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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  “My wife is with child.”

  Heinrich slammed his fist on the table. “Did you ever consider this might be a trap on her part? A manipulation?”

  Thankmar scowled.

  “You failed to consider that she and her father might have deliberately set out to enchant a prince!” In his rage, spittle flew from Heinrich’s mouth. “How did this happen, and why?”

  “Her father offered a large dowry, enough to purchase the entire town of Merseburg and beyond.”

  I shook my head and raised my finger to my lip, a gesture to stop Thankmar from raising the long-standing argument.

  “So you seek to buy Merseburg from me? It will not happen. It will never be for sale. As long as I live, the kingdom will remain in one piece.” Heinrich released a withheld breath. “Why this woman?”

  “She is capable and broadly hipped, a shrewd woman who will bear me fine sons. Her father is wealthy with coffers rivalling yours, as was proved by her rather large dowry. Besides, what do you care whom I wed?”

  “Thankmar, your father does care. As do I.”

  “I have always cared for you.” Heinrich’s tone became more moderate.

  Thankmar gave a derisive laugh. “If that were true, you would give me my mother’s lands.”

  “You dare ask when you treat me—your father, the king—with such disrespect and marry without my blessing?” Heinrich’s bellow shook the room. “I would have arranged a higher marriage for you than the daughter of a wealthy merchant. A woman’s political connections should increase a man’s power. Instead, you followed the rise of your cock instead of your wit.”

  “Heinrich!” I scolded him with a stern glare.

  Thankmar rose fast, his chair tumbling behind him. “I care nothing for political connections. That only benefits you. I seek wealth to provide me with the power I need. My ambitions run in another direction.”

  “To what end? To rut with an unworthy wife? To eat, drink, and enjoy life until you die?”

  “Heinrich, I’ll not listen to such talk!” I abhorred the cruel words, but he ignored me with a stony silence.

  Thankmar gave in to his temper. “No, you attempt to control me with little regard for my wishes. I am sorry to disappoint you, Father, but you force me to make my own way in life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As your eldest, it is I who should sit at your side. I want to make a name for myself so I can become something more than a bastard son.” Thankmar paused and drew a long breath. “And I am weary of this old argument between us. All I ever wanted was my mother’s holdings in Merseburg. Nothing more. How can I earn the respect of those who swear their fealty to me, when I am the eldest, but I have less than my half-brother? I was once your heir, your firstborn, but you have forced me to live on your charity with no land or a home to call mine.”

  Lips pursed, Heinrich twirled his goblet.

  “You despise me.” Thankmar spoke with resignation. “You place me second to my half-brothers.”

  “What point is there in having sons if they fight their sire, and each other, like wild stallions? I’ll tell you again—I refuse to divide the kingdom. That includes Merseburg and its surrounding lands, mine through marriage and I shall retain or dispose of it as I deem fit. I thought you had grown to accept this.”

  “You do not understand. I have waited long enough for your favor. I am old enough to lead men, Father, and there are plenty who will follow me.”

  “You dare challenge me!” Heinrich roared.

  Hope for conciliation vanished. With a rich dowry, Thankmar had the means to become a threat to his father and brothers.

  “No. I am telling you I shall make my own way. Perhaps one day, you will realize I am worthy. I care not whether you approve of my marriage. I have chosen my wife, and regardless of what you think, I do respect you. You are the king and my father. I’ll stand at your side whenever you have need of me, for I have sworn my oath to you, but I intend to do as I please and gain what I can on my own merit.”

  A lifetime of hurt flashed in Thankmar’s expression before he stormed from the room.

  I opened my mouth to call him back. He raised his hand to stop me and swept out the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A.D. 928

  STRETCHES OF TREES, their limbs stooped beneath the weight of snow, adorned the hills and valleys around Aachen. In the night, Heinrich and his men arrived home from a successful campaign. They had won Havel and Brandenburg, having wrested them from Slavic control. He had been gone for several months. I had gone out to greet him, but was asleep long before he retired for the night.

  In the morning, I awoke early. At midday, he found me in my chambers. I wore a sea green tunic atop an ivory linen kirtle; a veil embroidered with delicate threads of jade and gold adorned my hair. Brun sat on my lap, his little hand stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth. Delicate curls framed his soft face. How he resembled Heinrich.

  “I marvel at how our son has grown in my absence.”

  I lifted my head and our eyes met. I beheld that he carried the Holy Lance and glanced away. Rarely did he let it out of his sight, even when in my private rooms. Its presence made my anger rise.

  I sat before a table spread with a lavish meal. Rich aromas filled the room; roasted venison, fresh bread to dip in herbed cheese, honeyed fruit on sweet cakes, and baked apples.

  Heinrich poised the Lance against a chair then stooped to kiss me. Brun recoiled.

  “You remember Papa. Give him a kiss.” Reassured, Brun raised his arms and Heinrich rewarded our little son with a rub of his whiskers and a tickle. Brun squealed.

  Heinrich sat. At once, servants placed tempting morsels onto his trencher, and he looked at me with genuine delight. I could not return any warmth because the chill of the Lance lay between us.

  We spoke of his victory at Havel and Brandenburg, and then of more trivial matters, such as the recent unexpected snowfall, the progress of the renovations to the abbey at Erfurt, the latest escapades of our children. When we ran out of things to say, we retreated into an uncomfortable silence; the Holy Lance was the cause.

  Brun struggled free from my lap. “Want Papa,” he whined and tottered over to him.

  Heinrich lifted our littlest son onto his lap. Brun stretched his plump hand toward the trencher. Heinrich broke a piece of cheese in two and offered him a chunk. While the child chewed, Heinrich peered across the table at me. “He grows fast. Soon it will be time to give him to the Church.”

  Brun dropped wet crumbs onto his father’s tunic. I leaned over to hand Heinrich a cloth with which to wipe them. “I want to send him to the cathedral school at Utrecht to be taught by my cousin, Baldericus who is the bishop there.”

  Heinrich stopped eating. “Are you certain? Utrecht is a five-day journey to the north and west. I did not think you wanted Brun to be so far away.”

  “True, but I want the best for him. Utrecht is famous for its religious scholars. Brun is a precocious child, good-natured but full of energy. He races through the corridors and passages of the palace, discomfiting his nurse and startling the guards. At his age, he demonstrates a curiosity to learn, much more than his brothers did when they were the same age. I trust my cousin. He will care for Brun as a son.”

  “Brun is two years old and it is not yet time to judge his worthiness as a warrior.” Heinrich grinned at Brun, who had finished his cheese.

  “Baldericus has taught the most intelligent young men in the kingdom. Most of his students have risen to the highest ranks of the Church. Along with reading and writing, my cousin will ensure Brun will learn to wield a sword and command men. He is still young, but already shows promise of a great intellect by learning to speak sooner than his brothers.”

  Heinrich spread another large spoonful of honey on his bread. He broke off a piece and Brun accepted it.

  “I’ll see to it.”

  I graced him with a most delighted smile.

  “I cannot deny your heart’
s desire.”

  The warmth of my smile lingered. Then I noticed the Lance. I held myself still for several moments and whispered under my breath. “If only that were true.”

  WITH AN ESCORT of twenty guards, I brought Brun to Utrecht. We arrived on a calm balmy day, the air scented with the sweetness of flowers. Our entourage rode through the town until the towers and walls of the monastery loomed before us.

  “Open the gates,” an ancient voice cried from a window high in the gatehouse.

  Inside the courtyard, Bishop Baldericus and several monks waited. They bowed when Brun and I alighted from the tent-covered wain.

  “Rise, dear cousin.”

  A few strands of silver flecked his chestnut tonsure. His ruddy complexion gave him a healthy appearance.

  While the monks aided the guards in unsaddling the horses and escorting my servants to our quarters, Sister Ricburg, Brun, and I followed my cousin into the monastery. Brun gripped my hand and studied the surroundings.

  After a warm reception and a hearty meal, an elderly monk with a kind face and tender voice gathered Brun and other young boys and took them to them to the Scriptorium. To my surprise, Brun seemed delighted at the offer. A profound love filled me at the sight of him as he toddled from the room trying to keep up.

  My cousin’s voice drew me from my reverie. “Let me show you around.”

  Warm breezes drifted past us as we strolled. I had dressed devoid of adornments in a simple fawn-colored tunic with a delicate veil the golden color of wheat. I blended with the unremarkable garb of my cousin who trod beside me in a simple cassock of brown wool. Humility was evident in his posture and in each stride. What a contrast between this and the ostentation of the bishops I was familiar with at court.

  He led me through neatly tended gardens and clean stables echoing with the bleats and cries of newborn creatures. We lingered beneath the stone arches of the chapel to study the wonderful tapestries and stopped in the cloister to appreciate the greenery and rosebushes ready to burst forth in brilliant color.

  Though the monastery was severe and plain, whenever I passed an open chamber or work area, I could not help but notice the peaceful contentment on the faces of the residents. When we finished touring most of the buildings, the sun had begun its descent and the air cooled.

  With all I had seen, I became confident in my decision to leave Brun with this humble man, guardian to the hard-working learned brethren and young boys who lived here.

  “I trust you find everything to your satisfaction.” Beneath Baldericus’ modest tone, I detected great assurance. “Brun’s days will be filled with brightness and wisdom.”

  “I do not doubt it.” I drew a contented breath, impressed by the potential of Brun’s future.

  My cousin motioned for me to follow him. “Let me show you the Scriptorium. I am sure you will be impressed.”

  I followed him to the end of the covered archway and through a portal leading into a long narrow passage with a stairway at the end. At the top, we entered a large room. Fading sunlight streamed in through huge windows. Several monks sat at tables scattered with parchments, their task to illuminate rich parchments in inks of gold and silver, red and purple. As it was near day’s end, some had begun resealing ink jars and tidying tabletops. Books, intricate scrolls, piles of velum, and fine tapestries crammed the shelves and walls. No candles or torches were allowed for fear of fire. In a corner of the chamber, at the feet of an elder monk, young boys of various ages sat in a circle singing, their voices sweet and cherubic. Among them was Brun, his face bright with concentration as his voice blended with that of the others.

  When they finished, he glanced over at me. He scrambled to his feet and flung himself into my skirts. “I sang, Mama, and I prayed.”

  “And you did so beautifully, my love. I am proud of you.” I embraced him and then he scurried away to rejoin the other young boys.

  “He is already happy here. I’ll stay for a few more days, and when he’s comfortable, I’ll leave him to your care.”

  Baldericus beamed. “Great happiness comes from study in the name of God, though monastic life is not easy. Our food is meagre, our garments simple. We drink from the stream and we fall asleep at our tables among our books. Beneath our tired limbs there is nothing but straw. When sleep is at its sweetest, we must rise at the behest of a bell. There is no time for idleness or indulgence. Are you certain this is what you wish for the son of a king?”

  “The greater lessons in life do not come from the comfort of wealth.”

  Baldericus nodded. “In that case, I promise you this. Here, Brun will find peace and serenity, a remarkable freedom from the turbulence of the world. There is love amongst the brethren, great unity, and harmony—everything we possess belongs to all, and all to each. He will lack nothing in our way of life. Rather, he will benefit from the most learned scholars and their enormous wisdom.”

  Tears blinded me. “No mother could wish for more.”

  TWO DAYS AFTER my return to Aachen, I strolled into the serene shadows of the stables in search of Heinrich. I made my way to the mews at the rear where eagles, falcons, and hawks of impeccable breeding resided under the watchfulness of Heinrich’s falcon-master.

  Rustling from a nearby stall caught my attention. Between the boards, came a glimpse of tousled brown hair and the echo of muted laughter. I treaded lightly and peeked over the gate. A disheveled young woman kissed Otto as they restored their clothing. Stifling a gasp, I turned away, but not before I caught sight of the girl’s swollen belly as she arranged her skirts.

  Stunned, I did not know what to do. To prevent discovery, I ducked into an empty stall until they finished dressing and they left separately. I frowned with worry, which boiled into ire as I made my way out of the mews.

  “WHO IS SHE?” I demanded of Otto. We were in Heinrich’s antechamber.

  “A Slav woman. Her name is Aranka,” Otto responded. “She was taken after our battle for Meuse in Lotharingia.”

  “The woman who was a spoil of war—the slave? The one Thankmar mentioned at the banquet?” My voice rose with displeasure.

  Otto winced. “If that is what you call it, then, yes. The men, ah, captured her and put her in my tent. I brought her home to serve as a milkmaid.”

  I glared at Heinrich.

  He shrugged in response. I pushed back my anger. “A good man must not be careless of his seed. She is with child.”

  Heinrich nodded. “Son, countless men lie with whores and loose women, and care little for the consequences of their coupling. It is easy for men to relieve their lust by taking women freely, and then walking away to think no more of it, but what of the children born from such unions? Who will care for them? Have you ever given it thought?”

  I kept my voice firm. “I do not want you to be like those men, Otto.”

  “I am to be a father soon.” Otto kept his expression steady, seeking approval.

  “How can you be certain the child is yours?” Heinrich asked, his expression dire.

  “There is no doubt.” By his grimace, Otto was offended by the question.

  “You intend to care for the child, then?” I asked. “It is wicked for a man to seed a child and leave the woman with no means to sustain it.”

  “Of course, I’ll care for the child. I love Aranka as I’ll love the child, when it is born.”

  “What do you understand of love?” Heinrich was annoyed.

  “I know what’s in my heart, Father.” Otto turned to me. “Mother, you have told me many times that one’s heart harbors no lies.”

  “If you have discovered the need to sleep with a woman, then it is time you married.” Heinrich grabbed his goblet and gulped the contents.

  Otto shook his head. “I do not want to marry yet.”

  “You will marry when I say you will marry. I am king and you are my heir. You will wed someone who can offer something to the kingdom. Far better to seed an heir than a bastard.”

  “I agree with your father
,” I interjected. “It is best for you to marry as soon as we can arrange a suitable union.”

  To argue was futile, and Otto knew it. Cheeks flushed, lips pursed tight, he gave us a curt bow and strutted from the room.

  Heinrich invited me to sit.

  I arranged my garments and folded my hands on my lap. “I wish to pen a letter to King Athelstan of England to request forthwith the hand of one of his kin for Otto.”

  Heinrich raised an eyebrow. “Athelstan?”

  “He is legendary throughout Europe as a great king: powerful, rich, and learned. A woman from his family would enrich our kingdom and provide us with a distinguished ally in the future.”

  “I had not considered it.” He stroked his beard. “The more I think of it, the keener I am for such a union.”

  I dipped a quill in ink, and wrote to King Athelstan. When I was done, Heinrich placed his seal on the document and summoned a messenger to deliver it.

  A month passed before we received a response. The English king was eager for the match and promised to honor Otto with choice of two of his half-sisters, who were already on their way to Aachen.

  THE GREAT HALL blazed with torchlight. Summer flowers decorated every corner of the room, emitting a pleasant aroma. Edelweiss, daisies, and marigolds hung from the upper beams and in pretty clusters on each window ledge. Minstrels played lutes and beat drums.

  Otto sat between Heinrich and me on the high table as we awaited Athelstan’s half-sisters who had arrived earlier with an extravagant entourage.

  At last, a herald announced, “The Princess Eadgyth and the Princess Adiva of England!”

  The guests rose. The women in the room turned to study the mysterious princesses, along with the style and cut of their foreign gowns.

  Adiva entered first, quiet, elegant, and directed a shy look at Otto, then nodded to courtiers as she crossed the room. When she arrived at the high table, charming dimples graced her cheeks. She wore a yellow silk over-tunic that caught the torchlight and enriched her chestnut tresses. A pretty girl, I thought.