“Three cardinals visited us and offered to us complete peace, arguing that we should cease to grant investiture by ring and crozier, and testifying that it was a scandal against the Church. We answered them thus: that it was set out as part of our right that we should grant the regalia of the ring and crozier. Yet they say that the Church is shaken and in danger, and they assure us that if the battle over investiture were to cease, the state of the Church would be ‘improved in all things.’
“I beseech you, dear Romans, what peace can there be which is not based on the truth? Can a man be one day a tyrant, and the next a messenger of reconciliation? Even so are they who seek to rule over you, but their time is at an end! Rome for the Romans; that is what we say! In this manner, we shall restore the holy Church. What say you?”
The shouts of the people rose to the heavens. With the last pillars of ancient Rome rising behind them, this was a sight worthy of remembrance, even if those cheers were certain to die out once the emperor departed again for his own lands. Yet even in the midst of that spectacle, I was filled with doubt, and I wondered how this act of defiance would be perceived abroad.
Still, this moment was for the emperor, and he moved to embrace his counselors in turn. As the celebration continued around him, Henry covered his face with his hand as if in a moment of contemplation, the lines on his forehead betraying pain. I was about to move toward him, when it all seemed to pass, and he once again waved to the crowd, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.
XVI
On the anniversary of Christ’s birth, in the year of our Lord 800, Charles the Great, king of the Franks, knelt before the high altar in Saint Peter’s Basilica. There, upon the tomb of the apostle, Pope Leo III placed a magnificent crown on his head and proclaimed him to all as imperator Romanorum. Such an occasion might have swollen the pride of any man, but Einhard declares that Charles bore the title with great humility.
“It was then that he received the titles of emperor and Augustus, to which he at first had such an aversion that he declared that he would not have set foot in the church the day that they were conferred, although it was a great feast day, if he could have foreseen the design of the pope. He bore very patiently with the jealousy which the Roman emperors showed upon his assuming these titles, for they took this step very ill; and by dint of frequent embassies and letters, in which he addressed them as brothers, he made their haughtiness yield to his magnanimity, a quality in which he was unquestionably much their superior.”
Whether Emperor Henry V could bear such laud with the same absence of vanity was yet to be seen. It had been six years since Pope Paschal placed the imperial diadem upon his head, but this action had done little to silence the murmurs of the discontented. The privilegium bestowed by His Holiness had been christened anew as a pravilegium by the sons of Gregory, which is to say a false privilege. Scarcely a man alive believed that the pope had not been coerced, and one by one the grants of Paschal were drawn back by the same hand. The single pledge to which the Holy Father remained true was his promise to refrain from issuing the ban of excommunication.
For this reason it was necessary that my husband should be crowned again in the basilica, as was the custom for kings and queens on such festive occasions. From the time of our arrival in Rome, this ceremony had been at the fore of the emperor’s thoughts. It was not a simple matter of walking to church, for though we resided safely in a villa of the Frangipane family near the Colosseum—the emperor not being so bold as to attempt to possess the Lateran Palace—the land nearer the river remained under the control of the Pierleoni, chief adversaries of the imperial party. In addition to their towers on the bank of the Tiber and a stronghold upon the river isle, the Pierleoni held the main bridge, the Ponte Sant’Angelo. Although the imperial forces were far greater than those of the papal allies, he and his council hoped to avoid any violence. The day was Easter, the feast of the resurrection of our Lord, and thus a time for Christian unity. There would be strife enough without a call to arms, and the emperor had not forgotten how the people of Rome rose up against him after his last visit to Vatican Hill.
We mounted the horses at an early hour, knowing that it would take some time to reach our destination. The emperor and I were positioned at the front as usual. Directly behind us came the Count of Tusculum and his beloved nephew, Prefect Peter, along with Giovanni Frangipane and other members of that household. The intent was to display that the civil governors of Rome were fully in support of the emperor.
Farther behind was Abbot Berald of Farfa, who along with the count was the subject of a papal ban, though he nevertheless held a position of power as head of one of the chief abbeys south of the great mountains. The land and possessions of the monks of Farfa were large indeed, as they controlled much of the territory north of Rome; in addition, their connections with the abbey of Cluny, which one might call domus maxima, ensured their place within Christendom. Also representing the clergy were the bishop of Braga, Philip of Ravenna, Bishop Burchard of Münster, Bishop Gebhard of Trent, and several priests of the imperial household, including my own chaplain, Altmann.
I am proud to report that I had finally acquired some small amount of courage in regard to my riding and was intent on proving my aptitude. Though Drogo offered his services, I bid him depart and declared that I, Empress Mathilda, was to command the reins. Fine words these were, but as I sat ready to depart, I suddenly felt ill and wished to God that I had not been so headstrong. I suppose we are all brave in our own imagination.
“Let us make haste!” Chancellor David declared, and no sooner had the words escaped his lips than the whole train began to move.
Now, the Pierleoni held the space near the Theater of Marcellus as well as the Tiber Island. Farther north, the bridge was also in their hands. Thus they held almost the entire bend of the river, and Giovanni Frangipane recommended that we ford to the north or south. However, the walls of Pope Leo enclosed the Vatican on three sides, and there was some threat that, were we to approach overland from either direction, a siege might be necessary to break down the gates, or perchance it would become a second Thermopylae. If we were to enter by way of the river, there would be no such opportunity for the guard to hold off our superior numbers.
The emperor thus endorsed another path that carried with it some peril, but which was nevertheless our best hope. We would attempt to cut through the middle of the Pierleoni territory, remaining equally distant from the towers to the south and the bridge to the north. This would place us beyond the range of most weapons. In addition, several of the Frangipane spies arranged for the entire route to be lined with adoring residents, as they knew the Pierleoni would be loath to attack such a gathering.
Our travel was pleasant enough as we rode through the city, even once we passed by the Pantheon and into the heart of the Pierleoni realm. Philip of Ravenna rode up next to me and asked if I was pleased with everything.
“Yes, all is as I had hoped,” I replied, though I did not mention my joy that I had thus far stayed on the horse without incident. “I wonder, where are all these Pierleoni men that I have been hearing about? I thought they might appear from every window and door, ready to pursue us.”
“It seems they have decided it would be better not to fight,” Philip said. “They know there is little to be gained from conflict. Long after the emperor is gone, they will remain in their towers, lords over all around them, servants of the pope.” After a moment had passed, he continued, “This ride is not what merits your concern. I am most worried about the river crossing.”
“Why?” I asked, unhappy to hear of this new cause for alarm. “Will they shoot at us from the bridge?”
“No, what I refer to has nothing to do with the Pierleoni. It is merely a legend in this place, dating back to that time when the papal court was something less than what it ought to be. Dark days those were, and there was one descendant of Peter who proved particularly wretched. Formosus was his name; at least, that was his roya
l title. He established his reputation working among the Bulgarians, where he was much beloved. However, once he was made pope, he moved from one tribulation to the next, feuding with the eastern bishops, the king of France, and the Holy Roman emperor. During his papacy, this land was even attacked by the Saracens, God curse them! It was no surprise that he lasted less than five years in that exalted office.”
“Why should this make us afraid of the river?” I asked, growing impatient in my attempt to make out his words over the noise of the crowd.
“Here you will find one of history’s oddest tales. Pope Formosus was not long in the grave before his successor, Stephen VI, revived some old charges against him. You see, the new pope was allied with the House of Spoleto, and they shared a mutual hatred of Formosus’s policies. It was ordered that the former pope must stand before a tribunal, so his corpse was removed from the earth and carried to the Basilica of Saint John, where they propped it upon a mock throne and brought charges against it. They determined that Formosus was never the rightful heir of Saint Peter. The corpse was then stripped of the honors of office, and Pope Stephen severed from the right hand those fingers that had been used to bestow blessings upon the faithful. All the acts of Formosus were declared to be void, and the body was placed into a common grave. However, so mad with vengeance was Pope Stephen that he pronounced one final censure upon his predecessor, ordering the corpse to be exhumed once again and cast into the Tiber.
“Well, by the end of that summer, Stephen himself was thrown out by the people of Rome and put to death, while the reputation of Formosus was restored. For the dishonor imposed on his remains, the bones of Formosus placed upon the river a terrible curse, and you often hear tales of swimmers drowned on a summer’s day, boats run aground, or fishers contracting some fearful disease. I only hope we do not become the latest such victims.”
I had until that point maintained a firm grip on my emotions, but upon hearing this story, I was filled with dread. I was familiar with tales of the supernatural. Indeed, in the years of my childhood there were men who saw blood bubbling up from the earth, were haunted by the cries of the damned at night, and saw the work of the devil in the eyes of a black dog. The Italians, I soon learned, were even more prone to such beliefs. In that moment the words of Philip of Ravenna provoked a frenzy in my soul, and I dearly wished that we could have traveled across the Ponte Sant’Angelo rather than entering the boats.
How I mounted the courage to board that vessel, I cannot say. The emperor must have noticed my lack of ease, for he made a comment in that regard.
“Is all well, Mathilda?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“Your hands are shaking.”
I quickly clasped my palms together and willed them to be still.
“It’s only a little cold, that is all.”
“Here,” he said, placing his own cloak around my shoulders. “I have no need of it. The sun is out and the heat has risen.”
“Even as our Lord,” I replied, wishing to distract myself from the movement of the boat across the water, fearing that we might plunge to the river’s bottom at any moment.
“What do you mean?”
“Even as our Lord has risen . . . because of the day, you see.”
“Ah,” he said, apparently uncertain of why the comment was clever, but attempting to disguise this.
He must have noticed that my hands were still shaking, for he moved closer and held them in one of his own. We sat in that manner until reaching the other side, at which point I was most relieved to step onto solid ground. I suppose Philip’s story was helpful inasmuch as it distracted me from the thought of the Pierleoni archers upon the distant bridge, perched just out of range of my very head.
There was a large contingent of the Roman curia—that is, the papal court—waiting to receive us. Evidently they had been well aware of our coming and had chosen to accept this unwelcome visit for the present. I noticed among that number the three cardinals who had met us on the road earlier: the papal chancellor, the bishop of Ostia, and the bishop of Porto.
One of the ladies saw to the train of my gown, while another tucked any stray hairs under my veil.
“Sorridi!” she said cheerfully.
“What does that mean?” I asked as she walked away. “I still cannot understand a word you say!”
I placed my hand within that of the emperor, and together we strode up the hill. It was a truly glorious day. All throughout the city, bells were ringing in the celebration of our Lord’s resurrection. A large flock of doves scuttled across our path, their musical sounds of “Coo coo!” echoing around us. Off to the right was the Castel Sant’Angelo, resplendent in the morning light.
Then I saw it: the jewel of all Christendom. The only surprise was that it was not the grandest of the churches in Italy, or even of the ones in Rome. In fact, the Basilica of Saint Peter dates from an earlier time. It was Constantine the Great who sought to erect such monuments over the most sacred places of our holy Church, and the apostle’s grave was such a treasure. The building is of the old Roman style, and it has none of the magnificent towers or domes of the German imperial creations. The grand stairs lead up to a rather simple gatehouse, beyond which is the basilica itself. Just through the gate is a pleasant yard surrounded by a cloister, and a fountain in the center brings to mind the words of Christ, “But whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him, shall never more thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water, springing up into everlasting life.”
What a strange Easter morning that must have seemed to all the church’s attendants, for rather than the usual papal Mass, they now struggled to ready themselves for a hastily called council of the imperial and papal parties. Once inside, I was granted a chair next to my husband, but most of those present were forced to stand. The air was filled with the chatter of hundreds of bishops, clerks, monks, knights, and all the rest. The emperor then stood and began to speak, the attention of all turned to his words.
“My lord chancellor, cardinals of our holy Church, bishops from near and far. We have come here today in pursuit of peace, a peace that shall bring stability not only to our empire, but to all of the Christian kingdoms. We are saddened to find that His Holiness Pope Paschal II has departed his see and left you to treat on his behalf, for we believe the pope to be the most honorable of all men and know that, were he here, his heart would yearn for peace as much as that of any man present. But as he is not here, it falls to all of you to come to terms with us and reach a settlement that shall be mutually beneficial.
“I bid you now consider how an accord between the secular and religious orders would appear. The glory of one would be the glory of the other, and the union of the two forces would inspire universal dread! Senates, consuls, and nobles, all good citizens of Rome and of the world, would regard us with satisfaction. Goths, Gauls, Spaniards, Africans, Greeks and Latins, Parthians, Jews, and Arabs would fear or love us. But ah! Other are our actions and other the fruits which we reap if we refrain from doing that which is incumbent upon us.
“Any such agreement must be accompanied by recognition of our divinely granted authority. We wish to be crowned here even as our predecessors were, for it is traditional to do so when the emperor is in Rome. In truth, I ought to be crowned by the father of the Roman Church, the lord pope, and his absence is a misfortune. But now I desire that one of you may do so in the name of peace. If that is your wish, then let it so be done.”
The emperor then sat upon his great chair once again, and all present waited to hear what answer the cardinals would give. At length Giovanni de Gaeta, chancellor to the pope, rose to answer the younger man’s declaration.
“Excellency, we are, of course, honored by your presence,” he began. “Moreover, our hearts are moved by the words which you have spoken of the Holy Father, His Grace Paschal. We are glad to hear of your desire for peace. Indeed, it is the desire of every person here.”
Then his speech to
ok the inevitable turn toward the subject of disagreement.
“You know full well that there is nothing which the Church would not willingly bestow upon such an ardent son, provided it was in our power to give. Yet far be it from us to grant what the Lord has held back, or to take those keys from the hands of the apostles and hand them to Caesar. Did not our Lord say, ‘Give therefore to Caesar the things which are Caesar’s, and give unto God those which are God’s’? Would you then instruct the Lord as if he were a servant to do your bidding? Heaven forbid! May God pardon you for such iniquity!” he finished, making the sign of the cross twice for an added flourish.
At this, many of the bishops let out shouts of assent, while those of the imperial party began hurling abuse and shaking their fists angrily. I turned and saw upon the emperor’s face a look of complete enmity. He started to move forward in his seat, and I could not say whether he would utter some slander or move to strike his adversary. Without taking time to consider, for no such time was provided, I placed my hand firmly upon my husband’s wrist, bidding him remain in his seat. While this did prevent him from mounting an assault, it also drew his anger upon me. With a cry of “Get off me, woman!” he removed his arm from my grasp and stood, his piercing eyes directed upon my defenseless frame. Still, I remembered my mother’s plea for peace.
“You must remain calm! This will help nothing!” I said, my words filled with far more confidence than I truly felt.
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 33
