw the curtains of heavy brocade around the great, royal, four-poster, canopied bed for warmth. Still in Charlois' arms, Hilde was awakened by the early morning sunlight streaming in through the same great cobalt windows. She opened her eyes and gazed upon her husband's serene countenance with quiet admiration.

Charlois opened his eyes and saw her staring back at him. "What?" he asked, smiling.

Hilde returned her own winsome smile. "I was just watching you sleep and thinking."

"About what?"

She gently hugged him as she answered. "About how lucky I am to be your queen and have you for my husband."

Charlois rose up on an elbow and looked down on his wife with loving eyes. "Oh, horsefeathers! We both know I'm the lucky one here! Although I'm sure most of our subjects probably do think you are."

Hilde was flattered and teased to show him. "Why wouldn't they? You're the one who's king and ruler of everything worth having!" she gently goaded with a cheerful grin while continuing to look up at him.

Charlois knew she was teasing but he couldn't resist expanding on the subject. He'd wanted to discuss it with her for a long time but just hadn't found the right moment and really hadn't known how to broach it until now.

"None of that means anything without the right woman ... no ... the right earthly goddess!" He looked deep into her eyes and then spoke again quietly. "That's what you are to me, you know."

A shiver rushed through her and she giggled. She didn't answer; just reached up and gently traced his chest with her finger.

Seeing she was flattered and attentive, he went on. "I mean it, Hilde! You're my anointer; my bestower of kingship. Nothing and no one else is."

Hilde felt the heat coming into her face. "Oh, now, Charlois ..." She felt humbled and a little embarrassed. Almost never at a loss for words, she couldn't think of anything else to say.

It was alright. He understood. He went on. "I know you think I'm your whole world and I'm appreciative of how unusual and precious that is. Any man lucky enough to find a woman like that is a king regardless of his class or station!"

Now she was starting to feel awkward and just a little nervous. She sat up and grabbed him to mask her insecurity. "You are such a dear and so romantic!" she laughed. "But you don't have to say things like that to me. It's enough for me to know you care about me and think about me once in a while when you're away."

Charlois pulled her arms from around his neck and pushed her back, holding her still by her forearms. He looked straight into her eyes with a gaze she recognized as the one when he was deadly serious. She felt butterflies in her stomach. Her heart skipped a beat and she momentarily forgot to breathe.

Finally, still holding her in place, he spoke again. "Hilde, it's no jest! I believe in God. But, it's not God who inspires me to persevere. It's my goddess; and that's you and only you, you fool!" He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her long and deeply.

Hilde couldn't get enough air and had to push him away. She was light—headed from the onslaught of his words of love and kisses. She grabbed onto the duvet for fear she might actually somehow float up to the ceiling and with her other hand put a finger to her husband's lips. "Now you just shush!" Again she smiled. "What will people think if they find out their king is a blasphemer!"

Charlois was indignant and unrepentant. "Blasphemer? In the name of love for you and women everywhere? I couldn't care a whit!"

Obviously flattered, she reacted with softer laughter this time. In her gentlest voice coupled with that demure smile he so cherished she remarked, "I see you're still under the spell of our lovemaking from last night."

He placed his hand on hers; the one holding onto the blanket. At the same time, in his most calm and soothing tone of voice he answered smiling, "I'm always under your spell! It's the only way to live!"

Hilde put her finger back to his chest and with a twinkle in her eye exclaimed, "You are such a flirt!"

"You say! But I'm here to tell you that any great or at least successful man lives under the spell of a member of womankind; goddesses all ... and the real creators and saviors of all mankind."

Hilde was amused. She knew her husband had his occasional dalliances. It mattered not to her because she knew also, that it was her finger alone, above all others, upon which he'd chosen to place his sacred ring signifying not only holy wedlock but also that she and only she was owner of his heart.

"Sounds like I'm being buttered up here." she grinned. "Alright, tell me what you've done. Whatever it is, I'll forgive you."

A look of intense frustration crossed his face. "Nothing! Just listen. It's you and your gender that bring all us men into the light and give us the breath of life. Through the magic of birth, you march over death and resurrect the human race. That's omnipotence. That's real power! I'm in awe of you, Goddess!" He grabbed her and kissed her in as many places as he could before she could react and push him away again; which she finally managed, giggling and laughing all the while.

Now it was her turn to be serious. Still lying on her back with her arm extended straight to hold him at bay, she said in a low voice, ever so seriously, "Say it to me here, within these walls, behind closed doors; but never to any other!"

Seeing he still wasn't getting through and taken seriously, he sat back up and away from her. Defiantly, he exclaimed, "I'll tell it to the Pope the next time I see him!"

She could see he was serious. "Charlois!" she gasped.

Now he was satisfied she was finally listening and could see he wasn't fooling. He hurried on. "And from me, he'll take it if he knows what's good for him and ever expects to receive the Donation of Pepin from me again this year!"

She grabbed hold of one of their great feathered pillows and held it in front of her as if to hide behind it and murmured softly, "My love, your pillow talk is really beginning to frighten me a little now."

Charlois shrugged his shoulders and answered with an air of off-handed indifference. "No need. The Pope knows his place and knows he's got to have my support on my terms if he wants to retain me as his patron and survive."

Hilde had, by now, put aside any thought of early-morning, conjugal bliss. This was a matter of state; extremely serious. "But why throw such an affront in his face? To what end?" she asked with coy politeness.

He welcomed the question gleefully and didn't hesitate to answer. "It's you women who inspire us all to greatness. You're the ties that bind all cultures and civilizations. You've been marginalized and demeaned by the Pope's misogynic church long enough! Now that I'm in a position to do it, I mean to change that!"

"But how?" Hilde asked, bewildered.

The man in her bed was smug and confident. "Well, as you know, since marrying you and as a result, getting mixed up with the Merovingian clan ..."

She smiled and interrupted with a sarcastic "Ha, ha!"

"I've been studying the history of our religion with the help of Archbishop Turpin. And well, I've learned a few things that really bother me."

"Like what?"

"Well, for instance, at the first council of Nicaea, good old Emperor Constantine, along with the bishops of the time, decided it would be a fine idea to exclude certain gospels that were originally part of the Bible from the final canon. All the Popes from then 'til now have known about it and have kept those books suppressed under lock and key."

Hilde didn't see any connection. "What's the point?"

"Well, only that the version of Christianity in those gospels would undermine the power of the church and its clergy."

"But how?"

"They're the books that fill in the blanks you and I already know about from having custody of the grail; the ones that tell the whole story of the Nazarene and the Magdalene ... how she was his consort, wife and companion and how he was really Egyptian, not Judean."

Hilde was surprised he was confiding such an intimate level of his deepest thoughts and beliefs. She was enthralled and, at the same time, felt a little quiver of excitement tempered with ambivalence.

"For instance; one passage explains Jesus was called Rabbi because he met all the requirements according to Hebrew law for such a title, which included a wife! Why would his mother have been directing him to fill wine glasses for guests at the marriage at Cana unless she was the hostess, owing to the fact that it was her own son's wedding?"

Hilde felt nervous at being invited into her lover's innermost thoughts but, at the same time, obligated to participate and respond. She was genuinely flattered.

"Alright love, but how does this inspire your sudden crusade to right all the wrongs done us poor, exploited women in this man's world?"

"Well, I'm getting to that!"

She put the pillow aside, folded her arms as if her torso was not naked at all and answered whimsically, "Well, please do!"

Charlois was so engrossed in his argument he completely missed her attempt at comic relief. "As careful as he was with his censorship of what fit his agenda and ended up staying in his version of the Bible, Constantine missed the fact that the author of John was most likely the Baptist, not the evangelist."

Now she was really confused and growing more skeptical by the moment. "How so?"

"The Baptist was also out of Egypt and a rival to his cousin, the Nazarene. He wrote cryptically that, `in the beginning was The Word and The Word was with God and The Word, was God.' It's common knowledge in all ecclesiastic circles, that only The Baptist clearly understood and preached the divine yearning of the human spirit for unity to overcome separation and that each soul is only half of that which ultimately is God."

Hilde was now definitely in the fog. "Aalllrright ..."

He could see she needed a more simple analogy. "To wit! In the beginning, was the Goddess, and the Goddess was with God and the Goddess was God!"

What he'd thought would be the perfect segway was, to her, a complete nonsequitur. She shook her head slowly and mumbled, "My darling, I'm sorry bu—."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from THE SONG OF CHARLEMAGNEby Thomas F. Motter Copyright © 2011 by Thomas F. Motter KSJ. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.