Testament at Aachen, 814 CEFear nothing but the forest: the grace of God has given two swords. Two swords but no ax: conquer Saracen and Saxon, the forest remains, and, in the night, sends armies on the wind. Build bridges and roads: the shadow of the forest laps across them like a rising sea. Fill the roads with messengers and trade: at night, the branches whisper. No coin shall dispel the stratagems of darkness. Let all the forests know I am their King: in their depths, no bishops, courts, or vows. Fell, then, the Saxons' holy, heathen tree: the forest knows no single, sacred place. Slay forty-five hundred trunks: no blood proclaims our victory, the forest resettles its own. King of the Lombards, King of the Franks. The Lion, at Christmas, leads the Roman chant: "Charles, Augustus, crowned," he notes, "by the grace of God, Emperor of the Romans, Guide of Christian men." The Avar Ring surrendered to the forest. The Danes appear in ships of northern wood. Fear nothing but the forest: the swords of God light up no tree-thick wastes. On the Field of May, no tribute is laid by the lords of wilderness. At the synod of bishops, no voices speak the whisper of branches and vines. The palace rides to the babble of several tongues. No sound it speaks is unfamiliar to my ears. I look across three hundred uncrowned heads: how small a host upon the golden road, how thin our line, between the patient trees. I am too tall. No court, however radiant, hides from me the armies of wilderness arrayed to watch us pass. Send me scholars and women: let there be wisdom, or forgetfulness. Fear nothing but the forest: with God's two swords, I have hewed out roads and trade, laws, courts and words to light the darkened minds of men. From Saxony to Spain, from Aachen to Saint Peter's fief, I have seen the pale glow of worship in the dusk. Hands, not my own, but mine to command, have ordered the laws of all our several tongues. At the edge of the forest, the light expires. The language of trees is sybillant, unknown. The forest does not move. Send me women, and scholars. Between our lands, we never cease to ride. In several tongues, I draw the web of justice. Unaided, I pass judgement on the heretic words of the East. Other hands are active at my voice: school the children in the order of words. Teach them to my sons. The trees conspire in no known tongue, dividing the counties, and darkening men's minds. The roads may also bear armies against us, the rivers are roads to ships of silent wood. Two swords are given by the grace of God: two swords, but no ax. Teach this to my sons: fear nothing but the forest. Do not neglect the silence of the wood.