The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  My stomach rolled with tension as I envisioned the sudden brutality.

  The healer arrived and hurried toward us, concern on her craggy face. She sat beside Franco and unwrapped his bloodied bandage.

  Franco grimaced when her gentle tug pulled the linen from the dried blood on the wound.

  “We won, Domina, and with little loss of life on our side. Afterwards, we cantered our horses back to the crest of a hill overlooking this last site of battle. Your husband drove his standard into the ground and claimed Lotharingia as his under Saxon rule.”

  I sucked in a breath. “And what of King Conrad?”

  The healer had unwrapped Franco’s arm. The gash was the length of my hand and deep, the skin around it red and swollen. “There is no sign of rot,” she announced. Dipping a cloth in warm water, she cleansed the wound.

  To his credit, Franco did not wince, but he scrutinized her every movement. “It did not take long for the king to learn of it. Within days, we received his messenger into our camp.” Franco hesitated.

  I waited for him to continue. When he did not, I asked, “What did the king’s messenger say?”

  He studied me, his scrutiny descending to my rounded belly.

  “Please tell me.” My voice was firm, but my legs were feeble.

  “He swore vengeance and warned us to prepare for war. He would accept no compromise, truce, or offers of peace. Nothing but blood-letting—Heinrich’s blood—would appease him.”

  I wrapped my arms around the babe I carried in my belly. Nausea swept through me as the room spun. I grew weak, and then my world turned to gray until it became pure blackness and absorbed me into its depths.

  SHARDS OF PAIN flared in my belly and lower back, drawing me from unconsciousness. A moan escaped my lips and I opened my eyes. A woman spoke in hushed tones and footsteps rustled through the rushes on the floor. Sister Ricburg sat at my bedside, her face crumpled with concern and I reached for her fingers. She pressed a cool damp cloth on my forehead. The windows were wide open and a cool breeze wafted into the room. Another wracking pain tore through me, so intense I could scarce draw breath. My grip of Sister Ricburg’s hand tightened until the pain passed.

  A soothing voice came from the foot of the bed. “Your babe wants birthing, Domina. It will not be long.” I considered the kind face of the midwife, the same woman who had delivered me of Otto. This time, Sister Ricburg’s presence did not agitate her. She peered beneath the blanket over my legs. Pains gripped me, the interim between them becoming shorter. Time passed in the accelerating rise and fall of pain.

  “Now, Domina, push! Push hard!”

  I heaved with every shred of energy left to me. With one final exertion, I expelled the baby into the woman’s waiting hands. A brief silence followed sudden relief, and then came the hearty cry of a new life.

  “It is a girl, and a strong one, at that.” The midwife raised the baby for me.

  Unrestrained tears of joy blurred this first vision of my new daughter. The midwife bathed her in a basin of warm water, wrapped her in a delicate woolen blanket, and placed her into my waiting arms. Her cries were robust, and her tiny arms gripped the air in indignation at her passage into this world. “She is beautiful,” I murmured, the ordeal of childbirth already behind me.

  Sister Ricburg’s eyes shone. “And as hearty as her mother and father and brother and sister.”

  I marveled at my daughter’s fairness. Dank tendrils of fine, golden hair curled on her delicate forehead. Her fingers were long and thin, and her face—so pink with life, so angelic—carried the promise of great beauty to come.

  “What shall you name her?”

  “Heinrich wanted me to call her Gerberga, in memory of his grandmother.”

  “Gerberga.” Sister Ricburg tested the name. “It is a fine name which will suit her.”

  I clutched the complaining child to me, overwhelmed with the miracle of life and the absolute love of a mother for a child. The midwife soon removed her from my arms and handed her to the wet nurse, who put Gerberga to breast and silenced her cries.

  HEINRICH’S CAVALCADE TROTTED into the bailey, their lathered horses exhausted. I waved at him from my bedchamber’s window. He waved back then tossed his horse’s reins to a stable lad. Weeks had ensued since Gerberga’s birth. Many months had passed since we had last seen each other. A trembling shook my body. He must have taken the stairs two at a time. The moment he burst through the door, he embraced me, lifting me from the ground with his powerful grip. I savored the aroma of leather and horse and wind. “How I have longed for this moment, Matilde. I dreamt of it each night, and recalled it every moment of every day.”

  “I thank God you returned to me safe. When Franco told me what happened in Lotharingia, I was worried for you.”

  His lips covered mine and I returned the kiss with zest. He kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of my neck. My blood raced, igniting a desperate passion for him. He scooped me into his arms and eased me onto the bed where I welcomed him into my body. My flesh melted against his. He filled my sight, my senses, my world.

  Later, with our bodies entangled beneath the bedcovers, he told me all. “Forewarned by the threatening message sent to me by Conrad’s runner, we were prepared when we encountered Conrad’s army near Ehrenburg.” Heinrich paused. He inhaled as if summoning the courage to recall the memory. “I withdraw into myself in the moments before a battle.”

  “I cannot imagine the apprehension you must experience.” My tone was deliberately soothing to draw out his tale.

  “Warfare is gruesome.” His dreamlike words told me he was on the battlefield once more. He closed his eyes in recollection. “I can envision the sights and smells—entrails, spilled brains, bowels loosed, the dull gray color against the green grass, scarlet blood coughed up from deep inside, dying blood-stained grins.” Pain edged each word. “I cannot shed the visions. I carry them with me each day.”

  “Hush, husband, try not to think of it. Rather, pray for the souls who lost their lives at the end of Saxon blades, and give thanks to God your life was spared.”

  He continued as if he did not hear me, the need to purge such images too powerful to stop. “I ordered the men to meet the king’s army. Clad in glowing armor and chain mail, our Saxons rode tall and intimidating. Across from us, the king’s army advanced. We met with clanks of metal on metal, bringing the first screams of war. We wielded our axes with ferocity. The king’s men fell by the hundreds.”

  I could barely tolerate the imagery his words evoked, but to help ease the burdens weighing upon his soul, I knew I must.

  “Our men fought valiantly until victory belonged to us.” Heinrich rolled off his side onto his back, and gaped at the ceiling.

  “When it was over, long after I walked the rows of wounded and dead, I found myself alone in my tent. I fell to my knees and prayed for those whom I lost. I thanked God for those whose lives He spared and for granting me the victory and title of Duke of Saxony, Thuringia, and Lotharingia. He brought me one-step closer to the crown. The thought humbles me. I am unsure what to make of it. I should be rejoicing, but instead, I cannot help but be in awe of my good fortune. Even uneasy.”

  “If you were not uneasy, you wouldn’t be the man I have grown to love and admire.”

  Chapter Six

  A.D. 914

  SUNLIGHT HAD YET to dispel the night when I entered Heinrich’s bedchamber. He lay in bed, his chest bare. In a corner of the room, the healer stirred a green-colored mixture of herbs in a clay bowl. A manservant removed a dark blue over-tunic from a chest and laid it across a chair. When they noticed me, both men bowed.

  “How do you fare this morning?” I went to Heinrich’s bedside.

  “No better than yesterday.” His voice blared hoarse and raspy because of a persistent cough.

  The healer stopped stirring, dipped his fingers into the bowl, and prepared to slather the foul-smelling poultice on Heinrich’s chest. A pounding on the door interrupted the process.<
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  “Enter.” Heinrich waved the healer away and sat up.

  The man scraped his fingers against the bowl and returned it to a table laden with pouches of herbs and utensils.

  A powerful rolling cough racked Heinrich’s form, and his face reddened.

  Brother Rufus hastened into the chamber. “The king’s envoy, Erchanger of Swabia, and a group of his men have arrived. We have them stopped at the fortress gates.”

  Heinrich frowned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He ran his hands through his hair. “Tell the gatekeeper to seize their weapons. Bring Erchanger to me without his men. Summon Franco and his men to attend with me.”

  Brother Rufus hurried to carry out the orders. The manservant rushed to slip a golden-colored under-tunic over Heinrich’s head. The garment caught, and Heinrich struggled to get his arms and head through. Frustrated, he nudged the man aside and thrashed to untangle it.

  In response to the man’s stricken expression, I grabbed hold of the overtunic. “I’ll aid my husband this morning.” After I gave the manservant a reassuring smile, he backed out of the room with relief.

  “What does Erchanger want?” I handed Heinrich the over-tunic and helped him put it on, smoothing it over his knees.

  “I cannot say, but I dislike it. What trick is Conrad planning? Another murder plot?”

  “Perhaps he wants to calls a truce?”

  Heinrich shook his head. “I doubt it.” He offered me his arm. “Come, let’s see what he wants.”

  What political intrigue could be afoot? A tightness agitated my stomach.

  Franco and a contingent of guards lined the Great Hall as we took our seats at a trestle table. A guardsman announced Erchanger. I studied him as he walked the length of the aisle towards us. He was a stocky man, dressed in black with a jeweled chain from which dangled a round ruby set in a filigree circle. He bowed, and when he straightened, a tight-lipped twitch stirred on his mouth. I remembered meeting Erchanger at King Conrad’s election. Streaks of gray dulled the golden hair that had thinned at the top but still flowed below his ears. His round and bulbous nose made his appearance unique; a face not easily forgotten.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” He turned his attention from Heinrich to me. “I am happy to greet you, Domina.”

  “As am I,” I responded.

  “Please sit.” Heinrich gestured to a nearby table.

  Erchanger sat across the table from us.

  A servant placed tankards of ale on the table. For the moment, they remained untouched.

  Heinrich coughed harshly and I frowned. He should be resting.

  “What is so urgent that Conrad sends his envoy to me?”

  “I am not here on behalf of the king.”

  Heinrich raised his eyebrows in interest. He beckoned to Franco who crossed the room and joined us.

  “I prefer to speak in private.” Erchanger cast an awkward glance at me and then at Franco.

  “You may speak freely among those I trust,” Heinrich assured him. “Why are you here?”

  “One year ago, I allied myself with Bishop Solomon of Constance.”

  “Solomon?” Heinrich raised his eyebrows. “Whatever for? I have heard of his cruelty.”

  “Let me say, we had common political goals.”

  Heinrich and I had heard the rumors about Erchanger. Seeking to increase his power in Swabia, he had played a part in the defeat of its previous duke, a rebellious man convicted of high treason and executed three years earlier. With the duke’s demise, Erchanger and his younger brother, Berthold, had become the most powerful counts in Swabia, but the rank of duke had eluded them. I suspected this might be what he was after.

  “Bishop Solomon is a powerful man, but I underestimated his greed,” Erchanger continued.

  “What does this have to do with me?” Heinrich’s voice rang with impatience.

  “When King Conrad married my sister, Cuningunda, he made me his representative in Swabia. Solomon opposed my rise to power. To compensate, he made outrageous demands of tribute from travelers, killing them if they failed to comply. He stores grain in his barns and sells it at a price most people cannot afford. He withholds money, taxes, grain, and cattle, a portion of which should be mine. So, I captured the good bishop Solomon and imprisoned him.”

  “And Conrad opposes this?”

  Erchanger nodded. “He claims it is a grievous offence against the Church. It is no secret Conrad depends on their support.” A dark scowl appeared on his face. “He stripped me of titles and lands then forced me into exile.” Bitterness was noticeable in his voice.

  “What is it you seek from me?”

  “Your help…I wish to retake Swabia and become its duke.”

  A pause followed.

  Erchanger gripped the handle of his tankard until his knuckles turned white. “If I must, I am prepared to fight and die for the cause. But I cannot do it without your help.” He raised the vessel to his lips and imbibed a long swill.

  Heinrich leaned back in his chair. “You have been affronted in a manner that no man should tolerate.”

  Erchanger scrutinized Heinrich. “You are the undisputed leader amongst the dukes. Conrad is king in name only. He rules Franconia alone, with little power over the rest of the kingdom. The Magyars continue to raid at will, yet Conrad fails to gather the forces to fend them away. You have succeeded where he failed.” He paused, chewing his lower lip. “The time has come for us to unite against Conrad.”

  “You speak treason.” Heinrich’s raspy voice was little more than a whisper.

  Franco sat higher in his seat; as did I. Would my husband consider such an action?

  “Not if we oust him together.” Erchanger spoke with finality. He said nothing further as if he wanted to give Heinrich a moment to get used to the idea.

  Heinrich spun his tankard around and around on the table. “If I agree to join you, and if we win against Conrad, have I your word that you and your people will swear fealty to me and elect me king?” Heinrich removed his hand from the drinking vessel and studied Erchanger to judge the sincerity of his forthcoming response.

  It was a bold move on Heinrich’s part; he had long dreamed of being king. Had the time come? Would he join the others in such a dangerous liaison?

  “Yes. You shall have my fealty and that of my brother, Berthold. I’ll ensure my nephew, Arnulf of Bavaria, also swears his oath to you.

  In my heart, I had no doubt that Heinrich would agree.

  “The deal is struck.” Heinrich placed both hands on the table and rose to his feet and with no further words, walked away.

  My displeasure sat like a rotted apple in the pit of my stomach, yet I fought to hide my emotion as I rose. I could not countermand him in the presence of others. I called a nearby servant. “Please bring our guest a meal and assign him sleeping quarters.” I then followed my husband from the room. Heinrich was a man of his word, but I knew I must steer him from this dangerous course of treason. He would forfeit his life if captured. How could he risk his future so easily? No title was worth it. I had to convince him to find a more peaceful way.

  TRY AS I might, I found no ready opportunity to speak with Heinrich who was occupied in preparations. My chance did not present itself until after the dinner-feast when we retired to our private chambers. There, I seized my moment. “Heinrich, you must reconsider. To depose King Conrad is high treason, and the penalty is death. The risk is too high.”

  He paused, considering my words. In the five years of our marriage, I had earned his respect, but ever the military strategist, his logic was different from mine. Had his ambition to acquire the crown become greater than his desire to preserve his life?

  “I do not agree. I am weary of the problems caused by Conrad, and I’ll not ignore them any longer. The man had ample time to prove his worth. If he was a decent and able monarch, our lands would be fertile, our cattle would be fat, and our children would thrive. Yet the opposite is true—our country is divided,
vulnerable to enemies. I can no longer watch the erosion. My father made a mistake when he handed Conrad the kingdom—a mistake I intend to rectify.”

  My mouth turned dry, and before I could utter an argument, he spoke again. “I have pledged my support to Erchanger.”

  “Do you truly wish to win the kingdom by treason?”

  “Does it matter if the end result is the same—to unite the duchies for the good of the kingdom?” He rose and paced before the brazier.

  “It is too risky. What will happen to me and the children if you are lost to us?” My voice rose with emotion.

  “You worry overmuch, my love. I have no intentions of relinquishing my neck to an executioner.”

  “You cannot predict the result. I cannot believe you think so little of your family, of your reputation, to take such a risk. You will be blamed as having deposed the king, a usurper.” I went to stand beside him and clutched his hand. “There will be those who will retaliate against you.”

  “I intend to replace Conrad, not harm him.”

  “And would he do the same for you?”

  Heinrich’s silence confirmed my fears.

  “If anything should happen to you, what will happen to Otto? To Thankmar? Gerberga and Hedwiga? What hope will there be for their future? What will your sons inherit if you are stripped of title and holdings?”

  He strode to the window and rested both hands on the sill. His jaw twitched as he observed the night sky.

  I dared to hope he was contemplating my warning, that I had swayed him.

  Heinrich faced me, tension contorting his features. “I am finished discussing this with you. I gave Erchanger my word, and I’ll not rescind it.”

  Had his wits become addled? Had the strain of recent victories driven him mad with ambition? Had his dreams of power and position surpassed his love for family? The anger I had been holding back surfaced. “I see no amount of pleading will offset your intentions. As long as I live, I’ll never understand you, or the ways of men.” I twisted away from him in frustration.