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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  She coaxed Heinrich to take a sip. He choked and turned his head to the side in refusal, but the woman persisted. “Please, take more; it will help you.”

  “Drink the liquid, Father,” Heinz urged.

  Heinrich sipped. Once finished, he let his head fall back on the pillow with an exhausted sigh.

  “Sleep will take you, my lord.” She smiled and left the room.

  Sated, Heinrich fell into a deep slumber.

  CONFIDENT HEINRICH WOULD recover, Otto departed for Quedlinburg to temporarily assume Heinrich’s duties and to prepare for our return home. Heinz stayed with us in the cottage for a fortnight. Heinrich’s speech improved, but a weakness in the left side of his body lingered. Heinrich insisted on returning to Quedlinburg to convalesce, determined to travel in the back of a wain padded with furs. The journey would take eight long days.

  Before we left, I thanked the woman who had unfalteringly cared for my husband, and I offered her a bag of gold coins in compensation.

  With a shake of her head, she refused. “It was both my duty and an honor to tend to the king in his time of need.”

  In good conscience, I could not leave it at that. From that day forward until the day of her death, I ensured her every need was met.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A.D. 936

  Quedlinburg

  DURING THE COLD winter months, Heinrich convalesced. We spent countless hours together, enfolded in the comfort and intimacy that matures over the years of a marriage: a profound, enduring friendship.

  Winter warmed to spring, and Heinrich almost made a full recovery. One could detect a slur in his speech and his left arm and leg did not regain their full strength, but he was fit enough to return to his less strenuous duties. His close brush with death warned us of his mortality. Time was his enemy, and he knew it.

  With his attention on the future, Heinrich grew evermore anxious to ensure Otto succeeded him as king. My bitter arguments to include Heinz as a possible successor failed. Regardless of my protests, regardless of the mandatory electoral process that was the official method of choosing the next king, he summoned his dukes and counts to Erfurt in April to convince them to swear their fealty to Otto. In my heart, I was certain he would not succeed, for when it came to ruling, the dukes had always been defiant and independent.

  We arrived at the fortress in Erfurt, and on the day of the assembly, I waited with Heinrich beyond the council chambers. He held the Holy Lance in his hand. It served a new purpose these days, for it helped his balance and supported his weakened left side. Four heralds walked before us as we entered through the large door and walked up the aisle to our thrones. Otto and Heinz followed, with an entourage of pages and guards behind them.

  I did my best to hide my discordant feelings, for appearances were important, no matter how strong my disagreement. Still, I was determined to argue for Heinz, to find a way of supporting his rights, and I must do it without thwarting or defying my husband.

  The courtiers remained standing until we sat, and Heinrich nodded for everyone to do the same. Among them, Otto, Heinz, and Thankmar sat in the front to our right. Arnulf of Bavaria and Herman of Swabia were stone-faced, with their men seated in groups to our left. Gerberga and her husband took their places next to our sons.

  Heinrich cleared his throat. “I have called you here today to discuss an important matter regarding the future of our kingdom.” He spoke in a tone of indisputable authority. “I have enjoyed many blessings over the sixty years of my life. I have spared nothing when it was within my power to ensure your prosperity. Our fields grow hearty grains. Our vineyards bear sweet fruit. Our cattle grow fat and fertile. Our children have food in their bellies. Our duchies stand united as one, and our armies have fought victoriously against the enemy Magyars. Until the day death accosts me, I promise to stand true, strong, and committed to our kingdom, but before that day arrives, it is my solemn duty as king to name the man I believe is worthy to succeed me. He must be the one among you who is competent and worthy to rule, not one who is elected then kept powerless over your duchies, as in the past. It cannot be so in the future. You have seen for yourselves what a united, strong kingdom can accomplish. If our lands are to be glorious, our duchies must be strong and united.”

  I studied the crowd to judge their mood. They showed neither agreement nor disagreement.

  Satisfied, Heinrich rose and paced the length of the dais with the Lance in his grip. “The next king must be a man of great piety who will strengthen our kingdom. He must possess intellect, discipline, and organizational ability. He must be our champion, and must live to protect us. Such a man lives amongst us.”

  Courtiers leaned forward and shifted. Anticipation constricted my throat and chest.

  Heinz leaned forward, elbows on knees, to await his father’s answer. This child of my heart would be disappointed. Otto watched with focused concentration, secure in the knowledge Heinrich supported him. Thankmar scowled, arms crossed, leaning back.

  “When my days as king are over…the man who can follow in my stead, the man who will inherit my lands and wealth is my son, Otto!” Heinrich gestured towards him. Murmurs passed through the group of men.

  It felt as if my heart had broken in two. Like the others, I expressed my opinion. Some supported Heinz, and I gave them each a silent but firm nod of gratitude. Others conveyed their loyalty for Otto, and a few spoke of their preference for other dukes or counts. Heinrich, his expression neutral, heard each of us in turn, but I knew we wasted our breath.

  Morning became afternoon and the congenial discussions wore on, turning into heated arguments, which continued unabated and unresolved. At twilight, servants lit the torch-lights in the room’s sconces. Bellies grumbled with hunger as the aromas of roasting meat wafted in from the cooking house. I knew my husband well enough—he would not relent until he won each man’s assurance to vote for Otto as the next king. Only then could we feast.

  Moments passed like one drop of water at a time into a vast barrel. As Heinrich forced the members of his council to remain in session, fatigue and frustration set in. One by one, willing or not, each man stepped forward to pledge their support for Otto. Their fealty was recorded by scribes to be placed in the Treasury as evidence should any oath be rescinded at a later time. Arnulf and Thankmar also swore, but they spoke softly and failed to look directly into Heinrich’s eyes as they swore.

  THE NEXT MORNING, after I returned from serving a meal to the needy, I heard voices raised in anger. I turned into the corridor and saw Thankmar and Otto face-to-face beneath an arch. Neither saw me as I stepped back into the shadows.

  Otto stepped back as Thankmar moved intimidatingly closer.

  “Are you enough of a fool to believe you will be king one day?” Thankmar spewed.

  “Father has seen to it.” Otto’s voice lacked expression.

  “Ah, yes, by forcing the nobles to swear fealty to you. But Father won’t live forever, and then we shall see how loyal those men truly are. I could not fight Father, but I shall take great pleasure in fighting you in order to claim what is rightfully mine.”

  Otto swung around and started to walk away. He was cautious by nature, as deliberate of action as he was quick of thought, and I did not fear their argument would escalate into physical assault.

  Over the years, Otto had come to understand Thankmar’s volatile and impassioned rages. Otto’s rages were rare, but long smouldering. As slow as he was to anger, he was slower to forgive. At the door, he turned to face Thankmar.

  “You are right. Father will not live forever, and then, as you said, we shall see. You are not, and never will be, king!” Otto said through gritted teeth.

  Thankmar raised his fist, but stopped himself.

  Otto smirked. “I have been accepted as successor by Father and the people. We realize where we stand, and you stand nowhere.” He turned on his heels and stormed away.

  WE SET OUT for Memleben the next morning, to Heinrich’s royal villa with
in his ancestral estates. After Quedlinburg, it was his favorite residence. My mood was somber. Heinrich, on the other hand, was in good spirits, as if relieved of a great burden, but I knew we both keenly felt the discord within our family. I feared our sons would always be at odds with each other.

  The sweet bouquet of summer lay dense on the meadows. High grass waved in the warm air. The day was beautiful, but I spoke little. We arrived after sunset. The last few hours of our journey had been physically trying, and Heinrich slumped with fatigue by the time we arrived at the iron gates.

  Dismounting, Heinrich entrusted his horse to his men and came to help me off. His face pale, azure eyes bloodshot, he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. He moved slowly. Each step seemed to sap his strength.

  “You are unwell, husband.”

  “My head aches so much I fear it will burst. I must admit I am tired from our journey, but it’s nothing that a warm dinner and a good night’s rest won’t cure.”

  He gave his men a few final orders before we entered. After a comforting meal and a replenishing drink of warm honeyed wine, we retired for the night. We were to have adjoining bedchambers, but concerned, I followed him into his room. Heinrich sat on the bed and massaged his head to relieve the pain. His body servant approached to undress him, but he waved the man away and rested his head on the pillow.

  “I love you, Matilde,” Heinrich whispered. “Let there not be discord between us. You have been a good wife. You have tempered my wrath, given me reliable counsel, drawn me from iniquity and towards justice, and urged me to show mercy to the oppressed.” His words came slow and rang with the pain he tried to fight.

  My worry over his illness superseded my reserve. “Hush, husband, you must rest. There will be plenty of time to talk in the morning.”

  His face relaxed. Moments later, he snored lightly.

  The body servant removed his clothing, so as not to awaken him, and placed his garments on a nearby chair. I thanked him for his help and waited for him to leave the room.

  I went to sit next to the bed and studied the man I loved. He lay vulnerable before me, his illness having taken its toll on his weakened body. I covered him with a blanket and lay beside him with one arm around his chest. It was a long time before I fell into a restless sleep.

  I STAND ATOP A hilltop with Heinrich. A nebulous mist hovers above the town. The breeze wafts around us, supple and coaxing, blowing through our hair.

  We hear the shrieks of Heinrich’s many falcons and hawks as they break free from the confines of their cages and soar skywards into the red morning, their wings flapping against the gentle mists. Heinrich cries out in joy, delighting in his beloved birds’ newly found freedom.

  The wind stirs the leaves on the trees. I become conscious of the life around us. The gentle trickle of cool, running water flowing over rocks and through valleys soothes my spirit and adds to the beauty of the dream.

  The pressures of our duties as king and queen, burdensome and oppressive, dissipate. I turn to Heinrich. His spirit rises upwards from his body and drifts skywards into a warm, brilliant, golden light, but as he enters the embracing light above, his physical form falls to the ground and lies inert.

  I AWOKE WITH a cry. Groggy with sleep, I tried to recall where I was. Morning sun filtered through the cracks of the wooden shutters. Then I recalled we were in Memleben.

  I rolled over to check if Heinrich still slept. He lay on his back, his face pale. Saliva dribbled from the left side of his mouth to his neck.

  “Heinrich!” I leaned over him. “Please answer me!”

  He responded with a desperate, guttural noise.

  I yelled for help and sprang from the bed. I donned my robe and ran to the door. It sprung open before my hand touched the latch. Two guards, their weapons raised, appeared before me.

  “The king is ill. Send for a healer!” My voice trembled with dread. One guard hurried past me to the bed while the other darted down the corridor.

  The commotion brought several servants who tried to enter, but the guard moved quickly from Heinrich’s bedside to stop them. “Please bring fresh water. I fear we may need a priest.” The man whispered, but I heard each word.

  I went to Heinrich’s side and kissed his forehead. His hand felt heavy as I took it in mine. For his sake, I must remain calm. “Help will arrive soon,” I whispered, yearning to hear a response. It did not come.

  I prayed. Time passed at an unbearable pace while we awaited the healer. He arrived, a cowled monk of narrow build and of such a height he had to stoop to pass through the door. He carried a worn leather bag over his shoulder.

  I stepped aside so he could examine Heinrich. “Please help us,” I pleaded.

  The guard watched from the door. Others gathered in the corridor.

  “I’ll do what I can.” The healer set the bag on the floor.

  Heinrich lay unmoving except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

  The healer ran his hands over Heinrich’s arms, chest, and neck, flexing limbs, taking his time doing so. At last he faced me, his brows drawn together with concern. “May I speak with you in private?”

  I ran my hand over Heinrich’s hair. “I shall return, my love.”

  I followed the healer into the corridor, people making way for us as we swept past. When we were away from prying ears, I asked, “Brother, what of my husband’s health?”

  The healer shook his head. “The king suffered an attack of apoplexy. I’m afraid it is grave.”

  “He suffered a similar fit once before. Surely he will recover from this one as he did the first?”

  “No, Domina. The paralysis runs deep in his limbs on the left side of his body. I fear there is little hope. He has lost the ability to speak. Eating and drinking will be difficult, if not impossible.” He paused. “I doubt he will survive. If there is anyone who should be summoned to the king’s bedside, then I beg you to send for them.”

  A lump of desperation rose in my throat. “Please, I beseech you to do something!”

  “I’ll make the king comfortable. I can bleed him and offer him herbs, but little more can be done.”

  “Then you must do what you can.” My voice cracked with grief.

  We returned to the room. The healer retrieved his bag. He untied the drawstring, withdrew a brown wooden box with iron hinges, and opened the lid of the box. Several vile leeches slithered within. With a pair of rusty pincers, he extracted the first leech and dropped it on Heinrich’s chest. The creature attached itself, broke through the skin and sucked. The healer applied more leeches on Heinrich’s chest, arms, and neck. Next, the healer turned his attention to his bag. He removed several leather pouches, opened them, and poured their contents into the tankard at the side of the bed. “This first pouch contains the dung of beetles,” he explained as he worked. “The second contains bat droppings, and the third consists of powdered earthworms.”

  I wrung my hands as he added water to the mixture and stirred the concoction. He opened Heinrich’s lips and spooned some of the liquid in. Much of it dribbled over his chin, but he managed to consume a little.

  “There is nothing more to do but pray and wait,” the healer said.

  I sat on the bed next to Heinrich once more. “Please call for a cleric.”

  “He has already been summoned,” the guard responded from his post at the door.

  “Please send word to my sons. They are on their way to Quedlinburg. Send messengers to notify Thankmar, our daughters, and Brun, who is furthest away in Utrecht at the monastery there.”

  The guard touched his right fist to his heart in salute, and then left.

  The drink the healer had given Heinrich grabbed hold, and brought the blessing of sleep. I rose and went to the window. Word of Heinrich’s illness must have spread, for a crowd of people had gathered beyond the abbey gates. How I wished I could give them good tidings. The abbot who performed the last rites remained at Heinrich’s bedside. The healer also and kept watch. I prayed for Heinric
h’s condition to improve, but this time, in my heart, I feared it might not.

  July 1

  SHORTLY AFTER DAWN, Otto and Heinz arrived with great reserve. Both glanced at the open window, a sure sign death awaited. Heinrich lay on a pile of cushions beneath a warm fur coverlet, shuddering and groaning, though the night had been warm, and a fire in the brazier kept the room lit with a gentle glow. They hurried to their father’s bedside. Heinrich’s half-opened eyes rolled in his head, and his lips moved in a silent babble under his moustache and beard. Gurgling came from his throat.

  They embraced me, and I wept with relief that they had arrived. Heinz held my hand, observing his father.

  “Father.” Otto’s voice cracked with emotion as he clutched Heinrich’s fingers.

  Heinrich managed a few garbled grunts.

  Exhausted, I was glad for their presence. Perhaps now I could indulge my desperate desire to flee to the chapel and pray for my husband’s life. I rose from my chair and bent to kiss Heinrich on the lips. “I have loved you my entire life and you must fight to live. I cannot envision a world without you in it. I’ll leave your side to pray for you, my love, but I’ll return.”

  I groped blindly for my mantle. “Stay with him.” My words were barely above a whisper. My legs shook and I had difficulty in walking to the door. I paused there for a moment to study Heinrich before I turned away, leaving our sons to tend him.

  On my way, I fanned my hope that God would not take him. How I loved Heinrich. Despite all his faults, he had been faithful and passionate. I could not fathom my life devoid of his quiet fortitude, a quality rarer and far better than courage. Twenty-seven years of marriage. Heinrich, my partner and champion. If not for Heinrich’s willing generosity and forbearance toward me, I could not have aided so many poor people in our kingdom. Tears blinded me as I fell to my knees before the altar. I whispered desperate prayers for Heinrich’s life, for his soul, and for the strength to continue alone if God should take him from me. Immersed in beseeching pleas to the Lord, I lost sense of time and space. The comfort of my faith overtook me.