“You look tired this morning,” Sister Ricburg said as we returned from chapel after Nones.
“It is this dispute with the king and Archbishop Hatto that disturbs me. My dreams have been terrible and I cannot help but feel something terrible will come of it.”
Sister Ricburg slipped her hands beneath the over-tunic of her habit. “Do you believe they will retaliate against your husband?”
“I live in fear of it. The dissension is escalating and I fear it might turn into war. It will mean the loss of many lives.” We had passed the herb garden and I inhaled the aroma of mint and rosemary among the neat rows. It helped soothe my anger.
“I am also afraid, Matilde. I hate to see you so distressed.”
“It is no secret the people abhor Archbishop Hatto.” I stopped to pluck a mint leaf and inhale its scent. “Even the youngest children are aware of his cruelty and treachery. Day and night, I pray for our safety and for Heinrich’s soul, for God to put an end to this trouble.”
“I heard a rumor that Archbishop Hatto has fled to Rome. Perhaps God heard your prayers and this conflict will soon come to an end.”
“There is nothing I want more, for everyone’s sake.” My spirit heavy with worry, we entered into the cool darkness of the castle keep.
JUNE ARRIVED WITH its usual splendor of brilliant colors. On a bench in the bower, I sat weaving a braid of gold thread for Heinrich’s new over-tunic. I gave the four bone tablets, through which I had passed the warp threads, a half turn. This twisted the four warp threads into a cord locked into position by a weft thread inserted between the turns. I raised the tablet and braid to admire my work. By using four different shades of gold for the warp yarn and changing the direction of the turn of the tablets at regular intervals, an intricate pattern had emerged.
A knock on the door interrupted my concentration. I rested my work on my lap. “Enter.”
Sister Ricburg rushed in, her complexion pale.
“What is it?” I dropped the tablets and braid into my sewing basket, and invited her to sit beside me on the bench.
“Archbishop Hatto has died.” She crossed herself.
“How? When?” Words seemed wedged in my mouth. I knew the dispute with the archbishop would one-day end in death. My dream had told me as much. Had Heinrich had a hand in his death?
“I was in the chapel when a messenger came to tell the priest. The messenger told us no one is certain how he died, but it is rumored that when Hatto was leagues from Rome, the devil himself struck him with a bolt of lightning, and with his body aflame, he tumbled into a volcano.”
“I’LL NOT LIE. I am pleased Hatto is dead.” Heinrich gulped water from a silver tankard as we sat alone in our private quarters.
Doubt had niggled at me that Heinrich might have played a part in Hatto’s passing, so to ease my mind, I had posed the question, keen to hear his denial. And deny it he did.
“I would have loved to place my hands around his scrawny throat and squeeze the life from him, but rest assured, I had no hand in his end. God, or the devil himself, decided his fate.”
It was night, long after the dinner feast where a celebratory mood prevailed because of Hatto’s sudden demise. While I abhorred the man, I could not rejoice.
I shook my head. “Not by your hand, but perhaps indirectly by an anonymous vassal or supporter?”
“I am not aware of anyone who would do such a thing. Nevertheless, a burden has been lifted from me. Without Hatto, Conrad cannot be a menace to me any longer. I have more wealth, more men, and more land than he does. We no longer need to live under threat.” His face shone with a steadfast frankness. “Let us not waste another breath speaking of that hateful man.” He swept me into the circle of his arms. “I would much rather devote my attentions to my beautiful wife.” He kissed me long and with passion, and then I gave my body to him freely.
PEACE RETURNED AND the beauty of the land added to my state of contentedness. As the lazy summer days ended and the first leaves rusted with the shades of autumn, my husband’s political troubles ebbed, supplanted by the warm embraces of our family which brought genuine delight to our existence. Our son, Otto, was healthy and thriving, as was Hedwiga. Our love for each child grew with every passing day. Yet, for all the splendor in our lives, this was a brief idyllic interlude; one I sensed would not last forever.
Otto’s existence changed Heinrich. It ignited his desire for personal power and wealth, motivating his every thought and action.
But new winds of conflict swirled once more, stretching deep into Saxony. It snatched Heinrich and drew him deep into new disputes. No amount of begging on my part could persuade him to stay at home and let his commanders fight the brewing battles threatening our domestic harmony.
The first of our troubles began with the Danes. They infiltrated Saxony from the north and stormed our duchy in impossible numbers, attempting to usurp lands that bordered theirs, but they underestimated my husband. Heinrich and his army waited to greet them. Dreams of blood and violence plagued my nights, and it would not be long before I would learn the insurmountable odds they faced. Heinrich led his men valiantly in the long and bloody battles. Warrior by warrior, he and his army fought until the Danes recognized the futility of their situation and retreated to their homeland. It was an out-and-out defeat, and by the time the Saxon troops were finished, not a single Dane remained on Saxon land. I could not help but weep with relief when word of Heinrich’s triumphs reached Quedlinburg. Similar to a rushing wave, the news spread to each corner of the duchy.
Amidst the brilliant colors of autumn, Heinrich and his men jubilantly came home in high spirits. From my window, I viewed his victorious arrival. People lined the road to greet the victors with cheers and excited laughter as they wound their way through town. The fortress gates swung open and the men rode through in tight formation, knee-to-knee, shoulder-to-shoulder. The clip-clop of their horse’s hooves against the cobblestones heralded their arrival into the bailey. The mighty troops, impressive in their saddles, seemed triumphant, warriors who had fought hard and earned glory. The enthusiastic waves of handkerchiefs and bountiful cascades of flower petals put wide grins on their faces. Women ran forth to greet their men, who slid off their horses to lose themselves in the comforting arms of wives, mothers, and daughters. In contrast, some women wept over soldiers who had arrived wounded. Then there were the anxious faces of the women who waited for those who would never return; the fallen.
Heinrich rode amid a dazzling array of color and pomp, golden hair caressing the shoulders beneath his helm. Cheers and good wishes rang in the air. When Heinrich saw me, he leapt off his horse, lifted me into his massive arms, and twirled me around in a manner unbefitting of our rank. “How wonderful it is to be home again.” I echoed his sentiments.
At the evening feast, the lights of the Great Hall blazed. I wore an ivory-colored gown encrusted with precious jewels. Beneath my coronet and veil, my braided hair cascaded down to my hem. With Heinrich home once more, my fears and worries, along with the memory of dreams haunting my sleep with visions of blood and death, had already begun to fade.
While I conversed with the women, Heinrich moved from man to man. Because of his great height and magnificent apparel, he stood out from the crowd. His blood-red silk tunic made him seem like a cardinal among crows.
When he noticed me, he made his way back to me. “Are you aware of how beautiful you are in your dress tonight?”
“Vanity is a sin, husband,” I said with a smile. “Besides, it was Sister Ricburg who insisted I wear this elaborate gown and so many jewels.”
“You look beautiful, no matter how you are dressed. I am grateful to her. She is a wise advisor, for if left to your own devices, I know you prefer simpler garments.”
We arrived at the high table and took our seats. A servant poured our wine. I swallowed a sip then set down my goblet. “Feasts such as this have been rare in your absence. It is good to have you home and it warms my heart to see our peo
ple happy again.”
“With luck, there will be time for many more such occasions should it please you. I would deny you nothing.”
“I need no more than to serve you and God. The feast is for our subjects. It is enough for me that you are home.”
Heinrich raised his goblet then addressed our guests. “Victory is sweet!”
“Not as sweet as a hearty meal and a full tankard. Victory always makes me hungry,” Franco exclaimed from a nearby table.
I shook my head goodheartedly. The aftermath of a successful battle always stirred that man’s colossal appetite.
Gunter, another of Heinrich’s men weighed in. “I much prefer the feel and smell of female flesh beneath me…far sweeter than the finest wine.”
I blushed in response to the bold comment as chatter in the room resumed.
Heinrich’s countenance turned serious. “I hope there will be adequate time before we have to set out again.”
“But you have just returned home,” I uttered. “Why must you depart?”
“Our lands are not yet secure from Magyars. It will not be long before we are called to battle again.”
Disappointment jabbed me, and Heinrich noticed. He placed his hand over mine. “You will be safe here in Quedlinburg.”
I wrestled to accept the inevitable.
He squeezed my hand. “Worry not about what may happen. Instead, let us celebrate. Tonight I am here by your side where I have longed to be.”
In response to the heat of his words, my love for Heinrich swelled.
“I want to bed you,” he whispered.
Breathless, I replied, “I would like that.”
THE FIRST SNOWS of winter blanketed the fallen leaves of autumn and we settled in to bear the cold of the coming months. On a chilly morning, when the icy white world beyond our fortress lay in pristine glory, Heinrich and I sat beside a roaring fire in the hall. The feast of Christmas had passed, and spring was months away. In the corner of the room, a group of men gathered to oil leather, repair weapons, and hone daggers on the grinding stone. Four guards strode into the hall with a well-dressed man pressed between them. When they halted in a line before us, the leader stepped forward. “My lord, this man carries a message from King Conrad and insists on presenting it to you.”
The man bowed. Cheeks ruddy from the cold, he was a pleasant-looking man. A black fur-lined mantle trailed to the floor, leaving the toes of his fine leather boots visible. He clenched a pair of mittens in one hand and a scroll in the other.
“What business does the king have with me?” Heinrich clasped the armrests of his chair and drew himself up assuming an authoritative pose.
“I come from Aachen, my lord, and the king commands me to place this into your hands.” He passed the scroll to Heinrich. “I am to await your response.”
Heinrich slid off the ribbon and discarded it on the table beside us. He unfurled the missive then handed it to me. Having spent the majority of his youth in warrior training, there had been no time for him to learn to read.
As I read it in silence, a warning voice whispered in my head. When I came to the end of the document, I glanced at Heinrich. “King Conrad summons you and your army to Lotharingia. Magyars have infiltrated the duchy, and he seeks your help to oust them.”
On Heinrich’s face, a flash of anger came and went, but I, who knew him well, noticed the tiny twitch of his jaw and the slight tightening of his lips. To gather an army in winter presented numerous challenges. To do it for Conrad, who had once attempted to murder Heinrich with a poisoned torc, and who had treated the Saxons poorly, was asking too much.
Heinrich cast a piercing glare at the messenger. “Tell the king my troops are prepared and the Saxon army will stand ready on his behalf. We will leave for Lotharingia as soon I have gathered the necessary supplies.” He then addressed Franco. “Make certain this man receives drink and a hot meal, and hot mash for his horse. Then lodge him in the armory with the other men.”
The man bowed, and Franco and his men escorted him from the hall.
Heinrich rose, paced the length of the dais.
I could not contain my curiosity. Why had he readily agreed to come to Conrad’s aid? I hastened to his side and slid my arm through his.
He must have read my thoughts, because he spoke before I could utter my question. “This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I’ll go to Conrad’s aid, but not without exacting my payment.”
“What payment?” My voice came in a hushed murmur. The dream of Heinrich as king with the bloody lance was ever in my mind.
“God willing, I will regain Lotharingia, but it is I who will lay claim to it.”
My head swirled as I studied his face, illuminated by the morning sunlight. He appeared anxious, a man deep in his own reflection.
“Negotiate for it, or perhaps through compromise, the king will grant it to you.”
“Perhaps, and perhaps not. Regardless, I’ll lay claim to it. It will not take me long to gather what I need. I’ll leave soon.”
I kissed his hand. Awareness of his sudden departure created an uncomfortable urgency.
He pulled me to his chest. “I regret leaving you again, but I must.”
I silenced him by placing my finger against his lips. “I shall never grow accustomed to these partings, but it is my duty to endure them.”
“Matilde, I would not let anything destroy our union or stand in the way of our lives together.”
“I cannot help but worry when you are gone from my sight.”
He held my chin in his fingertips. “There is only one way I wish to die—not bloodied on a battlefield, but in your arms.”
I wrapped my arms tighter around him, rested my head against his chest, and listened to the strong cadence of his heartbeat.
“My army is stronger, and better prepared than ever. I’ll return victorious. Besides, I want another son soon, so I’ll not be long from your bed.”
“I already carry another child.” I raised my head to study his reaction.
His jaw dropped. “When?”
“Late summer or early autumn.”
He grinned and lowered his head to kiss me once more.
HEINRICH GATHERED TROOPS and provisions then departed. The days passed routinely, as I once again assumed Heinrich’s responsibilities and thrust myself into acts of charity. Thus occupied, spring turned to summer, and soon the cool days of autumn were upon us. I immersed myself in overseeing the harvesting of wheat from the surrounding fields and salting the meat for the coming winter. Heavy with child, my aides helped me ensure there was enough food to sustain everyone.
I was sitting in the kitchen discussing the evening’s dinner feast with the cook when a groom entered, his face animated. “Domina, riders bearing your husband’s banner have been spotted in the distance.”
There had been no word from Heinrich for many weeks, and it had been nearly seven months since we had parted. My heart raced. “I’ll leave the rest of the meal to you to decide this night,” I said to the cook, a stout woman of middle years lauded for her fine bread. As I struggled to rise, she offered me her hand. I accepted the assistance. My swollen belly hindered the simplest actions. With one hand on my aching back, I lumbered into the bailey. I made my way to the portcullis and studied the near-vertical road leading to the gates. I gathered my composure and clenched my hands together to prevent them from shaking. Soon riders in helmets and armor clattered into the bailey. As I searched each man, eager to spot the familiar shield or helm of my husband, my heart sank. Heinrich was not among them.
As the fifty or so men dismounted and removed their armor, I noticed soiled wraps around heads, arms, or legs. One man stood aloof from the others. He removed his helm and tossed the reins of his horse to a waiting groom. It was Franco. He approached and bowed. When he straightened, I glimpsed the bloodied bindings around his right forearm, which he held motionless against his chest. Women and children ran forth into the cluster to search for their husbands and fat
hers, brothers and sons.
“Domina.” Franco gave me a quick bow of his head.
“You are hurt!” I touched the stained bandage.
“A mere flesh wound.”
“It must be treated lest it fester.” I stopped a passing groom. “Please find Brother Rufus. Summon the healer and anyone with such information. We will need plenty of clean water, linen, and food.”
Wide-eyed, the lad hurried away to do as bid.
Aided by women and servants, the men followed us into the Great Hall. As we walked, I studied Franco. He was unshaven with his hair tied back with a leather thong, and mantle and boots mud-spattered. Although weary, his spirits were good.
“How fares my husband?” I uttered the question as casually as I could manage.
“He is unharmed. He sent me here with the men too wounded to fight but hale enough to make it home.”
I nearly fell to the ground in relief. We passed through the doors of the Great Hall. Already, servants carried drying cloths, basins, and pitchers of water. Franco removed his mantle and sat at a table. A servant brought him a cup of ale. He quaffed the entire contents then raised it for more. He drank this too, wiped his lips with his right hand, and heaved a sigh.
“Please, tell me how it went in Lotharingia.” Though relieved my husband was safe, battles resulted in loss of life. I braced myself to hear the details.
Franco hesitated, but when I cast him a stern gaze as a means to assure him I must hear everything, he nodded. He knew me well enough, so he complied. “In Lotharingia, we encountered Magyars in towns and villages and camps. We battled them wherever we encountered them, until a sole group remained. When we were within a mile of their camp, Duke Heinrich ordered us to remain awake during the night. At daybreak, before the Magyars could wake, we besieged them from every direction, bursting forth from the surrounding forest.”
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 12
