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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  Glowing with heat as strong as from a furnace, the Lance burst into flames and burned and sizzled on Heinrich’s fingers.

  “Matilde, what is it?” Heinrich’s voice affected me like a distant echo, drawing me from the mists until my clouded mind cleared. Stunned, I saw the Lance was still in Heinrich’s hands. There was no blood! Glancing around the room all appeared normal. Rudolf and Otto gawked at me with puzzled expressions.

  “It is nothing,” I murmured, my anxiety at its height.

  “You are pale. Someone bring me a chair,” Heinrich demanded.

  “How fare you?” Concern creased Rudolf’s face.

  I was glad for the seat, for my legs felt weak. “I am…somewhat recovered. I thank you for your concern.”

  “My good wife does her best to conceal her discomfort. She believes the Lance is evil, that it brings blood and death.”

  Rudolf cast Heinrich a pointed look. “Your wife is correct. Never underestimate its powers. I admit I am not sorry to see it leave my hands. At first, it brought me great fortune, but not recently. Do not become addle-brained in its presence. Keep it in a safe place. If you follow this advice, you should be safe from its adversity.”

  The sight of this beautiful, yet terrible, object struck me hard. Secretly, I prayed Heinrich would use it for good purposes, respect the power it could unleash, and remain uncorrupted by it.

  Heinrich’s hand trembled; the lance’s butt-end scraped against the stone floor, jarring the silence.

  Rudolf leaped forward, hands ready to catch the relic, his face pale. “Take care not to drop the Lance. A great king dropped it while crossing a river during battle. Within seconds, a flaming arrow struck him in the eye and he died.” Rudolf paused, his countenance uneasy. “And it is said the Lance bleeds for some owners.”

  A cold sweat broke over me. I had already seen it bleed for Heinrich, not once, but in two separate visions.

  Two servants brought wine. They filled several vessels and passed them to us.

  Heinrich guzzled his in one gulp then held out his vessel for more. “I’ll heed your words.”

  I drank a long restorative swill and let the warmth of the wine settle me.

  Rudolf sipped his wine, worry in his expression. “I speak truthfully. Respect the Lance and never take it for granted.”

  Rudolf handed his goblet to a servant then clasped Heinrich’s hand. “It is time for me to depart. I am your ally. Burgundy will assist you should you ever have need. Take care, my friend. I wish you good fortune.”

  “Likewise, and a safe journey home. An armed troop will escort you to the borderlands.”

  We followed the Burgundians into the bailey and watched long enough to witness Rudolf mount, turn his horse, and lead his entourage out the gates.

  For more years than I could count, Heinrich had longed for the Holy Lance. Now it was his; I knew he would never relinquish it, but would hold it in trust for future generations. He laid it across the palms of his outstretched hands and raised it level to his shoulders in reverence. Its simple artistry concealed undiscovered secrets: centuries of mystery and intrigue. Power, beyond his imagination, would be his to yield, for good or for evil.

  HAUNTED BY THOUGHTS of the Lance, I could not sleep that night. As a brutal wind hammered against the shutters, I rose from bed and crossed the room to the door adjoining my chamber to Heinrich’s. His light snores told me he slept soundly. Next to his bedside lay the root of my angst—the Holy Lance—poised against the wall.

  I recalled how my mind had clouded when Heinrich held it. Powerful images had overwhelmed me, their brutality beyond my comprehension. Fierce, savage warriors consumed with bloodlust, hacked at each other, devoid of pity. I envisioned fields littered with bodies. The stench of murder and the horrors of war unbearable and inescapable.

  Heinrich stirred, and his snoring ceased. His eyes opened and when he saw me at his bedside, he sat up. “What is the matter?”

  I focused on his voice and willed myself away from the horrific images. “The Lance is evil, Heinrich. It is haunted by many deaths and murders.

  Heinrich shook his head in frustration.

  “Do not keep it, Heinrich, please, I beseech you. Return it.”

  “I cannot. I traded for it.”

  “Then donate it to a Church or a monastery, I beg you.”

  Heinrich pulled me down to sit on the bed next to him. He ran his hand over my hair to my shoulders. “What did you see, Matilde? Tell me.”

  I shivered. “Death and suffering…horrible visions.”

  “I have not ever seen so strong a reaction from you.” He lifted a strand of my hair and curled it around his finger.

  At his touch, out tumbled descriptions of my visions and dreams. Afterward, I sobbed, pursuing solace in his arms. Through anguished tears, I silently prayed. Save my husband and children from the evil of the Holy Lance.

  THE DAY OF the imperial assembly dawned beneath overcast skies. In the antechamber behind the Great Hall, Heinrich stood before a round mirror made with silver from Saxon mines. His body servant straightened his mantle, dusted off some lint, and polished his crown. Brother Rufus waited nearby with a scroll in his hand. Today, Heinrich wore purple, the color of kings. I knew it was his strategy against the Magyars, and not his clothes, that occupied his mind.

  The body servant placed the crown on Heinrich’s head.

  My husband scrutinized his reflection and adjusted its tilt. Once Brother Rufus handed him the parchment, Heinrich straightened and grasped the Holy Lance poised against the wall. I had yet to touch the relic, lest I experience another vision.

  The body servant examined Heinrich’s appearance one last time, and then left the room.

  Dressed regally, his jeweled crown on his head, and the Holy Lance gripped in his right hand, Heinrich strutted through the double oak doors and into the hall. I followed at a safe distance behind him. He knew my distress whenever he held the spear and understood my desire to keep my distance when he carried it.

  Gasps resounded at the sight of the Lance. No doubt, rumors of its acquisition had been circulating. Everyone rose at our appearance: the dukes from their seats around a long table and their women from chairs set nearby. Heinrich balanced the Lance against the wall behind him then came to stand at the head of the table. I chose a seat with the women.

  Face by face, Heinrich assessed the men before him: where they sat, their demeanor whether tense or sullen or relaxed. Arnulf of Bavaria returned a challenging glare. Hermann of Swabia smirked. Eberhard of Franconia and Giselbert of Lotharingia waited with interested expressions. Heinrich glanced at Otto, who was at his right, back straight. Excitement brought ruddiness to my son’s cheeks.

  Heinrich remained standing. He had done this many times before—a favorite tactic to emphasize his power over his vassals, forcing them to remain standing until he chose to sit. When adequate time had passed, he took his seat. The men followed, as did the women. He waited for the scraping of chairs against the floor to subside before beginning his address. Today he would pass new laws. I had offered him my ideas for these new laws, but he must voice them and convince the dukes. I listened, eager for everyone’s reaction.

  “I have something important to discuss.” Heinrich’s voice echoed off the walls, strong and authoritative. He paused as if to assess the effect of his opening words. With the exception of the brooding expression on Arnulf’s face, they all leaned forward in interest. “To date, our armies have not been strong enough to defeat the Magyars. In exchange for sparing our kingdom from future raids by the foul barbarians, I have agreed to pay them five thousand gold pieces in tribute each year.”

  The gasps of disbelief did not surprise me.

  Heinrich let the men seethe. “The Magyar king accepted my offer.”

  The statement reaped snorts of contempt.

  Arnulf, whose duchy had suffered the worst from Magyar attacks, spat out his thoughts. “Magyars are monstrous brutes who believe war is mere sport.
They cannot be trusted. A treaty with the Magyars is akin to writing in water. We should annihilate them—not act cowardly by bribing them. How will we pay for such a lofty tribute? I, for one, do not have the resources.”

  This was true. What the Magyars had not raided from Bavaria, Arnulf had sold to raise armies against them. Of course, there was no one to blame but himself, for it was at Arnulf’s invitation that the Magyars had re-entered our kingdom in the first place. Heinrich had chased them out. Arnulf, more than anyone else in the room, had suffered the full extent of Magyar treachery.

  Heinrich raised his hand to silence him. “Hold still your tongue, man. For once, listen before speaking.”

  Arnulf reddened and Heinrich glowed with satisfaction. He distrusted Arnulf. The man was loyal only unto himself.

  “A just cause is worth the price. Principles are worth defending. Hear what I say. The Magyars are wicked. I’ll pay tribute to keep them away from our duchies. They have destroyed manuscripts, pillaged churches and monasteries, looted villages, violated women, and murdered children. We must defeat these assassins! The tribute is part of my strategy. It will buy us time to fortify our possessions and increase our armies. We will train ourselves to imitate their tactics. Our leather-makers shall learn to make the Magyar stirrups so our men can learn to ride and shoot arrows from horseback as expertly as they do. Then, when we are ready, we will crush those whoresons like insects beneath our boots.”

  The dukes shouted agreement and pounded on the tables.

  Heinrich relayed his plan’s details, allowing them to question, analyze, and offer their tactics and opinions.

  Far into the afternoon and night, without pausing to sup, the men continued their discourse until they grew weary. Yet, Heinrich persisted, refusing to adjourn until he ascertained and recorded each man’s role in his plan.

  Long into the darkest part of the night, after reviewing each detail, the men pledged themselves. A scribe recorded the royal decree. Heinrich watched each duke make his mark and place his seal on the document that recorded our kingdom’s most comprehensive laws. When all had endorsed it, he signed his name. With a red taper, he dripped some wax onto the parchment and stamped his seal into it. I both celebrated and shuddered at the ambition of the undertaking.

  It became law to wall every burg and fill it with men to defend it. Every ninth freeman was to serve as soldier in the town nearest to his home. The other eight would feed and support him. Every ninth farmer was to move into the nearest city to construct dwellings and granaries, and the other eight were to provision him. One third of each harvest was to be stored in these citadels.

  Every boy over thirteen years was required to enter military service. War tack was to pass to the eldest son of any fighting man no longer capable of serving. Robbers, murderers, thieves, and other prisoners of rigorous body had a choice: become soldiers or hang. The hardiest, wisest, and most fearless of these men would protect the boundaries between towns and duchies—difficult, perilous, and honorable posts. To ensure their unfailing vigilance, they would receive fair treatment and adequate pay. The slaughter of horses was banned, as was consumption of horsemeat. Stable masters were to mate the strongest stallions with the best brood mares. Armor-makers would forge new swords, axes, helmets, spears, bows, and arrowheads. Each was to teach an apprentice to knit mail and sew metal ornaments on military leathers. After any beast’s slaughter, skins were to be rendered into durable, resilient leather then fashioned into strong body armor for men and horses. At the king’s expense, men must keep their armor in good repair. If anyone failed to obey these commands, they would forfeit their lives and be punished by death. All this in preparation to wage the war of all wars against the Magyars and forever end their reign of terror.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A.D. 927

  Aachen

  ON A COLD morning in in the month of November, as he did each year, Heinrich summoned the nobles to Aachen to appoint men to the nobility. Today, Otto would receive a title and fief.

  Many persons of importance crammed the great wooden-beamed hall. Recipients waited to be called forth. The occasion was usually a joyous one, but today Heinrich seemed vexed. Being a king tested one’s judgment and honor, which seldom pleased everyone. I watched the proceedings with restlessness, for Heinrich had kept our son’s bestowment a secret from everyone but me and Otto.

  Heinrich turned his attentions to the first group who entered the hall. They were to receive the title of Barons. Carrying their familial standards, the elegant rich colors of their finery and insignias shimmered in the torch and taper-lit hall. As each man knelt in homage before Heinrich, he granted him a fief. Once they spoke their oaths of fealty, they took their places according to rank to his left. Next, two men were appointed Counts.

  I had hoped Thankmar too, would receive an appointment, but my husband was as stubborn as a frozen lock. He would not reward his eldest son until the bitterness between them eased. Disquiet held me in its grips.

  One endorsement remained. I held my breath when Otto’s name was called. My son strode forth in purple garments. Heinz, at the age of eight, walked behind him carrying a cushion of burgundy silk that bore his brother’s gold circlet encrusted with rubies and amethysts. Otto knelt in solemn dignity before Heinrich and placed his hands into those of his father’s, palms facing upwards to symbolize honesty and sincerity, openness and trust. In a clear, confident voice, our son recited his oath of fealty.

  Heinrich turned to Heinz and lifted the circlet from the plump pillow. He raised it above Otto’s head and held it in the air. “Otto, this day I bestow unto you, in trust, the Duchy of Saxony.”

  I sucked in a breath. The largest, most powerful duchy held by Heinrich and his father, had been passed to Otto. I had anticipated nothing larger than Thuringia for our son, in the same way that Heinrich had held that fief while his father still lived. I listened while Heinrich gave the return oath promising to shield and protect Otto, his duchy, and his people.

  Delight softened Heinrich’s features as he helped Otto rise and kissed him on the cheeks. “The duchy shall pass from my hands into yours to govern.” The crowd cheered and bowed in reverence to their new duke. The newly appointed counts and lords fell to bended knee. Only one man in the vast Council Hall remained standing—Thankmar.

  A hush blanketed the crowd. No one moved until Thankmar turned and proceeded down the aisle towards the doors. Two guards thrust their spears before him to block his departure. Thankmar’s contempt stabbed at me, and Heinrich’s expression darkened. It was an insult to leave the hall without permission. He turned around and shot an angry glare at Heinrich—an act that would keep the courtiers gossiping for months.

  At Heinrich’s nod, the guards allowed Thankmar to pass.

  Heinrich continued until the formalities were over. Then he dismissed his court and invited them into the Great Hall to feast and celebrate. As we led the way, hand in hand, I kept an air of serenity, but a presentiment of trouble churned in my belly like a ship on stormy seas.

  SPRING AND EARLY summer passed tranquilly. Thankmar kept busy at Wegeleben as its new overlord while Otto appeared with Heinrich at events. On a warm summer’s eve, when everything should have been carefree, Heinrich and Thankmar came to odds again. We had been in a receiving chamber near the Council Hall. Heinrich had just filled Thankmar’s goblet with more wine, and then thumped the silver pitcher down on the tabletop.

  It startled me. Rarely had I seen my husband so angry.

  Thankmar leaned back in his chair and glared at Heinrich from across the table. “Excellent wine, Father.” Thankmar spoke calmly. It might have been an attempt to minimize the tension between him and his father, but I doubted it.

  Heinrich returned a stony stare. “Do not dare make light of this disaster,” he lashed out.

  I laid my hand on his sleeve. “Heinrich, this is no disaster.”

  In spite of Thankmar’s impassive features, I sensed the ire of a coiled snake ready to
strike.

  “There is no catastrophe, Father. When will you realize I have my own ideas, my own path to follow? In this circumstance, I did exactly that.” Thankmar swirled his goblet, spilling a few drops of wine on his hand.

  Heinrich exploded. “You are the son of the king. You are required to do your duty to me and to this family.”

  Thankmar’s lip twitched in irritation. “You mean the bastard son of the king, do you not?” He rose from the chair, placed both hands on the table, and leaned menacingly toward Heinrich. “I am married. It is done, and there is nothing you can do.”

  No more than ten days ago, Thankmar had married Brunda of Bielefeld. The woman’s mother, a solitary child, had inherited a vast fortune, which became Brunda’s dowry. Heinrich’s anger burned, not because it was a bad match, but because Thankmar had married without permission.

  “I have heard she is a good, ambitious woman,” I offered.

  Heinrich and Thankmar paid no mind as they ogled each other from across the table.

  “I am the king. I decide whom and when my sons may marry!” Crimson faced, Heinrich’s hands shook with anger.

  Thankmar stepped back. “Marriage is a transaction between the bridegroom and the bride’s father. I provided her with a ring to verify the bride price and made full payment on our wedding day in exchange for her dowry. And the marriage has already been consummated.” His tone was deadly calm as he sat, raised the goblet to his lips, and sipped.

  “I can have your marriage to that commoner annulled.”

  Thankmar’s posture turned menacing. “I doubt it. Marriage is built on the consent of both partners, and I assure you, my bride was more than agreeable to our union.”

  “You are wrong. I can and I will annul it. It won’t be too difficult to find some overlooked impediment.”

  I rose to intervene. “Perhaps we should speak of this in the morning. After a good night’s rest, calm heads will prevail.” If only I could convince Heinrich to put his anger to rest.