“Giselbert, too, is doubtful.”
My hand rose to my lips, and I shook my head in disbelief. “But I believed Giselbert and Otto were close.” I sat back in my chair.
“They were, or rather, they are, but Giselbert already disagrees with some of Otto’s decisions.” She paused. “That is not the worst of it,”
“What more can there be?” My hands clutched a fold of my tunic.
“Earlier in the evening, Thankmar entered the hall unnoticed. He sipped ale until numerous empty tankards rested empty before him. When he spotted Giselbert and the other dukes, he joined them. I overheard them agree to prepare arms and men. I fear they are doing so as we speak.”
“Is Giselbert aware you know they plan rebellion and treachery against the king?” Blood and politics! The way of men! Must I live with fear during Otto’s reign too, even as I had with Heinrich?
She shook her head. “No, he does not. And they mean to depose him.” She rested her forehead on her hands. “What shall we do?”
“I’ll speak to Otto to warn him, and you must dissuade Giselbert.”
Gerberga glanced at me. “Do you think it will help?”
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach at her worried expression. “We must do what we can.” It was not a solution, but it was all the assurance I could give her.
WITH EACH STEP closer to the Council Hall, the clamor of the coronation banquet grew louder. I paused in the doorway, and waited for Otto to spot me. The moment he did, his expression turned serious. He set aside his goblet and whispered something to Eadgyth. Then he crossed the room to reach me.
“I must speak with you,” I said as he approached. “There is trouble afoot.” I spoke sternly, as a mother to her child.
“Tell me.”
I stepped closer. “This is not the place.”
With nary a word, he grasped me by the hand. The guests gave way as he led me into a dimly lit receiving room. Our sudden appearance startled a man and woman who sat on a bench kissing and groping.
“Get out!” Otto commanded.
Their clothes in disarray, the woman straightened her gown, curtseyed, and fled the room. The man bowed, red-faced and hurried after her.
Otto kicked the door shut behind them. “There are no prying ears. Tell me what is so important that you interrupt my coronation feast.”
“Gerberga overheard the dukes talking. They plot against you.”
He scowled. “Which dukes?”
“Almost all of them!”
He paced a few steps then flopped onto a wooden bench.
“Some are angry at your election; some at your decisions, and anger is a flame that can burn out of control.”
Otto leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and cracked his knuckles. He glanced at me, his brows knitted together. “The same thing happened to Father when he became king. Why should I expect matters to be any different for me?”
“Your father surrounded himself with the wisest men in the kingdom, men he knew he could trust, and he rewarded their loyalty. His brothers died before him, so it was harder for your father when he became king—he was genuinely alone. You must earn fealty and trust; you cannot demand it.” My son’s naiveté gave me reservations about his ability to reign. Already he was working in isolation, not taking into consideration the opinions of others, ignoring his flesh and blood. “You might start with your brothers.”
“You heard Heinz say he would not swear an oath of fealty to me until he received a duchy.” Otto leaned back. “And what of Thankmar?”
I closed my eyes. “Gerberga said he was among them.”
I sat beside him and linked my arm through his. “You must consider everything your father taught you. Do not make hasty decisions. Surround yourself with honorable men. Act with goodness in your heart. If you do, you will succeed.”
“And you?”
“I am your mother and will always love you, but this is your home, and you will reign here with Eadgyth as consort. I will do all that I can to help you but I must return Brun to Utrecht and I would like to take Wilhelm with me. Your son is old enough to begin his religious training.” As Duke of Saxony, Otto’s primary residence had been in Quedlinburg. Eadgyth was aware of his son by the Magyar woman. At Otto’s request the child had remained under my care here in Aachen. It made sense for me to take him with me. “Along the way, I will work hard on your behalf to confirm loyalties and support, like I always did for you father.”
Otto patted my hand. “That would please me.”
I drew in breath, preparing for what I must next venture. “Why did you arrest Heinz?”
“Heinz is cooling his heels under the protection of Siegfried, who will try to make him see reason. He is my brother, and I love him. Rest assured, he will come to no harm.”
“I am relieved. You need Heinz, as he needs you.”
He embraced me, and for a moment, I experienced a sense of peace, however short-lived. I watched him walk away, worried about his future. Heinrich had not found kingship easy. I knew it would be the same for our son. Heinrich had struggled to bring peace and accord among the nobles and though he did not bond them all, he had united most of them. Otto would face the same struggles.
SURROUNDED BY A larger than usual retinue to accompany Wilhelm, Brun, and I, we departed Aachen. I was the dowager queen now; a title I would bear for the remainder of my life. Eadgyth and I had not been close, but we had come to accept, and even respect, each other. I knew she would fulfill her role as queen with dignity and a charitable heart.
On this day, no gold circlet adorned my head. My beloved scarlet mantle, worth more to me than a fortune in silver and gold, flowed from my shoulders, fastened across my bosom with a large golden chain. With fondness, I recalled the day Heinrich had given it to me, and how I had cherished it all these years.
Aachen’s streets were soon behind us, and we arrived at the bottom of a steep hill overlooking the town and the palace. I commanded the bodyguards to halt and then stepped from the carriage. A single path led to the top of the hill. Two guards accompanied me to the crest.
Many times Heinrich had brought me here to seek tranquility, to escape the pressures of his reign. An inexplicable need compelled me to go there. Above the bushes and trees lining the path, birds cawed to each other in the morning sky as they sliced through the misty air. I ascended until the land leveled at the summit. I paused a moment and breathed in the cool air. Then I requested the guards give me my privacy. They gave the area a cursory glance, and, deeming it safe, disappeared down the path.
I sat on a large boulder and stared at the landscape. The bustling town of Aachen was a quaint gem on the horizon. I had gazed at this sight many times, but rarely alone. Without Heinrich by my side, I felt the bite of loneliness. Yet I knew he still lived in my heart and memories. He had left me with great personal wealth, enough to empower me to continue the good deeds he had encouraged during his lifetime. The realization eased my anguish.
A sense of freedom swept over me each time I came to this idyllic spot, and I savored it. Power and wealth lay like gifts at my feet and I vowed to use them for the betterment of the people. As I perused the land, I focused on the distant horizon. The sun would soon reach its highest point. Though the day promised to be beautiful, I knew a sudden and profound sadness.
A flutter of wings disturbed my musings. Perched on the highest branch of a nearby tree was a striking falcon.
Victory flared in the majestic bird’s eyes. It opened its beak and a shrill cry upon the morning wind.
I could have sworn it was Heinrich’s voice.
In my heart, I was certain his spirit somehow lived in that beautiful hunter. With ceremony, the bird spread its wings. Casting me one last look, it ascended into the brilliant blue sky.
A rising wind gusted around me as I watched the falcon soar into the heavens, like the spirit of my husband, carried by the wind into the heavens. I spread my arms wide, allowing the wind to billow my scarlet mantle,
and raised my face to the sky. I shouted into the wind as it flew further and higher into the sky, my heart with it. “Farewell, my love, farewell.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
A.D. 937
Quedlinburg
ON SATURDAY MORNINGS, I arranged baths and distributed clothes to destitute women. Widows, whores, serfs, cripples, or beggars, it mattered not who they were; only that they needed aid. Long before the first rays of dawn chased away the night sky I knew they were gathering beyond the fortress gates, a hundred or more poor women, emaciated, with hollow-eyed children clutching their skirts, ruggedly dressed against the frosted air, desperate to fill their bellies and find warmth.
Having begun our plans yesterday, my aides and I had worked through the night. As dawn broke, lack of sleep made my eyes heavy, and I ignored my own hunger. The poor women and children who wearily waited in a queue that stretched down the steep rocky hill were far more deserving.
I observed the chaotic frenzy of final preparations. We had erected more than twenty pavilions in the bailey. Hemp partitions divided each tent into four sections. A wooden tub and table piled high with drying cloths and soaps made with tallow, ash, and fat were set within each quarter.
Inside the fortress gates, attendants stood behind trestle tables heaped with neatly folded clothes, waiting to distribute them. At the bailey’s center, large fires blazed beneath cauldrons filled with well-water to heat the baths. Torches lined the perimeter walls, shedding light for us to work.
From the kitchen house, Sister Ricburg approached, the familiar blood red birthmark staining her right cheek evident in the torchlight. I smiled at my life-long friend.
“The tables are prepared, and the food is cooked,” she announced. “The water for the baths is heated, and we have more than enough clothing to distribute.” She assessed me with a discerning glance. “You look are tired. You haven’t eaten since yesterday. Perhaps you should return to your bedchamber and leave this to me.”
“I’m not very hungry and there will be plenty of time to rest afterwards.”
“But you have done your duty and more by arranging and paying for all this.” She frowned and patted my arm. “From dawn to dusk, you occupy yourself in good works and rarely allow yourself enough food or sleep. Your generosity knows no bounds, but you must have a care for yourself. You are in your forty-second year and I am in my forty-fifth. Neither of us has the energy of our youth. I beg you to rest. Let me cope with the women today.”
“Thank you for your concern, but I cannot.”
With a shake of her head, Sister Ricburg tucked each hand into the opposite sleeves of her habit. She heaved a sigh and turned her attention to the gates. This same discussion had replayed itself many times between us over the years, its result always the same. This was God’s work, after all. Still, I was grateful for her concern.
An air of anticipation hovered as we braced ourselves for the onslaught of women. Entwining my arm with Sister Ricburg’s, I led her towards the gates. A handful of guards stood protectively around us. Lately, the numbers of women seeking help had increased as word spread of these events.
“Let them in,” I commanded the gatekeeper.
“Raise the portcullis!” the man bellowed to porters who yanked on the chains to raise the latticed grille.
Before the grate reached the top, women and children slipped beneath it in a rush. A row of guards did their best to slow and calm them, directing them to the clothing tables where aides frantically distributed chemises, tunics, and mantles. Others led women to the pavilions where servants scurried back and forth with buckets of hot water to fill the tubs. My personal attendants helped them undress and wash, salvaging any clothes worth keeping, discarding those that were not, and heaping them into a pile to wash or burn later.
Attendants directed women to the trestle tables near the kitchen to eat. Succulent stews filled trenchers of crusty bread and the hungry could help themselves from trays heaping with cheese, roasted capon, and dried fruit, all paid for with funds Heinrich had provided me with before he died.
Six months had passed since his death and my grief had not diminished. In his memory, I performed such charitable acts.
The process was an organized one. I hurried from pavilion to pavilion, to scrub a back, cleanse a wound, or utter a prayer. Tears of gratitude fell when women realized it was the dowager queen herself who ministered to them, and it humbled me beyond words.
As word of my personal attentions spread, so did the requests made of me. Women called out for my attention. Children tugged at my skirts. Servants stopped to ask me a question or receive direction. They called my name from all quarters in a disharmony that rang through the air.
I tried to respond to each request, but it was impossible.
I searched for Sister Richard was also inundated by demands.
Resigned to help as many as I could, I hurried into the next pavilion, ignoring my growing light-headedness.
Inside, an old toothless woman, dressed in a ragged, stained chemise, fell to her knees. She clutched my skirts, weeping. The words she spoke were indiscernible.
“Please, rise.” With flagging strength, I helped her to her feet and aided the servant who lifted the filthy chemise from her body.
I cringed at the sight of deep scars crisscrossing her back, evidence of years of abuse from a cruel slave-master or overlord…or husband. The old woman wept with joy as we eased her into the herb-scented water.
I reached for a cloth, soaked it in the warm water, and then let it drip over her disfigurement.
My heart ached for her and, I prayed my touch would console her as much as it washed her clean.
Vapors rising from the water filled my nostrils, and I felt ill.
My legs grew weak, and my hands trembled.
The world spun around me.
I clutched the end of the tub to steady myself, but everything turned black before I hit the ground.
“BRING A LITTER!”
Sister Ricburg’s voice echoed from a great distance away. I stirred and opened my eyes. My head rested in her lap; my body on the dew-dampened earth. She raised a cup of wine to my lips and I drank thirstily before waving it away.
Two guards yanked back the canvas flap and barged into the pavilion carrying a litter between them. The naked old woman in the washtub grabbed a drying cloth to cover herself.
“Please, there is no need for the litter,” I uttered weakly. This was not the first time I had fainted, and I was embarrassed. I had no one to blame but myself. Once again, I had become so caught up in the work, too keen to see these poor people’s suffering eased. Yet I knew that if I wished to serve them, I must take care of myself.
I rested in a chair and ate stew. Somewhat restored, I succumbed to Sister Ricburg’s concerned scowl and reluctantly agreed to return to my bedchamber. Encircled by guards, she walked with me arm in arm to my rooms on the upper floor of the donjon. Once in my chambers, I listened as she again pleaded for me to stop working so hard.
I could not bring myself to agree. “There is too much to do.” Besides, by immersing myself in charitable deeds, I could mask my grief, though I did not say this.
As a dowager queen, I no longer had political obligations. Free from such restraints, I could devote myself solely to helping others. Nothing—not food, nor rest, nor material possessions—brought me as much joy.
I looked out from the window to where the abbey of Saint Servatius was being constructed. One day, it would house noblewomen. This had been Heinrich’s dream, but because he had died before the structure’s completion, a desire, near obsession, drove me to fulfill his wish.
“You must take care. Your deeds are well intended, but many at court are wary and they complain to your son the king, regarding the amount and rate of your spending.”
I comprehended Sister Ricburg’s warning. Otto’s advisors filled his ears with falsehoods and protests that I had secreted away immense wealth from the treasury and was depleting t
he royal revenues. It was mere gossip, none of it true. I was spending my own wealth left to me by Heinrich. These personal funds were outside of the royal treasury. Although Otto had sent numerous letters to me from his palace in Aachen demanding I curtail my activities, I had ignored all. This worried Sister Ricburg.
She helped me remove my over-tunic. I trembled as I slipped beneath the bedcovers. “Try not to worry. The wealth Heinrich bequeathed me is mine to use and dispose of as I wish. In this, I am more than confident.” I had spared no cost for the building of Saint Servatius, and in time, I intended on founding or restoring other religious houses in Heinrich’s name. I could not let my son stand in the way of God’s work.
Sister Ricburg drew the shutters closed and returned to my bedside. “Rest now.” She gave me a concerned look then slipped from the room.
Beneath the warmth of the bed furs, I fell into a deep slumber.
THE GENTLE CREAK as the door swung open stirred me awake. Sister Ricburg went to the shutters and opened them to let in more light. “A messenger arrived from Aachen with a message from the king,” she announced.
“What hour is it?”
“It is almost Vespers.” Sister Ricburg handed me the neatly folded sheet of parchment.
With a pang of guilt, I realized I had slept nearly the entire day away. The letter weighed heavy in my hand as I examined my son’s seal. A whispered warning entered my thoughts.
To my mother, Matilde, always Queen.
From Otto, by the grace of God, King
I bring you joyous news. I have arranged a marriage for my venerable sister, Hedwiga, to Hugh, Duke of Francia and Count of Paris. It is a most desirable union. Hugh is in possession of the region between the Loire and the Seine. I ask that you accompany my sister to Aachen when the snow melts and the roads become passable for the marriage. I pray God to watch over you both throughout your journey.
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 35