of Mary, Mother of God.
While Theodelinda watched the servants put the gifts away for safekeeping, Alfihar beckoned the guests to sit by the hearth. Musicians played the introduction to the first of many songs about Siegfried.
Alda watched Ganelon through sidelong glances. As she saw him rise from the table and leave the hall in the direction of the privies, she had an idea. She leaned toward Hruodland and whispered, “Would you like to see the garden before night falls?”
He nodded, and they walked outside. They passed servants hurrying between the kitchen and hall. It was a cool evening. The garden was quiet except for the festivities near the chapel, where the commoners laughed, sang, and danced. The celebration blended with the call of frogs near the river. Alda’s eyes adjusted to the near dark. The purple light softened everything and made it appear celestial. A fire pit near the chapel cast an orange glow.
Wine muddled Alda’s mind and heart. Even with the dragon amulet and the cross to protect her, she was tempting demons and spirits of the dead. The white-silver moonlight seemed to keep the spirits at bay. Hruodland and Alda brushed past silver-green sage gone to seed and sweet-scented lavender.
Alda was not sure why she had suggested they come out here, except that it was a beautiful night and she wanted to share it with Hruodland.
But things will be worse with Ganelon when we return to the hall . Alda looked over her shoulder. No Ganelon. “Perhaps we should go inside,” she said.
“Why?” Hruodland asked. “We just came out here.”
“I have caused much discord.”
“What do you mean?”
“Between you and Ganelon,” Alda murmured, hating even to mention his name.
Hruodland laughed. Alda looked up, startled.
“There is nothing you could do to cause discord between me and Ganelon,” he said. “The blood feud between our two families started before you were born, before I was born.”
“Oh? What happened?”
They stopped walking and looked out toward the Rhine, a silvery purple in the moonlight. “You know my mother grew up in Grandfather Pepin’s palaces,” he said.
King Pepin, our present king’s father, Alda reminded herself. Shall I ever become accustomed to his manner of referring to the royal family? Alda nodded for Hruodland to continue.
“She was my grandfather’s niece, but he raised her as his own daughter after both her parents died, or so my nurse told me. And when she was a marriageable age, my mother was betrothed to the count of Dormagen.”
“Ganelon?” Alda asked. “But he is your age.”
Hruodland laughed and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Ganelon’s father.”
“Oh. Did Ganelon’s sire resemble the son?” Alda’s arm slid around his waist.
“Perhaps. But my mother ruined the arrangement. Shall I tell you how?” he asked with a sly look.
Alda nodded eagerly.
“She was carrying another man’s child,” he said. “Me.”
“How bold,” she said, putting her free hand to her lips.
“My nurse always described my mother as willful and proud.”
Alda looked down, remembering how Alfihar had called her willful when she had protested an arrangement with Ganelon.
“She wanted to marry my father,” Hruodland continued. “When she lay with him, she knew nothing of the negotiations with the count of Dormagen until she was betrothed to him. I was already in her belly.
“So the count of Dormagen broke off the betrothal. He claimed he did not want an unchaste wife.” Hruodland shook his head. “He would not have cared if my mother was not a virgin. Her wealth and royal blood would have more than compensated for her lack of virtue. It was me, the child who was not his. She would not consent to the nuptials unless the count of Dormagen vowed to allow me to stay with her.”
Hruodland stared at the mountains, which had become a green-blue-gray. “How I wish she had lived beyond my birth!”
Alda embraced Hruodland. “She loved
While Theodelinda watched the servants put the gifts away for safekeeping, Alfihar beckoned the guests to sit by the hearth. Musicians played the introduction to the first of many songs about Siegfried.
Alda watched Ganelon through sidelong glances. As she saw him rise from the table and leave the hall in the direction of the privies, she had an idea. She leaned toward Hruodland and whispered, “Would you like to see the garden before night falls?”
He nodded, and they walked outside. They passed servants hurrying between the kitchen and hall. It was a cool evening. The garden was quiet except for the festivities near the chapel, where the commoners laughed, sang, and danced. The celebration blended with the call of frogs near the river. Alda’s eyes adjusted to the near dark. The purple light softened everything and made it appear celestial. A fire pit near the chapel cast an orange glow.
Wine muddled Alda’s mind and heart. Even with the dragon amulet and the cross to protect her, she was tempting demons and spirits of the dead. The white-silver moonlight seemed to keep the spirits at bay. Hruodland and Alda brushed past silver-green sage gone to seed and sweet-scented lavender.
Alda was not sure why she had suggested they come out here, except that it was a beautiful night and she wanted to share it with Hruodland.
But things will be worse with Ganelon when we return to the hall . Alda looked over her shoulder. No Ganelon. “Perhaps we should go inside,” she said.
“Why?” Hruodland asked. “We just came out here.”
“I have caused much discord.”
“What do you mean?”
“Between you and Ganelon,” Alda murmured, hating even to mention his name.
Hruodland laughed. Alda looked up, startled.
“There is nothing you could do to cause discord between me and Ganelon,” he said. “The blood feud between our two families started before you were born, before I was born.”
“Oh? What happened?”
They stopped walking and looked out toward the Rhine, a silvery purple in the moonlight. “You know my mother grew up in Grandfather Pepin’s palaces,” he said.
King Pepin, our present king’s father, Alda reminded herself. Shall I ever become accustomed to his manner of referring to the royal family? Alda nodded for Hruodland to continue.
“She was my grandfather’s niece, but he raised her as his own daughter after both her parents died, or so my nurse told me. And when she was a marriageable age, my mother was betrothed to the count of Dormagen.”
“Ganelon?” Alda asked. “But he is your age.”
Hruodland laughed and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Ganelon’s father.”
“Oh. Did Ganelon’s sire resemble the son?” Alda’s arm slid around his waist.
“Perhaps. But my mother ruined the arrangement. Shall I tell you how?” he asked with a sly look.
Alda nodded eagerly.
“She was carrying another man’s child,” he said. “Me.”
“How bold,” she said, putting her free hand to her lips.
“My nurse always described my mother as willful and proud.”
Alda looked down, remembering how Alfihar had called her willful when she had protested an arrangement with Ganelon.
“She wanted to marry my father,” Hruodland continued. “When she lay with him, she knew nothing of the negotiations with the count of Dormagen until she was betrothed to him. I was already in her belly.
“So the count of Dormagen broke off the betrothal. He claimed he did not want an unchaste wife.” Hruodland shook his head. “He would not have cared if my mother was not a virgin. Her wealth and royal blood would have more than compensated for her lack of virtue. It was me, the child who was not his. She would not consent to the nuptials unless the count of Dormagen vowed to allow me to stay with her.”
Hruodland stared at the mountains, which had become a green-blue-gray. “How I wish she had lived beyond my birth!”
Alda embraced Hruodland. “She loved
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