The Forsaken Monarch

by Amy Mantravadi

  “I have tried to think of what my uncle might have done in this case,” he continued earnestly. “Then I reasoned that I should come here, for you and I knew him best.”

  “You might have had enough sense to stay away,” I muttered, or perhaps it was someone else who said it. My anger seemed to have gained control.

  “I’m sorry? Have I offended you in some way?”

  For the space of two or three breaths, I had the chance to save myself. I could have declared that he did not understand my meaning. I could have kept my thoughts locked inside myself. Oh, but I had had enough of pleasing powerful men, and so, to my eternal regret, I spoke the truth.

  “Only in every way, sir!” I replied. “I have met a great number of fools in my day, but none who are quite so foolish after your manner. Tell me, did Adalbert force you to bend over before he stole away your manhood?”

  “How dare you slander me thus!” he said, springing from his seat.

  “It is not what I dare, but what you do not dare. Can’t you see?! He has been false from the beginning! It was Adalbert who plotted and conspired with Lothair, Adalbert who made the bishops put forth Leopold as a contender in the hope that he might take votes from yourself, Adalbert who has now tricked you into selling away your birth right. At least Esau gained a pint of stew—you have gained nothing! You have covered this house with such dishonor by your damnable uncertainty that I refuse even to pity you. No, I will pity your son, who is now robbed of everything he is owed by his birth.”

  “I had no choice but to do what I did!” he cried, growing red in the face.

  “Even so does the common thief attempt to justify himself. Of course you had a choice! You ought to have gone in there on the first day when you had the advantage and called for a vote. You should never have allowed things to get to this point. And when Adalbert challenged you, you ought to have stood your ground. Now you are left without a leg to stand on. Tell me, Frederick, how will you ever be able to stand by the grave of your uncle knowing you failed to act upon his final wish? How will you be able to look your son in the eye, knowing that you have scorned his inheritance?”

  “I will no longer suffer this abuse!” he bellowed. “I thought you were a woman of good sense, but I can see we were all deceived in you. As long as we are speaking of ‘oughts,’ you ought to leave the city! My moment of triumph is yet before us, and I will not have you here to spoil it.”

  “Ha! I can come and go as I please.” Then I said another thing I really ought not to have said. “You will not be elected, and even if you are, I am no German: you will never be my king, and thank God for that!”

  I felt so powerful in uttering those words, but as I did so, I could see that they had cut him too deeply. He pursed his lips and swallowed hard.

  “It seems we have nothing left to say to each other,” he growled more than spoke. “God grant you safety on your return to England, and may God save the English from your tongue!”

  I wish I could tell you I thought the better of what I had said and apologized to him at once, but that would be a lie. It was only several years later that I recognized I had gone too far, allowing my anger to control me. For you see, that was the last I ever saw of Duke Frederick of Swabia. His last memory of me was a horrid one. In my old age, I see the errors of my youth, but I cannot heal the wounds of those who are dead. I had fought for the legacy of Emperor Henry, but too late I saw that one of his legacies ought to have been peace.

  VI

  The election quickly became a thing of the past. Duke Henry of Bavaria, father-in-law to Duke Frederick, was made to switch his allegiance to Duke Lothair of Saxony. Lothair offered his own daughter in marriage to Duke Henry’s son, an alliance which would create one of the most powerful dynasties in Christendom. Not only this, but Lothair pledged to the Bavarian duke that once he became emperor, the House of Welf would gain control over all the ancestral lands in Saxony as well as the March of Tuscany, for Lothair had no sons of his own. Such a realm many a king would envy, stretching from the northern to the southern sea.

  How that name of Welf was advanced! The duke of Bavaria chose to honor his son over his daughter, Judith. He led the Bavarian princes to vote in favor of Duke Lothair, and just that swiftly there was an end of it. Lothair was elected as the new king of Germany and made ready for his coronation in Aachen.

  My inability to fulfill my husband’s dying wish seemed to stir the grief of his passing anew. At times such as this, there may be only one person with whom it is safe to share one’s thoughts and feelings. For most women, this would be a close female companion, but I was not most women. Thus, I was left to speak as I often did with the one man who might understand my predicament.

  “I should never have given Adalbert the regalia,” I said to Drogo as we sat upon the same bench where I had lately accused Duke Frederick, attempting to enjoy the pleasures of the garden, but not entirely succeeding.

  “What choice did you have? You were merely the messenger. You did as you were asked,” he replied.

  “A lack of action is itself an action. In yielding, I gave authority to Adalbert, and he has misused it. He was never the vessel for other men’s opinions: he created those opinions. He has played the game with devilish intent, and I gave it to him, Drogo! I gave him the symbols of imperial rule. I sold the regalia at too low a price.”

  I held my head in my hand and let out a deep sigh. Drogo patted me on the back.

  “You obeyed the emperor’s dying wish. You did exactly what Duke Frederick desired. What could you have done? Hold the regalia for ransom? No, you acted rightly and in the only way possible.”

  “They were too apt to trust him,” I said, ignoring his point. “I should have known. ‘Oh, empress! You must go to a nunnery, empress! Do not trouble yourself with this affair.’ What was that but an attempt to remove me from the situation? Adalbert knew I doubted him, so he wanted me gone.”

  “If anything, Duke Frederick is the one at fault. He assumed too much and fought too little. You told me you attempted to warn him, but he refused to listen.”

  “Yes, he was most deceived of all, but I take no comfort in that: not when my husband’s greatest enemy sits upon the throne. That is the real outrage. Not only was Frederick denied, but Duke Lothair was the one elected. For Christ’s sake! You would think that if Frederick wasn’t man enough to claim the throne for himself, he would at least have done so for the sake of his son. That boy has more courage than his father.”

  “So what will you do now?” Drogo asked, gazing out at the river.

  “Return home, as soon as possible. I’ve had enough of this country.”

  “You mean you will not even wait for the coronation?” he asked, looking back at me.

  “Certainly not, even as I have no wish to be placed on the rack.”

  “Then I am with you, as sure as the sun rises in the east. We shall make ready to leave at once.”

  He made to stand, but I placed a hand on his arm.

  “One task remains, my friend. As Adalbert has shown himself to be no man of God, we will remove the symbol of his authority. You and I must make a visit to the cathedral.”

  “Why? So you can shame him again?”

  “Not quite.”

  I fell silent for a moment, attempting to decide how I should proceed. I had an idea—a rather reckless idea. It would certainly make my point, but it would require great stealth and a certain lack of regard for standard morality.

  I looked into his eyes and lowered my voice. “Drogo, if I asked you to do something, even if it was against the laws of man, would you do it?”

  He leaned back slightly and studied my face, as if attempting to make out my character. “I would assume there was a higher purpose.”

  “So you would do it?”

  “I suppose that we must on occasion sacrifice the laws of man to please God,” he said with a nod.

  “And common decency, in this case. You are the man I need, Drogo. Come with me, but don�
��t ask questions. All will be revealed in time.”

  That evening, I expressed a desire to visit the cathedral and to travel not by horse but in a carriage. This became a cause of complaint, for I had no carriage of my own there in Mainz. Thus, one would have to be brought up from town at some expense.

  “Are you sure you would not rather ride?” Hatto asked. “The weather is so fine.”

  Although I understood that my request must have made me seem rather haughty in his eyes, as if I could not deign to have the wind rustle my veil, I knew the carriage was quite necessary, so I objected.

  “Dear Master Hatto, do you treat all your royal guests with such disdain, or only myself? I am still an empress, and I wish to travel in comfort!”

  Well, that was the end of that. Within the hour, I was being transported through the city by carriage, with Drogo riding behind. No doubt afraid of offending me further, the abbot of Saint Alban’s had offered me every form of company, but I refused, claiming it was a matter of private devotion.

  We soon arrived in the great market square just north of the red walls of the Mainzer Dom. All those gathered in the square turned to look as I climbed out of the carriage. They began to shout and press in very close, so I said to the driver, “We shall take less than half an hour inside the cathedral. Be a good man and wait beside the west entrance, for I have no desire to attract such attention upon our departure.”

  Now, the imperial cathedral of Mainz is somewhat odd in that it has two chancels. That is, one could perform Mass at either the eastern or western end of the church. I cannot say why it was built in such a manner, but over time the eastern altar had become the site of the standard daily Mass, while the western end was reserved for the princes of the Church, most particularly the archbishop of Mainz. Beyond this, there was the Gotthard Chapel that jutted into the town square. This was Adalbert’s special creation, and only the most noble were allowed a place inside. It was there that I had been listening to a sermon with my late husband when we were called out to receive the news of my brother’s death.

  You may be wondering why I should tell you all this, but it was of great import in that moment. Indeed, I needed to know every point of entry and departure. Because there were two chancels, the main entrance was on the north side of the Church, where my carriage had arrived. However, it was possible to depart through less lofty doors at the western and eastern ends. That is why I told the driver to wait for us on the western end, for it was farthest from the crowds and closest to the object of my visit.

  As Drogo and I made our way into the church, my heart began to beat more quickly knowing what we were about to do. If we were to succeed, it was possible that we would become infamous throughout Christendom, but I was willing to place my reputation in that danger for the chance of sending a message to Adalbert that he would never forget. In any case, I had every intention of leaving the empire at once.

  As Drogo and I entered through the Marktportal, which is the northern gate, we were stopped by a priest whom I did not recognize.

  “Fair Empress Mathilda!” he proclaimed. “We only just received the news of your coming. I am afraid we had no time to make ready.” His breath was somewhat heavy, as if he had just run from the other end of the cathedral to meet us.

  “Peace! I have no intention of upsetting your schedule. What is your name, Father?” I asked.

  “Herman, my lady. Herman of Kirchzell,” he replied, bowing with each mention of his own name.

  “Kirchzell? I’m afraid I never heard of it.”

  “It has a lovely market.”

  “I see,” I told him, not caring a bit about Kirchzell or its market. “Take me to the chapel of Saint James, Father Herman. I wish to pray in private.”

  The light in the poor priest’s eyes seemed to fade, and I suspect he was rather upset that all his rushing had not gained him a longer audience. Nevertheless, he was nothing if not polite.

  “Certainly, madam. Right this way,” he replied.

  The priest walked a few paces to where a wood box sat and retrieved three candles, for it had grown rather dark. He then used another candle sitting by an image of Saint Martin to light them, and handed one each to Drogo and me.

  “It is difficult to see in these shadows,” he said, gesturing broadly to indicate the whole cathedral.

  All the better for our enterprise, I thought.

  As we made our way beneath the first row of columns into the middle nave, Drogo whispered in my ear, “Adalbert is gone. What exactly do you intend to do?”

  “Wait and see, Drogo. Wait and see.”

  The priest then took a turn to the right and led us toward the western altar. This was the space reserved for only the greatest of the great. We climbed the few stairs and saw the table on which the elements were made sacred. Moving behind the altar, we came to the final rotunda. Straight in front of us was the episcopal throne: the seat of Adalbert’s power. To the right was the chapel holding the tabernacle of the consecrated host, and to the left was another chapel holding the holy relic for which we had come: the hand of Saint James, just as gray and hideous as always. It looked just as I remembered it from all those years ago, when Bruno first made known to me its secrets.

  As I stood there, candle in hand, I felt a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. I prayed silently, begging forgiveness for what I was about to do.

  “Here we are,” Father Herman said. “Sir, if you wish to come with me—”

  “My knight will stay,” I said, turning quickly to face him.

  “Of course, my lady,” he replied, bowing his head in submission. “Far be it from me to cause offense. Will you be requiring anything else?”

  “Nothing but silence,” I told him.

  I turned back toward the holy relic and set my candle on the ground, its flame flickering slightly. I knelt on the brightly adorned tiles and closed my eyes as if to pray. When I finally heard the priest’s steps moving away from us, I asked quietly, “Is he gone?”

  “Yes,” Drogo answered.

  “Is anyone watching?” I inquired without turning around to face him.

  “No.”

  At this, I opened my eyes and stood up, grabbing my candle once again. “Then quickly, take the relic, and we will leave by the side door.”

  “Take what?!” he said a bit louder than I would have preferred.

  I had never seen such a look of confusion on his face. Clearly, I had pushed him beyond the bounds of belief. I took a few steps forward until we were standing very close.

  “Drogo, you said that whatever I asked, you would do it,” I said, jabbing my finger into his chest. “There is no time for discussion. Will you help me or not?”

  The knight was clearly taken aback by my suggestion. In the dim candle light, it appeared to me that his expression had changed from confusion to indignation. Looking down, he took a small step forward with each foot in turn, either to plant himself more firmly or to buy time for thought, then with a deep sigh, he looked into my eyes.

  “Do you want the whole thing, or just the hand?”

  “Better make it the whole thing.”

  He scoffed and shook his head. I could tell that he was angry, but he would do his duty.

  “Very well, then, but if anything goes wrong, it’s you who will be answering to Saint Peter on the Day of Judgment.”

  “I shall not forget this, Drogo.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t think God will forget either, and that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  He gave me his candle and attempted to raise the thing up with not a little effort. Indeed, for a moment I was afraid that it might be attached at the base and the whole thing would be for naught. As he continued to strain, I took a quick look behind me to make sure that no one was approaching. At last, he was able to lift the glass container off the stone pedestal.

  “Good God, it’s heavy!” he whispered, his knees dropping slightly under its weight. “How am I supposed to walk out of here without being stopped?”


  “Rule number one, Drogo: act as if you are in command. Second, let me do the talking.”

  “The things I do for you! There better be a mess of lampreys in it for me, or a new book, or some such thing.”

  “Gold?” I offered.

  He nodded. “That would do it.”

  I quickly blew out one of the candles and set it on the ground, at which point there was barely enough light to see.

  “Follow me,” I whispered.

  We moved as quickly as possible back past the altar and down the steps. To the right was the door outside which the carriage would be waiting to steal us away. We made it within ten paces of that precious portal when I heard a noise and stopped so quickly that Drogo ran into me from behind. We both struggled to contain a groan, then I looked toward the source of the noise. It was a boy standing in the shadows, although that was a relative term considering the darkness of the entire cathedral. As I squinted, I saw that he was moving toward us and carrying what appeared to be candles. I reasoned that he must be the boy tasked with changing them out after the worshippers had left for the day.

  I barely had enough time to note all of this before he was close enough to see us. His eyes grew wide with wonder.

  “What are you—” he began to say, but I was not about to let him get the better of us.

  “How dare you speak to me before you’re spoken to?!” I cried. “Know you not who I am? I am the Empress Mathilda!”

  Clearly struck with terror, he pointed at the relic and stammered, “But, but—”

  Once again, I did not allow him to finish. “I’ll have you know that the archbishop permitted me to keep it in my chambers for my private devotion. Not that I need to explain myself to you, you impertinent—”

  “Forgive me!” he cried, bowing low and dropping several of the candles he was holding.