An irritating pang of jealousy surged through her as the imperial crown was placed on the nine-year-old Matilda’s head. She had no aspirations of grandeur, but the child wearing an elaborate crown that slipped down around her ears had decided her fate. She sensed growing resentment among fellow ladies-in-waiting. “I’m not allowed to marry because I’m in her service. Her Highness thinks of no one but herself,” she whispered to the widowed Lady Dorothea Le Roux. “I’ll die a spinster. My younger sister will probably be wed before I’m released from this obligation.”
She didn’t begrudge Ragna happiness, but her sibling always wanted to be first in all things. She felt isolated in this foreign land, especially after Count Dieter left Heinrich’s entourage shortly before the departure from Utrecht. He’d gone without a word of farewell, though she had to admit there’d been little opportunity for conversation between them. She would never see him again, but it would be a long time before she would forget him. She sensed he was trustworthy, despite the fact he served a reputed despot. Heinrich had raged loud and long upon learning of the departure of Duke Lothair and the nobles in his retinue. She wondered at the reason behind these puzzling events.
Now, there was no one she could trust. Sharing confidences with other ladies-in-waiting was tempting, but could be dangerous. While Matilda's entourage communicated in Norman French, Heinrich’s courtiers spoke German, a harsh sounding language she had never had any reason to learn.
Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam had raised her to be tolerant. Her father’s harrowing experiences in the First Crusade had brought home to him that intolerance leads to needless bloodshed. Her mother often told the story of almost losing her husband because of hatred of exiled Saxons who had helped Scottish raiders slaughter her family.
The FitzRams had come to terms with their prejudices and hatreds and passed their belief in the power of love and understanding on to their children. Blythe was torn between wanting to accept the foreigners in whose midst she found herself, and disdain for their alien tongue and temperament.
She leaned close to Lady Dorothea’s ear. “I suppose we must call her Empress Matilda now.”
Lady Dorothea gave her a conspiratorial grin as she put a finger to her lips.
Blythe shifted her weight and recommenced her perusal of the historic surroundings, but her mind dwelt on her discontent. Her parents were intensely loyal to each other. She longed for such a relationship, but had discovered during her time in Westminster most men were only interested in one thing from ladies-in-waiting. The Germans were no different. She had been obliged to keep plaiting her hair in crown braids. Male courtiers weren’t interested in plain girls and the tight braids made her look positively menacing.
She tightened her mouth into an unattractive pout and creased her brow, transforming her face into an ugly scowl. She resolved this would be the fraulein face she’d present to the ogling Germans, though she mused they were used to seeing the same expression on the faces of many of their fellow countrywomen.
A strident fanfare jolted her back to reality.
The end must be in sight.
Her long legs were stiff from standing and kneeling—up and down, up and down. She stifled a yawn, concealing it with her kerchief. “What an ordeal! Matilda will need a nap,” she whispered to Dorothea. A cold shiver crept down her spine. She had tried unsuccessfully to find love in her heart for her mistress. Matilda had been insufferable when she was a mere princess.
The rehearsals for this grand rite had been lengthy and tedious. Blythe fell into her assigned place in the winding procession out of the cathedral, squaring her shoulders to face whatever lay ahead.
As predicted, Empress Matilda fell asleep upon regaining the imperial chambers and before the banquet. Blythe was kept busy helping with the disrobing, preparing the bath and redressing her mistress when she woke.
Heinrich had decided Matilda and her ladies would be sent to Trier before the wedding where they would receive instruction in the German language and culture from Bruno, Archbishop of Trier. Blythe welcomed the idea. Life would become easier if she could speak the language.
However, a worry nagged. Would anyone take on responsibility for explaining to the little girl what would be expected on her wedding night. Had Matilda's mother prepared her? Would Heinrich expect his conjugal rights from a child? From what she’d seen so far, he wasn’t a gentle and considerate man. Blythe’s mother had told her daughters of the exhilarating passion of the marriage bed when a man and woman loved each other.
“Not that I’ll ever need the knowledge,” she lamented bitterly.
* * *
Emperor Heinrich’s mind wasn’t on his future bride. He was preoccupied with a revolt within the borders of his far-flung empire. Rebellion was in the air in the ancient town of Köln, stoked by allies from the Saxon nobility—the treacherous Lothair in particular.
He met with his advisors. “Is our army assembled to march against the upstarts in Köln?”
The commander of his forces bowed. “Yes, sire, mostly Alemannians and Bavarians. It’s a large, well-equipped army.”
Heinrich toyed with the point of his beard. “Gut! I will reduce Köln to shame and insignificance. Her inhabitants arrogantly think they are one of the great towns of the empire. Be ready to march on the morrow.”
“But sire, will you not join your betrothed in Mainz?”
Heinrich snorted. “She’s nine! What am I supposed to do with her? I’ll come back when she’s grown up a little.”
The assembled noblemen snickered with sympathetic laughter.
Blissful Ignorance
The warm English clothing served Blythe well during the first winter in Trier, but she sweltered now summer was upon them again. She felt dowdy in gowns showing signs of prolonged wear. Empress Matilda whined constantly about the weather and Heinrich’s failure to visit, though to Blythe’s mind she did not seem concerned for his safety, given he was engaged in a military offensive.
Lady Dorothea had thrice nervously mentioned to their mistress the shabby state of all the English ladies’ gowns. Anthea had swooned more than once in the heat, but no solution had been provided so far. The elderly woman was reluctant to bring up the subject yet again.
Despite the discomfort, Blythe enjoyed learning to speak German. Her tutor praised her progress, though not within Matilda’s hearing. The empress struggled with the language, and seemed completely indifferent to lessons about the culture and history of the empire. Blythe found it fascinating that Trier was the oldest town in Germany, but acknowledged she hadn’t been interested in such things as a child.
Her tightly braided hair was a crown of thorns that grew more painful when she was obliged to listen to Matilda’s regurgitation of glowing accounts of Heinrich’s military campaign.
The royal child sat, dwarfed by her massive throne, boasting of her future husband’s prowess. Though her imperial robes touched the mosaic floor, the occasional bulge in the heavy fabric indicated the tiny empress was swinging her feet. She paused, making sure everyone was paying attention. “His Highness marched with his army to Tuitium, a fortified town on the opposite side of the Rhine to Köln established by the Roman Emperor Constantine eight hundred years ago.”
Eyes rolled as her Norman French was translated and passed on in hushed voices by those in attendance who spoke the language. Seemingly oblivious to the lack of respect, Matilda prattled on, like a dutiful scholar repeating her lessons. “A bridge connects Tuitium to Köln. His Highness planned to capture the town and from there lay siege to Köln. Tuitium is an important centre of learning and its abbey home to several noted theologians.”
Mouths fell open; jaws clenched.
Saints preserve and rescue me from this pompous child.
Blythe had already learned about Heinrich’s capture of Tuitium from an elderly English-speaking courtier. It was common knowledge. Apparently, Matilda was the last to be told anything.
Oblivious to the uncomfortable shuffling
and fan fluttering going on around her, Matilda carried on. “Once he captured the town, he stationed a garrison there and was able to cut Köln off from all river trade and transportation.”
She smiled and looked smugly down her nose at the assembled courtiers. “That should teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget.”
Gloating over her future husband’s military success, she was seemingly unaware of subsequent events. Blythe had no intention of being the one to tell her, and the nervous glances of her fellow ladies-in-waiting told her they would keep silent.
Everyone listening, including Blythe, was aware Köln had mustered a sizable army of young men who had crossed the Rhine accompanied by a contingent of expert bowmen. They had anticipated the emperor’s attack. It was rumored, and quickly substantiated, that Heinrich had met with his advisors and decided to draw out the battle until evening, confidently predicting the withdrawal of exhausted enemy troops.
There were a few indecisive skirmishes before a sudden onslaught of arrows came showering in from the Köln side. A large number of Heinrich’s men fell dead or wounded. Because of the sweltering heat they had removed their armor of horn.
Let someone else tell the child empress that news.
Heinrich decided to yield the field and retreat behind the improvised military camp he had set up. The next day he re-directed his army against Bonn and Julich, two fortified places belonging to Köln, plundering and burning everything in sight.
On his return to the camp, heavy fighting ensued, and Heinrich was apparently gaining the upper hand, having captured several noteworthy prisoners. However, the Saxon Count Frederick of Westphalia entered the fray with heavy reinforcements. Heinrich was forced to give way and barely escaped the pursuing host. He was reportedly exhausted.
“Taking Köln is proving to be more difficult than anticipated,” the English speaking courtier whispered to all Matilda’s ladies-in-waiting. His wink led Blythe to believe he had no love for Heinrich, and she hoped someone forewarned the empress of these events before her humiliated betrothed returned.
The Plot
Dieter had lived in Köln for almost a year, working with a cadre of young noblemen supported by journeymen and apprentices. He’d even purchased a substantial house in an effort to convince his co-conspirators of his commitment. The news from Lothair was discouraging. Defeated by Heinrich’s army, the duke had been sentenced to death, then reprieved and pardoned after swearing allegiance to the emperor.
But Dieter’s faith in him never wavered and he urged the continuation of the resistance when Lothair’s sincerity was questioned.
Now, at long last, the rebels had gathered in the library of Dieter’s home to discuss final details of a plot he’d suggested weeks before to break Heinrich’s blockade of the Rhine. Without access to the mighty river, the town’s prosperity was collapsing. Thirsting for freedom from the empire, incensed by the destruction of Bonn and Julich, and resentful of the Anglo-Norman child who had been crowned empress, they finally accepted Dieter’s proposal. They planned to kidnap Matilda and ransom her in exchange for their town’s freedom. They would make their way to the smaller court of Trier, overpower Matilda’s guards and spirit her away.
The tension in the library thrummed in Dieter’s veins. As the men chosen for the task prepared to leave on their mission, a prominent nobleman approached him. “Can we trust Lothair to back us?”
Dieter owed allegiance to his duke, but he had to be evasive. There was much he could not reveal to Magnus Braunschweig about his overlord without risking Lothair’s life. “He’s been fortunate in expanding his own lands through inheritance.”
Magnus eyed him suspiciously. “I know you are his man, Dieter. It was he who made you Graf when he extended his authority into the north and west. But isn’t he in the emperor’s pocket now?”
Lothair had effectively transformed himself into the head of a Saxon nation, but Dieter knew his plan was to be perceived as a supporter of Heinrich—the prodigal who had seen the error of his ways. He was, in fact, incensed by further heavy taxes imposed by the emperor. Dieter was ambitious and saw great benefit in being of service to his duke. It was one of the reasons he had bowed to Lothair’s request to leave his home in Saxony and come to Köln. The clandestine nature of his activities on the duke’s behalf appealed to his darker side. It had been relatively easy to scheme his way into a position of trust among the disaffected citizens.
The decision to leave Wolfenberg had been difficult. His home was filled with bitter memories of a loveless marriage. But his son was there, in the care of his grandfather, Marius. Johann was the one good thing to come from the terrifying years of his wife’s erratic behavior. Madness had eventually driven her to take her own life. Now, his son was motherless, but that was preferable to the future he would have had at Fredericka’s hands.
Johann was a bright, happy boy who exhibited no outward signs of his demented mother’s lunacy, though Fredericka had seemed sane when she and Dieter were betrothed as children. If he were to marry again, he’d choose someone like Blythe FitzRam. He scarcely knew her, yet she haunted his dreams and was never far from his thoughts. It was foolish to hope he might catch a glimpse of her in Trier.
It came to him as he wrestled with his memories that several of the conspirators had drawn close, anxious to hear his reply to Magnus’ question. It was imperative he get his mind back on the business at hand. He must consider his words carefully. “We owe the duke our fealty and I trust his judgement. In any case, this endeavor is our plot, not the duke’s. It falls to us to free Köln from the blockade.”
A few nodded, others mumbled; Magnus remained silent. However, most seemed satisfied and anxious to embark on the mission. He breathed more easily. The sooner Köln was freed from the emperor’s domination, the sooner he could return to Wolfenberg.
He and a score of handpicked men left the city under cover of darkness. Clad in the black tunic, hauberk, leggings and boots he typically favored, he had left off the long white cloak he often fastened to his shoulders. It would draw too much attention and hamper his movements. The scabbard and hilt of his sword were black. His jet-black hair and swarthy complexion would aid his invisibility in the dark.
They completed the two-day ride to Trier and passed through the enormous Porta Nigra gates at dusk without challenge, much to their surprised relief. “Heinrich is so preoccupied with Köln he leaves his future bride unprotected,” Dieter observed to Magnus.
“He thinks she is safely tucked away in this ancient place,” Magnus observed, looking up at the monastery church of Saint Simeon built atop the gate. “Hard to fathom the sandstone blocks are held together with just iron pegs.”
“Ja,” Dieter agreed. “To take Matilda in the monastery will be nigh on impossible. Spies tell us she attends morning mass in the nearby cathedral. Our best chance is to seize her then.”
After attending morning mass, they spent two days in the town meeting with merchants on the pretext of investigating future trade. Despite his best intentions to concentrate on the mission, Dieter hoped to see Blythe among the throng surrounding Matilda as she entered the private chapel. However, the empress was accompanied by an elderly woman and the two younger ladies he remembered from Utrecht. Deeply disappointed, he assumed Blythe had gone back to her family in England.
On the second evening, two of the rebels stayed with the horses in a nearby copse. The rest stole into the unguarded church under cover of darkness and settled in to wait.
Dieter rehearsed over and over in his mind the details of how the risky abduction would proceed. Nervous dread and anticipation warred within him. Arms folded, he dozed intermittently, waiting impatiently for dawn, leaving his station only occasionally to prod a snoring comrade.
Split-Second Decision
Indisposed with an ague for a few days, Blythe looked forward to once again accompanying the empress to morning mass. The excursion was at least a relief from the daily routine and afforded a chance to walk
in the historic town. It was humbling to realize she was following in the footsteps of ancient Romans who established the original settlement.
She enjoyed the lessons taught by the monks. The empress was bored and spent most of her day changing from one outfit to another, a process for which Blythe was responsible. She supposed she should be flattered to be Matilda’s ‘favorite’, but she had never taken a liking to the child who had grown more arrogant and demanding as time went on. Now summer was upon them again, Her Highness had done nothing to provide her ladies with a more suitable wardrobe. She sulked at learning German and complained constantly about the bad manners of the German courtiers who surrounded her.
Blythe wondered how Matilda and Heinrich were going to communicate if he ever returned.
Perhaps he doesn’t care about communicating, only getting her with child.
Blythe’s attention wandered as the mass got underway. Increasingly homesick for England, she missed her family. On her knees for the Invocation of the Holy Spirit, the droning voice of the priest lulled her to sleep. She stifled a yawn, but was abruptly jarred awake by a gloved hand pressed firmly over her mouth. She struggled and tried to scream, but choked on leather. Heart racing, she was dragged over the back of the bench by a strong arm clamped around her ribcage. Her attacker kept his other hand over her mouth. Screams rent the air. Blythe squeezed her eyes shut, hoping this nightmare was just a dream.
But when she reopened them, the horror was only too real. Lady Dorothea lay in a crumpled heap a few feet from the altar. Five imperial guards formed a shield in front of their empress and were fighting off a group of masked men. Booted feet echoed off the stone floor, running, coming closer. Male voices shouted in anger and alarm. Matilda cowered behind her guards with the priest, pressing herself up against the altar, a terrified little girl. “I should be with her,” Blythe thought wildly. “I could have protected her.”
The Black Knight’s Captive Page 4
