“Thank you, Sir Drogo. I am indebted to you for delivering this.”
“Not at all, Lady Mathilda.”
Once I had been directed to my private chamber inside the Valkhof, I was able to gain a moment alone to examine the letter’s contents. I had not understood until that point how dearly I would treasure the smallest token from home and the chance to read any news of the goings-on in England. It allowed me to keep some connection to the land of my birth, however small. I knew that on most occasions, the queen would speak to one of her clerks, who would then write down all she said and ensure that the Latin prose was perfect. However, upon breaking the seal I could tell that my mother had written this in her own hand, in the Norman tongue.
“Clearly she did not want me to have to use a translator,” I thought.
I still possess the letter to this day, and it reads thus:
To her most beloved daughter, Maud, queen of the Romans: Mathilda, by the grace of God queen of the English, to whom he also saw fit to grant the fullness of maternal blessings, wishing that you may come to know “what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height” of the love of Christ, “being rooted and grounded in love.”
I will have you know how I have remained on bended knee day and night, beseeching the Lord’s goodness, that he may safeguard you, my daughter, my jewel. At times, I thought I never longed for anything as I now long to see your face again. That you should be removed from my side . . . this was a thing too frightful to bear, or so I believed. Nevertheless, my prayers have not been in vain, for the perpetual ministry of the Spirit and the Virgin Mary, who suffered the loss of her only child, has become as real to me as the hand with which I now write. Thus, you must know that my pains are few and there can be no cause for concern on your part, my dearest daughter.
We received word of your safe arrival in Liège from Burchard, goodly man that he is. Such consolation this brought to my soul! There was also a note from my sister, Mary, upon the subject of your visit to Boulogne. Rest assured, she had nothing but praise for you and wrote that your respite there was free of the slightest adversity. How fortunate that she was available to offer you hospitality!
Now, write to me, Daughter, and tell me how you do, for I desire to hear all of your news. The briefest word would cause my heart great cheer. It is a wicked fate that we should not find ourselves always in the company of those we hold most dear, but the Lord provides us with the strength to overcome.
“Unto him therefore that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, be praise in the Church by Christ Jesus, throughout all generations for ever, Amen.
MATHILDA REGINA
I confess that by the time I finished the letter tears flowed freely from my eyes. Perhaps she had known this would be the case and sought to spare me the shame of public tears by avoiding the need for a translator. If so, she had done me a kindness.
“My pains are few,” she had written. I wanted to believe it, but suspected that she merely sought to raise my spirits at the thought of her good humor. I could not help but remember the indifference shown by my father at our final parting, and it certainly seemed to be, in the words of my esteemed mother, “a wicked fate.”
But this was interesting: Countess Mary of Boulogne had reported that my visit was one of complete tranquility! For myself, I could hardly think of anything less so than the brief audience I shared with my aunt and cousin that day. “The tales of men are oft deceiving,” was my final conclusion on the matter.
“Virgin Mary, grant me the strength to overcome,” I prayed, “for I am not my mother. Her faith exceeds my own as the light of the sun does that of the moon.”
With that frank admission, I bid the ladies bring me some small morsels from the kitchen and then ready me for sleep. It was to be another early morning the following day. Indeed, I had forgotten the last time that it had not been an early morning.
Once he had satisfied himself that all was in order, Emperor Henry’s ships set stern to the north and bow to the south, continuing their course upriver. Our progress was helped by calmer winds than on the preceding day. In addition, the emperor employed more men at the oars to ensure that we would reach the great city of Cologne with all haste. It was not long before we passed Cleves, and all in all it was a pleasant day for travel. I had the good fortune to be placed on the same vessel as Archbishop Bruno, to whom I addressed not a few questions regarding that region. I mentioned some ruins that I had seen near the palace in Nijmegen, and he explained that they were all that remained from a time long ago.
“The Roman emperors of old built a great wall along this river, only a few remnants of which now survive. Little is known of those days, but there are stories passed down from father to son and a few chronicles that speak of the coming of the Romans to Germania. We know that the great river, the Rhine, marked out the line between Germania Inferior and Magna Germania, as they were then named. When you come to Trier, or Augusta Treverorum as it is known in Latin, you will see evidence of their stay here. East of the Rhine the empire was absent, or so it seems. That was the land of the barbari.”
With the word barbari, he raised his brows with a mischievous look, as if he seemed to take pleasure in it.
“You act as if you prefer that designation,” I said.
He laughed softly and then replied, “It is best that I explain this to you, as you ought to understand the people that you rule. There is a contradiction within the minds of the Germans. On the one hand, we have the glorious Holy Roman emperor, descendant of Constantine. He is ruler of not only the Germans, but many other peoples as well, even as was the case with the great Caesars of Rome. Here in the Rhine Valley, the past merges with the present and speaks to the connection between one empire and the next. It is a sign of our ancient lineage, from which we draw great pride.”
He paused slightly, took a drink from the goblet set before him, and then continued.
“There is another story which also shapes us as a people, and that is the story of those east of the Rhine, the ones who withstood the Roman advance. Think of it! Rome was the most powerful empire the world has ever known, conquering everything from Babylon in the East to your own Britannia in the North. Yet in the tribes of the Germanii, the Romans met their deadliest foe. In these forests and upon these hills the warriors of old fought the imperial legions, gladly spilling their blood to defend the land of their fathers. Their paganism is a mark against them—that I will grant you—but even so, there is something laudable about it.”
“And what meaning should we take from this?” I asked.
“Well, history is always a matter of interpretation,” the archbishop admitted, “but in light of the present disagreements between the bishop of Rome and the emperor . . .”
“The Kingdom of Germany is eager to once again declare its independence,” I concluded on his behalf. “So the emperor is both the heir of Rome and its foe?”
“As I said before, it is a contradiction, but I think you will find, Lady Mathilda, that the world is full of such contradictions.”
“My mother the queen always believed that the princes of the Church were charged with administering spiritual authority, and not the lay members, however exalted they might be,” I replied. “Is it not enough that the emperor is lord over his own lands? Must he, in the manner of his father, also defy our holy Church?”
The archbishop’s brows were raised once again, but this time the look was not one of humor. Indeed, he appeared to be taken aback, and I feared that I had been too forthright in my assertions.
“I am sorry, Archbishop Bruno. I did not mean that the emperor is not a good Christian prince.”
Fortunately, Bruno relaxed his features and broke into a smile. “No harm done, my lady. The words you speak have been echoed in the mouths of many a man from Paris to Pisa, and several persons within our own kingdom as well. I think as you spend more time with us, you will come to understand how dif
ficult the matter is. I could certainly never find fault in your honorable mother, who is known far and wide as a true disciple of Jesus Christ. However, I think it best that in the future you refrain from making such assertions publicly, particularly in either the emperor’s or his chancellor’s presence.”
“That I should never do, Your Grace, not as long as I live,” I answered.
“I have no doubt that you speak the truth. Now, we are but an hour or so from Neuss, and I need refreshment. Is there anything I can retrieve for you?”
“No, I am quite content. Tell me, how long until we reach Cologne?”
“Not until the sun sets, I fear. It is a long way and against the current.”
“Danke, Bruno.”
“Gott sei mit euch, Mathilda.”
We did arrive in Cologne by sunset and were received by Archbishop Frederick. I found him highly different from the archbishop of Trier; there was a seriousness in his manner that lent a greater sense of import to certain matters than was strictly necessary, though he was not without humor. Building was one of his chief passions, and even at that time he was already overseeing the construction of the Volmarstein Castle on the River Ruhr. Other fortresses and monasteries would follow throughout the course of his tenure.
Tradition dictated that the archbishop of Mainz oversee the coronation of each new German king and any royal consorts. However, the seat was vacant at that time, as Emperor Henry had not yet named a successor to the late Ruthard, a man who found himself at odds with the fourth Emperor Henry when the Jews of that city were slain on his watch. Ruthard had attempted to seize the property of those poor souls for himself, although it was the emperor who had all authority over such persons according to the principle of Kammerknechtschaft, which is called in Latin servi camerae regis. Whether by divine judgment or the workings of nature, Ruthard soon departed this earthly realm. Because there was no archbishop in Mainz, it was decided that Frederick, the archbishop of Cologne, would take over the coronation duties.
Also in Cologne we received news from afar that the forces of Christendom had prevailed against the enemies of God in Beirut. We were glad to hear of it, for there was not a child in the Lord’s Church who had not heard the tales: how the heartless Saracens had brutally overtaken the land in which the Messiah once walked, aiming to force their idolatry on others and striking down pilgrims to the holy city in a most cruel manner. This continued for many long years before the Byzantine emperor sought out the help of His Holiness Pope Urban in retrieving that which had been lost, healing the breach between the papal court and the eastern bishops. In the year I arrived in the Holy Roman Empire, the kingdom of Jerusalem gained control of not only Beirut, but Sidon as well, the latter with King Sigurd of Norway’s help.
Forgive me, for I have once again diverted from the main purpose of my tale. After departing Cologne we passed through a section of the river where the hills grew high on both sides and vineyards multiplied. The men of that region were exceedingly proud of their wine, the earth providing desirable conditions for growing grapes. The river then took a turn just before we reached the city of Mainz, which was to be the site of my coronation. I understood that we would cease our travels there, but we were back in the ships the following morning, this time pressing on to Speyer. It seemed that the emperor had business there regarding the upcoming Italian expedition.
Although I tired of this continual travel, it was an extraordinary time in my life. I was able to gain in a few short months a substantial knowledge of the kingdom that had become my home. While I was still apprehensive about some of the foods placed before me, I found that my palate was gradually adapting to the changed conditions. Each new day provided an opportunity to converse in the German, and in accordance with the wishes of both Archbishop Bruno and my chaplain, Altmann, I renewed my effort to learn Latin. I much preferred the language of the empire to that of Rome, but I was well aware of the necessity for Latin in government affairs.
It was still rare for me to speak with my betrothed beyond a few words exchanged over supper. As always, he spent most of his time talking with his counselors or in different pursuits with his nephews, Duke Frederick of Swabia and his brother Conrad. I understood that the emperor’s sister, Agnes, mother of both those young men, would be present in Mainz for my coronation on the feast day of Saint James. This was a high honor for me, as it required her to travel from her home in the Eastern March, where she lived with her second husband, Leopold of Babenberg. I was most eager to meet any female relation of my future husband, even if she was considerably older.
I shall never forget those days in which, for the first time, I saw the great cathedrals of the land. Emperor Henry’s predecessors built many works along the Rhine, designing new houses of worship more grand even than the one in Aachen. The principal construction was in Speyer, and upon this model they built equally grand cathedrals in both Mainz and Worms, though on a somewhat smaller scale. The Mainzer Dom had been officially consecrated in the preceding year, but the Cathedral of Worms was only just completed. Thus the imperial party halted there during the progress south in order to consecrate the new church.
Allow me now to tell of those days in Mainz. We had been traveling down the river from Speyer, which was a welcome change, as it allowed us to move with the current. Only the scores of merchant ships sharing the waterway slowed our progress. We sighted the piers of Mainz within a day of our departure, and after we navigated past the confluence with the River Main, the ships were all planted within the shadow of the great cathedral. As usual, I waited for the men to make everything ready, then made to alight with my ladies. The plank was quite slick—indeed, while they did not say so at the time, I suspect it had been used earlier to move barrels of fish. I was almost to the bottom when my right foot began to slide. I tried to recover my balance, but was uncertain which way I should fall in order to avoid the water. As you might suspect, this indecision proved my undoing. My foot turned to the side and my weight tottered, carrying me forward toward the stone pavement.
Fortunately, Drogo was there to break my fall, even as the ladies behind me let out a collective gasp. He held me for a moment and allowed me to slow my breathing.
“Are you hurt, my lady?” he asked, even as the crowd pressed in around us.
“I think not, thanks to you,” I replied with some difficulty. “I feel a bit sore . . . and stunned, but I hope nothing more serious.”
The knight then let up his grasp, and I once again bore my own weight. I felt a sudden pain in my right foot and had to reach back and place a hand on Drogo’s shoulder.
“Geht es Ihnen nicht gut?” Lady Adelaide inquired, but Gertrude started yelling, “Nicht laufen! Nicht laufen!”
“What is she saying?” Drogo asked.
“She says I should not be walking, and I think she is correct,” I answered.
Another voice then broke into the conversation. “Was ist los?”
I looked over to see that the emperor himself was now standing among us, the tumult having caught his attention. Before anyone could reply to his question, he strode forward and bid me sit down. He then asked me what hurt, and I pointed to my right foot.
“Kannst du laufen?” he asked, to which I quietly replied, “Nein.”
Lady Gertrude began to speak quickly in German, and though I could not understand it all, I gathered that she proposed some manner of transporting me. The emperor apparently did not agree with whatever she proposed, for before she was able to finish, he said to me, “Pardon,” and lifted me off the ground and held me in his arms.
“Machen Sie den Weg frei!” he yelled, and the crowd moved back to clear a path before us.
He carried me a short way before we came to a waiting carriage. Without a word, he placed me inside and commanded the two ladies and Drogo to join me. Once all were aboard, he said to the driver, “Bringen Sie die Königin in ihr Quartier,” and we immediately began moving up the hill in the direction of the Dom. I suppose I ought to have bee
n considering how extraordinary was the emperor’s assistance, but instead there was only one thought troubling me: “How will I ever be able to walk down that aisle?”
We soon arrived at the quarters normally reserved for the archbishop of Mainz, which were just across the square from the cathedral. The royal physician felt no broken bones, but declared that my ankle had been strained. It was impossible for me to walk, so we compromised: I would be aided as necessary at different points in the coronation ceremony. Given that I was already dreading the occasion, this added difficulty was most unwelcome.
The bells were ringing in the cathedral of Mainz that morning, and all around there was a sense of hope. The very stones seemed, from the way they reflected the sun’s light, to join the festivity. For on this day the emperor’s young consort, the Roman queen, was to be crowned, and it would be a glorious moment in the kingdom’s history. So must most of the people in Mainz have experienced that day, but to me it was more than some monument to tradition. Rather, it was a test that I must pass. This very necessity provoked my spirit that morning—knowing as I did that under no circumstance must I allow myself to falter. To this day I might find myself in the long watches of the night dreaming of that morning, and though it was completed so many years ago, I experience again that rush of fear that might torment a woman of eight or eighty years upon this earth.
In spite of that fear, I found myself at the appointed moment seated upon one of the grandest horses I had ever seen, legs placed carefully to one side, my body clothed in purple silk, my head adorned with a simple white covering, ready to receive a diadem fit for a queen. We proceeded across the yard to the church, with Drogo leading the horse and the Duke of Swabia walking in front of us as crown bearer. It was a very short walk, but we moved slowly on account of the throngs of people on either side, a sea of cheering voices branching off in all directions and down every nearby street. At the end of our path, the great red walls rose up toward the heavens, capped by a tower on each side, with arches carved into the stones at each level.
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 18