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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  “Yes, my lord. I understand the law, but there are circumstances you must consider before subjecting her to the required punishment of fifty lashes of the whip and three months in prison.”

  “I am listening.”

  “My lord, Brunhild and her husband are both aware of the law. It was her husband, the baker, who first went to Siegfried’s home to attempt to collect the debt, for without it they would not be able to purchase the flour necessary to make bread for the forthcoming week. Lord Siegfried’s men refused to allow the baker to speak to their lord, beat him, and sent him home in a cart. Upon viewing the extent of her husband’s injuries, Brunhild grew incensed and sought out Lord Siegfried herself. When she arrived, the guards recognized her. Lord Siegfried had her charged and thrown into prison.”

  I paused for effect. With each word, my confidence grew. I must preserve the fragile ego of men and lawmakers, so I addressed my husband and his court with modesty and respect. “My lord, this is a good woman who made generous donations to the poor at her own cost. She intended no offence to Lord Siegfried. She sought only what was owed, and only after her husband attempted to collect the debt. Please release her from prison. Leave her to work under my guidance and she will more than compensate for her error in judgment.”

  Heinrich scrutinized the crowd to judge their mood. Many nodded with approval. “Guards, ensure the woman, Brunhild, is released.”

  Before Heinrich could signal Brother Rupert to announce court was complete, I interjected once again. “My gratitude for your compassion, my husband, but I have yet another case requiring your attention and good judgment.”

  Heinrich hesitated. “Proceed.”

  “There is a mother of nine children who, upon her husband’s death, tried to sell her body to feed her family. She was caught and is condemned to die for adultery.”

  Unlike the case of Brunhild, the crowd seemed to have little sympathy with my second petition. Indignant murmurs filled the room. As I continued to plead the woman’s cause, Heinrich’s face reddened. He listened, but ogled the ground.

  “My lord, the spoiled son of a nobleman, who shall remain unnamed, beat and raped her. Afterwards, they discarded her at the side of the road where they later found and imprisoned her. And he did not pay her.”

  Several in the crowd snickered. One glare from me silenced them.

  To please me, Heinrich would have to rule against the wishes of his people at risk to his popularity and their loyalty, yet I continued to plead. Little by little, I felt the sentiments of the crowd change. Many nodded and a few smiled.

  Heinrich studied the crowd. “Release that woman too, but ensure she is given work so she may feed her children by other means.”

  I beamed most graciously and bowed my head.

  Heinrich muttered under his breath in exasperation. “The persistence of women would tire the toughest of military leaders.” Those nearest heard the comment, but it resulted in a few chuckles and many more smiles.

  Later, we sat alone before a brazier. With the glow of the flames lighting his face, he said, “I am grateful to you. You often give me useful advice. I admire your compassion and thank you for helping me ensure justice is served.” His countenance alight with admiration and desire, he said, “There has never been a more perfect queen. You are the epitome of wifely duty and an example to all.”

  A blush arose in my cheeks. I had learned much about the powers of a queen this day—to conduct myself honorably, to not succumb to flattery or pride, and to use the power of our status for the greater good through the use of bejeweled garments of silk and satin. In my heart, I knew my grandmother would approve. I recalled the inclement day that we had walked through the dismal streets of Erfurt. This had been her lesson to me—to wield my power for the good of those in need.

  HEINRICH RETURNED FROM Lotharingia victorious. After years of toil, of war, of bloodshed, the duchy finally belonged to our kingdom. It pleased my husband beyond measure to have achieved his dream.

  In the Great Hall, long after the celebratory feast was complete, Heinrich whispered in my ear. “I want to spend the remainder of the night with you.”

  A knot formed in my belly. Ever since the night of Heinz’s conception, I dreaded my marital duties, unable to wash away the horrible memory, and had gone to great extents to avoid them at every turn. “The day has been long, and I am more tired than usual,” I said in an effort to avoid any intimacy.

  “Some wine and the warmth of a fire will help ease your way to a restful sleep.” He took my hand and we escaped the noise and revelry in exchange for the tranquility of the bedchamber that had once belonged to Karl the Great.

  A fire crackled and servants had turned the bed linens back. Passion glimmered deep in his eyes as he bowed and grasped my hand. He warmed it with a kiss and drew me closer. I could smell the blend of aromas I associated with him, a mixture of wind, leather, and ale. I knew then I had little choice. I must fulfill my marital duty.

  He kissed my earlobe and ran his tongue around the inside of my ear. Heinrich whispered his love as his urgency passed through his body. His hands roamed over my breasts. His lips found mine. I prepared to endure the forthcoming carnality. Tonight, his need was powerful and he seemed impatient. Unable to wait, he pulled me to him and took me.

  Afterwards, he lay sated, his legs entwined with mine.

  Heinrich was the first to speak. “My queen. I love the way that sounds.”

  “You revere me too much, my husband.” I ran my fingertips across his chest. I nuzzled closer and he soon fell asleep.

  My sleep, however, did not come so easily. I loved Heinrich with all my heart, yet could no longer endure lovemaking. Sorrow at the loss of my desire kept me awake long into the night until finally, I succumbed to an uneasy repose.

  In the brief moments before dawn, I stirred and touched his side of the bed. It was empty and cold. I peered through the drapes of the bed.

  He stood, a lone figure, the lower half of his body wrapped in a linen sheet, with his naked back exposed to me as he gazed out the window. The gloom of night had begun to lift. How strangely separate from me he seemed. Everything had changed. Heinrich bore the weight of a kingdom and my heart ached for him.

  “Heinrich,” I said tenderly.

  He turned to face me, but did not speak.

  I strode across the room, and stopped to don the robe resting over the back of a nearby chair. I came to stand beside him. He wrapped his powerful arms around my waist, and together we gazed out at the world. The first traces of pink glowed over the rooftops of Aachen as we quietly observed the dawn of a new day.

  His eyes locked with mine—the same eyes that had glowed with warmth for me hours before. He was fine looking and virile as ever, his breath calm and measured as he turned his attention back to Aachen.

  “As king, I have succeeded in uniting the country.” Neither disbelief nor gloating resonated in the words—it was a simple statement of fact.

  “And a fine king you are.”

  “Now that I know where the Holy Lance is, I want it.” His voice rang with a strange wistfulness.

  At first, I said nothing. I knew him well. When he sought something, he made it happen. “If it is God’s will, then that too shall be yours one day, regardless of the deaths it will bring.” I saw his surprise, for I knew he had not expected such a declaration from me.

  “It will be mine one day. Maybe not today or tomorrow, nor the following year, but one day I shall wield it and use it for the betterment of this world. This is my oath before God.”

  “Until then, I hope we can make the world better.”

  “I was nothing without you. You made me all I am and all that I’ll ever be.”

  “Without you, Heinrich—”

  “Hush, speak not of such things. We have each other. Nothing else matters.”

  He led me back to bed then walked to the chest at the far end of the room. He raised the lid and removed a large reliquary casket decorated with gems a
nd placed it on the bed beside me.

  “The casket is my gift to you. Inside, there are relics for you to touch. As king and queen, they are in our care, but they must remain with the Benedictine monks of the Palatine monastery. At the request of Karl the Great, they have kept the relics hidden to prevent looting. No one has seen them for over a hundred years. Go ahead and open it.”

  Placing the casket in my lap, I raised its cover. Inside were several leather bundles. I removed one and untied the leather thongs. Within it lay an earth-colored shawl of homespun cloth. I searched Heinrich’s face for an explanation.

  “It is the Virgin Mary’s shawl, the one she wore the night of Jesus’ birth.”

  I gasped then caressed the cloth, kissing it with veneration. I marveled that it had survived for a thousand years. Then I laid it aside to take hold of the next leather-bound item. Inside lay two thick, course cloths bound together by leather thongs.

  “These are the hose of Joseph. On the night Jesus was born, there was no swaddling to wrap Jesus, so Joseph cut his hose to keep the baby warm.”

  Sudden joy filled me. “I am not sure what to say at the sight of such magnificence.”

  The next to be removed from the casket was the cloth in which they wrapped the decapitated head of John the Baptist, his bloodstains still upon it. The relic that moved me the most, however, was the last—the loincloth worn by Jesus when he hung on the cross. I wept. The future my grandmother once predicted for me had come to fruition. The possibilities to serve the people and God dazzled me. The opportunities would be endless.

  “Thank you,” I breathed with sincere gratitude, “but I wish to keep the relics in the casket to preserve them for future generations.”

  “I knew you would wish to do so.”

  “I also have something for you.” I rose from the bed, retrieved a jeweled box from my purse beneath my discarded clothes, and placed it into his calloused palm. “It is an ivory comb from the Holy Land. I had it brought here by returning pilgrims for you. It is for combing your beard. It was a challenge to find a gift for a man who lacks nothing. Use it well, and when you do, think of my love for you.”

  He examined the comb’s intricate engravings. “A beautiful gift, one I’ll cherish it because it came from you.”

  “I love you, Heinrich.”

  “Nay, it is I who love you. From the moment I first saw you, I knew we were destined to be one. God favored me and I have yet to realize a greater gift than when I took you as my wife. I recall the day I spoke to you in the cloister of the abbey before we married. Do you remember what I said?”

  “Remind me, husband.”

  “I said, ‘I’ll not give up, even if I must spend the remainder of my life proving myself to you; and, one day, I’ll succeed in coaxing your unwilling heart to warm toward me.’ I hope I have succeeded.”

  Patches of gray mixed with the golden hair at his temples. His eyebrows were full, shaggy, compared to how smooth and precise they were when I first met him. Years of laughter outlined his mouth, and his vibrant blue eyes glimmered vibrantly. Weeks later, I learned our coupling that night had resulted in the conception of another child.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A.D. 925

  THE AIR CLAMORED with clanks of steel against steel. In the practice field, men grunted and groaned with their laborious thrusts and parries. I observed from the sidelines as Heinz played beside me, his wooden sword in his grasp. This gentle son of mine was foremost in my heart. Six years old, his beautiful face made my heart overflow, an innocent child born from Heinrich’s sin.

  Of all our children, he displayed a calm thoughtfulness. At such a young age, he was less impulsive than his older brothers had been, more cautious. Yet he was a happy, intelligent child. Whereas it took much coaxing to convince his elder brother, Otto, to attend my charitable functions, Heinz anticipated each event and begged to come with me. How my heart warmed when his little hands helped distribute alms. The people, enchanted by the smiling little boy who offered a kind word with every crust of bread he distributed, came in droves for a glimpse of the benevolent little prince.

  Though young and small of stature, Heinz had the heart of a king, and with each passing day, my heart grew ever more certain that he, instead of Otto, should succeed his father as king. The powerful affection between us was no less important to me than the air I breathed, and Heinz’s love for me seemed as deep as mine for him. I placed my hand upon my belly, wondering about the new life growing inside me, if my devotion could be as profound as my love for Heinz.

  On and on, the men practiced. Beads of sweat glistened on their brows as they hurled spears at targets and struck their opponents with blunted swords; the din carried on the breeze blowing across the field toward the fortress walls.

  A few paces away, Otto studied the activity while he waited his turn to step onto the field. He disliked standing on the sidelines, as he did now. My eldest was already experienced at the age of twelve. He preferred a broadsword to a yew bow in training and yearned for real battle; his face became animated each time he spoke of it.

  From honorable men, handpicked by his father, Otto was learning the skills of a warrior. Never yield to an opponent in battle. Do not spare the life of an adversary who confronts you. Support a vassal in need. When you give your word, keep it unto death.

  Otto addressed Heinrich, who bellowed advice to the men. “May I have a turn, Father?”

  Heinrich turned his attention to him. “That is the spirit. Let’s show these ruffians how it is done, shall we?” He retrieved his practice sword, put his iron helm on his head, and stepped onto the field. Otto followed him and my heart constricted as he imitated his father’s gait, a tenacious stride that devoured the ground.

  When Heinrich advanced, activity on the field ceased. A warm autumn breeze blew over them. Men lowered their swords out of respect as king and prince made their way onto the field. Heinrich’s private guards waited, evenly spaced across the field, observing every movement with feigned aloofness, yet within easy striking distance should the need arise to protect either.

  Otto’s chainmail clinked over the gambeson he wore to safeguard against unnecessary bruising. Franco approached, grinning at Heinrich, and I could not help smiling. Over the years, I had grown to admire the captain with wind-bronzed skin. His direct manner and style reflected his intolerance of extravagance. The three clustered together. I was curious because Heinrich had not practiced with Otto before. Heinrich, as a formidable warrior, took the art of war seriously. I knew he would not harm Otto, but neither would he be easy on him.

  Otto unsheathed his practice sword, knelt, and bowed his head as he presented the hilt to Heinrich. His father touched it then Otto rose from bended knee and readied his sword.

  Heinz, interested in the scene unfolding before us, came to sit on my lap.

  Franco raised his hand and the crowd grew still. He lowered it and shouted, “Begin!”

  Amid hollers of encouragement from the sidelines, Otto paced a wary circle around his father as each assessed the other. Then Heinrich lunged hard and fast.

  The crowd bellowed advice and cheers filled the air. Otto returned a complicated set of thrusts and parries against his battle-experienced father. The sparring continued for several minutes before one cry from the crowd arose louder than the rest.

  “Father!”

  They stopped circling each other.

  Everyone turned to see who dared interrupt the king. The crowd hushed at such impudence.

  It was Thankmar who had returned home after his banishment for pushing Otto from the window many years ago. He grabbed his sword, crossed the courtyard, and halted before Heinrich.

  How small and lanky Otto appeared against his elder stepbrother, nearly a grown man. Thankmar’s broad shoulders and stocky build gave the illusion he was far older than the five years separating the two half-brothers.

  At Thankmar’s approach, Otto tensed.

  Thankmar waved Otto away with his sword
. Then he knelt, presented the hilt of his sword, and leapt to spar the moment Heinrich touched it. Nearing his fiftieth year and an effective veteran of combat, Heinrich moved with ease. With a show of skill and strength, the two exchanged blows. Thankmar continued to aim aggressive blows at Heinrich. Captivated, the men in the field watched, as did Heinz and I. At first, Thankmar’s blows fell hard. Soon his thrusts and parries became ineffective. At times, he slowed, and at others, he miscalculated, thrusting instead of deflecting. It was a ruse. It became clear that Thankmar intended to lose.

  Heinrich thrust. Thankmar lost his balance and fell onto his back, dropping his sword. If I had any doubt that Thankmar was faking, now I was convinced of it.

  Heinrich pointed to the weapon and permitted Thankmar to retrieve it. When Thankmar rose, Heinrich struck his son’s gauntleted hand with the flat of his blade. The smash echoed over the courtyard as Thankmar staggered under the intensity of the strike. The blow sent his sword flying until it landed at Heinrich’s feet.

  An onslaught of cheers filled the air to celebrate the king’s coup.

  Heinrich muttered to Thankmar. With his sword, he flicked Thankmar’s up from the ground, grabbed it by the hilt, and offered it to his son. In a voice loud enough for all to hear, he addressed Thankmar.

  “But for your loss of concentration after you dropped your sword, you might have won! You let your guard down. A moment of inattentiveness can cost you your life.”

  Thankmar removed his helm and gauntlets and tucked them under his arm. He mumbled in response, but I could not hear it. Then he cast a glare in Otto’s direction.

  Otto held his chin at a high tilt, glaring at his half-brother until Thankmar glanced away.

  The exchange did not escape Heinrich’s attention. He removed his helmet and chainmail gloves, and tossed them to Thankmar. After placing his arm around Otto’s shoulder, father and son walked toward me.

  “I hope you studied our match well,” Heinrich said to Otto as they drew near. “Never challenge a man unless you are certain your strength can surpass his, or unless your life depends on it. In this, I expect you will one day surpass both your father and your older brother.”