“No problem. Though sanctified by the church, Bertrada’s position was that it was annullable through the old Frankish civil tradition of ‘Diktat’. To we women, all’s fair in love and war and Bertrada was at war. Rome’s reaction was predictable. The Holy See was dumbfounded. Pope Stephen sent a circular letter against Bertrada’s ‘consorting with the faithless’. He’d been fighting off the Lombard’s attempts to usurp the Curia for years.”

“Then how did things get patched up?”

“I’m getting to that. Just listen. Fresh from Pavia, Goosefoot waddled in through the Lateran door with conciliatory proposals. Charlois would remain true to the church and the Lombard king would refrain from interference in central Italy in return for the Pope’s blessing of his daughter’s union.”

“Unbelievable! And the Pope agreed to that?”

“Without hesitation. In those days, it was common knowledge that Charlois did as he was told by his mother. The Pope agreed but the stress from Bertrada’s geopolitical gambit was just too much for him. Three months after the agreement had been put in place, he was dead from dropsy. Carloman, on the other hand, found himself checkmated—Lombards to his south, Bavarians to his east and his brother to the north.”

Bertha paused, distracted by the look of complete emersion on her son’s face. Only after he noticed she’d stopped talking did he look up causing her to continue.

“Not long after, Carloman died mysteriously at his headquarters in Laon. It was shortly after a visit from his erstwhile sister-in-law, Hilde, who he must have presumed was now an ally by default due to current circumstances. As soon as he was safely entombed beside Father in St. Denis, Desiderata was sent packing back to her father, who, understandably was outraged. Hilde and Charlois were reunited and their marriage reinstated in the Cathedral of St. Denis with the new Pope’s blessing. Her place on the throne next to a husband who was completely mad about her (and of course, she, him) was thus assured.”

“You mean to tell me that my aunt, the beautiful, kind and tender-hearted Queen Hilde was responsible for Carloman’s death?”

“I never said that! You may draw any conclusion you like. To my mind, the chronic mental maladies he suffered from the blow to his head at the battle for Narbonne lingered. They plagued him and worsened over time, finally killed him; simple as that.”

“But Uncle Charlois doesn’t seem as impacted or controlled by grandmother’s wishes as you make him out to be.”

Bertha allowed a soft chuckle to escape her lips. “Not any more. Hilde has seen to his schooling since. Soon after Carloman’s death and Hilde’s reentry, Charlois mysteriously became aware of the dangers of his mother’s geopolitics; that’s to say, the incorporation of the Lombards into the papacy through marriage; thus, a twofold reason for his swift and decisive dismissal of Desiderata. Soon after, Charlois descended on Laon and laid claim to his brother’s half of the kingdom forcing Queen Gerberga to flee. She left in the night with her two little sons and was granted asylum by the Lombard king.”

“But where are they now that Charlois has defeated Desidarius?”

“Gone. No one knows and no one has had the courage to inquire. It’s a sleeping dog, Roland. Let it lie.”

Roland cringed. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “So, at the end of the day, what you’re really telling me is that our king, your brother and my uncle, is just another power hungry, nation raider.”

Bertha laughed and tossed her head. “On the contrary. The last thing Charlois wanted on his hands when he ascended his throne in Austrasia was responsibility for the safety and success of all Southern Francia; yet, that’s where he suddenly found himself. The South was simply too great an expanse of territory to be a single fiefdom and, so being, was simply too dangerous to entrust to any one individual outside the immediate family. To ensure against future incursions from Islam, he instead installed Thierry, (a distant cousin, who’d refused to side with either Carloman or Hunold, thus landing him in prison—a condemned man) in Toulouse. He gave his fervent ally and relentless enemy of Muslim Iberia, King Yon of Asturias, the honorary fiefdom of Bordeaux with Huon, his seneschal, as resident regent.”

“So you view your marriage to Ganelon as a strategic alliance? Is that it?”

Bertha was philosophical. “Why not? He’s my nearest neighbor and in the best position to bring aid and support in arms if needed.”

Roland scowled, “But he’s a Gascon!”

Her son’s disdainful tone didn’t bother her in the least. She replied coolly, “What of it? I’m past the age for having children.”

Roland’s angst only grew. “But Mother! Now he’s once again master of the Briton Marches and the Languedoc!”

“So what?” she retorted. “That’s been the normal way of things for the last seventeen years anyway. Think about it. He has no heirs, and now that he’s married to me, no hope of ever having any. On the other hand, if you were still alive, as I held out hope you might still be, then you’d be my heir and, through this marriage, his! In this way, when he and I were gone, you’d be master of Briton, the Languedoc and Gasgogne—one of the largest provincial complexes in the realm. The fact that you’re still alive already means, that by direct blood decent, owing to your father’s death, you’re now Lord of Briton and its marches.”

Roland was caught unawares by the abstract, deductive logic and sophisticated, strategic reasoning put forth in his mother’s argument. He was circumspect. Raising a brow, he replied, “Hmm. I guess I see your point. It’s shrewd and calculating—and a side of you I’ve not ever seen before.”

Bertha returned a doleful smile. “Son, it’s no accident that we’re the ruling family. It’s all just an endless game of chess. He who knows the game and plays it best will always rule. It’s a hard, cold-blooded, ruthless game; this life we have. It’s not for the innocent or faint of heart.

Roland looked to the floor in thoughtful silence then replied reflectively, “I see now what my Uncle Charlois meant the day Father died when he held my hand and said I had to grow up right then and there on the spot.”

Bertha smiled and rose to her feet. She placed her hands to either side of his neck and kissed his cheek. Afterward, she took his place at the window and gazed with forlorn sadness through its wrinkled panes.

“Yes,” she began, “sad to say, it’s true. I wish that your father and I could have sheltered you forever. But, now that he’s gone, it’s incumbent upon you to become a master of the game and, in so doing, protector of not only those whom you hold dearest, but our entire kingdom as well.”

She turned to him and he could see she was worried. Her voice wavered from forgetting to breathe as she tried so hard to articulate her concerns and make him understand. “My brother can’t do it alone. It’s an eternal task with no sunset and your time has come. You must put away the facile implements and entertainments of childhood forever now, Roland.”

He understood her meaning all too well but was still, nevertheless, quite piqued. “Well, I can tell you this much. From the manner in which he insinuated himself into this family, I’ll never trust Ganelon again!”

“Nor would I expect it. He’s a master of the game himself. He’s had to be. You have only to recognize and respect that about him. Except for your own blood and that of your wife’s, you should never completely trust anyone. Never let anyone know that you know their game or that you’ve found them out. And once you have, keep them closer to yourself than even your most trusted friends. In that way, you’ll always maintain the advantage.”

Her words of wisdom evoked a respectful, albeit disconsolate response. “I see now, that this is what you and Father always meant when you talked about the way. I’ll negotiate its path with care but I’ll never enjoy it. To me, it will always be a sinister, repugnant game of insidious lies, trickery, deceit, treachery, and betrayal.”

Bertha sighed. “Yes, it’s all those things and more.”

Frustrated, Roland could only shake his head. With a fair amount of anguish and despair he asked, “But how can anyone live life that way and still respect themselves?”

“Simple,” she replied. “Remember the knightly oath that you swore to my brother you’d uphold on that field of battle in Aspromonte and live by it. Play the deadly game to the hilt because you have no other choice—but never without honor!”

Roland nodded and smiled. He crossed the floor to her and gave her a big hug. Still smiling, he spoke with renewed enthusiasm. “Yes, Mother! I understand the wisdom of your words; and now also, why I admire the king so. That’s what he does! Doesn’t he?”

Bertha smiled with relief at seeing she’d gotten through to him. She hugged him back and kissed his cheek again. “Always! I’m sure you’ll be alright now. Now get yourself to Aachen and marry that wonderful girl I’m so glad and proud you’ve chosen! And tell her I said she’d better treat you well or I’ll come and take you back for myself!”

Roland laughed. “Thank you, Mother.” He kissed her forehead, turned and walked to the door. Upon reaching it, another thought entered his head. He stopped. Turning back he saw that his mother was still looking after him. This time, with a more serious inflection to his voice, he advised, “If you need me, send word by Gautier after he’s back from campaign against the Saxons and I’ll be at your gate in no less than a fortnight.”

Bertha shot back a fond grin and waved him on. “Go!”

Smiling back, he blew her a kiss and was out the door. He made fifteen leagues before sunset and camped near a stream that ran near the old Roman road that night. The next morning, he hadn’t been back on the road for more than an hour when he saw a large squadron of mounted knights, pennants streaming from their lances, approaching from the direction in which he was headed. He reined Veillantif in and waited.

When the column of nearly five hundred chevaliers was within fifty yards, Roland was able to make out their leader. It was Constable Gautier. The two recognized one another at the same moment and both broke out in laughter as Gautier raised a hand signaling his brigade to halt, after which he rode on forward to Roland with a broad grin on his face.

Roland was first to speak. “What ho, Constable! How goes the war!”

“Right well, thank you very much!” he barked right back with convivial aplomb. “And how’s the Pride of Carolingia on this fine Summer morning?”

“Right as rain and ready to cause trouble!” Roland shot back with cheerful exuberance. Both laughed at the spontaneity of their clever repartee.

Roland went right on. “Even better, now that I see you’ll soon be home tonight to watch out for my mother!”

“Yes, indeed!” Gautier replied enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to sleep in a real bed for a change and have a little peace! What about you?”

“You should know! Now that the Saxons are back on their side of the river, I’m off to Aachen for a rendezvous with a certain countess I made a promise to—something having to do with the Cathedral of the Magdalene in Aachen and a wedding, if memory serves!”

Quite unexpectedly, the constable’s whole affect changed. There was a pause in the conversation and silence as he frowned shaking his head slowly. He lowered his voice and chose his words carefully. “Roland, you won’t find her in Aachen.”

Roland felt his heart pound. “What! What’s happened?”

Gautier dismounted and motioned Roland to do the same. Each led their horses some additional distance away from the halted troop where Gautier was sure they wouldn’t be overheard. Roland felt something terrible must have happened and couldn’t get his breath. He felt light headed and nauseas.

Finally, Gautier turned back and noticed immediately the panic on his companion’s face. He smiled and then spoke. “Oh, don’t worry. She’s alright!” He saw Roland was so upset, he couldn’t speak. He went on, giving him additional time to collect himself. “But she’s beleaguered and in great distress, to be sure.”

Roland’s temples pulsed with relief. “How so?”

“Last week, after Charlois discovered the Saxons were already defeated, he didn’t go back to Aachen. Instead, he took the army to Vienne to lay siege to the castle of Duke Gerard. She was there visiting her mother at the time, so now she’s trapped inside the fortress with the rest of her family and won’t leave.”

“But why Duke Gerard? It makes no sense!”

The question reminded the constable that the young count was missing some history. “I guess that’s right! You were being kept under guard at Carcassonne when it all happened. I’d forgotten. The duke violated the oath of fealty when he failed to send troops for Aspromonte at the king’s summons.”

Roland’s face reddened. He was incensed… no; infuriated would be more accurate. “But it’s ridiculous, attacking one of our own! Huon mentioned it to me in passing but I never took it seriously. You mean the king never accepted his explanation?”

Gautier sighed and shook his head. “No, Lord Naimon counseled him not to. He insists it’s necessary to preserve the integrity of the most sacred law in the realm which, if allowed to be abused, would endanger us all and set the whole kingdom at risk.”

“But Alda’s alright, you said.”

Gautier raised both brows and shrugged. “I assume so. She was still with her family under siege inside the castle walls when I left. Charlois released us when Ganelon caught up and took over command of the Gascons. Since your mother’s alone, without any troops close at hand, the king thought it better if our contingent returned to Carcassonne to guard the South.”

Roland was disgusted and he didn’t mind letting it show. “Finally, a piece of the king’s reasoning that makes some sense!” he remarked sarcastically.

Gautier was anxious to let him know that he was an ally in the young count’s cause. “I know, and I agree and sympathize with you.” He paused. There was a short silence while he considered whether he should disclose the rest. He decided it couldn’t hurt. “All the peers do!”

This last bit of news only increased Roland’s ire. “This whole affair is a farce! Charlois has better insight than this. If there’s really that much dissonance among the peers, surely he’ll see the error of his ways and abandon his obstinate rationale!”

Gautier hung his head. It was apparent, based on where he’d just come from, that he wasn’t too hopeful. “I just don’t see any way it can turn out for the good. At this point, at least in my opinion, it would take a miracle of biblical proportion to redirect the king’s thinking,” he lamented.

Roland frowned. “So it would seem.” He patted his companion on the arm and climbed back up into his saddle. Gautier did the same and the two rode back to the head of the waiting column in silence.

Roland spoke again, finishing his thought. “Still, I’m honor bound to rescue my lady fair!”

Gautier’s sullen visage brightened. Roland’s chivalric sense of duty at any cost was what had first caught his attention on that first night when he and the peers had watched as the young paladin had thrown down the gauntlet for Alda in defiance of the king and all challengers. It was that sense of the “Beau Geste” that had attracted him to his side at the very beginning. In that regard, the two were truly kindred spirits.

“Yes, I guess that’s right!” he exclaimed. “She’s very fortunate. I don’t think any lady in the realm could wish for a champion more apt and able to overcome the devil than you, Count!”

Roland squinted and smiled. “You’re a dear friend, Gautier. I have to hurry now. For as I’m sure you’re aware, unlike yourself, I have far to go.”

The Constable reached a hand over and touched his shoulder. “Good luck, my friend!”

Roland leaned forward and took his arm. “Watch over my mother.”

“That, you may count on!” his friend assured him.

Roland wheeled Veillantif and spurred him away, passing along the side of the long column. Many in the column recognized him from Aspromonte and cheered him as he passed by.

He heard Gautier shout after him. “Go with heaven’s blessing, Roland! And after you whip the devil, have a happy wedding!”

Roland didn’t look back but raised his hand to let him know he’d heard.