“This was written by one of the combatants.”
“Yes.”
“So is it entirely credible? Men are apt to praise their own actions.”
“Quite right you are. This is what you must decide. Caesar makes his case for crossing the Rubicon. Do you think him justified?”
I stopped to ponder for a moment, then replied, “To break the peace is a hateful thing, as Scripture teaches us.”
“Yet the Lord commanded the Israelites into battle.”
“I suppose you are right. This is like asking if the emperor is justified in his quarrel with the pope.”
“Ah, now we come to it!” He seemed oddly delighted to broach the subject. “Your future husband has gone down to Italy to treat with His Holiness.”
“Why are you not with him, sir? You served as his ambassador to Rome in the past.”
“It is more necessary that I am here,” he answered. “I must see to your training, and in any case, it would not do to leave the sheep behind when the wolves of Saxony are ever on the prowl.”
“Wolves of Saxony?”
“Yes, if there is any rebellion in the Kingdom of Germany, you can be sure that it comes from Saxony.”
“Why should that be so? Does the emperor treat them poorly?”
Bruno reached toward a dish full of apples. Taking one in his hand, he pulled out a knife and began cutting it into pieces as he spoke.
“Ruling an empire as immense as the one over which your betrothed now sits is a delicate balance. One must always be aware of contentions between different factions: the nobles, the bishops, the lower classes, the ministeriales, all the members of the ruling family, the church in Rome. As you can see, there are a lot of them, and I have yet to mention the divisions between houses and regions. There is our present position—the Rhineland—and then Burgundy, Swabia, Lorraine, Lombardy, Bavaria, the lands to the east. Suffice it to say, there is no end to the number of factions.”
“Surely all these that you have mentioned owe their allegiance to the emperor?”
“Would that it were that simple,” he said, handing me a slice of the apple. “Eat this.”
“Thank you,” I answered, gladly accepting the sweet morsel. “Archbishop, you often speak of the men of the church here as if they were even more powerful than the nobles.”
“In a sense they are. Their earthly possessions are substantial. Many emperors have sought to use them as a check against the noble houses, for when an unwed man dies, his property may revert back to the state rather than being handed down in perpetuity. The difficult thing of it is, a man of the Church always seeks to serve two masters: one at home, and one far away in Rome.”
“You fail to mention service to God,” I objected.
“If God may be served, so much the better—quite right you are. However, the facts of life force us into a hard position. The city of man and the city of God are too often at odds, as in the case of investiture. Rome would give the emperor no say in selecting bishops within his own kingdom, even though they receive both land and power within the secular realm.”
“What does the emperor intend to do?”
“He will offer His Holiness a great compromise, wherein the church will retain all its rights of investiture, but it must renounce its imperial grants, from the time of Charles the Great down to the present day.”
“Is the pope likely to agree to that?”
“He has already said that he will, but even the pope must contend with factions of his own. The Gregorians will surely oppose such an agreement, in which case we shall see how powerful Pope Paschal truly is.”
“I suppose it is a noble principle: poverty for the sake of Christ, allowing the Church to see to its own business, and so on. Still, do you think it is likely to work?”
“Only time will tell,” Bruno concluded. “The slightest act might set all our devices to ruin. As Caesar says, ‘Great events often depend on small changes.’ That is written in this very volume. Let us proceed with it.”
I knew that I would rather continue discussing the emperor, but in resignation I replied, “Yes, sir,” and set about the task of translating the next lines, dismayed to see the number of pages that were yet to be addressed. It was to be a long endeavor.
As the year of our Lord 1110 grew old and the sky took on a constant gray, we received two letters on the same day. One came from the South and recounted the exploits of Emperor Henry against the Lombards, along with the progress of his discussions with the Holy See. Accompanied by the royal counselor David, the imperial chancellor, and a native Welshman, the emperor had made substantial progress in his efforts. The Kingdom of Italy was pacified, and his counselors had every reason to think that the coronation would take place early the following year. Over cries of outrage from the Gregorians, His Holiness Paschal II seemed ready to place his seal to the agreement, which would end the great controversy that had plagued both church and empire for decades. As for Adalbert, he had been assigned the archbishopric of Mainz.
“Let us hope that he does not use this new position merely to favor his House of Saarbrücken,” Bruno commented, revealing mistrust for the man who shared with him the emperor’s affections. Indeed, I sensed that he begrudged Adalbert his place as the chief imperial counselor, for that was a position that had once belonged to Bruno.
The second letter was from England, and I assumed that it must be from the queen until I saw the parchment’s great red seal. It was no royal emblem, though perhaps its originator felt he was very near that degree of majesty, for Bishop Roger of Salisbury was its author. I was surprised to receive any communication from him, and thus it roused my interest for whatever revelations might follow. I broke the seal and read the words before me.
To Mathilda, queen of the Romans,
Roger, bishop of Salisbury sends his greetings and best wishes for your good health and welfare. Your esteemed father, King Henry, wished me to inform you of all that has taken place here in England. Rest assured that the king is in good spirits and ever beloved by his subjects. His efforts to improve our own cathedral in Salisbury have created a deep affection in the people here, to the extent that they all look to the king as if he were their own father, so precious do they count the gifts they receive from his royal hand. In everything, the king proves himself to be the true heir of his father and an equal of all the rulers of elder days.
Prince William has also progressed in his studies and is the image of his honorable father. He is ever among the king’s men and benefits greatly from such true companions. In the fullness of time, all of England hopes to see him take up his father’s place with a comparable degree of distinction. May God continue to grant this land such good fortune in its rulers!
Sadly, the same cannot be said for Fulk, Count of Anjou, who has continually goaded the king in word and deed. He now holds the County of Maine by virtue of marriage and is determined to pillage the land of Normandy. Thus your father makes preparations for another journey across the Channel to defend his inheritance. May God grant him victory! Amen.
I would be remiss if I did not also mention the other reason for the king’s restoration, namely the birth of his son, who is called Reginald. Despite the failure of the queen to bring forth more children, the Lord has seen fit to grant these further blessings. Know that it is not from any desire of the flesh that the king behaves in such a manner, but rather to avoid the chaos brought on by an uncertain succession. Fear not, for your brother William, being the only fully legitimate offspring of the king, is in no danger of being deposed, for the bonds of matrimony are the proper breeding ground for future kings. However, in such cases, one can never be too careful.
We rejoice to hear of your coronation and hope this letter finds you in the center of God’s blessing. Grace and peace to you.
“So the king has forced his second in command to reveal this news to me,” I thought. “Pity he did not tell me himself. It might have been more proper. And to think that the bishop should
excuse his master’s indiscretions so! What kind of a man would write such a letter?”
The ladies had gone for the night. I set the letter on the bed and lay down next to it. My mind wandered through several considerations. How long would my father continue to seek out such trifles? Who was mother to this particular child? Would the king choose to recognize this son officially, as he had Robert? What feelings must be coursing through my mother’s heart? How would she recover from such continued evidence of her husband’s lack of devotion?
Another thought entered my mind, namely that my own future husband might be the same. Did he intend to seek comfort outside the bonds of matrimony? Had he perhaps already done so? How many bastard children would I be forced to smile at, and to how many mistresses must I grant hospitality on his account? The questions continued until I found myself growing tired, my mind endeavoring to count and recount the number of trusses holding up the roof overhead.
“This is no good,” I said aloud. “I must not allow myself to be ruled by such thoughts. I ought to rejoice that I have a new brother, though it seems unlikely that I will ever make his acquaintance.”
My father had more than a dozen such bastards, and of those I had only ever seen two. Robert, the eldest, was the only one with whom I had achieved a fraternal bond.
The weeks continued to pass, and at length February arrived. I was nine years old. As it happened, we had not received any word from the emperor for more than a fortnight, but on the fifteenth day before the kalends of February, we finally saw a messenger on horseback approaching from the south. He was received with all haste and brought before the archbishop, with whom I happened to be studying in the Simeonstift. The doors to the chamber opened and the man, still in his riding boots and cloak, entered and performed a great bow.
“Your Excellency, I bring news from Rome,” the messenger said.
“Well, out with it then,” the archbishop replied.
The man stood upright and recited his message from memory. “His Royal Highness Henry, king of the Romans, reached an accord with His Holiness Pope Paschal, the third day before the ides of this month. The king is to renounce all rights of investiture, and the bishops are to return the regalia granted by both the present emperor and his predecessors. My informer declares that when he left the city, all of Rome was preparing for the ceremony in Saint Peter’s Basilica the following morn. Emperor Henry is to be crowned in the presence of all the princes of the Church, and the edict shall be signed and read out for all to hear.”
The messenger thus ended his tale, and Bruno asked, “Is this the entirety of the message?”
“Every word, Your Grace,” he replied.
Bruno stepped toward a nearby chair and sat down, his eyes staring at the floor and his mind apparently deep in thought. The royal messenger continued to stand there, evidently uncertain whether he should say something else or simply take his leave. Closing his eyes, the archbishop took a deep breath. Opening them again, he said, “This is excellent news! Things are unfolding precisely as we had hoped. It will be difficult for the bishops to accept, myself included, for it will require a great many changes, but I believe we can survive on the people’s offerings. The emperor may have the more laborious task ahead, as he will no longer be able to select his own men for service.”
Another pause, then Bruno asked, “What day did you say this agreement was reached?”
“The third before the ides of February, sir.”
“That is four days ago! The best horses in the empire run faster than that.”
“So they do,” the messenger replied, perhaps sensing the danger of this line of questioning, “but I was delayed on account of some poor weather and an injury to one of the horses. Furthermore, I was set upon by thieves not twenty miles hence, and but for some clever thinking, I should not have made it to Trier unscathed.”
“You can certainly find ill fortune in all manner of places,” Bruno replied. “I hope the next man from Rome does not encounter such issues, for I long to hear how the Gregorians will take this news.”
As fate would have it, the archbishop was not forced to wait long, for even as they spoke, the door burst open and another messenger entered without proclamation, taking his stand next to the first.
“Are you from Rome too?” I asked, thoroughly surprised.
“Yes, I come with urgent news on which a great many things depend. Archbishop,” he said, looking earnestly at the older man, “I am sorry for my rough manner in entering your presence so, but I had not a moment to lose.”
“What is it? What has happened?” Bruno asked, his voice betraying his concern as he rose from the chair. “Was the ceremony canceled after all?”
“Not as such. The emperor entered the church of Saint Peter in great pomp. All who looked upon him were amazed. He took his seat upon the royal throne, and the agreement was read out. At first all seemed well, until they reached the point of inevitable conflict. ‘We forbid and prohibit any bishop or abbot, either now or in the future, to hold regalia, that is, towns, duchies, marches, counties, rights of mint or toll, imperial advocacies, rights of low justice, royal manors with their appurtenances, armed followings or imperial castles.’ Well, the assembly did not take too kindly to that. Several of the bishops leaped out of their seats and cried in turn, ‘Heresy! Abomination!’ They refused to accept it. It was a terrible spectacle.”
“Oh dear!” I said, without stopping to check myself. The archbishop was even less restrained, and turned his back to the rest of us, muttering, “Scheiße! Scheiße!”
“I fear that this was not the worst of it,” the messenger added.
This caused Archbishop Bruno to once again become aware of the others in the room. He walked several steps forward, until the two men stood face-to-face.
“What could possibly be worse?” the archbishop asked in a low voice that almost seemed to threaten. When the messenger did not immediately reply, he yelled, “Answer me!”
“Excellency,” he replied, “when the emperor saw that the pope would not go through with the agreement, he returned to his original demand of the full rights of investiture. This was too much for Paschal, who refused to crown him. Then the emperor . . . the emperor . . .”
“Spit it out, man!” Bruno demanded.
“The emperor and his men seized both the pope and the cardinals by force of arms and fled the premises. They broke through the city’s defenses. The emperor himself was wounded in this action, though he sustained no serious damage to his person. Last I knew, they had retreated with their prisoners and camped not far from the city. It is likely that they shall remain there until one side is forced to back down. I rode day and night to bring this news to you, with few stops for rest. I hope you can accept it.”
The archbishop looked as I had never seen him before and never would again. All color had fled from his face. He was utterly astounded and unable to speak. His eyes stared ahead into those of the messenger, his lips quivering. Abandoning all custom, I ran to him and placed my small hand upon his arm.
“Archbishop! My lord Bruno!”
He looked down at me, then back at the other two men standing in the room.
“I must sit down,” he finally said, and both men moved to help him toward the chair. He pushed them away and was seated under his own power, covering his face with his hands.
“This is a calamity,” the first messenger whispered to the second.
“It is worse than calamity,” Bruno said, his voice muffled by his hands. “This is a tragedy worthy of Sophocles. They will say now that he is no different from his father, and his father died an excommunicate. This is a gift to his enemies.”
Another moment passed in silence, then the archbishop looked up and continued. “It would have been better if I were there—then I might have advised him. Perhaps it is still possible for me to do so. You, messenger,” he said, gesturing toward the first man, “I will bid you take a message to the emperor on my behalf. This fellow here needs rest
if his tale is true. Be sure that fortune smiles on you this time, for I can brook no delay.”
“It shall be done, Your Grace,” the messenger replied.
“Leave me now,” Bruno added, looking in turn at all three of us. “I must return to my quarters and provide what written instruction I can. May the saints guide me, for I can think of no precedent for this.”
The messengers left as swiftly as they had come, but I tarried just a moment longer.
“Archbishop?”
“Yes, Lady Mathilda, be quick about it.”
“Do you think that Pope Paschal will excommunicate the emperor?”
“I cannot possibly know that.”
“But if he does . . .”
“My lady, there is a time for questions and a time for silence, and this is the latter,” he responded rather bluntly.
“Forgive me,” I said, and departed from the chamber.
I couldn’t fathom what Bruno might possibly do to improve the situation. The emperor’s actions seemed monstrous. He had committed a deed from which his reputation was likely never to recover. The pope could hardly submit to compulsion, and even if he did, such an agreement could be annulled after his release, as it would have been made under duress. If Bruno was right about the animosity already present within the empire toward their anointed ruler, then all of this would likely strengthen the chance of rebellion.
“My mother was right in her foreboding,” I thought. “This is even worse than she feared from this villainous man. Emperor or not, who is he to raise his hand against the heir of Saint Peter? No, it cannot be borne. It shall not be.”
Throughout the remainder of that day, I held on to the stone of amber and rubbed my fingers over it, wishing more than anything that I could return to that place whence I had come. But not even that stone of help could stem the tide of worry that enveloped me, as I knew that my entire future was in jeopardy and my husband was now likely to be declared anathema.
“Perhaps he will die before me,” I hoped, allowing the anger to consume my soul.
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 20
