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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  But it was Eadgyth who garnered the most attention. She glided forth in a shimmering silk over-tunic of a deep purple shade. Her hair was dark as chestnuts, her eyelashes so long and thick they touched her brows. No less than twenty ladies-in-waiting followed them. Eadgyth and Adiva curtseyed before us then took their seats at the high table on either side of Otto. The men in the room sat, their scabbards clattered and jangled as they scraped against their chairs.

  Otto studied Eadgyth who resembled a delicate flower, a beauty the likes of which I had never before seen. By the expression on Otto’s face, neither had he.

  A jest by Heinrich yanked him back to reality. “Our son is already feasting!”

  Eadgyth blushed.

  A smile curled Adiva’s lips.

  The guests tittered with laughter.

  “I pray for his senses to be restored so he may nourish himself with food,” Heinrich added, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Otto’s cheeks reddened. “I apologize,” he said to Princess Eadgyth, loud enough for me to hear.

  She blushed again then turned her almond-shaped eyes toward him, eyelashes aflutter. “I am not perturbed, my lord. Your father is good natured.”

  Heinrich studied the two women with interest, as if he were assessing the conformation of broodmares.

  I also appraised the sisters. Eadgyth appeared heartier, with a pale radiance illuminating her fair countenance. She kept her eyes downcast, yet when Otto spoke to her, she had no difficulty in meeting his stare. My initial thought was that she did not fully comprehend her worth. My second thought was that she reminded me of the Slav woman, Aranka.

  Eadgyth raised her eyes to Otto’s in a long slow movement. “You are different than I imagined, Lord Otto.”

  I admired her ability to converse with such ease.

  “As are you,” Otto grinned.

  “And I, my lord?” Adiva interjected. “In what way am I different?”

  “You and your sister are both more beautiful than I expected.”

  They both laughed.

  Banter flowed easily during throughout the meal. I kept the princesses engaged with talk of charity and family, church and relics, so my nearly tongue tied son could learn more about them. Eadgyth seemed to please him more. She spoke with care, relaxed and confident, nibbling at her food as she spoke. Otto did his best to engage both young women in conversation, but Eadgyth rewarded his efforts with cheerful looks and laughter as though she had known him her entire life. By the time we finished, I knew in my heart the woman he would choose as wife.

  MY ROBE WHOOSHING about my calves, groggily, I opened my bedchamber door to find Sister Ricburg, her hand raised and ready to knock again. It was late, not long before Matins.

  “May I come in?” Her countenance was far too grave.

  I nodded and retreated into the bedchamber. Sister Ricburg followed, latching the door behind her.

  “I came to inform you of the death of one of the serfs.”

  “Who?”

  “Aranka, the Slav woman.”

  “Aranka?” Legs weak with shock, I sat on my bed.

  “Yes, she died in childbed.”

  I forced myself to show no emotion, for I had thought no one knew of Otto’s ties to the young woman. “And what of the child?”

  “The child lives, a boy. He is with the midwife.”

  A boy. A child of Liudolfing blood, royal blood. My grandson.

  Sister Ricburg pulled me back to the present. “What will you have me do?”

  “Who is aware of this?”

  “No one at the moment, save the midwife and her apprentice who brought me the news. Servants talk and news such as this spreads fast.”

  “Keep the woman’s death secret for now. I must tell Otto. Please have someone wash and prepare the woman for burial.”

  “I’ll see to it personally.”

  “Had she accepted Christianity?”

  Sister Ricburg nodded. “She was baptized several months ago at Otto’s encouragement.”

  My son’s forethought pleased me. “Then her body may be brought to the chapel after it is prepared.”

  Sister Ricburg paused before continuing. “And what of the child?”

  “Yes, the child,” I whispered. “Bring the midwife and baby to one of the empty bedchambers on the upper floor. Please find a wet-nurse. You…you knew of this matter between the girl and my son, did you not?”

  “I suspected it. That he was fond of her was no secret.”

  Fearing the worst, I asked, “Who else was aware?” With foreign princesses visiting, this was no time for rumors to circulate.

  “No one. They were discreet.”

  I sighed with relief. “I am grateful for your help.” After a lifetime of friendship, there was no one I trusted more, with the exception of Heinrich.

  “As I have been of yours. When will you tell him?”

  “Now, and then I wish to see my grandson.”

  OTTO HAD RETIRED when I surged into his bedchamber unannounced. His chamberlain bowed at my sudden appearance. “Please leave us,” I commanded.

  The man backed out of the room.

  “What is it, Mother?”

  I sat on the edge of his bed and invited him to sit beside me. “There is no easy way to say this.” I spoke with caution. “Aranka is dead.”

  He reacted as if I had dealt him a blow to the chest. “No, it isn’t possible.”

  “She died in childbed.”

  Otto paled. “But she was well when I was last with her.”

  I shook my head. “To bear a child is the greatest risk to a woman’s life.”

  “What of the baby?” His voice trembled as he spoke.

  “Your son lives. He is in the care of a nursemaid in the servants’ quarters.”

  Relief swept over him, followed by deep sadness. “My Aranka,” he moaned. “My child, motherless.” He blinked back tears. Unable to suppress his feelings any longer, Otto’s grief burst forth in a deluge of anguish.

  I pulled him to my bosom as he released his agony.

  “I loved her and cared for her as best I could.”

  “I understand, but now you are responsible for your son’s care.”

  He wiped his tears away with his sleeve. “Where is Aranka?”

  “She is being prepared for burial, and then her body will be brought to the chapel. You may see her in the morning.”

  “No, I must see her now,” Otto insisted.

  “I understand.” How I ached to see him in such pain.

  Otto rose and went to the door, but glanced back at me. “Who will care for my child?” Fear tinged his voice.

  “Together, we will raise him.”

  He nodded and left the room with head lowered and stride slow as if he carried a great weight.

  LATER, HEINRICH CAME with me to chapel. He had taken the news with the pragmatism of a seasoned warrior, but as a concerned father.

  A single torch shed a somber light. Aranka’s body lay on a table at the foot of the altar. She seemed at peace, her expression calm, her braided hair flowing across her folded arms.

  Otto sat alone in the dimness beside her, her sole mourner, so forlorn.

  I brushed away a tear for my son for losing his first love so tragically.

  Rain battered the chapel roof. Sometimes fast and hard, and then other times it slowed as if it would fade altogether. No wind came to blow away the gray clouds of the night. No solace could we offer to end my son’s sorrow. He simply cried, and we allowed him his grief.

  A priest entered, but Heinrich raised his arm to ask him to wait.

  At last, when Otto had no more tears to shed, we approached him.

  “Come, Otto, it is time,” Heinrich said as he placed a gentle hand on our son’s shoulder.

  Otto placed a kiss upon Aranka’s lips. He raised the pall and drew it over her body and face. Four servants lifted the bier to carry Aranka to her grave, an inconspicuous spot in a far corner of the palace grounds where she
could sleep undisturbed for eternity, even if the burial place seemed undeserving of a woman my son had loved.

  We watched as the men lowered her body into the sodden ground, and the priest offered solemn rites. Cold rain and wind stirred the leaves on the trees. No moon lit the sky. When the priest finished, Otto cast a white lily on her grave. Then he vanished into the mists of the rain.

  THE FIRST RAYS of dawn had broken through by the time I went to the chamber where the infant slept. The nursemaid curtseyed as I entered the room. Otto sat between hearth and cradle. He rose and lifted the sleeping baby, placing his son into my care.

  “I’ve named him Wilhelm. Aranka once expressed her favor for the name.”

  “Wilhelm,” I repeated while I gazed at the child. “Otto,” I began, but my voice faltered. I had much to say to him, but perhaps this was neither the time nor the place.

  I sat in a nearby chair with the baby. “Wilhelm,” I tested the name once more. I kissed the delicate forehead. Profound love filled my heart. “He is beautiful.” I grabbed Otto’s hand.

  “He has no mother.”

  “We will raise this child together.”

  “Thank you.” Otto’s gaze never wavered from his son.

  “It is obvious you loved Aranka.”

  He looked at me, his expression held a deep sadness.

  “Sit and hold him.” I lay Wilhelm in his arms and we sat in quiet contemplation, my hand resting on his shoulder.

  “We must keep Wilhelm’s birth a secret for now.”

  “A wise choice.” I caressed my grandson’s head.

  “Mother, when he comes of age, I want him to enter religious life.”

  “We can send him to Utrecht to be educated along with Brun.” I lifted Wilhelm from Otto’s arms and walked to the casement to study my grandson in the growing light of day. With Otto to marry one of Athelstan’s half-sisters, the child of that union would become his heir. It was clear Otto intended to prevent this child from suffering as Thankmar had.

  “God saw fit to give us a gift. He is a babe of your loins, as worthy of love as any child.”

  Otto exhaled with relief. “There is no better woman to care for my son.”

  I WALKED WITH Heinrich and Otto in the palace gardens, discussing the baby and Otto’s new role as father. Our conversation veered to Otto’s pending decision.

  Heinrich stopped and gave Otto a pointed look. “Both of Athelstan’s sisters seem to find your suit favorable. Which one have you chosen to wed?”

  A blush colored Otto’s cheeks. “The younger, Eadgyth.”

  “A good choice!” Heinrich grinned in approval. “She is the prettier of the two and the one closest to you in age.”

  “I am glad you are pleased,” Otto answered lifelessly.

  To see him so sorrowful grieved me. “You still grieve for Aranka.”

  “Give it time,” Heinrich added. “Your heart will heal.”

  “I’ll always remember Aranka.”

  “One never forgets their first true love.” Heinrich gave Otto a manly pat on the back. “In time, though, your grief shall ease. A marriage to a princess of England will help.”

  “I hope so, Father.”

  “I know so. There can be no better match. Her dowry alone will make you wealthier than you could dream. Marriage into the English nobility will bring much fortune into your life.”

  I, on the other hand, was not certain. To begin a marriage mourning the loss of another love foreshadowed an uneasy start to the union.

  OTTO AND EADGYTH married on a warm summer day ablaze with sunshine and promise. Members of the nobility filled the Palatine Chapel and spilled into the streets. King Athelstan could not be present, but a bevy of his relatives attended in his stead. Afterwards, the air rang with tolling bells as the bride and groom rode through the streets of Aachen so loyal subjects could glimpse the couple as they returned to the palace for the wedding feast. In the years to come, I would recall that day and all the immense joy that reigned in our hearts with great fondness. More importantly, Otto appeared happy. I was grateful, in those first days of his marriage, to see his sorrow fade.

  SEVERAL MONTHS PASSED since Otto and Eadgyth’s wedding. Warm evening air wafted in through the open shutters of the candlelit chamber where Heinrich and I sat sharing a goblet of wine. The glow from the full moon spilled into the room and onto Heinrich’s face. Superstition dictated the moon’s rays could cause madness, but no matter how many times I cautioned Heinrich of this, he shrugged it off as folly. He was fond of moonlight. He said it helped chase away the dark images he had witnessed in battle. Tonight he seemed restless, troubled about something.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “The fact that Eadgyth is already with child.”

  “Why should that bother you?”

  “The birth of a grandchild makes a man feel older. The urgency to prepare for the future presses upon me. Time marches on and I am not getting any younger.”

  “Fifty-five years is a good age,” I chided. “God blessed you with a long life.”

  “Yes, but it is time to organize my affairs, to ensure you are provided with income, and to designate Otto as my heir. I should have done it long ago, but matters of greater importance always prevented me. Perhaps because it will upset Thankmar. I’ve tried to appease him with Wegeleben, but what Thankmar wants is Merseburg, and Merseburg is the one thing I can’t give him.”

  “You can give it to him, and you should.”

  Heinrich sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He rose, poured himself more wine, consumed it, and then strode to the window.

  I joined him there.

  “The world seems at peace, but everything is not how it appears. The Dukes of Bavaria, Franconia, and Swabia, and even Giselbert, our son by marriage, are far too powerful. If I divide the kingdom between our sons, it will weaken the kingdom even further. Revolt by one or all would be inevitable. One thing is certain; the dukes will not relinquish any control of their lands. That is why the kingdom must remain intact with one son as king. And that son is Otto.”

  “In this I have disagreed with you. Your heir should be Heinz, because he was born after you became king. He is a crown prince and most like you.”

  “We will speak of this no more.” Spittle flew from his mouth.

  To avoid an argument, I sealed my lips, but as long as I drew breath, I would continue to fight for Heinz. My every instinct told me he would make a better king: his sense of fairness, his desire to resolve matters without aggression. How could I make Heinrich understand…Heinz was most similar to him in strength, ability, and wisdom?

  Heinrich turned his back to me, his movements abrupt and yanked open the door. How could I have fathomed, back then, how wrong I was?

  Chapter Twenty

  A.D. 929

  EARLY IN THE year, I received joyous news that Gerberga had delivered her first child, a girl they named Alberade. I yearned to hold the babe, but the distance was too great and obligations kept me by my husband’s side.

  With Otto and Eadgyth also awaiting the birth of their first child, Heinrich became ever more sensitive to his advancing years. He remained determined to secure Otto’s place as his successor, and I was steadfast Heinz should receive equal consideration. Should the opportunity arise, I would openly support my second son in any election.

  When the roads became passable, Heinrich and I traveled to Bavaria accompanied by Otto and Eadgyth. Two days after our arrival, I was in Heinrich’s bedchamber waiting for him to finish dressing for an afternoon assembly. He spoke little as his body servant helped him.

  Heinrich had the air of weathered maturity. Much of his shoulder-length hair was now gray, as were the whiskers on his wind-colored face. The wrinkles around his eyes lent him an air of wisdom. He continued to train daily with his men, but with age, his belly had rounded slightly. I admired his handsomeness and the wisdom he had gained over time. After the body servant settled the crown on his head, Heinrich grasped the
Holy Lance in his left hand. I still detested it, but learned to tolerate it as it was nearly always in his presence.

  He offered me his right arm and together we departed for the Great Hall. We waited at the end of a procession for our grand entrance. At the blare of trumpets, heads turned. Fifty young pages and squires entered the room in two neat rows. No less than twenty imperial guards, their royal insignia gleaming in the sunlight, followed. Before us, a standard-bearer carried the imperial black eagle, symbol of the House of Liudolfing.

  With Heinrich’s head held high, and my hand in his, we stepped into the room with Otto and Eadgyth, her body swollen with child, close behind. The brilliant colors of our rich robes and tunics widened many an eye and seemed to impress the nobles who had gathered to witness the pageantry. We made our way to the dais then faced the crowd. I positioned myself to Heinrich’s right, Otto and Eadgyth to his left. Brother Rufus waited behind the throne, a scroll in his hand.

  We sat then waited for the commotion of scraping chairs and clearing of throats to settle. Heinrich turned his attention to Arnulf of Bavaria in the front row, the duke who had always posed the greatest risk to our kingdom’s future. Heinrich had lost respect for him when he had crowned himself king and later had summoned the Magyars to help him usurp the kingdom. Arnulf regarded my husband insolently.

  Heinrich glowered at him before turning away in a gesture of dismissal. The reading of diplomas began—the granting of lands, the determination of taxes, and the bestowing of titles to various members of the Bavarian nobility. When these were complete, Heinrich rose. “Good people of Bavaria. I stand here before you this day to issue another diploma.” At his nod, Brother Rufus stepped forward and unrolled the scroll.

  Brother Rufus cleared his throat and read. “I, King Heinrich, decree that should any misfortune occur to my body and soul, Queen Matilde is appointed regent and shall rule the kingdom.”