“I’ve come to escort you to the evening feast.” His tone lacked the warmth of the night before.
“Thank you.” I gave him a hesitant nod, and linked my arm through his. My stomach tumbled. I had spent a fretful afternoon due to the discord caused by actions this morning. My true regret was in displeasing him, yet I was unsure how to bridge the chasm between us.
The moment we passed through the door into the Great Hall, the heads of forty or so noble guests turned in our direction. The atmosphere in the room crackled with excitement.
A man stepped forward. “God bless you for your kindness, this day, duchess!”
The room exploded with the clatter of tankards and goblets banging on tabletops.
“Hail to the Duchess!”
A few claps turned into steady applause. “Long live the duke and duchess!”
As we walked further, surprise faded and a smirk spread over Heinrich’s face.
“God bless you for your charity, Domina!” cried one of the women.
“A toast to the duchess for her generosity!”
The praise continued as we made our way to the dais. When Heinrich faced me, I could see his surprise. He raised his hand to silence everyone. “My wife and I are overwhelmed by your kind words. It does my heart good to realize you are as pleased with my bride as I am. May our bond with you, good people of Walhausen, be long and prosperous.”
The crowd responded with renewed applause as they cried out hearty blessings.
Heinrich held my chin in his hand. “I owe you an apology. It seems as if I need time to become more acquainted with my wife’s propensity for generosity.”
“I also owe you an apology for my error in judgment. I am glad the people are pleased, and thankful you are, too.” Before I could say another word, he lowered his head and kissed me. The people cheered all the louder.
When the meal was over, we set off for our chamber. My apprehension increased with each step. Inside, two maidservants were laying out my bedclothes and folding back the bedcovers.
“Please prepare the duchess for bed. I’ll return shortly,” Heinrich said as he left the room.
Both women hastened to obey. They placed my nightclothes on the foot of the bed and helped me to lie naked beneath the bed furs. Gathering my discarded garments, they left a solitary candle burning before leaving.
I pulled the covers to my chin and waited, uncertain whether we would consummate our marriage tonight. Worry pierced me like a thorn. My youth was a disadvantage. As innocent as I was, could I please him? Would he treat me with kindness and patience, or use me as a rutting beast? I wiped my clammy hands against the bedcovers.
Long moments passed before Heinrich re-entered, splendid in another embroidered linen nightshirt. He sat beside me on the bed and stroked my cheek, his expression tender as he spoke. “I want you, Matilde, but I need to be certain you want me too.”
His words confirmed the moment had arrived. I summoned my courage and nodded.
His brows rose. “You are certain?”
I nodded again. My submission was inevitable and now was as good a time as any. Perhaps, afterward, I could stop fretting.
“So be it,” he whispered and climbed into bed.
After the loving words, after the brief stab of pain, after Heinrich was sated, I lay quietly as the pounding of my heart slowed. If this was marital responsibility, I did not know what to make of it. Soon, I heard his light snores. I remained awake for a long while staring at the ceiling. I was no longer a virgin, but a girl who had crossed into womanhood. Though I observed the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, I felt as uneasy as a lamb lost in a black, endless night.
THE PEOPLE OF Walhausen gathered to cheer us as we rode away. The outpouring of affection touched me, and as I passed the last of our waving subjects, I promised myself to return as often as possible.
The realization that Heinrich was taking me home to Ringelheim delighted me and helped make the long ride tolerable. Travelling in a northeasterly direction, we stopped at numerous villages. We spent two days at the Gandersheim Abbey, originally founded by Heinrich’s grandfather, Duke Liudolf of Saxony. The canoness received us and gave us a tour, proudly showing us the relics of sainted Popes Anastasius and Innocent preserved in the chapel there.
By the time we traversed the glittering waters of the Rhein, it was late summer. The landscape became more familiar. My heart pounded as we rode over the crest of a hill and onto a tree-lined road, which led into the town. In the distance, silhouetted against verdant pastures and an azure sky, rose my father’s home—a large two-story structure surrounded by wooden palisades.
I glanced at Heinrich, whose face showed no sign of exhaustion. My throat constricted as I stretched my travel-weary back. “I did not appreciate my home until I left it,” I told him. “It is as if I am seeing it through different eyes.”
We approached the gatehouse. Above the entrance, my father’s standard—a brown dragon breathing fire against a sapphire background—flapped in the breeze. I trembled with excitement when we passed through the gates. Both my parents waited in the courtyard as a herald had been sent ahead to inform them of our arrival. Without aid, I dismounted and flung myself first into my mother’s embrace and then my father’s, absorbing once more his familiar scent of leather and sun, wind and horse.
Heinrich followed and my father stepped forward to greet him with a handshake. “Welcome to Ringelheim.”
Heinrich accepted my father’s hand. “My father speaks highly of you.”
“I met Otto in our youth, when we fought together against the Magyars. He is an honorable man. Tell me, does he still dress more colorfully than a peacock?” My father grinned and, before Heinrich could answer, added, “You bear a strong resemblance to your sire.”
Heinrich threw back his head and laughed then he turned to my mother and kissed her hand. “I am happy to be in the presence of such beauty, Countess Ludmilla. You are as beautiful as your daughter.”
She beamed. “It pleases me to welcome you into our family.”
My father had changed very little. He was still stocky in build with graying hair and a ruddy face, but my mother had grown thinner.
I heard the clatter of horses’ hooves behind me. The first of our entourage had entered the bailey. The slower ox-driven baggage carts were nearly a day behind.
Sister Ricburg sat warily on her horse. She kept her head at a gentle slant to allow her veil to cover her marred face. My heart constricted at the sight of her self-consciousness and I gestured for her to come forward. A groom helped her dismount. “Mother, Father, this is Sister Ricburg, my dearest friend. Grandmother assigned her to aid me in my new duties.”
It pleased me to see that neither of my parents showed a reaction to the birthmark. Sister Ricburg relaxed immediately.
Mother told us she had prepared a small feast and led us inside. We took our seats at a table on the dais. What my mother called a small feast turned into the largest banquet I had ever witnessed in my father’s hall. The meal stretched throughout the afternoon until it became the evening’s feast.
Part way through the meal, my mother inquired, “How long will you be staying?”
Heinrich let drop a drumstick of roasted capon and leaned forward. “If it pleases you, I thought to spend the winter here. Soon the roads will become impassable with snow and ice and we may not arrive at Quedlinburg in time.”
No matter how frequently I had questioned Heinrich about how long we could stay, he had avoided answering my question. Now my heart skipped with glee.
“Splendid!” Mother’s face glowed
“I can think of nothing better.” Father confirmed his approval with a hearty slap on Heinrich’s back, but I noticed the worry on his face. To sustain such a large party throughout winter would be difficult.
“I have brought plenty of supplies and grain,” Heinrich added.
Father grinned, much relieved. “Tomorrow we shall hunt. There is a new peregr
ine I have been training.” Thus, conversation between them turned to falconry, as my conversation with Mother turned to news of our family.
I learned my elder brother, Lambert, and his wife, Betuwe, were well and living in Louvain where he ruled as count. They had a daughter named Adele and, by all accounts, were happy.
The days we spent with my parents passed quickly. Summer faded and autumn became winter. Inside my father’s home, the long, dark months elapsed in peaceful comfort.
During the shortened days, I read with Sister Ricburg or embroidered with my mother before a warm brazier in her bedchamber while Heinrich and my father seldom missed an opportunity to hunt, even on the coldest of days.
They always returned in good cheer, their cheeks ruddy with exertion and cold. Each evening, the Great Hall resonated with the banter of family and vassals. My fondness for Heinrich blossomed as I settled into my marriage.
One morning, I awoke to an unsettled stomach that forced me from my bed to retch into my chamber pot. With my body sodden in cold sweat and an intense throbbing in my head, I stumbled back to bed and buried myself beneath the covers. Blessed sleep claimed me, and I heard naught until my mother hovered above me, her face wrinkled with concern.
“Matilde. It is nearly Sext. Why are you still abed? Are you ill?”
From the open door behind her, the aroma of food wafted from the hall, striking me like a gust of brutal wind. I gagged and leaned over the side of the bed, my head over the chamber pot. The smell of its contents caused my stomach to heave, but because my belly was empty, I expelled nothing.
Mother placed her hand on my forehead. “You are not hot.”
I lay back on my pillow, battling the nausea.
She gave me a curious look. “I suspect you may be with child. How long since you last bled?”
I pondered the question, but failed to conclude an exact time. “A month, two perhaps.”
Realization warmed my mother’s features.
My mouth fell open. “Truly?”
“I recognize the signs, child. I’ll call the midwife to make certain, but I have little doubt as to what she will say. Blessed Mother! A child! What a joy!”
The realization that I would be a mother soon rendered me speechless. In wonderment, I ran my hand across my flat belly. “Heinrich wants a son.”
“Men always want sons.” My mother embraced me. “You must tell him soon.”
I nodded then retched once more, burying myself deeper in the covers.
THREE DAYS LATER, after the midday meal, I strolled with Heinrich to the mews. Amid rows of cages filled with hawks and falcons, I uttered my news.
His expression turned to delight. He lifted me in his burly arms, squeezed, and twirled me until the world spun so fast, I nearly became sick. “A son! We are going to have a son!” He finally set her down.
“And if it is a daughter?”
He pulled me into his arms. “She will be as beautiful as her mother. I can’t wait to tell my father the happy news.”
He kissed me spiritedly, his joy as endearing as a soft blanket heated by a hearth’s fire.
I observed his attractive face, and fathomed how much the birth of a son meant to him, though in my heart, I sensed I carried a daughter.
Thereafter, he had servants parade a vast array of food before me and I was encouraged to rest several times a day. I flourished with so much attention. All too soon, winter’s pristine brilliance transformed itself into the green warmth of spring. And it brought troubling news.
Chapter Two
A.D. 910
June 22
THE MAGYAR WARLORD reins his short-legged horse to an abrupt halt, stirring up a cloud of dirt. Under the warm sun, hundreds of stern-faced mounted men wait silently behind him. From the crest of the hill, he assesses a town nestled in a lush valley surrounded by a mountainous panorama with verdant meadows. The enemy waits at its outskirts.
His face is composed, but calculating. He is ready for battle. A longbow hangs over his shoulders. Deadly iron-tipped arrows fill his quiver. At his side, he wears a sabre with a curved blade sheathed in a tooled scabbard. Short spears and hatchets hang from his saddle within easy reach. The warriors behind him are similarly attired, but less ostentatiously. He wears his hair in two long braids secured at the tips by golden disks. At his waist, a gold-studded leather belt flashes in the sunlight. Leather satchels filled with smaller belongings hang from several engraved plates on his belt. He wears leather armor.
As his commanders wait, the warlord adjusts himself in his saddle. Arms spread wide, eyes ablaze, he glares down at the town. “I am the curse of God, the bane of the world,” he bellows with unbridled bloodlust. He raises his right arm, the signal for his troops to advance.
The mass of men rushes forth.
The warlord canters his horse straight into enemy troops. He rides swiftly, purposefully, and no man bars his way until, as if by instinct, he locates the man he seeks—a man dressed in black who bears the crest of a white rampant lion on his armor. The man raises his lance, but with one thrust of his broadsword, the warlord slices the man’s neck nearly in half. The man’s blood turns the white lion red.
The Magyar roars his victory. Around him, his men fight mercilessly, their blades, hatchets, and spears slashing. Blood pools on the ground as the flesh of soldiers, townsfolk—men, women and children—drop like overcooked meat from bones.
MY SCREAMS WOKE me. My chest heaved with fear; my body drenched in cold sweat. The first gray light of dawn filtered through the closed shutters of my bedchamber. I grasped for Heinrich, but he was gone. Most certainly, my dream was prophetic. Panic engulfed me. I must forewarn him of the deaths I had foreseen.
My maidservants who slept in the antechamber had heard me cry out, stumbled in, sleep still evident in their ruffled hair and drowsy expressions. Sensing my agitation, they uttered reassurances as they helped me dress. The moment I slipped on my shoes, I fled my chamber and rushed to the Great Hall. I had yet to tell Heinrich about my visions for fear of his reaction, but now, I had little choice.
I found him seated at a table with several of his men, deep in discussion. He glanced up and rose to greet me.
“Matilde, what is it? You are ashen, and trembling.”
With a wave of his hand, he gestured for his men to leave the table. I sat beside him, my thoughts racing, unsure of how to convey my prediction. After the men moved to another table, Heinrich offered me a sip from his tankard. I coughed and sputtered at the strength of the ale.
I gripped his hand. “Who wears the crest of a white lion against a black background?”
His brows crumpled in confusion. “What is this about?”
“I had a dream…and sometimes my dreams come true.”
He relaxed, and my heart sank, for I could see he thought it foolish.
“Please, who wears such a crest?” I repeated.
“Gebhard of Lahngau, the duke of Lotharingia. Why?”
I uttered my dream to him, sparing no detail. At the end, he sat back and studied me, as if I had suddenly become unfamiliar to him.
“My entire life, I have had such dreams.”
“They are mere imaginings.”
“No, Heinrich. They are much more.” I held his gaze. “My dreams come to me with intense clarity and are always of a future event. Many a time, I have doubted my thoughts and sensations despite the cold foreboding I experience, but in the end, they come true exactly as I envisioned. Like the scarlet mantle…I foresaw it before you gifted it to me.”
Doubt creased his features, yet he seemed unappalled. That, at least, was something.
“And you are telling me this because you want me to prevent this?”
“No, there is nothing you can do to stop it.”
“Then why?”
“Because you must prepare. Lotharingia borders Saxony. What if the Magyars arrive here?”
I could tell by the way he avoided my gaze he still had doubts.
ON THE
LAST day of June, Heinrich and I received a messenger in the Great Hall. Apprehension gnawed at my insides as I placed a protective hand over the child in my belly.
The man stood before us in mud-splattered clothing, his wind-hardened face wrinkled with unease. “My lord, I bring tidings of an urgent matter from your father.”
“My father is well, I trust?” Heinrich’s expression tensed.
“He is and sends you his best wishes.”
“What is it, then?”
“Magyars raided the duchy of Lotharingia. Duke Gebhard of Lahngau died in battle against them. There is much unrest and your father asks you to return home to help protect Saxon and Thuringian lands.”
A wheeze escaped my lips, and I clutched my trembling hands in my lap.
Heinrich cast me an astonished look then faced the messenger. “When did this happen?”
“On the 22nd day of June, my lord.”
I covered my face with my hands. The vision had unfolded as foreshadowed, on the day after I had dreamt it.
“Return to my father. Tell him we will leave at once for Quedlinburg.” Heinrich waited for the man to leave the room.
I placed a tentative hand on Heinrich’s arm and whispered, “Do you believe in my dreams now?” Heinrich beheld me with wonderment, his skepticism eroding at the accuracy of my prediction, and then hurried off to attend to his preparations.
WITH GUARDS AND servants, we departed at dawn. Our baggage carts were to follow. We travelled hastily, stopping only to eat and spend the night at small abbeys. Our journey lasted two days instead of the usual three. Fearful of harming the baby, Heinrich insisted I ride in a horse litter. We arrived at Quedlinburg’s outskirts near dusk and under the first sprinkling of rain. At first glance, the mountainous town neither impressed nor disappointed me, but I kept my reflections to myself. The road was slick with rain. We made slow progress as we wound our way up numerous slopes. At the bottom of a nearly vertical hill, Heinrich halted our entourage and pointed upwards.
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 5
