The Forsaken Monarch

by Amy Mantravadi

  “Ah! Ah!” she wailed, leaping up and patting her skirt frantically in an effort to remove the drops of water.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked.

  “That thing—” she wailed, pointing angrily in the direction of the dog, “—just ruined my gown!”

  “But it was only water, surely—”

  “Ah! Why do these things happen?!” she screamed, casting her eyes to heaven.

  “Never fear, empress!” Drogo called from behind me. “But for a few scratches, I am perfectly fine.”

  “I am glad to hear it, but why is there a dog in my room?” I asked him.

  Drogo looked over at the beast, which was happily pacing around the room in circles, as if searching for a suitable explanation. He then turned back to look at me.

  “I can see why you would ask that question, my lady. It’s one of the hunting dogs. I borrowed her from Ulrich down below. He assured me she is the swiftest dog he has ever raised. Took her out to hunt some hare, but she got covered in dirt. I thought if I brought her inside and cleaned her up—well, it did not go as well as I hoped.”

  “I’ll say!” cried Judith.

  “Where is Frederick?” I asked, suddenly aware that we had not accounted for his presence since Drogo’s fall.

  “He’s over there!” one of the ladies said.

  I turned and saw the boy standing directly in front of the dog, repeating the word “no.” The dog ceased its whining, sat upon its haunches, and lowered its head as if in submission.

  “Not even I can get the dog to do that,” said Drogo.

  “Incredible,” I agreed.

  That little boy is now Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, the greatest leader his kingdom has ever seen.

  The lords of Germany made their way to Trifels over the next few days, as the feast of Saint John moved ever nearer. Upon the eve of Midsummer, I was about to walk down to the great hall, where most of them stood gathered in conversation, when there was a knock at the door of my private chamber. I thought it might have been Adelaide, so I opened the door at once. What I found instead was my old chaplain, Altmann, standing there in a rather simple tunic and outer robe. He evidently was not celebrating the Mass that evening.

  “Good evening, my lady,” he said in greeting, bowing his head.

  “Oh, I thought you were Adelaide.”

  “Would that I were, for I might bear more favorable news.”

  “I do not like the sound of that. Here, come in.” He made his way inside and I shut the door behind him. “I am sorry that we have not talked much lately. I saw you in Speyer, but there were so many people who wished to speak with me then.”

  “Never mind it. I understand.”

  “Now for the matter at hand.”

  “Yes, the matter at hand,” he said, pressing his wrinkled palms together and then rubbing them one on top of the other in turn. “I was not sure if this was the best time to speak of it. I know you must be about to make your way down below.”

  “No matter. What is it?”

  The look on his face was earnest, his gaze direct. “My lady, I have it on very good authority that the bishop of Cologne is gone to Flanders.”

  “Flanders? What is he doing there? He ought to be here, actually.”

  “That is what concerns me. He has gone there to speak with Count Charles, and we both know there can only be one reason for that.”

  I paused for a moment, my eyes searching the floor for an answer. It would be unwise to rush to a conclusion, but though I tried to think of any other reason why the bishop might take on such an errand, there was still only one that came to mind. My heart sank.

  “Do you think I am wrong?” Altmann asked, crossing his arms and leaning forward slightly.

  “No, I’m sure you are right,” I concluded, looking him in the eye. “He hopes to bring him back here for the election. Of course, it is not certain that the count will accept, but it is clear enough what this means.”

  “Exactly. They are looking for someone other than Duke Frederick.”

  “The question is, who are ‘they’?”

  “Well, the archbishop of Mainz, surely. He hates the Salians.”

  “He hated the late emperor, but he gets on well enough with Duke Frederick.”

  Altmann raised his brows in suspicion. “Are you certain about that?”

  “It would seem that I can be certain of nothing.”

  I fell silent and began to pace, even as Altmann continued to stand there with his arms crossed. Someone was attempting to introduce a rival to Duke Frederick of Swabia: a man who might win the support of more of the German nobles. Was it Adalbert? I did not doubt that it was in his nature, yet I had little proof. I remembered the last wish of my husband that Frederick should be the next man to wear the crown, and I wished to see it fulfilled, but all around me was shadow.

  “Is Adalbert here?” I asked, pausing my steps.

  Altmann nodded. “He just arrived. He must have a hundred people waiting to speak with him.”

  I continued to pace back and forth slowly, considering the matter. Bishop Frederick of Cologne was plainly false. Adalbert was likely false. Yet the duke of Bavaria was father through marriage to Duke Frederick of Swabia, so it seemed impossible that he would stand against him. Likewise, it seemed impossible that the German princes would vote for a foreigner like Count Charles of Flanders to sit upon their throne. That left only one man who could potentially claim enough support to challenge Frederick, though he still seemed weaker. Oh, the thought of it made me ill!

  “What have we heard lately about that old rebel, Duke Lothair of Saxony?” I asked.

  “Not much,” Altmann answered. “He is coming down for the election, but I cannot say whom he will support.”

  I stopped pacing and turned to face him. “I find it quite likely that he will support himself.”

  “So you think that Adalbert …”

  “I do.”

  “And the bishop of Cologne?”

  “Lothair cannot defeat Frederick on his own. They might be hoping to divide the vote a third way: present someone other than Frederick who is neither an established traitor nor a northerner.”

  “That makes sense. So what will you do?”

  “Well, there is one difficulty: I cannot be sure that Adalbert is behind it. Perhaps I should do something to make clear to him where his loyalty belongs.”

  “You will speak with him in private?”

  I shook my head. “That would accomplish nothing. He will tell me only what he thinks I wish to hear. No, what he needs is public pressure.”

  But how was I to apply pressure to Adalbert? As dowager empress, I had little real power. Men were still bound to respect me to a certain degree, but I had no vote in the election and little power with the bishops or the nobles. What I needed was some way to publicly shame Adalbert: not severely, but just enough to let him know to whom his loyalty was due.

  Just then, I had a thought of how I might accomplish this. With no words beyond, “I beg your pardon, Father Altmann,” I departed the room and made my way down the passage that led to the great hall. As I drew closer, the sound of voices grew louder. I soon arrived at the gallery overlooking the hall of red stone. Below me, the great men and women of Germany were gathered together in discussion, ignorant of my presence. Directly below me, I saw Archbishop Adalbert of Mainz holding court, with a line of people waiting to speak with him.

  I descended the stone stairs to the lower level. A few of the guests noticed me and pointed, but the crier was standing by the main entrance and did not see me in time to make an announcement. Perhaps his view was blocked by the collection of hats with feathers sticking this end and that. I simply began walking through the crowd, leaving them to spin around and bow frantically. I turned to the right, walked toward my target with great purpose, and cried out, “Adalbert!”

  The crowd parted and the archbishop turned to face me, falling instantly to one knee in a deep bow. “Empress Mathilda!” he said, awa
iting my response so that he could stand again.

  I made no reply, but walked to within a single pace of him and simply stood there as one frozen, staring down at him. After a moment, he lifted his head up to look at me. Uncertain as to what he should do, he began to stand, but I raised my hand up to hold him in position. Without looking, I sensed that every eye in the room was on us. I am not sure how long I made him remain bent over like that—surely not more than the space of a few breaths—but to him it must have seemed a lifetime. I continued looking into his eyes intensely, determined to send a message.

  Do not forget who I am, I thought. Do not forget the respect you owe me. I still have the power to hurt you. Perhaps I should have said this, but that seemed a good bit too bold.

  I have seldom seen a man look so uneasy. When I decided he had had enough, I walked past him and out the back door. Behind me, I could hear a general murmuring of the crowd and someone asking, “My lord archbishop! Are you well?”

  I continued out the side gate of the castle and into the yard. There was a large bonfire, and several of the servants were dancing around it, drinking beer and reveling. They were not aware of my presence, and I stood there for a moment watching. The sky was growing dark, and in the light of the fire, their figures seemed almost savage dancing about.

  “That was rather bold,” a voice behind me suddenly said.

  I turned and saw Drogo approaching, bearing a glass in one hand and a leg of meat in the other.

  “Oh, it’s only you,” I said, turning back to look at the fire. “I thought perhaps you were one of the lords, come to tell me off for shaming Adalbert.”

  “No, he deserved that,” the knight replied, his speech muffled as he chewed on the meat. “I dare say it was good for him to feel out of control for once—unable to bend people to his will. If nothing else, he deserved to be shamed for all the trouble he gave your late husband.”

  “Would that it were only for past grievances, but I fear he is plotting anew.”

  “To put Duke Lothair on the throne?”

  “Why?!” I asked in alarm, turning to face him directly. “What did you hear?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” he assured me, attempting to raise his grease covered hands in surrender while still holding his food and drink, “but it makes perfect sense. Just look at the last two emperors and how they have dealt with the Church, then consider Adalbert’s record. He would probably eat his own leg before he let another member of that family take the throne.”

  “How very charming,” I said. “Let’s hope it does not come to that.”

  “This is much like they do it in Cornwall,” the knight said, motioning toward the festivities. “Lighting sacred fires, dancing around them, singing native songs. If they took off their shirts and painted themselves, the picture would be complete.”

  “Yes, it all seems a bit pagan for my taste, but I suppose we must let the common folk have their revels. It makes them feel alive.”

  “There’s nothing in it. They just rejoice in the season. If they start sacrificing to some idol, then let us be afraid,” he concluded, draining the last of his wine.

  “So much for your piety! What happened to the man who wanted to be a monk?”

  “A priest, actually, but I left that path long ago.”

  “Perhaps you need not leave it forever. They are still trying to send me away to a nunnery. If they succeed, your services will no longer be needed.”

  “My lady, if they do try to send you to a nunnery, then that is precisely the hour that my services will be needed,” he said, pointing at me with the remains of his leg of meat.

  “I agree, but not because I have anything against sacred vows. I simply know that if I take on that life, there will be no marriage, no children—no future, essentially. Unless my father is able to have another child, our family line would die out under such circumstances. More to the point, I do not think myself holy enough for monastic life.”

  “Which is why I am happy to devote my sword to your service and teach a lesson to anyone who would force you into that life against your will. Now,” he said, taking a final bite off the bone and then throwing it to the side, “what do you intend to do about Adalbert?”

  “Wait. Let him consider the gravity of his decisions. Let him remember whom he serves.”

  “Will that work?”

  “I don’t know, but I have little authority over the situation. I can only hope to shame him into good behavior.”

  “Let us wait and see then,” he concluded.

  The two of us stood and watched as the flames continued to leap along with the dancers, sparks reaching to join the stars in the sky. They say it is the brightest day of the year, but I assure you that night felt dark indeed.

  V

  The week after the feast, I had a messenger from Rouen upon my threshold, come with tidings from King Henry of England. I took the letter from him at once and ran back to my room to read it in private. You will probably not be surprised that the letter was most direct in its message.

  My daughter, I shall waste no time with fair words. I commend you most urgently to return to your native land. One duty you have fulfilled. Now I bid you take up another. We have need of a son to bring peace to this kingdom, but my wife cannot fulfill this simplest of demands. She is as barren as an old maid. Our name cannot live on but in your progeny. The news of your husband’s untimely death has caused me to hope that it was some defect in his person that has left you childless. Therefore, come swiftly to the aid of your kingdom. Make for Normandy with all haste. I shall await you there. By the fruit of your womb, we may ensure the succession. All England calls to you, daughter: ‘Come home! Come home!’ Heed not the pleas of the Germans, for that is not your path.

  In truth, there was no need for me to return in order to produce children. By the end of that summer, I had received no less than five inquiries with regard to marriage. I suspect you will not judge me too harshly for taking some small pleasure in these attentions, knowing as I did that it is seldom granted to women to oversee their own affairs. Nevertheless, I was hesitant to enter so quickly into another marriage, even if England was in need of an heir. I still felt a duty to my former husband to ensure that Duke Frederick was elected. In truth, there was little I could do to influence the process beyond hoping, but I still felt bound to that task until it was completed.

  It helped that the suitors were not exactly tempting. I will not mention their names as some are still living, and I would not wish to shame them. Suffice it to say that one was known to have picked up some disease from his whoring, another was older than my own father, a third was so arrogant that I could not have lived with him for five minutes, and the remaining two had squandered all their wealth to the point that they had no business approaching me.

  Still the chief question remained: should I continue to reside in the empire, where I might have greater control over my own destiny but fewer prospects, or should I return to my native land, where my father would make the decisions but I would be among my own folk? It seemed plain that England would call me home at some point, for the king had placed his hopes for an heir in me. I was of no further use to Germany or any of the other imperial lands. The words “come home” echoed in my mind, and I found that my heart knew exactly what to do: I must return.

  I am not sure of the day on which I made this decision. I think I simply recognized that the question had never been a question. I was meant to return. But all such thoughts were pushed aside for the moment, for there was an election at hand. I was granted the hospitality of the monastery of Saint Alban’s, just outside of Mainz. I did not attempt to gain quarter in the archbishop’s palace, for even if Adalbert had consented for me to sleep under the same roof as himself, my suspicion of him had grown to such an extent that it would have been rather disagreeable. I had no firm proof that he was false: just a feeling that would not go away. However, in the days just before the election, I was given greater reason to doubt him.

&nb
sp; Although I held him in low esteem, Duke Charles of Flanders was wise enough to refuse the bidding of Archbishop Frederick of Cologne. He would not allow himself to be considered in the coming debate, fearing the prejudice of the Germans, who were apt to doubt men of foreign birth. In this, the Germans were no different than any other people I have encountered. I was relieved that Duke Charles would not be putting up a challenge to Duke Frederick of Swabia, but I soon had greater cause for alarm.

  The monastery of Saint Alban’s, which was to be my home for the election, had been a prominent place of instruction in the time of King Charles the Great, the first Holy Roman Emperor. It was perched on a hill overlooking the city of Mainz, which took its name Albanberg from the monastery. Its hall was an exceedingly large construction that did not exactly create thoughts of monastic humility. It was divided into thirds, each separated by a row of columns in which were carved vines of flowers, all brightly painted. The roof was made entirely of wood and rose to a superior height in the middle third. But the greatest achievement was three perfectly placed windows that directed beams of light into the center of the hall.

  It was in that hall that I received Duke Frederick and his family on the day we received the bad news. A carpet had been brought out at my request, and Lady Judith and I were playing with younger Master Frederick on the ground while his father sat in a nearby chair, reading the day’s letters. As we were playing with her son, Judith asked me a question.

  “So have you decided whether to stay in the empire or return to your home land?”

  “Yes, I have considered the matter a great deal, and I fear I must leave. I will be doing so right after the election.”

  “Is it because you did not like any of the marriage offers?” she guessed, the look on her face earnest. “I am sure that the duke and I can find you a suitable husband. We will make sure you are well cared for after he is crowned.”