I had little time to ponder all of this, for the carriage door was opened before me, and Archdeacon Henry reached out his hand to help me to the ground. The cheers swelled into a roar as the crowd caught sight of me. People were not only bending out of windows, but actually standing on the roofs of buildings in order to gain a better view.
“Take my arm,” the archdeacon said, and I did as I was commanded.
We began to walk forward. I wanted to look at the emperor, but I was afraid to meet his gaze, so instead I made a careful examination of the figures around him. I recognized only two of them: Frederick, the emperor’s nephew, who had come with the imperial party to England the year before, and Chancellor Adalbert, once again clad in black from head to toe. A shorter archbishop stood next to Adalbert. I could see that he must be powerful, for he was wearing some of the finest shoes I had ever seen. Before I was able to make out any other faces in the crowd, a man standing directly before us stopped our progress. His vestments revealed that he too was a bishop, though of a slightly lower rank. He bowed his head and even lowered his shoulders a bit in a sign of respect.
“Bishop Otbert of Liège,” the archdeacon stated.
I tried not to show alarm, but my mind had made the connection. This was no ordinary bishop, but the one they called “the wolf of Liège”—he who had incited the fury of the Holy See to the point of excommunication, removing worthy abbots from their posts and replacing them with the highest bidders. While the ban of excommunication had since been lifted, it was generally accepted that the man was no fit apostle of the Lord. It was also said that the sacrament, when blessed by the wolf of Liège, was a curse that attempted to enter the unsuspecting through the arse rather than the mouth, consuming their insides with dark torments. Now he began to speak.
“Libenter te, Principissa, Henricus imperator et urbs Liège accipiunt!”
I gathered that he was welcoming me to the city on behalf of his master, so I gave my best reply, struggling to remember something from the endless sessions with Lady Beatrice.
“Tibi gratias agimus, Domine.”
The bishop smiled, and I knew that I had done well. Thankfully, he did not attempt to continue our conversation in Latin, but turned and led us the rest of the way toward the lords and ladies. At the last moment, the bishop turned to the side, and there we stood, face-to-face with the emperor. I had no choice now but to meet his gaze. His expression was rather sober, though not fully unhappy. Were I to guess, I would have said that he too was a bit nervous, though I could not think why that should be, since he was clearly the most powerful man in attendance.
The archdeacon let go of my arm, and I found myself standing alone. My heart began to pound even harder as I made a deep bow, lowering my head until my face was pointed toward the ground. I was not sure how long I ought to remain in that lowered position. It seemed like an eternity, but I am sure it was no longer than two breaths. As I once again rose, the emperor walked forward and extended his hand toward me. I gave him my own right hand. Due to our differing heights, I had to reach upward in order to grasp it. It was a strange feeling, my hand being inside his. I sensed the strength that rested in that hand, the strength of a man experienced in the ways of the world, or so I imagined. I had the odd feeling that we were acting out some sort of play, and at any moment someone would leap out from behind a pillar and declare it all to be a poor attempt at humor, the great emperor paired with a girl young enough to be his daughter. I wondered if he longed for a woman more equal to his stature, or if my dowry was enough to satisfy any scruples.
“Ego Henricus sum,” he said, loud enough for only me to hear.
It was then I recognized how silent the crowd had become, each person apparently caught up in the moment, even as I was. The silence was, to me, even more deafening than the earlier cheers. I took a breath, and, straining to remember everything Burchard had taught me, I replied, “Ich bin Mathilda. Schön Sie kennenzulernen.”
To my great surprise, those standing just behind the emperor started to clap, and cheers then spread throughout the crowd. It took me a moment to see that this was in response to the words I had spoken in their own language. This made me wonder if I had offered to do them some favor without being aware of it. Even the emperor seemed to smile.
“Wir müssen reingehen,” he said, motioning toward the entrance of the bishop’s palace.
Although I did not know the meaning of reingehen, this small gesture had allowed me to interpret it. And so he led me slowly past all those happy faces, up the stairs, and through a great door carved with tales from the life of a saint whom I knew not.
“If it is all to be Latin or German, I will not last through the evening,” I thought. “They will quickly discover that their new Königin is not the Wünderkind they first supposed.”
I remember everything about that night: the wonderful painted flowers carved into the wood beams, the light of the flames as they sparked and danced, the joyous shouts of men who had imbibed a bit too much, and the massive portions of food. Platter after platter of meat dishes was brought forth—some that I recognized, and others that I did not. I knew it was essential that I learn to enjoy the food of my new country, but I remained in such a state that I doubt even a bowl of gilded apples would have tempted me. Nevertheless I made my best effort as the servers continued to spoon different items onto the dish in front of me, often covering them with a mustard sauce that seemed to diminish rather than enhance their quality.
Although I was seated directly to the emperor’s left, we spoke scarcely a word to each other, on account of both our lack of familiarity and the language difference. Though I knew enough to ask, “Mehr Wasser, bitte,” the greater subtleties of conversation were lost on me, and the emperor certainly did not know a word of the Norman or English tongues. So it was that I sampled the new cuisine in relative silence, while my betrothed carried on a lively discussion with his two nephews: the Duke of Swabia and his younger brother, Conrad. Their mother, Agnes, was the emperor’s sister.
Around the time that I felt I could not possibly eat another morsel, I received a divine reprieve in the form of Chancellor Adalbert, who approached to greet me along with the shorter archbishop I had noticed earlier, the one with the fine shoes. To tell the truth, I was glad to see them, for I knew that one of them, at least, knew some of my own native language.
“Meister Adalbert,” I said, making use of one word I did remember from Burchard’s lessons.
“Lady Mathilda, soon to be queen of the Romans, I offer to you congratulations for your espousal,” Adalbert replied. “Here is His Grace Bruno, archbishop of Trier.”
Bruno bowed his head and I bowed mine in return.
“It is an honor to meet you, Lady Mathilda,” he said to me. “We have long awaited this blessed day. I trust that your journey was pleasant.”
My mind immediately ventured to the lanes of mud, the seasickness, and my aunt’s dress catching on fire.
“Yes, very pleasant,” I replied.
“I am to be your tutor. We shall make our study in the ancient burg of Trier, which is my home. I think you will like it there.”
“So I am not to be at the imperial court?”
“Not at first, no. That is, not once you have received your coronation in all pomp at Mainz. Then it will be time for your studies, until it is determined that you are ready.”
“I am sorry, Archbishop. Ready for what?”
“For the marriage, of course.”
“Pardon me, mistress,” said the chancellor. “I must have words with someone over there.”
We both watched as Adalbert moved toward another table, picked up a glass of wine, and began talking with a noble I did not recognize.
“He is a sly one, Adalbert,” Bruno said.
“Oh?” I had not imagined that I would receive such an honest revelation.
“Yes, he may appear to be free of partiality, but at heart he is as fierce a broker as any.”
“And you are
not?”
He smiled at me and sat down in the empty seat to my left.
“I see you are wise beyond your years, Mathilda. In such times as ours, it is true that all men of the cloth find themselves bound together with the rulers of this age. ’Twas not always so, but the times require it of us. Here, I will teach you something. We have bishops here, as you do in England, but the bishops within the empire are not only men of God; they are also princes, and powerful ones at that. The temptation of worldly gain is great.”
He must have guessed at my thoughts, for he continued, “Do not mistake me. There are many who resist this temptation, and not all contact with the secular realm is an evil. For myself, I seek to advise the emperor on how he might create a better world both for our holy Church and for the kingdom. Saint Augustine once spoke of two cities . . .”
“The city of God and the city of man,” I ventured, hoping that I had remembered something correctly from Master Godfrey’s lessons.
“Right you are! I see that you have been well taught.”
I dropped my gaze as I was forced to admit, “I could not tell you the particulars of the book, but I do remember once seeing a magnificent drawing of the two cities, one all darkness and the other all light.”
“Yes, well, things are not always so simple. The devil himself often comes to us as an ‘angel of light,’ as Saint Paul tells us.”
“How then can one become a righteous ruler?”
Bruno smiled and said to me, “That is precisely what I intend to teach you, if the Lord should give me strength to do so. For now, rest and enjoy these moments. You have performed well on your first day and brought honor to your esteemed house. Once you have made it through the beginning stages of your journey, then we shall take up the study of these things.”
Our conversation paused at that point, for the chancellor had returned with another man.
“Your Grace, I present to you Duke Godfrey of Lower Lorraine.”
The duke looked to be a man of about fifty years, on account of which he had lost most of the hair on top of his head. He apparently made up for this by growing such a long beard that others at court referred to him as Duke Godfrey the Bearded. He wore a large hat that concealed any trace of his malady, but he was forced to remove it when paying his respects to the emperor’s future consort, thus revealing his secret.
“The duke has a petition to make of you,” Adalbert explained.
Before I had time to consider what possible petition the duke could make and what I, not yet an empress and much less a woman, might be able to accomplish on his behalf, he launched into a passionate argument, none of which I could understand, save for a few scattered words. A full minute must have passed before he stopped to catch his breath and Adalbert offered a translation.
“The duke says he is hard pressed by the traitor Henry, who attempts to steal his rightful possession.”
“The emperor stole his land?” I asked.
“No,” said Bruno. “He means Duke Henry of Limburg. The man was once a supporter of the emperor, but then reverted to his father during the late conflict.”
Now, Daughter, you will note that my betrothed, the fifth Emperor Henry, was at war with his own excommunicate father, Emperor Henry IV, during the last few years of the old man’s life. This is a rather long story and not fit for telling at the present time. Suffice it to say the new emperor had felt compelled to avenge himself on the allies of his father once he had gained the throne. It was for this reason that Duke Godfrey labeled Henry of Limburg a traitor.
Duke Godfrey was once again speaking earnestly, and Adalbert was forced to add, “In fact, this Henry is duke no longer, but grants himself that title according to his own evil desires. The emperor has taken back Limburg from Henry and put him in Hildesheim.”
“He is imprisoned in the North, near the palace of Goslar,” Bruno clarified.
I did not understand where the problem lay. “If he is imprisoned and Duke Godfrey now controls the lands, then why does he come to me?”
Adalbert nodded and began speaking to the duke again in German. “Was wollen Sie von der Dame? Sie versteht Sie nicht.”
The bearded duke was a bit perplexed and seemed to beseech the chancellor. “Er lügt! Er verbreitet Gerüchte!”
“Yes, we know he spreads lies, but what do you want the lady Mathilda to do about it?” Bruno responded, clearly intending his comments more for my benefit than the duke’s, for he certainly did not understand them. A further translation from the chancellor was necessary, after which the duke responded in German and Adalbert, having taken a moment to collect his thoughts, said, “Will you speak to the emperor and promote the claim of the duke, that their . . . alliance is strengthened?”
“Yes. I shall be happy to do so.”
The duke, having guessed at the meaning of my reply, broke into expressions of, “Danke! Danke!” and was then ushered away by Adalbert.
“More than you hoped to deal with on your first night?” Bruno asked.
“Honestly, sir, I was just hoping to make it through,” I answered.
We tarried in Liège a few more weeks. The emperor spent much of this time in the council of his papal ambassadors, including Archbishops Bruno and Adalbert. I was not made aware of the full extent of their discussions, but I surmised that the emperor wished to be crowned by His Holiness in the manner of his predecessor, Charles the Great. In addition, the issue of investiture weighed heavily, for the right to grant the bishop’s staff is also the power to rule.
Throughout this time, there was no official espousal for Emperor Henry and me. That was to take place in the northern city of Utrecht. I used the time to acquaint myself with my new ladies; chief among them were Gertrude and Adelaide. All were of noble houses, but none were able to converse in the Norman tongue. Thus making their acquaintance was rather difficult. On the occasions when I despaired entirely, I sought out the company of my chief knight, Drogo, whose value as a friend had increased still further, as he was now one of the few people who could understand me.
At last the day of our departure arrived, and all the imperial vessels sailed north upon the River Meuse through the region of Limburg. Whereas the river flowed through green hills and rocky crags farther to the south, the land now grew smoother and we could see a few vineyards near the river’s edge. We passed through the great trading center of Maastricht and continued north. It was seldom necessary to drop anchor, so well provisioned were the emperor’s ships, but when we did so, I noticed a change in the speech of the pier workers: their words were neither Flemish nor German, but something else entirely.
Our boat was filled mostly with those who belonged to my own household: knights, ladies, a pair of clerks, and the chaplain Altmann, who was to serve the royal consort exclusively. More often than not, we sailed directly beside the emperor’s ship. His was the most magnificent by far, with two great black eagle heads protruding from the bow and his imperial standard hanging from the mast. From time to time, I glanced in that direction to see my future husband standing forward of all the others, arms crossed and gazing always ahead. He seemed to survey his mighty kingdom with the surety of a cat that holds the mouse directly under its paw, for the look on his face betrayed naught but confidence.
What might he be thinking at this moment? What impression had he formed of his new bride? We had spoken little since my arrival in Liège. Entire days had come and gone without our sharing each other’s company. His mind was apparently occupied with great matters of state that were beyond my comprehension. Perhaps he intended to wait until I was fully grown to pursue any kind of familiarity.
Once we had passed out of Limburg, it became necessary for us to cross overland to the Rhine, the chief river within the Holy Roman Empire. The land was not without canals, but none were of a sufficient size for that massive company. This process consumed a great deal of time and annoyed all involved. On we traveled, passing the mills and market towns, the boats of local fishermen, and the scattere
d church spires whose bells rang out with the music of village life. Peasants paused to stare in wonder at our procession, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of Emperor Henry and his future bride.
We were quite fortunate that the skies remained clear for our voyage. Spring had finally arrived and the pastures were turning green. However, with the warmer weather came the fasting season of Lent, and not a scrap of meat could be found anywhere on the emperor’s ships. I believe this was a sore test for many of our company, though I was satisfied to eat little more than bread throughout the journey, or Brot, as I came to know it. I did not care for many of the fruits I was offered.
My new chaplain, Altmann, carried with him an extensive collection of books, most of which were written in Latin, save for a copy of the Gospel of John in the language of the Germans themselves. I was most eager to examine its pages and was able to inquire, “Kann ich es sehen?” He was happy to oblige and bid me sit down and hold the volume open in my lap. On the first page was written the title, Das Johannesevangelium, as well as a note about its origin at the monastery of Lauresham. There was a fine image of an eagle set against the rising sun. Below was the city of Jerusalem, with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher at its center. With great care I turned past the table of contents and read the first sentence.
“Im Anfang war das Wort, und das Wort war bei Gott, und Gott war das Wort.”
Here was a riddle to which I must set my mind. Two words I easily translated: Wort, meaning “word” and Gott, referring to “God.” I was also able to quickly make out “the” and “was.” This left me with little work to do.
“Vater Altmann,” I asked, “was ist ‘Anfang’?”
“Principium,” he replied.
“Ah, so ‘beginning.’ Danke.” Then, to myself, I continued, “It must mean ‘In the beginning was the word.’ Yes, that seems right. ‘And the word was . . .’ What does bei mean? Oh, ‘with’! So it should go, ‘In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.’ I have it!”
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 16