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

by Mirella Sichirollo Patzer

  A bell tolled, and I raised my head. Two more followed. Three in all, the tolls of death. Heinrich! From outside wails arose from the people. I threw myself at the foot of the altar, pressed my forehead on the cold stone floor, and sobbed.

  Before long, I heard a rustle behind me.

  “Mother.” Otto’s voice broke. He came to kneel beside me and pulled me into his arms. A solemn-faced priest stood a few paces behind him.

  Grief stricken, I gathered my composure. My hands moved to my throat, to the emerald and ruby pendant hanging from a chain. I unfastened it, removed my golden armbands, and slid the precious rings from my fingers. I placed them in the priest’s hands and closed his fingers around them. “Pray for the repose of my husband’s soul. He left us forever to take his place at God’s side. Take these jewels as an offering and please pray for us.”

  He gave me a slight nod, his demeanor sympathetic.

  Otto’s expression was grim. It broke my heart to see his grief.

  Sobbing, I said, “From this moment on until the day of my death, I renounce the ungodly pomp of this world and pledge what remains of my life to the service of the Lord, my God.”

  With Otto’s arm around my shoulder, we returned to Heinrich’s bedside. Heinz glanced at me as I entered the room, his young face wet from crying. I passed the chair I had sat in through the long day and night, and settled on the bed next to Heinrich and held his lifeless hand in mine. Already, he was growing cold. My husband, a warrior king, was at peace. I cradled his heavy lolling head and felt the smooth tumbling curls against my cheek for the last time. I heard a hoarse, dry sobbing and realized it had come from me.

  Someone, I was not sure who, pulled me away from Heinrich and pressed a glass of warmed mulled wine into my fingers.

  From the passages beyond the open door, servants whispered words of consolation. I sat still, the cup in my hand, while the room brightened with sunshine. Little motes of dust danced in the light as if all remained the same; but it was not. My entire world had changed.

  When I could weep no more, I walked to the window. Beyond the gates, more people lingered, their voices low, mournful. It was a beautiful day with the wind blowing. God Himself had made it so, to receive Heinrich into His arms.

  GRIEF SPREAD THROUGH the kingdom. Otto and Heinz rode beside the wagon carrying Heinrich’s pall-covered body from Memleben to Quedlinburg. Grief-stricken, I trailed behind the wagon in a curtained litter with Sister Ricburg, nearly oblivious to the mournful cries of the people. I conjured memories of Heinrich. His coronation, his expression when he first held the Holy Lance, the many times we rode together in the Harz Mountains, and countless other reminiscences. The pain of losing him tore at my heart. Heinrich had taught our sons many lessons. “My sons,” he would say, “Remember that a king is judged by the legacy of good deeds and works he leaves behind.” If true, then his memory would live for evermore. Our lives together passed before me like a colorful parade. Heinrich had been a loving husband, a tolerant and patient father, an extraordinary man who had reached out and seized life to make the most of it.

  As we neared Quedlinburg, hundreds of people lined the road. Once inside the fortress, and under my scrutiny, Heinrich was laid upon the finest linens on a bier in the Great Hall. Servants aided me in preparing him for burial. We washed his body and hair, and anointed him with fragrant oils. We dressed him in an under-gown of the finest silk. His over-tunic was made of a thick embroidered silk the color of the darkest gold. We placed his ermine-lined mantle around his shoulders.

  For two days afterwards, vassals and serfs and clergy came to pay their respect. All the while, Sister Ricburg never left my side.

  Then, at last, we placed his body in an oaken casket adorned with silver from our Saxon mines. A square funeral pall with embroidered images depicting his life draped his coffin. Heinrich’s guards carried the casket out of the fortress and into a canopied wagon drawn by six bay horses caparisoned in sombre livery. They rode beside him in their usual formation. Otto, Heinz, and Thankmar followed. Of our children, Brun and Gerberga were not present. The distance was too great for them to arrive in time. In an enclosed litter, I rode with Hedwiga and Eadgyth. A multitude gathered for the funeral, lamenting as they joined the cortege’s slow march. The bells tolled: three rings and a pause, a pattern repeated until we arrived at the church for the Requiem Mass.

  Heinrich’s guards carried the casket inside and set it upon a bier in front of the altar. The cathedral was filled to capacity with those who had loved, respected, and sometimes feared him. Three bishops conducted the rituals in flawless harmony. Heinrich’s brawny guards, who rarely demonstrated emotion, openly wept. Hedwiga and I did not languish in stoic agony either. We vented our grief with loud laments. The light of sixty candles, one for each year of Heinrich’s life, encircled the funeral bier to shed light. The coffin was sprinkled with holy water to protect it from demons, and the Mass was complete. My beloved husband was brought to his resting place. The guards lowered his remains into the crypt.

  Outside, Heinrich’s closest hunting friends waited, each with one of Heinrich’s many raptors. We walked forth from the church and paused before the crowd. Simultaneously, they released Heinrich’s beloved falcons, hawks, and eagles into the heavens—the only sound was the occasional caw as they flapped their wings towards the sky until out of sight, given their freedom, just as their master had attained spiritual release.

  When it was over I returned to my bedchamber. I fled to the door adjoining Heinrich’s bedchamber to mine, pressed the latch, and swung the door open. All was still. Heinrich’s possessions lay on his bed – his sword, shield, and the Holy Lance. They would pass to Otto; the son he had declared as sole successor. I stepped inside, made my way to the bed, and paused before the Holy Lance. I reached forth my hand to touch it, but could not. Instead, I studied its simplicity, the nicks and scrapes of a thousand years of use etched on it. Oh, how I had hated and feared it. Heinrich had declared its next bearer would be Otto, but I would do everything I could to ensure Heinz also earned his place in the kingdom—without the aid of the deadly relic.

  “The time is at hand, dear Heinz,” I whispered, “for you to assert your right. I will see you stand in an election against Otto and fulfill your destiny.”

  I sat gazed out the window at the mist-shrouded mountains beyond. I had no more tears to shed. All that remained was aching loneliness and profound grief.

  I heard a gentle knock on the door.

  “Enter.” I turned from the window and saw Heinz.

  We contemplated each other in silence for a long moment. Then I embraced him, taking comfort and solace from him. “You are exactly like him,” I whispered as I ran my finger across his lips.

  He kissed my hand. “So I have been told.”

  “We must look to the future. You must put this behind you and attend to the kingdom.”

  “Otto has already assumed Father’s responsibilities. It will take an act of God to convince the nobles to ignore Father’s decree and the oaths they swore to Otto.”

  “I rather doubt that, since your father practically coerced them into pledging their fealty. Miracles surround us, my son. I’ll not yield and you must not either. You are suited to be king.” I was unsure whether to reveal what I had done on his behalf, then decided it was best to tell him. “There must still be elections, despite the promises made to vote for Otto as king. I saw men hesitate, and made note of those who were absent. The next day, I wrote to each of the men asking them to consider you as a worthy candidate. I am hopeful they will.”

  “Those who favor Otto may construe your actions as inciting rebellion, as will Otto. If Otto wins, he will shun us both. You must consider the consequences, Mother.”

  “I have thought of little else. In my heart, I believe your candidacy is valid. I have prayed and contemplated this endlessly. At the assembly for election, I’ll make my case on your behalf.”

  Our discussion continued. Heinz tried to
sway me, but I refused to heed his warnings of caution.

  Two days later, Heinz officially declared himself as a contender for the throne.

  WHEN THE LAST of the winter snow lay in patches of dirt-covered ice crystals, we returned to Aachen. From all corners of the kingdom, the dukes arrived to elect the next king. Here, I was reunited with Gerberga and Brun. My grandchildren, Wilhelm and Liudolf, were also in attendance. Our family was all together in one place for the first time in many years. It made Heinrich’s absence more poignant.

  On the eve of the election, I summoned Otto, Thankmar, Brun, and Heinz to the antechamber of my private quarters. I had also called for Franco, Heinrich’s commander-at-arms and long-time confidante.

  When I knew they had arrived, I made my entrance. Franco, who was staring out of the window, bowed. His weathered face showed his sixty years, but years of military training had kept him lithe.

  Otto and Heinz sat at table together. Otto, at twenty-four, was already a husband and father, while at seventeen years; Heinz had yet to attain his full potential. Both had the golden hair and azure eyes of their father. They rose out of respect, but it was Heinz who came to me first to kiss my cheek.

  Thankmar lingered near the room’s center. Older than Otto by five years, his brown hair and features favored his late mother, Hatheburg. He resembled Heinrich in size and stockiness.

  I sat at the head of the table and invited them to join me. A servant filled each of our goblets with wine and then departed.

  “I brought you a gift, Otto.” At eleven years old, Brun had seen his older brother occasionally over the years when Otto visited him at the monastery. Each time, Otto had brought him a gift. Over the years, the two had developed a strong bond. Now it was Brun bearing the present. From beneath his mantle, Brun removed a book bound in fine leather and trimmed with gold.

  Otto opened a prayer volume, illuminated by the finest hands.

  “It is beautiful, brother,” Otto said with a smile.

  “I made it myself. Bishop Baldericus helped me with the paint, but the writing is mine. I wanted it to be worthy for the king to carry at his coronation.”

  “It is the finest gift I have ever received. When I am to be crowned, I’ll be proud to carry it with me, next to my heart.”

  “That is what I hoped for.” Brun’s face glowed with pride

  “And I’ll have the finest horse in my stable readied, and you will ride by my side.” Otto put Brun in a headlock and knuckled his pate.

  “Otto, you must not be confident about the election results,” I warned.

  Releasing Brun, Otto threw me a puzzled glance. “Why? The dukes swore their oaths to me in Father’s presence. Tomorrow is a mere formality.”

  “I wish to discuss the election.” I cleared my throat. I had lain awake all night preparing what I would say, yet now that the moment had arrived, my throat dried and words seemed fettered in my throat.

  Otto, Thankmar, and Heinz studied me with interest. Franco sat attentively, his expression curious.

  “Much will change tomorrow,” I began. “Despite oaths of fealty to elect Otto, there are men who would break their promise to seek the crown for themselves or to make sure the man of their choice is seated there. In an election anything can happen and nothing is certain. Of Heinrich’s sons, only one can succeed, but, it has always been my belief that you should all equally have the right to stand for election.”

  Thankmar released his breath and leaned back on his chair. His face tensed. He blindly turned the stem of his goblet around and around. By his expression, I sensed he doubted that he stood any chance.

  “Your Father loved each one of you, as do I. Heinz announced himself as a contender to the throne, as has Arnulf of Bavaria and Hermann of Swabia. These men did not back Heinrich when he tried to declare Otto his successor. Now we understand why.”

  Franco leaned forward scowling.

  Heinz kept his arms crossed.

  Otto rose, and with both palms on the table, leaned coldly towards Heinz. “You truly wish to run against me?”

  Heinz did not falter beneath Otto’s pressing glare. “I have as much right as any of you to be elected.”

  “You are both Heinrich’s sons,” I interjected.

  “You would go against Father’s wishes in this?” Otto’s voice rose with incredulity.

  “In this matter, I believe your father was wrong,” I answered. “Heinz is also suited to wear the crown, and I must support him too.”

  Otto’s glare was an arrow piercing my heart. “I do not understand why this should surprise me. You have always favored Heinz over your other children.”

  The truth pricked, and shame washed over me. I did prefer Heinz; it was my greatest failure as a mother. Before I could answer, Otto spoke once more.

  “When the time comes, Mother, you will be asked which son you endorse as king. How will you answer?” Otto leaned forward, his hands still flat on the table. “You may choose only one. Who will it be? Me or Heinz?”

  I hesitated, hating that my answer would betray my eldest.

  Otto did not wait for my answer. “Save your breath, Mother. By your reluctance to respond, I know you will choose Heinz. But you are wrong. It is I who am in control of my father’s kingdom, and God willing, I shall keep it, regardless of your preferences.”

  “Do not speak to her in that manner,” Heinz scolded. “As consort, it is her right to declare who she will champion.”

  “You will not be elected.” Otto said to Heinz and then turned to Thankmar. “And neither will you.” Flames of ambitioned burned in Otto’s expression.

  A grin spread across Thankmar’s face. “I see your spies have already revealed to you my intentions. I, too, will stand for election. Understand this: if I am elected, will you and Heinz both fight me?”

  In Thankmar’s baleful expression I saw reckless determination.

  “If you are elected in the proper manner—and I doubt you will be—of course I won’t fight you,” Otto said.

  “And you, Heinz. What of you?” Thankmar asked.

  “You will never be chosen,” Heinz uttered then clenched his lips.

  Thankmar’s eyebrows rose. “Elections have gone awry before. When our grandfather won, he passed the crown to Conrad.”

  “And if I am selected?” Otto countered. “Will my brothers accept the decision?” He paused, glancing first at Heinz and then at Thankmar. “Or will I have to fight you both?”

  I sucked in a breath. Heinz, who held my hand, squeezed it.

  Thankmar laughed. He made a fist and shook it at Otto. “What makes you certain you will become king? But if you are, be aware I will fight you. I want Merseburg and the lands of my mother’s dowry. If I must acquire them by seizing the entire kingdom, then so be it. I’ll struggle for what is mine with my last breath.”

  I had always believed Heinrich’s refusal to give Thankmar his maternal lands in Merseburg would come to no good. Like a starving hound, it was a bone he would fight for with his life.

  Franco, who had listened to the heated discussion with a puckered brow, stirred to life. His face reddened with anger. “If Heinrich’s sons wish to fight each other, then you must kill me first, along with your father’s guards. We gave our oath to your father to place Otto on the throne.” He turned to me, his expression impassive. “And this we will honor with our lives.”

  Thankmar’s face flushed and he sprang to his feet, his hand on his hilt.

  Franco grasped him and forced him back into his chair. Thankmar glowered at him, the man who had fostered him as a boy. Then, in one lithe motion, Thankmar rose and strode from the room.

  “Thankmar is sour. Beware of him,” Franco warned.

  I knew that Franco did not speak lightly; he knew Thankmar all too well.

  “Regardless of who waits in line, in the end it will be me who retains Father’s crown, sceptre, and Holy Lance,” Otto said. “With my life’s blood, I swear nothing shall stand in my way of becoming king.�
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  Heinz glared at his elder brother as he retreated into himself, his silence an uncomfortable pall over us.

  My hands turned cold and my heart grew heavy. Discord between Heinrich’s sons had ripened to maturity, a conflict I had helped Heinrich sow.

  HEADS TURNED TO regard me as I walked up the aisle of the council chamber. On the dais Heinrich’s vacant throne loomed, haunting and ominous. I noticed someone had moved mine off to the side. Row upon row of the highest officials of the kingdom had gathered: counts, vassals, bishops, abbots, and dukes, and their women, their faces familiar. In an alcove, Brother Rufus sat with the Bishop of Aachen at a table set with parchment, ink, and writing plumes to record the proceedings.

  Bright sunlight entered through windows. The rubies, emeralds, and sapphires around my neck sent brilliant shards of light onto the wall and ceiling. I carried myself with dignity, for this was my last duty as queen. With each step, I noticed every detail: the familiar paintings depicting heroes from ancient times, the wooden gallery encircling the vast room, the shimmering array of colorful garments, the pungency of so many people gathered on this hot summer day. Eadgyth, Gerberga, and Hedwiga, who waited next to my throne, curtseyed as I sat.

  Eleven-year-old Brun sat beside Otto next to the dais, his youthful face round and excited at the pomp surrounding him, a vast difference from a monastery’s austerity. Heinz sat in the row closest to the dais on the left. Several rows behind him sat Thankmar, alone, his expression cold, a threat to my sons should either be elected.

  An air of anticipation added an unusual energy to the room as those gathered took their seats. The chamberlain of the council stepped forward and waited until a hush descended. “Those who have dispatched their written intentions to vie for the crown, step forward to be judged for worthiness.”