Heinrich and I left the bedchamber and took our places in the Great Hall. Thankmar, Otto, and Heinz awaited us.
Flanked by twenty of Heinrich’s guards, the Magyars entered.
Heinrich maintained a neutral face as at least sixty Saxon guards and nobles watched them enter. Each year we had treated the Magyars admirably, hosting elaborate affairs abundant with food, wine, and women. This time, he had ordered no such feasting.
At least one hundred courtiers filled the hall, the largest crowd ever had gathered to witness the yearly tribute. Rumors had been circulating that this time would be different. Tension filled the air as the burly ambassadors halted before our thrones, their faces stern, their unclean, mud-spattered garments reeking.
An agitated hush befell us. A large open casket, heavy with gold chalices, silver plates, and jewels, rested at Heinrich’s feet, while on his lap was a leather pouch filled with gold and silver coins.
The Magyars exchanged smug glances.
“I bid you welcome.” Heinrich’s voice echoed in the vast room. He toyed with the treasure pouch in his lap, calling attention to it by the clink of metal coins inside. He nodded to his translator to begin as he addressed the Magyar leader. “I advise you that from this day forward, you will not receive tribute from me or any of my vassals. Tell your king of this.”
The ambassador’s expressions turned to shock. They voiced their outrage with guttural expressions and fisted gestures.
Heinrich raised his hand to silence them. “Fear not. I’ll compensate you fairly, on this, our final meeting. I give you my word you will not leave my kingdom empty handed.”
When the translator finished, doubt ravaged the Magyar wary faces.
Heinrich called over his chief guardsman and whispered something to him before he bowed and left the chamber. The Magyars abided, tense with animosity. After painfully long moments, the chief returned with a covered platter and came to a stop in front of the ambassador. He raised the lid.
Spectators gasped. I cringed at the sight. A freshly killed mangy dog, deprived of tail and ears, lay within. The chief hurled the dog at the Magyars. Blood splattered their clothes.
After negotiations, it was a Magyar custom to celebrate by roasting dog meat, dividing it into equal portions, and feasting upon the delicacy together.
To offer the Magyars an emaciated, uncooked, mutilated dog, was an outrageous insult.
The brazen act stunned me. The ambassadors remained speechless with shock. Then their shock turned into anger. Before they could protest, Heinrich burst into a loud, guttural laugh. It rang through the hall, breaking the stunned silence. His men followed suit, belting out hearty guffaws. As the raucous laughter spread, the ambassadors’ faces burned red. Weaponless and outnumbered they were vulnerable. Humiliated, they turned to leave, but Heinrich’s men crossed spears to block them.
Heinrich grinned, for he had planned each detail of this meeting, and was enjoying it to its fullest.
“Let them pass,” I whispered to him through clenched teeth. “The point is made and taken. You are stirring their wrath.”
“Let us enjoy ourselves at their expense. There is not one among us who hasn’t suffered because of these barbarians.”
“You will make things worse.”
“I am more than prepared to meet and defeat them.”
I tore my sight away from my husband, fighting back my fury.
With no way of escape, the Magyars bore their humiliation to the fullest. The merriment continued unabated. One among the enemy turned and glared at Heinrich. He stepped towards us, but four of Heinrich’s most intimidating guards levelled their spears at him. The Magyar spat in Heinrich’s direction. His spittle landed in front of the treasure casket at Heinrich’s feet. His voice quaked with fury as he spoke. The translator interpreted, “Prepare yourself, king, for our revenge will be the most bitter your country will ever experience.”
Heinrich showed no reaction to the threat. Still laughing at the ambassadors, he shook his head and addressed the guards. “Banish these vermin from my sight. Return their horses to them, but not their weapons. Ride with them and do not let them leave your sight until you have left them far beyond the marches of the kingdom.” Then he faced the translator. “And tell them this—no Magyar shall ever tread upon our lands again without the shedding of their blood.”
A chilling glower fixed on Heinrich, the Magyar listened to the translation then turned his back to us. Amid hollers of encouragement and the jubilant waving of spears, the guards ushered them out.
When the crowd became quiet, Heinrich rose to his feet. “Our kingdom is finally free from these barbarians. By the protection of God, by your efforts, and by your valor, nothing remains but for us to raise our largest army to fight them. Until today, we have been obliged to pay them to keep them from murdering our families. We were forced to plunder our churches to gather their tribute.” Heinrich paused, holding in his view the faces of all those present. “But no more! Raise your weapons to defend our lands, our homes, and families!”
The men roared battle cries as they swore fealty to their king. The nine-year truce with the Magyars was over. War had been declared. And it promised to be the war of all wars!
Chapter Twenty-Two
A.D. 933
NIGHTMARES PLAGUED MY sleep: visions of blood, graves, rot, and a long enduring darkness—the ravages of war. The army, which had been gathering for days beyond our castle walls, had broken camp at last. The ranks of armed men were ready to march and awaited their king to lead them. I waited in the bailey amid the chaos trying to gather my composure, ashamed of my tears. I had seen the men off to war so many times, but this time was different. My beloved Heinz was to ride with them. A band of men surrounded him. In armor, he appeared smaller, a mere fourteen-year-old boy compared to these battle-hardened men. Did he seem young because I saw him through a mother’s eyes? He must have sensed my heed because he turned his head in my direction and smiled.
He made his way over to me, his face colored with excitement.
“Take care, Heinz. And do not be foolish on the battlefield.” As I had once done for Heinrich and Otto, I fastened a linen pouch onto the buckle at his waist, tugged it to ensure it was secure, and then patted it. “Inside are the relics of saints to protect you: the knuckle of Saint Candidus to safeguard your integrity; a lock of hair from Saint Gengulphus, the patron of warriors; a sliver from the cross of Saint Peter to keep you safe from frenzy; and a nail made by Saint Eligius to protect your weapons. Keep them with you at all times.”
“I’ll not part with them.” He embraced me then walked away to join the men.
Heinrich must have seen our exchange, because he waved his men aside and crossed the bailey to me. “I’ll protect him with my life.”
I nodded, my throat constricted. I was the queen; I must be strong, an example to other mothers sending their sons to war. Heinrich kissed my hand.
Eadgyth stood beside me, her face white after parting with Otto. As Heinrich grasped her hand, she curtseyed low, her voice no more than a whisper. “Sweet Christ ride with you.”
His farewells made, Heinrich raised his hand to the assembled courtiers and strode towards his horse. I fought back my fears as I watched my husband and sons ride away.
BY WAY OF messenger, I learned Magyars had assembled the largest army in their long, violent history. No less than one hundred thousand warriors on foot and horseback marched into the eastern realm of our kingdom, anxious to wreak revenge upon my husband—the insolent king. In my dreams, I saw raw hatred coursing through impassioned Magyar veins as they sought to inflict terror into the hearts of our people. They rode small agile horses and their warfare was ferocious. Their blood-curdling battle cries foretold death and destruction. I always awoke gasping in terror.
Weeks later, I wept with relief when I learned that in Riade, Merseburg, Bavaria, and Thuringia, Heinrich had vanquished them. More importantly, Heinrich, Otto, Thankmar, Giselbert, and Heinz a
ll returned unharmed.
Victory celebrations lasted for a week. Afterwards, the pace of our lives slowed. With our enemies defeated and our country united, we were stronger than ever before.
But Heinrich had returned a changed man. Fatigued and depleted, his dedication to his duties waned. Just as a drought-ridden land seeks every bit of moisture, he tried to recoup his vitality, but he was no longer young. Kingship and battle had aged him beyond his years.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A.D. 935
ACHES SETTLED DEEP in Heinrich’s bones and plagued him more than ever as winter descended on us. He greeted each day despondently, with deep shadows under his eyes. More often than not, he relinquished his responsibilities to Otto.
Gerberga had given birth to a third child, a daughter they also named Gerberga, and we traveled to Quedlinburg where our family gathered for Easter. Heinrich and I delighted in this precious time with our children and their children, moments filled with joy and laughter. But the warmth of spring summoned us back to our duties.
On a brilliant morning, we set forth to travel the kingdom, as we had done all the years of our marriage. At an unhurried pace we rode southwest from Quedlinburg through the Harz Mountains and into lower Saxony to Neuenheerse, where Heinrich issued a diploma to found a new abbey.
We indulged in the beauty of the season as it bloomed into summer’s lush greenness. We spent golden days bound by our years together and the ties of family. These were, perhaps, the happiest occasions of our lives, free from worry as we spent our time in charitable acts, improving the lives of those we served.
By the time the cool winds of autumn arrived, we found ourselves in Allstedt. Here, Heinrich issued a writ bequeathing generous funds to the monasteries for both men and women there. The last leg of our journey brought us to Bothfeld, a scenic two-day ride to the north. Heinrich wanted to hunt in the fertile woods near the town. As the last horse and rider of our entourage passed through the town’s gates, men and women abandoned their labors to catch a glimpse of us. Regaled by warm cheers, we rode through the narrow pleasant roads. We passed into the courtyard of a charming fortress. Servants awaited us in the bailey, as did the owner, the Count of Bothfeld. Otto and Heinz, whom Heinrich had summoned to join him for the last hunt of the season, met us there. After a blissful reunion with our sons, servants escorted us to our quarters. Hot scented baths awaited us in our bedchamber. It felt good to wash away the dirt and dust from the long day’s journey.
That evening, the Count hosted a feast in our honor. Below the dais, in the crowded heat of the Great Hall, the noise of talk and laughter rose to a deafening pitch, drowning the music of the minstrels. The air was filled with the luscious aroma of roasted meat as course after course of food arrived, and with it, enough wine to fill a river.
It was past midnight before we could escape the revelry to retire. The hunt would commence at dawn, and the women and I were to attend. I fell asleep the instant my head fell upon the pillow.
HEINRICH SITS ON a dark bay horse whose shiny coat reflects the pre-dawn sky. An ungodly green heavy mist surrounds him. A deep sadness shows in his eyes. Wings flapping slowly, the angel of death hovers over him, waiting. A fathomless fear crests over me when Heinrich turns his mount and rides away. A scream rises, but catches in my throat and I fail to stop him. Then, in a torrent, thousands of arrows fall from the sky, each one aimed at Heinrich. I try to chase after him, but cannot run. Instead, I trip, stumbling into a deep well opening in the ground before me. The cold fingers of death stretch towards me from the bottom of the blackness.
“MATILDE, AWAKEN. YOU are having a nightmare.” Heinrich’s strong but gentle arms held me.
“I dreamt of you,” I muttered between sobs. “A dark, terrifying portent.”
“It was a dream, my love. Do not let it bother you.”
“No, Heinrich. It was more than that. It was a warning.”
Heinrich tightened his arms around me.
“Please, cancel the hunt. I have a feeling something dreadful will happen.”
“Hush, nothing will happen. I’ll order more guards to come with us. Rest your mind and go back to sleep.”
He held me, my head on his heart, waiting for sleep to take me again, but my foreboding was too strong and slumber eluded me until the night was gone.
Heinrich rose with the first glimmer of dawn. He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Rest today. You can hunt another day.” He left the chamber, closing the door behind him.
A few moments passed. I could not dispel last night’s visions from my mind. I rose, grabbed my robe, and ran through the upper corridor to stop Heinrich, but he was already gone. I ran to Otto’s chamber to convince him not to go. I flung the door open. The aghast expression of two male servants folding clothes greeted me. I next ran to Heinz’s room. The bed was empty. My hopes sank.
I returned to my bedchamber and summoned my maidservants to run to the bailey with a message for Heinrich to wait so I could join the hunt. I dressed and hurried outdoors.
Heinrich was surprised, but greeted me warmly. We shared a meal of cold meat, wine, and bread beside a large cooking fire. Spirits soared and laughter filled the air as men bragged about prior successful hunts, each one trying to best the other’s tale, and the women complimented each other on their garments. After we finished eating, a bevy of grooms and stable lads brought the saddled horses. The huntsman and his bloodhounds set out ahead of us to detect the trail of our prey; today they hoped for a stag or a boar. We followed not far behind them. Heinrich, I noticed, rode a horse identical to the one in my dream. I shivered shook me at the realization.
The rolling hills on both sides of the path were rich with foliage in the golden colors of autumn. A brief interlude of freedom such as this brought welcome relief from the burden of our duties. A renewed vitality grasped everyone. Leisure was good for one’s soul, yet I could not relax. The dream lingered in my thoughts. Since this would be one of the last hunts before winter, I breathed in the crisp air and tried to enjoy the glory of nature.
We rode behind the huntsman, the hounds barking in the distance ahead.
“They must have found a trail.” Heinrich announced.
A short distance away, a majestic stag loped through the trees. Heinrich blew a series of notes on his hunting horn. The hounds tore after the creature and surrounded it. The hunters tightened their circle around the beast. In its panic, it found no avenue of escape.
Heinrich was in the best position to strike. The terrorized deer stopped in front of him. One direct hit with a spear and the animal would fall.
Heinrich raised his spear, poised to thrust it at the frightened animal.
Time stopped. An odd feeling swept over me.
Heinrich swayed. His face turned as pallid as death itself. He paused, wavering as if with uncertainty. I called his name, but he did not react. He tried to speak, but his voice seemed frozen, strangled. I watched helplessly as he tilted forward and tumbled off his horse.
THE MEN CARRIED Heinrich to a nearby cottage in the woods. An older woman, a local healer, lived there. For two days, he lay unconscious in the narrow bed’s straw-filled mattress. I slept in a chair with my head resting on his bed.
Sunlight from a window spilled into the austere room and woke me. I glanced over, and saw Heinrich was awake.
“Heinrich.” I grasped his hand.
Confusion etched his features. He tried to raise himself, but the left side of his body failed him. His slanted mouth gaped open as he tried to speak, but he managed only a garbled moan.
The door opened and Otto, Heinz, and the woman entered the room.
“Father,” Otto said as he came to stand beside me.
Worry creased Heinz’s face. “It is good you are awake.”
The woman poured water from a jug into a cup. She raised Heinrich’s head and placed the pottery against his lips.
“Drink some water,” she urged in a gentle voice.
He sippe
d then coughed and sputtered. The woman lowered his head on the pillow and set the vessel on the table. “I’ll return with warm broth.” With an expression of reassurance, she left the room.
“I was worried for you, Father, but I am told you will recover.” Unmistakable relief resonated in Otto’s voice.
“Whirrs ore ah.” The shock of hearing the incoherence of Heinrich’s words puzzled Otto.
I did my best to disguise my alarm. “Hush, try not to speak.”
Otto sat on the side of the bed and patted Heinrich’s hand. “If you remember, we were hunting when you became ill and fell to the ground. You have suffered a fit of apoplexy. We brought you to the nearest cottage we could find. The woman who lives here is thoroughly versed in the healing arts. She cared for you, and together with Mother, they have barely left your bedside in the two days you’ve been here.”
Heinrich blinked as if to show us he understood.
The woman returned with broth and a tankard and placed the tray on the bedside table. I rose from my chair to give her room. With Otto’s help, she raised Heinrich’s head higher on the pillows. She tucked a cloth under his chin, sat, and spooned the warm broth into his mouth. At first, the broth dribbled over his chin and onto the cloth, but after a few tries, Heinrich managed to swallow then slowly finished it.
The woman returned the bowl to the tray and lifted the tankard, its contents steaming.
“What are you giving him?” Otto stepped forward.
“It is a brew of wine and honey mixed with the petals of a lily, grains of pepper, and lavender. It will help restore his speech if he can consume enough of it.”
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 31