Otto turned with a wry smile to behold Thankmar, who followed two steps behind them.
Thankmar’s face burned crimson. I had accepted Thankmar whole-heartedly into our family and treated him equal to my children. I had made certain Otto understood his father’s love for Thankmar. To please Heinrich, Otto tolerated Thankmar, though his half-brother was a source of vexation. Yet, from the time they were young children, Thankmar detested Otto.
Long before the incident at Otto’s window, I suspected Thankmar sometimes taunted my son. When he had been younger, Otto often bore scratches and bruises likely gained during the honest rough-and-tumble play of boys and Otto avoided Thankmar as much as possible.
Later, I asked Heinrich what he had whispered to Thankmar.
“I warned him if he ever again played me for a fool or tried to win my approval with falsehood or flattery, he would regret it.”
THE FOLLOWING MORNING before dawn, Heinrich and I waited for Otto in the Great Hall. We were to spend the day riding and hunting in the woods and Heinrich had insisted I come. My expectant state kept me bilious and with little appetite. A general feeling of malaise left me bereft of energy. Heinrich believed a day of fresh air and sunshine would help invigorate me.
Otto finally arrived and Heinrich embraced him with more enthusiasm than usual. “I gave up waiting for you.”
“Good morning, Father, Mother.” Otto glanced around to see if anyone noticed. Satisfied no one had, he pecked a kiss on my cheek, blushing. The last time he kissed me, the men had teased him. My son was fast leaving childhood behind.
We shared a meal of venison stew and freshly baked bread. As the first traces of dawn lightened the dark and tranquil sky, we headed to the stables. A groom met us at the doors holding the reins of three saddled horses – Heinrich’s elegant black stallion, my dappled gray mare, and a leggy chestnut gelding. The gelding raised his head high and pawed the ground with impatience.
Otto brought his hand to the gelding’s nose. The creature’s nostrils flared when he inhaled Otto’s scent.
“I believe he likes you.” Heinrich grinned.
“Is he new to the stables?” Otto stroked the gelding’s neck.
“Yes, my most recent acquisition. His name is Das Feuerpferd. He is a hunt horse trained for strength and focus. Do you like him?”
“Of course I do. The name, Firehorse, suits him.”
“Good. He’s yours.”
“For me?” Otto gawked at his father in disbelief.
I beamed at him. “You have outgrown your palfrey.”
“I decided it was time you rode a steed more befitting a prince,” Heinrich added.
“He is beautiful.” Otto stroked the horse’s neck in appreciation, admiring the clean lines and highly proportioned haunches.
Heinrich grinned. “Mount, son! We have a lot of ground to cover. The men are waiting to hunt.”
Otto needed no urging. He leapt onto his horse. After adjusting himself in the saddle, he grasped the reins.
Heinrich lifted me onto my saddle before he mounted his horse, and we rode off. I enjoyed riding and cherished the sense of freedom it gave me. Our guards followed close behind as we galloped into the lush forest. How enchanting it was to be outdoors in the chill of the morning, when the stars had faded from the sky, and relish an exhilarating ride on such a noble creature of God.
As Otto’s confidence in his new mount grew, he became more relaxed and talkative, riding with instinctive confidence. The horse was perfect for him: spirited, yet well trained.
The crisp air and the rosy dawn transformed into the deep blue of an early morning sky and filled me with a sense of freedom as we traversed spectacular hills. We followed a path of emerald green grass along a tree-lined brook. The restless lowing of cattle or the surprised squawk of a pheasant disturbed nature’s quiet tranquility.
“The sun is high. I have acquired quite an appetite. Let’s stop to eat in the clearing ahead.” He addressed a guard. “Give us privacy.” The men went off, but kept us within sight. Nestled between a cluster of oak and fir trees, Heinrich dismounted first, and then helped me descend.
Otto let Firehorse’s reins slacken; the gelding stole a mouthful of the green grass.
Heinrich unpacked food from his saddlebags. One of the guards hobbled the horses and then left our sight.
We shared a meal of cold venison, cheese, bread, and apples, and a clay jug of wine. Otto’s appetite, enhanced by exercise, was insatiable.
Heinrich ruffled Otto’s hair. “It seems like yesterday when I held you in my arms. You are on the crest of manhood and I am proud of you.”
“Your words honor me, Father.” Otto swallowed a long swig of water.
“I speak the truth.” Heinrich glanced over at me.
“Know how much we both love you,” I added.
Heinrich grabbed a chunk of cold roasted venison. “I’ve observed your courage when you challenge seasoned warriors twice your size on the practice field.”
“You have taught me well.” Otto emptied his cup, poured another, and studied his father over the rim.
He is young, I thought, as I admired him: his complexion tanned by the summer’s sun, the strong chin. How he resembled Heinrich. I stretched my back, my swelling belly already bringing some discomfort. Otto lay back on the moss observing the rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy of branches above. The treetops formed an airy shade above us. We listened to the trill of birds and enjoyed the serenity of the day as we soaked up rays of dappled sunshine.
“A future king must keep abreast of what is happening in his kingdom, no matter how irrelevant the subject or issue. Like a tree whose branches twist with the passing of time, life changes direction when we least expect it. Do not let your guard down, Otto. Opportunities to expand one’s power exist everywhere. One need only search for them.” Heinrich loosened his belt and let loose a hearty belch.
Otto remained silent, but I knew Heinrich’s words heralded something more important.
“One of my dukes betrayed me.”
Otto blinked in astonishment. Still weary over the years of discord, I stiffened at the news.
“Who?” Otto and I uttered the word at the same time.
“Burchard of Swabia. I should have realized. When a man swears fealty in the face of defeat, it is probably false.”
“What has he done?”
“He sent an envoy to King Rudolf of Upper Burgundy to ask him for men and weapons to wage war in Lombardy without my approval.”
I asked, “What does Burchard hope to achieve by such a venture?”
“Other than to do me harm?” Heinrich raised his brows. “I am not certain. Perhaps he hopes to seize the Lombardian crown for himself, or perhaps he seeks the Holy Lance. I can never again trust him. The same applies to the other dukes, especially Arnulf of Bavaria. I am convinced he also works against me.”
“How are you so well informed, Father?”
“I handpick men and fill their purses with gold and silver. I plant these informants as servants in the homes of those nobles I need to keep an eye on. On many occasions, the intelligence I gain proves both timely and accurate.”
Heinrich’s resourcefulness and his network of spies amazed me.
“What kind of things do they report?” Otto’s voice carried genuine interest and a tinge of fascination.
“Many things. For instance, have you heard of Count Samson of Lombardy?”
Otto shook his head.
“He is an honorable man well regarded by his peers,” I answered. “They say he is an eccentric.”
Heinrich wiped his lips on his sleeve. “In that, you are correct. Through my spies, I learned Samson made King Rudolf of Burgundy a most generous offer.”
“What kind of offer?” Otto’s curiosity escalated.
“In exchange for Rudolf’s military support to fight in Lombardy, Samson presented Rudolf with the Holy Lance.” A grin spread on Heinrich’s face.
My pulse quicke
ned. I had hoped he had abandoned the notion of acquiring the Lance from King Rudolf. Again, the dream of the bleeding Lance filled my mind.
Otto stepped closer, for he knew how long and hard his father had toiled to find the mysterious relic.
“Rudolf accepted the offer. The two sealed their pact and kept it a secret between them. Rudolf is no fool. He is aware the Lance may give him the advantage needed to help Count Samson. I suspect he might want to claim Lombardy for himself. Rudolf grows too powerful.” Heinrich drank a swig of wine. Pausing again, he reached for the apples and offered one to each of us. I shook my head, but Otto accepted his. Both pulled knives from their belts to slice and peel them.
“For the longest time, no one knew where the Lance was, but now that it has resurfaced, I intend to keep abreast of its whereabouts until I acquire it.” A sigh escaped Heinrich’s lips. He sat up and plucked a few blades of grass.
“What of the curse?” I could not stop myself. I had to speak my mind. “It is said that if the owner is not strong enough to overcome its powers, blood and violence will destroy him.”
“Your Mother believes the Lance possesses dark powers, and perhaps she is correct. Many owners of the Lance met premature deaths at the hands of others who wished to possess it. One must not kill to gain the Lance. Those who do face certain death.”
I shuddered, unable to imagine any object holding such power over someone’s life. To my dismay, Otto’s face grew brighter with interest.
Heinrich bit into the apple and wiped away the juice dripping down his chin. “The one way to survive the Lance is to receive it as a gift, by trade, or to purchase it, and the owner must always keep it within sight. Karl the Great won many battles with it. I intend to possess it soon. Perhaps I’ll even rule Lombardy with it one day.”
Power was a tonic to Otto’s emerging ambitions and I saw him brighten at the idea of his father ruling the warm and beautiful country to the south, with its numerous ports, sea merchants, and plentiful trade.
Heinrich hurled his apple core into a nearby bush, and then offered me his hand to help me rise. He repacked the saddlebags while Otto tightened the girth of his saddle.
Suddenly, a squeal of agony shattered the silence. I froze in horror! Our horses whinnied, but their hobbles prevented flight.
A crazed boar burst through the brush into the clearing. It came to an abrupt, anguished halt, an arrow protruding from its chest and spewing blood from its nostrils.
Deranged by pain and rage, the boar tossed its head back and forth, red droplets flying into the air above the razor-sharp tusks. Heinrich, who stood in the beast’s path, clutched his spear.
The boar screamed and charged.
With no time to aim, Heinrich hurled his weapon. The spear struck the creature in its front left flank and stopped it in its tracks. The boar emitted a high-pitched shriek, and prepared to charge again.
Three guards broke through the brush and launched their spears. Two lances struck the animal. The other sailed past, landing behind it. The boar survived this onslaught, too.
Otto grasped another spear, aimed, and heaved it. It struck the boar in the chest. The animal squealed in rage and staggered beneath the weight of four spears.
I watched stunned as it prepared to attack Heinrich yet again.
Otto reached for an arrow, nocked, and released it. It sliced cleanly through the air and pierced the beast’s neck. The creature shuddered, and fell to its knees, inhaling a final gasp of air before dying a mere pace from Heinrich’s feet.
Heinrich turned to Otto, his face alive with surprise. “Your arrow!” he gasped. “You felled a boar!”
Otto straightened. His fear turned into relief. When the realization of what he had done struck him, he laughed aloud. “The beast should never have charged the king.”
WE RETURNED TO the castle by mid-afternoon and convened in the Great Hall for a meal. The men quaffed a seemingly never-ending ale supply. Otto reveled in the well-earned attention. I frowned each time someone filled his tankard. He imbibed freely and became boisterous. I had to intervene lest his drunkenness grow worse. I rose from my seat amongst the women and approached my son. Those who sat with him stood too, as protocol dictated.
I rested my hand on my son’s shoulder, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I am ill. Please help me to my room.”
My young hero wobbled to his feet. He offered me his arm, and together we made our way out of the hall. Instead of Otto supporting me, I bore Otto who staggered. His demeanor was buoyant, but his head swirled with too much spirit. He did not notice that we had arrived at his bedchamber instead of mine.
The moment we entered, Otto addressed his chamberlain, a young man in his early twenties. “Ah, Siegfried. Did you hear I felled a boar?”
“Domina!” Sensitive to my delicate condition, Siegfried lunged forward to help my disheveled, lurching son.
“My son needs your assistance,” I muttered, grateful for his help. Otto was not yet a man full grown. I had sustained him up the stairs and through corridors, but feared I could not bear his weight much longer.
“Everyone is talking about you and the boar. You must be proud.” Siegfried grinned indulgently. “Let me help you undress so we can remove the reek of beer and boar.” He clicked his fingers and ordered a manservant to fill a bath.
I nodded my approval and we waited for the water. When the bath was ready, for modesty’s sake, I busied myself by staring out the window. Still humming the lyrics of the bawdy drinking song he had learned, I heard the splash of water as Otto lowered himself into the tub. The aroma of pungent herbs and rose petals that scented his bath wafted through the air.
Otto’s clothes lay crumpled in a pile on the floor. Siegfried retrieved them and dropped them in a basket. The entire time, he kept a vigilant eye on Otto.
“My head spins, Siegfried.”
“That is the expected reaction after consuming ale, my lord.”
“I enjoy ale. It makes me happy.”
“I do not doubt it does, but one must take care not to make a habit of it.” I turned and faced Siegfried.
“Hmm,” Otto pondered the thought and fell silent. His head rolled back against the metal tub then he sunk deeper into the tub. His face turned pale.
“Siegfried?” He sat up.
“Yes, my lord.”
“I think I am going to be sick.”
Before Siegfried could reach him with towel and ewer, Otto spewed the contents of his stomach over the side of his bath.
THAT NIGHT, PEOPLE filled the Great Hall. From the high table, Heinrich and I awaited Otto’s entrance. When he passed through the heavy oak doors, a joyous shout arose. Heinrich beamed.
Otto walked without a stagger, and a bit of color had returned to his face. As he made his way towards us, he passed a colorful array of finely dressed women and nobles. They rose in respect as he passed. My heart fluttered with pride at their homage. After a hearty pat on the back by Heinrich, he took his seat between us.
At the end of a bountiful meal, Heinrich rose to address the crowd. Gold bracelets glinted from his wrists as he raised his arms to quiet the animated audience. “By Saxon law, no boy can be considered a man until his proficiency with weapons is proven. Tonight, one of those amongst us will make the passage into manhood. I ask Prince Otto to come forward.”
Otto came to Heinrich’s side.
“Tonight I am alive because Otto saved me from a wild boar. He felled the beast with spear and arrow, proving his worth both as a warrior and as a man.” He faced our son. “To honor you, I call forward my council.”
Heinrich’s men stood. Arrayed in scarlet and gold, and carrying ceremonial shields, they formed a line at Otto’s side. Over the years, these men had proven their loyalty and served us with unwavering faith. I had come to admire each one.
Franco stepped forward. In his hands, he held an engraved sword and a jeweled scabbard.
“Otto, the laws of the Saxons require a man to be competent
with weapons,” Heinrich said. “This you have demonstrated at the hunt and on the practice field. You must be loyal to the kingdom and its subjects. Do you accept this burden and swear fealty to the crown?”
“I accept it.” The words flew confident.
“Then swear.”
Otto knelt and grasped Heinrich’s hand. “I hereby swear fealty and do homage to the king; to forever be a warrior, to protect the weak; to champion the right and good.”
“We shall not forget your bravery.” Heinrich extended his hands to Franco, who handed him the sword and scabbard before stepping back.
Heinrich held out the weapon. “Otto, I gird you with this sword. Use it to defend widows, orphans, and our people against godless savages. With it, may you be the terror and dread of your enemies. One edge cuts to the truth. One edge administers justice. The scabbard reminds you to be merciful.” Heinrich raised the sword with its glittering gold hilt and slid it into the scabbard then placed it across Otto’s outstretched hands.
Instinctively, I glanced at Thankmar, who sat at a table off to the side near the rear of the room. He covered the bottom of his reddened face with his hand, his features grim. The sight made me shiver with trepidation. I pondered suggesting to Heinrich that he send Thankmar away again. It might help smooth away any bitterness or it might make matters worse. Or perhaps it might be better to keep Thankmar here to keep a persistent watch over any interactions with Otto. I would pray on it.
One by one, the men of Heinrich’s council stepped forward with gifts. A white leather belt was fastened around Otto’s waist; it symbolized purity and was to guard against scandals of the spirit, gluttony, sloth, and lechery. A golden helm with nose and eye guards shone in the torchlight as Otto clutched it beneath his arm. Another man gave him a fine trident.
Heinrich hung a golden torc around our son’s neck. Tears of pride marred my sight as I pondered the symbolism of gold: the purest metal, a badge of honor, a symbol of valor and diligence, a reminder of future responsibilities.
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 21