Chapter 27: The Road of Ashes
The rain began before dawn, a cold, relentless drizzle that turned the Frankish column into a river of mud. Aldric rode with his hood pulled low, his fine wool cloak soaked through, and his thoughts fixed on a single, bitter truth: he would have to steal his own freedom.
Gerold trotted beside him, his scarred face expressionless beneath his helm. “You’ve been quiet since Regensburg.”
“I’m always quiet,” Aldric said. “It’s my finest quality.”
“You’re quieter than usual.” The Saxon squinted at the gray sky. “That means you’re plotting.”
Aldric allowed himself a thin smile. “Plotting is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as *arranging circumstances*.”
“Arranging circumstances,” Gerold repeated. “Last time you arranged circumstances, we ended up marching to Rome with the Emperor’s entire court.”
“Yes, but think of the alternatives.” Aldric gestured vaguely at the column stretching ahead of them. “Had I not arranged circumstances, we might have ended up marching to Rome *without* the Emperor’s court. Far less comfortable.”
Gerold grunted. “You’re insufferable.”
“I prefer *delightfully incorrigible*, but I’ll accept insufferable from a man who hasn’t bathed in a week.”
The column wound through the autumn countryside, past villages that emptied at their approach and fields that had already been harvested. Charlemagne rode at the head with his paladins, his massive frame somehow commanding even from a distance. Aldric had watched him for weeks now, studying the man who held his fate in his hands. The Emperor was a paradox—a warrior who wept at the deaths of his sons, a scholar who surrounded himself with the greatest minds of Christendom, a king who spoke Latin and Greek and understood the politics of every court from Baghdad to Byzantium.
And yet, for all his brilliance, Charlemagne was afraid. Aldric had seen it in the flicker of his eye, the tightening of his grip. The Emperor feared the crown he sought—feared that Rome would reject him, that the Pope’s blessing would ring hollow, that his empire would crumble the moment he claimed its highest title.
*Fear*, Aldric thought. *That is the key. But whose fear do I use? His—or mine?*
They reached Paderborn in the late afternoon, the royal manor rising from the mist like a grey specter. The Emperor called a council that evening, and Aldric found himself seated among bishops and counts, his wet boots steaming by the fire. Charlemagne stood at the head of the table, his hands planted firmly on the oak.
“The Saxons are broken,” he declared. “Widukind has submitted. But the road to Rome is long, and there are those who would see us fail before we arrive.”
Bishop Arn of Salzburg leaned forward. “Your Majesty speaks of the Lombards?”
“And the Byzantines,” Charlemagne said. “And the Pope himself. Leo is a nervous man, and Rome is a nest of vipers. He needs our protection—but he also needs to believe we are worthy of the crown he offers.”
Aldric stared into his wine cup, trying to appear bored. It was a performance he had perfected over months of forced service, but tonight it felt hollow. His mind was already racing, mapping the political terrain, identifying the fault lines that could bring the whole enterprise crashing down.
“My lord of the Vosges,” Charlemagne said, and Aldric’s head snapped up. “You have been remarkably silent.”
“I was admiring the wine, Majesty. A 780 vintage, if I’m not mistaken. The grapes were harvested during the August heat, which—“
“Enough.” The Emperor’s voice was flat. “I did not bring you here to discuss vintages. The Pope has sent word. He wants the coronation to take place on Christmas Day, in St. Peter’s. He believes the symbolism will strengthen his position against the Roman nobility.”
“And what do you believe, Majesty?”
Charlemagne’s eyes narrowed. “I believe that Leo is a man who needs protection from his own city. I believe that if I walk into Rome, the Pope will place a crown on my head, and the world will never be the same.”
“Then why hesitate?” Aldric asked, and the room fell silent.
The Emperor’s gaze was heavy. “Because once the crown is placed, there is no turning back. Every king in Christendom will see me as a usurper or a savior. The Byzantines will call me a barbarian who stole their inheritance. The Saxons will see it as proof that I meant to conquer them all along. And my own sons—” He stopped, and Aldric saw the fear again, raw and unguarded.
“Your sons will inherit an empire,” Aldric said quietly. “Or they will inherit a corpse. The difference is the crown.”
Charlemagne stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled—a genuine smile, one Aldric had rarely seen.
“You understand,” the Emperor said. “You understand better than any man in this room. And that is why I cannot let you go.”
Aldric’s heart sank. “Majesty, I—“
“No.” Charlemagne raised a hand. “You will see this through. You will help me place this crown, and you will help me keep it. And when it is done, when Christendom has a new emperor, then—*then*—we will speak of your vineyards.”
The council dissolved into argument, voices rising over the logistics of the march, the disposition of troops, the delicate dance with the Pope. Aldric slipped away, finding a quiet corner of the manor where the rain drummed against the shutters.
Gerold found him there an hour later, a loaf of bread and a skin of wine in his hands. “You look like a man who’s lost his way.”
“I’ve lost more than that,” Aldric said. “I’ve lost the only thing I ever wanted. My freedom.”
The Saxon sat beside him, offering the wine. “So what will you do?”
Aldric drank deep, the sour wine warming his throat. “I’ll do what I’ve always done. I’ll find the path of least resistance.”
“And?”
“And I’ll make sure it leads exactly where I want it to go.” He set down the skin, his eyes fixed on the fire. “The Emperor fears the crown. The Pope fears Rome. The Romans fear the Emperor. Every man in this game is afraid of something. All I have to do is find the one fear that sets me free.”
Gerold was quiet for a long moment. “And if that fear destroys the coronation?”
Aldric closed his eyes. “Then I will have to decide whether my freedom is worth the ashes.”
Outside, the rain continued to fall, and somewhere in the darkness, a lone wolf howled at the empty sky.