“Let me pass,” I hissed.
With a deprecating nod, he stepped aside.
Heart in my throat, pain squeezing the breath from me, I threw myself to the ground beside Eadgyth. Her neck was bent at an impossible angle and her face was grey with death. Tears blurred my vision as I kissed her cheek. “Eadgyth, my Eadgyth.” I stroked her head over and over, whispering tender words into her ear; words I knew she would never hear.
“Domina,” the captain said, “Please, come away so we can move the horse.” He offered me his hand to help me stand.
With ropes around the poor beast’s feet, it took eight men to drag the horse off my beloved daughter by marriage. Eadgyth’s body lay broken and bloody. I could not bear to see her on the cold ground. One of the men lifted her. With my thumb, I made the sign of the cross on her forehead then kissed her cold cheek.
Two men left us to notify Otto in Quedlinburg. Because we were not far from Magdeburg, we would return there. My heart was as frozen as the world around me. They tied her body to one of the horses. The indignity of carrying her home to my son in such a manner was more than I could bear. That heartbreaking vision would remain seared in my mind for the rest of my life.
We continued on our way, our group somber. I prayed we would reach Magdeburg by nightfall. Why had I not dreamt of her death? If I had, might I have prevented the accident? A painful guilt seized me. When she invited me to accompany her to Magdeburg, I complied when I should have perhaps urged her to wait until after Easter when the weather and the creatures of the forest were not so desperate for food. I blamed myself for her death. I grieved for her children, Liutgarde and Liudolf! They were young, their mother dead at a mere three and thirty years. Her brief life hastily extinguished.
When darkness fell, the men lit torches. Soon, we heard the thunder of hooves approaching. I knew it was Otto. We halted and waited until he came into sight. A wagon followed behind his troops. He leapt from his horse. The world became silent around us. He glanced around until he noticed the precious bundle he sought. I dismounted and went to him, but his attention did not waver from the body of his wife. I followed behind him. The vision of his slumped shoulders would be forever seared in my mind. He carried himself like a broken man, as if each step tore the life from him. He lifted her body from the back of the horse and carried her to the wagon where he laid her on a bed of furs. Then he lifted her head onto his lap and peered down at her face.
It was then I heard his first sobs as he placed his cheek against hers.
“I will ride in the wagon with my son.”
The man lifted me into the conveyance and I wrapped my arms around Otto.
He gave me a pained expression. “I was hunting when I received the news.”
Only now did I notice his hunting clothes. His eyes burned with agony. His tears rained unashamedly as our retinue, more than double in size, resumed its slow progress to Magdeburg.
I COULD NOT allow my grandchildren to view their battered mother’s body until I had prepared her for burial. My heart heavy with loss, I permitted no one to help me wash Eadgyth. After anointing her with fragranced water and oils, her maidservants helped me dress her in her favorite garment, a gold colored silk over-tunic emblazoned with the ruby red roses prevalent in her homeland. On her feet, we placed delicate slippers embroidered with silver thread and inlaid with tiny rubies and sapphires. I arranged her chestnut-brown tresses over a grain-filled brocade pillow, and then set a coronet on her head. Four friars carried the litter to the nave of Saint Maurice and set her on a bier at the foot of the altar. I wrapped pearl prayer beads around her fingers. As the friars lit a ring of candles around her, I sprinkled her body with the centauria flowers she loved. With the back of my hand, I caressed her face then kissed her cold cheek. “Your children are waiting for you,” I whispered. I turned to face the entrance doors and nodded to a waiting friar who swung open the door.
Otto stood solemnly between the two children, their hands clutched in his. My heart broke at the grief I saw etched on my grandchildren’s faces as Otto led them in. Ashen-faced, Liutgarde was wide-eyed and could not enter the nave until her father whispered in her ear before tugging her hand. An ache gripped my chest. She was ten years old, too young to lose a mother. Liudolf, two years older, walked stoically beside his father, his face a mask of anguish.
At the sight of her mother’s lifeless body, Liutgarde burst into tears. Otto pulled her to him and she buried her face against him. If I could, I would have gladly endured her torment.
Amid the tears of his younger sister, Liudolf lingered, alone, silent, nearly forgotten.
I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Speak to her, my love. Tell her everything you carry in your heart. She will hear each word from Heaven where she watches over us.”
Liudolf stepped tentatively forward.
Otto turned his attention to his son, his face awash with concern. Grief had aged my son overnight.
Liudolf stared at Eadgyth for several long moments. Then realization set in. Tears filled his eyes. “Mama,” he sobbed.
I pulled my grandson’s head to my breast to console him, but he could not tear his gaze away from the sight of his mother.
Otto and I allowed the children the time they needed.
After a time, their tears were spent, and they became calmer. I watched them kiss their mother for the last time. Otto led them to waiting servants at the entrance doors while I prayed over Eadgyth’s body.
Soon, I heard his returning footsteps stop beside me. I linked my arm through his. Together we observed the woman we had both loved dearly.
“She has left a void in our lives, one that can never be filled. My children are suffering. I am a king. I have the power to erect churches and raise armies. I possess a vast treasure. Yet, I cannot ease their pain.”
“Time and love will heal them.”
“Why is everyone I love, taken from me? Why must my children be motherless?”
I knew he was referring to his first love, Aranka, and I recalled his profound grief when she died giving birth to his son, Wilhelm. “They are not gone, son. Both Eadgyth and Aranka live on in your children.” I linked my arm with his. “Come, you need your rest. Tomorrow will be a long, trying day as we put Eadgyth to her final rest.”
“You go, Mother. I want to sit with her for the last time.”
“I needed to do the same when your father died.” I turned and made my way down the long nave. At the doors, I glanced back. Otto sat in a chair next to the bier. His elbows rested on his knees with his face in his hands. He moaned and his shoulders shuddered as I left him to release his grief.
IN THE MORNING, priests placed Eadgyth’s coffin onto a flat wagon, somberly decorated. Four horses pulled it through the streets of Magdeburg, the town she had loved, and who had loved her in return. Mourners braved the morning chill to view the funeral procession weave its way to the church for the Requiem Mass. Otto rode a black horse behind the wagon. Two imperial guards carried our family’s standards and rode beside Otto, their horses adorned in black. I rode in an open wagon with Liudolf and Liutgarde.
Heartache filled my soul as the crowd called out condolences as we passed. They lamented and exclaimed Eadgyth’s name, dubbing her a saint, for here in Magdeburg she once rode and walked, stopping to offer alms or console the sick or dying. Here she had built a church and taught widows to weave or make soap. For all she had accomplished in Magdeburg, she had done the same in other towns and villages of the kingdom. In return, she had earned the love and respect of everyone she encountered.
When we arrived at the church, Eadgyth’s open casket was set before the altar. Friars chanted and nuns sang in harmonious beauty. The archbishop raised the golden chalice Eadgyth had recently gifted the abbey and brought it to rest on the altar cloth embroidered by her own hand.
When the Mass was over, nuns wrapped her in a bolt of silk reminding me of the summer sunsets she so loved. The friars lifted her body and carried her to a cr
ypt behind the altar. With an arm over the shoulder of my grandchildren, we watched as they lowered her into a lead-lined coffin. We cast handfuls of fragrant centauria flowers into her grave. The sight as the blossoms landed was devastatingly final.
I could not help but weep as the large marble slab sealed her forever from the world.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A.D. 946
FOUR YEARS HAD passed since Eadgyth’s death. To mask his grief, Otto worked tirelessly, rising early each morning, retiring late each night. I worried about him. He had grown far too serious, a burdened king, a man alone in the world. There appeared to be no end in sight, for the troubles of a kingdom seldom diminish. Once more, I found myself thrust into the roles of queen consort, and mother, this time to my grandchildren. The resilience of childhood had tempered my grandchildren’s grief, and they soon resumed their studies.
One day, Otto summoned me to the Great Hall. With Heinz beside him, he barked orders to courtiers and guards who scurried about in response. He cleared the room the moment he saw me.
His flushed cheeks and the scowl on his face concerned me. “What is it?” The fact that Heinz seemed equally agitated increased my worry.
“Louis broke the truce with Hugh.” Otto announced.
A knot formed in my stomach—my sons by marriage Hugh and Louis again. “What happened this time?”
“The Count of Flanders ambushed and assassinated the Duke of Normandy as he was on his way to a meeting to settle their differences. When Louis learned of the killing, he marched his troops into Normandy to take custody of the duke’s young son, but before he could do so, Norman adversaries captured him.”
I gasped. “He isn’t—”
Otto waved a parchment he held in his hand. “By all accounts Louis is alive and being well treated, but he was delivered to Hugh in Rouen who holds him prisoner.” Otto ran his fingers through his hair. “Hugh refuses to release him unless Louis surrenders the city of Laon to him. Louis, of course, refuses.” Otto rose, and handed me the document.
I recognized the handwriting. “This is from Gerberga.”
Otto nodded. “She pleads for me to intervene for Louis’ release. Apparently, Hugh is agitated by Louis' refusal to cooperate, so his troops have seized Laon. He besieged Louis’ castle and lands, with Gerberga and the children inside. Gerberga gathered what military resources she could, and is defending the castle. She managed to send two secret envoys pleading for help, one to me, and the other to King Edmund of Wessex, Louis' uncle. She is petitioning me to free Louis and wants me to initiate a campaign against Hugh and his allies. It puts me in an awkward situation, to defend one brother by marriage and battle the other.”
“Hugh had better not harm Gerberga or the children. How can he evict them from their home?” I stepped onto the dais, my limbs trembling with anger, and sat next to Heinz who had been listening to us, cracking his knuckles in apprehension.
“I doubt he would harm her, but if Hugh does manage to capture the castle with Gerberga and the children in it, he’ll have a powerful wedge to use against Louis.”
“We must act.” I could not believe that for the first time in my life, I was eager for an intervention by a show of force, but fear for my daughter and grandchildren’s safety overrode my distaste for battle and the devastation it brought upon the world.
Heinz rose and grasped my hand. It was his way of easing my fear, and I welcomed it. “Otto and I depart tomorrow with a large contingent of men. If need be, more troops will follow.”
I squeezed his hand and ignored the lump of anxiety clogging my throat. “You will send word to me?”
“By way of letter and messenger, at every opportunity,” Heinz promised.
MY SONS HONORED their promise and sent almost daily news of their progress. They had indeed gathered an army and invaded Francia to rescue Louis. Unfortunately, their forces were not strong enough to take the key cities of Laon, Reims, and Paris. After three months, unable to defeat Hugh, Otto reluctantly agreed to lift the sieges in favor of bargaining. He succeeded in convincing Hugh to surrender Louis in exchange for the city of Laon. It was an uneasy truce for Laon has always been Louis’ home, the center of his reign as king, and he vehemently disagreed. A niggling doubt inside me, however, forewarned the peace would not last.
For now, the political battles between my daughters’ husbands had ended, but their letters stated otherwise. The tension between their husbands continued unabated. Hugh and Louis would not relinquish any taxes, and attacks against troops and estates occurred with alarming regularity.
One day, in frustration, I strode into Otto’s private chambers. “We must find a way to end the hostility between Hugh and Louis. The discord is escalating and if we do not intervene, it will worsen. I cannot bear to see Gerberga and Hedwiga so torn. It’s dangerous, especially for their children!”
Otto cast away the document he had been reading, slumped back in his chair, and heaved a frustrated sigh as he glanced at me. “And what do you propose?” I could hear the hopeless edge in his voice. He was as discouraged as I was with the endless enmity between Hugh and Louis.
“I want to invite both families to a truce on neutral ground.”
He paused a moment. “By all means, do what you can. I have had more than enough of my sisters’ husbands’ antics. I pray you will have better luck than I.”
“I will invite them to meet with us at the monastery at Visé-sur-Meuse outside of Aachen.”
“Us?” Otto raised a brow.
“Us,” I reiterated with firm determination and left the room before he could utter a contrary word.
I sent strongly worded invitations to my daughters and left it to them to convince their husbands to attend. Both lived in Francia not far from each other, yet Otto sent two sets of guards to escort them in two separate entourages, four days apart, to the monastery.
Gerberga and Louis were the first to arrive. While Otto spent the day with Louis, exerting what influence he could to smooth over any tension regarding Hugh, I did the same with Gerberga. She and I sat in the Refectory, afternoon sunlight streaming in through the open windows, as I watched my grandchildren play.
Lothair, the eldest of Louis’ children, was a spirited six-year old with golden hair and blue eyes identical to those of his father. With his wooden sword, he was thrusting at an invisible opponent, commanding the villain to surrender or be vanquished. My namesake, Mathilda, was three years of age. Already, a strong bond existed between us. She sat on my lap eating an apple. At the age of two, Hildegarde looked like her mother did at the same age. Her eyelids drooped as she rested her head against Gerberga’s breast and nodded off. Karl, the youngest at one year, lay asleep in a cradle, cheeks ruddy with sleep, thumb in his mouth. The presence of these little ones were a great comfort.
“I struggle to understand the desire for power and control men hunger for,” Gerberga said wistfully. “No matter what is proposed, what lands are divided and granted to him, Hugh is rarely satisfied.”
“For that matter, neither is Louis,” I reminded her in a gentle tone of voice. “It is our role as mothers, wives, and queens to guide them towards peaceful resolutions, though the task may seem insurmountable.” I glanced at my little namesake and squeezed her against me. “It is imperative for our children’s future happiness. War makes widows and orphans. Only with peace can families flourish.”
WHEN WE RECEIVED word of Hugh’s approach, we gathered at the monastery’s gates to greet them. It was midday. Louis and Otto, amicable in kingship, stood somber-faced and tense next to each other. Gerberga linked her arm with mine.
Hedwiga rode through the gates beside Hugh. A sapphire mantle embroidered with silver and red fleur-de-lis fluttered behind her. She reined her horse to a halt. Stable lads rushed forward to help her dismount. Hugh waited for no assistance. His face expressionless, he eased himself down, and stepped forward to greet Otto with a deep bow. He turned to his nemesis, Louis, gave him a perfunctory scowl and a
barely discernible toss of the head, and then turned his attention to Otto. Louis’ cheeks reddened at the insult.
Hedwiga came forward to greet first Otto and then Louis who both received her graciously. She gave me a conspiratorial smile then ran into my arms. The scent of lavender mixed with dirt, horse sweat, and the smell of the outdoors permeated my senses. I was delighted to see her in good health.
She pulled away from our embrace. Her cheeks paled as she observed her sister. Gerberga stepped forward and grasped Hedwiga’s hands. They gazed at each other. I could read sympathy, sadness, and joy flashing between them simultaneously. Gerberga pulled Hedwiga into her clasp. Tears dampened their cheeks. My hopes soared that the differences between their husbands might ease.
Otto led the way inside where hot baths awaited the travelers in their bedchambers. Later we would converge in the Refectory.
IN THE MONASTERY’S Refectory, I sat at one end of a long table facing Otto at the other end. Flanking us, and opposite to each other were my daughters with their husbands—Hugh with arms crossed, his face so pinched and tense, I feared at any moment he would burst, and Louis in a stiff posture, both hands resting on the table. Louis’ face was a sea of calm as he glared across the table at Hugh. As expected, Heinz had chosen to sit next to Louis, their friendship long-standing. Heinz too, bore no expression.
Our gracious hosts entered with platters of bread and cheese, cups and pitchers of wine and left. Otto was about to speak, but I stopped him with a gesture of my hand. It pleased me to see him nod and allow me control. I cleared my throat. “I summoned you here today to negotiate a trust, a lasting peace. I am eager to see an end to the troubles plaguing our family because of differences between you two.” I looked first at Hugh and then at Louis.
Hugh tightened his crossed arms. Louis leaned back in his chair with a nearly imperceptible grin at my opening.
The Prophetic Queen (Women's Biographical Historical Fiction): The Tumultuous Life of Matilde of Ringelheim Page 46