When Capet knelt before Archbishop Adalbero, sunlight streamed through the glass window above the altar, onto his bowed head like a divine benediction. The eight bishops formed a stately semicircle around Adalbero and the kneeling king, heads bowed in reverence, while cheers from the streets beyond the church walls filtered in through the open doors and windows.
The Archbishop raised his crozier. The choir stopped singing. The crowd outside quieted.
The coronation was about to begin.
Adalbero’s regal voice resonated like a cathedral bell, tolling the solemnity of the sacred rite.
“The crown is not passed by blood alone, but given by the electionof the most worthy among the Franks. The electoral council has chosen the man most suitable to rule—illustrious by his deeds, prudent in counsel, firm in justice, and strong in war. Hugh Capet, Count of Paris and Duke of the Franks, has been elected king."
As Adalbero dipped his thumb in the vial of sacred oil, murmuring the consecration in Latin, he anointed Capet’s brow, chest, and hands. The sweet aroma of balsam and olive oil mingled with the sharp scent of steel and sweat in the crowded, expectant church.
The Archbishop lifted the golden crown with the trio offleur-de-lysemblems—the same circlet that had been trampled in the mud on the battlefield—and reverently placed it upon Hugh Capet’s bowed, humble head. “Receive the crown of the Frankish kingdom in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
A single bell tolled from the tower as a reverent hush filled the church. Then Adalbero’s voice rang out, clear and strong. “Vive le roi!Long live the king!”
The cry rippled through the church—nobles and warriors together—until it thundered through the nave and spilled into the village streets beyond. Outside, horns blew and bells resounded. Shafts of sunlight streamed through the arched windows, gilding the incense smoke, turning the sacred air to gold.
Here, amidst blood, battle, and blessing. a new kingdom was born.
The echo of bells still trembled in the scented air as Hugh Capet rose, crowned and consecrated, his noble face illuminated by the setting sun. Adalbero lowered his crozier, and the bishops bowed.as the Archbishop concluded the prayers of the coronation mass, his hands raised in benediction over the new king. The choir’s celestial voices swelled once more, chanting theTe Deumin solemn triumph.
But beyond the open doors, the restrained reverence gave way to riotous jubilation.
The unleashed joy of the city rose like a swelling tide. Trumpets blared from the churchyard, drums thudded, and theroar of the crowd surged through the narrow streets of Noyon. Children ran with garlands of wildflowers; women threw petals from windows. Nobles and soldiers poured from the church, chain mail armor and gleaming weapons glinting in the sunlight as they joined the celebration.
When Hugh stepped down from the altar, Jarl Rikard clasped his forearm, grinning through the fragrant smoke and golden light. “To the man I once called brother and now am proud to call king. May your reign be long and strong.” He reverently bowed his silver-streaked golden head before the newly crowned king.
Capet raised his regal gaze to Skjöld. “I owe you my life,” he said, grasping Skjöld’s forearm in fierce affection and gratitude. “If not for you, I would not be king.”
Skjöld pushed back the white bearskin of his cloak, baring his blond head and bowing it before the king. Behind him, theÚlfhéðnarstood in silent vigilance, their fierce wolfskin cloaks glowing in the incandescent light. “I was destined to fulfill the prophecy to shield you and defend the crown. I am honored to have faced my fate and seen you crowned king.”
Capet turned to Skadi, whose silvery blonde hair and pale blue eyes glittered like frosted starlight. He grasped her slender hands in both of his, raising them to his clean-shaven lips, as he bowed his head to bestow a reverent kiss upon her pearlescent skin. “Without you, the battle would have been lost. Your fierce courage turned the tide. I wear this crown thanks to you.”
As Adalbero and the bishops gathered around the king, ready to escort him out of the church to celebrate with the festive throng, Capet gripped Haldor’s forearm, the falcon feathers in his vambraces glistening in the golden light. “And you, old friend. Your unerring Dwarven spear won me the Frankish crown.” He flashed a boyish grin. “I promised you the first drink from the king’s chalice. Come—let us celebrate at the Golden Boar Tavern. When Adalbero sent the riders ahead, he ensured the hall would be ready with a feast worthy of victory.” Triumphant voice risingabove the joyous din, Capet motioned to Jarl Rikard, Skårde, Thorfinn, theÚlfhéðnarandLjósálfarto follow him out the door. “To the Golden Boar Tavern! Where we feast!”
Outside the church, the village of Noyon echoed with laughter, cheers, and the blare of horns as the new king and his entourage of armored warriors and noble knights wove through the narrow streets to the Golden Boar.
Above the heavy oak entrance door, its sign—a gleaming bronze boar rearing on its hind legs—swayed in the breeze, catching the last rays of the setting sun. Inside the tavern, the appetizing aroma of roasted boar blended with the scent of burning wood from the roaring hearth and fine Frankish wine in pewter pitchers and goblets on the rough-hewn tables. The stout tavern owner bowed deeply as the king entered, beads of sweat on his furrowed brow, the tremendous honor and enormous responsibility of hosting a newly crowned king and his retinue taking its obvious toll.
Capet clapped his hands, his noble face lighting up in a broad smile. “Tonight, we celebrate! Bring food, wine, and mead! Let the triumph of yesterday’s battle and today’s crowning of the new Frankish king echo from Noyon to Notre-Dame!”
Beyond the timbered tavern, the village square thrummed with vibrant music—flutes, lutes, and tambour drums—and the scent of roasting meat and spiced wine from market stalls along the jubilant streets. Bells rang from every quarter, and villagers embraced, laughing and shouting the new king’s name.
Inside the Golden Boar, Haldor sat at the king’s table with Jarl Rikard, Thorfinn, and Skårde, savoring the roast boar glazed with honey, the contrast of salt and sweet dancing on his appreciative tongue. Skjöld and Skadi sat across from him, with Luna and Njáll at their side. Nearby, Ildris and Lugh feasted with theLjósálfar, while Bodo, Flóki, Geoffroy of Anjou, and Guillaume of Aquitaine celebrated with Norman knights, Danish warriors, and Frankish nobles.
Capet poured deep red wine into an elaborate silver chalice whose glittering gems glinted in the firelight. He ceremoniouslypassed it to Haldor. “I promised you’d be the first to drink from the king’s chalice. And so you shall.”
Pride and honor surged through Haldor’s falcon heart as he inclined his head and accepted the king’s chalice and the distinguished honor. He raised the goblet high and shouted, “Vive le roi!” When the silver rim touched his bristled lips, the tavern echoed with the clinking of cups as nobles and warriors followed, sharing in triumph and tribute. Haldor passed the wine back to the king, who bowed his crowned head to acknowledge the toast, and sipped from the silver chalice.
The tavern roared in riotous approval.
King Hugh raised his hand for silence. In the golden firelight, the trio offleur-de-lysglowed in the circlet atop his regal head. Respect, reverence, and resolve laced his weary voice.
“Yesterday, you bled for me on the battlefield. Today, you saw me crowned in Noyon. And now, I invite you all to witness the formal coronation in Paris—in the Christian church of Notre-Dame. You shall be my guests inle Palais Royalonl Île de la Cité.On the summer solstice, we shall host tournaments and feasts, with two weeks of celebration culminating in the Feast of Saint Thomas. On the third of July, I shall be formally crowned in Paris, where I shall reside inle Palais Royaland makela Ville Lumièrethe living heart of the Frankish kingdom.”
Warriors and knights cheered, and the music began again as the city danced beneath the rising star of its glorious new king.
Chapter 49
