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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  Heinrich rubbed the back of his neck. “Your brother truly named me king? What kind of ruse is this?”

  “There is no trick. God save you, Heinrich. The Franconians have heeded their king’s dying wish and along with other dukes have elected you king at a recent gathering.”

  “And what of the Swabians and Bavarians?”

  “Those who chose to attend supported you.”

  “And why was I not invited?”

  “You were prohibited because of the charges against you by the bishops. They have since been rescinded.”

  It took a moment for the shock of what Eberhard said to register. I held my breath in anticipation of Heinrich’s reaction.

  “Our duchies have been at odds with each other for many years. The Franconian and Saxon people believe themselves rivals.”

  “Yet, the Franconians elected you. I speak the truth. Conrad respected you as a worthy rival and adversary. He believed you have the strength to unite the dukes for the good of the kingdom. He knew you would doubt this, so he asked me to bring you proof.”

  Eberhard went back to his packhorse. He untied the leather straps holding the chest in place and carried it to Heinrich. After laying it at Heinrich’s feet, he unlatched and raised the lid. The brilliance of the gold and jewels within reflected light in the sun’s rays. Heinrich blinked at the brightness and regarded the box. He raised a heavy-linked gold chain with a jeweled pendant the size of a large goose egg in the form of the imperial crown of the king and an ornate ring.

  I moved closer to glimpse the jewels. They were exquisite, of the purest yellow gold. At the ring’s center rested the largest cut sapphire I had ever seen. Engraved on both sides was the royal insignia of the king—an elegant stag, with a crown above its horns, leaping from the boughs of a laurel wreath.

  As Heinrich came to realize what this ring meant, color arose in his cheeks. His hand trembled as he clutched the jewel in his fist. Excitement rushed through me. Everyone studied Heinrich’s reaction. Eberhard waited in anxious anticipation.

  Heinrich cleared his throat. “Conrad has bestowed a great honor upon me.” Humility altered the timbre of his voice. “We did not agree on many issues, but I respected him as a worthy opponent. I regret we disagreed and that I did not have the opportunity to better acquaint myself with him during his lifetime.”

  “What message shall I return to Fritzlar, my lord? Those assembled await confirmation of your acceptance.”

  Heinrich slid the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand and drew a deep breath. “I accept this honor and the responsibility it comes with. I pray for God’s guidance in ruling the kingdom and its people.”

  WITHIN DAYS, WE departed for the royal residence in Aachen. Inclement weather and my condition forced us to stop at the abbey in Nordhausen. There I would deliver my baby. The abbess made room for us and gave us a warm welcome. Heinrich and I, along with our children and a handful of servants, occupied three rooms. The remainder of our entourage made camp or stayed in nearby dwellings.

  One morning, after Sister Ricburg and I had attended Mass with the abbess, a nun stepped into my path as we left the church. She was a young woman near my age. Her features were comely, but her gaping eyes disturbed me. Her eyes rolled in her head, one hazel, the other a startling green. Drops of spittle clung to the corners of her lips. Wild-eyed, she clutched my over-tunic. “I speak sooth, Domina. You must heed my words. Surround yourself with priests and bishops and pray hard.”

  “Sister Gertrude!” The abbess tried to pry the nun’s hands from my garment. “Return to the kitchen. You are needed there.”

  Sister Gertrude ignored her superior’s reproach. “Please, Domina, you must heed me.”

  Sorry for this young troubled woman, I smiled at the abbess. “Surely this unfortunate woman means no harm.”

  The abbess frowned. “The poor sister suffers from a mild form of madness. You must not take to heart what she says.”

  Sister Gertrude stepped closer and seized my hand. Her face turned pale, her eyes stopped rolling, and she gawked at me. “The devil’s spawn grows in your belly, seeded by the diabolic coupling on the holy day.”

  Her voice deepened in timbre, sending a chill through me.

  She placed her hand on my abdomen. “Your son is cursed. Discord will be his lot, and all who may spring from his loins. He will make trouble in your house for as long as he or his heirs live.”

  “That will be enough, Sister.” The abbess hailed two nuns. They seized Sister Gertrude and tried to lead her away, but she struggled and turned back to me, muttering incoherently.

  All fears resurfaced. My heart pounded, as I fell to my knees, shaken. The world swirled as I struggled to draw breath.

  “Matilde!” Sister Ricburg shouted. “Someone, bring water!” Her voice drew me from the blackness threatening to consume me, and she pulled me up with gentle hands. She put a cup to my lips and I gulped the water greedily. With Sister Ricburg’s help, I sat on a nearby bench until my heartbeat slowed.

  The Abbess’ tense face revealed worry. “I shall summon a healer.”

  “No, please. I need a moment. I felt ill, but…am better.” Indeed, my legs steadied, and the pounding in my chest ceased.

  The abbess wrung her hands. “Please forgive me, Domina. Sister Gertrude is not aware of what she says. She is ill. Pay no mind to her.”

  As the abbess spoke to reassure me, anxiety gnawed at me. Could it be true? Satan’s seed? My child, born of an unholy union. She must truly be a mystic; otherwise how could she know of Heinrich’s shameful act on Holy Thursday. The curse Sister Gertrude uttered must be genuine. “Is it true she speaks sooth?” I clutched at the faint hope her words were nothing more than nonsense.

  “There are a few who believe her predictions, but more do not. Come, I’ll take you to your bed so you may rest.”

  She tried to reassure me. I did my best to hide my upset, but the soothsayer’s curse reverberated in my mind.

  I LIE ON a cold hard floor in a dimly lit room, surrounded by midwives and healers. The eldest points her gnarled finger at my engorged belly. A deluge gushes from between my legs. I peer in horror at the torrent of blood and water. A midwife reaches inside me and removes a creature with blue glutinous limbs, a distorted face, and a misshapen skull. She holds the horrid being high in the air for all to see.

  Sister Ricburg steps forth from among the women and laughs, her head thrown back, her teeth-like fangs as she screeches. “Satan’s spawn!”

  I BOLTED UPRIGHT in bed, trembling in the darkness. The hearth’s embers glowed like a faraway torch on a distant hill. This dream had come to me twice before, each time more real, more terrifying.

  I placed my hands on my belly. Was I carrying the devil’s child? I thought of Heinrich who slept in another room, for at every opportunity, I sought to keep him from my bed. Here at the abbey, it was easily done to separate husband from wives. When I had first told him of the encounter with the soothsayer, he had shrugged it off. His error on that Holy Thursday many months ago, he’d said, was due to nothing more than an over-abundance of ale.

  Sister Ricburg said nothing pertaining to Sister Gertrude’s prophecy, but I kept my prayer beads, Psalter, or priest always near. My maidservants uttered nary a word and cast furtive glances at me. They ceased speaking the moment I entered a room. Nightmares and restlessness plagued my sleep. Prayer became my sole relief.

  Despite what he said, worry and guilt were undisguised in Heinrich’s expression. His over-attentiveness during this time worsened my agitation. This should have been a time of great joy, for Heinrich and I would soon be crowned king and queen. Instead, I lived in dread of giving birth. I burrowed beneath the bedcovers and prayed for deliverance, but my foreboding remained, a taste akin to bile in my mouth.

  THE PAINS BEGAN the next morning, and they were worse than any I had ever experienced. Several clerics waited in the hall with Heinrich. Their chants and prayers mingled with my groans. As always, Sist
er Ricburg remained at my side. Nervous tension permeated the abbey. Word of the soothsayer’s prediction had travelled, and everyone awaited the birth with apprehension.

  This child spawned by Heinrich’s sin fought to enter the world through what was, for me, intolerable pain. I feared my weakened body would break in two. Stunned by such agony, I was too weak to cry out. Between fits of unconsciousness, I begged God’s forgiveness for the sin that had caused this ordeal and begged Him to end the torture…to end my life. I fell into dark periods of confusion, of insufferable anguish; torment my sole reality.

  Then mercifully, I heard the midwife declare the head surface.

  Cold fear clamped my heart. The midwife tugged to release the child, but in my panic, my muscles contracted and held it trapped.

  “Calm yourself, Domina. Let the baby come,” the midwife urged. “Give a push.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and pushed hard.

  “The cord circles its neck. You must try again. Quickly, Domina,” the midwife urged.

  Sister Ricburg made the sign of the cross.

  I could not see beyond my swollen belly. Instinct urged me to relax in order to release the baby. Then I pushed again.

  “The shoulders are free. I can remove the cord from its neck.”

  My strength faded. Then, one pain, more intense than those I had already endured, ripped through me. I pushed again as I screamed, “Heinrich!” It was then, in a bloody gush, my baby slipped into the world.

  The midwife produced a knife and slit the cord. She raised the blue baby and turned away. I could hear her pound the baby’s back and knead its chest.

  The cut umbilical protruded from my body. Life drained out of me. Was I dying? For some reason, I found the thought comforting. I had already begun to deliver the afterbirth when my baby came to life. It coughed and then cried weakly.

  “You have a son, Domina,” the midwife announced.

  “Let me see him.” Panic filled my voice.

  The midwife turned. The baby was still pale, but his pallor was luminous compared to the unearthly hue moments earlier. I raised my arms and the midwife placed him into my hold. The innocent face of an angel stared back at me. My perfect son, beautifully formed, his limbs plump, his fingers and toes long and perfect, and not a mark of Satan upon him! I released a stifled breath; tears of relief flowed as I kissed his forehead.

  “He’s beautiful. My son, the son of a king, a true prince.” It was fitting to name him after his sire. “Prince Heinrich. To distinguish you from your father, I shall call you Heinz.” He slept nestled in my embrace. In spite of being conceived in sin, my heart swelled. Lest the soothsayer’s curse come true, a profound need to shelter and protect him coursed through me. All the days of my life, I would care for him with my entire heart and soul. A feral lioness, I would defend this child; keep him safe from the curse that threatened him. Already I loved him more than anyone I had ever loved before; more than my other children, more than Heinrich, more than my parents, more than my beloved grandmother. May God forgive me!

  Aachen

  WHEN I WAS certain Heinz was strong enough to complete the journey, we continued to Aachen. On a brilliant morning, we arrived and rode through the gates of our new home, once the palace of Karl the Great. I was in awe of the buildings, whose splendor impressed me. Servants rushed forward to escort us inside.

  The days passed in a whirlwind. While Heinrich selected his advisors and inner circle, I settled the children and acquainted myself with the many servants who managed the palace. I consulted with cutters who were to sew our coronation garments, and the many others required to aid us in our new roles as king and queen.

  The day of the coronation drew near, and all was ready except for one detail – who would Heinrich choose to crown him? Papal representatives had always crowned new kings. The matter rankled Heinrich. Still bitter at the clergy’s death penalty against him, he refused to discuss the matter with anyone. Understanding my husband well, I suspected something was afoot; he was not one to forget a wrong done to him.

  Ignoring all recommendations from his advisors, he left the matter unsolved until two days before the coronation when he summoned Archbishop Herigar of Mainz. We received him in a less official room designated for legal hearings instead of the audience hall usually reserved for important guests. I recognized this slight for what it was, and braced myself for what was to come.

  The archbishop swept into the room, red robes flowing behind him. A stout man with a round face, he came to a stop before us. Golden rings glistened from each finger as he rested his hands on his thighs and bowed to us from the waist.

  Numerous courtiers and guards rose in a show of respect, but because he was one of the men who had sentenced Heinrich to death, I refused to acknowledge him.

  With jaw clenched, Heinrich eyed the archbishop. Protocol dictated Heinrich must speak first, but he delayed, his favorite tactic when addressing someone who had crossed him.

  I struggled to keep my discomfort from showing. What was to come would not be pleasant, yet I could feel no sympathy for the cleric.

  “I wish to discuss the coronation.” Heinrich’s voice echoed beneath the room’s cavernous arches.

  The Archbishop expelled a breath. “I would be pleased to serve you in any way I can.” When he straightened, he peered at us through close-set, brown eyes.

  “I assume you have conducted a coronation in your past?” Heinrich posed the question with a wily smirk. Beneath his calm facade, I knew he was relishing this moment.

  “I presided over the enthronement of King Conrad. A regal affair, flawlessly executed.”

  “And tell me, Archbishop, who, in your opinion, is the best man to crown me?”

  The Archbishop’s features showed addled confusion. “I assume you wish to hold the ceremony here in the Palatine Chapel. The duty would then fall to me. I am the head of this bishopric.” His voice carried a nervous edge.

  “I see.” Heinrich ran his hand over his bearded chin in feigned contemplation. “And if I choose not to be crowned in a church?”

  I leaned forward, anxiety gripping me.

  The archbishop grimaced. “What do you mean…not crowned in a church? That would be most unusual, my lord. It is possible to perform the ceremony in the location of your choosing, but I do not recommend it as it would set a precedent and would show a division between King and Church. More importantly, your reign would not be sanctioned by the hand of God.”

  I had imagined a reprimand, angry words, but I now comprehended what Heinrich planned to do. I stretched forth a cautioning hand, but he nudged it away.

  Heinrich glared at the man he considered his enemy. “Tell me, Archbishop. Do you believe Church and King can be united after the bishops of my kingdom ordered me executed?”

  And there it was, for all to hear. I could not envision the exclusion of the Church in his coronation. Within me, words arose to dissuade him, but I must not in a public place. I bit my tongue.

  All movement in the room stilled.

  The archbishop’s pallor faded. “Yes, my lord, all is forgiven. The bishops regret their decision and wish to join with you in the care of this country.” It was a weak offer, one requiring Heinrich’s acceptance.

  “The past is the past. We must turn an eye to the future instead of dwelling on the events of long ago, must we not?” Heinrich’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

  It quenched my rising hope. He had made his point, and judging by the side whispers and nods, everyone present knew it too.

  “Yes, of course. I am happy you bear no grudges.”

  Heinrich responded with a penetrating search of the archbishop’s face.

  “I would be happy to conduct your coronation service, my lord,” the archbishop continued. “Merely advise me of your wishes and I’ll see to them.”

  “That is precisely the point! I’ll not require your service.”

  “Oh? Who do you intend to perform the ceremony, then?” The archbishop’s vo
ice quavered with discomfort.

  Heinrich had long awaited this moment. He must have dreamt of it, calculated it, and imagined how it would unfold. In spite of his resentment against the archbishop, he demonstrated no emotion. How he must want to put the archbishop in his place, to make him pay! Yet, Heinrich was wise enough to fathom he could not completely alienate the man. The Church was powerful; a king had need of its support. It would be foolish to make an enemy of such a powerful institution.

  Heinrich steepled his fingers. “No one shall preside over the ceremony. Religion will not play a part in my coronation because religion played no part in my election.”

  The archbishop’s mouth fell open and his cheeks reddened.

  From the corner of my eye, Heinrich glanced at me with an expression of sweet vengeance. “Through the grace of God, I’ll crown myself.” Heinrich leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. “You are dismissed.”

  To his credit, the archbishop gave a curt bow, and walked from the room with his head held high, but his red face and clenched fists betrayed his true feelings.

  I thought it only a matter of time until word of this exchange spread. Courtiers and servants alike would gossip in each home, on every road, in all taverns. They would hoist a tankard of ale at my husband’s victory over the bishops, but I knew better. Others might believe this to be Heinrich’s victory, but I believed it to be his first mistake. Without the Church’s blessing, God would not sanction our reign. Only misfortune could follow. Of this, I was certain.

  ON CORONATION DAY, townsfolk braved the cold March air. Today, a new king would herald a new era—a fresh start for the kingdom! In my heart, I held great hope, but also great trepidation for despite my pleas, Heinrich refused to allow the Church to perform any of the religious rites that would bless our reign. Would we have the endorsement of the people, or would they side with the clergy? Already the weight of our crowns pressed upon us.