“I’ll tell them.” I set the parchment aside.
As servants escorted the man away, I handed Sister Ricburg the decree. “We must prepare to leave immediately.”
She frowned. “Forchheim is a good distance away.”
Brother Rufus rose from his stool. “It is indeed a long way from here. If you wish to arrive in time, you must depart tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”
“It leaves us little time to prepare.” Many times, Heinrich and his father had discussed their opposition to the young king and his regent. Heinrich blamed the ever-increasing Magyar raids on their ineffective rule. Instead of attending to the problems of the country, Hatto cast a blind eye to the plight of the people despite touring from town to town for religious purposes; or, as many believed, for personal aggrandizement. It was no wonder everyone loathed the man.
“You should take your finest garments,” Sister Ricburg suggested. “It is best to be prepared should you become queen.”
“Queen?” The possibility suddenly struck me. Both Heinrich and Otto stood a good chance at winning the election.
THE ROADS WERE more crowded than usual as my retinue traveled to Forchheim. The fortification, once a favorite of Karl the Great, was the grandest I had ever seen. Strong, high timbered walls surrounded it. We crossed over the drawbridge and rode into the bailey where a scene of disarray greeted me. Grooms unsaddled horses and unhitched oxen, servants unloaded baggage carts, and supply wagons streamed in through the gates. Children ignored their mothers’ calls whilst chasing balls or dogs amongst the congestion.
My women and I followed our guides to our chambers. Numerous intricate tapestries depicting religious scenes or Karl the Great’s exploits in battle lined the stone corridors of the main level. Sconces made of fine German silver held blazing torches illuminating our way. I guessed the fortress to be at least five times as big as ours in Quedlinburg. We arrived at a large chamber on the upper level. A big bed dominated the center of the room. An arched door in the wall opened to an adjoining antechamber large enough to house Sister Ricburg and the other three maidservants. Straw ticks and bed furs were stacked in the corner, ample for our needs.
We settled in and anticipated Heinrich’s arrival. I did not have long to wait. Two days later, he strode into the bedchamber where I was embroidering in front of a blazing fire with Sister Ricburg. I ran into his open arms. He twirled and kissed me with great eagerness. I blushed as he released me, but Sister Ricburg seemed unbothered by the blatant display of affection. She rose cheerfully to greet Heinrich, and then left us.
Heinrich’s scrutiny remained fixed on me until the door closed, and then he grinned and swept me up once more, trailing kisses across my throat. Lifting me in his arms, he crossed the room to lay me on the bed. God had heard my prayers. He had returned my husband to me.
ANTICIPATION LINGERED IN the air as we entered the hall the next day. Courtiers, diplomats, scribes, and clergy stood elbow to elbow in the crowded room. Heads turned and murmurs passed through the crowd at our entrance.
I wore an azure over-tunic studded with sapphires and rubies beneath my scarlet mantle. Heinrich was dressed in a tunic of midnight blue stitched with silver thread and studded with garnets. Massive tapestries hung on the walls between windows that let in the gray November daylight. I spotted Heinrich’s father in a moss-colored over-tunic embroidered with gold threads. He was deep in conversation with a group of Saxon nobles. In a chamber awash with the colorful garments of the nobility, Otto’s clothing was more decorous: he stood apart from the others like an exquisite stallion in a herd of mules.
I caught snippets of chatter, mostly speculation regarding various candidates for the throne. A tapestry of Karl the Great’s coronation hung from the ceiling behind the dais. In front, the empty throne with its red silk cushions, awaited its new occupant. Today, one man in this hall would become king. Next to the dais, a table was set at an angle with parchment, ink, and quills upon it, behind which, three stern-faced monks waited to record the proceedings. Clerics, in order of their rank, sat in several rows off to the side. Long tables heaped with bread, roasted meats, wine, and ale lined one entire wall of the vast chamber.
Heinrich escorted me to the area behind the clerics designated for women. Much to my delight, from amongst a chattering group of noblewomen, emerged a familiar face.
“Mother!” I rushed to embrace her. “When did you arrive?”
“Last night, long after dark, or I would have sought you earlier.”
“It is good to see you again.” Heinrich bowed.
“I am pleased you are both well. And my grandchild? How fares Hedwiga?”
Heinrich glowed with fatherly pride. “She is as hearty as her mother and grandmother. I am a happy man.” He gave my waist a reassuring squeeze. “Now that you are in good hands, Matilde, you must excuse me. The proceedings will soon commence and there’s a few people I need to speak to first.”
Mother pointed towards the front of the room. “You will find Thietmar over there.” As if he had heard us, my father glanced in our direction and raised a hand in greeting.
With a gallant nod, Heinrich left us. Before he arrived at my father’s side, a whisper coursed through the crowd. A man had entered the hall. Short and stocky, with an insolent strut, he marched to the front of the room.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“Arnulf, Duke of Bavaria.”
For one who had sustained tremendous losses against the Magyars, he radiated arrogance, his chest puffed as if he were carefree while he greeted numerous men on his way to join the Bavarian and Swabian nobles.
Archbishop Hatto stepped onto the dais. Slender, with a narrow face and a longer than usual nose with a crooked tip, he waited for the babble to cease.
I had met Hatto before and disliked him. He had regularly visited my grandmother at the abbey, but he lacked warmth, and for reasons impossible to understand, I did not trust him. Tension rippled through the air as people took their seats. The Archbishop cleared his throat and discussed the achievements of the late king. As he waded ever more drearily into his speech, droning on about the duties of kingship, I lost interest and my thoughts wandered. Throughout the late king’s reign, Saxony, Bavaria, Swabia, and Franconia had been in constant turmoil against him. Anarchy prevailed while Magyar raids exhausted the kingdom. Whoever wore the crown would inherit the discord, and it would take a huge treasury to set it aright. For this reason, Heinrich and his father had little interest in becoming king.
Hatto cleared his throat. “He who wishes to stand for election, rise and identify yourselves.”
The announcement drew me from my reverie. Heinrich and his father leaned forward on their chairs at the same time. Silence descended.
Arnulf of Bavaria was the first to stand. “Let it be written that I, Arnulf, Duke of Bavaria, assert myself for the throne.”
The three monks on the dais dipped their quills and wrote.
“And who supports Arnulf of Bavaria in his claim?” Hatto asked.
The man beside Arnulf rose. “I, Erchanger, Count Palatine of Swabia, support him.” Erchanger wore his hair in the traditional Swabian manner – long and combed to the right, then twisted into a rope and knotted at the top.
“Not surprising in the least,” Mother whispered. “Erchanger is Arnulf’s uncle.”
“Duly noted,” Hatto proclaimed.
The two men resumed their seats.
A Franconian man, his long hair in a top knot, was next to rise. “I am Conrad, Duke of Franconia, and I proclaim myself for kingship.” He gestured to the man sitting next to him. “My companion, Baldemarus of Frankfurt, supports my claim.”
The monks again lowered their heads to record it.
A long pause ensued.
“Are there any others?” Hatto’s gaze and those of every person roamed the room. No one else rose.
“So be it. Arnulf of Bavaria and Conrad of Franconia have declared themselves. Let us deliberate.”
>
Each man pleaded his case, highlighting his strengths, cautiously avoiding his weaknesses. The monks wrote feverishly. Into these vocal deliberations crept details of every rift and resentment, acts of bravery and feats of daring, and a summary of each man’s treasury and holdings.
My mother leaned over and whispered. “Your father dislikes both men. He doubts their ability to lead. Arnulf depleted his treasury fighting the Magyars and he lost every battle. How can he protect Saxony and the other duchies?”
I turned my attention to Conrad. “Why is his hair long and in a topknot?”
“The Franconians believe the longer the hair, the greater a man’s power.”
Conrad’s hair was longer than that of any other man. He must be powerful indeed.
The haggling for and against each man progressed with whispers, occasional fits and gasps, and pitches of strangled fervor, until mercifully, Archbishop Hatto announced it was time to vote.
“Each man will come to the front of the room and stand behind the tapestry, where he will speak the name of the man he wants as king to Brother Adolf who will record the choice.”
Brother Adolf left the other two monks at the table and went behind the tapestry.
“When every man has voted,” Hatto continued, “the results will be counted and the new king announced.”
Each of the factions whispered amongst themselves. Hatto gestured for the Saxon contingent to begin. Otto rose and withdrew behind the tapestry. After he emerged, Heinrich went next, followed by my father, who lingered behind the tapestry for a long time. People exchanged whispers as we waited, but still, my father did not emerge. Brother Adolf peeked from behind the tapestry and summoned Archbishop Hatto. I could hear muffled voices. Moments later, they emerged—the archbishop expressionless, and my father wearing a wily grin. I glanced at my mother. Her expression seemed equally curious.
When everyone had voted, Brother Adolf handed the parchment to Archbishop Hatto who studied the results and regarded the crowd. “By a majority vote, we have chosen our next king; a man of power and wealth. By his mother, he is of the Carolingians. By his father, he descended from Count Eckert, a most trusted friend of Karl the Great. His many years of experience has given rise to great wisdom and unequalled political experience. He has earned the respect of his peers and all hold him in high esteem. His popularity amongst the people is unrivalled. My lords, I present to you the next king of the Germanic states—Otto, the Duke of Saxony.”
A stunned silence followed. My heart pounded. How could this have happened? Otto had not declared himself. Yet, I loved the idea; he was strong and capable, generous and respected—a Saxon on the throne! The chamber erupted with masculine cheers. Otto, his face full of surprise, rose to their applause.
Arnulf’s face turned crimson. Conrad sat motionless with elbows on his parted knees, staring at his hands, shaking his head. Beneath deeply furrowed brows, Heinrich ogled the crowd as if to discover some explanation. Then it dawned on me. Could that be why my father had dallied so long behind the tapestry? Had he been the one to add Otto’s name to the list? It would explain why Brother Adolf had called Hatto behind the tapestry. Heinrich and Otto would have been unaware of what was transpiring because they had already cast their votes.
Otto embraced Heinrich and received a congratulatory thump on the back. Two squires escorted him through the crowd of applauding men. The ovations continued until he climbed the dais and stood beside the Archbishop. Otto waited for everyone to sit. When the sounds of scabbards scraping against stools faded, and everyone had taken their seats, he cleared his voice. “I am humbled to be elected. As you see, I was not expecting such an honor, or I would have dressed more elaborately for such an auspicious occasion.” Otto ran his hands over his chest and the crowd laughed. He waited for the mirth to subside before he spoke again. “Your king must be the one amongst us who is best suited to rule, not a man elected for his popularity or wealth or power. If our kingdom is to stand strong before its enemies, it must do so with the most viable man to lead.” Otto perused the crowd to find Heinrich. After a long contemplative exchange with his son, he raised his right arm, formed his hand into a tight fist, and held it high. He returned his attention back to the crowd. “A long time ago, this hand was worthy enough to wear the ring of the royal insignia of king. But, today, I fear this is no longer true.”
The crowd murmured.
Otto waited for silence. “The strength and vitality of my youth is gone, and I fear the cares of a kingdom are far too great for a man of my age. You have honored me and I’ll treasure the memory of this day forever, but I have no choice.” The room became deadly quiet. Otto dropped his arm. “I decline the throne.”
The crowd cried out in disbelief. Heinrich’s heart must have plunged to the ground, so great was the disappointment on his face. No one had ever refused the crown. Why had Otto?
Otto raised his hand to hush the crowd. “There is a man here who is more worthy than I to rule as your king. You need a strong leader, one who will oust our enemies and rule with wisdom. I am acquainted with such a man; one of great merit, courageous and wise, benevolent and virtuous. This man sits amongst us here today.”
Heinrich stiffened and sat taller. I saw him swallow as he clenched his hands, waiting for his father to name him. He desired the crown, but did not anticipate it might happen so soon. Was I about to become queen? My heart beat with anticipation and my hands gripped each other in my lap.
Otto inhaled deeply. “My lords and ladies, I name Conrad, the Duke of Franconia, to be our next king.”
THE ASSEMBLY HALL exploded in a cacophony of noise. The clergy applauded with approval. The Franconians rose, jubilant, congratulating each other with hearty slaps to the back. The Bavarians and Swabians exchanged words of disbelief. Amid the commotion, I sought Heinrich’s face. He sat among the silent Saxons, his expression hard, his body rigid and unmoving. I tried to make sense of it. From where I sat, I sensed Heinrich’s anger and did not blame him. His father had held the crown in his grasp, but had relinquished power to a rival over his own flesh and blood. I could imagine the depth of his disappointment.
My mother shook her head. “I am confused. Your father wanted Otto to be king because he is the only man strong enough to lead the duchies.”
“You knew Father was going to do this?” My voice rose, and I failed to disguise my surfacing anger. “Why did Father not forewarn us?”
“There was no time. Besides, he never imagined Otto would decline it. Otto’s a shrewd, intelligent man, so he must have his reasons.” Mother clasped my hand and held it as we waited for what would happen next.
On the dais, the archbishop raised his hand for silence, and then faced Otto. “Are you certain?”
Otto nodded. “I stand by what I said. Conrad is the man best suited.”
Like a lance, his words must have pierced Heinrich.
The Bavarians shook their heads.
“We will vote again.” Hatto gestured to Brother Adolf.
The monk rose with a fresh parchment in his hands to take his place behind the tapestry. Silence filled the room as Otto cast the first vote. When he emerged, he came face to face with Heinrich. A silent exchange transpired between them. Then Heinrich grinned and embraced his father.
I exhaled with relief.
Heinrich continued past Otto to the tapestry. When Otto returned to his seat, he received an onslaught of respectful pats on the back.
This time, the process went more quickly as the nobles voted. When the last man returned to his seat, Brother Adolf and the monks tallied the votes. Again, the atmosphere felt as if it would explode under the strain. Arnulf of Bavaria cracked his knuckles, his brows crumpled with anxiety. Across the room, Conrad gazed at the dais with a blank expression. Otto leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clenched together. Heinrich sat still as stone. Brother Adolf rose and passed the parchment to Hatto who handed it back again and announced, “By a majority, Conrad of Franconia is elect
ed king.”
AFTER THE NIGHT’S feast, snow fell in large flakes from a windless sky, blanketing the world in glistening whiteness. In the privacy of our bedchamber, Heinrich broke his silence. “At first, I was disappointed. No, I was more than disappointed, I was angry beyond words.” Seated on the bed, Heinrich raised the bedcovers and climbed in beside me.
“I suspected it.” I nestled my head on his chest.
“But then I understood why my father did it. Conrad will expend his efforts and consume all his wealth to garner support, but the dukes will not yield their independence easily and will defend their rights as chieftains within their own borders.”
“And you?”
“I not inclined to bow in reverence to either church or crown.”
“But your father will swear his fealty to Conrad, won’t he?”
“Yes, no doubt. My father’s strategy is simple—by making Conrad king, we dismiss centuries of bitter rivalry between the Saxons and Franconians. In the meantime, we fortify our position.”
“And then?”
“God willing, I’ll be in a position to vie for the crown and become the first Saxon to sit on the throne.”
“King Heinrich.” I spoke it aloud to savor its meaning.
Heinrich kissed my forehead. “And you, my love, shall be my queen.”
I pondered the responsibilities. The duties would be numerous, but so would the opportunities—to found monasteries, to aid the poor. Those things, more than the title, drew my interest. “Can you guess what I desire more than anything else?”
“No, my love, but whatever you ask for, shall be yours.”
“I wish to return home to Quedlinburg with you.”
Heinrich lifted my chin. “Easily done. The inclement weather heralds the approach of winter. Besides, Father and I must gather our forces and deal with the Magyars encroaching on Saxon lands. It is not necessary for us to stay for the coronation.”
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 9
