Roland looked nervously to Alda. He knew little about dancing; only what he’d watched from afar at the fete in Carcassonne when he’d thrown down the gauntlet for her. She recognized his fearful look and smiled reassuringly as she took his hand. She leaned into his ear and whispered, “Don’t worry darling. I know what to do. Just copy me.” With that she rose, unbuttoned the train fastened to her waist and led him by the hand onto the dance floor as the vociferous bystanders shouted cheerful calls of encouragement.

As the music began, she raised his hand high and whispered loud enough for only him to hear, “Now we bow!”

Still holding his hand she stepped back and bowed, as did he. Continuing to hold his hand, she again whispered, “Now we circle to the right slowly two times.” This they did as if they had done the dance together since childhood. She whispered again. “Now we change hands and circle thrice the opposite way!”

The gawking onlookers watched in awe and admiration. The two together looked so right; so perfect. All were waiting for the king and queen to take the floor next and repeat the steps with the marriage couple one time so that they too might then come onto the floor and join in the happy celebration.

The king couldn’t hold back another moment. Looking to Hilde, he grinned and with a teasing challenge remarked, “Do you think you can do that well? If not, say so now, so I may choose one of these other handsome maids who can keep up with me!”

Hilde gave him a sarcastic stare back, punched his arm and pulled him out onto the dance floor to cheers from the obstreperous onlookers standing all around its perimeter. She hadn’t said a word in response to his facetious taunt. As she stepped away and faced him, she answered with a warning of her own. “I hope your feet are in the best condition ever. They’re going to have to work harder tonight than they’re used to!”

“Ha!” he exclaimed, laughing light-heartedly. “We’ll just see about that!” And with that, the two smiled with loving eyes and began their opening turns of the dance. As soon as they’d completed the introduction phase of the steps, everyone else flooded the floor. There was hardly room to move which resulted in every couple being pushed so close they couldn’t escape contact with one another. They soon discovered that the overcrowded dance floor was really quite pleasant. The participants enjoyed the forced intimacy completely, laughing all the while.

The dancing continued non-stop for the next few hours. At a point during the interval, Charlois signaled to Hilde that she’d won. He’d had enough and the two retreated hand in hand back to their places at the head table. Roland and Alda were already there; having left the dance floor shortly after the crowd had come onto it. They preferred the peace and quiet of intimate conversation and had been enjoying conversing alone and undisturbed during the whole time that the revelers were indulging themselves in the happy mayhem out on the dance floor.

Of course, not all the wedding guests had been up dancing. The contingent from Gasgogne and the Spanish marches had remained seated, drinking and talking among themselves off in the most distant corner of the room. Being otherwise occupied, no one had paid them any attention and they’d managed to achieve their objective for the event; that being, the maintenance of a low profile. The group included, Duke Ganelon, his Cousin, Count Pinabel of Mayence and Counts Lupo and Wulfram of the Pyrenees and Spanish marches.

Across the way, two confirmed bachelor friends who always sat together at these functions had been watching the entire goings on while sipping at their wine with frugal reserve. Neither Huon nor Ogier ever allowed the noble rot to cloud their reason. Like their king, they much preferred the incomparable exhilaration of a clear head.

Unnoticed by them, Huon had been intently watching the Gasgogne contingent from across the hall. “Well, what do you suppose Ganelon and his posse are up to now?” he asked derisively.

Ogier looked over at them and grunted. “Humph! Just the usual—no good.”

Back at the other end of the hall, it had finally become evident to Charlois that things were never going to settle down without a little help. He stood and signaled the musicians to quit their playing for the moment and pounded his table, once again calling for quiet in the hall. The crowd complied and looked to him in anticipation of the words to come.

“Attention, one and all!” he called out in a most serious tone. “The time has come for our happy couple to leave this place and consummate their union!”

The announcement prompted much ooohing and aahing along with cheering, laughter and not just a few suggestive and in several instances, rather raw and bawdy remarks peppered with some fairly inappropriate, off-color language. The King ignored the reaction realizing many of the revelers were under the influence of too many cups of wine by then and couldn’t help themselves. He raised both hands to signal he wasn’t finished and wished for additional silence, which he received. The ambient noise and commotion ceased allowing him to continue right on.

“As you all know, it’s the law of the land, that any royal marriage in the line of succession to the throne must have witness to its initial consummation!”

There was a collective gasp and groan along with raucous laughter, cheering and jeering throughout the hall. Roland and Alda stared at one another panic stricken. Both had reddened faces and both were dumbstruck. They sat by in stunned silence and utter disbelief as the king continued.

“My nephew, Roland here, in case you have yet to do the calculation, is sixth in line to the throne. Therefore, witness must be made! The requirement is two persons of their choosing to corroborate the consummation.” Here, he looked down to the bride and groom. “Roland and Alda; who do you choose?”

The two waited momentarily still aghast and not entirely sure the king wasn’t just jesting and that the apparent nightmare wasn’t really happening. But shortly, they realized the king was serious. It really was happening and there was no escaping it.

They put their heads together and whispered in animated discussion. At last, their heads drew apart and they looked up at the king. Alda answered for them both.

“Your Majesty, we choose the queen and Archbishop Turpin to bear witness.”

Hilde gave them both a quick glance and smiled reassuringly with a look that spoke of the honor she felt at being chosen. Turpin, who was seated closest to the dais and hadn’t stirred all evening looked over at Alda, smiled and winked.

Charlois clapped his hands excitedly and exclaimed, “So be it!” after which there came a great round of additional cheering and applause. He pulled at Hilde and motioned Alda and Roland to rise, anxious to see them off.

“Now the two of you get to the honeymoon suite and do your duty so the good archbishop and my queen can hurry back and not miss out on the best part of our celebration!”

“And what might that be?” Hilde asked having forgotten the tradition started hundreds of years earlier by her distant cousin Arthur’s wife, Guinevere.

“Why, the smashing of the sugar dragon atop the wedding cake and passing of its shards for one and all to taste and share in its sweetness. And afterward to devour the sweet feast of the cake itself! For the cake is the consolation prize provided by the bride and groom for the rest of us who cannot taste the sublime sweetness of the honeymoon bed!” Hilde blushed. She’d forgotten the tradition and was a little embarrassed at having had to have been reminded.

Charlois motioned the little group on. “Now shoo!” he commanded.

At that, the four headed for the door to the boisterous laughter, cheers and encouraging calls of the onlookers.

As the four made good their exit from the celebration hall, Charlois stood and motioned to his Troubadour. “Henri!” he called out. “Come hither!” he motioned. “I’m sure all the rest of us are also ready for a lay!”

The king’s witty metaphor was not lost on anyone. Everyone laughed and shouted out with boisterous affirmation, “Here! here!” as Henri walked to the center of the hall, tipped his hat, bowed, unslung the lute from its place on his back and commenced singing—this as he strolled from table to table.

 

“This is my latest Lay,” he sang.

“I sing it to you here.

It’s called, The Song of Charlemagne

My gift to Royal and Peer!”

Charlois blushed as the crowd gasped with awe. They showed their delight and tacit approval by remaining silent with a smile on every face. No one had ever before thought or considered referring to their king as “Magnus” or “The Great”. It was a spellbinding concept. It inferred he was something more than a king.

Henri had been previewing the title in his lays to the peasantry the previous week since the king’s victory and watching for reactions. All, without exception, had seemed to embrace the new moniker with enthusiasm. He felt confident now about presenting his enhancement to the king’s name to the nobles in, what in his opinion, couldn’t be a more idyllic venue.

Charlois was a little embarrassed but he didn’t let on. He waited to see how the rest reacted. Seeing they seemed to approve, he’d never been more flattered. Now, all waited to hear the rest of my grandfather’s latest Chanson de Gestes:

 

There was a time, in days of yore,

About three months ago;

A young man threw the gauntlet down,

His love to Alda show.

 

Another suitor was in line.

Gan said, “You’ll not prevail!”

To prove him false, young Roland’s Geste’s

The subject of this tale.

 

The audience oohed and aahed and clapped their hands to demonstrate their approval of the troubadour’s choice while across the town square, in another part of the palace, things were progressing a little more awkwardly.

Once inside the honeymoon chamber all was silent. Roland and Alda were understandably put off and embarrassed at having to perform in front of an audience. Before exiting the hall, both had quickly poured themselves a full tankard of wine and downed it completely. Mercifully, each could tell it was already starting to have an effect.

Alda looked to the queen. “How should we do this?”

Hilde smiled and answered with gentle reassurance. “Don’t worry dear. The Archbishop and I will keep our chairs placed right here, across the room from the honeymoon bed, so that we may observe from a distance sufficient to preserve and respect your modesty.”

Alda breathed a small sigh of relief but remained quite distressed at having been placed, without any forewarning, under such extreme duress. “Thanks for your consideration. I knew you’d be sensitive and kind.”

The words were very flattering. Hilde felt extremely honored and also obligated. “Think nothing of it!” she quipped. “It was far worse for me when the king and I were wed!”

Back in the hall, Henri sang on:

 

From all around the countryside,

Came serfs and nobles too,

To watch with wonder and delight,

The contest ’tween the two.

 

Their chargers dashed together hard,

As each lance broke on shield.

Yet neither claimant would give in.

Not one was wont to yield!

 

To ground they went with sword and shield,

To vanquish was their aim.

How e’re, before the match could close,

One said, “I’ll take not blame!”

 

Duke Ganelon threw down his sword,

And lifted up his hand.

“My king!” cried he to Charlemagne

“He’s finest in the land!”

 

Here, everyone listening stood and cheered as they raised their goblets or red slip cups filled with “Saxon’s Blood” wine in a toast to Ganelon, who sat quietly by smiling and feigning embarrassment. (Though in reality, he was relishing the idea of being immortalized!) Finally they sat and Henri continued.

 

Then Roland dropped his sword and shield.

The knights were reconciled.

Charlois proclaimed his Alda won!

Onlookers cheered, he smiled.

 

Then from the lists, a trumpet blared.

A Paynim sallied forth.

Said he to Charles in front of all,

“You need not return north!”

 

“From this day to the end of time,

A vassal shall you be,

And homage to my master pay,

For all the world to see!”

 

Then up rose Charlois blazing fire

To quell the upstart hack.

“To me, proclaim not such without,

An army at your back!”

 

This time, as one might expect, Ganelon jumped up, goblet raised and led a raucous cheer and toast as controlled bedlam ensued followed by more toasts in unison to the king all around. Charlemagne (as I shall call him now, and as he was always known thereafter from the singing of this lay) was quite simply elated at the reaction to his troubadour’s lyrics and couldn’t wait to hear more. The rest were of the same mind and shortly quieted so Henri could sing on.

 

“Henceforth, in eight weeks we shall meet,

On Aspromonte’s plain;

And afterward, your king shall know

The master fit to reign!”

 

Here, additional cheering broke out but Henri sang on and thwarted it.

 

Then to the plain came Charlemagne

In Aspromonte’s pass.

Cried Charlois to his clergyman,

“Fair Turpin, say the mass!”

 

All smiled and looked to see how the archbishop would react to hearing himself portrayed in the troubadour’s lay and then remembered he was performing a certain duty elsewhere.

Alda had turned from the queen to find Roland already on the opposite side of the room standing silently at the foot of the bed. She looked once more to the queen and in a somber tone of quiet resignation murmured, “Well, then I guess there’s nothing more to do but get to bed and get this over with.”

Hilde smiled and nodded, replying reassuringly, “Yes, dear.”

Moving across the floor to Roland, Alda noticed she was a little light-headed from the effects of the wine and not as inhibited as she’d at first feared. Upon reaching Roland, she reached out and took his forearm. She decided there was no point in worrying about something over which she had absolutely no control.

She pulled Roland around to the other side of the bed and with a mischievous look in her eyes began undressing him. He chuckled softly and returned the favor. By the time the two were completely naked and facing one another, they’d forgotten whatever inhibitions they’d started out with. Their mutual lust, which had grown with the removal of each successive item of clothing, coupled with the effects of the wine, had completely overshadowed their sense of place and decorum.

The slowly evolving circumstance had transformed Alda into a siren temptress. With a grin of hungry privation she asked, “Well, my love; shall we show them what the younger generation can do?”

Roland chuckled at the thought and found it quite arousing. I think we’d better!” he exclaimed pulling her into bed. With that, the two commenced a round of lovemaking the likes of which had never been known of before and which set the bar for proper lovemaking the world over forever after.

There was moaning and groaning, panting and screaming, huffing and puffing. Beads of sweat were soon flying in all directions. The covers, as if they had wings, literally flew off the bed but the two participants, in the throes of what can only be described as ‘conjugal euphoria’ (which somehow seems inadequate) remained completely oblivious to their now totally naked exposure. Shortly thereafter, the lovers tumbled to the floor but ignored everything and kept right on going.

Back in the celebration hall, de Troyes sang on:

 

Then charged the Christian host down on

The pagan infidel;

Cried Charlemagne to Agolant,

“I’ll send you all to hell!”

 

And so the battle joined and fierce,

Was fought on blood-soaked ground.

The dust and fog of war soon hid,

Combatants all around!

 

But high above the battle watched,

Two fair maids of the land

The princess, Melesinda held,

On tight to Alda’s hand.

 

“Fear not!” said she to Alda, “for

Your Roland will not tire.

He will not die down there today.

For him, you do inspire!”

 

They watched the battle ebb and flow.

Their knights fought hard with pride.

With honor and the help of God,

They meant to turn the tide!

 

The Princess husband, Guyferros

Fought Emir Suli hard.

In close combat, he slew him,

With a stab he failed to guard!

 

Predictably, this laisse’ prompted all in the assemblage to stand, cheer and toast Count Guyferros and Princess Melesinda. As usual, Melesinda laughed, loving all the attention and stood along with the rest to drink to her husband who was ever the humble, quiet one at the party; his face by this time, beet red with embarrassment. Again all took their seats as the troubadour sang on.

 

The next to fall was Balant for,

He thought his skills supreme.

Until he met Rinaldo, who,

Fast made him but a dream!”

 

Here, Duke Aymon and his sons, Alard, Ricard and Guichard along with Rinaldo’s ever-faithful cousin, Maugus, the magician, jumped to their feet and led the next round of cheering and toasts to Rinaldo who raised his hands over his head and clasped them together. By this time; after so many toasts, the wine was beginning to have its affect. Things were getting rowdy.

Even Charlemagne was beginning to loosen up a little more than usual. “I can’t wait any longer!” he proclaimed. With that, he stood and ordered the servant in charge, to start serving the wedding cake—this, as he ordered, “Henri! Sing on!”

 

And afterward, the Muslim host,

Rained down on Charlemagne.

They had to kill the Frank’s war-king,

Their battle to sustain.

 

As Prince Helmont was just about,

To lay our sovereign low,

The lightening flashed and thunder clapped,

With the Hard Angel’s blow.

 

In Roland’s hand, she smote the prince.

T’was goddess, “Durandel”.

Our king was saved, the battle won,

The Paynim sent to hell!”

 

All started to again cheer but Henri raised his hand and they held back.

 

But not without great loss of life,

Ten thousand fell that day,

Including Milon of the Franks,

A grievous price to pay.

 

King Agolant he’d challenged and

In combat, brought him down

But in the process of the fight,

He too lay on the ground.

 

Thierry tried to save him as,

Did Richard and the rest;

Including Huon, Ogier,

And all of France’s best.

 

As Roland held his father’s head,

He begged him not to go.

But it was simply just too late;

Death came. It was not slow.

 

Then back to France came Charlemagne,

The Saxon peril to fight.

To his dismay, though search he did,

The scourge was not in sight.

 

Too late he learned his Hilde had,

In combat driven out,

The Saxon, Ethelwulf and thanes,

Back crost the Rhine redoubt.

 

So turned the king back to Vienne,

To vanquish Duke Gerard.

But not without a cost most dear,

He fought and Franks died hard.

 

Ogier cried, “Folly!” said Huon,

“King, stay your hand!

Your Franks are killing Franks out there,

While Paynims steal our land!”

 

Charlois pulled his whiskers as,

He thought the quandary through.

Then quick announced for all to hear,

“We’ll for a champion sue!”

 

So picked his champion, did Gerard,

And so did Charlemagne.

Too late, they saw their folly for,

Just one would sure remain.

 

The duke had chosen Oliver;

His one and only son.

The king had chosen Roland to,

Ensure that he had won.

 

The two met on an island in,

The middle of a lake.

And fought like lions to the death,

As night did overtake.

 

The sound of clashing steel and sparks,

That flew into the air,

Told all on shore who watched with dread,

The two were still out there.

 

Within the great celebration hall, one could hear a pin drop, as all were now entranced and completely under the troubadour’s hypnotic spell. He had them all mesmerized; reliving the fight on the island and holding their breath all over again, almost as if they’d forgotten the outcome. As the drama unfolded, there was drama of a far different nature taking place in the bridal chamber.

Hilde was astonished and almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Turpin too, (though he’d heard just about everything in the confessional!) had never heard a description of anything approaching the level of unbridled passion he now discovered he had a front row seat to. The two looked to the bed in shocked disbelief, then back to one another for verification, then back to the bed as if they were stunned to the point of entrapment; frozen in their witness seats. At last, they just stared blankly ahead trancelike, unable to comprehend further the essence of it all, their senses were so overloaded. Their eyes were as big as saucers and were glossed over; transfixed by the extraordinary display of uninhibited lust and passion of the two newlyweds.

In the reception hall, Henri strummed his lute and sang on:

 

A sudden horn from somewhere in,

The darkness pierced the night.

It was the king’s own Hilde, she,

Was angered and in flight!

 

In to her husband’s tent she stormed.

“What mischief do you play?”

“Gerard kept not his fealty oath.

This is his price to pay.”

 

“You surely jest! It can’t be true!

I called him to my aid!

To me, and therefore, us, his oath,

Of fealty is sure paid!”

 

The king, relieved and happy ran,

Fast back out to the beach.

“Oliver and Roland! Quit,

The fight! There’s been no breach!”

 

Then back to Aachen came the host,

To finish up this tale.

A marriage for to celebrate

With lots of cakes and ale!

 

And finally so, it’s come to pass,

For two, whose love is true.

Roland… Alda… married are!

And now, my lay is through!

 

Pandemonium erupted. There was yelling, shouting, screaming, clapping, laughter and toasting non-stop as Henry reslung the lute over his back. He bowed deeply to his king, almost reverently, and then passed from the hall, having endeared himself, not only in the heart of the king, but in the hearts of every living soul in the great hall that afternoon and all hearts of future generations of France’s people forever after.

However! There was yet an “issue” which remained unresolved. “Where were Turpin and the Queen?” Charlois was wondering. “They should have been back by now.” he thought. “Could something have possibly gone awry?” he asked himself.

Finally, something caused Hilde to snap out of her semi hypnotic state. Standing briskly, she shook the archbishop’s shoulder, bringing him also back to reality. “Turpin!” she commanded. “Come! We’ve seen enough! I think we can both agree, the marriage is consummated!”

Though jaded to the ways of the world, he was relieved to hear the queen’s voice urging him to quit the chamber. Despite it being rather huge in its overall dimensions, he’d quite suddenly and unexpectedly felt smothered and claustrophobic. He nodded his assent and sprang to his feet. “Yes, Your Majesty!” he blurted hoarsely, his throat having dried completely up from forgetting to swallow.

As the two opened the chamber door and made their exit. The passionate outcries from the marriage bed combined with the sounds of thumping, bumping and furniture skidding about or crashing to the floor continued unabated. The guards posted immediately outside to either side of the door looked at one another with concern and no small measure of amazement as the queen and archbishop passed them by. They pushed the door closed behind them as the unrestrained cries from within continued to issue forth and reverberate up and down the hallway.

When the queen and archbishop finally made their entry back into the celebration hall, all was pandemonium. The whole group of revelers was well under the influence and, the pair noticed, hadn’t waited for their return to cut the wedding cake. The music continued uninterrupted and dancers wobbled as they danced holding squares of cake in their hands.

They laughed with delight while stuffing it into their partner’s mouths; many missing their mark completely. They were making a happy mess of themselves but by this time, nobody seemed to notice or care. Others listed in their seats while eating their cake or passed out into it face-first while the musicians played on.

As Hilde approached, Charlois turned to her. He was relieved to see her and ready to welcome her back with much delightful fanfare. He’d been having a wonderful time eating cake, smashing and passing around pieces of the hapless sugar dragon and had frosting on the tip of his nose.

“Ah!” He shouted out, bringing some in the audience to his attention. “The witnesses to the consummation have returned!” he announced with great pomp and verve. Turning to the archbishop he queried loud for all to hear. “Well, Archbishop, was Roland up to it?” He was amused by his clever pun but few others present noticed as they were far too inebriated to appreciate any subtlety.

Turpin remained inscrutable and for once, did not wax eloquent. In a dry, labored voice which seemed unusually hoarse for no apparent reason he announced, “It’s done, Majesty.”

The result was another round of cheering as the king raised his goblet and then, instead of taking a drink had another bite of cake. “Wonderful!” he shouted.

Suddenly, he noticed Hilde hadn’t taken her seat. She stood there next to him with a predatory stare on her face, not unlike that on the face of the hungry sugar dragon atop the wedding cake which had so recently met its end. He offered her the rest of the cake in his hand which she mechanically pushed aside.

Charlois shrugged and placed it back down on the table. Offering her his hand, he grinned and said “And now, my dear; May I offer my hand for a dance?”

Hilde reached out and grabbed his hand as if hers was a vice gripping a dull sword blade in preparation for a good sharpening. Charlois gasped with surprise. She ignored his reaction and dragged him after her through the exit door behind the dais. Without a word, she pulled him hurriedly across the town square, through the great open entrance of the Aula Regia, up the stairs and down the hall toward their bedchamber.

Charlois was confounded by her behavior and attempted to retrieve an explanation. “But, my dear…”

She was almost running now and threw open their bedchamber door jerking him on through after her. Charlois was at his wit’s end. “Hilde!” he pleaded, “What is it that…”

As she started tearing away at his clothes, he managed to finish his sentence. “you wish?”

After that, no one could determine just exactly what transpired, as she’d kicked at the door causing it to slam shut behind them. Everyone however, had a pretty fair idea!