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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  Servants waited to escort me to my old bedchamber, a west-facing room, which caught the sunset each evening. The moment I entered, my heart failed at the sight of the changes. Previously austere, the room dazzled with opulence. Recently cleaned, the aroma of aromatic herbs emanated from the floor rushes. Silk tapestries of the highest quality decorated the walls. A large gilded writing table sat beneath the window. Silver candelabrum held beeswax candles and gilded sconces shed a beautiful light. Eadgyth’s imprint, her extravagant tastes, were everywhere, and it appalled me.

  I understood the need for a king and queen to appear affluent, but away from the public’s eye, I saw no such need. When I was the Saxon duchess, our Quedlinburg private chambers had been modest; material objects held no real value for me. With what Eadgyth must have spent furnishing this room, hundreds—perhaps thousands—of people could have been fed.

  Disappointed, I kept my silence as maidservants helped me bathe, dress, and style my hair. After they left, I peered into a rounded piece of polished silver. A mature face, etched with the experiences of life reflected back at me. The gold circlet atop my swept-back hair glittered in the firelight. A knock on the door interrupted my reflections. “Enter.” I turned away from the mirror.

  The door creaked open and Eadgyth stepped into the room. After the birth of two children, she had retained her slim beauty. She wore a sea-green over-tunic of the finest silk. A large emerald dangled from a thick chain between her breasts. Behind her, a nursemaid carried my granddaughter.

  The swaddled child slept and did not awaken when the nursemaid placed her into my arms. I went to sit in a nearby chair to study her. Dark strands of hair covered her delicate head. Long eyelashes lay upon rounded cheeks tinged with the delicate pink of infancy. “She is as beautiful as her mother. I could not be more pleased for you and Otto.”

  Eadgyth blushed at the compliment, at my bewilderment at the new baby, so tiny, so innocent.

  “I hoped to accompany you to the Great Hall tonight.”

  “I would like that too.” I passed Liutgarde to the nursemaid. “When I hold a babe, it is as if time ebbs away.”

  Eadgyth nodded. “I, too, have found it to be so.”

  As we promenaded beneath arches and down corridors, Eadgyth paused to show me a new silk tapestry and explain its origins. She touched a new piece of furniture to tell of its maker. She appeared to be eager for my approval, but in truth, such riches failed to impress me. I managed to nod and kept my thoughts to myself. I hoped to one day discuss this matter, but I needed to ponder how best to approach it, to garner her understanding rather than animosity. I would wait for a more opportune moment when we could discuss it unhurried and alone.

  A large crowd already crammed the Great Hall. Scattered across the chamber, hungry guests eyed the large spit turning a roasting pig in the center of the room.

  At the high table next to Otto sat Heinrich. We beheld each other, and my heart skipped a beat. I had not seen my husband for nearly a year. He glowed with attractive maturity, sun and wind coloring his face.

  I regretted the distance that had grown between us when the acquisition of the Holy Lance and our agreement to dispense with lovemaking put us asunder, but I had learned to accept the aching emptiness of being apart from him.

  He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek before we sat. “You are as beautiful as I imagined.”

  “I am happiest when you are home and we are together,” I responded.

  He gave my hand a squeeze as we talked about what he had done and seen during our absence.

  Servants carried large trays of food to the tables. Roast pork, an array of vegetables, wheels of aged cheeses, honey cakes, and an endless supply of wine both delighted and satisfied.

  I became aware Eadgyth was studying me: the way I held my bread and raised a goblet to my lips, the amount and pace at which I ate. She emulated my every action and it mollified me. Perhaps time had eased her anger when she had overheard Heinrich and I argue many months ago. Had she come to esteem me a little? If so, this was a good time to ask her to aid me in my next endeavor.

  I sat back from my trencher. “Eadgyth, in two days I have planned a gathering to feed the hungry. I expect a great number of people will attend, and I would be grateful for your help.”

  Her face brightened. “I would be honored.”

  I nodded with approval and took a bite of venison.

  “Does our banquet please you?” she asked.

  Every detail had been attended to, from the food to the number of servants clearing platters and keeping goblets and tankards filled. It was evident she had spent countless hours in planning it. “All is excellent, the food well prepared. I am pleased. It is good to be in Quedlinburg again. Life here seems much easier. I am eager to resume my charities, and it would please me to have you at my side.”

  “But you’ve just arrived home.” Eadgyth broke a corner off her trencher and raised it to her mouth. “But surely you will take a few days to rest?”

  Otto laughed. “Not my mother. I have never known her to be idle. Even on the days she is free from charitable works, she devotes herself to embroidering tapestries and altar cloths for churches and monasteries.” He turned to Eadgyth and rested his palm against her cheek with affection. “And you are gaining admiration for doing the same.”

  “I am amazed how you do not succumb to the pressures of your public and political life.” Eadgyth wrapped both hands around her goblet. “I appreciate how fatiguing it can be. You are a most dutiful queen, an example to us all.”

  Heinrich pulled a chunk of bread from the basket. “My wife spends entire days responding to the needs of our people.”

  Meant as a compliment, I detected a slight undertone of resentment in my husband’s voice.

  Otto cut a slice of meat and offered it to Eadgyth. “I have witnessed my mother help the servants with the preparation of meals for the poor, carrying platters of food to the tables herself.”

  Such talk embarrassed me. “He who does not toil is not worthy to receive the meal.”

  Otto grinned. “The people believe your compassion is saintly, and that when you set your mind to it, there is nothing you cannot accomplish.”

  “You raise me far above my station, son. I do no more than what is within my means.” I was eager to change the conversation.

  “I wish I could attract the same attention.” Eadgyth’s admission was wistful.

  “I have heard throngs flock to your assemblies,” I responded with reassurance. I knew the people loved her.

  “Yes, but I suspect it is more to witness my clothes and jewels.”

  “The people expect us to be rich in appearance as well as charitable.”

  Beneath her dark lashes, Eadgyth cast me a gentle glance. “I suspect you do not approve of the changes I have made here, but it is all I comprehend. It is how it is done in my father’s kingdom.”

  At her admission, sympathy flooded into my heart. Like her, I, too, was once young and unsure. “It is good for us to work together.” I touched her hand.

  “I merely wish to earn acceptance.”

  “And you will. You have achieved much already. Be confident in yourself. It will take time to carve your own unique path.” I gave her my brightest smile.

  EADGYTH AND I stood with the Bishop of Halberstadt on the crest of a hill overlooking Quedlinburg. Over the years, his girth had widened in pace with his wealth. I regularly prayed for his soul because of his obvious gluttony, yet the people liked the kind man. In my absence, he often funded charitable acts in my name, and over time, a comfortable friendship blossomed between us.

  Word that we were feeding the hungry spread through Quedlinburg quickly. People arrived in overwhelming numbers. After the food was distributed, we were watching them eat. Many were ill and emaciated, especially the children, but I marveled at how mothers let them eat their fill before they ate. Despite their hunger, they shared food equally between them; the poor were generous in their own way. M
y heart ached with sadness, for no matter how many hungry people we fed, more appeared.

  In the warm sunshine of the late summer day, someone had prepared a table for the three of us. As I turned around, I noticed a large loaf of bread set upon it. “Was bread given to the people?”

  The Bishop shook his head. “No, there is a shortage of grain due to the damp, cold spring we had. Local war bands seized most of what we had, so we had to go without.” He stared down at his hands.

  Frustration tore through me at the callousness of the army. Without thought, I grabbed the loaf of bread from our table, and with my right thumb made the sign of the cross over it. “Then we should not be eating this loaf.”

  I do not know what possessed me, but an inner voice drove me to act. I raised the loaf high over my head. “Please God, I ask that You accept this loaf of bread so the hungry can know the satisfaction of a full stomach.”

  The people had stopped eating to listen.

  I tossed the loaf. It rolled over sharp rocks and rough hedges then landed safely in the lap of an old man. Slowly, he looked up to the hilltop and his eyes met mine. A slow smile graced his face, and then he broke off a tiny morsel, and passed it to the next person. From hand to hand it went, each person taking the smallest of pieces until the loaf was gone and all had shared it.

  We watched from the summit. None of us could speak. A peace, more intense than anything I had ever experienced before, filled me. I could not speak for my surprise. Everyone called it a miracle, but I believed it was a simple act to honor God by re-enacting Jesus’ miracle of the loaves.

  ON A MAJESTIC day in late autumn, surrounded by shades of russet, auburn, and crimson, a gathering of people came to celebrate Mass in the open air in front of the church. Moss and ferns adorned the sandstone church walls behind the Bishop as he made his way to the front of the altar and commenced. The comforting warmth of the harvest sun warmed my shoulders. A sleepy peacefulness settled over us.

  At first, no one noticed the gentle deer feasting on the dewy grass beyond the outdoor altar. The doe’s grazing brought her closer to the altar until she neared the white candles, silver chalice, and golden vessels containing the water and wine for the Eucharist. I watched her with growing curiosity as, unaware of what was happening behind him, the bishop preached on. Others were similarly entranced. Smiles broke upon the faces of the crowd at the delicate creature’s inquisitiveness as she sniffed at the religious items on the altar. The doe’s nostrils flared. Then she opened her jaws and snatched one of the golden vessels, clenching it fully into her mouth until it disappeared. A cry of astonishment arose from the congregation. The Bishop gaped with bewilderment at the wide-eyed doe who hid the entire vessel within her mouth.

  A group of men surrounded and coaxed the animal to relinquish the treasure. They clapped their hands and yelled to startle her into opening her mouth. The deer, terrified at the clamor, sought to escape the tight circle of men surrounding her.

  I could not bear to see her frightened and commanded the men to stop. They parted and allowed me entry into the perimeter where the poor doe trembled.

  I reached out my hand. Hesitant, she stepped forward and sniffed my palm. I spoke with a gentle voice. “Poor thing.” The animal stopped moving and studied me. “You must return what you stole, for it is a vessel of God.”

  The crowd observed in silence and the world around me grew still. The doe opened her jaw, and after coughing several times, heaved out the vessel. It landed at my feet, the sun reflecting its gold and gems. I stroked the deer’s neck in gratitude.

  People knelt, praying and weeping, praising God. The word ‘miracle’ passed in a whisper from one to another. Frightened by the excited cacophony of voices, the doe glanced about, found an opening in the nearby shrubbery, and bounded from sight.

  “Domina, my brother is hurt. Please, bless him.”

  “Help me, my sons are ill.”

  “Touch me.”

  People lamented and beseeched me. They tugged at my mantle and grasped my sleeves and veil. Hands tried to rip my garments to make relics of them. I was overwhelmed. Guards broke through to dispel the thickening crowd.

  I would not allow such veneration. I stopped their words of reverence by raising my hand, calling for them to become silent.

  “It was not my hand which caused the creature to return our vessel. Rather, it was the hand of God. To frighten an animal, a creature of God, is disobedience against His will. Peaceful deeds lead to a state of grace.”

  Duly admonished, the people prayed for forgiveness. Yet, I sensed they believed that through me, God had granted the beast mortal comprehension. As the guards swept me away, the people’s exclamations rang in my ears.

  I spent the remainder of the day bewildered. Something in me had forever been altered. Had God spoken through me when I dealt with the deer? Despite my confusion, I could not deny I had somehow been touched by God’s grace.

  I CLUTCHED MY fur-lined mantle around me. The cool winds of autumn had become the gray cold of early winter. I stood with Heinrich, the disciplined practical warrior, supervising the field where his men trained. Beneath the men’s armor, layers of woolen clothing kept the bite of the first winds of winter from chilling their chainmail and freezing through to their skin.

  Indifferent to the sparse sunlight, a blast of cold air arose, intense and cutting, and stole my breath. Fallen, dried leaves whirled and gusted around the warriors. Ignoring it, the men concentrated on perfecting their combat skills.

  Different types of drills had been set up in various sections of the field. In the south, the soldiers clanked their swords against each other in mock battle. To the right, they wrestled each other. In the northern part of the yard, they honed their archery skills, many on foot, and others on horseback. In the far corner, the quintain—an upright pole with a crossbeam in the middle, spun after a warrior thrust at it with his lance. On one end of its crossbeam hung a wooden mannequin dressed in the garb of a Magyar soldier; a sack of equal weight hung on the other to keep the quintain balanced.

  Heinz mounted his horse to take his turn. He adjusted his seat and grasped his lance. Lowering the shield of his helmet, he aimed his weapon at the dummy then kicked his horse into a gallop. His lance struck the dummy, and he raced beyond the quintain before the beam with the sack of sand swung back around.

  Heinrich cheered. I heaved a sigh of relief. Heinz showed promise of becoming a fine warrior. From the quintain to the wrestling arena and archery targets, the more I watched Heinz, the more assured I became of his military skills.

  “Soon, it will be time for Heinz to fight his first battle,” Heinrich said. “See, he can sprint as fast as the others, and when he wrestles, his opponents cannot fell him so easily.”

  Heinz pushed himself past his physical limits. He drove himself hard because he wanted to support his elder brothers and gain his father’s approval. Heinrich believed the competition between our sons was good, each son trying to outperform the other. I disagreed. It did nothing to forge a spirit of cooperation between them.

  Heinrich watched Heinz dismount and go to another section to parry with his practice sword against a trainer. “They have prepared the boy thoroughly. It is time for his manhood ceremony and I can help him with his lance and shield.” Heinrich bellowed encouragement to Heinz.

  My heart fluttered. After the ceremony, he could be called to battle. Another soul at risk, another life to pray for, another son to weep over, another man who would bathe in the blood of war. Tears marred my vision, but before Heinrich could notice, I walked away.

  THE CEREMONY TOOK place one week later, and two days thereafter, Heinrich met with his war council. In the evening, as I brushed my hair, I sensed his presence and turned. He stood at the doorway of my bedchamber, his face lined with worry. He clenched his bottom lip with his teeth, as he always did before he told me bad news.

  “What is it?” I rose to my feet.

  He strode toward me. “I’ve decided to
end the nine-year truce with the Magyars.”

  “Peacefully?” Hope tinged my voice.

  “I hope so, but it may not be possible. When they come to collect their tribute, this time they will leave empty-handed. They will retaliate, I am certain, but my troops will be ready.”

  “I see.”

  He paused. “I’m taking Heinz with me.”

  Not Heinz, the son of my heart. “You cannot take him, not yet.”

  Heinrich remained unwavering before me. “When the Magyars attack, I want my sons by my side. It has been nine years since I struck the agreement halting the Magyars from their reign of terror, and they failed to suspect it was a temporary measure. Their history of plundering will end. Our towns and cities are less vulnerable to attacks because we have built new walls around them. Strong fortresses constructed in strategic locations protect our richest lands. I have tripled the size of my army, and my cavalry is unsurpassed. Our horses have been bred for strength, conformation, and height. Envious warlords in other jurisdictions seek to buy them.”

  “But the outcome of war is uncertain.”

  “No, it is not, but I’ve planned and prepared for it. The Magyars have no idea what awaits them: an unrivalled insult to humiliate and strip them of their power! Never again will they dare set foot in our kingdom.”

  “When will you leave?” Fear choked the air from my lungs.

  “In the spring when the snow melts.”

  FROM A WINDOW tucked in a corner of the Great Hall, Heinrich and I observed our sentries escort the Magyars through the fortress gates. For nine years, we had welcomed them with gold and silver as tribute in exchange for peace. This year, the foreigners had sent their smallest contingent thus far in expectation of another easy transaction. Only twelve Magyar ambassadors rode their short, stocky horses through the gates. Their long unkempt hair streamed behind their conical shaped helmets above grim, unsmiling faces. Bows and arrows slung over their shoulders bounced with the motion of their horses. Ignoring the frightened gazes of courtiers and servants, they passed into the bailey. Heinrich’s sentries waited for them to dismount then ordered them to relinquish their weapons. The Magyars complied, just as they had done in previous years.