The nun shook her head. “I am sorry to say she is gravely ill.”
Instead of the usual serenity, an air of apprehension permeated the abbey’s halls. The bowed heads of the sisters, the obligatory calm of their voices, the respect and reverence in the air, warned that the threat of death stalked these corridors.
Heinrich entered; his cheeks ruddy as he dusted the snow from his mantle and stomped it from his boots.
Another nun I did not recognize came around the corner. “I am Sister Gertrude. I’ll escort you to your grandmother.” Had I been away that long? So many new faces, I pondered. We followed her through a long corridor and into the private quarters. As we entered the antechamber of my grandmother’s rooms, I glanced back at Heinrich. He had to slouch to keep his head from scraping the low ceiling. He was as awkward as a goat amongst a gaggle of hens, but I was glad for his presence. I needed his strength and resourcefulness more than ever.
I entered into the main chamber. Grandmother lay in a bed still as death; a mere shadow of the woman I had left many months ago. A nun, deep in prayer at her bedside, did not glance up. My heart constricted at the sight of the austere surroundings; a stark contrast to the luxuries I enjoyed as Heinrich’s wife. A stack of manuscripts rested atop a worn wooden table at Grandmother’s bedside. A chair with an old gray blanket thrown over its back sat in a corner. A plain chest, issued to each woman to house habits and bed covers, was set at the foot of the bed. Once a noblewoman, Grandmother’s life as an abbess had been as simple as that of a novice or laywoman.
Sister Gertrude leaned toward Grandmother and whispered. “The duke and duchess have arrived, Abbess. I shall leave you, but I’ll be close by if you need me.” She touched the shoulder of the praying nun, who made the sign of the cross, rose to her feet, and followed her out.
“Matilde?” Grandmother’s weak voice called.
“I am here,” I replied.
Grandmother was emaciated and her lips bore a slight bluish hue. As she labored for breath, a harsh cough overcame her. When it ceased, she expelled bloody mucus from her failing lungs. I fumbled for a cloth, unable to quell my rising panic.
She peered at me, a faint smile etched on her face. Life burned vibrantly in her eyes. For a moment, it tricked me into hoping she could overcome this illness. I saw how much she had aged. How frail she appeared in this, her eighth decade; a contrast to the strong, self-possessed woman I had left behind. Currently she lay abed, vulnerable, pale, and childlike. I managed to set aside my shock.
“It is good to see you, again, Duke Heinrich,” her voice rasped.
“As am I to visit you once more,” Heinrich answered, his tone affectionate.
“I am glad you came.” She studied Heinrich and then me. “Please forgive me, but I need a few moments in private with Matilde.”
“Of course.” Heinrich placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll wait in the antechamber. Call me if you need anything.” He gave a deep bow of homage before he left, which filled my heart with love for this man I had grown to adore.
Grandmother waited until he left the room then her damp eyes beheld mine. “The truth, tell me the truth. You dreamed of my death.” There was no upset in her tone, merely resignation.
“Grandmother, you must not speak so.”
“There is no fear in dying, merely an intense beauty. I understand death now, without any illusions.” She paused for a breath. “I’ve lost track of time. How long have you been here?”
I frowned, perturbed by her disorientation. “I have just arrived. The weather, the roads—”
“I knew you’d come. I prayed for it. I came to you in a dream, did I not? My every deed and word returns to mind. Maybe this is what eternity will resemble—knowing all, seeing all. Be consoled, Matilde, because when I die I may leave behind my worldly goods, but I’ll take with me everything I have become.”
Another coughing fit came over her. When it subsided, I wiped away the blood seeping from her lips.
“There is one thing in my life I regret, Matilde. I would lament it if you were unhappy in marriage.”
My tears welled and I shook my head. “Did you not receive my correspondences? In each one I wrote of my happiness.”
“I did receive them, but often what is written hides the truth.”
I kissed Grandmother’s hand. “From the first, my marriage has been rewarding. I am grateful to you. As you said, I have been able to serve God. Heinrich is kind and generous. Hedwiga is beautiful and reminds me of you.” My voice cracked for we both knew she would never meet her great-granddaughter. I laid my head on Grandmother’s arm and wept.
“I am glad my regret was for naught.” Again, there came a pause as she struggled to gather breath. “There are two wishes I have for you.”
I wiped away my tears and clasped her hands. “Tell me, and I shall ensure they are done.”
“Carry on my good work after I am gone. Use your rank to influence the world. Tend to the poor and the ailing, feed the hungry, aid mothers, and love the innocent, the children.”
“Each day of my life, I shall follow your example.”
She kept her eyes closed, exhausted from the effort of talking, yet contentedness graced her features. “And care for the child, Heinrich’s son. Enfold him to your heart and into your family.”
“Heinrich’s son? We have no son, but a daughter named Hedwiga.” I pitied my poor Grandmother, so ill and confused.
“No, I refer to Thankmar, his son by Hatheburg, his first wife whom he repudiated.”
I shook my head in confusion. Why had I never heard of it? Heinrich had never mentioned anything; no one had told me he had been married before, and why had he repudiated her? Many questions raced through my mind.
“Take care of the boy. I ask nothing more.”
Countless questions rose to my lips, but before I could utter one, she fell asleep. I waited for her to awaken, to tell me more, but she slept on. As we had sat together in silence many times in the past, we did again now.
I remained at her bedside praying, my despair so profound I could scarce draw breath.
GRANDMOTHER NEVER AWOKE. She died before sunrise the next morning. The bereavement was beyond anything I had ever known: a loss of wisdom years in the making; of unconditional love. Her demise felt impossible to bear. Long after her last breath, I refused to leave her side. I prepared her body, anointing her with aromatic oils, and dressing her in a white habit—a symbol of her goodness and purity of heart.
Heinrich stayed by my side. From time to time, he encouraged me to rest, but neither he nor the sisters could convince me to withdraw. In my grief, I temporarily forgot my grandmother’s deathbed revelation concerning Heinrich’s son.
The next morning, grief-stricken, I watched Heinrich’s men place Grandmother on the back of a wagon drawn by four horses caparisoned in black. Heinrich walked by my side with the nuns of Sankt Marien following in procession. Braving the cold and snow, our cortege weaved through Erfurt, a black line against winter’s white surroundings. Numb with anguish more than cold, I shivered with each step, despite my fur-lined cloak.
Townsfolk lined both sides of the road to view us file past. Mourners, mostly peasants with worn shoes and frayed cloaks, filled the church. These were the people my grandmother had aided, who had benefitted from her many kindnesses. Two priests dressed in purple chasubles presided over the Requiem Mass. When it was over, six friars carried the casket to her tomb, a niche in the wall of the church. Tears streamed as I watched the priests seal her in the tomb with a block of marble. Only then did I succumb, falling on my knees, overcome by grief.
With a gentle touch, Heinrich raised me to my feet, steadying me in his strong arms. I paused for one last farewell to the woman whom I had dearly loved. When I turned away, I caught a glimpse of something familiar. Among the crowd of mourners, a woman stood with a girl who clutched my old doll! I would recognize its tattered clothing and shape anywhere. The memory of that horrible inclement day retu
rned with vibrant clarity. I recalled the little urchin whom I had clutched to my bosom and to whom I had given the doll. The encounter had changed my life, made me understand the needs of the poor and making clear my future responsibilities. Was this that same child? I stepped forward for a closer look.
The child smiled, displaying the missing teeth of early childhood. She was the same child, but her face was plumper. Eyes once hollow with hunger glowed with health. Although unremarkable, her garments were clean and mended. The woman and child both curtseyed.
“I see you have taken good care of my old doll,” I began.
The girl nodded.
“I am sorry for your loss, Domina. The abbess was greatly loved.” The woman was a slender, pleasant-looking woman of middle years. Her hair was neatly groomed and she held herself with quiet dignity.
“You knew the abbess?”
She nodded. “I owe her my life. Newly widowed, I had taken ill. When the abbess learned of my plight, she brought food for my children, and cared for us until I felt better. Afterward, she helped me find work in the home of a merchant. Now I am able to feed and care for my children. This is my youngest.” She pulled her daughter closer and paused to fight back tears. “The abbess told me of your encounter with my daughter, how you fed her and gave her the doll. I am grateful to you both.”
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. My feelings of loss came rushing back, but at the same time, I was happy to learn Grandmother had gone to such effort on my behalf by caring for this girl who had once profoundly touched me. I bent towards the child. “What is your name?”
“Brunhild, Domina.”
“That is a lovely name, Brunhild. My name is Matilde. If ever you have need of anything, will you promise to come to me? Simply go to the abbey. The sisters there will send word to me. Will you promise?”
She nodded then glanced at the ground as she twisted the toe of her shoe in the snow.
“Take good care of your doll.” I touched the old toy’s garments.
The child clutched it tighter.
“I am happy she is in your good care,” I added.
Heinrich tugged my sleeve and I turned away from mother and child. With his arm around me, we continued on, pausing occasionally to receive condolences. Once at the abbey, away from the prying attention of the world, I rested in Heinrich’s arms, where I shed a torrent of tears until sleep relieved my torment.
When I awoke, for a brief moment everything appeared and felt normal. Then the memory of Grandmother’s death returned, crushing me anew.
Heinrich sat in a chair at my bedside; fatigue clouding his features. “I am glad you are awake. You slept almost the entire day.”
“I did?” I tried to sit up.
Heinrich held my arm to aid me and adjusted the pillows behind my head.
I felt weak and empty, as if I had collapsed under a load of anguish.
Heinrich called for warm broth. I had little appetite, but it helped restore me.
Life resumed, and the days passed slowly. Time became my friend, for there was no better place to recover from grief than amid the abbey’s beautiful serenity. As the days passed, my sorrow lifted. I walked the cloister daily, finding refuge and renewed peace, for here, Grandmother’s spirit lived on—in the air, amid the rose bushes she loved, beneath the cerulean sky, amid the fragrances of the garden.
Then one night, I dreamt...
Grandmother comes to me, not pale and ill, as she was in death, but vibrant and aglow, as she would have been in her youth. Together we walk in the cloister, laughing beneath a brilliant sun.
“You have yet to realize your destiny,” she said. “Live fearlessly, Matilde, for the reward awaiting you after death is greater than anything you can imagine on earth.” Her voice echoes from a vast heaven, and an ethereal light surrounds her. Her face is unwrinkled, and her unbound hair, golden and thick, undulates on the cool breeze.
“You are young and have yet to face your greatest challenges, many of which will arise from your flesh and blood. You will soon rise to greater power and wield much influence. Strive to keep peace. Give generously of yourself and demonstrate compassion. Leave the world better than when you entered it.”
I listen to her every word, burning them into my heart and mind.
“Do not fear death, for it is a grand and measureless reward beyond your understanding. Grieve no more for me. I am happy and at peace.”
As we stroll, she bestows me with the wisdom of her years, her love filling me with each word imparted. We sit on a bench, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Time ceases as burnished rays of golden sunlight shine down on us from a coral pink sky.
A solitary beam of light appears in the sky. At last, Grandmother rises and faces me. “It is time for you to release me.”
I grasped for her hand to beg her to stay, but before I can touch her, she ascends into the light. Transfixed, I watch until she vanishes into the brightness.
I awoke reluctantly. The dream had been exquisitely pleasant. To know of Grandmother’s joy in the afterlife eased my heartache. She had set lofty goals for me, and in honor of her memory, I must live up to each one.
ONCE HOME IN familiar surroundings, the secrets of Heinrich’s past returned to haunt me. Why had he kept his first marriage and the existence of his young son a secret? If he could hide such an important matter, what else might he hide from me?
One cold, rainy night, I could postpone no longer. We sat before the warmth of a brazier in his bedchamber sharing a cup of mulled wine. After chatting about the days’ events, we fell silent.
I seized the moment. “Before Grandmother died, she told me of your previous marriage and your son.”
The vessel raised to his lips halted midway. “You were unaware?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
I nodded.
He gazed into the fire with a faraway look. “What happened was fodder for much gossip that ran rampant through Saxony. I thought everyone knew.”
“Talk rarely penetrates the walls of an abbey, and my grandmother refused to indulge in gossip of any sort.”
He swallowed a long swig of wine. With both hands around the cup, he leaned forward and stared into its contents. “My marriage to Hatheburg was wretched.”
So it was true! Because he hesitated, I sensed how difficult it was for him to speak. I wanted to clasp his hand in encouragement, but did not. First, I wanted to hear what he would tell me.
“When we married, I was not aware she had taken vows to be a nun.”
I gasped at the notion. “She was a nun? How could that be?”
Heinrich shook his head and raked his hand through his golden locks. “Hatheburg relished the pomp and wealth of my ducal office. Our marriage lasted for three long and arduous years. How I wish I had never laid eyes on her.”
“All marriages are trying in one way or another.”
Heinrich raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.”
I gave him a pert grin and re-arranged the folds of my garments around me.
He shifted in his chair and continued. “She came with a large dowry. Regardless of my reluctance to wed, I had no choice. It was necessary for political advancement. The one good that came of it was my son, Thankmar. Archbishop Hatto discovered Hatheburg’s secret and sent his minion, Sigismund, the Bishop of Halberstadt, to inform me of it. Hatheburg had been married before and then widowed. This much I knew. In widowhood, she had entered an abbey and spent several years there. In time, she took the vows of the veil but kept it a secret from her family, from everyone. Her father, unaware of her status, met with mine and they negotiated a betrothal contract between us—a rather lucrative one. When Hatheburg learned of the betrothal with all the wealth and title it would bring, she ran from the abbey and returned to her father’s home. Our marriage was sanctioned days later.”
“The consequences must have been dreadful.” The shock of what he had told me roiled in my mind. I could not fathom such a sin. “She must have been unhappy with cloistered
life.”
“Because of Hatheburg’s lie, our marriage was repudiated and our son, Thankmar, was deemed illegitimate by the Church.” Heinrich shook his head. “I sired a child with a bride of Christ. To this day, the thought sickens me.”
“Where is she now?”
“In my anger, I banished her. The bishop escorted her to the abbey in Magdeburg. I believe she is still there.”
I tried to absorb the impact of Hatheburg’s actions. The gossip among the servants must have spread, damaging Heinrich’s reputation. My untarnished past helped put an end to the scandal and went a long way towards restoring respect for my husband. My deepest concern, however, was for young Thankmar. “What of your son?” I leaned closer. “When will I meet him?”
He appeared surprised. “Thankmar is in the best of hands, being raised by Franco’s wife until he is old enough to move into the armory with the men.”
I shook my head. “But to separate a mother and child…Grandmother must have met Hatheburg somehow. It was her dying wish that I reunite your son with his mother.” I used my gentlest tone.
Heinrich’s jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. “Your grandmother was a charitable woman.”
“Whatever Hatheburg’s transgressions, you love your son. Surely you would not prevent him from seeing her.”
Heinrich turned to the window and the gray skies beyond. He raised his fingers to his lips in contemplation.
“I’ll be happy to take Thankmar to his mother, if you wish,” I suggested, hopeful to persuade him.
He turned to face me, brows furrowed. By his confounded expression, I knew emotions warred with logic. “I have carried much bitterness in my heart for Hatheburg.”
“You must never let anger rule your heart.”
He held both of my hands, anguish evident on his countenance. “I do not wish to lose your respect. I’ll send a messenger to Magdeburg telling Hatheburg to expect you and Thankmar within a fortnight.”
“That is a good start. We will speak more of Thankmar. He may be considered a bastard by the Church, but he is your son, your flesh and blood, and he belongs here with us as part of our family.”
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 7
