His hand grazed my face and I held it there. He pulled me to him. I buried my face against his muscular chest as he lifted me into his arms, placed me on the bed, and lay beside me, resting his head on my breast. No longer able to fend off the grief and pain he had fought so stoically, he cried.
Chapter Five
A.D. 913
WINTER WINDS RAGED, sending drifts of snow blowing over the hills and vales of Saxony. On a cold morning, after the prayers of Terce, I sought my husband. I found him in his private chambers, already dressed, staring at the brazier. He greeted me with a nod, his features still imprinted with grief over the death of his father. I sat in the chair beside him and rested my hand on his arm. “You seem tired.”
“I barely slept last night.”
“You were thinking of your father again.”
He nodded. “I regret I was not with him when he died.”
“Your father would not wish you to grieve. Otto lived a long, fulfilling life.”
“If it takes me a lifetime, I’ll honor him by building upon his legacy. And I’ll do it through our son, Otto.” Heinrich watched the dancing flames.
I placed a kiss on his cheek. He pulled me to him and I sat on his lap, resting my cheek against his. How I wished to unburden him of his melancholy. We lingered in the embrace until we heard a knock on the door and the creak of hinges as it opened.
Franco entered; his countenance serious, his lips pressed together. He came to a stop and his mouth fell open when he saw us in such delicate position.
My cheeks heated. I rose awkwardly, and returned to my seat.
“What news?” Heinrich straightened in his chair.
Franco cast me a worried glance, and I sympathized with his uncertainty.
“You may speak freely,” Heinrich assured him.
I nodded in agreement.
“I’ve received word from our sources in Franconia. Archbishop Hatto convinced King Conrad to strip you of your fiefs in northern Thuringia.”
Heinrich leaped to his feet. “How do you know this?”
I gripped the armrests of my chair. Lesser acts had started many a war. Heinrich was not a man to cower. What possible motive could Hatto have to initiate such an action? To lose the lands and fiefs Otto and his father had held for so many years was a strike against Heinrich and Saxony, one that would strip him of his power, his title, his wealth.
“My brother is a priest in Aachen, and he learned it from a bishop who serves Hatto. Conrad has already given Hatto your fiefs,” Franco added.
Heinrich’s face turned crimson. “Those holdings belonged to me and my father! Saxons and Thuringians entrusted them to me by unanimous election.”
“My source tells me Conrad plans to diminish the power of the dukes by reducing their lands. He seeks to separate you from the Thuringians who placed themselves under your protection. Conrad wants to break Saxony and Thuringia into smaller portions and grant them to various bishops and abbots. In this way, he gains the support of the Church while weakening your power and that of the other dukes.”
“How ambitious of him!” Heinrich spat the words.
“Hatto recommended he act similarly against Swabia and Bavaria. Stripped of power and wealth, no duke can wield more power than the king, especially you.”
Heinrich turned his back to look into the brazier’s blazing fire. For several moments, he remained unmoving. Then in a calm, unhurried voice, which sent a cold chill through me, he spoke. “Both Conrad and Hatto will rue the day they dare lay a foot on Saxon or Thuringian land. They will pay with their blood.”
WORD OF CONRAD and Hatto’s actions against the dukes spread quickly. In support of Heinrich, within days, hundreds of Saxon and Thuringian men marched into Quedlinburg to form an army, throwing our fortress into sheer chaos. Men filled the Great Hall to overflowing, cramming around trestle tables, and filling the spaces in between until not another stool, bench, or chair remained. Servants filled tankards with beer, wine, or well-water, as demanded. At the high table on the dais, I sat next to Heinrich. Franco and his men sat nearby at a table to our right. A sense of outrage crackled in the air.
A well-dressed man with shoulder-length flaxen hair rose to his feet, his face ablaze with anger. “How dare the king attempt to degrade you, Otto’s son!”
Booming hollers of support followed.
Before the crowd became quiet, a short balding man rose, his face ruddy with ire. “Has the king forgotten it was Otto himself who relinquished the crown and placed him on the throne?” Despite his low stature, his voice reverberated in the vast hall. The memory had swelled into legendary proportions, recounted in taverns and homes within our duchy and beyond.
“We chose you as our duke, with the same rights as Otto,” said another. “Is this how Conrad shows his gratitude for the man who made him king?”
Again, the men in the room shouted in agreement.
Heinrich rose and the crowd became silent. With every man watching, he cleared his throat. “No sheep can win against a wolf! And no Franconian can win against a Saxon!”
Bellows of approval ensued.
Heinrich raised a hand to silence them. “Together, we are more powerful than the king and his forces. Let him try to take our land and fiefs. We shall meet them before they dare tread on Saxon soil and send them fleeing with their tail between their legs.”
I gripped the edge of the table as the room erupted into bloodthirsty battle cries.
HEINRICH AMASSED THOUSANDS of men-at-arms and marched them from Saxony to Aachen to confront Conrad’s forces. The days lengthened and the winds grew warmer. Snow melted to reveal the brown earth beneath, which would soon break forth with emerald lushness.
I did my best to occupy myself as I awaited word. I did not doubt Heinrich would fight to the death for what he believed in, as would the thousands of men who fought with him. I prayed for God to spare their lives for the sake of the women and children left behind. For our future, and that of the Saxon people, they must gain victory.
I toiled hard to maintain the fortress and keep our lives as normal as possible. Many days passed with not a whisper of the fate of the Saxons or the Franconians. Would my prayers be enough?
One day a messenger arrived. My heart beat as thunder in my ears as I hurried to the Great Hall to greet him, with Sister Ricburg and my ladies-in-waiting struggling to keep pace behind me. The man bowed as we entered. When he straightened, I scrutinized him from wind-hardened cheeks to mud-splattered boots for an inkling of what news he might reveal. My legs trembled, but when he grinned, I expelled my pent up breath.
“Domina, Duke Heinrich sends word of his victory.”
Expressions of delight escaped the lips of the women. My chest swelled with relief.
“Duke Heinrich and his forces met King Conrad’s army near Eresburg. The king’s brother, Eberhard, rode at the front of the Franconian army, but the Saxons prevailed and defeated them. King Conrad retreated. Duke Heinrich seized back his father’s northern fiefs, and acquired even more land in and around Thuringia.”
I glanced at the heavens and mouthed words of thanks. “You bring us wonderful news this day, and I would hear all the details, but first, warm yourself by the fire and I’ll have a meal brought for you.” I invited him to sit at the table nearest the hearth and ordered one of the servants to bring mulled wine and stew. While he ate, I listened to the details of the battle, of those injured or who fell in battle. Sorrow lay heavily upon me as I contemplated the women who would soon learn they had become widows and their children fatherless. I was not wise to the ways of men, but I knew enough to realize all was far from resolved, for the discord between my husband and the king had yet to fully play itself out.
ON A DAY made radiant by the golden sun, Heinrich returned home. The victory celebrations lasted for several days.
One evening after the prayers of Compline, when the air was pungent with the scent of pine, Sister Ricburg and I strolled around the perimeter of the bailey. The
temperate late evening breeze invigorated us. Torches lined the rampart walls at intervals and shed gentle light as we walked arm-in-arm. I felt relaxed. The industries of the day were completed until the morrow, and the worries of the past few months were relegated to history. We passed the stables and mews, where earlier, the grooms and falcon master had fed the beasts. An occasional whinny or snort came from within. The carpenter and blacksmith’s sheds, as well as the barracks for the men-at-arms were dark and closed. As we approached the gatehouse, the raised voices of two men disturbed the quiet. Curious, I drew nearer and raised my finger to my lips to silence Sister Ricburg.
A man waited beyond the castle gates, the reins of his sweated and foaming horse in one hand as he gestured to the chief porter with the other. In the dimness, I could hear the heavy breathing of the exhausted mount.
I advanced toward the porter. “Is there some trouble?”
Both men ceased arguing, and the porter bowed his head.
“Domina, I did not hear your approach.”
“Please, I must speak to the duke,” the man called to me.
“Silence!” the porter growled and then faced me again. “He is a merchant, Domina, a goldsmith, nothing more. Your husband gave strict orders for the gates to be closed at Compline and not to be opened again until Prime.”
“Domina, I beg you,” the goldsmith shouted. “I bring urgent news of a serious matter involving our husband. Please, there is little time to waste.”
Against the torchlight, I studied the man. He was dressed in clothes typical of a rich merchant, mud-spattered from his journey. Handsome, he had the presence of someone who would stand out in a crowd.
“I’ll advise my husband of this matter. Please permit the man entry after you check him for weapons. Then escort him to the Great Hall. I shall ensure you are not reprimanded for countermanding my husband’s orders.”
The porter bowed with a frown. “As you wish.”
When we had walked a sufficient distance away, Sister Ricburg whispered, “What could be so urgent at this hour?”
“I am not sure, but judging by the man’s horse, he must have travelled a good distance and in great haste to get here. It is best for Heinrich to hear him.”
When we entered the hall, servants were already clearing the tables. The room rang with the sated laughter of men and women who heartily imbibed of their cups. With tankard in hand, Heinrich lingered at the foot of the dais in discourse with Franco and several other men. When I approached, his features brightened, for I seldom visited the hall after Compline. The men with him stopped talking and bowed.
I placed my arm on his. “My lord, a traveler arrived at the gates. He demands to speak with you.”
Heinrich frowned with annoyance. “At this late hour?”
“He says it is urgent.”
“And you believed him?”
Before I could respond, four guards escorted the stranger into the room. They halted in front of us and bowed before Heinrich.
Heinrich scrutinized the traveler. The man’s over-tunic, cut from rich cloth, was of a color between blue and green. A thick gold necklace hung from his neck. Gem-studded rings of gold and silver shone from each of his long fingers. A handsome man, the many lines around his eyes marked him as slightly more than forty years.
“I am Rafold of Paderborn, a goldsmith.”
“You are a long way from home, Rafold of Paderborn. Why have you come to Quedlinburg?”
“To warn you that you are in grave danger.”
“I’ve heard those same words many times before, but they rarely prove true. What makes you think thus?”
“I overheard a conversation between Archbishop Hatto and another man.” The goldsmith hardened his countenance. “I must speak to you alone.”
Heinrich tensed. “Come and sit with me so we may speak privately.” He nodded in the direction of a table in a corner of the room and called to a passing servant to bring food and drink. He gestured for Franco and me to join them. We took our places, not speaking until the servant arrived with venison, bread, and a tankard of ale.
Rafold did not touch any of it. He waited for the servant to depart then leaned forward. “Archbishop Hatto came to see me.” He spoke in a voice little more than a whisper. “He was specific in his request. I was to make a golden torc in the Byzantine style as a gift for a high-ranking nobleman, and I was to tell no one. He paid me with a purse heavy with silver and gold. When I completed the torc, I delivered it to him at the king’s palace in Aachen where I received lodgings for the night. On my way to the dinner feast, I passed a chamber with an open door and overheard two men talking. One of them mentioned the golden torc, so I paused to listen. I recognized one of the voices as that of Archbishop Hatto.”
“And the other?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. I overheard the archbishop order the man to have a sharp barb soldered on the inside of one of the open ends of the torc. Then he asked the man what type of poison would work best.”
Heinrich listened straight-faced. Disgust for Hatto, a religious man who would stoop to murder, rose inside me like bile.
“The man explained how he planned to dip the barb in a tincture made by crushing the leaves of the cherry laurel and extracting the sap.”
Heinrich shook his head and frowned. “Cherry laurel? I do not understand.”
“It is a potent poison, husband,” Matilde said. “I first learned about it at an abbey from the nuns who heal the sick. It was an herb they carefully avoided picking when they went gathering. It has been said that even a portion of a droplet will make one short of breath and cause intense pain in his chest and head. They will vomit and become heated and dizzy. Afterwards, they will collapse and die.”
“Hatto wanted the man to assure him the barb and poison would kill as soon as the wearer slid the torc around his neck. He demanded he never speak of this and made it clear he was ordering the torc at King Conrad’s request. He warned that should the plot be revealed; the man would pay with his life.” The goldsmith stopped fidgeting with his hands. “Then he ordered the man to deliver the torc to you as a gift from King Conrad.”
AFTER THE GOLDSMITH dined and retired to bed, Franco met with Heinrich and me in our private chambers. Brother Rufus sat behind a table with quill in hand, writing what Heinrich dictated.
“Read it back to me.” Heinrich strode to the window and examined the bailey.
Brother Rufus put down his quill, placed his hands on both sides of the parchment sheet, and cleared his throat.
From Heinrich, Duke of Saxony and Thuringia,
To the venerable Hatto, Archbishop of Mainz.
My most urgent greeting.
I have discovered your plot to have me killed.
I urge you to see to your own safety immediately.
I sat as still as death. Heinrich, meanwhile, continued to gaze into the night sky. His jaw twitched, and then he swung around to face us.
Franco leaned forward in his chair.
I clasped my hands together and rested them on my lap.
Brother Rufus heaved a sigh as he set aside the paper and crossed himself. “There is no more you wish to add?”
Eyebrows raised, Heinrich said, “The meaning is clear enough.”
“Clear indeed,” Franco solemnly agreed.
Heinrich regarded me. “And you, Matilde?”
I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. My husband expected my support, but how could I show my approval for an act that would endanger the life of an archbishop, albeit a corrupt man who greedily lined his pockets at the king’s expense, acquiring lands and riches, seizing power at each turn?
Heinrich moved closer to me. “I am aware retaliation and vengeance are not acceptable to you. You fear for my immortal soul should any harm come to the archbishop by my hand.”
“Among other things, but more importantly…I fear for your life.”
“I understand, but rest assured, if it is a choice betwee
n my life and Hatto’s, I’ll prevail.” He addressed Brother Rufus again. “Seal the document and give it to Franco who will deliver it.”
I rose. “There is no need to send such a missive, Heinrich. Hatto will die soon.”
Silence dropped like a pall. Brother Rufus frowned and cast me a sidelong glance. Franco glanced at me, and then Heinrich, and back to me with uncertainty. Heinrich was about to speak, but I stopped him with my raised hand. “I dreamt several weeks ago about a richly dressed cleric. He stood on the edge of a precipice. I could not see his face, but he carried the orb of the king. A giant ball of flame engulfed him, and he tumbled into fathomless depths. I believe that man to be Hatto.”
By the scowl on my husband’s face, I knew he was not pleased. His jaw twitched as he pondered my words. “You cannot be certain. It could have been anyone, perhaps a cleric from Rome!”
“No, the orb bore the king’s insignia. I am certain.”
Heinrich lifted my hand to his lips, and kissed it. “And you did not think to tell me?”
“You often doubt my dreams.”
He let go of my hand and faced the window again, his focus intent on the torch-lit bailey as he retreated into his thoughts. Several moments passed before he spoke again. “There is nothing I wish more than to believe you, but I cannot leave this matter to chance. I must stop Hatto and Conrad. It is a matter of time before they will attempt to kill me again. If I do nothing, I’ll be perceived as weak and threats against me in the future may increase.”
I was prepared to argue, but he turned and pressed his finger against my lips. “Everything will go well, I promise,” he whispered.
HEINRICH SENT AN army to ravage and appropriate the lands and possessions usurped by Hatto in Saxony and Thuringia. He expelled King Conrad’s supporters from these lands. My pleas failed to convince him this would aggravate the conflict. The growing discord between Heinrich, Conrad, and Hatto plagued my sleep and my every waking moment.
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 11
