The Forsaken Monarch

by Amy Mantravadi

  As I approached them, I said, “My lord, I have received a letter from the king of England.”

  I had caught my husband as he was about to release his arrow, and judging by the sigh he let out, this caused him no little annoyance. He lowered the bow, turned to face me, and asked, “Has he declared war on us? If not, I see not why my sport should be interrupted.”

  I was not certain how to respond without angering him, but I said, “No, my lord. He wishes you to go to war with him, or at least to lend him your services in battle.”

  “King Henry can fend for him—”

  “My lord!” I cried, cutting off his words. “Remember your alliance! This was the purpose of our marriage, was it not? To knit together our two kingdoms in bonds of affection.”

  “I should think it was more like bonds of obligation,” he replied with a forced laugh, looking over at his attendant. Why he did this, I cannot imagine, for the man was clearly too scared of both of us to offer an opinion.

  “Call it what you will,” I said, “but King Henry wishes you to march with such men as you can gather to the border with King Louis’ lands.”

  At this point, the emperor evidently gave up on shooting, for he handed the bow and arrow to his servant, placed his hands on his hips, and asked with some frustration, “Why?”

  I moved closer and began to speak more softly. “One of the king’s wards—Waleran of Meulan—has risen up against him in Normandy. He hopes to place that false heir William Clito in control, no doubt because he hopes to control him.”

  “Waleran? Is he the one who descends from the House of Vermandois? From French royalty?”

  “Yes, although his natural father was the earl of Leicester. When the earl died, Waleran received lands in Normandy, where he has based his rebellion.”

  “Why should he rebel against his king?” my husband asked, the look on his face one of honest incredulity. “This makes no sense to me.”

  “Rebellion never does make sense to one who sits on the throne.”

  “Careful!” he replied, pointing his finger into my shoulder. “You forget that you belong to that class as well.”

  “I have not forgotten, my lord,” I said, grabbing his finger and lowering it. “I strongly oppose this rebellion and any other action that threatens my right to the throne of England and dukedom of Normandy, or indeed that of my children.”

  “You mean the children that we don’t have.”

  This seemed like an unnecessary comment. Yes, we both knew that the possibility of having children was becoming less and less likely, but stating it so boldly seemed to have no purpose except to cause pain. I wanted to say something in anger. Indeed, I had formed one or two possible responses in my mind. However, I chose instead to direct him back to the main purpose of our discussion.

  “Will you ride to the aid of England or not?” I asked.

  “I must understand the purpose before I commit myself. Is he hoping for me to engage the French forces?”

  “He does not imagine that it will come to that, but if you are near the French border, then King Louis will be forced to send some of his men in that direction to guard the way to the Ile-de-France. You will not see battle. It will not come to that.”

  He laughed. “I should hope not, for I have no interest in fighting the French. I tell you this: I will answer the summons of King Henry and aid him in any way I can, for the lord Waleran does not only threaten him. If you are to be your father’s heir, then this rebellion is a threat against our interests as well.”

  “Exactly! I am glad that you see it that way!” I cried, delighted to hear his confirmation that our interests aligned.

  Perhaps as a result of this agreement, I felt powerful enough to address the other matter on my mind. I turned to the man servant and said, “Please leave me to speak with the emperor alone.”

  The poor man seemed uncertain what to do and looked to his master for help.

  “Let it be, Bernard,” he said. “I wasn’t going to hit much today anyway.”

  The emperor removed his gloves and handed them to Bernard, who quickly gathered the rest of the arrows and carried everything back toward the palace. When he was far enough away that he could not possibly have heard me, I turned back to the emperor and said, “My lord, I wish to discuss something delicate with you.”

  He had crossed his arms and held his jaw in his hand. I could not determine if this was simply more comfortable, or if he was attempting to distance himself from my words. In any case, he replied, “Delicate how?”

  I looked around again, then stepped still closer to him and whispered, “It has been many weeks since last I shared your bed.”

  “Good God …” he muttered, moving his hand from his jaw to cover his eyes.

  “I do not think this is a subject we should keep avoiding,” I said a bit more strongly. “Are you unpleased with me? Have you taken a mistress?”

  “You know very well why I have been spending my evenings alone!” he said firmly but quietly. “The pain is … It does not allow me to …”

  “I understand,” I offered, “but you should tell me these things.”

  “Why do you care?” he scoffed.

  “How could you say that?!” I cried, then lowered my voice when his eyes began to look around nervously. “Of course I care what happens to you. I wish you would let me be much more involved. As it is, we still do not speak as often as I would like, and commenting on the food at supper does not count!”

  “Be careful what you ask for: you may lose all respect for me if you see all that I have become—all that I am becoming.”

  “I do not detest weakness,” I replied, “only cowardice, and you are no coward.”

  These words seemed to affect him strongly. He stared into my eyes with a real force that I cannot quite describe. I would say he was rather determined. I was suddenly more aware of myself and everything around me, and I was not sure what would happen. He reached out, touched my face, and said, “I wonder how things might have been if they were—different.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, for his words hardly made sense.

  He placed his forehead on mine and we both shut our eyes. It was an odd moment: odd because our marriage had never included much physical affection. Perhaps because of that this small touch seemed very powerful to me. I sensed what he meant: that we might have loved each other far more deeply were it not for the manner of our meeting, the years of conflict, and his illness. I understood, but I said nothing, for I suspect he might have wished me to feel far more than I did in that moment. In any case, it seemed far too late to start again.

  Finally, he pulled back and said, “Come to my chamber tonight. There may still be hope of a child. After that, I must be away. I must do as your father asks.”

  “Very well,” I whispered.

  The next morning, he was riding toward Metz to join forces with Duke Godfrey of Lorraine, father of the new English queen. I found I rued that parting more than any other in the history of our marriage.

  It was the express belief among many of the nobility that no man of lesser rank could equal a lord in arms, though the evidence of history proved this to be an outrageous falsehood. King Henry had raised up many men of talent through his generosity, and this caused those of noble birth to murmur. Yet the king believed such common men to be, on the whole, far more true than those born to greatness.

  As spring made its first appearance in the year 1124, my father was quite comfortable in his castle at Caen, overseeing the construction of a new line of defenses throughout Normandy that would establish his authority as never before. He sent out several of his household knights to draw the rebels into battle.

  Waleran had returned to the forest of Brionne to strengthen his fortress at Vatteville. The king’s men waited just to the south, knowing that he would soon be forced to venture out. At length, the traitor showed his face, riding into the vale near Bourgtheroulde with the rest of his rebel companions. They held their heads alof
t as men accustomed to win, never sensing the danger in store for them.

  The king’s guard sprung upon them with a will, led by a team of archers on horseback. Oh, the terror that must have struck the heart of Waleran at that very moment, as he saw his fellows cut down to the right and left! Within the hour, it was over, and he and all his associates were prisoners of the king. Waleran had been bested by those he thought second best.

  This victory came none too soon, for Emperor Henry was forced to withdraw to the Rhineland. The city of Worms, the very place that had lately proved its loyalty to the crown, had suddenly become the site of much tumult. The palace in which we had stayed for our wedding was reduced to rubble at the hands of an angry crowd, and all about was chaos. I was still residing at the fortress of Trifels at that time, so I had no direct knowledge of what took place, but I can tell you that it caused an awful rift between the emperor and his nephew, Duke Frederick of Swabia. With each passing year, their bond had come under greater strain, and at that time it became worse than ever.

  Finally, I received word that my husband was to join me at Trifels the following day. This filled me with great cheer, not only because it marked the end of those disturbances in Worms, but also because it would be the first time I had seen him in many months, and by that point I truly enjoyed his company as I might that of a friend. More to the point, though I had spoken nothing of it to him for fear of causing offense, I worried about him being under such strain in his condition. As it so happened, the day of his foretold arrival came and went without a sign, and I was filled with dread that some evil fate had befallen him.

  Many more hours passed before I heard the beating of hoofs upon stone that announced the emperor’s arrival. I believe I actually ran down to the lower level to receive him. He had just entered through the front gate and was still standing in the entry way handing his riding things to the groom when I approached.

  “God save you, Emperor Henry!” I cried, bowing low.

  After the manner of our last parting, in which we had seemed closer than ever, I had hoped for a pleasant response. However, he merely grunted in a way that did not signal he was pleased to see me. I was a bit hurt by this, and my next words likely reflected it.

  “You were meant to arrive two days ago,” I said, or rather snapped.

  He looked at me with the eyes of one quite beaten down. “No! No inquisition.”

  This was even odder. I could not account for his anger. Certainly, he was weary from his travels. Indeed, he looked dreadful: his eyes were red, his shoulders were drooping, and he was even thinner than he had been before. I wondered if the pain was torturing him again.

  A boy stepped forward with a goblet of wine. The emperor seized it, his hand shaking slightly, and began to drink. Truly, he did not look well at all.

  “Was there naught to eat on your travels?” I asked, my concern growing with each passing moment.

  “We had plenty,” he said, staring at the goblet rather than me.

  “Only, you look rather gaunt.”

  “Battle will do that to you.”

  “Yes, but you weren’t actually in battle.”

  “A crowd of angry Germans is close enough!” he concluded, finally looking me in the eye. In the end, I might have wished that those angry eyes had remained pointed away.

  Sensing that our conversation had failed thus far, I attempted to address the issue directly.

  “I know you are vexed about what happened in Worms.”

  “Is there more of this?”

  The emperor turned the goblet over, looking with discontent upon the few solitary drops that met the floor.

  “Boy!” he yelled in the direction of the young man who had served him earlier but retreated to a corner when the conversation grew more forceful.

  “Yes, my lord!”

  “What did you do with the wine?”

  “Sadly, that was the last of it, but if you wish for me to go to the cellar, I could—”

  “Save it! I’ll go myself.”

  “Really, my lord, it is no—”

  “I said, I’ll go myself!” he bellowed.

  “Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord,” the boy said, bowing again and again, or to be more exact, cowering.

  The emperor strode off down the passage to my left, which I knew would lead him nowhere near the cellar. As the other servants standing nearby were clearly too afraid to correct his mistake, I made to follow him. He was walking oddly, swaying a bit from side to side. Suddenly, he stumbled and had to catch himself against the wall, dropping the goblet. I ran to his side and attempted to brace him. When he had recovered his balance, I spoke.

  “The cellar is in the other direction.”

  “I know that! Why do you always follow me? Stop following me!” He made a weak attempt to push me aside.

  “Good Lord, how much have you had already? You stink of ale.”

  He turned to face me and raised a finger as he started to say, “I do not …”

  There was nothing to follow that declaration, for he became ill on the spot. I reached to pull his hair back, alarmed by the spectacle I was witnessing. The emperor loved a drink as much as the next man, but he had never been a drunk, and certainly not in the waking hours. I was certain that his present lamentable state was a result of his growing pain, which he could no longer bear in a state of sobriety. Therefore, my pity for him was stronger than my displeasure about his drunkenness. After a moment passed, he was able to stand up and started walking in the opposite direction.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” I called.

  “To look for a new wife. This one begins to annoy me.”

  “You should be in bed!”

  The emperor stopped again and seemed to crumple into one of the niches that held a torch. I ran over and knelt beside him. With no small amount of effort, I was able to turn him over on to his back. His breath was heavy, and there was little color in his face.

  “My husband, what is happening to you?” I whispered.

  He continued to groan softly as I used the sleeve of my dress to wipe his brow. I placed my fingers on his neck. His heart was beating rather quickly, but there was something else: a small bulge. I felt it, and to my dismay, it was quite hard.

  “How long has this been here?” I asked.

  “What?” he muttered.

  “This lump on your neck. I never noticed it before. Do you have any more like this?”

  He made no sign, but closed his eyes and seemed to drift into sleep, or something very like it.

  “Help!” I cried back in the direction of the hall.

  The boy I had seen earlier came running down the passage. I could see the fear in his eyes as he looked upon the emperor. I could only imagine what he thought as he saw his ruler lying on the filthy stone floor, looking halfway dead. Though I myself was afraid, I could see that it was up to me to be courageous enough for all of us.

  “Do you know the physician?” I said very directly, looking him square in the eye.

  “Yes, that is … no, I do not know him personally, but I know what he looks like.”

  Simply waiting for him to produce these words was torture. I attempted to put the fear of God in him.

  “You must find him this instant, boy! The emperor is quite ill.”

  “Yes, my lady!” he replied, and without another word, he ran off to find the doctor.

  I looked back at my husband, who still lay upon the floor. I had never seen him so weak. His disease had clearly grown worse. Though the light was dim, I could see a darkness beneath his eyes, as if he had been robbed of sleep. However, this did not alarm me half as much as the new lump. Was this to be the death of him? How much longer might he have upon this earth?

  “Help! Help!” I continued to cry, but there was no answer.

  I wondered if I should go look for someone, but I could hardly leave him lying there alone in such a state. Instead, I decided to pray.

  “Lord in heaven, hear my prayer. Has he not
made peace with you? Make peace with him. Heal him of this. Let him live.”

  I continued to sit there alone, holding his hand as he slept. There was no telling how long it would take for the doctor to be found, and then for him to arrive. I pushed back the hair from my husband’s eyes and felt his forehead. It was not especially warm. How many lines of care were carved upon that face! What strife that mind had undergone!

  “Alone with none but thee, my God, I journey on my way,” I recited. “What need I fear when thou art near, O king of night and day? Safer am I within thy hand than if a host should round me stand.”

  The tears streamed from my eyes as I clung to those words of Saint Columba which were taught to me in my youth.

  “My destined time is known to Thee,

  And death will keep his hour;

  Did warriors strong around me throng,

  They could not stay his power:

  No walls of stone can man defend

  When Thou Thy messenger dost send.

  My life I yield to Thy decree,

  And bow to Thy control

  In peaceful calm, for from Thine arm

  No power can wrest my soul.

  Could earthly omens e’er appall

  A man that heeds the heavenly call?

  The child of God can fear no ill,

  His chosen dread no foe;

  We leave our fate with Thee, and wait

  Thy bidding when to go

  ’Tis not from chance our comfort springs.

  Thou art our trust, O King of kings.”[6]

  The revelation of the emperor’s illness spread through the court like wildfire over the next few days. It seemed that in his haste to find the doctor, the boy had mentioned his quest to one or two other persons, who had in turn made it commonly known that the emperor was not well. News of his ill health could only result in rumors. When the emperor did not rise from his bed the following day, the fears of all seemed to be confirmed. When he was in bed three more days, they were begging to have the priest speak the rites over him. Yet the emperor did recover, at least well enough to make his way down to the hall and share in a meal. This put some of the talk to rest, but it did little to quiet my soul.