The summons from Karloman did not take long. Barely a day later, Pepin found himself in his father’s presence once more.
How different he seemed when it was the Emperor, not his father, who was speaking. The two were separated almost neatly in his mind, connected by only a thin strand that marked the two out as aspects of the same man, rather than two separate people entirely. His father was intellectually restive, open to questions, eager to explain things or to hear opinions, even prone to the occasional flit of laughter or joking. The Emperor was stern, unyielding, fearsome, not a man to be trifled with or spoken back to, even for good reasons. It was the Emperor Karloman who ordered the massacre of the Saxons, the destruction of the World Tree, the beheading for vengeance at Cuxia. Today, Pepin knew his fate depended on him reaching his father, not the Emperor.
His father did not waste time announcing his judgement once Pepin arrived. He turned, dismissed the servants with a curt nod, and then fixed his steely gaze upon his son and heir.
“I have found a bride for you my son.”
Pepin did not reply. Only waited.
“The Duke of Milan has a niece, of your age and right of class and station.” His father began. “A union of the Lombard nobles with one of the imperial family will quieten the mutinous tendencies among the Italian lords, and help bind them closer to the throne. The Duke will doubtless be happy to accept my offer for a betrothal. Do you consent?”
Quietly, voice almost at a whisper, Pepin lowered his eyes from his father to the floor. “I do not, father.”
A silence fell between them, which seemed to stretch on unbearably long.
“Why?” the Emperor’s voice was quiet, but Pepin knew him well enough to feel the anger bubbling beneath it.
“I do not consent,” Pepin repeated, “Because I have already made other plans for my marriage.” He gulped, swallowed, unwilling to look his father in the face. “I have another candidate in mind.”
Pepin paused, waiting for the explosion. He chanced a glance at his father’s face. Karloman’s pale face seemed almost white with cold fury, and his eyes bore none of the warmth his son typically remembered of them. They were cold, pitiless icicles, glaring straight at him.
“And you have taken this step without consulting me, without approaching me?" Karloman asked. “How
dare you take such action without my permission.”
“An Emperor must know his mind, and be bold in deciding it.” Pepin quoted. Karloman flinched as if he had been struck.
“Do not be smart with me
boy” the Emperor snarled, “You know as well as I do your actions are improper. Did you at least trouble yourself to pick a suitable bride? Who is she?”
Pepin told him. His father’s face only grew angrier.
“You have no idea the trouble you’ve landed us in. I judged you might be ready for the burdens of ruling the Empire Pepin,” his father sounded curt, “But it seems I underestimated you. You’re still a child. Reckless and stupid. Your choice of bride is reckless and foolish. Berenger is a good man, a loyal man, but his daughter’s class is not suitable.”
“I don’t see why not,” Pepin replied mildly, trying to keep the fear from his voice. “You have promoted many lowborn men for reasons of merit, not blood.”
“It is not the same thing fool,” his father snapped. “In a generation or two, perhaps, but not the daughter of a man whose father was a common cobbler, the lords will not wear it. The Empire will not wear it.”
“They will have to father. I have already made the offer.”
“Then you will not consent to the match I have arranged?
“I will not” Pepin replied, calmly but still defiantly.
“Then I suppose punishment must be apportioned.” Karloman swept from the room and peeked his head through a nearby door.
Two guards moved into the room at the Emperor’s command.
“Escort the Crown Prince to his suite. He is to be allowed no visitors. He is to be delivered meals, but nothing else. No writing implements, no books, no weaponry, no nothing until I provide for otherwise.”
Pepin gulped. His father was going through with his plan. He knew from experience how difficult it would be to dislodge him if he engaged in a battle of wills against him.
“And for how long must I remain father?”
“Till you come to your senses and consent.” Karloman replied simply, the coldness coming back into his voice. “Till then you are not the Crown Prince, nor may you be considered my son, or have the privileges associated thereof. For all intents and purposes, I disown you until you come to your senses, you foolish boy.” Karloman’s voice was calm, but Pepin could hear that cold, quivering fury in his tone that made him realise his father was struggling to restrain himself from violence. Wisely, he chose to say nothing, and allowed himself to be led from the room…
Karloman paced angrily up and down, having never been in such a fury since Sigalis’s crimes had been exposed. How dare he! Well, he was his mother’s spawn after all. That a disobedient wife bred a dissenting son was no surprise. How had he allowed his growing regard for the boy to blind himself to that fact? He’d been proud of his boldness, his swiftness to action. But boldness was not the same thing as stupidity, and what Pepin had done was stupid, stupid beyond measure.
Karloman immediately issued summons for his councillors. Unsurprisingly, Bertrada was the first present in the council room when he arrived.
“You knew of this?”
His mother nodded, unrepentant. “Aye.”
“And you chose not to inform me, your Emperor, and his father?”
“You found out soon enough anyway,” Bertrada shrugged. “And if I had told you, you would have done something even more foolish.”
“I have done nothing foolish,” Karloman snapped. “My actions have been entirely proper. It is my reckless, stupid son whose actions have been improper. You and your spies should have informed me of it the instant it happened.”
“Are you sure you wish to inform the whole council?” Bertrada pressed. “This is a family matter.”
But Karloman was already shaking his head angrily, “We are the imperial family. Our family matters are matters of state. Council must be informed, and since you withheld this from me, I cannot trust to your council alone.”
She knew what that meant. Karloman was going to use the reactions of his other councillors as an excuse to ignore what she had to say.
Slowly they filed into the room.
The Count of Limousin, Gerhard, had begged off the meeting, his own private steward sending word that the Count was indisposed, with apologies. Karloman was not surprised, Gerhard’s health had been declining and his behaviour had been growing more bizarre for sometime. He nodded at the suggestion that the steward could stand in for the count in the meeting, making a mental note to replace Gerhard soon.
Marshal Balduin was a fierce and heavy-set as ever. Karloman knew he would side with him. A man of great ability but low birth, his future success depended on Karloman’s patronage. Outside his expertise, namely military affairs, he would be guided by what Karloman thought.
Roland, Count of Vendome, was a trickier one. He would see the sense of the Italian alliance, but Karloman also knew he held Bertrada in high respect, and the two had worked closely together for years. He could not be assured that Roland would not see things her way.
And the last and newest appointment the Archbishop of Mainz, Alain. He would not support the marriage of the imperial heir to a girl who was a few generations above being a commoner. He would be assured of backing.
A respectable enough block then, to give Karloman the strength to impose his decision on his recalcitrant mother and son both, if it came to that.
He explained the situation, calmly and succinctly, not allowing his rage to cloud his mind. He knew now, his initial anger having subsided, that he had to keep a cool head if he intended to win this struggle.
Everyone was surprised at the development, other than Bertrada, which meant she had not told anyone else of Pepin’s sudden move before Karloman had found out about it either.
“I quite agree with your Majesty, this proposal cannot be allowed to stand.” Alain stated when Karloman asked for their advice. “However well-intentioned or sincere the boy’s actions, it is not proper for the Imperial heir to have such a consort, nor to make such arrangements without regard for the Emperor’s wishes. He must be compelled to give them up.”
“I concur,” Balduin the Strong replied. “Your Majesty’s will must run absolute in these matters. If the Prince defies you successfully, you will be a laughing stock.”
Gerhard’s steward agreed with Balduin, with merely a nod, but declined to speak further.
Karloman had hoped Roland of Vendome might be swayed to side with the rest of the councillors, leaving Bertrada isolated, but the Count raised himself from his seat and looked directly at the Emperor.
“Sovereign, if I may speak frankly?” Karloman gave him a nod, “We must be careful how we approach this situation. Disobediant or not, your son is a man now, he is a grown adult, and heir to your throne. Whatever his disobedience, attempting to force him into an action he is set upon not taking might cause more harm than good. A permanent rift between you two would benefit nobody but our enemies.”
“It is not I who seeks to cause a rift.” Karloman declared, bluntly.
Roland shook his head, “I did not seek to imply it was,” he replied carefully, “but if we simply order your son to cooperate… it might succeed in getting him to marry whom you choose, but I fear for the consequences long-term. Your son has become a bold man, Sovereign, and bold men do not enjoy being gainsaid.”
“I do not need him to enjoy it,” Karloman replied darkly, but he did not press on. Roland had said his piece.
“And you mother? What are your thoughts.”
Bertrada sighed, mind racing. She had to try. It was the only way.
“My lords, may I have a moment alone with my son?”
The council seemed surprised, but Karloman shook his head.
“What you have to say will concern them, speak as you will.”
But now Bertrada shook her head, and placed her hands calmly upon the table in front of her.
“No. What I have to say is for your ears only. If you please my lords?”
“Majesty- we are prepared to-“ Roland was cut off by Karloman’s angry retort.
“You would defy me to my face?”
“I would defy you in no matter whatsoever sire.” She replied calmly, “I will always work to advance your interests.”
By however you define that, Karloman thought irritably.
He nodded at Roland, giving his reluctant consent, and the councillors slowly filed out of the room.
For several long moments he glared at his mother, who held his gaze unrepentantly.
“I should have your head for disobedience.” He finally said.
Bertrada shrugged. “Fortunately, even in your fury, you are not so foolish as to make such a grave error.”
“Were you anybody else, your head would be on a spike right now,” Karloman gnashed his teeth, “To not only defy me, but to do so in front of council…”
“If you yourself weren’t set on doing something foolish, it would not be necessary.” Bertrada replied bluntly, “Your attempt to force your son to bend to your will is only going to bring us to ruin.”
“You cannot possibly mean to say that what he did was sensible!”
“No.” Bertrada replied patiently, “it was foolish, but a foolish act once done cannot be undone,” she sighed, “I only seek now to prevent you from compounding his folly, and minimising the damage that may be caused by it.”
“So what do you want from me? Let him marry the girl? Make a mockery of our house, and my own word and plans, in front of all the Empire?”
“If you must.” She stressed, “Far better that then create a permanent breach between you. Have you publicly announced your plans for a marriage yet?”
“No,” he admitted,
“Then better not to.” She pressed, “Announce Pepin’s engagement as he planned, as though it were your own idea, let no hint of any rift between you emerge. The slightest hint of a wedge between you two, and our enemies will try to drive him apart from you.”
“And how am I to explain to men of good breeding and station that my son does not think their daughters are good enough to him?”
“Tell them a lie,” she insisted, “Your previous trouble in deciding Pepin’s bride was that you couldn’t choose in case picking one option alienated all the others. That is still a potential risk now is it not?”
“Yes”, Karloman admitted.
“Then use that”, Bertrada replied, “Insist that all men of good standing are of equal value, and you don’t wish to elevate any of their peers above them by choosing others. Use the same logic for not choosing them as you did for not making the choice earlier.”
He shook his head, “Then I please none of them”
“You please them more than if you tell them the truth,” she insisted, “And it’s the best case you’re likely to make. Men will accept the argument that you didn’t want to make the wrong choice by choosing their rivals, and those who don’t accept the logic will mark themselves as your enemy, to bear closer watching at a later date.”
“Which helps you deploy your spies properly I suppose,” Karloman replied ruefully.
“Yes,” she admitted, without a flicker of regret. “Pepin’s move was reckless and foolish, but you have no means to counter-act it now without making it look worse. Let him have his victory, and if there are consequences for him or his bride, let him pay it.”
Karloman’s anger was still present, but had subsided now. “I had thought him more sensible than that.”
“In most areas he is,” Bertrada replied. Silently, she hoped Pepin would thank her for her laying her own credibility with the Emperor on the line for his sake. “But no man can be skilled in everything.”
“I cannot,” Karloman replied, “This is unthinkable… What you propose it’s, it’s not done.”
“It’s not done to proclaim yourself Augustus of the West either,” Bertrada pointed out. “Yet here you stand.”
But from that stand Karloman would not budge. The council was called back in, debated some more, and broke up for the day with no firm resolution.
Pepin was left stewing in his chambers, waiting for hours. He pressed the guard at the door who brought his meal for details, but the man simply shook his head and pushed his dinner into the room and walked away. Either he didn’t know or would not say what his father and grandmother were deciding.
The council debated again what to do the next day. All but Bertrada and Count Roland now were firm, the Emperor must proceed with the proposal from the Italians, regardless of Pepin’s objections.
“I must do it, for the good the Empire.” Karloman insisted
“He will not forgive you if you do,” Bertrada replied.
“Damn it all to hell mother! What am I asking him to do that’s so unpleasant? Marry someone he never met? I had to do that, near his age.”
“And how successfully did that turn out for you?”
Karloman’s mouth gaped open as though he had been slapped. “You dare to- that wasn’t MY fault!”
“You never did pay enough attention to your marital life son. Women stray in marriage when they have nothing to occupy their attention.” Bertrada replied pitilessly, “From what I hear, Pepin and the young lady both like each other, pay attention to each other. Would you really condemn him to a marriage as cold as yours have been?”
“It’s not his right to decide,” he insisted.
Around and around they went, her stubborn son not taking the hint. On the second day Pepin paced some more, another full day came, locked in his chambers, with no news and no word from his father.
The third day, Karloman dismissed the councillors, except Bertrada, extracting from them a solid oath not to speak of what they had discussed to anyone.
“I have made my decision,” Karloman replied firmly, “Pepin will wed the Lombard girl, he will accept that judgement, and will be released from his suites once he does so, but not before.”
“This is a mistake.” Bertrada insisted, “You will turn the boy against you.”
“He should have enough sense to see the logic of it,” Karloman insisted angrily, slamming his fist onto the table. “By God! It’s not as if he’s ignorant, just stubborn, won’t listen to reason.” Bertrada had to hide her grin at that remark. As if the boy’s father could not be equally stubborn when he had set his course.
“I’ll recall Nikolaos from the east if I have to,” Karloman warned, “Bring him in to serve as Crown Prince if Pepin does not cooperate.”
“Nikolaos may yet rule the East depending on the fate of Eirene’s other children,” Bertrada warned, “The Western lords will not wear one raised in the purple in Constantinople. You cannot do it. Eirene and your son cannot rule.”
“I am getting very tired,” Karloman warned, “Of being told what I can and cannot do.”
“Then let me tell you once more and once only. You should let the Prince bear the consequences of his actions. Announce Pepin’s marriage to Berenger’s girl, as though it was your decision all along, and let him bear the consequences, if any, that arise.”
“No, I shouldn’t.”
Karloman had begun to walk away now. Bertrada spoke before he reached the door.
“Not only should you, you must.”
He stopped, turned, stared at her.
“Why? Have you some secret sorcery by which to compel me mother? I am the Emperor, I must do nothing you say if I don’t wish to.”
“The Emperor yes, and we both know the reason why.” She held his gaze levelly. “How much worse would you look to the lords if
that little secret got out?”
There, she had said it. Played her trump card. Her son’s face fell a little, and she stepped forward, pressing her advantage.
“You hear them whisper of it, all those years later. Your brother’s hunting accident, your own ascension. If word reaches them that it was no tragedy at all, what exactly would they think? How would his Holiness react, with a kinslayer and a fratricide in the Imperial palace? How long before the good men of the Empire clamour for the removal of such a man?”
Karloman’s face had turned even paler than usual. “You would not dare. You have no proof,” he said, in a half-snarl half-whisper.
“I do not need proof, I will be believed.” Bertrada declared, stepping forward. Deciding it was time to twist the knife further, she continued. “You know full well men will use any excuse to believe the most lurid of rumors if it benefits them, regardless of truth. One simple word from me ‘confirming’ the story, and your men will desert you, and your enemies will be braying for your blood. His Holiness will not stand against them if they demand it, and nor will I.”
He couldn’t believe his ears, stumbled backwards and tried to collect himself. “You would undo everything I worked for… everything father worked for.” He staggered over to a chair, and lowered himself down, feeling sickly. “You would destroy the Empire’s foundations… tear it all down. For this?”
“No more than you would,” she answered scornfully, “Do you not honestly believing that driving a permanent rift between yourself and your son would not prove equally destructive to the Empire?” she raised her eyebrows and gazed into her son’s ashen face. “There it is,” she stated simply, “I’ve laid my terms out. Clear as day. If you are determined to ruin your own work, your father’s work, with this folly of a private war with your son, then all I know of your brother’s sad fate shall be laid bare for all the world to see.” Bertrada gave a small bitter grin. All the years of sadness and wasted grief for her eldest son came flooding back to her. Most days, she tried to forget. Most days, the focus on Karloman’s empire and its interests enabled her to forget, as did her promise to her husband. But on days when her son was being difficult, she often wished it had been he who had fallen. Was this the consolation she got for failing Karl? Throwing his death back into his brother’s face to compel him to her will? Perhaps it was. A small, cold comfort for sure, but one that had its uses.
“If you cooperate and do as I have bid, then no word shall leave this room, and we shall both pretend as though we never spoke of it.” She finished, staring directly at him. “Do as you will, but know the consequences either way. Let your son have his way, and be the man he must be if he is to rule. Otherwise, you shall ruin yourself.”
He stared at her, pale eyes blazing. “You mother are a- a
freak” he spat, “There’s no word for what you are! What possesses you to make threats like this? Did you ever do anything as natural as any other women? What are you?” He rose from his chair, seeming in his agitation possessed by an animal madness. “You’d destroy all the work of decades, for this? For the Prince’s folly?”
“It would be you who destroyed it if you act as you planned,” she replied, face stern, “I would simply not protect you from the consequences of your follies any longer. Like you should your son. Let him marry the girl, and if he falls out of love, or it causes an incident with the Italians, or if something else happens, let him bear the consequences. If nothing else, it is a teachable lesson for him to mind his rashness.”
“And for me? Is this a moment as such for me? To teach me a lesson?” Bertrada did not reply to that, but Karloman’s ashen face saw the answer he wanted.
She’s waited for years to play this card. Holding Karl’s death over me like an axe suspended over a door. It was always her last card if I ever decided against something she insisted on. Oh how I should have done her in right then in the Church! Rid myself of both of them at once. No one would have ever known.
“Get out,” was all he said, in that cold tone.
“I will be waiting in my suite. I’ll make my arrangements as soon as I hear of your decision,” Bertrada replied, “Either decision.” She stressed.
She left him there, and the ashen-faced Emperor stood alone at his table, clenching his fists into tight balls till he thought his nails might draw blood from his flesh. He had been outflanked, outplayed.
Trapped. She had beaten him, and he knew it. For she was right, if she told people of Karl’s death, she would be believed.
She was a monster. But he had no doubt his mother did not lie. Idle threats were not her way. And she would not shield him if the truth came to light and rebellion or treachery dogged him. She would let him fall. Perhaps she even wanted to, perhaps she had wanted it for years, but refrained so long as he was useful to her in keeping her precious promise to her husband. Perhaps letting him fall and another rise would be her final revenge, a last, silent laugh against him for that old terrible sin of many years ago?
“What did Father see in her?” he asked the empty air, and receiving no answer, he asked again, “Furthermore, what did I do, to deserve such a beast of a mother? It was she who turned against me to follow Karl, not I her. Men speak of my cruelties in hushed whispers, Karloman the Cruel but how could I be anything other than what I am, with her as my example?”
These questions to empty space yielded no reply. But Karloman knew he already had his answer, though he was as loath to admit it as he ever had been. He stood still, rooted in place for long, long minutes, until he realised that over an hour had passed and it was near to dusk.
Wise then, to finish this situation before nightfall. The Emperor finally collected himself, and began the walk to his son’s suite.
It was time to tell Pepin of his decision.
OOC: A long and big post today. It was great to get such writing into Bertrada again, who has been a bit in the background of late, but her and Karloman together are always fun, even in situations as tense as this.
Hope you enjoyed this post! We'll get onto the fallout from it next time
