The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1)

by Amy Mantravadi

  “Do you know who was born there?”

  There was no answer, but merely a snort from my companion.

  “Altmann!”

  “What? Yes! Yes! I agree with you.” His eyes strained against the light, and it was clear that he had not taken in my words.

  “You agree with what?” I asked.

  “Why? What did you say?”

  “Do you know who was born in Mantua?”

  “I must admit my ignorance.”

  I was a bit displeased with his lack of interest, but pressed on in spite of it.

  “Virgil! You have heard of the famous poet, have you not? He was born very near here.”

  “Virgil?”

  “Altmann, did you take any sleep at all last night?”

  “Not a bit, my lady,” he replied, perhaps too honestly. His eyes were threatening to close once again.

  “Sleep, then. I can see you are no good for conversation today.”

  “Thank you,” were his final words, as he slipped again into blissful slumber.

  I contented myself the rest of the journey by attempting to remember the words of Virgil. Bruno of Trier had ordered that I make a study of the Aeneid to improve my understanding of Latin. This work of Virgil now seemed rather apt, as the emperor journeyed onward to Rome in the manner of Aeneas, driven on by the same force of purpose.

  Before long the walls of Governolo’s castle rose above us, and the local nobility stood ready for our arrival. I lent my attention once again to my companion.

  “Altmann! Wake up! We are here.”

  “What? Oh, yes, I see.”

  “Did you enjoy your repose?” I asked with a smile.

  “You mistake me, my lady. I was merely in deep meditation. As your spiritual counselor, you could hardly fault me for taking a few moments each day to make my peace with God.”

  “Certainly not, though I suspect the Lord may take offense at your boisterous snoring.”

  Having discerned that there was no purpose in maintaining his pretense, he answered, “What penance would the lady have me perform for this grave misdeed?”

  After considering for a moment, I replied, “Speak well of me before the emperor, if you can. I wish to remain in his good graces.”

  “Have you reason to doubt his regard?”

  “I suppose not, but for all of my observation, I fear that I still know him little.”

  “I will see what I can do,” he concluded.

  Now, Abbot Pontius was still in the imperial company in those days, and though he did not treat with the emperor as often as he must have desired, the mediation continued apace between the opposing camps.

  One evening, I happened to stray into a chamber that was connected to the emperor’s private quarters. I certainly cannot remember the purpose of my visit, but what I heard through the door, which had been left slightly ajar, remains fixed in my memory to the present day. I noted the voices of three men: one was plainly the emperor, another I guessed by his tone to be Abbot Pontius, and the third, mostly silent member of the party seemed to be Philip of Ravenna attempting a reconciliation between the two men. Their speech was a mixture of Latin and a few scattered words in each of their native tongues.

  “I warn you, the Holy Father will not accept any threat against the papal territories,” the abbot said. “He has not forgotten your last infamous visit, and though His Holiness Pascal is a forgiving soul by nature, I think you will find that the memory of your actions fills all Rome with loathing.”

  I did not imagine that Emperor Henry would respond kindly to such a comment, and he offered a rather cutting discourse in reply.

  “If any harm was done to the blessed city, if any freedom of movement denied to His Holiness, and if any harsh measures were taken with the local people, it was due to no fault of our own, but rather the actions of the citizens themselves, who war eternally against one another, family against family and sect against sect. I think you will find that it is your own allies within the alleged reform party who are most at fault for this strife, for though they sing the tune of peace and benediction, their true intent is to subjugate the holy Church in such a manner as they see fit and to gain for themselves the wealth of this life rather than the next. Do you suppose that I have not seen how even the houses of Cluny, which espouse the values of righteous simplicity, have amassed riches beyond that of any order which is now or ever has been? I say, remove first the plank from your own eye!”

  “That is a baleful slander!” the abbot protested. “The pope lends us his esteemed ear because he sees that we are not afraid to defend the truth, even if rulers such as yourself see it as a thing of burden to be lightly thrown aside. If you possessed the smallest part of wisdom, you might mend your ways before you suffer the same fate as your heretic of a father.”

  “Das ist zu viel!” the emperor yelled, apparently abandoning all attempts at civil Latin discourse. “Sie und alle deine Brüder sind diejenigen, die Buße tu müssen!”

  “What in God’s name is he saying?”

  The abbot had apparently directed this question to Philip, for his was the next voice I heard.

  “I think the emperor would prefer that you not speak of his father in such a manner.”

  “Ha!” the abbot replied with some incredulity. “Ce n’est pas le même Henri qui est allé à la guerre contre son père?”

  There was then a period of silence in which I can only guess that one or more of the men whispered to the others, for upon resuming communication they seemed to have moved beyond their former dispute.

  “Excellency,” Abbot Pontius began, “it seems we argue to no purpose. I do not believe that either one of us wishes for open warfare. In fact, I have come upon an errand of peace.”

  “Who speaks of war but yourself? I am merely here to claim what is rightfully mine by law.” The emperor clearly intended to surrender nothing, though I felt his confidence was rather brash under the circumstances.

  “The Countess Mathilda was quite clear in her final days that she wished for her possessions to be transferred to the Church for God’s work,” the abbot replied.

  “And we are equally certain that she promised them to this holy empire, but even if you are correct in the matter of her personal estates, the Grancontessa had no power to bequeath all the cities of the North to whomever she pleased,” my husband continued. “But are you saying that our actions in Tuscany, which are entirely in line with civil and church law, will provoke an armed response? From whom? I was not aware that the men of Cluny waged war with swords; machination is more common among your kind.”

  “God alone knows what must happen by and by,” the abbot replied, choosing to overlook the slight against his order, “but His Holiness bid me make it clear to you that, should you take any hasty actions, he may be forced to enter into an alliance with the Normans of the South, for the protection of his person and the city of Rome.”

  “I disagree with your implication! I am no foul pagan! The heathens of old may have sought to strip bare the churches of Rome, but I come to strengthen the bond between God’s anointed priest and his anointed emperor.”

  “So this is the message you would have me carry back to our mutual father?”

  “You may send him all of our best wishes,” Philip said. “I do believe that the emperor means no harm to the pope, but merely to acquire his inheritance, as he has stated.”

  “Nous verrons,” the abbot concluded. “Nous verrons.”

  There followed the sound of chairs being pushed back from the table, and I moved to depart ere I be seen listening in on their private conversation. I slipped back into the inner passage and quietly returned to my assigned chamber. It appeared that there would be no reconciliation anytime soon.

  Here it seems necessary to inform you of what was happening in Rome, for even as the imperial forces continued to gather strength in the North, Pope Paschal found himself in the midst of a dispute the like of which that city has seen far too often. For though the bisho
p of Rome ruled over the Vatican and Lateran hills, the Romans were loath to see any but their own magistrates placed in charge of the town, and they were suspicious of undue ecclesiastical involvement.

  Thus, when the reigning prefect of the city died, the question of who should succeed him began to consume all involved. Paschal favored a son of the Pierleoni family, which had served him faithfully for many years and raised itself to the pinnacle of Roman nobility from the basest of origins. It was said that their line descended from those Jews who lived within the confines of Trastevere, a fact that their enemies were all too eager to mention. Many believed that it was no business of the pope to select a prefect over Rome, and that the duty fell instead to the city elders. An opposing choice, a nephew of Count Ptolemy of Tusculum, was put forward, and when the pope acted of his own accord to install the Pierleoni son upon Maundy Thursday of that year, the citizens rebelled. A number of the papal attendants were seized in the coming days, and Paschal himself was met by a hail of stones upon his departure from the Lateran church.

  Soon violence seized the entire city, with the pope’s enemies mounting an attack against the towers of the Pierleoni and not even fearing to pillage the city’s churches, nor to attack members of the clergy. It was all too much for Paschal, who fled the city and made for the refuge of the Alban Hills. The pope then attempted to purchase the fealty of Ptolemy of Tusculum with a grant of the lands of Ariccia, but it was to be a short alliance, for when the papal forces recovered a footing in Rome and imprisoned the count’s nephew in a most cruel manner, Ptolemy scorned the false promises with which he had been caught and again entered the fray on the opposition’s side.

  Throughout that summer Rome was in a state of siege, the pope banished from his own see and many of the surrounding regions rebelling against his authority. The emperor was well aware of these circumstances, but he was also keen to bide his time before striking out. I surmised that he must be awaiting greater strength of arms.

  Summer faded into autumn, and still the emperor marched on through the cities of Italy, his cause gaining ground with each new day. The Norman counts seemed in no haste to aid the Holy Father in his struggles, so he relied on the Pierleoni, his truest remaining allies within the city of Rome. Although Paschal had withdrawn his offer of lay investiture from the emperor, such actions seemed hollow in light of the challenge to papal authority upon his very threshold.

  Count Ptolemy of Tusculum wrote to the emperor assuring him of the fidelity of both himself and his house, not failing to mention that the imperial authority could be helpful in bolstering support for the new prefect within the city. Furthermore, he told of others who were willing to declare for the emperor, including the famiglia Colonna, the famiglia Frangipane, and Abbot Berald of Farfa Abbey, the monastery that had aided Emperor Henry during his last visit to Rome. Yet for all this, the emperor did not charge to the south.

  It soon became clear that we were to stay through the winter and well into the following year, for as the end of the year 1116 approached, the mountain paths back to the north were surely becoming too treacherous. Instead we were to travel east to the old city of Ravenna, which sits near the Adriatic coast just a few days’ journey south of Venice. The climate there was rather pleasant considering the time of year, for we had grown accustomed to the colder heights of the mountains. The old palace of King Theodoric had been utterly destroyed long before, and its remaining pieces of value taken with papal blessing by the Emperor Charles the Great to build his royal chapel in Aachen. Once a jewel of the Romans, the Goths, and the Byzantines, Ravenna has in our own time surrendered its high position to the Venetians, though it remains a city of some import. The palace in which we lodged for those few weeks seemed a rather pale imitation of that of the doge, but it had its own charms.

  Now, you may remember that almost two years earlier, on the occasion of the emperor’s stay in Goslar, he had asked me to join him for a walk about the grounds. Despite the tumult of the days that followed, we had on occasion found time for such pursuits, always with a great many attendants following behind. Our conversation was usually limited to odd trees, the state of the weather, and the many imperial hunting tours. Seldom did we stray into matters of state, unless I had lately received a new letter from England, in which case I would report the news and answer any questions that he put to me.

  It happened that the emperor found himself at liberty one day in late December and decided to come to my quarters. I was attempting to help some of the local ladies—for my usual attendants had remained in the North—with a tapestry that was, in truth, well beyond my level of skill. Setting out to craft the figure of a lamb, I willed my hands to perform their actions with vigor, but I let slip my needle and pierced the end of one of my fingers. I tried to conceal my gasp for breath but was dismayed to see that despite the trifling nature of the injury, it seethed with pain and let forth a flow of blood I couldn’t hide.

  “Francesca!” I said, for so the chief maiden was called. “Is there a towel?”

  “Cosa intendi?” she replied in her own tongue.

  Uncertain of how to best explain the situation, and being as I was in need of some haste, I simply held up my hand for her to see the trickle of blood. Having grasped my meaning, she fetched a scrap of linen that had been intended for some work of embroidery and pressed it into my hand.

  “È necessario tenere su questo molto strettamente!” she told me.

  I had little time to consider these strange words, for the door opened and Drogo stepped into the room.

  “What is it, Drogo?” I asked.

  “His Excellency Emperor Henry,” he said, his eyes shifting from my face to the bloody cloth in my hand with a worried look.

  “This is nothing,” I assured him, quickly making my bow along with the rest as the emperor entered.

  Before I could offer a word of welcome or recognition, my husband expressed his own concern regarding my condition.

  “Are you bleeding?”

  “Yes, but it is hardly the first time,” I responded. “I seem to be prone to injuries of this sort.”

  “Let me see,” he said, taking my hand into his own and unwrapping the cloth to reveal the damage. He seemed to study it as one would an odd-looking stone.

  “My lord, there is no need for concern. It will stop bleeding any moment now.”

  “I think you are right,” he replied, once again wrapping the cloth around the wound, “but it seemed best to be certain.”

  He relaxed his grip on my hand and looked me in the eye, making a study of my face even as he had my finger. At length he said, “The church of San Vitale is the finest in this city. Indeed, it is one of the finest anywhere. I have never set foot in it, but I have heard many tales. Would you care to join me there? They will not have Vespers for a few hours, and I have arranged for the place to be emptied so we might enjoy its wonders without all of this . . .”

  Here he motioned broadly to the many people in the room, and I took his meaning.

  “I think I would like that very much.”

  “Very well. Let us walk, then.”

  As we made to leave, Francesca and the other ladies began to follow us, but my husband turned to them and said, “Bleib hier! Das ist . . . hic!”

  Whether or not my attendants could comprehend either the German or Latin instruction, they apparently understood that they were to remain.

  “My lord?” Drogo asked as we turned to leave without him, but the emperor repeated, “I will not require assistance from any of you. Remain here, and we will return within the hour.”

  I placed my hand on my husband’s arm, and we strode down the steps and out to the street. More guards and officials offered their company, but each time the emperor refused. As his men occupied the surrounding region, it was of little consequence, but even so it felt strange to be walking along absque consortio.

  We made the walk to the church in silence, and a kindly old priest stood there to greet us. He bowed and led us
through the main portal and into the outer gallery.

  “Does Your Excellency desire a tour?” the priest asked. “I have made a long study of the church’s history. It was laid down by Bishop Ecclesius in the days of . . .”

  “Thank you, Father, but I was hoping rather to ponder its beauty in silence, which most befits a spirit of worship,” the emperor said.

  “Ah,” he replied, with great sadness in his voice. “Perhaps then you desire a recitation of some mystic work? We have here an excellent young minstrel—Giovanni is his name.”

  “Silence would be the most blessed sound to my ears,” the emperor repeated.

  As the priest continued in his attempts to make the most of the imperial visit, I left the two men to their bartering and entered the center nave, the better to study it all.

  What a sight to behold! I found it at first to be rather small and in no way comparable to the towering monuments of the Salian emperors. Indeed, it could not even match the old cathedral of Winchester in scale, and certainly not the great hall at Westminster. Yet in the dim candlelight I began to see the treasures for which the church of San Vitale is known: a host of rich mosaics covering the walls, columns, and ceilings. The church was built in the Eastern style, with an inner circle surrounded by eight outer walls. A line of columns supported an upper gallery, and on the eastern end stood the magnificent sanctuary to which the eye was naturally drawn.

  The discussion behind me had ceased, and I turned to see the priest, a pair of deacons, and a woman with a basket full of Advent ornaments leaving the church, while the emperor was walking toward me.

  “No need to worry. There are men stationed at all the entrances outside. We are perfectly safe.”

  I then recognized that this was the first time my husband and I had been in a room alone for quite some time; yes, since the day we were wed and he had brought me to my chambers without the usual royal watchers, only to leave me there alone.

  The emperor had apparently noticed my keen observation of the stonework, for he added, “If you would prefer for me to fetch someone who can explain things to you, then I will. For myself, I know little about mosaics. I merely sought to grant you some privacy.”