out of Alfihar’s grasp.
“Yes,” Alfihar said, “we have been negotiating. Alda and Hruodland have been betrothed since my clerk wrote the pact for the bride price and dowry this morning.”
At the kitchen window, Alda put her hand to her mouth and wept. Veronica looked at her, astonished by the news. Theodelinda put her arm around Alda’s shoulders and pulled her daughter toward her.
“Betrothed?” Ganelon sputtered. “Betrothed? But she is mine.”
“I made no promise,” Alfihar said, his chin raised, his back straight. “We were simply negotiating. Hruodland made a better offer.”
Ganelon gave Hruodland a murderous stare. “You are just like your father,” he spat. “Stealing what does not belong to you.”
“I stole nothing,” Hruodland shot back. “She is my wife by right. If the idea of theft will not leave your head willingly, I can break your skull and let it out.”
Ganelon looked at the men who surrounded him — Hruodland, Alfihar, Gerard, Alfihar’s uncles. “I will take my cause to the king.”
“Ganelon,” Hruodland called, “settle this here. With me. Now. If you truly believe yourself ill used, challenge me to a duel, or are you man enough?”
Ganelon paused for a moment and then kept walking toward the hall.
“Just as I suspected.” Hruodland spat on the ground.
The door to the kitchen opened, and Alda, Theodelinda, and Veronica spilled out. Alda rushed into Hruodland’s arms.
“Hruodland, why did you challenge him to a duel?” she cried. “He might have hurt you.”
Hruodland stood back for a moment and held her tear-streaked face in his hands. “Him? Hurt me?” He laughed. “I have faced warriors twice his size.”
Leonhard cleared his throat. “We should go to the hall. No doubt he is stating his case to the king.”
The party followed Ganelon. As Leonhard had predicted, Ganelon stood before Charles. “…and Your Excellence, Lady Alda was promised to me.”
“I was not,” Alda interjected from the security of Hruodland’s arms.
“Lady Alda, allow Count Ganelon to state his case,” said the king.
Alda seethed as Ganelon again said that she should be his bride. She bit her lip to prevent vile words from spilling out. To her right, Alfihar clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Count Alfihar, what have you to say?” Charles asked, his voice calm.
“My sister and Count Ganelon were not betrothed,” Alfihar replied in clipped tones. “We never had a pact. Your nephew had a far better offer for my family.”
“My lord king, if I may speak on my family’s behalf,” Leonhard said, his voice as calm as Charles’s, “Alda has seen fifteen years and has reached the age in which a marriage requires her consent.”
“He is lying,” Ganelon yelled. “He is her uncle.”
“Ask any of the learned men who travel with you, my lord king.”
The king’s archchaplain, who had overheard the conversation, interrupted, “The bishop of Bonn speaks correctly, Your Excellence. A woman of Lady Alda’s years must consent to a union between herself and any suitor.”
“What I am saying,” Leonhard stated, “is that Alda would never have given her consent to a union with Ganelon.”
“Lady Alda, does your uncle speak the truth?” Charles asked.
“Yes,” she said, glad to finally speak. “I never would have taken any vow to be united with that man. I would have joined the cloister on Nonnenwerth first.”
“You would have joined my cousin Radegunde’s strict cloister before marrying the count of Dormagen?”
“Yes,” Alda said without hesitation.
“If the bride will not give her consent, there is nothing we or the Church can do,” the king said, folding his hands under his chin.
“But you are the king!” Ganelon protested.
“We, too, are bound by Church law,” the king said, gesturing toward his archchaplain. “Fulrad said this marriage depends on the consent of the bride. While the bishop of Bonn has an interest in whom Lady Alda
“Yes,” Alfihar said, “we have been negotiating. Alda and Hruodland have been betrothed since my clerk wrote the pact for the bride price and dowry this morning.”
At the kitchen window, Alda put her hand to her mouth and wept. Veronica looked at her, astonished by the news. Theodelinda put her arm around Alda’s shoulders and pulled her daughter toward her.
“Betrothed?” Ganelon sputtered. “Betrothed? But she is mine.”
“I made no promise,” Alfihar said, his chin raised, his back straight. “We were simply negotiating. Hruodland made a better offer.”
Ganelon gave Hruodland a murderous stare. “You are just like your father,” he spat. “Stealing what does not belong to you.”
“I stole nothing,” Hruodland shot back. “She is my wife by right. If the idea of theft will not leave your head willingly, I can break your skull and let it out.”
Ganelon looked at the men who surrounded him — Hruodland, Alfihar, Gerard, Alfihar’s uncles. “I will take my cause to the king.”
“Ganelon,” Hruodland called, “settle this here. With me. Now. If you truly believe yourself ill used, challenge me to a duel, or are you man enough?”
Ganelon paused for a moment and then kept walking toward the hall.
“Just as I suspected.” Hruodland spat on the ground.
The door to the kitchen opened, and Alda, Theodelinda, and Veronica spilled out. Alda rushed into Hruodland’s arms.
“Hruodland, why did you challenge him to a duel?” she cried. “He might have hurt you.”
Hruodland stood back for a moment and held her tear-streaked face in his hands. “Him? Hurt me?” He laughed. “I have faced warriors twice his size.”
Leonhard cleared his throat. “We should go to the hall. No doubt he is stating his case to the king.”
The party followed Ganelon. As Leonhard had predicted, Ganelon stood before Charles. “…and Your Excellence, Lady Alda was promised to me.”
“I was not,” Alda interjected from the security of Hruodland’s arms.
“Lady Alda, allow Count Ganelon to state his case,” said the king.
Alda seethed as Ganelon again said that she should be his bride. She bit her lip to prevent vile words from spilling out. To her right, Alfihar clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Count Alfihar, what have you to say?” Charles asked, his voice calm.
“My sister and Count Ganelon were not betrothed,” Alfihar replied in clipped tones. “We never had a pact. Your nephew had a far better offer for my family.”
“My lord king, if I may speak on my family’s behalf,” Leonhard said, his voice as calm as Charles’s, “Alda has seen fifteen years and has reached the age in which a marriage requires her consent.”
“He is lying,” Ganelon yelled. “He is her uncle.”
“Ask any of the learned men who travel with you, my lord king.”
The king’s archchaplain, who had overheard the conversation, interrupted, “The bishop of Bonn speaks correctly, Your Excellence. A woman of Lady Alda’s years must consent to a union between herself and any suitor.”
“What I am saying,” Leonhard stated, “is that Alda would never have given her consent to a union with Ganelon.”
“Lady Alda, does your uncle speak the truth?” Charles asked.
“Yes,” she said, glad to finally speak. “I never would have taken any vow to be united with that man. I would have joined the cloister on Nonnenwerth first.”
“You would have joined my cousin Radegunde’s strict cloister before marrying the count of Dormagen?”
“Yes,” Alda said without hesitation.
“If the bride will not give her consent, there is nothing we or the Church can do,” the king said, folding his hands under his chin.
“But you are the king!” Ganelon protested.
“We, too, are bound by Church law,” the king said, gesturing toward his archchaplain. “Fulrad said this marriage depends on the consent of the bride. While the bishop of Bonn has an interest in whom Lady Alda
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