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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  “It is best to keep the boys separated, at least for the near future.”

  “Perhaps if you spend more time with Thankmar it will heal what bothers him.” I pondered this arrangement. “Go with my blessing.”

  Pride flashed in his eyes. Smiling, he faced me. “How fast the days have passed. Weeks have turned into months, months into years—years in which I have come to love you more than when I first saw you. Matilde, I—”

  “Say no more, my love.” I placed my fingers over his lips to prevent him from speaking, for I knew the love he carried in his heart for me. We embraced, my head tight against his chest. “Whenever you are gone, I spend my days worrying. Promise you will take great care. The charges made against you by the bishops and King Conrad are still in effect.”

  “I promise no harm will come to us on our way.” Heinrich leaned forward and kissed me on my forehead.

  The sunlight illuminated his features. He had never seemed more handsome. Heinrich turned my palm upwards and placed something into it, folding my fingers closed around it. I opened it. A beautiful thick golden chain with a golden cross with a deep sea-green emerald at its center lay in my palm. “I meant to give this to you after the meal, but Brother Rufus—”

  “It is beautiful, Heinrich,” I interrupted. “Help me with the clasp so I can wear it.” I lifted my veil and turned my back to him.

  “Not as beautiful as you.” Heinrich hung the necklace around my neck and fastened the clasp.

  I turned back around. “With or without gifts, you are in my prayers. I shall cherish this.” I caressed the cross pendant, which represented more than just another jewel. An omen of good fortune, it symbolized the journey of our lives together. I believed this with each beat of my heart.

  The problem between Thankmar and Otto had been resolved, but for how long? How were we to realize, the discord between our sons, those born and those yet to be born had only just begun to plague our lives?

  Chapter Ten

  A.D. 919

  HOLY THURSDAY WAS a day without frivolity, where the Church forbade unessential travel, meat, music, and sexual intercourse. It was a day to confess sins, purify one’s body, and launder garments in preparation for Easter.

  After the industriousness of the day, once my aides had erected pavilions and provided the traditional charitable baths, clothes, and food for the masses of women and children who arrived in droves at our gates, and I washed the feet of my vassals at Mass, a pleasant weariness possessed me. With Gerberga, Otto, and Hedwiga bathed and asleep in their beds, I returned to my bedchamber where my own bath awaited. A cool breeze streamed in from the open shutters and the fire in the hearth shed pleasant heat. Two maidservants helped me undress. I slipped into the warmth and the women helped me wash my hair and body. I sank deeper into the water to indulge in the comfort. The day was finally complete. When the water turned cold, with a tinge of regret, I rose from the tub and accepted the drying cloth my maidservant held for me.

  Ever since the bishops’ judgment against Heinrich, he had refused to attend church or confess himself to any of the clergy. His anger was so great, he spurned religious practices and had turned his back on the Church altogether. This morning he had risen at dawn and set off to hunt with several of his closest supporters, who also shunned the Church, and I had not seen him since. As night fell, I became worried, but then, it was not the first time the men returned from a hunt after dark.

  After helping me dress for bed, my maidservants bade me a good night and left my chamber.

  In the soothing silence, I knelt to pray at the prie-dieu. Afterwards, I snuffed the candles at my bedside and lay in bed, exhausted. Sleep came to me immediately.

  I was not aware how long I slept, but noise and aromas stirred me from slumber. The scent of roasting meat wafted from the Great Hall, compelling after the many days of Lenten abstinence. A flute played and a low masculine voice boomed out a song. Occasional bursts of laughter mixed with the voices of people in celebration.

  My eyes flew open. Meat and music! Anger surged through my fatigued body. Had Heinrich permitted this? To defy Church doctrine was a sin. Was it because of his animosity with the bishops? I rose, slid my feet into the slippers at the side of my bed, and donned my robe.

  The moment I opened my chamber door, the sound of revelry grew louder. I crossed over to the stairs, which led to the Great Hall. Before I could descend, I came to an abrupt halt at the sight before me.

  Slabs of meat roasted on spits in the hearth. Wine flowed freely. Drunken men and women frolicked with abandon. Minstrels played flutes and drums while the bard sang a song so bawdy, it made my cheeks burn. Women, several of whom were drunker than the men whose laps they sat on, enjoyed being fondled. From the high table, my husband watched it all, calling for more drink with slurred speech.

  Repelled by the sight, I returned to my bedchamber. I slammed the door and leaned against it until my breathing slowed. With clenched teeth, I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

  The raucousness slowly diminished and the night fell silent again.

  At the creak of the door, I raised my head from the pillow. Embers glowed from the brazier, shedding a muted, amber light. A chill air filled the room. I sensed Heinrich’s presence before I could distinguish him in the darkness. He stumbled across the threshold and mumbled in annoyance when his sleeve caught on the latch. Fussing, he managed to disentangle himself. With his elbow, he shoved the door closed, swaying. “Matilde, are you awake?”

  I sat up in bed. “You are drunk.”

  “Me? Nah, I drank a mere cup or five of ale.”

  Ambling further into the room, he belched then flopped onto the bed beside me. He rolled onto his side, slid closer to me, and toyed with a lock of my hair. His lips kissed my neck.

  I pushed him away. “It is Maundy Thursday. It is forbidden.”

  “Bah, I care not for the Church and its rules. The bishops wipe their arses with the same two fingers they bless the people with.” He nuzzled closer. His breath came at me, hot and stale. His chest swelled against me.

  “No, Heinrich. I have purified my body for Easter.” I tried to push him away again, but he held firm.

  “Hush,” he hissed in my ear. He wound his arms around me, constricting me, pulling me against his hot body. His hands wandered over my trembling form.

  “We must wait until after Easter.”

  “Who will know?” He reached around me to cup my breast with one hand while he slid his hand over my stomach until it curved against my womanhood.

  I tried to push him away, but his drunken state made him stronger, more obstinate.

  “You are drunk, unaware of what you are doing.”

  “You are wrong. I am well aware of what I do; of what I want. And I want you.” He untied the bodice of my kirtle and released the pale swells of my breasts.

  I continued to struggle and kick, but every attempt was useless against his might.

  His breathing quickened as he fondled me, aroused by my bare breasts, ignoring my angry tears. His tongue flicked between my breasts.

  “You must stop!” I spat. His disregard for the bishops and Church had penetrated the boundary of our bedroom. It incensed me. He cared not that I had cleansed my body and soul for Easter.

  “You are my wife and it is your duty to me.” His hands slithered over my waist and glided over my belly, my ribs. He palmed my buttocks, the back of my thighs, and his fingertips soon trilled over my pelvis. His determined touch progressed. He raised my night kirtle.

  “Please do not,” I begged.

  He groaned as if my plea aroused him more, and I stopped struggling. My strength did not match his. I could not prevent him from taking me. The words my grandmother once told me flitted into my thoughts. ‘Do not forget to remind him of the days when the act of love is banned because it is considered a sin. Should he choose to ignore Church laws and persist in his desires, there is little you can do. You will have to submit, but if that
happens it will be his sin, not yours.’

  He lay on top of me and, without word or gesture, speared his hardened manhood into me. He thrust repeatedly, harder, deeper each time. The bedchamber resonated with his raspy, grunting pants. My ragged breath gusted through clenched teeth. While my indignation burned, I lay unmoving, trying to hold on, praying he would finish.

  He moved more urgently. My body strained against him—hating it. He groaned his release in my ear. Panting, he rolled off me. I looked at the ceiling until I heard him snore.

  At dawn’s first light, I rose from bed to seek the dark privacy of the chapel. I glanced back at the bed, but Heinrich slept on, one leg free of the covers, his hose partially rolled down. I donned my robe and slipped from the bedchamber, lest he awaken and notice my upset.

  I descended the stairs and entered the Great Hall. Disgusted, I scrutinized the toppled tankards and congealed food on trenchers. Men and women lay sprawled over benches and tables in the deep sleep of drunkenness. Numb with disillusionment, I crossed to the far end of the chamber to the chapel door. Once inside, I closed the door behind me and rushed to the altar. There, I fell to my knees. The tears I had kept at bay poured forth in a distraught torrent. Time became lost to me as I knelt there, frozen by shame.

  Someone stirred behind me. Not Heinrich. Please God, not yet. I could not face him. I drew my breath and turned around. Sister Ricburg waited near the door, her mouth open, her brows crinkled in confusion. When our eyes met, she rushed to my side.

  “Domina, why are you weeping? What has happened?”

  I realized then how I must have appeared, with hair disheveled and face red from crying, in my robe. The words poured forth unrestrained. “It was as if the devil possessed him. Heinrich forced me last night. I did my best, but I could not stop him.”

  She crossed herself. “It is a sin,” she whispered, and her voice softened as she lay a hand on mine. “But not yours.”

  “It must be kept secret.”

  Sister Ricburg nodded. “Come with me.”

  “Where?” I swiped the tears from my cheek.

  “To the antechamber of your room, where I’ll have a bath drawn for you.”

  I froze. “But he is sleeping in my bed and I do not wish to see him. Not yet.”

  “I doubt he will awaken. The festivities did not end until dawn, but I’ll latch the inner door. If he awakens, he will have to wait until you can don a robe and escape into another room.” Sister Ricburg reassured me with a smile.

  Heartsick, I followed her back upstairs into the antechamber, feeling the desperate need to cleanse away last night’s sin. As she helped me bathe, I told her all. Her face gentle, she listened without comment. Afterwards, once I was dressed and resting, Sister Ricburg held me fast, as a mother would a child, my friend, the one person to whom I could confide my most pressing thoughts, before whom I might permit my tears to freely fall. When I had wept all I could weep, I vowed not to allow such a thing to ever happen again.

  WHEN I RETURNED from Good Friday Mass, Heinrich was waiting for me in the Great Hall. I marched to my seat, fists clenched. His gaze met mine, but he glanced away in obvious discomfort. With my head held high, I sat beside him. He was not quite pale, though his cheeks lacked their usual ruddiness. It pleased me that he wore a simple over-tunic of dark brown with no adornment other than a leather belt, the typical solemn vestments required on this, the most somber of days. I knew he had donned it to appease me.

  Several awkward moments passed before he cleared his voice and grabbed my hand beneath the table. “Matilde, I, ah... I behaved poorly last night.”

  “With that, I cannot disagree.” I gave him my harshest glare.

  He gave my hand a squeeze. “After our successful hunt, the men and I were in a celebratory mood. The ale flowed freely. Something possessed me. I lost my head. I am sorry.”

  Now this was the man I had grown to love, not the fiend who had come to me last night in such an evil manner. What had possessed him? Satan? I studied my husband. The flesh on his face sagged with remorse.

  “I cannot undo what happened last night, but I promise never to permit drink to affect me like that again.”

  As for me, I was uncertain whether I could forget the devil and the ale, which had caused him to lose his senses. Yet, from that day forth, whenever we were together, he drank nothing but water or fruit juice. It marked the sincerity of his promise to me.

  As the days passed, each time I looked at him, the visions of that terrible night continued to haunt me. A chill caught hold deep inside me, choking all affection, causing me to avoid him whenever possible. No matter what I did, I felt tainted, spoiled somehow, and I feared the sinful coupling was a blight and a curse upon me.

  Before the passing of two months, the illicit coupling resulted in a new baby growing in my belly—an ill-begotten child brought into the world through Heinrich’s sin. I feared the child would be cursed, marked or malformed. I prayed ever more fervently, and increased my donations to mothers and children in the hope God would forgive the sin and bless the child in my womb. But nothing I did could dispel the uneasiness that had taken root within me, or the awkwardness that now skulked between me and my husband.

  THE MAGNIFICENT FALCON took wing and flew high above winter’s dormant highlands. While the men hunted, the women and I sat around a blazing fire scrutinizing the great bird’s flight. I had insisted on coming, though I was large with child. My condition brought me no end of discomfort. I carried this child uncomfortably and was more ill than when I bore my other three children. Hence, the hunt was a reprieve. I enjoyed the invigorating, crisp air and knew the day was warm enough not to harm Otto—who I had brought and who sat beside me studying the sky.

  The bird’s distinctive silhouette ascended into the late afternoon sky and became a fleck high above us, elegant as it soared on the breeze. The falcon folded its wings and entered into a steep dive. The bird’s sleek profile grew bigger as it hurtled toward a flock of ducks swimming in a marshy pond.

  The ducks scattered. A smaller duck lagged behind the others. The falcon seized it a short span above the water and carried the unfortunate quarry higher into the sky. The hunters shouted their approval and raced to the site of the kill to retrieve the prey and swing a lure for the falcon.

  I glanced at Heinrich. He loved hunting with his raptors. Exhilaration overcame him each time he tossed one of his well-trained hunters skyward. He regularly spoke of how he felt when surrounded by fresh mountain air and forests of oak and walnut. He said it humbled him, made him one with the earth. Today, his ruddy cheeks glowed as he rode at a gallop, the breeze blowing through his hair while he pursued his prized bird and soon returned.

  “My lord!” One of the hunters pointed to the horizon. “Riders approach in the distance.”

  Several men in our hunting party drew swords; others nocked arrows onto their bowstrings. Five men rode toward us, their horses kicking up mists of snow. When they drew near enough, I recognized them as a group of Heinrich’s guardsmen. They surrounded a man wearing a crested helm that covered the upper portion of his face. Caparisoned in red and white, his horse bore the Franconian coat of arms. In addition, he led a packhorse with a wooden trunk strapped on its back.

  They came to a halt. The huntsmen gripped their weapons tighter in cautious anticipation. The Franconian dismounted, strode toward Heinrich, and dropped to his knees. He unsheathed his sword and removed his helm.

  I gasped when I saw it was Eberhard, King Conrad’s brother. In the manner of the ancients, in the accepted gesture of submission, he held the sword by its blade and offered the hilt to Heinrich.

  Heinrich hesitated. Puzzled, he glowered at the man for several moments before accepting it.

  Eberhard placed his right hand over his heart and bowed his head in homage.

  From where I stood, the winter’s sun reflected off the shiny gems of the imperial insignia on the bejeweled hilt.

  Eberhard was offering Heinrich his fe
alty. What did it mean?

  “Heinrich of Saxony, I have come to offer you my brother’s sword and the swords of every Franconian. I bring you news of the kingdom and of King Conrad.”

  Heinrich glanced at one of the guardsmen who had accompanied Eberhard. The man nodded reassuringly.

  “And what word could Conrad possibly have for me?” Heinrich’s question carried a derisive tone, made more evident by his deliberate omission of Conrad’s kingly title.

  “My brother is dead. I have come to announce his dying wish.”

  The hunting party let loose a wave of murmurs.

  “Dead? When? How?” Heinrich’s voice rose with doubt.

  Why had we not received word, I wondered?

  “My brother suffered a mortal wound in a skirmish and died days later. Before he took his final breath, he spoke to me of his wishes for the kingdom.”

  Heinrich’s brows furrowed. “Conrad and I are, or were, bitter enemies, but I respected him as a warrior. I am sorry to learn of his death.”

  “I thank you for your kind words.”

  “Rise, Eberhard.”

  Eberhard rose and pulled back his shoulders. “As my brother faced death, he thought only about those he loved and the future of the kingdom. His final act was to nominate a successor. He did not wish to leave it to chance. The kingdom’s welfare was his heart’s concern.” Eberhard paused. “He named you, Heinrich, as the next king.”

  Heinrich laughed. “Me? The man Conrad labelled a traitor and sentenced to death if caught? He chose me over you, his flesh and blood?”

  “My brother wore the crown because your father refused it. Otherwise, the kingdom would have belonged to the Saxons. It is fitting the crown return to you. You have been my brother’s nemesis, but are the sole man whom I, in good conscience, can endorse. Of the dukes, only you have the potential to unite us. Nearly everyone supports you and your unconquerable army.”

  My legs trembled and my palms grew damp. My dreams had foretold this day would come.