Chapter Seventeen

The Royal Summons

On Christmas Day in the year 800 AD, in the monastery above Roncesvalles, the old warrior had died. As Brother Ignatius covered the old warrior’s face, his mind was deeply troubled. The importance of this old warrior’s tale had not been lost on him. As the old man had approached his death, speculation about him had grown amongst the monks of the monastery. The monastery was alive with rumours, but the Abbot had given strict instructions that only he and the monk were to attend him. On the first day of his arrival, Brother Ignatius had spoken to the Abbot; the old warrior had been moved out of the infirmary and placed in a small cell. Only two or three especially selected monks had been allowed to attend him. This, if anything, had caused even more speculation and the whole of the monastery was convinced that they harboured, if not a very important guest, at the very least a nobleman! The monk left the cell and locked the door. He made his way to the Abbot’s chambers. The old man had definitively told the whole story of the Battle of Roncesvalles, which had already, in the last two years, passed into legend and ballad before his death.

The old man’s eyewitness account of the battle was irrefutable and even more damaging to Charlemagne than the legend. A bunch of mountain tribes had defeated Charlemagne. They were unknown and not a fit opponent for such a king as Charlemagne. They had not only destroyed part of his army, but planned the most audacious assassination in living memory and what was more had almost succeeded but for the grace of God. He shuddered. Pagans, by the sweet blood of Christ, may He save us from them. The whole thing was unthinkable. As he reached the Abbot’s chambers he knocked and entered. The Abbot was preparing for midday Mass. It was a cold Christmas Day, in that year 800 AD.

“Is he dead?” he asked in a tired voice.

“Yes, My Lord Abbot.”

“Do you think he told us the truth?”

“Dying men seldom lie and he knew things that only an eyewitness could know. There was too much detail. And then there is the Nagusi.”

“I know,” said the Abbot. “That’s what troubles me.”

The Abbot thought deeply for a few moments. He had kept vigil over the old warrior, personally, for the last three days and was very tired. He gave a small involuntary shake and then gave a number of short instructions to the monk.

“You will see to it personally that the body is burnt. I want no trace of our visitor. You will tell the Brothers that he was a traveller who died of a contagious fever and that is why he had to be cremated. There must be nothing left to show that our visitor was here. Burn everything including his clothes. On the table you will find a report that you will copy in secret and hide in the library. The original you will return to me. Is all this clearly understood?”

“Yes, My Lord Abbot.”

“Good, then see that it is done. I have been summoned to Aix-la-Chapelle and leave tomorrow.”

Twenty-five days after the old man died, Angel Garai, Abbot of Roncesvalles was, by royal command, at Aix-la-Chapelle, Charlemagne’s royal palace. He arrived in late January 801 AD, after a long and tiring journey. With him he brought a number of documents, some of which had been given to him on his journey to Aix-la-Chapelle by the monasteries at which he had stayed on his way there. One of the documents was the final report on the old warrior and this he handed in on his arrival to Charlemagne’s personal secretariat. After a few days he was summoned to the Great Map Room. He gave his name and rank to the guards at the door and after a short wait he was shown into the room. At a long table covered with a few maps and other documents were seated several men. At the head of the table sat Charlemagne. Angel bowed deeply. Charlemagne beckoned him to the foot of the table. Angel advanced and stood, arms folded inside the sleeves of his cassock and waited. As he waited to be spoken to, he looked at the men seated around Charlemagne. To his right sat three Black Monks, two of whom he recognised by repute. One, the closest to Charlemagne, was Alcuin, a monk from Britannia and Charlemagne’s closest adviser. Next to him was Einhard, a monk and the emperor’s confessor and head of intelligence. The other monk was unknown to Angel Garai, but he had to be important to be in the room. Then there were two scribes with their quills and parchments. To Charlemagne’s left were five noblemen of high rank, and then Ludovic, Charlemagne’s son. The other nobles he did not recognise. He smiled inwardly to himself, Charlemagne, a man who it was rumoured could neither read nor write, was surrounded by some of the greatest scholars of the time!

It was Alcuin who spoke first. A scholar and a man of great intellect, he wasted few words and came straight to the point.

“Do you know why you have been summoned?”

“No, My Lord,” replied Angel Garai.

“Our Lord Charlemagne is about to embark on another campaign into northern Iberia and this time it must be successful.”

Alcuin paused.

“Your report has caused us great pain and distress. First, we wish you to address two points; one, its authenticity, then its account of Lord Roland’s death.”

Angel cleared his throat and began.

“I believe the report to be accurate in every detail.”

“Why do you believe this? How can you be so sure?” asked Alcuin.

“For two reasons. First because of its detail and two, because of the identity of its author.”

“Who was?” interrupted Alcuin again.

“The old man was Zumalacarrequi, warrior and leader of the Guipuzcoans. The largest of the Basques tribes and the chief strategic planner of the Battle of Roncesvalles,” Angel paused.

“Continue,” said Alcuin, looking up briefly from some parchments.

“Therefore, it follows that if the old man’s report is true; Lord Roland was killed by the Basques and not the Moors,” said Angel Garai.

Charlemagne erupted, stood, pushed his chair back and smashed his hand into the table. He shouted at Angel.

“You have the infernal cheek to tell me that by beloved nephew was murdered by a bunch of pagan savages! I’ll have your head!”

At this Angel Garai straightened his back in shock and looked Charlemagne full in the face with his black luminous eyes. He took control himself and spoke in a strong voice.

“I can only say what I believe to be true and as for my head it is yours to take as and when you will. I am, and will remain, your loyal subject and the servant of God.”

Every eye was on Angel. The air was thick with malice.

“You are a Basque, are you not?” The words fell into the room like a thunderbolt. Alcuin had spoken the words in a matter-of-fact voice but the maliciousness of his remark and the poison of his words were not lost on Einhard. He was sticking a dagger into Angel’s back and Einhard knew the dagger would be given a good twist, for good measure, into the victim.

“Yes. I am a Basque from Navarra. There is a difference,” Angel replied in a soft voice filled with pride.

Charlemagne’s face had darkened. He lowered his six foot frame into his chair and placed his face with its blond beard into his hands. He stared at the Abbot. The air could be cut with a knife. A silence had fallen over the room.

“If you will allow me My Lord, that is why we should be grateful to our Basque Abbot,” Einhard had cut the silence, “for he is a Basque and therefore has first hand knowledge of these people and as such can give us added, if not expert, intelligence and insight into the character and strength of our enemies. Do you not think so My Lord?”

Charlemagne looked like a man covered in a dark and deepening black cloud. Alcuin decided to play another card and sink the knife deeper. He wanted to hold something over Angel that he could use later.

“You recovered Roland’s body, did you not?” Alcuin spoke the words slowly, poison dripping from every word.

“A few days after the battle, when the Basques had gone, my monks moved amongst the dead and found Roland’s body. He had been mutilated almost beyond recognition. He had been stripped and left amongst the dead. We counted fifteen horrible wounds to his body; one had almost removed his head. We gave him a Christian burial and said Mass for him.”

“By God’s blood, I will wipe these Basques from the face of the earth.” Charlemagne had hissed the words between clenched teeth.

The room fell into an even deeper and gloomier silence. The three noblemen muttered amongst themselves. After a while, Alcuin again spoke.

“If we are to do that, we need to get back to the report, My Lord. May he continue?” Charlemagne nodded.

“Abbot, tell us how the Basques located the Sisters of the Moon as best you can and in every detail and if there’s anything else that you can add to your report of significance do so.”

Angel gave them full details and then added, almost as an afterthought; “The Moors are holding Lord Valson captive in Zaragoza.”

The nobleman to the left of Charlemagne exploded. He rose to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor and declared; “I Guerin, pledge 20,000 fully-armed German knights to rescue the noble Lord Valson.”

“Thank you, Guerin,” said Charlemagne calmly. Guerin picked up his chair and sat down.

He turned to Angel. “Is there anything else Garai?”

Garai thought for a moment and chose his words carefully.

“You should know that the Jew kept his promise and returned Arostegi, the wounded Basque warrior. Intelligence has reached us that he entered the Basque country some weeks ago. The Jew has formed a friendship with Inaki and they are exchanging medical and spiritual knowledge. Furthermore, the governor of Zaragoza feels that he is in debt to the Basque and holds him in high regard, as you would a hero.”

Alcuin interrupted. “Are you seriously suggesting that this man Inaki could count on the Moors to support the Basques?”

“I would say that it is a strong possibility. Also, if the report is to be believed, he is the rightful King of the Navarrese and could possibly count on support from Navarra.”

“By all the saints, I don’t believe it,” said Guerin.

“The king of Navarra, Inigo Aritza, is a coward. Sooner or later he will lose his crown.” Charlemagne was speaking his thoughts out loud. “From what we know of this man he could easily overthrow him.”

Alcuin spoke. “How good is your intelligence?”

“We have a reliable spy in Guipuzcoa and more in Navarra. The arrival caused quite a stir amongst the locals.”

“Is there anything else we should know?” said Alcuin.

“I don’t think so. But I would make one final comment,” replied Angel Garai.

“Which is?” asked Charlemagne.

“Under your own law, My Lord Charlemagne, revenge is no crime. You sacked and destroyed Pamplona, a Basque town and so the Basques took their revenge.”

The atmosphere in the room turned extremely icy. No other in the room would have dared to speak in such a manner to the king or remind him of his own laws. Finally, Charlemagne spoke.

“Can you tell me were the Basque army can be found so I can destroy it?” he asked, coldly.

“They have no army, as we know it. They only gather into a fighting force when in danger.”

The room fell silent again to digesting the Abbot’s words. Finally Alcuin looked at Charlemagne who nodded. He turned to Angel.

“Please wait outside and thank you for your report, Lord Abbot,” said Alcuin.

Angel bowed and left the room. A guard showed him to a bench. He sat down and bowed his head in prayer and relief.

“Well, Alcuin, what do think? Speak your mind,” said Charlemagne.

Alcuin sat and thought for a while. “As you know My Lord, I don’t like wars. They have uncertain outcomes, but I recognise your Christian duty and mission on this earth. The Moors must be crushed and expelled from Iberia. It is our Christian duty to spread the faith and deliver the land from this evil. The invasion must be in the south, through Barcelona which you hold. Suleiman promised you Zaragoza. He broke his oath to you, so he forfeits any benefits from the war. The north is too volatile. There are too many imponderables that are out of our control, and not least of these are the Basques, who have through our misfortune, been fully armed and been given a victory. They could turn every one of their mountains into a fortress. They would fight tooth and nail from these mountains and would impede any invasion. Thus, I would advise against an invasion in the north. Furthermore, His Holiness, the Pope, in his wisdom suggests the south where you have had most success thus far. This should be exploited further and he offers you support in your great endeavour if you agree.”

Guerin was about to protest, but Ludovic put his hand on his arm and spoke his thoughts instead.

“You would leave Lord Valson to perish in a dungeon? That is unthinkable!”

“No, my Prince. We could try and arrange his escape or if that is not possible, pay ransom, as is the custom in such matters.” He turned to the monk on his left. “Could we not, Einhard?”

“It should be possible,” said Einhard uncomfortably.

Charlemagne turned to Alcuin.

“Why does this Holiness, the Pope, wish us to invade in the south, Alcuin?”

“As I have said, Your Grace already has a foothold there. Furthermore, His Holiness believes that the Sisters of the Moon are the Devil’s acolytes and must be destroyed. He will send armed men and gold to enhance your army. Once your primary objectives have been gained, these men will seek and destroy the Sisters. If you agree he will furnish you with 10,000 gold pieces to finance your campaign against the Moors.”

“Very well,” said Charlemagne, not one to turn down so much gold, “the south and Barcelona it is. Now let us look at the maps and plan our campaign accordingly.”

Two hours later the council meeting finished. Alcuin was the last to leave the map room and came over to Angel.

“Come, My Lord Abbot you must be hungry. Let us have supper together. I have some news for you and I want to know more about these Basques of yours.” His voice was soft and friendly.

Alcuin led Angel through the palace and into the kitchen. There they ordered food and wine and then retired to Alcuin’s rooms. Whilst they waited for the food they chatted.

“Now that we are comfortable, tell me about yourself,” said Alcuin in a smooth and pleasant voice.

Angel, reluctantly, told Alcuin about his childhood. How he came from lesser Navarrese nobility and as was the custom, being the younger son of a large family, he had been given to the Church. He had studied in Paris and after some time, had been sent by the Order to Roncesvalles as the Abbot. He found it incredibly easy to talk to Alcuin, although he never knew what he was thinking and he did not trust him. However, it seemed to him that some strange power compelled him to talk. He listened carefully and asked the most searching and interesting questions. As the food arrived, and Angel settled down to eat Alcuin looked at Angel and said:

“You know what I found most interesting about your report?”

“No.”

“It was your description of the Basque way of life,” said Alcuin.

“What do you mean?” asked Angel.

“Well, to be precise, their election of captains and their dissolution after a war has ended.”

“It is quite normal.”

“Is it?” said Alcuin gravely. “Do you realise the implications, if this idea should ever take hold in our world.”

Angel sat back in his chair. The thought had never occurred to him.

Alcuin continued. “Ideas are far more dangerous than wars, my dear boy. What these pagan, barbaric Basques are practising is what the Greeks called democracy!”

“I see,” said Angel.

“No, you don’t. If these ideas were to be freely expressed, our world would be destroyed.”

For a moment, Angel could not speak. Alcuin was right.

“The question is: How isolated are these people of yours? Are they likely to pollute other men’s minds? Eh, tell me that.”

Angel gathered his thoughts and spoke carefully.

“They are totally isolated by land and language. They have no ambitions of conquering other lands. They have no armies or kings. My judgement is that, left alone, they will not influence anybody.”

Alcuin said: “I believe you and that is why Charlemagne must never go near them again, however much he would like to avenge Roland. Charlemagne is too important to the Church of Rome. He must not be allowed to waste his time on a bunch of heathens.”

“Was he much affected by Roland’s death?” asked Angel.

“I’d say! He tore pieces out of his beard and hair. He then had himself flogged. It was the culmination of several events that drove him to it. Did you know Roland was betrothed?”

“No,” Angel said.

“Well he was. To the Lady Aude. She was waiting in Paris for this return in all her finery together with 300 bridesmaids. Then she had a dream where she saw a heron pursued by a hawk. The heron had fire pouring from its mouth and blood from its arse. Lady Aude asked if anyone could interpret her dream. Some old goat of a serving woman said she could, damned her to hell, and told her that the dream meant that Roland was dead. Lady Aude promptly threw herself out of a window of a high tower to her death.”

“Do you believe in dreams, Alcuin?” asked Angel in very serious tone.

“Dreams are the windows to our souls. Most of our important messages from God, the Bible tells us, have been given in dreams. You mentioned a Sephardic Jew in your report?”

“Yes, but what has that to do with dreams?” Angel said.

“These Spanish-Jewish scholars have brought the scientific knowledge of the ancient Greeks into Spain. They brought many important Greek books to the Moors and these have been translated into Arabic. Have you heard of the Zohar?”

“No,” said Angel.

“Perhaps you have heard of it as the Book of Splendour, or sefer hazohar as the Jews call it.”

“No I can’t say I have.”

Alcuin smiled. “You know, I believe that there are a number of connections being made between Isaac and Inaki Etxebarria and a very dangerous man is being created even as we speak.”

Angel looked puzzled. “I believe you have lost me, Alcuin.”

“That’s because you have not read the Greek scholars and Plato or the Book of Splendour.”

“Should I read them?”

“Most definitely, and when you have we will talk again for I have a mission for you to undertake. I will arrange for these books to be brought to your chamber. Now you must be tired. Let us both retire and in a few days we will talk. By the way, what is Isaac’s full name?”

“Isaac ben Solomon Luria, why?” asked Angel.

“I thought as much, he is a Hebrew,” was all that Alcuin would say.

Several days later the two men met again. Alcuin began the conversation by asking a question.

“Are you any the wiser after reading the books?”

“More confused than ever I would say,” Angel replied.

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me. Let me see if I can clarify and explain things for you.”

“I would be grateful if you would.”

“I asked you to read Plato so that you could understand the nature of democracy and the dangerousness of the ideas.”

“That part I understood,” said Angel, not wishing to look like a complete fool.

“That’s because that was the easy part. The Book of Splendour was more difficult?” Alcuin said.

“No, but I fail to see the connection.”

Alcuin smiled. “The connection is mysticism. Hellenistic astral mysticism and a theosophical system that draws on the theories of a second century Rabbi called Simeon bar Yohal. There are connections between what the pagan believes and that of the Jews. What we have in Inaki and Isaac are two people pooling their knowledge, Inaki’s knowledge of the esoteric world of nature and Isaac’s divine world, with its hidden connections with the world of creation. They are both flyers. They can leave their earthly body and move in the astral plane. Can you imagine such power?”

Angel was dumbfounded. After a while, when he had composed himself, he said: “This is heresy, Alcuin.”

“Did not Christ raise the dead?”

“That’s different.”

“Do you not believe that the saints move in the celestial plane?”

“Yes, but this is the work of the Devil.”

“Have you not seen our most holy monks levitate their spiritual souls when in deepest prayer? Do you not believe in angels? Do you not believe in miracles? So what’s so different?”

“These men are not Christians; therefore they cannot be in grace and have such powers.”

“Are you so arrogant as to think that we are the sole keepers of knowledge and spiritual powers?”

“No, not if you put it like that!” Angel said humbly.

“In my homeland of England there were, at one time, pagan priests called Druids. They say that the powers they possessed were not so different from these two men.”

“Do you believe in such things?”

“There is much that we do not understand in this world. The more I read and learn, the longer I live, the more I realise how little we really know. To keep the mind open and alert, that’s what is important. We must be forever on our guard.”

“What are we going to do, Alcuin?”

“Nothing, for the moment. This is a battle of faiths. You are going to gain as much information as you can and pass it on to me.”

“Very well.”

“One other thing. Have you made a copy of your report?”

Angel hesitated before answering.

“The report I have given you is unique.”

Alcuin looked at him steadily. He has answered cleverly, he thought, but it is not the whole truth. He had avoided the whole truth without telling a lie. Clever man, this Angel and as slippery as an eel. He liked that, for much would be expected from him.

“Another thing, before you go,” said Alcuin, “how did Zumalacarrequi come to be poisoned?”

“We don’t rightly know other than he had an encounter with the High Priestess of the Sisters of the Moon and embraced her.”

“Another Eve in the form of a serpent?” Alcuin said.

“I don’t know,” replied Angel.

“See if you can find out more, Angel.”

“I will do my best.”

“And now for your mission, Angel. It is the wish of His Holiness that all the Basques are brought the word of God. By this means we will not only save their souls but more importantly curb their warlike tendencies. I will write you a letter and you will go to the court of Inigo Aritza and ask him to help you establish a monastery of Benedictines in Navarra. From there, you are to send missionaries into the rest of the Basque provinces and see to their conversion into the Holy Roman Church.”

“Much has been done already but I will see to it that all are brought into God’s grace,” Angel said.

“I know you will, Angel. Now go with God.”

Angel hesitated, and said: “Before I go, can I ask you one last question, My Lord Alcuin?”

“What is it, Angel?”

“Why did Charlemagne send for me personally?”

“Don’t you know, Angel?”

“No.”

“Charlemagne can hardly read and he cannot write. He had to hear it from you, the horse’s mouth so to speak. He trusts very few people.”

He then added an after thought.

“Never, never, underestimate him. His memory is outstanding, his intelligence is great and he remembers everything that is said to him. His military mind is the best in the world.”

Angel nodded and was about to leave when he turned slightly and said over his left shoulder: “By the way Alcuin, was there not a Roman Senator very much like these Basque captains? As I recall the story, he was ploughing his fields when a deputation came to tell him that he had been elected dictator of Rome, so that he could raise and lead a Roman army against a terrible enemy. And did he not defeat that enemy, disband the army and returned to his farm a humble man without title, denouncing and rejecting the title of dictator and thereby the most powerful position in all Rome?”

“Yes, Angel you are right. The Roman’s name was Cincinnatus, as you well know. Are you suggesting that this makes the Basques less dangerous by making this comparison?”

“Oh, no! It was just a thought,” he said with a wide and mischievous smile.

He was about to leave, when Alcuin said, “I have distressing reports that Norsemen are in Britannia burning and destroying churches and monasteries. I fear that unless we have Charlemagne to protect us and spread the faith, we and our Church will perish. Remember that we have many enemies, Angel. Charlemagne is our protector.”

“I meant no offence, My Lord.”

“I know, Angel, but we must be careful. We live in uncertain and turbulent times. One other thing, the Pope and many of us, believe that Heaven sent us Charlemagne.”

“That I do believe, for it was the Basques’ intention to kill Charlemagne and I believe that they would have succeeded if God had not sent down his angels to protect him.”

With those words echoing in Alcuin’s mind, Angel left. Alcuin sat in thought. He was pleased with himself. He had Angel. Einhard would not have him now. At least for some years he would be employed in work directed by him. Later that day, Charlemagne came to see him, accompanied by his latest concubine. He rose as Charlemagne entered his room. He bowed deeply to the king and waited for the king to tell him why he had come to see him.

“I have work for that Basque Abbot,” said Charlemagne.

Alcuin heart sank.