muscular form in the firelight. Tomorrow is another night . I will know you. I will have your child.
* * * * *
Two weeks passed as Alfihar and Hruodland negotiated bride price and dowry. Alda wished more than ever that Alfihar would tell Ganelon that she would never be his bride. Ganelon’s stares were becoming more hateful by the day.
Alda and Hruodland talked each night by the hearth, but she could never manage to be alone with him. Just when the opportunity might present itself, Veronica suddenly had a question that needed to be answered, or her mother said it was time to retire to the solar.
One morning, Ganelon came into the kitchen, where Theodelinda and Alda were planning dinner.
“The king has given me leave to return to Dormagen,” he said, “but I have unfinished business here.”
No, you don’t , Alda wanted to say. But she held her tongue and looked at her mother.
“I am merely the count’s mother.” Theodelinda shrugged. “You must speak with him. He is master of the house.”
“It seems as if your son is avoiding me,” Ganelon said. “He is always speaking with Hruodland and his kin — in low voices.”
“Ganelon, are you blind?” Alda blurted.
“Child, hold your tongue,” Theodelinda said in her mother tone.
“What does she mean?” Ganelon asked Theodelinda.
“She means you should speak to the master of the house, don’t you, child?”
“I am not a child,” Alda yelled, stamping her foot. “I have seen fifteen winters, I shall be married soon, and I do not need you to speak for me.”
“Act like a grown woman, and I will treat you as such,” Theodelinda retorted.
“I marvel at how you can suffer such insolence, Countess,” Ganelon interjected.
“Insolence?” Theodelinda snapped. “You are calling my daughter insolent? I will tell you what I will not suffer — a union between my daughter and the likes of you. As we speak, my son and Prince Hruodland are negotiating the bride price and dowry.”
“What? But she is promised to me!” Ganelon shouted, stepping closer to Theodelinda.
Alda whispered to Veronica, “Fetch Alfihar. Ganelon will not notice you.” Sweet Mary, do not let Ganelon hurt my mother, Alda prayed, clutching her dragon.
As Veronica slipped out the door, Theodelinda picked up the nearest object, a large, bloody knife on the butcher block and gestured with it.
“Is there a bride price? Is there a dowry?” she asked sarcastically. “And when did you and my daughter exchange vows?”
Ganelon stared at the knife and would not take his eyes off it even as Alda called to him.
“I told you I would never consent to a union with you,” she said sharply. Please, Alfihar, hurry!
“You will consent,” he growled, his right hand twitching.
“Nothing will make me consent,” Alda cried, trying to distract him from her mother.
“Nothing?” Ganelon asked. “Not a beating? Not starvation?”
“No one treats my daughter in such a manner,” Theodelinda snarled. “No one.”
“It is my right as…”
Suddenly, Alfihar burst through the kitchen door, with Hruodland and their kin at his heels.
“Ganelon, if any harm befalls my mother or my sister, you will answer to me,” Alfihar roared.
“And me,” Hruodland added.
“Is it true?” Ganelon asked Alfihar, still watching the knife Theodelinda held. “Have you been negotiating a marriage pact between your family and his?”
“Step outside the kitchen,” Alfihar barked, grabbing Ganelon by the collar. “Leave our womenfolk in peace.”
As Alfihar dragged Ganelon out, Veronica slipped in. The door closed. Theodelinda looked at the knife and dropped it back on the butcher block. For a moment, the three women clung to each other.
“We should see how my brother fares,” Alda whispered.
Theodelinda nodded and waved for them to come to the window and watch what the men were doing.
* * * * *
“You have not answered my question,” Ganelon snapped. He pulled himself
* * * * *
Two weeks passed as Alfihar and Hruodland negotiated bride price and dowry. Alda wished more than ever that Alfihar would tell Ganelon that she would never be his bride. Ganelon’s stares were becoming more hateful by the day.
Alda and Hruodland talked each night by the hearth, but she could never manage to be alone with him. Just when the opportunity might present itself, Veronica suddenly had a question that needed to be answered, or her mother said it was time to retire to the solar.
One morning, Ganelon came into the kitchen, where Theodelinda and Alda were planning dinner.
“The king has given me leave to return to Dormagen,” he said, “but I have unfinished business here.”
No, you don’t , Alda wanted to say. But she held her tongue and looked at her mother.
“I am merely the count’s mother.” Theodelinda shrugged. “You must speak with him. He is master of the house.”
“It seems as if your son is avoiding me,” Ganelon said. “He is always speaking with Hruodland and his kin — in low voices.”
“Ganelon, are you blind?” Alda blurted.
“Child, hold your tongue,” Theodelinda said in her mother tone.
“What does she mean?” Ganelon asked Theodelinda.
“She means you should speak to the master of the house, don’t you, child?”
“I am not a child,” Alda yelled, stamping her foot. “I have seen fifteen winters, I shall be married soon, and I do not need you to speak for me.”
“Act like a grown woman, and I will treat you as such,” Theodelinda retorted.
“I marvel at how you can suffer such insolence, Countess,” Ganelon interjected.
“Insolence?” Theodelinda snapped. “You are calling my daughter insolent? I will tell you what I will not suffer — a union between my daughter and the likes of you. As we speak, my son and Prince Hruodland are negotiating the bride price and dowry.”
“What? But she is promised to me!” Ganelon shouted, stepping closer to Theodelinda.
Alda whispered to Veronica, “Fetch Alfihar. Ganelon will not notice you.” Sweet Mary, do not let Ganelon hurt my mother, Alda prayed, clutching her dragon.
As Veronica slipped out the door, Theodelinda picked up the nearest object, a large, bloody knife on the butcher block and gestured with it.
“Is there a bride price? Is there a dowry?” she asked sarcastically. “And when did you and my daughter exchange vows?”
Ganelon stared at the knife and would not take his eyes off it even as Alda called to him.
“I told you I would never consent to a union with you,” she said sharply. Please, Alfihar, hurry!
“You will consent,” he growled, his right hand twitching.
“Nothing will make me consent,” Alda cried, trying to distract him from her mother.
“Nothing?” Ganelon asked. “Not a beating? Not starvation?”
“No one treats my daughter in such a manner,” Theodelinda snarled. “No one.”
“It is my right as…”
Suddenly, Alfihar burst through the kitchen door, with Hruodland and their kin at his heels.
“Ganelon, if any harm befalls my mother or my sister, you will answer to me,” Alfihar roared.
“And me,” Hruodland added.
“Is it true?” Ganelon asked Alfihar, still watching the knife Theodelinda held. “Have you been negotiating a marriage pact between your family and his?”
“Step outside the kitchen,” Alfihar barked, grabbing Ganelon by the collar. “Leave our womenfolk in peace.”
As Alfihar dragged Ganelon out, Veronica slipped in. The door closed. Theodelinda looked at the knife and dropped it back on the butcher block. For a moment, the three women clung to each other.
“We should see how my brother fares,” Alda whispered.
Theodelinda nodded and waved for them to come to the window and watch what the men were doing.
* * * * *
“You have not answered my question,” Ganelon snapped. He pulled himself
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