“Oh, child! What’s wrong? Is it your father? Is he all right?”

“Hardly, Mother! He’s just fine!”

Hilde was confused. “Then what is it?”

“Do you notice anything unusual about seeing me here? Someone missing who’s always at my side, perhaps?”

Hilde caught her breath at the notion. “Alda! Is it Alda? Has she come to harm?”

“Physically, no; at least not yet!”

Hilde was growing impatient. “Why the innuendo?”

“So, you’d like to know where she is?”

“Of course! For heaven’s sake tell me, child!”

“She’s with her mother and father and brother, Oliver in their castle at Vienne.”

Hilde breathed a sigh of relief. She brightened and smiled. “Oh, yes! Oliver! If not for him, I’d be dead and our kingdom would be in the hands of the Saxons now!”

“That’s my understanding.”

“Oh, but it’s true! Oliver, the count of Vienne; he brought troops to help me turn back Ethelwulf when your father and the Army of Francia were at Aspromonte!”

Her mother’s praise prompted a snide response. “Incredible!”

Hilde missed the sarcasm in her daughter’s tone. “That’s an understatement. Your father and all of Francia owe him and his father, Duke Gerard, a debt of gratitude they can never repay. As far as I’m concerned, they’re the noblest house in the kingdom, outside our own!”

Melesinda had quit listening. She was thoroughly disgusted. “And Alda’s with them. It’s ridiculous!”

Her daughter’s callous comment sparked anger. “What kind of mean spirited thing is that to say? Why wouldn’t she want to spend time with her family before she goes off to be married?”

Melesinda shook her head slowly. “That’s not the reason she’s there or I’m here! She’s trying to help them defend against a siege laid down by Father!”

Melesinda’s words shocked and burned. “What! Is this some kind of perverse attempt at humor that you think will amuse me? If so, you’re very mistaken, Melesinda and you’d better grow up!”

“I take it as an insult that you’d even consider I’d make light of such a thing!” she answered right back with her own full measure of righteous indignation.

At this point, Hilde was completely bewildered. “Then what, in heaven’s name, are you talking about?”

“Father insists the Duke must forfeit his lands and titles because he broke the Oath of Fealty, to which every vassal state is bound, when he failed to send troops to Aspromonte after receiving the royal summons.”

Hilde’s face reddened. She exploded. “Preposterous! His troops were with me at my summons!” She looked hurriedly about the room, no longer giving attention to Melesinda. Just as quickly, she looked back to her daughter as if she’d remembered she was standing there. “Now, get ready to leave for Vienne!”

“When?”

“Now!”

“But I just got here! I haven’t even eaten!” Melesinda objected.

“You can eat on the road!” Again her mother looked away and all about as if searching the room and not finding what she was looking for. At last in frustration she called out, “Lord Chamberlain!”

He’d been off in the throne room’s vestibule reviewing the queen’s itinerary for the rest of the day with his palace staff and servants. Hearing his queen’s distressful call, he dropped his list on the floor and rushed in. Not having expected to be called upon for an appearance, the normally calm chamberlain was visibly harried. Bowing deeply, he blurted, “Yes, Your Majesty!”

Hilde paid no attention to his demeanor. She meant business. “Have the Royal Van readied immediately!”

Again the deep bow. “By your leave, Majesty!”

“And tell the captain of the guard to have my light-horse escort detachment ready to move out in twenty minutes. Tell them to prepare for moving day and night.” Still addressing her chamberlain, the queen turned and faced her daughter. “We’re going to Vienne!”

But back in Vienne, her husband, the king, was having troubles of his own. Inside his great red war tent, Charlois sat on his portable field-throne which was set up, as always, on his campaign dais. Naimon, his lord high counselor, sat to his immediate right.

Henri de Troyes, his court troubadour sat cross-legged in a quiet corner on the floor observing and taking notes from time to time. Lord Eginhard, the king’s historian and Secretary General sat at his official field-desk off to one side keeping the official record. All the peers were gathered around the king. The mood was grim.

Huon of Bordeaux was first to speak. “Sire, the catapult bombardment is ineffective.”

“Meaning?”

“None of our ordnance can hurl a missile large enough to do damage at the height and range required to reach from where the topography forces us to set our emplacements. To make it over the walls, we’re forced to use lighter loads.”

Charlois was philosophical. He shrugged, pursed his lips and cocked his head. “Then do that and we’ll construct more engines.”

“That’s not the issue, Sire.”

Charlois was growing impatient. “Well?”

“They have their own engines. They’re smaller and lighter for defense.”

Whatever Huon was trying to infer wasn’t getting through. Charlois showed his frustration. “Yes? So?”

“All we’re doing is supplying them with missiles ideal for their own engines which they simply load and hurl back on our own troops. If we quit, they’ll have no missiles to rain down on our heads when we resume our assault.”

Now, at least, the seneschal was completing his sentences and making a little sense. “I see.” Charlois answered. He thought for a moment as the rest stood quietly and waited. “Fair enough. Then just use them with heavier loads against their outer walls to break them down.”

Huon had started shaking his head even before his king could finish his sentence. “Again. M’lord; because of where we’re forced to position our batteries, missiles large enough can’t be brought to bear that high and far.”

Charlois was becoming annoyed. “Then bring the sappers in. Tunnel under the walls and let them collapse under their own weight!”

Ogier could see the king was beginning to conclude that his friend, Huon, had become an obstructionist and naysayer. He intervened. “Sire, there’s a reason the castle of Vienne has never fallen since it was built sometime before Rome was. It sits on a solid granite monolith that can’t be tunneled.”

The Dane’s words and their timing rescued Huon’s dwindling credibility. The king looked back to him. “Huon, what about that? Is it true?”

“It’s the most famous feature of the Castle of Vienne, M’lord. Not only that. When I delivered your daughter there for safekeeping, I noticed that the castle is fed water by an artesian well that comes up through the middle of the monolith. There’s no way to access it in order to cut it off or foul it.”

Charlois was not to be dissuaded. “Then we’ll starve them out!”

Again, Huon was the bearer of bad news. “It’s unlikely, Sire. The monolith is honeycombed with natural caves that run deep underground. They’re used to store their serfdom’s overproduction of grain every year. They have food stores for a hundred years up there!”

All was quiet within. Suddenly from outside a guard sang out his challenge. “Halt! Who approaches the king’s tent?”

“Roland of the Briton marches!” I seek audience with the king!

All in the tent heard and turned in unison with their eyes on the entry.

Charlois stood. “Eginhard!” he commanded. “Direct the guard to let him pass.”

The secretary general moved to the door, poked his head out and nodded to the guard. Almost before he could clear the entry and return to his desk, Roland was through the door with Mitaine close on his heels. (She’d seen him riding up.) In silence, the count of the Briton Marches surveyed the room. As he adjusted to the light, he stopped and fixed on Pinabel who instantly shot a nervous glance to Ganelon. Roland’s eyes followed. He glared at Ganelon momentarily then focused on the king.

Charlois smiled. “Roland! Come in! How are you?”

Roland bowed and answered, getting right to the point. “Not well. M’lord. Not well at all!”

It wasn’t the response the king had expected. “How so? And how did you know to find me here?”

“I met Count Gautier on the road.”

“Ah, yes!” he exclaimed. “I sent him to garrison the South and guard your mother when Duke Ganelon returned from your father’s funeral!”

Roland looked to Ganelon and leered. “And did the good duke inform you that she’s already married again?”

Charlois’ eyes sparkled and he answered with delight. “Yes, indeed! A great match that will strengthen your house and all of France! It’s wonderful they get along so well! Wouldn’t you agree?”

Roland stared at Ganelon with an inscrutable face. He answered disingenuously, yet with genteel politeness to disguise his enmity. “Yes… most fortunate.”

As a result, Charlois remained oblivious regarding the true nature of the young Count’s feelings on the subject and moved right on past it. “Now, tell us, Roland. What’s the reason for the long face?”

Roland was amazed that he even need ask. “You lay siege to the father and mother of my bride-to-be! And, even worse, my intended herself is up there! Is that not reason enough?”

The young count’s rejoinder bordered on disrespect. Charlois could see he was angry, but could appreciate his feelings and realized he had a right to them. In the heat of the overall situation, he’d overlooked any domestic ramifications coming out of his assault on Gerard that might impact those closest to him.

“Mmm, yes… that. Well, I’m very sorry Roland, but I’m afraid there was simply nothing else to do. If you’ve spoken with Count Gautier, then you already know the reason for this engagement and therefore understand I really have no other choice in the matter.”

Roland had already steeled his heart for combat—either physical or rhetorical, it didn’t matter when, where or with whom; the king himself would be just fine. “Yes, I know the reason. I just don’t understand it. The duke fought the Saxons in your defense and yet you insist on prosecuting him. That’s what makes no sense to me!”

All the paladins standing around were frozen in place; at once silent and fearful at the young knight’s bold display of blatant disregard for the king’s authority; yet grateful to have someone among them bold enough to provide a voice for their own true feelings on the matter.

Charlois hadn’t forgotten that the knight and nephew standing in front of him had saved his life not two months prior. Nevertheless, he didn’t appreciate being challenged in front of the rest of his paladins and was fast becoming annoyed. He sat back down next to his high counselor and folded his arms to demonstrate his disapproval. “You’d question your king?” he asked menacingly.

“It hadn’t occurred to me. But since you offer the invitation, I will act on the opportunity. Here is my question, Your Majesty. What law is it that sets Franks to killing Franks while the Wends and Jutes and Angles and Saxons and Avars and Lombards and Thurigians and Saracens and all the rest who’d take this kingdom away from you in a minute if they could, stand by laughing while they watch us do their dirty-work for them?”

The floor upon which they all stood was of dirt. Had Henri de Troyes, close as he already was to the ground, dropped his feather quill upon it, one still could have heard it hit at that moment.

The king’s face was red. His ears burned. He leaned to Naimon and held up his hand to guard his words as he whispered into his ear. “Well Naimon, what now?”

His counselor returned the whisper. “You’ve allowed the door back open, M’lord. Now you must allow the rest of the peers to walk through that door and discuss it once more in hope that a consensus can be reached.”

“Yes, quite so.” he nodded. Then turning back to the assemblage, he announced, “Any king can only rule with the blessing of those who allow him to do so. I see there’s still discord among us on this subject so, I’m going to allow it to be reopened for discussion.”

No one said a word. The silence came as no surprise. Charlois realized his position alone made him an intimidating character which, at times like the present, was more a liability than an asset. Quickly, he saw he’d have to lead the discussion and so, took the initiative. He called on the one man he knew would be loyal to the end of the world and who he knew would answer honestly.

“Ogier! What do you think of our current policy in this matter?”

The great Dane did not hesitate. “I agree with Roland that it’s wrong for us to be killing one another. He’s said it all.”

Charlois was seeking a solution. Perhaps he hadn’t made himself clear. “But then what’s to be done? The Law of Fealty is the sacred strand that binds the fabric of our realm, insuring civil order and security for all.”

Now, unsolicited as usual, Rinaldo piped up. “Why not let a Trial-by—Combat decide the issue?”

Naimon answered for the king. “As I explained the last time this subject was discussed, the duke forfeited his status to qualify for the Trial-by—Combat when he broke the oath.”

Roland quickly took issue. “I don’t agree. Right now, he’s effectively a sovereign of his own state. That, by definition, gives him royal status, which you’ve already recognized by engaging him in conflict!”

Again Charlois leaned in to Naimon and whispered. “What do you think, Naimon?”

Raising a brow, he whispered back. “It’s arguable.”

Charlois smiled and returned the whisper. “I like it!” He turned back to the group still smiling. “I’ll accept this line of reasoning. Go on!”

Here, Eginhard, as parliamentarian interrupted. “But we already know who’s in the right!” he objected.

Gerers wasn’t about to let the fish get off the hook. “That’s not the point!” he shouted from the back of the room.

His brother standing next to him knew exactly what he was thinking. “I agree!” he exclaimed. “It doesn’t matter who’s right! What matters is that no more Franks are killed needlessly over an internal affair that can be quickly and easily decided by two people!”

Oton decided it was time to comment. “I’m for it! If they’ll agree to it, let them send a champion against one of our own to decide it!”

Huon, though ambivalent, weighed back in with some practical objectivity. “Well, something’s got to be done and what we’re doing now isn’t working. It’s coming into autumn now. To try and bivouac here through the winter snows and sustain a prolonged siege is going to be a logistical nightmare.

King Yon, Charlois’ old friend and most loyal and fervent ally always, added his agreement. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about that too. There isn’t food or forage enough for this army to remain here all winter.”

Samson spoke out. “It looks to me like we’re the ones in danger of being starved out!” The remark generated a collective, nervous chuckle.

Count Guyferros, the king’s always quiet son-in-law added, “Myself, I’d like a little time away from battle. I’m beginning to fear the king’s daughter will have forgotten she has a husband!”

Everyone laughed. His timely injection of a little comic relief lightened the mood. The remark was just what was needed to relieve some of the tension that had been building in the room and was very much appreciated by Charlois who laughed right along. He then turned to Duke Aymon and the three sons standing beside him, “Duke Aymon, Guichard, Alard, and Ricard: what think you of this proposal for settlement of the matter?”

Alard volunteered to give answer first. “I just want it over with. There’s been enough bloodshed.”

Guichard didn’t hesitate. “I agree.”

Ricard added, “Make that we agree!”

Duke Aymon felt the need to expand a little for his three sons. (Especially since his fourth, Rinaldo, had already sparked the discussion!) “Wasting Franks this way is just fundamentally wrong. I agree with all my sons. A Trial-by-Combat is the right thing to do.”

Rinaldo, as if there might still be someone who didn’t already know where he stood on the subject, felt compelled to endorse his father’s summarization. “My father’s right! That’s all I have to say!”

The King’s Uncle Richard, who was always careful never to involve himself in political policy or affairs of state even made his feelings known. “I too believe King Yon and the duke are right on this matter, Your Majesty.”

Mitaine knew that her father’s comment in the circumstance at hand was highly unusual. Feeling his comment might somehow have placed him at risk, she stepped forth and declared boldly, “And I vote with my father!”

A general chuckle ran through the room as Charlois smiled at her with fond admiration. He looked about and fixed on the Duke of Gasgogne. “And Duke Ganelon, you’ve been fain to comment this whole time. What say you?”

The Duke raised both brows, shrugged and replied offhandedly as if it was almost an afterthought (although it was really carefully calculated with the most malevolent, premeditated malice of forethought) “I say, send Roland to deliver up the challenge, since he’s the one who challenged your policy in the first place.”

The comment stirred a low shudder throughout the assemblage. Even the king was blind-sided by his answer and somewhat aghast. “Roland! You’d risk your new stepson?”

Ganelon maneuvered quickly with the deft finesse of a consummate conspirator. As if he hadn’t noticed the stir he’d created, he answered in an almost blasé, half-interested tone of voice. “Not at all, Sire.” He again raised both brows, innocently shrugged and cocked his head.

“To my mind, there’s no one safer to deliver up the challenge than their own daughter’s intended.”

Charlois was delighted. He grinned with approval. “Of course! Now I see your reasoning! It’s sound, as usual!” He turned to Roland. “What of it, Roland? Will you deliver the king’s message into the lap of the enemy? Who knows? You might even have a chance to see your lady!”

Everyone laughed at the king’s humorous challenge—everyone but Roland. Again he leered at Ganelon, who maintained his look of detached innocence. Looking back to the king he answered with solemn resolve, “That would not be my aim.”

The king couldn’t help but continue to laugh as did the others. “No, of course not! Nevertheless, I do insist!”

Roland maintained his quiet dignity and bowed. “As you wish.”

“So be it!” the king exclaimed with a broad and happy smile. The rest assumed they were demonstrating their fondness and affection for the young knight by continuing to smile and chuckle. Roland’s countenance remained solemn. Silent; he turned away without bowing and exited the tent.