“I welcome you, Giselbert of Lotharingia. Is it our fine wine that brings you to Aachen?” Heinrich likewise, studied the man with an impassive expression.
Giselbert bowed first to Heinrich and then to me, a wary smile on his face, perhaps from my husband’s placid derision. “I come in friendship and with good intentions and am grateful for your warm reception.”
Had he spoken in sarcasm or humility?
Heinrich maintained his dispassionate face and I could feel tension settling over our guest.
“I have come to pledge my fealty to you.”
Humility, there could be no doubt.
Heinrich’s brows rose. “Your fealty? Why?”
“After being usurped by Robert of Neustria, King Charles gathered a Norman army and marched into Francia. He was defeated and Robert died in the battle. Charles was captured and imprisoned in a castle at Péronne. He rots in prison as we speak, under the guard of Herbert of Vermandois. Francia and Lotharingia have been left with no king.”
“And you wish Lotharingia and Francia to fall under the auspices of my kingdom?” Heinrich’s jaw twitched and he pressed tight his lips.
“It is no secret you wish it to be so.”
“You had a chance to pledge your loyalty to me when I became king, but instead you pledged yourself to King Charles.”
“A serious error of judgment on my part. I have had time to reconsider. Believe me when I say I am sincere in my request to become your vassal.”
Heinrich offered no encouragement. “Lotharingia is already within my range. All I have to do is rally my forces and seize it.”
“This much I am aware of, and it is the reason I am here: to avert such action, for the good of our people.”
The more Giselbert spoke, the more his candidness impressed me.
“Besides, my lord, I have information on a relic you seek.”
“And what information is that?” Heinrich’s eyebrows rose.
“I can reveal the exact location of the Holy Lance.”
My heart leapt into my throat. Each time I heard mention of the Holy Lance, the dream of blood envisioned years ago, resurfaced in my mind. I glanced anew at Giselbert. Beneath the handsome exterior lurked a cunning intellect. If he knew of my husband’s desire to possess the Holy Lance, he had studied Heinrich well. I waited for Heinrich’s response, but I already knew what it would be.
Heinrich’s features came alive with interest. “How can I be assured you speak the truth?”
“I saw the relic as it was handed to its new owner.”
“You are certain of its authenticity?”
“There can be no doubt. The Roman spear was ancient, its tip made of iron. A wide base with metal flanges similar to the wings of a dove supported its long, tapered point. Within a central aperture in the blade lies a hammer-headed nail from the cross of Christ, secured by a cuff threaded with metal wire.”
Giselbert’s description matched that which Heinrich had described to me.
Heinrich’s glare was direct and unflinching. “Who is the man who gave away the Lance?”
I leaned forward in my seat and held my breath.
“Count Samson of Lombardy.”
The information Heinrich had received had indeed been accurate.
A muscle twitched in Heinrich’s jaw. “And to whom did he give it?”
Giselbert grinned. “I’ll give you the name, on the condition you accept my pledge of fealty.”
“You offer me much—your fealty and the Holy Lance. What do you seek in return?” Heinrich sat back, his hands resting on the armrests of his throne.
“I ask that you name me Duke of Lotharingia.”
Such a request was typical. With the kingdom of Francia unsettled, Giselbert was taking matters into his own hands to advance his position, and he had done it fairly and with much deliberation. Once more, I admired this young man’s wit.
“And for that, you will renounce your fealty to any future king of Francia, unless it is me?”
“You have my word.”
“You and your vassals must swear to me as the true leader of the army of God and king of the Lotharingian people.”
“Easily done, my lord, but your guards seized my sword.”
Heinrich burst out in a long laugh, and the tension dissipated. He rose from his throne, descended the dais, and stood toe to toe with Giselbert. “It shall be returned to you on the morrow. I’ll have a chamber readied for you and space made in the barracks for your men. Tomorrow night, after the dinner feast, you can swear your fealty to me, and I shall accept it.”
“And what of my ducal title and holdings?”
“I’ll make you duke once you give me the name of the man who possesses the Lance and I verify the information. Those are my terms.”
Long moments passed. “I accept your terms.”
Heinrich pressed his face closer. “To whom did Samson of Lombardy give the Lance?”
A grin formed on Giselbert’s face. “King Rudolf of Burgundy.”
Heinrich gestured to Franco. “Accommodate Giselbert’s men in the barracks. Ply them with food and wine in the Great Hall. On the morrow, we celebrate.”
After Franco escorted the man from the room, and we were alone beneath the vast arches of the massive Council Hall, my husband grabbed me and spun me. Like a lantern in the dark, his eyes glowed with excitement. He may have gained Lotharingia, but the Holy Lance and its cursed evils were a great threat. I could not dispel the dream’s blood and horror from swirling in my head.
He offered me his arm and escorted me from the room. “Your advice to wait for Lotharingia proved reliable. I did not need to go to Lotharingia—it came to me.”
“The way of peace brings its just rewards,” I responded. “You must pray that Giselbert and his vassals, and the Lotharingian nobles swear fealty to you.”
“And if they do not, they shall be forced to do so.”
This was not what I wanted to hear, yet I had expected it. “Why must political aspirations always turn to issues of war?”
His brows creased, and his posture stiffened as we walked. “And what aspirations do you speak of? Have I not heeded your words in the matter of Lotharingia?”
“It is not Lotharingia to which I refer.”
“What is it, then?” His voice carried an edge, as if he read my thoughts.
I received his question as a challenge. Did he dare me to broach the subject of the Holy Lance? May God forgive me; I rose to the challenge. “From the day you bring the Lance into our lives, the relic will bring suffering and death to our family. I have dreamed it, and I recognize this to be true in the deepest part of my heart. You must leave it be—for your sake, and ours, I beg of you.”
His eyes lost their brilliance and he turned away. I felt his grip tighten on my arm as he led me onward. I required no further response. In the battle over the Holy Lance, I had lost, for my husband was not one to relinquish an ambition or believe in superstition. It had been so when he chose me as his bride, in his determination to win the kingdom, in his desire to acquire Lotharingia, and it would be so in whatever he set his desires on.
It was what I most admired, and most hated, about him.
Chapter Fourteen
A.D. 924
A YEAR LATER, with Giselbert’s help, Heinrich’s army invaded and won Lotharingia. Thereafter, an interlude of peace followed, but we did not realize how short lived it would be. Heinrich believed all that remained was for him to turn his attention to Burgundy and the Holy Lance and all the kingdom’s troubles would be behind us.
On an afternoon brimming with sunshine, Sister Ricburg and I oversaw the loading of provisions onto the wagons. We were to visit a nearby abbey. Absorbed in our work, we lost track of time and did not pause until a maidservant stood before us, hands clutched, head bowed.
“Domina, pardon the interruption.” Her voice quavered as she curtsied.
“Pray, tell me what troubles you?” I set aside a blanket I was adding to
a stack.
She clutched a soiled ragdoll in her hands. “I carry a message from my cousin, Brunhild.”
My heart jumped into my throat when I saw the doll. My doll, the same one I had given to a destitute child many years ago. A fleeting memory of the young girl passed before me. I recalled the cold and rainy day when I offered bread to a starving little girl named Brunhild. She would be a young woman today. I had learned her name on the day I buried my grandmother and remembered my promise for her to come to me if she ever needed help. “What is the message?” My voice trembled.
“Domina, she has been imprisoned. She asks if you will visit her.”
TORRENTIAL RAIN DRENCHED us as Sister Ricburg and I, with a dozen mounted guards, rode forth from the palace gates. A horse-drawn cart filled with food, blankets, and clothing followed. We made our way through a maze of crooked, cobbled alleys. It was not far to the prison, but by the time we arrived, I was trembling from the cold and rain.
Two jutting towers abutted the building. Recessed between the towers was a wall into which was set a heavy wooden door studded with iron. One of the guards jumped off his horse to help Sister Ricburg and I dismount, and I instructed the remaining guards to unload the wares from the cart. With an escort of four guards, Sister Ricburg and I approached the prison door. The cold and wet sent a shudder through me. The remaining guards formed a line behind us with heavy sacks or crates of provisions in their arms.
The guard on my right pounded hard on the door. “Open for the Queen!” he bellowed.
From within came the rasp of a heavy bolt. A key clacked in the lock and a latch lifted. Rusty hinges creaked as the door swung open enough to allow an old man’s head to emerge. He had the leather skin of a war-hardened warrior and eyed us suspiciously.
“I bring provisions and have come to speak to the woman named Brunhild,” I called out.
He stepped back and invited us to enter.
We hurried through the entrance into the alcove. Blazing torches set in cressets on the walls of gray rock illuminated the space and cast eerie shadows. We walked further into the sinister gloom until we reached a steep set of stone steps. The jailor lifted a torch from a cresset and motioned for us to follow him.
We paused briefly on a landing where a second stairway led off to the right, similar to the first, but much narrower. With each step, the air grew chillier. It reeked of unwashed bodies, excrement, and whatever foulness bred upon humanity trapped in these depths. At the bottom, we found ourselves in a bare stone room. Intense cold overcame me. The dank air stank, but I resisted the urge to raise the edge of my mantle over my nose lest I insult the unfortunates I came to aid.
The jailor guided us through an arched passageway leading to a larger corridor. A crudely made gate of metal bars blocked our way. With a grand gesture, he removed a key from the belt around his waist, unlocked the gate, and allowed us to enter.
A powerful stench washed over us. Unable to repel the instinct any longer, I cupped my hand over my nose and waited to become accustomed to the smell. A succession of doors lined the long corridor. An iron-barred aperture in each door revealed four or five prisoners crowded together in each cell.
As we made our way along the passage, people stirred in the cells. A dirty face peered at me through the bars.
“Queen Matilde! It is the Queen!” The man’s voice rose to an excited shrill.
I heard a rustle as prisoners roused themselves. More faces peered at me from behind the bars.
From amongst numerous male voices, one stood out, lighter and gentler than the rest, the voice of a woman.
“Queen Matilde?” The voice echoed from the far end of the row of cells.
“Brunhild?” I called.
“I am here.”
I advanced toward the grimy hand stretching through the bars of one aperture.
“Queen Matilde?” The familiar voice held a tone of disbelief.
I clutched her fingers. “Yes, Brunhild, it is me.”
“You promised you would come and you did.”
I swung around to face the jailor behind me. “Open this door. I wish to enter.”
He shook his head. “Nay, I cannot. It is not safe.”
I peered beyond Brunhild and noticed a woman on the floor, moaning. She wore the brown sash of a prostitute around her waist.
I addressed him again. “Of course it is safe for me to enter. I know the woman. What possible harm could these frail women cause? You are armed and they are not. Heed my command and open the door. I promise you shall incur no censure.”
Chastised, his ears flushed red with embarrassment. He removed the brass key ring from his belt and unlocked the door. I wasted no time in entering. The two women fell to their knees, clutched the hem of my dripping mantle, and wept. I brushed my hand over their bowed heads to console them. I shivered in the extreme cold. The squeak of vermin as they scurried away resounded between the women’s sobs. A bucket overflowing with human waste rested in one corner. Horrified at the filthy, disheveled women in their torn tunics, grime covering their faces, a war of emotion raged through me at the injustice. “Bring me one of the crates, and distribute the contents of the others amongst the other prisoners.”
My guard set it down in the center of the cell and opened it. Bread, cheese, and apples lay within. The women scrambled to it and shoved as much as possible into their mouths. By the speed with which they devoured the food, they had not partaken of a decent meal for some time.
I waited for them to finish, sitting between them on a dirty stool provided by the jailor. I listened as they relayed the reasons for their incarceration, interrupting to clarify or ask a question.
When they finished, I rose to leave. “I’ll appeal to my husband on your behalf.” I glowered at the jailor. “In the meantime, I’ll send you fresh food and clean water.”
As I turned away, I felt a tug on my tunic. Tears of gratitude rolled down Brunhild’s cheeks. Her desperation and dire circumstances made me determined to overturn the judgments against her and the other woman.
After I withdrew from the cell, I addressed the women. “God bless you and keep you through the night. I pray the morrow will bring relief. Do not lose hope.”
As the jailor escorted us away, I could hear sobs and murmurs coming from the cells.
“God bless you, Queen Matilde.”
“God go with you, Domina.”
“We thank you, Domina.”
“We love you, our Lady.”
I gathered my dignity. I must master my emotions while I visited the other cells.
TWO GUARDS SCRAMBLED to swing open the huge doors of the Council Hall where Heinrich was holding court. I surged into the room unannounced with no escort, no entourage of women, and no page to carry my train. Many had gathered to conduct business before the king. Everyone stopped talking, and surprised, they bowed or curtseyed while I swept past. I glided through the room with an air of authority as if I owned it. With my sight on Heinrich at the front, and with heart beating wildly, I besieged the roomful of men, like a grand woman of the world armed solely with my strength of purpose
Today, a gold circlet sat upon my head and braided hair. My scarlet mantle, secured with a jeweled chain of gold and rubies, trailed behind me. I wore an over-gown of luxurious red silk brocade, fringed with embroidered edelweiss florets in threads of silver and gold. Aware that people measured power by outward display I had chosen my finest clothes and most valuable jewels: it gave me the extra confidence I needed. The lives of two women depended on it.
Heinrich sat on his throne, his much-loved falcon balanced on his arm. Its talons gripped his thick protective leather glove. At my unexpected entrance, the hooded bird of prey made a disturbing, rough sound low in its throat.
To Heinrich’s left, Brother Rufus watched open-mouthed. He had been waiting to record my husband’s adjudications onto parchment.
Heinrich observed my advance. No one could see how my legs trembled or guess how my pulse raced. I
came to a halt at the dais in front of him. As protocol demanded, I bowed before him.
When I rose, his eyes burned with admiration, a deeper hue than usual. I assumed he wished to embrace me, but decorum did not allow a king to rise for a queen. Instead, he returned my gesture of respect with a nod, then watched me ascend the stairs and sit on the throne next to his. I waited for him to finish with those who sought his judgment, the last of which was a land dispute between two cousins.
“Is there any other business to be brought before the king?” Brother Rufus asked.
When no one answered, I rose and faced my husband. “My lord, I have a grave matter to bring before you.” In spite of the avid stares of the throng of nobles and warriors who crowded the room, I managed to speak in my strongest voice. “There are two women in the prison I wish to discuss, my husband. The first is Brunhild, a baker’s wife.”
“What of this woman?” Heinrich furrowed his brows.
“She has been imprisoned unjustly, my lord.”
A titter ran through the crowd. Heinrich waited for me to summon my thoughts.
“Brunhild has been a true and faithful servant to our family, our country, and to God. She feeds those in need by offering them fresh baked bread. Her loaves have fed hundreds, and in return she asks for nothing.”
The crowd stilled.
“Then how does such a Godly woman find herself in prison?”
“Siegfried of Burtscheid ordered her to bake the bread for his daughter’s wedding feast. Brunhild complied. Afterwards, Lord Siegfried failed to pay her. Brunhild visited his home to seek payment. When she did, he charged her with attempting to collect a debt.”
“It is against the law for women to pursue compensation for debts,” Heinrich stated matter-of-factly. He knew this point of law would not appease me when I felt an injustice had occurred, as was the case here.
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 19