“My lord emperor . . . ,” the messenger began, clearly flustered by the presence of his superior. “The bishop was sent here on an errand for His Holiness Pope Paschal. He has been tasked to settle this affair in a way that is . . . favorable to both sides.”
Upon his great brown horse, the emperor moved in a circle around the startled Sancho, his eyes making a careful examination of the man from head to toe. At length he replied, “Why is your master not in his own country? Has he forsaken his duty?”
“With all due respect, nothing could be further from the truth,” the herald replied, once again finding his courage. “He cares deeply for the concerns of his flock, which he was appointed to shepherd by God and our holy Church. In fact, he sought a papal audience to address the undue favor that has been granted to Santiago de Compostela. The pope saw many good qualities in the bishop and placed this charge upon him: that he should strive to succeed where others had failed in bringing this matter to its conclusion in a peaceful manner.”
“We have heard from many of the pope’s messengers,” the chancellor said, “but to a man they have been unwilling to meet our demands or acknowledge the ancient rights of the empire.”
“In other words,” the emperor continued, having caused his horse to halt directly in front of the messenger, “unless your master has something new to say, we have a rather urgent errand and cannot brook delay.”
Sensing his chance slipping away, Sancho became more resolute in his disposition.
“Please, my lord, the bishop has come all this way! He awaits you now in the city of Florence and desires to speak with you in all earnestness regarding the issue of investiture. Any proposition will be treated with due consideration. My master is not like other men; you will receive a fair judgment from him.”
There was a pause while the emperor considered the man’s suggestion. He exchanged a few whispered words with his chancellor, then responded, “Very well. We will see your bishop. But do not mistake me; if we find ourselves misused, we shall depart immediately. I will have satisfaction.”
“To Florence then?” the herald asked.
“No, that is the other matter. Florence is full of heartless men who value coin over conscience. They have not shown us the proper respect that is our due, and they have heaped verbal abuse upon the man to whom we have granted authority. No, we shall meet in Arezzo, where the roads come together. We shall not bestow the mighty gift of our presence upon the Florentines at this time.”
So the matter was settled, and the messenger departed to inform the bishop of Braga of all that had come to pass. True to his word, the emperor avoided Florence and made his way south to Arezzo, where he took up residence in the bishop’s palace and awaited the arrival of the papal ambassador.
As was true in many of the towns of Tuscany and Lombardy, the people of Arezzo had small regard for their bishop, one Guido Boccatorta. Their complaints were of the usual kind: unjust taxation, the imposition of onerous rules upon the marketplace, and the pompous manners of their ruler, which had as their crown jewel the fact of the bishop’s wasteful spending. Even his name, which in the local speech means “wry mouthed,” implied that Bishop Guido was less than honorable.
Thus the people of Arezzo, like so many of their Italian fellows, sought to create a free commune accountable to the emperor alone. By this point in his travels, the emperor had granted these or equal privileges to all the cities between Venice and Pisa, and in so doing ensured for himself the allegiance of many. However, no such charter had been arranged for Arezzo, and as the imperial party was in some haste, it was determined that the citizens of that town must content themselves for the present with that which men call the status quo or praesenti fortunae.
At length the bishop of Braga arrived, plain to all in his vestments and upon his white horse. His train of attendants was as nothing compared to the emperor’s, the latter having swollen over the past year to include troops from many of the cities that had been granted imperial favor and now stood ready to defend their lord’s cause. Had the bishop possessed any visions of greatness, they must have been quickly abandoned in the face of such an array. The imperial force was camped just outside the walls, but the knights and officials tarried along every road of the city, creating a feeling of martial occupation.
My husband had testified to his trust in me, and this was revealed by the fact that I was summoned, along with a few of the emperor’s chief counselors, to attend the forum with the bishop. How glad I was to hold a proper seat at such a meeting rather than straining to eavesdrop as would a small child! When we were all settled—myself, the emperor, Philip of Ravenna, Chancellor David, the bishop, a few of the bishop’s men, and a jurist from Bologna by the name of Irnerius—it was time for matters to commence.
Emperor Henry said, “I bid you, do not waste our time with trifles, for we are in sore need of haste.”
“Thank you, Excellency,” the bishop replied. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I was born by the name Maurice in a small village along the French coast. I studied at the school of Cluny and under the archbishop of Toledo. I was granted the pallium of Braga by His Grace Paschal II, almost ten years hence. No doubt you have heard of my quest to Rome.”
“Yes, this is all very interesting,” the chancellor said with some derision in his tone, “but we have not ceased our march to hear your personal history. Tell us what the pope has to say for himself, and it had best be something new.”
“As a matter of fact, I have nothing new from His Holiness,” the bishop admitted. “However, things in Rome are changing quickly. The pope is not blind to your advance. When he heard of it, he retreated to the South, back to Benevento. I fear he does not wish to repeat the actions of former years.”
No one spoke, but we all knew that the bishop referred to the emperor’s past visit, when he ended up taking the pope and cardinals hostage and holding out for an agreement to his own benefit.
“Now then,” the bishop continued, “as the pope has departed his seat, it falls to me as his legate to conduct business on his behalf.”
The members of the imperial party looked up from behind their folded arms, suddenly more interested in the words coming from the bishop’s mouth.
“Do you mean to say that you seek to make an agreement with us purely upon your own authority?” Philip asked.
“No, you misunderstand me. The Holy Father has delegated his power unto me by removing himself from the situation. I do not think that I err when I say that it is rather obligatory for me to carry out such duties on his behalf.”
The emperor leaned forward, placing his weight upon the table that lay between him and the ambassador. There was a flicker of excitement in his eyes.
“My lord bishop, I am soon to depart for the holy city, there to restore order and once again proclaim my divine ordination. I will need the support of the clergy in order to do so. Are you saying that you intend to lend me that support?”
“Excellency,” the bishop replied, “this matter has gone on long enough. I have all respect for our mutual father, but for the Gregorians I care not. In the name of reform, they have abased our holy Church with the affairs of this world. The Church has always worked in harmony with your esteemed ancestors, the Holy Roman emperors, and I see no reason why that must change. Why should you not have some say over the men who are appointed to shepherd your own people, over whom God has allowed you to rule?”
For a moment the rest of us merely watched as the emperor exchanged hushed words with his jurist, and then finally said, “Bishop, we are to leave now for Rome, and along the way we shall join forces with the abbot of Farfa, the Frangipane, and the Count of Tusculum. I would very much wish for you to make that journey with us. I can see that your presence in the company will be highly beneficial for us all. Please ride along with me.”
“As Your Highness commands, so I shall do,” he answered.
As the men arose and set about their business, I touched the shoulder of the
chancellor and begged his attention.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Chancellor, I am clean amazed. What can account for this behavior? Given all that has taken place over the course of this past year, I cannot believe that the pope has approved such a course of action. I think the bishop does him poor service.”
“Why are you so alarmed?” he answered. “You sound as if you agree with the sons of Gregory. I can sense it in your voice.”
“You mistake me, sir,” I quickly responded. “It is my strong desire to see this matter settled amicably. My fear is that the bishop of Braga acts of his own accord and thus may draw the emperor into a false sense of victory. The support of one bishop should not be equated with that of the entire Church.”
“The support of the entire Church, as you put it, is something the emperor cannot hope to obtain. We must make do as we can, and the bishop provides us with an opportunity.”
“I suppose you are right,” I offered, “but that still does not explain why he should act in such a way. He has just earned the favor of the pope and now will surely lose it with this ruse. And while the emperor may smile on him now, what will he do once his patron has departed? No man can serve two masters, and if the bishop plays both sides he is likely to please no one.”
“Perhaps you are right,” he admitted, “but that is a debate for another day.”
With the bishop of Braga now in our company, we continued south along the Via Cassia for most of a week, until we were within one day’s journey of Rome. Our final resting point was near the shores of Lago di Bracciano, a lovely site surrounded by hills and an abundance of trees. A few small fishing villages lay along the water’s edge, and the boats set out daily in search of a fine catch. There were also towers of the sort one sees throughout that country—fortresses of stone meant to guard the most powerful families—but no city of great significance could be found upon those shores. I imagine that such an abode might have been quite restful under other circumstances, but we found no solace there, for the day of reckoning was at hand. We awaited only the arrival of the emperor’s pledged brothers in arms: Abbot Berald of Farfa Abbey, Giovanni Frangipane, and the Count of Tusculum with his ample force of men fit for war. What the citizens of Rome were thinking upon the eve of our arrival, I can only guess. It was uncertain how they, having been in the midst of tumult for the past year, would respond to such a courtly invasion.
Some of the gentlemen in the party seized their chance to bathe in the waters, and I must say that I envied them. Though spring had only just begun, the weather was strangely warm. I would have welcomed the relief, but even if I could have remained afloat in those watery depths, there was no place for women among a crowd of naked men. Instead I remained under the shade of the trees, the ladies taking it in turn to fan me. In such circumstances I might have dispensed with my usual veil, but the climate had produced such an effect upon my hair that it was not fit to be seen.
The emperor having sent for his esteemed allies to join him, the entire company was impatient for their arrival. In the late afternoon of our second day there, I was sitting once again beneath a large chestnut tree surrounded by the ladies, with a volume open upon my lap. Perhaps it was the De consolatio philsophiae; I cannot say for certain. We were roused from our serenity by the arrival of Philip of Ravenna.
“Empress Mathilda,” he said with a low bow, “I have come to inform you that riders have been sighted upon the road.”
“I am glad to hear it! Which of the parties is it? The men of Farfa? Count Ptolemy?”
“No, gracious lady, it is none of those. It is but a small company of riders approaching from the north.”
“What is their appearance?”
“Men of the cloth, by the look of it, though not from any land nearby.”
As he spoke I saw Drogo approaching in the distance, waving his arms in the air in a manner not entirely proper for a knight, effective as it was. With little thought spared for gentility, I abandoned the rest and set off in the knight’s direction, if not at a run then at least with a determined walk. He in turn increased his own pace until we met in the middle of the nearby glade.
“Drogo!”
“Your Highness!”
“What is it? That is, who is it?
“Archbishop of Canterbury.”
“Truly?” I was in wonder at this news.
“Yes, the new one, Ralph d’Escures.”
“What on earth is he doing here?”
“I did not have a chance to inquire as to all that. I saw him, asked his name, and then ran here to inform Your Grace.”
“Does he bear some message from the king?”
“Once again, I cannot say. Let us go meet him together and hear what he has to say.”
I did not need to be commanded twice. Even as my ladies had almost caught up with me, I set off at a vicious pace once again, my mind inflamed with suspense. As I neared the camp, I saw clearly a small band of men at arms standing outside the emperor’s tent, their weapons laid aside and their horses gnawing on the grass. The signs on their banners were familiar, yet I did not see their master.
“Equites!” I yelled out in Latin, but received no response. “Friends! Knights! You there!”
They turned at the sound of their native tongue, bent low, and removed their helms.
“Lady Mathilda! Empress!” said one of them who had the look of a captain.
“I see your eyes at least serve you well. Tell me, where is the archbishop?”
“In there, my lady,” he replied, pointing toward the imperial pavilion.
“Thank you. I am obliged to you.”
I approached the two mute soldiers who stood guard at the entrance of the tent.
“Let me pass!” I commanded.
They did as they were told, and I stepped into this most lavish of temporal dwellings. On the opposite end sat a pair of royal thrones, the emperor seated upon the larger of the two. Clerks, counselors, priests, and all manner of servants seemed to fill that space as bees in a hive, and I could see my husband only on account of his high position. Between us stood a thick wall of men with their backs turned toward me. I found myself quite annoyed and was about to bid them part as did the waters before Moses, but a herald noticed my plight and proclaimed, “The Empress Mathilda!”
With that the crowd duly made way and a lane opened leading directly to the emperor, who stood to acknowledge my entrance. I strode down this hastily formed aisle until I came face-to-face with the man whom I knew to be archbishop of Canterbury. He did not bear the full ornaments of his office, having chosen instead to robe himself in clothes more fit for travel. Nevertheless, his position was impossible to mistake. He moved to make his obeisance, but I bid him cease.
“My lord, it is I who wish to honor you, after you have traveled so many leagues over land and sea to stand before us today. Tell me, what is your errand?”
“Sadly, it is the dispute betwixt Canterbury and York,” he said. “They refuse to submit to the See of Canterbury according to ancient tradition, and the king—that is, your father—permitted me to seek out an audience with Pope Paschal, that we might resolve this issue. He also said that if I came across the imperial camp, I was to stop and make my presence known, the better to aid the continued friendship between our two kingdoms.”
“The pope has quit Rome,” the emperor replied, stepping down from his throne to stand beside us. “He fled when he received news of our approach. Therefore, any conversation with him may prove quite difficult.”
“I see. Well, this is strange news indeed, though I cannot say I am entirely surprised.” The archbishop reached into a bag that hung over his shoulder and retrieved a collection of papers bound with cord. “Empress Mathilda, these are for you.”
“Letters from England?” I asked eagerly.
“Yes. A few are from the bishop of Salisbury, others from the king himself, and there is one also from the queen, your mother.”
As I traced my fingers over the
edges, I resisted my desire to break the cord and read every page without delay.
“We hear that King Henry is at war with the king of France again,” the emperor said.
“Yes, he fights on behalf of his nephew, the Count of Blois. Theobald is his name, and his younger brother, Stephen, is among the king’s trusted warriors.” Then, turning to me, he offered, “I would be happy to share with you all the latest news from our land. You no doubt heard of the sad destruction of Peterborough Abbey in the flames.”
“No, I did not, but I am far away. Tell me, how is my brother William?”
“As fine a prince as ever there was, my lady. You have good reason to be proud. He may even exceed his father in greatness, which would be a singular feat.”
“And my mother?”
Here the archbishop demurred, and for a moment I feared the worst.
“Is she unwell?” I asked. “Tell me! I have no patience for riddles.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he replied. “She is in no danger, I assure you. She was enduring some form of malady before my departure, but I do not think that it was a sickness unto death. After all, she was able to compose the letter you hold in your hands.”
“Nevertheless, you must tell me everything,” I ordered.
“Yes, but now is not the time for that,” the emperor said, placing his arm around the archbishop. “There are some matters which need our expert touch.”
“How right you are!” the archbishop obediently declared.
I looked from one man to the other, my suspicions raised. I hoped to God that the archbishop did not intend to keep anything from me, but I could not properly judge his character. I finally submitted with a short bow and allowed the two of them to walk out in each other’s company, no doubt to spend the next few hours in contemplation while traversing the wood. For myself, I knew there would be no chance of rest until I learned of my mother’s condition.
“I must simply read what she has to say and decide for myself,” I concluded, departing the pavilion for my own tent, in which I intended to discover the full truth.
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 31