Conrad sat in the front row between Berengar and Liudolf; their faces void of expression. I noticed Liudolf observe Adelaide’s belly. His eyes turned frigid at the knowledge that she carried Otto’s child who might become his father’s heir. Now that Liudolf was in discord with his father over his failed attempt to rescue Adelaide, I did not doubt it was a real possibility.
A boisterous round of cheers and applause pulled me from my thoughts as we took our places. When all had taken their seats, the room grew silent.
Berengar approached.
Otto held the Holy Lance in both his hands and set it before Berengar who placed his right hand on it.
“By the Lord, before whom this relic is sanctified, I will be to King Otto, faithful and true, and love all he loves, and shun all he shuns, according to God's law, and according to the world's principles, and never, by will or by force, by word or by work, do anything loathsome to him.”
In acceptance, Otto said, “It is right that Berengar of Lombardy, who offers to me unbroken fidelity, should be protected by my aid.”
And with those words, the Lombardia fell under Otto’s rule. After they signed the peace treaty, Berengar returned to his seat. Otto nodded to one of the friars, who brought him a scroll. Otto called Heinz.
“To my brother, Heinz, Duke of Bavaria, I am grateful for the invaluable support he rendered to me these past years. As a token of my appreciation, I grant him complete and utter rule over the marches of Friuli, Istria, and Verona.”
No one anticipated this, least of all Heinz, least of all me, least of all Berengar whose expression turned murderous.
Berengar had been allowed to keep the title of king, but it was a hollow one. Otto had stripped him of any power or authority over those regions. His face was red, his breathing shallow. Liudolf placed a calming hand on Berengar’s arm and whispered something to him. It caused Berengar to compose himself. May God forgive me, but I could not help but rejoice in the man’s loss. Any man who would abuse a woman, a queen no less, in the manner he had Adelaide, deserved it.
Adelaide smiled with great satisfaction.
My heart puffed with pride as a jubilant Heinz bowed and accepted the scroll.
Otto dismissed the assembly. They rose to talk in groups, or made their way out of the audience chamber to the Great Hall for the feast. Liudolf sat next to Conrad and Berengar. Their posture was stiff, obviously angered by Heinz’s appointment and high favor at court—they had received nothing. They scowled, huddled together speaking in hushed tones. Otto’s decree made Berengar a king in name only. Heinz would hold all the power. By omitting Liudolf, Otto had issued his son a subtle, but obvious warning for having countermanded his orders by crossing the Alps to reach Adelaide before him. Lastly, Otto offered affection towards Conrad who had come to Otto's aid, but had disappointed him by showing weakness and too much leniency in his settlement with Berengar.
During the dinner feast, Liudolf, Conrad, and Berengar conversed with no one. It was not until I overheard them openly rebuff Heinz, that my worst fears were confirmed. Otto had indeed rankled his son and brother by marriage.
Later, after the meal, I was determined to speak with Liudolf and find a way to appease him. I searched the nearby room, halls, and passages, but could not find him. I learned he had already departed with Conrad, and Berengar. To where, I did not know.
I WAS IN the chapel praying for peace when I heard about a hard-riding messenger who had brought news of a rebellion. I hurried to the council chamber in search of Otto. When I arrived, the room was empty except for Otto and Adelaide, who was trying to calm his anger.
“What is the matter?”
Otto shook his arm free of Adelaide’s touch and rose. “My son Liudolf. He is in open revolt against me.” He kicked his throne, almost toppling it.
I exchanged a worried look with Adelaide. My stomach tumbled and I rested a shaking hand on the girdle at my waist. No prayers had helped.
“And Conrad and Archbishop Freidrich of Mainz support Liudolf in his ungodly rebellion.”
“Why must it always be so?” I stuttered.
Otto stared at me; his lips pinched tight, expression grim.
“My brother is likely upset over Otto's displeasure at the treaty with Berengar, especially with all that was recently granted to Heinz,” Adelaide said.
I tapped my index finger against my lip. “I am not surprised by Freidrich. His hostility towards Otto has never been a secret, but surely not Liudolf, and certainly not Conrad.” I had always disliked the Archbishop, a man devoted to the strict life of prayer and fasting, but jealous over his See and determined to control political matters at every opportunity.
“Believe it!” Otto folded his arms against his chest and shook his head. “My own son! And Conrad who I have protected all these years.” Bitterness edged Otto’s words.
The battlefield had been drawn—Otto and Heinz on one side with Liudolf, Conrad, and Freidrich of Mainz on the other.
Like a venomous snake, the battle for power had raised its head again. Like poison, it seeped through the entire kingdom. Fighting broke out in many areas, more threatening than ever before. Vengeance, envy, ambition, and disloyalty flowed like poison through my family’s blood.
While conflict raged, I returned to Quedlinburg, numbed by the travel and my unceasing prayers at each stop on the way home. My limbs and back throbbed from the horse’s movements, my parched skin sore because of the summer sun.
Within hours of my arrival, I fled to Heinrich’s tomb praying for Otto, for Heinz, for Liudolf and Conrad too—for God to keep them safe and remove bitter vengeance from their hearts.
OVER THE COURSE of several nights, I dreamt of a child, beautiful images. Sometimes the boy lay naked on an ermine fur or wore a tiny crown on his head. In other portents, he wielded a gem-encrusted sword or carried a miniature orb. The child rarely cried. He was calm, even stoic in his patience. I was certain I had witnessed the birth of the future king.
On a stormy afternoon in the middle of summer, I learned by way of a messenger Adelaide had delivered a son. They named him Otto. At the news of this boy’s birth, I knelt with those who served God in our chapel, and asked them to sing hymns of praise and ring the church bells. I then commended the newborn boy to God and prayed for his prosperity.
PROPHETIC DREAMS BELEAGUERED me again. Confusing—their meaning indiscernible. I braced to face the troubles ahead, whatever they might be. It was my destiny, and my curse to foretell the future. I tumbled into melancholy at the grief that would soon strike. I dreamed of many deaths, and though the faces were never clear, death would most certainly strike.
In the month of February, I received a letter from Otto.
To my venerable mother, Matilde,
It is with a heavy heart that I bring you news of the kingdom and our family. I am weary of rebellion, of Conrad’s ingratitude, and the sting of Liudolf’s betrayal.
Several months ago, I convened an assembly in Fritzlar in Hessen. There, we unanimously imposed punishment on the rebels. Freidrich of Mainz was stripped of his office of Arch-Chancellor and Conrad forfeited the Duchy of Lotharingia. He and Liudolf sought refuge in Mainz with Freidrich. I marched my troops there to besiege the city and capture the three.
I cannot describe my desolation to see Liudolf, my flesh and blood, dressed in battle armor against me. A tragic encounter ensued. My troops moved war engines against the city’s ramparts, but Liudolf’s men attacked, rendered them into fragments, and burned them. Day by day fortune varied; sometimes those inside suffered loss; other times, my men feared death from flaming arrows. With victory now here, now there, the siege went on two months before there was talk of peace.
Liudolf and Conrad requested an audience with me. They were ready, they said, to endure any punishment as long as those loyal to them came to no harm. They demanded their forfeitures restored, but because of their treason, I could not agree. Talks broke down. I ordered the siege to continue. The people of Mainz
suffered.
It was at this time, I learned that the Bavarian nobles had deserted Heinz to join Liudolf and Conrad. Liudolf seized Regensburg, drove out Heinz’s supporters, and divided Heinz’s wealth amongst the traitors. When I learned of this, I had no choice but to temporarily abandon my siege of Mainz to come to Heinz’s aid by marching troops into Bavaria and attack Regensburg.
Brun was my greatest ally, loyal, able, and shrewd; someone I can depend upon, in peace or in war. Together, we defeated Liudolf. At Langenzenn, near Nurnberg, during an assembly held in June, Conrad and Archbishop Freidrich conceded defeat and surrendered. To my dismay, Liudolf remained obstinate and refused. I would bear everything without complaint if my son’s wrath and that of his fellow conspirators harmed only me and not the people. It would have cost me less if they had invaded my cities as robbers and seized the lands I ruled over instead of soaking it in the blood of my kin and friends.
Here I sit, a man bereft of my son whom I loved and raised to the highest ranks, who has become my greatest enemy. The knowledge that it was Conrad, the youth I rescued and protected, who turned my son against me, is sometimes too much to bear. Liudolf and Conrad have laid waste to my kingdom. They have seized and killed my people, ruined my towns, burned churches, and slain priests. The streets run red with blood. I made Liudolf and Conrad rich, yet they chose to remain my foes. They returned to their homes laden with plunder from their raids of my kingdom.
You can understand my anger with Liudolf who, like Arnulf before him, invited the Magyars to help ravage and plunder our kingdom. Magyars who care nothing for our people, loyal or rebel!
From Langenzenn, Liudolf fled to Regensburg. I recommenced my assault of its walls. The people within preferred to die in battle rather than starve trapped inside the town. Mounted on horses, many rushed from the western gates to lure my soldiers away from their camp to fight. While this battle raged, others secretly boarded boats on the river and moved to secretly storm our deserted camp.
My spies had forewarned me of their plans so I was prepared. The clash began. When those on the boats flung themselves on shore to raid our camp, they were surprised to find my bravest warriors awaiting them. The rebels fled. Some were cut down, others, stumbling in their panic, fell into the river, and drowned. Many managed to gain footing on the boats, but there were so many men, boat after boat sank under their weight. Few survived. Even the horsemen who had rushed out of the western gate were driven back, badly wounded. Suffering increasing hunger, the citizens of Regensburg, angered by my blockade, stubbornly refused to yield. It was too much for Liudolf to bear, to watch men, women, and children endure such pain for his sake. Once again, he offered to surrender if I let his followers go free.
I arranged a war council at Fritzlar to debate this matter; but before the day of the assembly, Liudolf my rebel son, cast himself at my feet and begged for my pardon. You will be happy to hear; I did not refuse him.
I also have good tidings to share with you. I have called a Diet at Arnstadt on the River Gera in Thuringia, south of Erfurt on the 17th day of December. Here, Brun will be invested as Archbishop of Cologne and my son, Wilhelm, will be invested as Archbishop of Mainz after the death of Freidrich. I will send an escort for you so that you may attend. I await your reply,
Yours in Christ,
Otto, King
I TRAVELED TO Arnstadt, to a fortress near the banks of the Gera River in the Thuringian hills. In the Great Hall, Otto rose to address the crowd. Liudolf and Conrad were absent. I learned Liudolf was under house arrest by Brun, and Conrad was at his estate in Worms.
“For raising arms against the king, Liudolf, Duke of Swabia, and Conrad, Duke of Lotharingia, shall be stripped of their duchies and the lands and entitlements that come with it. The Duchy of Lotharingia is hereby granted to my brother, Brun.”
A spurt of applause faded when Otto raised his hand to continue.
“Freidrich, Archbishop of Mainz, my long-time adversary, died before any action could be taken against him. Therefore, I appoint my son, Wilhelm, as Archbishop of Mainz in his place.” Otto raised a document. “Pope Agapetus II confirmed the appointment. Furthermore, I bestow the title of Arch-Chaplain of the kingdom to him.”
A cheer arose. Those who sat near Wilhelm congratulated him. I, too, stood, applauding. Of all Otto’s children, despite his illegitimate birth, Wilhelm loved and served his father. There could not be a more dutiful son.
The greatest honor Otto reserved for Brun as Archbishop of Cologne. How I longed to see Brun’s reaction when he received news of his appointment. He was absent because Otto had entrusted Liudolf’s custody to him. Brun did not have trouble distinguishing between his religious and political duties. He served both well.
An awkward peace had been restored, but it would not last, of this, I was certain. Dreams of death continued to afflict me. Bereavement would deprive me of someone of my blood. I did not know who would die or when, but my fear grew like a malignancy inside me. No amount of prayer brought me any relief.
Thirty-Seven
A.D. 954
ON A BEAUTIFUL spring morning, dust motes danced on rays of sunlight streaming in through the windows of the Palatine Chapel. I knelt at the altar. Surrounded by mosaic-covered walls, I prayed and wept, for in the night, I had dreamt of death again. This time, I had seen who was to die.
I heard the chapel doors open. I bowed my head lower, running the prayer beads frantically through my fingers, reciting my prayers in a louder voice, trying to ignore the footsteps echoing in the silence. Whoever approached carried the information I dreaded to hear. Unrestricted tears cascaded from my cheeks. Mother of God, please, let it not be so. The footsteps halted behind me. A sob escaped me. Sister Ricburg knelt beside me, her cheeks awash with tears. She placed her arm around my shoulders. Before she could utter a word, I cried out in anguish. “Liutgarde!”
My friend, aware of my cursed dreams, did not react. “Your granddaughter lies in God’s arms. She died in childbirth.” Her hands shook as she handed me a letter.
To my venerable mother, Matilde,
I greet you with sad tidings of Liutgarde. She came to live with me while her husband was waging war against Otto. She was with child. When her time came, her labor was long and arduous. She suffered for two days then, mercifully, she delivered a son. Her joy was immense and she named him Otto in honor of her father. At first, all was well, but childbed fever struck her. She received last rites and commended the infant into my care. In her final moments, she spoke of her love for you, my brothers, and her husband. I remained by her side until she took her last breath. My grief is as profound at yours will be at this sad news.
Hedwiga
“Why doesn’t God take me?” I shouted in a grief-stricken rage. “I have lived my life. Why take one so young? Why God? Why?” I tore the letter into pieces then crumpled onto the floor weeping. I beat the ground with my fists, shrieking with torment. Sister Ricburg grabbed my hands and pulled me to her. With my head on her shoulder, I released my anguish. Her arms tightened around me. Time slowed. The sole sound was of my feral cries, like those of a wounded animal. When my tears abated, and I could cry no more, I rose with Sister Ricburg’s help. My legs trembled, and I feared I would fall. Somehow, I found the strength and made the sign of the cross before the crucifix behind the altar. “Liutgarde, you will always be in my heart. Whenever I hear the wind in the trees and feel the sun on my face, I will remember you and rejoice in the memories of our time spent together. With Hedwiga, I promise to care for your son.”
With our arms linked, Sister Ricburg turned and walked down the nave, out of the church.
September 2
Aachen
ON A VERDANT, tree-lined path, a majestic white stallion canters towards me. Each high-stepping hoof rises with elegant grace then lands on the gentle earth in a rhythmic cadence. Each strand of his magnificent mane dances in the gentle breeze. Upon his back rides a man in silver armor, his face hidden behind a helm’s
visor. Man and beast draw nearer, but I am not afraid. I watch stunned at the beauty of the vision. As they prepare to pass me, the man raises his visor. It is Louis. His face bears a haunted air. I called for him to stop, but he heeds me not and rides past. I turn to see him leave. A log appears in their path. The horse leaps, unbalancing Louis, catapulting him into the air. I scream, but no sound escapes my lips. My legs heavy with fear; I labor to run to them. Horse and rider lie in a ditch. Louis’ head bashed against a rock in a pool of blood. He does not move. Brambles and thorns prevent me from going to him. The horse’s belly lies atop Louis’ legs, the beast’s hooves on either side of his head. The beast whinnies fretfully, struggling to stand. With each movement of its legs, it strikes Louis’ head, pulverizing it into a mass of gray matter and bone.
SISTER RICBURG AND two of my women rushed to my bedside. Though I gasped for breath, I knew I must dress.
Sister Ricburg soothed me with sips of wine and calming words, but worry creased her features. “Who?” Her hoarse whisper trembled.
Oh, how well she knows me. “Louis.”
Her face turned ashen. She crossed herself then embraced me, partly in fear, partly in consolation.
“I must warn him not to ride. It will throw him and he will die.” But I knew any action on my part would be futile. That was the burden of prophecy. That was my curse. The deaths, all the deaths would soon occur and no amount of prayer could stop the surge.
September 22
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 49
