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Legends Never Die: The Hunchback (ch. 135)
🕑 Added 2025-10-15 15:09:04 +0000 UTC“God forgive me, I should have killed him when I had the chance,” the famed Charlemagne uttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat at the head of a long table that Pepin wasn't welcome to sit at. Instead, he watched on from the shadows as his… family… gathered. “If not when he was a boy, then in Rome. Damn him!”
It was a rare thing to see Charlemagne in such a state. His famous control slipped behind closed doors as he slammed a letter upon the table with enough force that the others were startled. His control didn't slip for long, however. The Frankish King and aspiring Roman Emperor took in a slow breath and visibly gathered himself.
“Pepin,” Charlemagne started, his voice calmer. And, for a moment, he nearly stirred from the shadows but he knew it wasn't to him that Charlemagne spoke to. Instead, it was a boy at the table, barely old enough to call himself a man. A boy that still wasn't quite used to his new Christianized name. A name that had been his. “Do you know what troubles me so about this message?”
Pepin of Italy, as he was now known. Not Carloman, as he had been born as. The boy hesitated in his answer, his gaze darting to their father and then to the letter, and then to the shadows where he hid.
It would be an easy thing to lead the boy astray. To sabotage him. But, that would be a needless action for a fleeting moment of superiority. Instead, he mouthed the answer.
‘Barbarians. Uniting,’ Pepin the Elder, though he was known as a much less flattering name, mouthed to his younger brother. His younger brother who was in a seat that should be his. With a name that was his.
Carloman, as Pepin would know him as nothing else, looked back to their father. “The barbarians are uniting. Before… they were sparse and easily dispersed. King Siegfried has bound those loosely connected tribes and forged a kingdom out of them.” Carloman wasn't entirely witless. Just prone to panic when confronted with a question.
“Not a kingdom. An empire,” their father corrected sternly, his lips thinning. “He acted faster than I expected. Three years. In three years, he turned rabble into Rome. Damn him, I'm almost impressed.” Charlemagne admitted, sounding entirely unhappy about the fact. As he should be.
Siegfried the Wolfkissed was a figure that was well known to Pepin by now. It was strange to think that they were of a similar age. Once, during the Saxon rebellion, Charlemagne spoke of the boy with some amusement. Calling him a ‘rare soul amongst the soulless.’ That opinion changed when the Saxon rebellion turned from a manageable problem to the ‘first’ blemish on his sterling reputation. Then he was an irritant that his father expected to never hear of again.
It had been an unwelcome surprise to learn that Siegfried, instead of returning to his frozen homeland, had found a place in the remnants of the Roman Empire, but no more than that. The boy was a curiosity and a sore point, but then came the campaign into the Umayyad Caliphate and Charlemagne's humiliation. Perched upon a hill, Siegfried extorted both the Frankish King and the Caliph to buy his inaction for days on end.
But this was different. Something very different.
Siegfried had returned to Denmark and swiftly took the crown. That was to be expected. He forged an alliance with Norway and Saxony, which was a cause for concern but Charlemagne had no plans to retake the rebellious territory. At least, not any time soon. They weren't blind to Siegfried's activities, but the young King acted with a blistering speed and rapid conquest that turned a small out of the way kingdom that was barely worth remembering into an empire that now sat on their northern doorstep.
They had still been deciding on whether they should intervene or not when a fully realized empire just seemed to appear from thin air. It was almost hilarious how absurd the whole thing was. But Pepin couldn't bring himself to laugh simply because… because for the very first time, he had seen his father afraid.
The invincible, the unstoppable, the unyielding and inevitable King of the Franks… was afraid of the threat that the Pagan King Siegfried posed to him and all of his ambitions.
“But, they're not an empire yet, right?” Carloman questioned, earning a thin smile of approval from their father.
“No, not yet. Not truly. Though, it is only a matter of time. Siegfried is the most cunning creature I've ever met. He is my equal in every way,” Charlemagne uttered with a sense of superiority. As if there could be no one greater than he, thus anyone who could match him was merely his equal and not a superior. “Tale spreads of his next actions -- codifying laws, establishing mints and trading currency… it is not an empire yet. But it will be.”
The irritating part was that he wasn't wrong. Pepin had a number of sketches that were of the city ‘Miklagard’, and the city was impressive. Rome and Constantinople writ small, as it were, but that was changing by the day. Siegfried had taken the territory and people, and now he was binding them together with trade, religion, and bureaucracy. In the months since his coronation, the transition of independent tribal leaders to bureaucratic society was full of challenges and pitfalls, yet King Siegfried seemed well prepared for all of them.
It was enough to draw a conclusion in Pepin's mind. If the ‘Scandinavian Empire’ survived the decade, then it would survive a century. There would be enough social momentum to carry it that long, at least.
“What do we do?” Carloman asked, a note of trepidation entering his voice. A note that wasn't missed by their father, who narrowed his eyes with displeasure. Yet, Carloman was spared a remark or rebuke.
“For now? Nothing,” Charlemagne admitted, leaning back into his seat, sounding quite displeased with the truth. “Our forces are tied up to the southeast, against the Magyars. As well in the west against the Abbasids. We cannot afford a protracted war in the north as well. At least, not a traditional one.”
Carloman sat up in his seat a little, “You speak of assassination?”
“Among many things,” Charlemagne confirmed. “Sponsoring raids into his borders, bribing officials, cultivating spies -- there are many things we can do to make the young king stumble.”
“Won't that provoke him? You said we can't afford a war with him, and if he knows that too…” Carloman trailed off, lacking the spine to challenge their father directly. Pepin bit his tongue to avoid speaking, knowing that it wouldn't be worth it.
Charlemagne gave a small nod, “He is aware. However, he will not attack. He knows me as the only one who could defeat him on the field of battle, and he will not take such a risk until his rule is secure.” Then there was a small exhale through his nose, something resembling a laugh. “Though, I suspect that he will trouble us in a similar manner as I intend to trouble him.”
Both of them were in positions where they could not freely wage war with the other. Siegfried and his Scandinavian Empire were too new and fragile. The Franks, however, were building ten thousand cultural bridges with the Romans to resuscitate a dead Empire. The result was that, despite both being uniquely vulnerable to the other, neither could afford to seize upon that weakness in any meaningful way.
Meaning that the only thing to do was to prepare for a war that both sides knew was coming.
“Hm. No matter, the Pagan is not your burden to bear, Pepin,” Charlemagne assured Carloman and Pepin tasted iron from how harshly he bit his tongue. “Your betrothal is your concern. Have you prepared yourself for it?”
“Yes, father," Carloman said, his tone resigned yet dutiful.
“Your marriage is an important cornerstone of this process,” Charlemagne lectured and Pepin grit his teeth as humiliation and shame flowed through him. “It is the first of many amongst the nobility and a prelude to my own with Empress Irene. I understand your fears and reservations. The Romans are a great but strange people. But take heart -- you are a prince of the Franks, and you are my son.”
Pepin distracted himself from the conversation and the pride in his father's voice that was reserved for all but him. He focused on the truth of the matter.
The Franks and the Romans were coming to a crucial juncture in the unification of their empires. It had been near five years since the effort began -- there had been countless talks about the steps leading up to the first step, and that first true step was finally upon them. And that step was marriages.
It felt like every able bodied man and woman who wasn't already wed was being offered to the altar of matrimony, be they nobility or merchant. Spearheading the first round of marriages was Carloman, who was marrying the daughter of a ‘Strategos’ or Duke of the Romans. It, and more than a hundred other marriages would be celebrated in Rome and Constantinople.
Up until this point, they merely had an alliance. Joint action against the Magyars, with the horse lords being chased out of their territory. The Balkans were secured, as was additional lands reaching the Carpathian Mountains. The territory was still being settled, and likely would be for years more, but it was the first time in centuries that the West and East shared a border. It was progress. Proof that the unification was more than a dream.
Carloman's marriage was an important one. The binding of their nobility before the unification was punctuated with the marriage between Charlemagne and Irene -- then and only then would the Roman Empire be reforged anew-
“Pepin,” Charlemagne said, interrupting his thoughts. At first, he dismissed the summons, thinking that he was speaking to Carloman, only to realize he had been so lost in his thoughts he missed Carloman being dismissed.
Slowly, shamefully, Pepin emerged from the shadows and into his father's gaze that he struggled to meet. The scorn was there. The subtle disgust in his eyes was present, as it was in all of those who saw him. All save for his mother, but she was all but banished from court for the sin of his birth.
He was born as a prince.
Now he was Pepin the Hunchback. To any who spoke of him, if they spoke of him at all, then they called his birth a lesson. God thought Charlemagne needed to learn humility, so he delivered him a twisted monstrosity of a son. Or, he was sent as a punishment for the act of kinslaying to reunite the Frankish kingdom that his father had split by slaying his brother.
Pepin wasn't sure if he believed in God, but if he did exist, and his torment was for nothing more than to punish his father?
Then God was a real bastard.
“Father,” Pepin managed with as much dignity as he could muster. Which wasn't much. He’d been stripped of everything -- his status as a prince, his inheritance, Charlemagne had even taken his name and given it to his brother. All so the stain on his legacy could be washed away. Yet, he was still… here. Neither dead nor banished, yet not welcomed or acknowledged. A strange purgatory where his fate could be decided by the hour or a whim.
No. That wasn't true. His father would never accept him.
“I have use for you,” Charlemagne informed without any warmth. He did not gesture for him to sit, and Pepin knew that he wouldn't. The table was for friends and family, and he was neither.
“That much is obvious, Father,” Pepin replied. It was stupid. Foolish. But every time he reminded Charlemagne of their relation, that he was his son, and seeing the flash of… indignation rise in his eyes… it was worth it, even if it cost him the little he had left. “You didn't ask me here for my company and you've never been keen on listening to counsel other than your own.”
“And that of God,” Charlemagne replied, his tone even. At least he didn't deny it.
“How might I be of service?” Pepin asked, giving a mockery of a bow, drawing attention to his… affliction. As much as he hated it, Pepin knew that Charlemagne hated it more.
God might be a bastard, but if he was placed on this Earth to make his father suffer… then he would reach Heaven's gates knowing he did his duty well.
“Siegfried the Wolfkissed,” Charlemagne uttered the name. That burden was to be his, then? It made sense. Carloman and his brothers would be married into Rome's old nobility. Eldest son of Charlemagne or not, none would wed him so he was quite useless in that regard. “The next few years are crucial for us. And for him.”
“You expect him to expand, then?” Pepin questioned, and Charlemagne shook his head.
“No. Not for years. Not within the decade, at least,” Charlemagne answered with swift confidence. “However, he will not remain idle. The exiled Bulgarian rides with him.”
“As will the Magyar Tiger,” Pepin added. The Magyars were a nomadic people at heart, but they had long since settled on that stretch of flatlands with their herds of horses. Most had accepted defeat and bent the knee, but some had left the land and last reports said that they were traveling north. It was little wonder who they intended to take sanctuary with.
Charlemagne inclined his head, ever so slightly. “He will support them in their bids of reconquest or resettlement. As he already has with that thorn in the Mediterranean. But, more importantly, he will seek the same thing as I with the Abbasids -- a common enemy.”
Pepin clenched his jaw as Charlemagne had that far away look as if he were gazing years into the future. There was something in his voice that always set his teeth on edge.
There was little doubt in Pepin's mind that Charlemagne hated Siegfried. The kind of hate that was poisonous to one's soul. Charlemagne would damn himself to the harshest corner of Hell if it meant Siegfried would suffer beside him.
Yet, there was… respect. Admiration, almost. Something that he reserved for Siegfried and Siegfried alone.
“Now that he has conquered the tribes, the easiest way to get them to obey is to push them in a direction they already wish to. In doing so, he will validate his rule with success,” Charlemagne continued. “There are two directions he can look to without locking horns with me -- west and east.”
Pepin nodded slowly, “You expect for him to invade Britannia?”
“He will attack it, at the very least,” Charlemagne ventured. “Likely with one of their ‘Great Raids.’ It will finance future construction and institutions in his budding empire, and it will allow him to inspect the lands for future conquest at a later date.” He sounded so certain of it that Pepin was inclined to believe him.
He had a great many issues with his father, but he would never doubt him as a king. All the more so, his words matched Pepin's thoughts.
Britannia was a foggy, frigid, and miserable place by all accounts. However, to the barbarians that lived in a frozen wasteland most of the year, it would be a paradise. It was densely populated, extensively cultivated, and rich with plunder while being close by. To the east, however, there was a vast stretch of… nothing, for the most part.
But that would have great appeal to a young conquering king. The great plains were hardly empty, but there were few who could offer true resistance there. He could expand hundreds of miles at a time seemingly endlessly until he reached someone of note, but Pepin was uncertain who that could even be.
However, Britannia had more immediate benefits, and Siegfried wasn't the type to overextend without care.
“I do hope you don't intend for me to guard the coastline of Britannia on my lonesome, Father,” Pepin replied, his tone cutting. “I'm not much good with a sword.”
“Ecbert of Wessex,” Charlemagne continued as if he hadn't said anything. “He spent some time in my court before assuming his own rulership. I remember him as a clever man -- ruthless, politically aware, and not devoid of charm.” Pepin possessed some vague memories of the man as well.
The man had been clever, from his recollections, though it had been more than ten years ago. He was someone who made sure that he was easy to like and hard to hate, but without ever having a strong opinion on anything.
“You shall join his court,” Charlemagne informed him, something he expected. The when or where or how he would be sent away was always a question, but never why. Banishment, in essence. Dressed up as giving an ally aid, securing the family's interests, but banishment all the same. “From there, we will coordinate and provide what Lord Ecbert requires to secure his realm against the Pagans along with whatever aid is needed to ensure that we have a stalwart ally on the island.”
In essence, they would fuel his dreams of a united ‘England.’ His knowledge of Britannia was somewhat limited, but he knew the broad strokes due to investigating it as an area of interest. Wessex had enjoyed a recent surge in prominence, likely due to Ecbert’s leadership, but it was still a distant second power on the island. Mercia was by far the most powerful petty kingdom in Britannia, which wasn’t exactly saying much.
Cornwall was notable only in that it was independent. The Welsh were squabbling tribes who hated the Anglo-Saxons just barely more than they hated each other. The same could be said for the Irish. Alba was the most whole of the kingdoms, but they were sparse and clung to their highlands to spit upon the ‘lowlanders.’ In short, it would seem to many that Charlemagne had overly high hopes for the squabbling island.
Only his father had no expectation that Britannia would be able to resist Siegfried when the time came. What he wanted was to bleed him. He wanted to trade gold and silver for time and lives -- build up Britannia to make it a proper fight, inspire resistance when the Pagan King came to settle the new lands, and leave the island as a persistent thorn in his side. Repaying the thorn that Siegfried had left behind in the Mediterranean.
His father was nothing if not petty.
Pepin breathed in slowly, clenching his jaw as a dozen thoughts and retorts nearly made it off his tongue. Yet, he swallowed them all down as he had learned to and instead bowed his head, “As you will, Father.”
It was all he could do -- no amount of crying or protesting would change his decision. He would go to Wessex, even if he had to be bound, gagged, and tossed onto the ship. So, he would accept the task given. He would go to Ecbert’s court. And there, he would do what he had been tasked to do.
For now.
Comments
Sir M
If pepin's understanding of charlamagne is true then Charlemagne is almost certainly smarter than Seig but seems to plan mostly alone (and with God whatever that means in this context). I'm real curious as to how their buffs/systems differ though we might never get the specifics.
Silver flare
Hmmm.... you can taste the venom pepin has for old Charlie. That is interesting...mayhaps the young prince will be up for a chat after Seigfried feeds Ecbert his own spine and burns every church in Wessex? Regardless the Anglo-Saxons are going to be a fun diversion for Seig and a good theater to teach his children how to be conquers in their own right. Ragnar is going to have a eventful teenage hood. It's also about time Scáthach and Aífe start learning how to be leaders and warriors themselves. Practice for conquering Ireland?
