A BRILLIANT SUN dwells in the center of a cloudless azure sky, its warmth soothing. Before me, a stone staircase rises. Behind me, a woeful crowd observes in silence. A voice inside me urges me to ascend. A scarlet mantle studded with gems and embroidered with golden threads lies across my path. I pick it up and place it over my shoulders. I feel its weight as I take my first, tentative steps.
Partway up the staircase is a golden orb. Instinctively, I retrieve it. The moment it is in my hand; the wind carries an approving murmur from the crowd below. Encouraged, I climb higher. Soon, a jeweled scepter with a finial of a golden eagle blocks my way. As I raise it to the sky, the voices of the crowd grow louder, as if they are speaking at once. I continue to ascend, the earth becoming smaller in my wake. At the apex, a man stands before me, his face obscured by bright light. He holds a beautiful crown—a diadem embedded with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. With great reverence, he places it on my head.
I turn to face the crowd below, but from this lofty height, the people appear as one gray mass. Their raucous cheers rise into the heavens. The scepter vibrates; the gold eagle comes to life. The majestic creature spreads its wings and takes flight. It circles me once before climbing to the sun, until I can no longer see it.
THE BELLS OF Prime woke me. In the gray morning light, my vision adapted to my austere cell. Anticipation surged through me. The dream heralded a momentous change to come. I tried not to dwell on it, lest I be late for prayers, and pushed the memory away. I would try to understand its meaning later.
I shoved away the bed furs. As I washed and dressed, I caught a glimpse of the cloister through a crack in the window shutter. The first rays of sunlight bathed the serene square, sweeping away yesterday’s inclemency. I hurried from my chamber to join the line of silent nuns and noblewomen gliding to Mass.
As I passed through the chapel’s ironbound doors, a cool waft of air billowed my veil. I took my place among the laywomen at the far end of the nave. Due to her rank, Grandmother was in her place closest to the altar. Morning sunlight filtered through the arched windows and cast long shadows on the floor.
A rounded oak door opened and the priest entered. He wore a white alb and purple stole over his black cassock. A monk in a cowl, his head bowed with hands clasped, followed him into the chapel. Powerfully built, with a slight stoop of his shoulders, the monk advanced toward Grandmother. He whispered something to her and she gestured in my direction.
The monk scoured my every feature as if he were assessing a mare’s potential for breeding. My face grew hot and I tore my gaze away from his. Each time I glanced up, he inspected me with such intensity that it took all my effort to concentrate on my prayers. Why was Grandmother permitting such behavior? His eyes continued to meet mine. Once, his lips curled into a grin. I seethed with mounting rage at this bold act of impropriety.
Prayers lasted longer than usual. When they ended, I hurried to the cloister and found refuge on a bench. Breathing deeply of the morning air, I caught my breath and calmed myself. I had never experienced such scrutiny from a man, much less a monk. I knew not what to make of it.
Somewhat recovered, I made my way to Grandmother’s chamber. Her assistant sat behind a table in the antechamber and smiled at me. At my knock, my grandmother’s voice bade me enter. I expected to find her alone, but a man sat across the table from her, his back to me. Instinct forced me to hesitate. I could not quell the ominous feeling that possessed me. When he turned, I inhaled a quick breath. The same monk who had ogled me throughout Prime again beheld me with eyes as blue as a mountain lake. Instead of religious garb, he wore a richly embroidered blue over-tunic. Handsome, with an air of confidence, he loomed before me. Muscular arms and a brawny build hinted at physical strength. High cheekbones, reddened by wind and sun, gave him a hearty appearance. A dimple was etched in the center of his prominent chin and a strip of leather held his golden hair in a short tail behind his neck. Who was he, and why was he no longer dressed in a cassock?
“Come in, Matilde.” Grandmother motioned me to draw closer. “I would like you to meet Heinrich, Duke of Thuringia, son of Duke Otto of Saxony. Lord Heinrich, this is my granddaughter, Matilde Immeding from Ringelheim.”
I had heard of this man. When I curtseyed, he offered a sword-calloused hand to help me rise.
“I am honored to meet you.” His voice sounded self-assured, though his striking face remained serious.
Grandmother bit her lip and stilled her hands. “He seeks your hand in marriage. Your father has approved the match.”
Confused, I glanced first at Grandmother and then at the duke. Tongue-tied, I had sensed this day would come, for most women are married at fourteen. A knot formed in my stomach. I did not wish to relinquish my abbey life to become a wife and mother. Life in a cloister afforded me protection and more freedom than women who lived in the outside world. Because I was the daughter of a count, my father had sent me here for tutelage under his mother’s guidance: to learn to read and write Latin, how to dress, to whom I should give precedence, which person may travel by horse litter, who might mount a horse or a mule or a donkey. These were the decisions a noblewoman must make. I had learned much, but more lessons remained. No, I prayed. This could not be.
A knock on the door interrupted us. Sister Ricburg entered with a silver tray loaded with a decanter of wine, a loaf of bread, and a quarter of cheese. Her veil hung deliberately over the large blood-red birthmark staining her right cheek. Our friendship had formed when I defended her after others had shunned her. People believed the imperfection to be the mark of Satan, but on closer examination, it was cross-shaped. Sister Ricburg was short with a tendency towards plumpness. At sixteen years of age, she was two years older, and had recently taken her vows.
Her entrance stopped conversation; a welcome reprieve as it gave me time to think. She served the duke before Grandmother. She peered at me with brows raised. I declined with a shake of my head. Anxiety had stolen my appetite. Sister Ricburg’s features creased, as if she sensed something amiss. Then she left the room.
I gathered my courage and hid my clenched hands beneath my over-tunic. “You honor me, my lord. I eagerly anticipate our marriage when my education is complete and I have acquired the necessary skills to fulfill my duties as duchess and administer your household.”
The duke exchanged an odd look with Grandmother.
Her expression stiffened, and in an unsympathetic voice said, “Your willingness to learn is commendable, but I am confident you are ready to assume more responsibilities. You are of marriageable age, Matilde, and your father already formalized the betrothal.”
My hands trembled for I was unused to such sternness from her.
“Your father and I have been in discussions through our envoys,” Heinrich said. “All that remained was for me to see you, and I am pleased. Since I am here, I wish to depart with you as my wife.”
His confidence annoyed me, but I understood. Because of his higher rank and great wealth, my father could not refuse the union. My fate was sealed. Was he a devout, charitable man? Worse yet, was he the tyrant who had executed the mother who had committed theft to feed her starving children? A shudder ran through me. His steady perusal made me uncomfortable.
I straightened my shoulders. Regardless of whether I had a choice or not, I sought more time. “I am happy to wed you, my lord, but if you could wait a few months, you will be better served. I need time to prepare: to choose my gown, my attendants, and what I might need for my new home.”
His lips twitched. Perhaps he was unused to such boldness. If I was to wed him, I wanted him to understand I spoke openly of whatever was on my mind and in my heart.
“You shall have all you need. As a dowry gift, I have provided you with lands and people for you to govern.”
I waited for him to reveal more.
“Your grandmother tells me you have a great propensity for charity. You will have many such opportunities. I promise to be most generous.” Again, he display
ed great resolve, as if satisfied with a recent purchase.
I would not let him intimidate me. “And if I wish to save a woman from execution; a mother whose only sin was to feed her starving children? What would my lord say?”
His brow furrowed and he cast an anxious glance at my grandmother, who raised her right hand in a gesture for patience. She gave me a stern glance, which I chose to ignore.
“I would allow you to plead her case, of course,” he responded.
“How may I be certain?” If he was to be my husband, I wanted reassurance he would be honest with me.
His luminous eyes widened in surprise then narrowed with admiration. “You have my vow. I am a man of my word, and I have a reputation for speaking true and acting honorably. Everyone proclaims your beauty and piety. As the sole remaining son in my family, I must wed and beget heirs. My wife must be of untarnished virtue. You have my most solemn oath that I’ll hold you in the highest esteem to my dying breath.”
He seemed genuine enough, but I knew action, not words, revealed the true essence of a man. Could I trust him? Could I disregard my misgivings? In my father’s fortress, I had encountered women who bore bruises at the hands of their husbands and I knew of others who had died in childbed. Now I, too, must venture into a union fraught with such peril.
Grandmother rose, her expression taut. “My lord, I am certain your journey to Erfurt wearied you. Someone will show you to your accommodations where you may refresh yourself before the midday meal. We will speak again later.” She opened the door and addressed her assistant. “Please escort Duke Heinrich to the guest chamber. Afterwards, go to the kitchen and have the sisters prepare an extra trencher.” Grandmother closed the door and returned to us.
The duke stepped closer. “I am happy to have met you, my lady.”
I admired the self-assurance in his voice.
He cast me a lingering gaze then with unhurried dignity, strode from the room.
Grandmother’s frown deepened each wrinkle on her face as she opened her mouth to say something.
Whether her words would be stern or gentle, I could not bear to hear them. “I am sorry, Grandmother,” I whimpered, and rushed out.
WE ATE OUR midday meal in a room off the entrance hall reserved for guests. Embroidered tapestries and wooden benches decorated every wall. Heinrich sat at one end of the long oak trestle; my grandmother and I sat across from him. Curious, I studied him. Whenever I caught him staring at me, I felt myself blush and glanced away.
Duke Heinrich spoke mostly with Grandmother, but he kept gawking at me. He spoke of trivial matters such as the weather, the harvest, and his favorite falcon. Grandmother was a shrewd judge of character, and people found it difficult to gain her approval. She smiled often, so that helped reassure me. Still, when the duke addressed me, I responded with the most perfunctory of replies. He already knew much about me, hence I wanted to learn as much as I could of him.
Time dragged on. No one was happier than I was when we finished our meal and the duke departed and I was alone with Grandmother.
“Come sit by the fire with me, Matilde. The warmth eases the aches in my bones.”
We settled into cushioned chairs and watched the dancing flames.
“I can see the worry on your face, child. This betrothal is sudden, but you are ready to take your place in the world. I was your age when I married, as was your mother when she wed my son.” She pulled at a loose thread on her habit’s sleeve. “Duke Heinrich is a kind, respectful man, generous to a fault, who will provide well for you.” She raised her eyebrows. “Besides, if he so wished, bride theft could easily be achieved; he is here with a contingent of eight men.”
This drew me from my silence. Bride thefts from abbeys occurred, but rarely. They instigated feuds between families and often resulted in bitter bloodshed, which lasted for years. The Church denounced the act. In my case, bride theft was unnecessary. My father had already agreed to the marriage.
Grandmother inhaled a deep breath. I heard the slight wheeze in her chest that preceded a deep, wet cough. Lately, she coughed more frequently. None of the tisanes or healing remedies I brought to her from the Infirmary had cured her.
I rushed to her side, but she waved me away, her face red with exertion. When it subsided she said, “Worry not. He is a good man and I approve of him. He is a good match for you.”
“You knew of this betrothal?”
She nodded.
“That is why you brought me into town yesterday. You wanted to show me what I can accomplish with wealth and an open heart.” Suddenly, my future did not seem so bleak. “When am I to be married?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
My body tensed and I heard my voice rise. “Am I not to wed before family and friends and have a wedding feast?”
Grandmother shook her head. “Your wedding feast will be celebrated in Walhausen.” She adjusted my veil. “You are marrying into the noblest Saxon family. Embrace your destiny. Take your place in the world and serve God well. God will take care of the rest.” She rose, gave me a quick embrace, and then left the room.
The crackle and spit of the fire was the only sound. I was unaware of how long I sat lost in thought, but the entrance of two nuns drew me from my reverie. As they cleared the table, I left the room in a daze to attend the prayers of Sext.
Afterwards, I lingered in the chapel. Shafts of afternoon sunlight beamed in from the tiny windows on both sides of the nave as I knelt at the altar. I recalled last night’s dream, a maze of symbols to interpret. An unusual destiny awaited me. My life was to change forever. My dream foretold I would wear a crown one day. I prayed for God to give me strength when that day came.
Lost in prayer, time became lost to me. A slight noise caused me to startle and turned. Duke Heinrich had come upon me as silently as a hunter stalking prey.
“Do not be alarmed. Similar to you, I hoped to enjoy the serenity of the chapel.” He spoke with cultured gentleness.
“I believed myself alone.” I rose unhurriedly, my pulse racing.
He smiled. “All of us are alone in this world. The most we can hope for in life is to find someone to care for us.”
I comprehended the meaning behind his words, but they failed to impress me. “I would not have been frightened if you had made yourself known, my lord.”
A glimmer of respect came to life in his expression. “If I took you by surprise, I apologize. I did not intend to disturb your prayers.” He stepped toward a nearby bench. “May we sit?”
I searched the face of the man who intended to be my husband and saw goodwill with a touch of vulnerability. Clutching my over-tunic, I sat at the edge of the carved stone bench to create as much distance as possible between us. He sat too.
“I must apologize to you once again.”
It pleased me that he was first to break the strained silence. “Why?”
He scrutinized me so intently, my cheeks burned and I glanced away.
“Our betrothal is sudden and must have come as a shock to you.”
He could not have spoken in a more pliable voice and it encouraged me. “May I ask a question?”
“I am happy to answer any questions you may have.”
“Now that we are betrothed, I wish to understand the need to marry so urgently.” I smoothed my over-tunic in a show of confidence.
“It is impossible to explain, but why wait when we are meant to be together?”
“Why rush if our destiny is inevitable?”
“Destiny waits for no one, Matilde. The world has yet to reveal its treasures to you. It is a pity for beauty such as yours to be wasted in this somber place.” He waved his hand at the austere surroundings. “I have much to offer, and so do you—both to me and to the world.”
Silence enveloped us. He spoke truthfully, but I refused to let him sway me from attempting to postpone the nuptials. I dared not meet his gaze. “Grandmother tells me you are a compassionate man. I understand the details of our betrothal are complete
, but my uncertainty persists.” I sharpened my scrutiny of him. “You have already spoken of your need for sons, but I am more than a vessel to beget heirs upon. If you are to be my husband, I wish to learn more about you.”
Heinrich sat still. “There is little to tell. I am the sole surviving son of Otto of Saxony. My elder brothers died in battle, with my mother gone to Heaven several years ago. No man should be without a family—without the laughter of children at his hearth or the love of a good, pious woman. I am alone in this world, save for my father.”
“You are a duke, one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the kingdom. I am the daughter of a count. You could have chosen to wed a woman of equal or higher status, from a different kingdom perhaps. Why have you chosen me?”
“Your father is a man of integrity; your mother charitable and kind. Everyone praises you, not merely for your beauty, but for your virtues and benevolent heart. Incessant raids by the Magyars have left Saxony drained and there is much need for reparation, to help those in need, especially women and children forced to fend for themselves after their men died in battle. I know you could do much to aid them.”
A vision of the poor woman’s impaled head returned to mind. Would I have the power to intervene for such suffering souls with a plea for mercy? “Magyar brutality is rampant and feared, but what of the brutality of your men? What if I were to plead for a mother’s life, a mother who is facing execution for having to sell her body or steal bread to feed her starving children?” I failed to keep the disgust from my tone.
“That again.” He shook his head, his expression turned grave. “I knew nothing of it until your grandmother told me. I have replaced the overlord who rendered that judgment with a fair and just man. I further commanded my men to find the woman’s children. They are safe and with their aunt and her husband. We left them a purse, heavy with silver, enough to care for them for many years to come.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “I trust this pleases you?”
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 2
