Two of my men dismounted, as did the messenger. The three exchanged words before approaching me. Petrified, I gripped the reins and braced myself.
The messenger was no more than thirty years with a patch covering his left eye. Gold strands of hair clung to his damp forehead. Dust and grime speckled his grim face as he bowed to me.
I beckoned for him to rise, and when he did, his one good eye would not look directly at me.
“Domina,” he stammered. “I bring news from the king.”
The king; so Otto lived! A fleeting joy at the comprehension he was alive was short-lived, replaced by instant grief as I waited to hear what I already knew.
“The king rode into Italia, seizing back the cities his son Liudolf had usurped from Berengar. The king then received word regarding Liudolf who died by fever while camped with his army at Pombia near Novara.”
At the verification, my tears welled. “Where are they now?” I maintained my composure as best as I could.
“Your grandson’s supporters carried his body to Mainz where, with great sadness, he was buried in the church of the Martyr of Christ, Saint Alban. Distraught, the king went there to mourn his son.
“Did the king say when he would return?”
The messenger shook his head. “He does not know, for the troubles with Berengar are far from over. He wished me to tell you he is returning to Lombardy and the surrounding areas with a powerful army to lay siege to Monte San Leo near the city of Rimini, where Berengar is hiding with his men.”
MORE THAN A year had passed since I had last seen Otto, and I keenly felt his absence, as I did Liudolf’s death. The winter months passed drearily, until the days were no longer short and bleak. Blue skies lingered, keeping the night at bay. When the roads became passable, Sister Ricburg accompanied me to Quedlinburg for Easter while Brun and Wilhelm remained in Aachen as Otto’s regents.
The sun shone brightly as the numerous wagons, carts, servants, and guards of my retinue made plodding progress down the rutted road, still sodden with occasional pools of melting winter snow. A fresh breeze invigorated me. For a while, I rode in silence, immersed in ruminations.
I heard a shriek behind me. The guards stopped, and I turned my horse around. Sister Ricburg had toppled from her palfrey. Several of the guards responded and surrounded her. From where I waited, I could not see beyond then. One guard broke away and rushed towards me.
“The good Sister fainted and is ravaged by fever.”
I watched with fright as they carried her to the back of a cart. I began to dismount, but the guard stopped me. “Domina, you cannot risk becoming ill yourself. Nordhausen is an hour’s ride east from here. We will tend to her there.”
“Then let us hasten to Drübeck Abbey where there is an Infirmary,” I urged, unable to disguise the frantic tone in my voice.
Drübeck Abbey
Nordhausen
“COME AWAY, DOMINA,” Abbess Hilda urged. “You must rest. We have done all we can. Sister Ricburg is in God’s hands now.”
Exhaustion penetrated my muscles. My eyes throbbed from lack of sleep and weeping. I shook my head, unable to turn away from the fevered face of my dearest friend. Moaning and restless in delirium, she lay on the first cot in a row of six. Several windows allowed plenty of light into the room. Numerous shelves with labelled jars and boxes filled with herbs, potions, elixirs, candles, ointments, and remedies lined three walls of the room.
I dampened a cloth and pressed it against her forehead to cool her temperature. I had ignored warnings to stay away lest I too, become afflicted. “Thank you, Abbess, but Sister Ricburg is like kin, always at my side whenever I needed her. I cannot abandon her now that she is in need.”
She frowned and acquiesced. “Then you must permit me to see to your needs too. I shall send in food and broth and prepare a bed for you here, if it pleases you.”
“I am grateful to you.” How familiar I was with this abbey and the friendship therein. Here my children had been born. Here I had recovered from childbirth, and found respite when the burdens of a queen became too heavy. Despite the risk of contagion, I would not leave her side. Do not take her from me, God. There is much work left for us to do. As I prayed, the Abbess quietly departed, leaving me to my petitions.
Sister Ricburg remained in a delirious state. I could not bear to let anyone else raise a spoon of broth to her lips or to wipe her forehead. I alone washed her body, changed her bedding, and soothed her with loving words when she cried out. And it was not enough. I wished I could do more for my beloved friend. Every moment in between, I prayed. I lost track of the days and nights I passed in agony.
The gentle press of a hand on my head awoke me. Disoriented, I opened my eyes. I sat up, remembering where I was. I had fallen asleep in a chair with my head resting on Sister Ricburg’s cot. When I raised my head, I saw she was awake. Through parched lips, she tried to speak.
I reached for the goblet by her bedside, raised her head, and let her sip the water drawn from the abbey’s well.
“Where am I?” she asked in a hoarse, cracked voice.
I could not prevent the grand smile rising on my lips. “We are in Drübeck Abbey in Nordhausen.”
THE RAIN SEEMED never-ending. Some days, the sun would break through, but not for long. The rain would return in downpours or drizzle to keep the world in a state of cold dampness seeping into one’s bones and making it impossible to rid one’s body of the chill.
While Sister Ricburg convalesced, I spent my days reading my Psalter at her bedside, or in the Refectory embroidering with the nuns. Wherever I went within the abbey’s walls, I noticed disrepair. In nearly every room and corridor, buckets were set out to catch the rain from the leaking roof. Water trickled in from cracks in the wall. A smell of mold permeated each space. The worn wooden benches in the chapter house were rotten. Even the chapel did not escape the signs of decay with its warped floor and broken floor tiles. The cloister, once abloom with vibrant flowers and tidy rows of herbs and vegetables, appeared neglected and overgrown.
I also noticed the declining population among the sisters. Once, the chapel’s walls had reverberated with the voices of many women raised in song. Now stark silence reigned. A handful of nuns remained, nearly all elderly. There had been no new entrants for many years. For the first time, I noticed how frail Abbess Hilda had become, her body stooped, her joints swollen and gnarled.
Guilt overwhelmed me. How had I not noticed the deterioration here? Perhaps it was because in recent years, I had no need to visit for more than a day or so, whereas years before I had spent weeks here in preparation for the birth of my children. In the chapel, as I knelt on the furrowed cold slate floor before a niche set next to the altar, I glanced at the statue of the Virgin carved from marble. The crown on her head was crumbling, and she was missing a few fingers. Her sad face and blank stare seemed to chastise me. Over the years, I had restored many religious houses, furnishing them with precious relics and everyday items to make life therein comfortable. I had failed the women of this abbey.
I knew what I must do. Now that I had completed my work at the abbey in Quedlinburg. I would rebuild this one in gratitude for sparing Sister Ricburg’s life, for this wonderful foundation that had served so many yet had seen better days. My mind swarmed with visions of a new structure, thought it would take years to complete, and I feared I might not live long enough to witness its completion.
I made the sign of the cross, rose, and hurried from the chapel and back to my rooms. At my writing table, I dipped my plume in ink and wrote to Otto. I would need his support to complete such a massive undertaking.
WEEKS LATER, I stood on a hill observing Nordhausen. Abbess Hilda and Sister Ricburg, still weak from her illness, were with me. Each of us had surpassed our sixty-fifth year, the abbess nearly a decade older. A cool breeze buffeted our gowns, lifting and lowering our veils, coloring our cheeks. We gazed at the vista as I waited for their response. Unable to wait a moment longer, I asked, “
What do you think?”
“It is a beautiful location,” Sister Ricburg responded.
“I have often thought so too,” the abbess added.
“I am glad you both agree. This is a perfect place to build a new abbey. It is lush with greenery and a view of the Harz Mountains beyond.”
The abbess placed her age-spotted hand on mine and studied me with weary sadness. “This old abbey has been in decline for many years, the need for repairs constant. Our walls once rang with the voices of new postulants, but we have had no new entrants for quite some time. Our population has declined and those of us who remain are in our later years.” She heaved a sigh. “I am of ill health and can no longer cope with the demands of an abbess. The women who remain in my charge are all frail or ill in some way.”
I had known Abbess Hilda for more than twenty years and heard the fatigue in her voice, and saw the weariness in her posture. “If you could be relieved of your burdens, would you welcome it, Reverend Mother?”
“I am not long for this world and yearn for simplicity—to devote my remaining days to prayer and tranquility. I would welcome a younger abbess to assume my duties here.”
I turned to Sister Ricburg, my beloved friend, loyal all these years. “There is no worthier woman to take charge of the abbey than you.”
“Me?”
“You are strong and hale. You could stay behind here as abbess and help me construct the new one. When it is finished, it is here you and I shall retire in our declining years. I have already sent a letter to Otto to gain his support. With his consent, I will gather a congregation of sisters and build a new house, and provide all that is needed for many years to come.”
Sister Ricburg was speechless.
Weeping, Abbess Hilda looked into the Heavens. “In God’s name you have bestowed the world with a great gift. God blesses us with your presence, Domina.”
“It is not I but God who enables us.” Again, I turned to my friend. “And you, Sister Ricburg?” The worry visible on her face concerned me.
“When you built the abbey in Quedlinburg, you worked yourself into a state of exhaustion. You must promise to pace yourself and allow others to help. If you give me your word, then there is no greater gift.”
“You have my word. Sister Ricburg will remain to oversee the work. And you, Abbess, may take your rest while imparting your wisdom to her.”
“And you?” Sister Ricburg probed.
“I shall continue on to Quedlinburg for Easter. Then I will return, and we will commence work.” I turned my face into the glorious wind as I raised my arms. Excitement coursed through my veins as my mind reeled with ideas.
Chapter Forty-One
A.D. 963
I SENT LETTER after letter to Otto who was somewhere in Italia, but never received any response. How I longed to see him, to embrace him as I did in his boyhood, but I knew he was preoccupied. I learned that the pope asked him to intervene and help bring peace to Rome and surrounding states. The time he had already spent there had kept him from leading his own kingdom, but if he wanted to unite Italia, he needed to move deeper south. This would bring him into direct contact with the Byzantines who dominated that region. I knew my son. Now that he had answered the pope’s call for help, he could not rest, nor could his successors, until he fulfilled his dream, until the Latin duchies, principalities, and states fell under his rule. I feared it would be an impossible task. Wavering between hope and fear, tormented by doubt as to whether prosperity or hardship had befallen my son, I offered constant prayers and generous alms to God and the Church for his safety.
The construction work of the new abbey kept me occupied. One day, as I met with the architect and head stonemason in the Great Hall, the table before us scattered with maps and drawings, two guards escorted a messenger to me.
“Domina, I bring word to you from your son, the king.”
I studied the man’s expression, hoping to gather a hint of whether his news would be good or bad, but he held himself dispassionate. I dismissed the architect, who bowed, gathered his papers, and left the chamber with the stonemason in tow.
“Please, tell me,” I urged the messenger as I sat.
“As Pope John XII requested, King Otto captured the rebellious dukes and the former king of Italia, Berengar, along with his wife, Willa, and their sons and daughters. In gratitude for your son’s aid, the pope is to crown him Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.”
The news stunned me. Relief coursed through my veins at this joyous news. Otto was alive! He was to be crowned emperor. Surely now, more than ever, he would support the rebuilding of the abbey. “Did he mention anything else? This abbey’s construction perhaps?” I asked with a growing sense of excitement.
“Nothing other than to assure you that he and the queen are well and send you their blessings,” the man responded.
My hopes sunk like a rock thrown into the Rhein, as my worries rose high as the morning sun. The memory of my endowment at our abbey in Quedlinburg, Otto’s disapproval over my spending, and the subsequent discord it had brought between us was foremost in mind. I prayed history would not repeat itself.
Chapter Forty-Two
A.D. 964
THE ABBEY’S CONSTRUCTION was progressing well. Sweating apprentices pulled carts filled with stone to awaiting masons. Others heaved buckets of water from the river, pouring them into half-barrels to mix the mortar. Sawing and pounding mingled with the hollers and grunts of the workers. It was September. The leaves had turned gold and the harvest was at its peak.
A troop of twelve imperial guards rode to the abbey’s worksite. The guard at the head of the soldiers dismounted and spoke to the architect who pointed to the bench where Sister Ricburg and I sat. The man removed a document from his saddlebag. With a gesture to his men to wait, he strode toward us, and bowed.
“Domina, King Otto wishes for me to tell you he is in Cologne and requested I bring you this.” He held out a parchment.
I accepted the missive and broke the seal.
My lady mother, Matilde, always Queen
Otto, by the grace of God, Emperor
I have returned to the kingdom and am nearby in Cologne with Brun. I beseech you to join us with haste and bring my son and nephew with you so that we may be reunited. May you fare well and receive God’s blessings for a safe journey.
Like a flood of warm water, relief and happiness spread through me.
“Domina,” the messenger added. “The king charged me with escorting you and your retinue. To ensure the journey does not overtax you, we will ride for no more than four hours a day. It should take us eleven or twelve days at the most.”
Once, I could have made the journey in seven days, but now that I was older, my bones would not tolerate a saddle for long. Even the jarring of a wagon over the terrain would strain me. Otto’s consideration pleased me. “How soon can we leave?” My mind reeled with the many arrangements I must make.
“If it pleases you, we can depart in the morning.”
“It pleases me indeed. You and your men may make camp next to the old abbey where you will find hay and water for your horses. A meal will be brought to you.”
“I am grateful to you, Domina.” With a bow, he left us and returned to his men.
“Otto returned safely! We are to reunite!” I said to Sister Ricburg, unleashing the full extent of my joy.
“And acquire his aid for the building of this new abbey,” she reminded me as she rested her hand on my arm.
I placed my free hand over hers. “I hope so. You must supervise the construction in my absence. Most importantly, you must have faith, Sister, as I do.” My words rang with confidence, meant to fortify me as much as Sister Ricburg.
We departed before dawn the next morning. Ten-year-old Otto rode to my left, chattering with excitement about seeing his parents once more, and my beloved Heinrich, the exact image of his late father Heinz, on my right. He was a young man, and at fourteen, had already taken his father’s place as Duke
of Bavaria. The bond I enjoyed with my grandsons was as strong as the attachments I had enjoyed with their fathers.
After several hours of riding, we stopped at an abbey nestled in a quaint valley. The abbess and nuns received us warmly. Before we left the following morning, I prepared to thank the abbess with a casket of coins and a chest of blankets, candles, and other gifts, but she raised her hand and shook her head.
“Thank you, Domina, but the king already made a generous donation to our abbey in your name.”
“I beg you then to take these items and distribute them to the poor in the neighboring villages in my name.”
“May God continue to bless you for your goodness, Domina.”
“And you also.” I turned to leave.
In the highest of spirits, we departed once more. The same scene replayed itself everywhere we found lodging. I recalled the days when my sons had turned against me and seized my wealth, and my humiliation at having nothing to offer the abbeys in return for lodging provided. How far we had come, Otto and I.
On a brilliant, sunny afternoon, my heart pounded with excitement as we rode through the streets of Cologne. Soon the grand cathedral loomed before us. We passed the entrance and rode down an arcade lined with trees, at the end of which rose an old Roman fountain. A crowd had gathered in front of Brun’s square two-storey home next to the cathedral’s south chapel. As we drew closer, I recognized Otto. He stood next to Adelaide, with Brun, Wilhelm, and their teacher, Bishop Balderic, beside them. Both widowed daughters, Gerberga and Hedwiga, were there with their children. I could not have received a greater gift than to see them all together ready to greet me.
As I reined to a stop, Otto stepped forward to help me dismount. He kissed me, and then swept me into his arms, clasping me tight.
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