The Forsaken Monarch

by Amy Mantravadi

  So I was to be made to get out of bed after all, despite my need for more sleep and my utter lack of desire for the grim tasks of the day. I was to bid my final farewell to Emperor Henry, and though my mind had long perceived that such a thing would occur, some part of me dreaded the finality of it.

  I said nothing as the ladies dressed me in my gray mourning clothes, with a black veil covering my face. I was far too consumed in my own thoughts, and they seemed wise enough not to ask. The crown of the queen of Germany was placed upon my head. Here was another thing that I did not foresee happening again.

  “Such a grim business,” Gertrude said as she fixed it in place, offering her only commentary on the moment.

  “We’d best get it over with then,” I replied.

  I made the short walk across the courtyard beneath a canopy, for the rain was falling still. When I reached the top of the steps, I was greeted by the bishop, who led me into the nave of the cathedral. There were even more people in attendance than when the emperor’s father was laid to rest. Where some faces should have been, others had taken their places; still others were there who I might have wished gone. Those at the edge of the nave moved their heads this way and that so that their views of me would not be blocked by the stone columns. I walked past row after row of these figures, all looking appropriately mournful.

  And they did not even know him, I thought.

  As I neared the front of the nave, where I was to be seated along with those of greatest import, the mourners continued bowing to the left and right. I was fortunate that the veil blocked my own expression, for had they seen into my eyes, they would have known that I was not a mighty queen of lore, but a young woman scared and devastated, with few true friends in the world. At the front were members of the emperor’s own family: Duke Frederick of Swabia, his wife Judith, and his mother Margravine Agnes along with several others from her inordinate offspring. It was the emperor’s sister who came over to embrace me.

  “My dear, how you must have suffered. We grieve this loss with you. Frederick will see that you want for nothing. Know that you are much beloved.”

  “Thank you,” I said simply, and took my place next to them on the left side of the aisle.

  To the right was every Church official of note in the kingdom, save those who could not make the journey, and in the place of greatest honor was Archbishop Adalbert of Mainz. I began to wonder what machinations might be working through his mind at that very moment, but then caught myself.

  There will be time for that later, I thought. He can keep for an hour or two.

  The bishop began to recite the words of the Reqiuem Mass. Their truth seemed more real to me than ever, or perhaps more urgent. I thought not only of my late husband, but the souls of all those I had lost over the past few years: my mother, my brother, Archbishop Bruno, and all the rest. Those who had peopled the early years of my life were being stripped away from me one by one, and I felt utterly at a loss as to how I could go on without them.

  “Grant them eternal rest, Lord,” I prayed along with the congregation. “May perpetual light shine upon them.”

  One of the priests was brought forward for the scripture reading. I found myself uttering the words along with him, only in silence:

  “The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there shall no torment touch them.

  In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die: and their departure is taken for misery,

  And their going from us to be utter destruction: but they are in peace.

  For though they be punished in the sight of men, yet is their hope full of immortality.

  And having been a little chastised, they shall be greatly rewarded: for God proved them, and found them worthy for himself.

  As gold in the furnace hath he tried them, and received them as a burnt offering.

  And in the time of their visitation they shall shine, and run to and fro like sparks among the stubble.

  They shall judge the nations, and have dominion over the people, and their Lord shall reign for ever.”[7]

  We continued through the chants one by one, moving ever closer to the moment when the emperor’s body would be lowered into the vault directly beside his father. There on the platform before me, just before the high altar, his body was lying in state, but I tried not to look, for fear that it would cause me to break into tears. I was always very conscious that it was not good for a woman to break into tears publicly. We must keep our feelings to ourselves.

  But even if I did not look, the words of the Mass forced me to gaze full in the face of death. The specter seemed to rise up before me, and it caused my heart to fear and tremble. I could not help wondering in that moment how many days lay between myself and death, and how long the Lord would choose to spare me. My whole world had moved in orbit around my husband. Now that he was gone, what was I to do? What purpose could my life possibly contain?

  Even as I considered these things, the chanting was ended, and the bishop of Speyer beckoned me to come forward. I mounted the steps carefully, some two thousand eyes bearing down upon me. They brought me next to the bier and bid me spend one final moment with my husband. At last, that which I had feared was upon me, and I looked down on his face for the final time. So peaceful that face seemed in death: it never appeared so in life. He looked as the Roman emperors of old, a lord even in dying, somehow larger and more magnificent than in those last painful days.

  “I will miss you, my husband,” I said softly, no longer able to keep the tears from falling. “I will miss the days we had together, and even more the days we might have had.”

  I leaned down and granted him one last kiss, and with it a parting word from Virgil. “Si quid mea carmina possunt, nulla dies umquam memori vos eximet aevo.”[8] I looked up at the choir screen and saw the image of Christ upon his throne.

  “He is in your hands now,” I whispered.

  Once the body had been lowered into its final resting place and the service was at an end, I stayed behind for a few minutes to greet those who had come to pay their respects. I was in the middle of a conversation with one of the priests when I was interrupted by Archbishop Adalbert.

  “My apologies, empress, but may I speak with you for just a moment?”

  “I suppose,” I answered, then said to the priest, “Thank you once again. God bless you.”

  When the other man had departed, Adalbert said, “I will need the duke of Swabia as well.”

  “I think he is just over there,” I replied, pointing to where he stood in conversation with the bishop of Speyer.

  As soon as Duke Frederick had been collected, we moved into one of the nearby chapels where we would not be overheard.

  “The regalia have been sent ahead to Trifels, if that is what you wish to know,” I said.

  “Yes,” Adalbert replied. “I was told before the Mass. Thank you. Everything will be in order for the election.”

  “When is it to take place?” Frederick said.

  “In three months’ time, upon the feast of Saint Bartholomew,” he answered. “I thought it would be simplest to gather in Mainz, if you have no objection.”

  “None whatsoever,” replied Frederick.

  “Very good. Empress Mathilda, there will be no need for you to attend. I am sure you have many things to see to.”

  “Actually, I would like to come,” I said. “Is it not common for the emperor’s widow to do so?”

  “Common, perhaps, but hardly necessary. There may be some debate from the Saxons, but they are accustomed to defeat. The choice seems an obvious one. I see no need to put yourself under strain.”

  “He is right, dear aunt. You are in mourning. Take as much time as you need,” Frederick offered.

  “There is no need to call me ‘aunt,’ for I am far younger than you,” I said. “Really, I feel that I should be there.”

  Indeed, I did feel a strong need to be there, for I felt a loyalty to my dead husband: to ensure that his chosen successor was elected. I
had no strong bond with Duke Frederick personally, but I reasoned that as the late emperor’s nephew and a member of the same ruling house, he would be the most likely to uphold the things for which my husband had fought and sacrificed. Perhaps it seems odd that I felt bound to my dead husband’s wishes, especially given the distant nature of our marriage in its early years, but I did feel bound nevertheless.

  “If you must, then let it be so, but there will be little for you to do,” Adalbert replied. “It is all up to the electors. As chief elector, I will simply carry out their will. Have you decided which religious house you wish to enter?”

  “Actually—” Frederick began, but I helped him.

  “Actually, I will not be entering a religious house. I shall remain in the secular realm.”

  Yes, despite considering the matter a great deal in the days since the emperor’s death, there had never been a moment in which the thought of entering a nunnery appealed to me. I had the greatest respect for those women of God, but I simply could not see myself among them. Perhaps I did not feel righteous enough, or perhaps I simply believed there was more for me to do in the wider world. Either way, my will was set.

  “Oh! I am most amazed!” said Adalbert. “You have always been so devout. I was sure you would wish for a life of spiritual contemplation.”

  “May I not think of God and still hold to my duties?” I asked.

  “The archbishop means well, my lady,” Frederick assured me. “It is just a bit strange to think of a former empress living down the street from the future one.”

  “I am sure Judith would not mind, but if it becomes a problem, I could always return to England. Indeed, my father may demand it now that my husband is deceased and he still needs an heir.”

  “But this is your home now!” Frederick protested. “Perhaps we can find a husband for you among the German lords and you may bear offspring who would be heirs to the English throne.”

  “Perhaps, but there is no certainty that such a good match might be obtained,” Adalbert said. “I still feel that a religious house would provide the best opportunity for you.”

  “That is a question for another day,” I answered. “I do not know if the Lord will ever bring me into wedlock again. All I know is that I need rest. Nothing makes one weary like grief. I must return to my lodging. I will leave you to your election.”

  With that, I left the cathedral and headed back to the palace, where I intended to enjoy a warm bath and attempt to find some morsel of peace in the midst of grief.

  Trifels was quiet without its master. There was no loud feasting in the great hall—no clashing of swords in the yard. The only sound was the constant scrubbing of the floors that had taken over life at the castle, for without the master of the house, there was little else for the servants to do.

  Although I had gone there with the intention of grieving in peace away from the world, I quickly found this dreary cycle more trying than any amount of company. I had gone through my supply of new books and had my fill of long walks within the fortnight. Worse still was Brünnhilda, who plainly longed for the hunt. As for Blitz, I was not sure if he knew of his master’s demise, but I imagined I saw a rather mournful look in his dark eyes. I tried to let them both out for a bit of exercise, but I sensed they felt as restless as myself.

  Therefore, when the heat of the summer of 1125 was at its zenith, I welcomed several of the great lords and ladies of the kingdom to Trifels for the feast of Saint John. I desired some merry making that would free our minds from the twin burdens of grief and ambitious plotting, but I was also aware that any martial display might not be seen as keeping with the feeling of the hour. I therefore arranged a quiet festival of Midsummer and the Baptist’s nativity, with a small number of minstrels and dancers, and an array of foods from near and far.

  Such a transformation the castle underwent! Furnishings and tapestries were brought out of their hiding spots and placed in prominent positions. The amount of chatter seemed to increase threefold. I have seldom seen people so pleased to be given work to do. Though there were many tasks to be accomplished, the general sentiment was one of gratitude that we could finally set our minds to something positive.

  There was one visitor whom I particularly longed to see, and a rather small one at that: Frederick Staufer, who at the age of little more than two years was only just able to travel. Too young for any lofty title, he was nevertheless the son of Duke Frederick of Swabia and Lady Judith of the House of Welf. Descended from the two most powerful families in the kingdom, he was bound for greatness.

  Before I knew it, I found myself sitting with Master Frederick on my knee and pulling on the chain around my neck as if his life depended on it. Lady Judith had brought him to me almost as soon as they had arrived, and now we were sitting in one of my private chambers, away from the tumult of the servants at their tasks. I liked that room best of all the stone chambers, for it had two large windows that allowed the sun to stream in and warm my heart. Although it was normally the room where I received visiting officials, I had the servants remove all the furniture except for a few simple chairs, a wood table, and a chest full of books and toys. I wanted young Frederick to be able to run free without any worry of him destroying something priceless. I would have had them remove the table as well, for it was a rare master work of carpentry with vines of flowers carved into its legs, but it was constructed of such heavy oak that two men struggled to lift it and I was content to leave it be.

  “Who do you think he looks like?” Judith asked, sitting in the chair beside us. “I think there is something of the Welf about him, but perhaps not in the nose.”

  “I want to know where he gets this hair from,” I said. “It looks golden, but neither you nor Frederick have light hair.”

  “There are some in my family who do,” she replied.

  I continued to run my hand through the boy’s tresses. “Actually, this is almost auburn. It is very like my brother’s hair—that is, if he were still alive.”

  “Really? Was his hair red?”

  “A bit, yes. It is a family trait on my mother’s side. My father’s hair—that is, whatever is left of it at this point—is quite dark. Mine, as you can see, is perfectly plain.”

  “I think your hair is lovely,” she said, though I could tell from her manner that she was being charitable. Her smile was rather forced.

  Master Frederick was becoming discontented, thrashing around on my lap, so I let him down. He walked around the room slowly, examining each object he found. He became particularly interested in some letters which I had carelessly left sitting on the table. “No, Frederick!” the boy’s mother called as he pulled the one on the bottom of the pile, causing them all to fall to the ground.

  The boy was babbling something that I could not understand. He was not old enough for more than scattered words. The two ladies instructed to mind him made quick work of the situation, batting the boy on the hand. He started to cry, and I wondered if it might have been better to simply let him play. He had been quite well behaved up to that moment.

  “Here, Frederick!” I said, rising and taking a book from the nearby chest. “I have something I think you will like.”

  I walked over to him and showed him the volume. “Book! Book!” I said, pointing to it each time. It occurred to me as I did so that an outside observer might find my actions rather odd, but I suppose we all make ourselves odd for children.

  He ceased his crying long enough to repeat, “Book?”

  “Yes! Come, let us read it together.”

  I walked back to my chair and sat down, then patted my knee to indicate that he should come. He did not do so at first, but finally decided it might be a good idea and made his way to my position. I raised him up on to my lap and opened the pages of the beloved bestiarum that my uncle David had given me as a child. Oh, how I might have loved to read that book to my own child! For just a moment, I experienced the pang of longing, but I determined that I must content myself for the time being. I h
eld young Frederick tightly on my lap.

  “This has always been one of my most beloved books,” I told him. “It is all about different animals. It has wonderful pictures. Here—here is the lion. See its great mane! Do you know the lion, Frederick?”

  I looked down at his face, but the boy merely stared forward.

  “Perhaps another one then. Oh, the hare! I’m sure you have seen the hare. We have them here in this very wood. Wait …”

  Master Frederick had begun turning through the pages rather quickly, before I had a chance to read them. I waited for him to settle on another animal.

  “An ibis … no … a camel. The camel is … ah, I see we are turning the page again.”

  At last, we came to one page that he was interested in, for he looked at it and declared, “Cat!”

  The boy’s mother clapped with delight and cried, “Oh, my boy! How intelligent you are!”

  “Yes, he is rather intelligent,” I said, “although it is actually a dog.” I could see the dejection in her face, so I quickly added, “But in truth, they look very much alike in this book, so I understand his confusion. He really is a very smart boy. He helped Gertrude lay out all the silver.”

  “Yes, people tell me all the time how clever he is. I am sure he gets that from his father.”

  I was about to protest that she too was intelligent, but it was at that very moment that I suddenly heard the sound of paws running across a wood floor, followed by Drogo yelling, “Come back, you mad thing!” His cries went unheeded, and a large gray dog with mud trapped in its fur burst into the room with the knight two steps behind. “Apologies, ladies! I’ll just get him!” Drogo continued, but no sooner had he said this, than he was forced to avoid the pile of letters, which in turn caused him to trip over one of the table legs. His massive frame came crashing down to the floor.

  “What in heaven’s name?!” Judith objected.

  The ladies who ought to have been minding Frederick were now directing their attention to the fallen knight. I too rose out of my seat to see that he was not hurt. The dog shook its wet fur, sending a shower of drops across the room, pelting Lady Judith. At the sound of her cry, I turned from the earlier calamity to see to the new one.