The distance between us has never seemed so vast. Alas, I must honor my duties. They prevent me from traveling to Nordhausen to see you at this time. I cannot ignore my brother Otto’s behest to go to Paris and aid Hedwiga’s younger son, Hugh, in governing. Powerful nobles have already seized Chartres and Chateau Dun. I pray you do not worry for me. I shall take every precaution. God will keep me safe in his hands. I will join you in Quedlinburg next Easter. Until then, I send you my love and blessings.
I pray for you too, my son. I rose from my bed to observe the green hills of Nordhausen from the window. The world appeared peaceful, beautiful, and serene, a sharp contrast to the clamor cresting in my soul. Duty was the price extracted for the royal blood running through my children’s veins, a duty that could never be abandoned, even if it meant death. Brun, acting on Otto’s behalf during his absence, bore full responsibility for running the kingdom, to keep the peace, to build and maintain fortifications, to set up markets, to strike coins, to collect taxes and tolls for travel or trade along the Rhein.
Two of the three I had dreamed of had already died. The cold hands of death had yet to take the last. I ran my hand over my breast, reminded of my own demise. Was I to be the third? I prayed for it to be so, for how could I bear to watch another loved one die? The curse of the Holy Lance was taking my family, one by one, forcing me to endure their deaths.
I glanced into the clear blue afternoon sky. A hawk swirled, its majestic wings regal against the clouds. White clouds, supple tufts, floated beneath the glorious sun. My loved ones were in the heavens beyond, those who had passed before me, united once more in death – my beloved Heinrich, my adored son Heinz, Thankmar and Eadgyth, children of my heart, my darling Hedwiga, and grandchildren Liutgarde, Liudolf, and Otto. Too much loss, too much anguish.
In spite of the menacing tumor, the days of summer passed languidly. Each day when I awoke, I wondered whether today would be the day I would learn of the third death. With fading energy, and by rote, I resumed my duties. The world turned from the green of summer to the red and gold of autumn.
I learned of Brun’s death when the first snow fell in mid-November.
He died at Reims before he reached his destination. As he lay ill and dying, he requested they bury him in the church of St. Pantaleon at Cologne, the one he had founded.
For two days, I wept, never to hold him in my arms or kiss his cheek again. My death would come before I could place a hand on his tomb to whisper a prayer. The thought we would reunite in the afterlife consoled me somewhat. My hand roved over the growing mass in my breast. Soon, my son, soon.
Chapter Forty-Four
A.D. 966
THE WINTER MONTHS brought darkness, not only because of the shortened days, but also because of my bereft spirit.
By summer’s end, I received news that in the city of Worms, Otto had made two important announcements.
First, he proclaimed his son, Otto, as king. My grandson was eleven years old.
Secondly, my son appointed his eldest son, Wilhelm, as Archbishop of Mainz and his regent to fill the vacancy left by Brun’s death. Otto and Adelaide then departed for Rome for their third excursion.
Time can be a blessing, and my heart gradually healed. There was much for me to do before I left this world. I wanted to leave a legacy, some small part of myself, of my love.
Love is the symbol of eternity for it defeats time, it eradicates the memory of where it begins, and removes fear of an end. One stage in our lives ends, and another one arises. The truth lay buried in my breast. The skin of my breast had grown thicker, and dimpled, a sign the end was near.
Over the course of a year, I hid my deteriorating health and had travelled for the last time to my homes and fortresses, stopping at convents and monasteries along the way.
To Walhausen, the town given to me by Heinrich as part of my bride price; to Thuringia, my childhood home of joyful memories of my family; to Magdeburg, and places in between. At each stop, people flocked to see me, forming long lines, none of whom departed empty-handed, as I gave away my possessions.
When I had visited the towns in Saxony and provided for the needs of each monastery, my work was finished. I returned to my beloved Nordhausen to be with Abbess Ricburg. It would be my last stop before I returned to Quedlinburg for my final journey.
Chapter Forty-Five
A.D. 967
OVER WINTER’S FLAT and snowy landscape, I rode in a wagon followed by my entourage. Nordhausen finally appeared. Towering above its houses was the new abbey. A rush of excitement filled me at its first glimpse.
As we rode through the town, people stopped to wave and cheer. The monastery gates were open in anticipation of my arrival. The nuns waited behind Abbess Ricburg to greet me. As I spoke with each of the women, inquiring of their well-being, I bore Ricburg’s piercing scrutiny. With the formalities over, she took me to my chamber. The moment she closed the door, she rushed to embrace me, but I raised my hands to stop her, unable to bear the pain the contact would cause.
Confusion razed her features as she stared at me, the clarity in her eyes undiminished by age. Over the years, her crimson and purple birthmark had never faded, though wrinkles stretched across it. Deep lines scoured the rims of both eyes and her cheeks had sharpened with age.
I held myself still as stone as I let her study me, a frown burgeoning on her features.
“You are ill.”
Of all the people in my life, she knew me better than anyone did. One glance and she had discerned the truth. I stripped down to my chemise and lowered it over my shoulders to bare my breasts and reveal my secret to her.
She gasped at the redness and swelling around my inverted, bloodstained nipple. Tears pooled in her eyes.
With my gaze on my altered flesh, I retied my chemise, taking my time to avoid looking at her, at the pain I would see in her face.
A stream of silent tears rained down her cheeks as she placed both her hands on my face and kissed my forehead. “Why did you not tell me?”
“I could not bear to. I wanted to spare you as long as I could.”
She offered me a chair, which I accepted, then pulled another seat close, taking my hand in hers, weeping.
“I do not have long to live. I can remain here for Christmas, but then I must leave while I still have strength. Please help me. I wish to sell everything I own and donate everything. Leave me only with the gown I wear, my scarlet mantle, and two cloths, one of linen and one of silk, to act as my death shrouds. Distribute what remains to the poor, to monasteries and orphanages, to the churches. Then summon my grandson, Wilhelm to Quedlinburg so he can attend me in my final days. I have one last request to make of him.”
Ricburg remained silent, except for her sobs and sighs.
I waited for her to recover.
“You could have given me no worse tidings, but there is still time. The outcome of your illness remains in doubt. Stay here. Sister Alfreda is skilled with healing herbs and we will pray to God to alleviate your disease.”
“I’m dying. You must not hope.”
“You cannot die. What shall I do if you are gone, if you abandon me? I pray no such thing will occur.”
“But it will.”
“Then remain here at Nordhausen.”
“I have already reflected on these matters concerning my death and burial. It would make me happy to have my body entombed here, but Heinrich rests at Quedlinburg and it is my duty to rest beside him.” I paused. “You will come with me to Quedlinburg, to be with me in my final days?”
At this, Ricburg uttered, “You cannot stop me.”
ON THE ELEVENTH day of January, Sister Ricburg and I departed for Quedlinburg. I could have made the journey in one day, but due to the snow and cold, and as frail as I had become, it would take three days to cross the Harz Mountains.
A winter sun warmed the world on the day we arrived. The fortress and abbey loomed over all the other structures. My heart warmed at the sight, my final destination. The realization d
id not trouble me. Rather, I felt lifted, as if relieved of a great burden.
As the wagon I lay in rolled beneath the portcullis, a crowd had gathered in the bailey. Among them was my namesake, my eleven-year-old granddaughter, Mathilda. She rushed to my side the moment the commander of my guards helped me alight.
“Grandmother,” she said as she rose from her curtsey. She paused, a frown on her face. “You have been ill.”
I widened my arms to receive her, careful not to press her head against my breast.
“That is true, but I’m feeling much better today now that I have seen you. You have grown this past year.” I studied her face. “Why, I hardly recognized you!” She reminded me of Adelaide. Her eyes were similar to those of my family—clear and blue as the Rhein in springtime.
“There is much to tell you,” Mathilda said with an air of excited pride. “There have been many changes to the abbey since you have been gone. We are nearly full to capacity.”
“Then you must lead me inside and tell me all.” The journey had taxed me. Exhaustion and discomfort coursed through my body. “But first, I must rest.” I placed my arm around her shoulder and we entered the abbey. I felt on the verge of collapsing, but my spirits were joyful. I could barely contain my excitement, for to my granddaughter, I would soon bestow my greatest gift of all.
I WAS TOO ill to explore the halls and passages of Quedlinburg abbey, to leave my bed. Mathilda rarely left my side. It was through her that I learned of the abbey’s state. She described the many recent endowments made by families of noblewomen who had come to live there and the many acts of charities performed by the sisters. As she spoke, her cheeks glowed. The love she felt for the sisters laced her every word. Wise beyond her years, I could not help but adore this child on the verge of womanhood.
As she chattered away, nestled beside me in bed, the potion I had taken earlier to relieve the pain, made me sleepy. Before long, her gentle voice lulled me to sleep.
Once more, I dreamt…
I stand at the foot of a stone bridge, high and steep. Wilhelm walks toward us, flanked by two bishops. I cannot make out their faces as they lead him onto the bridge. When they reach its center, they leave him there. I ask why they abandoned him. They do not answer as they turn back around, walk away from the bridge, and disappear into the nearby woods.
My attention returns to Wilhelm. On the opposite end of the bridge, a ghostly man clad in white materializes. A bright light surrounds him. He beckons Wilhelm to cross over to him. I warn him not to go, but he does not heed me and walks toward the man in the light. With each step he takes forward, the bridge crumbles behind him, making it impossible for him to turn back. He walks to the other side. Then I can see him no more.
My pillow was wet with tears when I awoke. Beside me, Sister Ricburg slept on a pallet, and I was loath to waken her, numbed by the knowledge Wilhelm was to die before me. The torment in my heart hurt more than the pain in my breast.
THE NEXT DAY, amidst the crowd of people who came and went from my bedchamber, I welcomed Wilhelm. He crossed the room and fell to his knees at my bedside. Clutching my hand in his, he raised it to his forehead, bemoaning my death.
“I am glad God sent you to attend me in my final days.”
“There is nowhere I would rather be.” Anguish racked his voice.
“Do not grieve for me. I have had sufficient time to accept my fate.”
“Your strength and faith have always inspired me.”
“And you have never failed to make me proud. I am glad you came. There is a favor I must ask of you.”
“I will deny you nothing that is within my power.”
I glanced around the room for Mathilda. She stood near the door with Sister Ricburg and two other nuns. At my gesture, she hurried over and came to a stop beside her half-brother.
“There is something I must ask of you both. Wilhelm, please hear my confession and grant me forgiveness. Then go into the chapel and sing a Mass for my sins and failures. During that Mass, I wish you to appoint Mathilda as the abbess of Quedlinburg. This has been our wish since she was an infant, and I would grant it to her while I am still alive. She can take her formal vows at later date, when she is ready.”
Mathilda’s hand rose to her lips in surprise.
Near the doorway, I could see the joy in Sister Ricburg’s face.
“What do you think of my idea, Mathilda?” I asked.
Her hands worried the sides of her over-tunic. “It is what I have dreamed of, Grandmother, but I am afraid. I am too young.”
“I would not ask this of you if I did not believe you capable. Your kindnesses to those less fortunate, your faith in God, your love for your family and the nuns, convince me there can be no other to guide our abbey.” I looked at Wilhelm. “Ecclesiastically, she is to be exempt from the jurisdiction of the bishops, subject to no superior except the Pope.”
“A wise, but controversial decision,” Wilhelm added with an admiring grin. “The bishops of Halberstadt have engaged in disputes with the abbesses of this district. They believe in the subjection of women to men. With Mathilda being young, they are certain to exert pressure.”
“Instruct other clergymen you trust to guide and protect her. As abbess of the emperor’s abbey, Mathilda must have a seat and voice at the Imperial Diet. She must also sit on the Bench of Prelates and Ruling Princes. In this, let no one impede her.”
“As regent during my father’s absence, you have my assurance,” Wilhelm said.
“You must do more. You must write these orders today.” I recognized he might not live long enough to fulfill it. “And you, Mathilda?”
“Oh Grandmother, you have made me happy.”
“Then I shall die at peace. Go and prepare yourself, child. While Wilhelm hears my confession, gather the nuns and bring them to the chapel where Wilhelm will appoint you.”
AFTERWARDS, WILHELM RETURNED to my chamber. He anointed me with holy oil and nourished me with the Eucharist. As I grew weaker, he remained for three days, rarely leaving my side. On the fourth day, the duties of his office beckoned. His face awash with misery, he begged for permission to depart. I granted it to him.
Before he left, I called for Abbess Ricburg.
She lowered her head close to mine.
“I must give him something,” I whispered in my weak voice. “What have I left?”
She shook her head. “What could you possibly still own? Everything has already been given away.”
“Bring me my burial clothes. Wilhelm will need them for his journey.”
From the chest at the foot of my bed, she removed my scarlet mantle, and the linen and silk cloths for my burial. Now they would be his. My scarlet mantle, old, yet cherished. It was all I had left of what Heinrich had given me. I watched as Ricburg handed them to Wilhelm. He received them into his outstretched arms, and prayed a blessing over me.
He turned to whisper something to Abbess Ricburg, but I heard every word. “From here I will travel to Rottleberode. I will leave behind one of my clerics who will bring me news of my grandmother’s death so that I can return for her Requiem Mass.”
It took all my strength, but I raised my head as though he had been speaking to me. “There is no need for your man to remain here. It is better he leaves with you, for you will have greater need of him on your journey.”
He placed a lingering kiss on my forehead. I caressed his face as he made the sign of the cross on my forehead. Then, with shoulders slumped by grief, he turned and left me.
I fell into a profound sleep despite the pain raging like fire through my body.
THREE DAYS LATER, I awoke from a deep slumber. Abbess Ricburg and several other nuns hovered in the corner of my bedchamber whispering to each other, their expressions dire.
“You cannot tell her,” Abbess Ricburg argued.
“What are you whispering about?” I inquired.
Everyone in the room became silent.
“Why are you trying to keep sad news fro
m me? I know Wilhelm is dead.”
The youngest of the nuns gasped and made the sign of the cross.
Abbess Ricburg came to sit beside me. “We have received word that he arrived at Rottleberode safely, but his grief for you was so profound, the apothecary gave him a potion to help him sleep. He never awoke.”
Through my blinding tears, I said, “You must order the church bells rung in his honor.”
May God keep you, my beloved grandson! It will not be long before we are reunited.
MY ILLNESS WORSENED. Short bouts of sleep became my sanctuary. Pain racked my bones and I could no longer keep food down. My skin acquired a yellowish hue. Breathing became a struggle as my lungs filled with fluid. Violent coughs shook me, making the constant ache in my head worse. When lucid, the world around me was shrouded and blurred.
Yet, even at the end of my days, I was to endure one last prophetic dream…
A lit candle rests on my windowsill. Etched and painted on it is a likeness of Gerberga’s face. A sharp wind blows the candle out. A suffocating blackness descends. The candle relights; a small flame at first, and then a soothing wind kindles the flame brighter, stronger. Gerberga’s face appears in the conflagration bearing the slightest of smiles. A white dove flies onto the windowsill. The gentle flap of its wings extinguishes the candle. With its talons, the dove carries the candle into the heavens.
March 14
TIME PASSED IN a blur of dolorous sleep scattered with brief moments of lucidness. I knew the days that remained of my life had diminished into mere hours.
At first light on Holy Saturday, I awoke before the others who kept vigil at my bedside. I roused them from their slumber and bade them to call together the priests and nuns to prepare me for death. A great multitude of people gathered and thronged into the room, overcrowding it. At the door, I heard one of the priests deny entrance to a group of nuns because there were already too many people within. “Please, let no one be denied.”
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