The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1)

by Amy Mantravadi

  “Speaking of things to the east, how goes it with the Hungarians?” my husband asked.

  “Well, for the most part. I have only lately returned from finishing that conquest. It is necessary, of course, in order to ensure that our shipping routes remain open. The Byzantines will attempt to counter us, as they always do, but they are much too occupied with the Saracens at the present time to put up a strong fight. Thus in subduing the Hungarians and their king, Coloman . . .”

  “You have achieved near domination of the Adriatic.”

  “Yes, well, we still have the Normans of the south to contend with, but they have their own problems. Together, you and I will ensure that their ambitions are held in check, and the Normans are far too corrupt to serve as a permanent solution for il Papa. If he throws himself under their protection, they will tear him to shreds.”

  “Some might say that would suit you,” the emperor replied.

  “And it would suit you even more, I should think! But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Tell me, how do you intend to obtain the lands of la Grancontessa? I see you have left your army at home.”

  “I assure you, Signor Faliero, that it was a necessary precaution. In any case, the thing is of little matter. I intend to win over the northern provinces and offer proof of my claim. The lords of Tuscany cannot afford to let il Papa seize control of their land bit by bit. A master north of the mountains is less irksome than one next door, I daresay.”

  “You speak reason, but without the consent of the Holy See, you cannot hope to succeed for long. Surely the past few years have taught you that.” As he said this, the doge fed the animal another piece of fruit.

  “They have indeed,” the emperor replied, the tone of his voice becoming harsher. “But you forget one essential thing: Paschal is not my enemy. He has fallen under the spell of the Gregorians, who speak of reform but have revealed they are hypocrites. They seek reform so long as it does not trespass their own interests, but their time is coming to an end.”

  “So you believe you can win the Holy Father over to your cause?”

  “I would have done so before, had the circumstances been more in our favor.”

  “So now you will back Paschal into a corner. What if he attempts to declare the order of excommunication from Rome itself?”

  “I do not think he would be so foolish. Had he the slightest intention of that, it would have come already. In any case, he took a solemn oath before God not to do so, and I would prefer to think that such a pledge is still worth something when it comes from the lips of the pope himself.”

  “We shall see,” the doge concluded, and with a wave of his hand, his servants cleared the table and the ape returned to the ground with a great leap. “Come,” he said to the emperor. “You must see our great production.”

  We set out toward the eastern edge of the island, where the doge presented the mighty shipbuilding works, which were his pride and joy. A great deal was said about the rising merchant class, taxes and profits, shipping routes, and his vision to build the greatest enterprise of industry known to man.

  “This is the way of the world now,” he told us. “The great race has begun, and we shall be among the leaders. The world will no longer be run by armies, but by the power of the purse.”

  “The world has ever belonged to those who hold the purse,” the emperor replied.

  “Yes, but not to such a degree. The Lord God will honor the works of our hands, of that I am certain.”

  As the two men continued to debate these grand movements, I could think only of the London wharf and the merchants I had watched from afar setting out upon the river and returning in boats filled with wealth. They would surely have approved of the doge’s venture and sought to create its equal on the River Thames.

  “How long has it been since I glimpsed those shores?” I thought. “What must they think when they hear of us now?”

  When we had spent but two days in Venice, we were called back to the mainland, where my husband once again set about the task of winning the northern lands. With a stay in Padua, he gained the allegiance of the last major town in the March of Verona, and the time had come for us to move into those lands that had been under the late contessa’s direct control. The first such object of his concern was, in many ways, the most important. Almost forty years had passed since my husband’s father, Emperor Henry IV, crossed over the mountains in the depths of winter and came as a humble penitent to the fortress of Canossa, stronghold of Mathilda of Tuscany. It was there that Pope Gregory had come to stay, and there the emperor sought him out, for only absolution by the heir of Saint Peter could stem the rising tide of rebellion against him.

  Such a tale was sure to join the great legends: two lords of men standing in opposition, each anointed by God to rule over his own realm, each as immovable as the pyramids of Egypt, and yet each oddly dependent on the other. Fate had appointed the hour of their battle. At Canossa the fourth Henry suffered humiliation for a time so that he might secure his imperial reign. In this he was only partially successful, for though the tide did turn for a time in his favor, he was to be humbled once again by an enemy far closer to home: his own son.

  Now Henry IV was long dead, as was the pope who so greatly vexed him. Even the contessa had gone on to her eternal reward. Instead it was our small company that rode through the hilly passes to Canossa. Those who had once been rather joyous now took on a certain solemnity, which I reasoned was due to the nature of the occasion. We each of us sensed that the visit of the son to this site of such significance for his father marked a turning point in this Italian journey and was the first time the emperor was likely to face any substantial opposition, for the hereditary claims of the Tuscan lords were strong indeed. But as Wipo said of Emperor Henry III, “Next after Christ he rules across the earth,” and so Henry V hoped it to be.

  The fortezza sits upon a hill with a visage equal to that of Janus. To one side it is green and welcoming, but on the other the jagged gray rock has a frightful appearance. Even so the southern lands held for us the promise of change, but whether victory or defeat none could be certain. With some labor we made the final climb to the castle gates, where a host of officials waited to receive us, three of them standing forward of the rest.

  “Altmann,” I asked, for my chaplain remained within the carriage, “what can you tell me of the three men standing there? The ones of great significance?”

  “Ah, well, that man on the left is Philip of Ravenna. He serves as imperial chancellor in all the regions of Italy. He will have come to join the emperor for the remainder of his journey south. Next to him is a certain Count Rabodo of German origin. I am not sure what his business is here.”

  “I see. And their fellow? The one in the brown cowl?”

  “I know him not, though by his attire I would guess he is one of the Cluniac order.”

  The man was indeed from one of the Cluniac houses, as Altmann had guessed, but he was no ordinary monk. This surprise visitor was none other than Abbot Pontius of Cluny, chief representative of the most powerful monastery in Europe. There was no greater champion of Church reform in those days than Cluny, although it has since fallen upon harder times. Through its immense collection of priories, it promoted the rule of Saint Benedict and advocated for a more vigorous, purified papacy.

  Three monks of Cluny had so far become popes of Rome. First there was mighty Gregory VII, who lent new life to the papal throne with the force of his person. Then came Urban II, who proclaimed the first holy pilgrimage to the far corners of Europe, beseeching men to take up the sign of the cross and march to Jerusalem. Finally there was the pope in those days, Paschal II, a close personal friend of Abbot Pontius. One could see why the pope would send his ally Pontius to treat with the imperial party, hoping to reach an accord before the emperor advanced into the heart of Tuscany and within close range of the Holy See. His coming was nevertheless a surprise, and I cannot say that the emperor greeted it with anything but the smallest measure of h
ospitality. Both men would be forced to act peaceably if they were to reach an agreement.

  We were ushered into the great hall, where a pair of thrones stood ready to receive us. I could not help observing that this was a better welcome than we were likely to receive from the Roman curia. The musicians performed for us a new song, which had been written particularly for the occasion. Players came forth to add to the reception, each one receiving the gratitude that was his due. The lords and bishops paid their respects to the visiting emperor. At length the clamor ceased, and Emperor Henry V arose to make a speech.

  “Good people of Canossa, lords of Lombardy and Tuscany, friends both old and new, and servants of the Church of our lord Jesus Christ, we thank you for the manner of our reception, which touches our spirit beyond the power of words. Many days we have traveled to stand before you, with the object of offering you comfort in this difficult time. The Countess Mathilda was known far and wide for her piety and devotion to the Church, as well as the excellent manner in which she administered the regions under her care. We have seen how, in word and deed, she has left an everlasting mark upon the hearts of those who loved her.

  “Fear not! For even as our Lord assured the disciples, you shall not be left as orphans. Though your mistress has reaped the rewards of a long and glorious life and rests now with her fathers, a new Mathilda comes before you: my queen, the empress of these lands and daughter of King Henry of England.”

  Here he pointed in my direction and the eyes of all in attendance found me. I smiled and gave a slight bow of the head, acknowledging the emperor’s high praise. Yet as I did so, I doubted that the residents of Canossa would see me as a proper substitute for the woman who had ruled over them for some forty years.

  The emperor continued, “Do not suppose that I have been unmindful of the recent difficulties. Only four years ago, I had the countess crowned as imperial vicar and vice-queen of Italy, titles of honor fit for her person. She was to me a second mother, even as she had been to my father, and her passing has grieved me deeply. Yet there are forces at work even now which would see her final wishes denied and her inheritance divided among men who hold no true claim.

  “It is for these reasons that I come before you: first, to offer comfort to one and all in the hour of grief, and second, to ensure that the lands of Tuscany remain within the Holy Roman Empire ordained by God. From the reign of Constantine the Great down to the present day, it has been the duty of emperors to act as the protectors of Christendom, doers of the Lord’s work upon this earth. I pledge to you that I shall continue to do so in a manner that respects the rights and traditions of the people of this land.

  “Now is not the time for fracture, but for unity. Therefore, we are much pleased that as your emperor, we have received the fealty and respect due to our person. God be with you, and may he continue to show us favor!”

  His words were met with great cheers, and it appeared that Henry V’s visit to Canossa was to be far more glorious than the ordeal undergone by his father many years before. I noticed Drogo standing off to the side and motioned for him to come to me.

  “That was an excellent speech, no?” he said.

  “Yes, though I think this audience is a bit more friendly on the whole than the one which awaits him farther south. I have noticed just now that Abbot Pontius did not seem to be enjoying himself.”

  We both looked in the direction of the abbot as he pushed through the crowd to speak a word in the emperor’s ear.

  “They will hold a secret parley, I suppose, and there the real work will begin,” I continued. “I do hope that they can agree. I would hate to think that you or anyone else should be asked to come to blows on behalf of this cause.”

  “I can see that your mind is more cunning than mine,” Drogo replied.

  A thought suddenly came to me. “Drogo, why are we speaking in Latin?”

  Although I have not made it clear, Daughter, we had until that point been proceeding in the language with which we were forced to conduct most of our daily affairs at that time. How long it had been since I had spoken in the words of my own land, I could not remember. Seemingly struck with the same desire, we both started speaking those words, one at a time.

  “Eagle.”

  “Blue.”

  “Village.”

  “Family.”

  “Cat.”

  “Royal.”

  “I rather like this,” Drogo said.

  “Ah, but how much do you know of the English tongue?”

  “Hardly a word. You will remember, I was raised in Cornwall, and they have their own manner of speaking.”

  “Then say something in the Cornish speech.”

  He paused a moment, then said with a smile, “My’ternes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “‘Queen.’”

  “I think it is much like the language of the Scots. My mother used to speak it to me when I was young, but most of it was a mystery even to her.”

  “So go on, then. Show us your English speech,” he teased. “I have yet to find a Norman lord who owns it.”

  “You might have been better off trying a Norman lady,” I replied, unwilling to be mastered. “I will speak Caedmon’s Hymn for you.”

  There was still much noise in the hall, but I closed my eyes and strained to recite.

  Nu scylun hergan hefaenricaes uard

  Metudæs maecti end his modgidanc

  Uerc uuldurfadur swe he uundra gihwaes

  Eci dryctin or astelidæ

  He aerist scop aelda barnum

  Heben til hrofe haleg scepen.

  Tha middungeard moncynnæs uard

  Eci dryctin æfter tiadæ

  Firum foldu frea allmectig

  When I opened my eyes again, I could see Drogo standing dumb before me, evidently taken aback by my words.

  “I do not see why you should be so surprised,” I told him. “I am, after all, my mother’s daughter.”

  XIV

  Though it aided stability in the imperial realm, hereditary privilege was a weapon that cut both ways. The passing of honors from one generation to the next ensured the existence of an able, learned class and served to prevent much of the destructive warfare that is so common in nature. For if men have no lords, then might every man become a lord unto himself, and thus would the words of Scripture be fulfilled: “Every man did that which was good in his eyes.”

  The emperor was well aware of the benefits of inheritance. Yet there was an equal danger, for noble families proved to be fickle allies of their rightful king, ever intent on advancing the cause of their own descendants. Such ambition too often resulted in the continual violence that their ennoblement had sought to prevent. My own father, King Henry I of England, was of the same opinion as my husband: that men who are raised up by the king often prove far more steadfast than those who benefit from fortunate descent. Given the state of affairs in Tuscany and the absence of an undisputed heir to the contessa’s title, the emperor knew that he must seize the opportunity to install a man of his own choosing, thus breaking the line of dominion by this single family, which had made full demonstration of its changeable nature over the course of generations.

  Count Rabodo proved to be just the man for this purpose, being only a minor noble within the Kingdom of Germany and rather pliable to the imperial will. Before departing Canossa, the emperor appointed him as Margrave of Tuscany and bid him maintain the fidelity of the people to their anointed sovereign. There was some complaint on the part of Duke Welf of Bavaria, who was the contessa’s lawful husband despite the long years of separation, and thus had a claim on her estate when she died without issue. But any hope the duke held for authority over the wider region was disappointed, as the imperial jurists were quick to ensure Rabodo’s elevation. Thus the House of Welf was diminished in Tuscany for a time.

  The next target in Emperor Henry’s sight was the ancient city of Mantua, which sits upon the River Mincio just north of its confluence with the Po. It was he
re that the infamous ruler of the Huns, Attila the scourge of God, met with the beloved pope, Saint Leo the Great, a man whose spiritual genius was more than equal to his enemy’s skill in battle. In all humility the bishop of Rome appealed unto the mercy of the cruel Hun. Then a miracle took place, for behind Pope Leo there appeared the figures of Saint Paul and Saint Peter with drawn swords, warning Attila that if he dare advance upon the holy city, he would suffer the fate of Alaric, whose fleet and body were both destroyed after he pillaged Rome. Filled with holy terror, Attila withdrew his forces to their ancestral lands, whereupon he gave up the ghost.

  Stories such as this caused me to fear when I considered how my wedded husband now sought to bend the will of the vicar of Christ to his own. I understood the arguments put forth by the emperor and his substantial force of printers. He seemed to be a man of both sense and conviction. The longer I remained in his company and that of his counselors, the more I saw the justice of their cause. Yet my feelings were ever held in check by that great respect which is due to ours. To the emperor the Gregorians were a menace, yet they served as an inspiration for many, including my mother. Thus my spirit was torn within me, and I wished most of all for a peaceful and happy outcome.

  As we approached the surroundings of Mantua, much of which were marshland, I remained as ever in the company of Altmann, whose infirmity remained. On this particular day, weariness showed in his every feature. I reasoned that he must have imbibed too fully during the previous night’s feast.

  “Altmann?”

  “What?” he muttered, a bit startled. “Yes, my lady, what is it?”

  “They say we are to make our stay at the castle of Governolo.”

  “Yes, so I have heard.”

  “That is very close to Mantua, is it not?”

  “Yes, very close.” He rested his face upon his right hand and allowed the lids of his eyes to sink farther and farther downward.