History and Women Press
The Prophetic Queen
The Tumultuous Life of Saint Matilde of Ringelheim
First Edition
Copyright © 2015 by Mirella Patzer
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Cover design © by Mirella Patzer
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or location is entirely coincidental. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and used factiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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This is a work of fiction inspired by the life of 10th century German Queen Matilde. I have endeavored to include the facts as accurately as possible. However, the passing of the centuries makes total accuracy impossible to achieve therefore this should not be read as a factual account.
Also by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer
The Novice
Orphan of the Olive Tree
The Contessa’s Vendetta
The Betrothal
The Pendant
Dedication
To Sandra Falconi, Patricia Cush, Ersilia Ward,
Anna Brandt, and Miriam Serpentini Maguire
Through five decades of laughter, tears, and joy,
You are the sisters of my heart
Ottonian Quote
“It is unspeakable, and one cannot tell without tears, the betrayal in which the father betrays the son,
the son the father, a brother another brother, like Cain and Abel, and one kinsman and the other.
All order and every kindred are despised.”
Otto II
(In reference to his own family)
Canonical Hours
Lauds - Dawn
Prime - First hour after daylight (6 AM)
Terce - Third hour after daylight (8 AM)
Sext - Sixth hour after daylight (11 AM)
Nones - Ninth hour after daylight (2 PM)
Vespers - Twilight
Compline - Last cycle of prayers before bed
Matins - Night prayers (2 AM to 4 AM)
Prologue
A.D. 968
March
Abbey of Saint Servatius
Quedlinburg
I WAS BORN with the ability to prophesize the future. The destinies I dream about are impossible to alter, despite my many attempts to do so. With vibrant clarity, nightly visions forewarn me of good fortune, but also of despair, discord, and death—always death. I have suffered my entire life because of these nightmares. To know a loved one will die brings great torment. Now, I have dreamt of my own death. The hour of my demise approaches. My old body betrays me as it weakens, but my mind remains quick and sharp. I pass my final moments recalling memories, both good and bad.
Oh, Saxony, my homeland, abloom with spring’s cornflowers. I remember you in my girlhood when my laughter rang out beneath clear cerulean skies and I ran through verdant gardens ripe with bounty; when my mother’s countless embraces, and affectionate glimmers from my father’s eyes sustained me more than the bread baked in our cooking hall; when I matured unaware of the harsh world beyond my family’s fortress. I remember you with fondness, until destiny thrust me into a world that no longer resembled the one which afforded the safety and beauty I knew as a child.
Into this realm divided, where men rose to power through determination alone, strife became rampant. Our Saxon duchy, torn by its dissension, endured an infinite deluge of Magyars—formidable opponents thirsty for slaughter, destruction, and plunder. They burned Saxon villages, forcing people to flee, seizing prisoners for murder or slavery, and ravaging women in droves. Our people suffered exhaustion, their lives drained by unrest, internal struggles, and constant enemy raids. For everyone’s sake, this plight had to cease, and it fell to my family to accomplish it.
I made my humble entrance into this turbulent world as a young girl taken as wife by a Saxon scion named Heinrich Liudolfing, known as The Fowler. Little by little over the years, in my own way, with whatever means at hand, I attempted to redress the wrongs done to our people, to bring hope to the vulnerable. From the beginning, I inscribed on velum sheets, now secured in chests at the Quedlinburg Abbey, the events that influenced my family—our battles, our victories, our failures, our shame, so that future generations might learn from our mistakes and disallow conflict into their midst.
These days, I am an old woman pondering my transgressions, disregarding none, no matter how small, but truly, one cannot always distinguish enormous sins from inconsequential ones. I reflect back and recognize my many faults and blunders. Several I do not regret.
Tranquility flows through me. Pain has disappeared. Eternity awaits and the knowledge makes my heart sing. Dreamlike, my memories come alive once more. Each deed, act, and word I uttered returns to me in a precious flood of remembrances with such intensity, I ache with them. A Heavenly voice helps me relive every event that took me an entire lifetime to chronicle…
Chapter One
A.D. 909
NETTLES AND WEEDS line the footpath where I walk. Gnarled branches of ancient trees block the sun and cast an ominous gloom. Fear accompanies my every step. A scarlet mantle studded with gems and embroidered with golden threads trails from my shoulders. I carry a scepter, its weight a burden, but I must go on. Thorns snag and tear the garment. Fatigue weighs on me.
A girl in tattered rags steps from behind a bush and blocks my path. Through a flood of tears, the forlorn waif reaches out to me with dirt-encrusted hands. I do not know what she wants. The sight of her bony, starved body fills me with compassion.
One by one, men, women, and children appear from nowhere and encircle me. With mournful faces and hollowed eyes, they implore me with begrimed hands outstretched in despair. Lamentations pierce the air. Their wretchedness drowns my spirit. I fall to my knees and weep as I caress a cheek, or wipe away a tear. Whomsoever I touch, I set free. Hunger fades; their despondency turns to joy. My sobs of anguish turn to tears of delight.
THE ELATION OF the dream roused me. Drenched in sweat, I waited for my racing pulse to ease. To glimpse the future with stark reality is a terrible burden for me, a young woman of fourteen years, to bear. It is a curse rather than a blessing. At the abbey of Erfurt where I reside for my education, nuns cross themselves or avoid me for fear I might reveal something horrendous. Yet there have been those who revere my prophetic dreams, who seek me out and plead for advice. This I cannot give them, because my prophecies come randomly, unbidden, impossible to control.<
br />
The details of last night’s dream were vivid, but the meaning unclear. For once, I was not frightened. Instead, I sensed something was to change and it would alter my life forever though I knew not how, why, or when.
Dawn’s rays had yet to creep through the closed shutters of my cell. At the basin, I washed with ice-cold water and donned a white linen under-gown and a sapphire woolen over-tunic the color of the Rhein River in spring. I covered my hair with a long ivory-colored veil as the bells tolled for Prime.
After straightening the bed linens, I retrieved my old doll from beneath the pillow and caressed her face. If I stretched my fingers, she could fit in my hand. Years of handling had made the doll’s clothing dingy, but the stitching still held. Made for me by my mother when I was five, the toy was a solitary, fragile link to my fast diminishing childhood. Its presence comforted me. As I tucked it into the pouch hanging from my girdle, I took a cursory glance one last time at my quarters before leaving to attend prayers. The room held a narrow bed, a rough-hewn table set with a basin of water, and a tallow candle. A worn chest at the foot of my bed contained my clothing. My rank as the daughter of Count Dietrich of Westphalia and Ringelheim entitled me to greater luxury, but I preferred simplicity. I was content, for within these walls, my Grandmother Maud, also our abbess, swathed me with her love.
At chapel, I could not concentrate. The dream intruded upon my prayers. Afterwards, as we left the chapel in orderly rows, Grandmother pulled me aside. “You will accompany me into town today.” She displayed a few crooked and missing teeth in a face marred with wrinkles, but rich with wisdom. Widowhood had brought her to the abbey, but her goodness and wealth had elevated her to the rank of abbess. Everyone loved her, but none more than I did.
Her request puzzled me; she had never taken me with her before. “What will we do there?”
She merely shook her head, leaving me confused. After throwing on our thickest mantles, we departed.
From a gloomy, windless sky, a drizzling rain drenched my clothes and penetrated to my skin. Shivering, I trudged behind her. I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to beg her to return home. With each stride, the pouch holding my doll bounced against my thigh. Except for the cold and wet, I might have delighted in exploring the town. On such a wretched day, it brought me no joy. Miserable, I tightened my mantle against the rain walked in grim silence.
As we approached the outskirts, I halted at the sight before me. Impaled on spiked poles, the heads of several men and women loomed above us, expressions of horror frozen on their faces. The gruesome image warned of the local lord’s swift justice. Empty eye sockets, long ago pecked by scavenger birds and smeared with dried blood, became gaping holes in the skulls. I gasped and turned away. My stomach heaved then I vomited at the sight and smell of rotting flesh.
Grandmother grabbed my shoulders and forced me to peer at the hideous heads. “They beheaded that poor woman for stealing bread from the market and selling her body to feed her famished children. Now, those children are motherless and certain to starve. Perhaps they are already in Heaven. For them, it would mean relief from squalor. Look hard, Matilde, for you are of the wealthy Immeding clan. The influence of a noble woman might have saved them. This is a lesson for you. You must use your title and rank wisely, to better the world.”
My legs threatened to crumple beneath me and my breaths quickened. Why was she subjecting me to this horror? Why did she speak so harshly to me? What had I done to merit this?
Grandmother then led me past a queue of peasants waiting to enter the town gates. People hurried past carrying goods or leading livestock. A boy of seven or eight drove a small herd of sheep before him with a cane. We passed an old hunch-backed woman lugging a wicker cage stuffed with chickens.
Intermittent cracks of thunder broke over the squawks and squeals of animals. The rain intensified the pungent odor of beasts. Still recovering from my shock, what I saw astonished me, for rarely had I been beyond the abbey’s protective walls. The rutted road overflowed with mud, mixing with human and animal excrement. We struggled to step around the refuse accumulating around the nearby houses and stables. It proved impossible. Filthy splashes stained my clothes and seeped up past my ankles. I covered my nose with my hand. How could my grandmother bear such filth when she demanded the highest standards of cleanliness at the abbey? How I longed to return.
The shutter on the main floor of a stone dwelling swung open in front of us and struck Grandmother. A woman in the window hurled the night soil from a chamber pot. I gagged at the sight and stench, yet Grandmother spoke not a word as we walked around the piss and turds that blended into puddles of muck.
A large pig ambled behind us, gobbling refuse as it went. A red-faced farmer followed the beast, striking it with a stick to guide it along. Judging by the man’s colorful language, the creature must have escaped a pen. The pig almost drove us into the ground as it rambled past.
“Take care!” I screeched as the creature knocked Grandmother hard against a wall. She managed to stay on her feet, but a deep, wet cough rattled through her. Bent over, her face red and straining, I waited for her cough to subside. “You are ill. Please let me take you home.” I shivered and tugged at her arm.
“Soon, have patience.” Her voice was hoarse.
With pinched lips, I clutched my mantle and acquiesced as we roved forth. Strong torrents poured from the sky. The doll in my pouch became heavy with wetness. Beneath my sodden mantle, my fingers and wet skin grew numb with cold.
A group of filthy, ragged, shivering children ogled us from between two wooden structures as we passed. The smallest, a girl of six years, splashed through the muck. The urchin halted before me, feet bare. Her rags provided no protection against the cruel weather. Her grimy hand clutched my cloak as she begged for a scrap of food. Why did this child, one among many, affect me so? The misery on her face stung me as much as the cold rain. When our eyes met, my breath caught in my throat. She was the forlorn waif of my dream! I felt compelled to help her. With no food or alms to offer, I glanced at Grandmother.
She nodded with understanding and clutched the child’s hand. The girl’s short legs took two steps to our one as she struggled to keep up. The aroma of baking bread lured us into a bake-house. Several women huddled around a stone hearth. There, in the pleasant warmth, I yearned to linger as long as possible.
Grandmother grabbed a loaf from a straw basket and handed it to the girl. The child’s eyes widened. With grimy hands, she broke the bread and stuffed a large crust into her mouth. A woman watched us from behind a table. Grandmother reached into her purse to pay for the loaf, but the woman shook her head.
“No payment is necessary, Abbess.”
To thank her, Grandmother laid her hands on the woman’s forehead and blessed her.
As we prepared to leave, we paused and I knelt before the child. My heart constricted at her desperate poverty. At the thought of my wealth and rank, shame and guilt washed over me. Who was I to complain about the rain? Shoes and mantle protected me, but this poor child’s feet were bare and she wore nothing but tatters. From my pouch, I retrieved my doll and held it out to her. When she edged forward, I placed it into her hand and closed her fingers around it. Gazing at the gift as if it were a treasure, she broke into a grand smile. When I brushed away a wet curl that fell over her eye, she threw herself into my arms. As I clutched her to my breast, her hair smelled of stale oil and earth. “You are beautiful,” I whispered.
I could have embraced her forever, but she broke free. She gawked at me in surprise, and tucked herself into a corner near the door to devour her bread. As we left the bake-house, I prayed that a home and family awaited her somewhere.
We stepped into the inclement weather to slog through the dismal town. The images of poverty and squalor disheartened me and I resolved to do more for those in need. The animals at the abbey lived in better conditions than did many of these people.
We walked until we arrived at a church. Overcome wit
h emotion by all I had witnessed, I tugged Grandmother along with me, yanked open the heavy doors, and stepped inside. Water dripped from our mantles and puddled on the stone floor. I shivered from the cold. Warmth and tranquility beckoned me farther inside. The horrors of the outside world faded with each footstep as we wearily made our way to the front of the church. I fell to my knees before a statue of the Virgin Mary and opened my heart in prayer.
Time slipped away as my shock and sadness tumbled forth. I wept. There was much need in the world and I had been blind to it. The guilt of my ignorance tormented me. How could a caring God bring so much misery upon many, while others, like me, lived in comfort? An eerie silence hovered as I retreated into my prayers. The world beyond ceased to be.
A tingle of warmth ignited inside me and gave me strength. Unashamed of my tears, I turned to Grandmother who had knelt beside me.
“Do you understand why I brought you with me today?” she asked. “It was time you learned of the world beyond the cloister’s walls, so you might be aware of your future duties. I taught you to the best of my ability. Great responsibilities await you, Matilde. Your future holds the promise that you will touch many lives and perform good deeds, and, as you can see, there is desperate need for your help. You must make the most of every opportunity.” She wiped away my tears. “You are a blessing to me, child. I expect my good work to continue through you after I am gone.”
This was the purpose for our exploration; why she had made me suffer through the cold and rain. I recalled my dream, certain it had been a dream of my future.
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 1
