My meetings with the archbishop were suspended for the remainder of the day, and even when he was able to resume our lessons, it was only in the most ill humor. At intervals I noticed his sight drifting to some object, his eyes open but his mind occupied elsewhere. I heard him ask on many occasions “whether there be any news from the South,” referring to the situation in Italy. One, two, three days passed without so much as a word. On the morning of the fourth day since the messengers gave us the dreadful news, I visited the archbishop in the usual chamber. I found him seated at the table, with a letter spread out before him. He was leaning his forehead upon his right hand for support, or perhaps as a sign of frustration. His lips silently formed the words on the page.
I took the seat opposite him and waited until his attention was drawn hither. At length he looked up and addressed me.
“You wish to know what I am reading?” he asked.
“I did not inquire, my lord, for I believed it to be a private matter.”
“Private for the moment perhaps, but in the fullness of time all things shall be brought into the light of day. The subject is public enough; this is a letter from His Royal Highness.”
“The emperor?”
“Yes, he shall be emperor in full if the pope crowns him, though for the moment he remains most truly king of the Romans. Should he conjure some victory from this current situation, then most rightly we shall name him Holy Roman emperor, anointed of God and crowned by the vicar of Christ.”
I was uncertain of how much the archbishop intended to reveal, but I sought to try my luck. “And what does King Henry have to say?”
To my surprise he handed the letter over to me and instructed, “Here, read it yourself. There is nothing that needs hiding, and it provides an opportunity for you to practice your translation skills.”
“You wish for me to read it aloud, then?”
“All of it, if you please. It is not overlong.”
I allowed my eyes to pass over the parchment. The markings were somewhat slanted and had clearly been written with a firm hand and in some haste. Whether they were the work of the emperor himself or one of his many clerks, I could not determine. I began to read as Bruno had commanded.
Henry, by the grace of God king of the Romans, to Bruno, archbishop of Trier, we send greetings from Tuscany.
You have no doubt heard the news of our interrupted coronation, for we sent our messenger thither upon solemn oath to relay to you the state of things, namely that we have here the bishop of Rome within our camp and several leading cardinals of our Church, and we have every reason to believe that an accord can be reached.
To this blessed state all our hopes are now bent, and know for certain that we should never have undertaken this course were it not for our firm opinion that His Holiness Pope Paschal has been subject to the most abominable counsel from that company of men who call themselves the sons of Gregory. Verily, we declare that they are no descendants of Gregory who misuse his successor in such a manner.
Though the pope be well disposed toward our person and ready to agree with us, he remains ever at the beck and call of these soothsayers, these perverse men of the world who wear the cassock as a disguise against their true natures. We sought in removing the pope from his Roman prison to grant him the freedom to choose what most pleases the Almighty rather than men.
Even so Jacob wrestled with the angel of the Lord and boldly proclaimed, ‘I will not let you go, except you bless me.’ May that same Lord who appeared to Jacob, and out of him made a great and powerful nation, come to us again in this present age and proclaim the justice of our cause. For we are most abused by that faction of clergy who seek to glorify themselves at the expense of all honor and comely brotherhood. Very soon, we foresee that the pope shall agree to our demands and see this justice be granted to our descendants and us.
Do not think that we act without conscience, for only after pursuing all those chances for peace which were made available to us did we take up arms against the city of Rome, which has lately sunken into such lechery as to make even whores blush. We heed not their protestations and wait only for the Lord’s command. ‘If God be on our side, who can be against us?’ Rest you in the knowledge that all will soon be set right, and relay our greeting to the young Mathilda, whom we have left in your especial care.
HENRICUS REX
“A fine letter,” Bruno said, “no doubt recorded from the lips of Adalbert. Let us hope that his counsel of the king is not that of a fool.”
Another two weeks passed before we received the news that an agreement had indeed been reached. This was the conclusion of the matter: The pope would not seek to inhibit the sovereignty of King Henry on account of the issue of investiture, nor would he excommunicate him. Rather, he would crown him in the same manner that had been earlier arranged. For his part, King Henry made the following pledge:
“I, Henry, the king, will, on the fourth or fifth day of the ensuing week, set at liberty the sovereign pope, and the bishops and cardinals, and all the captives and hostages, who were taken for him or with him; and I will cause them to be conducted, safely, within the gates of the city, beyond the Tiber; nor will I hereafter seize, or suffer to be seized, such as remain under fealty to the lord Paschal: and with the Roman people, and the city beyond the Tiber, I will, as well by myself as by my people, preserve peace and security, that is, to such persons as shall keep peace with me.
“I will faithfully assist the sovereign pope, in retaining his papacy quietly and securely. I will restore the patrimony and possessions of the Roman church which I have taken away; and I will aid him in recovering and keeping everything which he ought to have, after the manner of his predecessors, with true faith, and without fraud or evil design: and I will obey the sovereign pope, saving the honor of my kingdom and empire, as Catholic emperors ought to obey Catholic Roman pontiffs.”
Of course, none of this touched upon the real issue of debate, that being the question of who possessed the right to invest both bishops and abbots with their offices. They compromised on that score, the pope pledging that the emperor might bestow the ring and crozier upon those chosen for office—men freely elected without suspicion of violence or simony—and maintain the right to refuse his consent. Thus he would oversee the task of investiture, while the Church would select and consecrate. This acknowledged both the spiritual and temporal powers given to these men of God, who were both citizens of the empire and of the heavenly kingdom.
In due course the pope crowned the emperor in a most glorious ceremony in Saint Peter’s church, placing upon his head the symbol of imperial power and anointing him with the holy oil, which served as proof of divine blessing. Having achieved that for which he’d set out, Emperor Henry returned to Germany in a state far superior to that which many had conceived of only a few weeks earlier.
We received word of his coming near the beginning of summer and were called to meet him in Speyer, for as part of the agreement set down at the Lateran, the ban of excommunication was lifted from the emperor’s departed father, Henry IV, he who on account of his sins was buried not inside the imperial cathedral, but in the unconsecrated chapel of Saint Afra. No longer in communion with the Church of Christ at the time of his death, he was denied the right to sleep beside his ancestors. However, the reversal of the papal edict now allowed for the late emperor’s body to be reinterred within the heart of the royal Dom in Speyer.
I had no proper concept of what would take place on such an occasion, as I had not commonly attended any form of Mass for the dead, let alone a secondary burial. Adding to my unease was the current emperor’s former state of rebellion against his father, which had resulted in open warfare. It seemed to me strange that, given the degree of hostility he had displayed toward his forebear in life, Emperor Henry V should show such concern for that same man’s immortal soul in death. Such is the way of things, it seems, for even those who spurn the path of righteousness in waking days may find themselves placed among the sain
ts in the minds of men post mortem.
We set out overland on our southeastern course, traveling past a number of small towns and the remains of an ancient fortress built by tribes of old. At length we skirted along the northern edge of the Wasgen Forest. That wood is immense: an infinite line of dark-green hills, and beneath the trees a secret world where all manner of life teems. When we were within a short march of the River Rhine, we turned south and spent the night at Limburg Abbey, that monastery particularly favored by the emperors. From there we had but one day’s travel to complete along the banks of the Speyerbach.
Once we sighted the town of Speyer, I noticed how humble it appeared in relation to the great cathedral, which towered over it even as a mighty oak might a farmer’s field. I wondered that the emperor’s great ancestor, Conrad II, should have selected such a site on which to build the most magnificent church in the kingdom, save perhaps for the great Kaiserdom of Aachen.
“Would it not have been more apt to place it in one of the chief cities of the empire?” I inquired.
“Hardly!” Bruno replied, “For there is nothing a ruler desires more than to build something new, a testament to greatness that will stand for generations, even as Constantine the Great founded the city which bears his name. The greater the ruler, the greater the monument, methinks. Better to take a small city and make it the envy of men.”
The summer rains had created backwater to the west of the city, but we persevered as best we could. Passing through the western gate, we found ourselves on the main thoroughfare leading directly to the cathedral. A true vision it was, larger than any church in Christendom, or at least any that I had seen. Its twin towers looked as if they might equal that of Babel. I felt in that moment as the shrew must in relation to the cat. We made our lodging in the bishop’s palace very near the Dom. Several rooms had been built just for the imperial visit. The emperor’s party had been there for some days before our arrival, and the main act was to take place the following morning. Both Gertrude and Adelaide were on hand to dress me for the occasion. I was to be clothed entirely in black, save for a golden belt and a few ornaments. The two of them worked to comb out my hair, the dull brown curls unyielding. At last they worked it into a tight braid they then gathered at the top of my head and hid with a dark fabric. They set a small diadem that had belonged in years past to the emperor’s sister, Agnes, in its proper place.
“All is ready. Now to church!” Adelaide said.
I was all obedience as I joined the procession filtering into the Dom. A few hundred distinguished people attended, a sizable crowd, but not enough to fill the cathedral by any means. Bishop Bruno of Saarbrücken, the bishop of Speyer, greeted me upon my arrival. He was, by chance, brother to the new archbishop of Mainz, Adalbert. I say it was chance, but I am sure you know as well as I the power of certain families to see their children elevated into positions of power, thus enriching both themselves and their progeny.
“God save Your Ladyship!” the bishop said. “It is a pity that we should meet again under such circumstances, but nevertheless we are most privileged to receive Your Grace into our cathedral of Speyer.”
It was true that I had briefly met the bishop at some point in the past year, though I suspected that his memory of the occasion was far stronger than my own.
“Bishop, would you be so good as to explain to me how the service will proceed?” I asked him. “It seems odd for a burial to take place under such circumstances.”
“That is true,” he answered, “but given the extraordinary situation, we must all adjust accordingly. You are aware, I am sure, of how my predecessors fought the good fight on behalf of the former emperor, always pressing his case to the See of Rome.”
“Yes, I am well aware. The tales reached even to my native England.”
“Then you will understand how dear we count this opportunity to lay a great man to rest in the cathedral which he built almost with his own two hands. First the relatives of the deceased shall meet in the Afra chapel to exhume the body, and then we shall proceed into the cathedral and bear the emperor up to the king’s choir, where he will be buried beside his father, Emperor Henry III. Now, come follow me, for the family is assembling near the chapel portal.”
I followed the bishop down the northern aisle, my eyes tracing the columns of many-colored stone up to the vault high above. The air smelled of incense, and the choir’s chanting was not enough to drown out the sound of our footsteps upon the stone floor. We came at last to the single door that marked the entrance to the chapel. Margravine Agnes was already there, along with her sons and daughters, including the Duke of Swabia. The margravine was the last remaining of the emperor’s siblings after the death of their brother Conrad some ten years earlier. She was speaking with Archbishop Bruno of Trier, while Archbishop Adalbert of Mainz stood to the side. A few other priests were also in attendance, as well as several lay assistants.
It was not long before the King Henry arrived. It was the first time I had seen him since he went to Italy. There appeared to be little difference in his personage, though his hair was a bit longer and his beard a bit thicker. With several nods of the head, he acknowledged each of us, and then turned to the bishop of Speyer.
“It is time?” he asked.
“Yes, it is time. Let us proceed,” the older man replied.
The bishop led the way into the chapel, swinging his censer of incense, while his brother Adalbert followed directly behind, bearing a large golden cross in which precious gems were embedded. Not sure of my place, I slipped into the line of mourners entering one by one, just behind the emperor’s nieces but ahead of the remaining churchmen, including Archbishop Bruno.
The chapel was larger than most, but not so much that it could have held all who might have wished to witness the moment. The late emperor’s body was kept in a rather plain sarcophagus. We formed a tight circle around it. Emperor Henry stood nearest to the bishop, who was chanting from the psalms, ending always with the phrase “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.”
In the wall just behind me, I could not help but notice a small circular window not far above the floor. The room on the whole was dark, for curtains had been pulled over the larger windows, and light was provided only by the many candles placed throughout the chapel, save for a few beams of light drifting through this small opening.
“Archbishop, what is that window for?” I whispered to Bruno, who stood beside me. “It seems out of place.”
“That was installed that the common people might look upon the resting place of the late emperor,” he responded.
“Do you mean to say that on their way home from the market they stop to look through that hole?”
“Yes, the emperor’s father was much beloved of the city folk and lower classes, but now is not the time for discussion,” he enjoined.
We had reached the point where the body was to be removed from its resting place, and I suddenly felt a chill of fear. There had been so much to do beforehand that I’d had no time to consider the fright that might come with exhuming a corpse. Never before had I been close enough to a long-deceased body to experience it fully, but those who had done so had told me tales that might have terrified a grown man: bloating, mold, maggots, and indescribable smells. As the men moved into position to remove the stone lid, I had a sudden desire to be anywhere on God’s earth except where I currently stood. Bruno must have noticed the look of fear in my eyes, for he broke his own rule against conversation and bent down, placing his arm around me.
“Never fear! You are not going to see the body. It will remain in the coffin.”
He could not have known the relief that his words engendered. I watched as they lifted the marble slab with the greatest care and set it down, revealing the oak coffin lying inside. This they raised with a system of ropes, on account of the lead container inside, which housed the body. I do not know how long we waited there as the men strained at their work, but it seemed an eternity. Nevertheless
, I was thankful that there was no foul odor. They placed the coffin on a specially made cart and the bishop sprinkled it with holy water, continuing to chant the burial prayers. As we processed back into the church, he raised his voice and proclaimed, “Et exultabunt ossa humiliata!” That is, “The bones you have crushed shall rejoice!”
We came at last up the stairs near the high altar, the coffin borne upon a wood ramp. I found myself observing the faces of my fellow mourners. The bishops and other members of the clergy showed little emotion, but went about their business in a most solemn manner. The emperor’s nephews appeared dour, while their mother and sisters wept softly, leaning on one another for comfort. Then there was the emperor himself, my own betrothed, who seemed deep in thought. For a long time, he would stare at the coffin, then look into the distance, then back toward the floor, then again at the coffin. He broke this pattern only when there was some change in the service.
At last the time came for the second burial. A new vault had been cut directly beside that of Emperor Henry III, so that father and son might rest together until the Day of Judgment. The site having already been blessed by the priests, there was little left to do but place the coffin in its new home. Having sprinkled this with holy water once again, the bishop of Speyer recited the blessed words that the Lord spoke unto Martha before the tomb of Lazarus, which in our own language read, “I am the resurrection and the life. He that believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.”
Before lowering the coffin, the bishop turned to the emperor and asked in a low voice,
“Have you anything to say? If you wish, you may take this moment.”
All in attendance seemed to hold their breath as Emperor Henry V stepped forward toward the coffin of his father, the man with whom he had fought so mightily in life but whom he nevertheless sought to honor in death. He paused in front of it and set his hands on the side where the head must have lain. He leaned slightly forward and looked down at the carved wood, as if he could see through the layers of covering directly into his father’s eyes. He stood in that manner for the space of a few breaths, speaking not a word but arresting the attention of all. When he did utter something, it was in a tone so low that even I, who was standing within a few strides of him, could barely make it out.
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 21