Puzzled, I frowned. “But he left for Regensburg the day after I departed your abbey.”
He shook his head. “No, Domina, he did not.”
“Then he is still there?”
“All was in readiness for his departure, but his fever rose once more and our healer deemed him too ill to make the journey. He protested, of course, but we convinced him to delay his journey long enough for our healer to reduce his fever. We offered to recall you to his bedside, but he refused our request.”
“I must go to him.” I rose partially from my chair.
“No Domina, you cannot. His fever worsened. We did all we could for him, and he received last rites. Then he lost consciousness. He remained in that state for two days after which he passed peacefully from this world into the next.”
The Psalter dropped from my lap onto the wooden floor with a thud. I burst into tears. I did not hear the man leave, aware only of Sister Ricburg’s arms around my shoulders, consoling me with gentle words.
I spent the entire day weeping, eating nothing. Later, after gathering the nuns of Quedlinburg Abbey in the chapel, I beseeched them to beg the Lord’s mercy for Heinz. On my knees, I poured forth my grief.
December
A PARTIAL SCREAM escaped Adelaide’s parched throat. Sweat drenched her body despite the cold winter wind blowing in from the open shutters and the four braziers heating the room. My hands were numb with cold but the window had to remain open for death. She had been laboring for four days; two midwives, their apprentices, and numerous maidservants in attendance. Liberally applied herbs, tinctures, ointments, and prayers had not helped. Adelaide was beyond exhaustion. She lay in bed, unable to tolerate the birthing chair.
Another pain seized her. Her grip on my hand tightened. She let loose a long, dreadful moan, as if too fatigued to scream. I glanced first at one midwife, and then the other. Both were highly experienced, but their expressions revealed their alarm.
When the agony passed, Adelaide pulled me close. “Please care for Emma,” she whispered in a hoarse, gravelly voice.
“You must be strong, your ordeal is almost over,” I soothed.
Another ache ripped through her body.
“Push, my lady,” one of the midwives urged. One pressed a hand on Adelaide’s belly while the other waited to catch the baby.
When the pain subsided, the midwives whispered to each other. One shook her head. They both glanced helplessly at Adelaide.
Their defeated attitude must be vanquished. “She must live!”
I placed both hands on Adelaide’s belly below those of the midwife. “One more time, Adelaide, when the next pain comes, gather your strength and we will aid you.”
While we waited, I prayed. Long moments passed. Adelaide muttered indiscernibly. Then beneath my palms, I felt her muscles tightening. I held my hands taut and prayed more fervently. Adelaide’s face turned red with exertion. The first midwife pushed downwards from the top of Adelaide’s oiled belly while the other reached inside her the womb. Adelaide tried to scream, but her voice perished. All she could emit was a beastlike, guttural cry.
I raised my voice in prayer. It encouraged both midwives.
“I have both legs!” the midwife at the foot of the bed exclaimed while the other one pushed harder on the protruding abdomen.
Her face in a grimace, the midwife pulled hard. There came a sucking noise, and then mercifully, into the world, arrived the infant, feet first. It was a girl.
The midwife placed my new granddaughter on a soft woolen cloth. I held my breath, for there was only silence. I prayed fervently until the infant screeched her first wail. Rarely had I heard a more joyful sound.
Adelaide heard it too. Her exhaustion was great, but she managed to lift her head.
“You have a perfect, beautiful girl,” I assured her.
She offered me a weak smile before succumbing to exhaustion.
Later, after the midwives swept away the soiled linens and closed the shutters, after they had washed and dressed Adelaide, after they had been richly paid and thanked, and the room was warm once more, I contemplated my granddaughter lying in her mother’s arms. With my fingertips, I touched the babe’s head.
Adelaide transferred the baby into my arms. “I shall name her Mathilda in your honor and will give her to the Church.”
A love so instantaneous, so profound came to life. I vowed to guide this granddaughter much as my grandmother had done for me.
ON A DAY blazing with sunlight, Adelaide and I gazed down from the palace ramparts at the crowds of people who had gathered to witness Otto’s triumphant return to Aachen. A great cheer arose as his entourage rounded a corner and came into view. I leaned over the wall and craned my neck to catch a first glimpse of my son. Adelaide gripped my hand, and I squeezed it in a silent show of unity.
Two standard-bearers led the way. Dressed in silver armor, and flanked by his personal guards, Otto rode a large black horse caparisoned in scarlet and silver. Its coat gleamed beneath the sun’s rays. Behind Otto rode a long line of noblemen and troops.
As the entourage drew closer, we hurried down the stone stairway into the bailey. Arm in arm with Adelaide, we watched him pass beneath the portcullis. The moment he saw us, a roguish grin appeared on his ruddy features. Two stable lads rushed to take hold of the stallion. With agility, he leaped off his mount to greet us.
Adelaide embraced him amid tears of happiness. Before he could hug me, and with a mother’s anxious scrutiny, my gaze scoured him from head to toe. He appeared uninjured, but thinner. His blue eyes shone like the Rhein on a summer’s day and the sun and wind had colored his face with a hearty glow.
That night, the Great Hall blazed with the flames from numerous torches and candles. Two hundred or more guests filled the room wearing their finest garments. We feasted on rich broths and vegetables including scallions, turnips, and carrots. Servants carried trenchers of bread from the kitchen in a never-ending stream. Great platters of venison, goose, and capon were set on the tables. Wine made from the grapes cultivated along the shores of the Rhein filled our cups. Colorful fruits and rich honey-cakes were in abundance. Musicians and dancers, jesters and bards, acrobats and tricks entertained the company into the night.
I slipped away early, unnoticed, and moved silently through the halls to the Palatine Chapel. Amid the silence, surrounded by frescos, mosaics and marble, I prayed before the elaborate altar, giving thanks for my son’s return.
Deep in supplication, I did not hear anyone approaching until I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I turned around.
Otto stood quietly, his face lax with understanding, his features afire with love against the candlelight. “I knew I would find you here.” He knelt beside me.
“You understand me too well. I came to give thanks for your safe return. And you?”
“I too came to pray, but also to honor a promise.”
I gave him a puzzled look.
“I made a promise to God that if he would grant me victory, I would establish an abbey in Magdeburg in Eadgyth’s memory, near her grave.”
A rush of joy surged through me, but before I could say anything, he raised my hand to his lips. “And with God’s blessing, my daughter Mathilda shall one day be its abbess, with Adelaide’s blessing, of course.”
A feeling of abiding comfort enveloped me as we knelt before the grand altar. The silence of the beautiful chapel surrounded us, as we prayed, side by side.
God had indeed blessed us, for thereafter we enjoyed a long period of peace. No longer did Magyars threaten the people of our kingdom. No longer did rebellion lie in wait. For once, Otto could devote his attention to his duties as king and husband and father, and I could return wholeheartedly to my loved ones and charities.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A.D. 956
Quedlinburg
WE GATHERED IN Quedlinburg for Easter. I sat with Adelaide at the banquet table. My grandchildren frolicked, absorbed in their games. Heinz’s son, Hein
rich, of whom I was particularly fond, approached and gazed at me. He crawled onto my lap for a kiss. I clutched him to me, so much like his father. My grief over Heinz’s death resurfaced undiminished. I embraced my fatherless grandson, cherishing him, grateful to have him in my life. Happy, he slid down and ran off to join his cousins.
I turned to Adelaide, who was smiling. “Young Heinrich reminds me of my son at that age, carefree and innocent. His father’s life was rarely a happy one. Heinz spent his entire adult life beset by difficulties.”
“He is a darling child.” A smile rose on her lips as she glanced at her daughter, Emma, the child by her first husband, Lotario. “Perhaps one day we might betroth him to my daughter, Emma.”
I held my silence as I pondered. My son’s real name was Heinrich, but we had called him Heinz to distinguish him from his father. Now my grandson bore the same name. From deep inside my soul came the belief that the name was cursed. I sighed sadly. “Far be it from me you should suffer any unhappiness on account of us. It would be better if your daughter weds a luckier man. Once, the name held great esteem. Now I believe ill fortune will befall any successors who bear the name.”
June 16
A HUGE STORM rages. Hugh stands near a large tree, heedless of the tempest swirling around him. His black mantle billows, falling and lifting and snapping in the blustery weather. The crash of splintering wood pierces the air. The potent airstream uproots the tree, which is about to crash on him. The tree is so large that Hugh cannot move away in time. I call him, but the wind smothers my words. He stands oblivious to the world around him. The tree topples. Then there is nothing. The world is deathly still.
I WOKE WITH my heart racing. Without slippers or robe, I hurried to my writing table to pen a letter to Hedwiga. It was brief, enough to tell her about my dream and to urge her to remind her husband to be cautious. After I placed my seal on it, I awoke Sister Ricburg who slept in my room’s antechamber.
She rose groggily, but faltered when she noticed my distress. She made the sign of the cross. “Who?”
I placed the letter in her trembling hand. “Hugh. Have a messenger carry this to Hedwiga without delay.”
Later, after morning prayers, I revealed my vision to her. Hope it would prove false arose between us. Hope gave me strength. Without it, all would be lost.
The days had passed slowly. I shared my secret with no one else. After almost a month, a messenger arrived. Two guards escorted him to me as I walked alone along the corridor that led from the Palatine Chapel to the Great Hall.
The messenger bowed. He was a pleasant looking young man with auburn hair and large hazel eyes set in a fetching face. “Domina, I bring an urgent message from the Duchess Hedwiga.” He placed a letter bearing her seal into my hands.
My body tensed. I could not bear to open it in front of him, for I knew the contents. “Does she require a response?”
The messenger shook his head. “Nay, Domina.”
I dropped a coin into his hand and thanked him. Limbs trembling, I sat on a nearby bench along the wall, and broke the seal. In my daughter’s hand, I learned Hugh died on the day I had dreamed of him. My warning had arrived too late.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A.D. 957
Aachen
THE CHURCH IS dark save for the bright light of hundreds of candles at the altar. A woman stands weeping in the apse before a shroud-covered bier. Her back is to me, but her chestnut hair flows down her back to below her waist. She wears a sinuous gown of pure white that trails on the stone steps behind her.
I make my way up the nave towards her. With every step, my fear becomes stronger, yet I continue, compelled to learn more about the woman and for whom she weeps. When I am by her side, she turns to face me.
It is Eadgyth, her tears glistening like diamonds on a face more beautiful and tranquil than I remembered in life. She turns her glance away from me to the form lying beneath a shroud. She rests one hand on the body.
“I have come to take him home. He belongs to me now.”
My body turns to stone and panic grips me. Who is he? With a trembling hand, I lift the shroud.
TERROR FORCED ME awake. Who lay beneath the shroud in my dream? Who had Eadgyth come to take? Her husband or her son?
I buried myself deep into my bed covers, my despair rendering me unable to move. I prayed to God that he might take my life instead and release me from the bonds and fetters of the dreams that had cursed me, of the ill luck brought by the Holy Lance, and all the deaths of those I loved, those past and those still to come.
TWO NIGHTS LATER, as I prepared to retire to bed, a servant summoned me to Otto’s chambers. I found him pacing the length of the room. Adelaide, her face anxious, observed her husband from a chair near the hearth.
I tensed. “What is it?”
“Liudolf,” Otto stated, his brow creased with agitation. “He gathered an army and is marching to invade Italia.”
The news astonished me. Memories of my most recent dream flooded back. Could the person beneath the shroud be Liudolf or Otto? Alarm ripped through. “But you and Liudolf reconciled. What has changed?” To punish Liudolf for his rebellion against Otto’s marriage to Adelaide, Otto had deprived him of his duchy. Yet after the battle at Lechfeld, they had come together, and everything had seemed cordial ever since.
“That’s what I believed, but I was wrong.” Otto kicked over a chair. “My son turns against me again.”
In the wake of his anger, Adelaide rose to place a calming hand on his shoulder. “It will do you no good to be angry.”
“I agree. Still, I do not understand what caused Liudolf to do such a foolish thing.”
“Perhaps it is because Berengar is eager to achieve his ambition—to break free of me and our kingdom, retake the Lombardian crown, and conquer Rome.” Adelaide’s expression turned cold with abhorrence at all she had suffered at his hands. “Berengar is pure evil and cannot be trusted. When he pledged his fealty to you, husband, I knew it was false.”
Otto kissed her hand. “It is obvious Liudolf sees an opportunity to defeat Berengar and claim the territory for himself.”
“And so you will soon leave to stop Liudolf and Berengar, I said.” Flesh and blood would battle each other once more, but this time, only one would survive. The awareness shook me to the core of my soul. Panic settled into my flesh as I struggled to breathe. The world spun around me. I clutched a nearby table to steady myself.
Adelaide and Otto helped me to a nearby chair then exchanged worried glances.
“Guards!” Otto bellowed. “Fetch a healer!”
I shook my head. “No, I do not need a healer. I know why I feel ill.”
Otto signaled for the two guards to leave the room. He knelt in front of me and took both of my hands in his. “What is it?”
The explanation lay trapped in my throat.
Adelaide poured wine into a silver goblet and handed it to me. “Drink a little.”
The cool liquid relieved my dry throat and streamed into my belly with soothing warmth. Within moments, I had recovered.
“If you are not feeling ill, then what ails you?” Otto asked.
“Do not be angry with Liudolf.” My mind raced to seek a way to tell him of my dream. “Keep your heart open to him. Seek him, but do not let resentment rule your senses. Protect each other.” The words spilled from my lips unabated. I gripped Otto’s hand. “You must promise me this!”
Otto stiffened. His mouth fell open in alarm. “What did you dream?”
I closed my eyes briefly in defeat. My gazed shifted from Otto to Adelaide and back again. I must forewarn Otto. “Either you or Liudolf will die. You must reconcile before that happens.” They listened without interruption as I described my horrific dream.
Adelaide’s face paled and she fell into a chair by the hearth.
Otto strode to the window and looked out into the quiet bailey and the still winter night.
For a long time, silence hovered as we retreated
into our thoughts to process what this death would mean to us all.
I was first to break the tense tranquility. “I must go with you.”
Otto spun around, his face a tapestry of emotion. “I will need Adelaide by my side, so you must remain in Aachen. I entrust Otto and the kingdom into your care. Wilhelm and Brun will aid you.” His demeanor and tone subsided. “I will not allow a dream to guide what I must do as king.”
It tore me apart to see his fear as he left Adelaide and me alone to console each other.
Chapter Forty
A.D. 961
IN EARLY SPRING, after gathering a massive army, Otto departed for Rome, taking Adelaide with him. For months, I heard nothing. To calm my worries, in Otto and Liudolf’s names, I offered alms to the poor, repaired churches, and donated what I could to monastic houses. Mostly, I prayed. Numb with anxiety, I made the effort to maintain my daily duties. I did my best to be strong, to keep my dream secret. I even tried to deny it, though in my heart I prepared for the worst.
Spring passed, as did summer. The first days of autumn brought color to my life and renewed my hope that Otto and Liudolf would survive. I sent many letters to them both, but neither responded. I chose to believe that no news meant all was well, that my dream had been a false one. Time had a way of washing away a dream’s intensity. How easy it was to fall into buoyant contemplations rather than face dark realities.
On a day brilliant with sunshine and warmth, a messenger met me as I returned to Aachen from a church in the nearby town of Laurenberg. On a tree-lined path, with trees shimmering with leaves of crimson and gold, I reined my horse to a stop.
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