The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1)

by Amy Mantravadi

  As I made for my quarters, Francesca the handmaid was trailing behind, pronouncing orders in her own language that I should not have heeded even if I understood them. Upon reaching my quarters, I entered and found the tent empty of any other persons. There was a pair of wood benches that had been crafted particularly to be easy to transport. I took my seat upon one of them and, seizing a small knife from one of the girls’ baskets, I broke the tie that bound them. I was sorting through the bundle, hoping to discover the queen’s letter, when Francesca burst through the entrance, having finally caught up with me.

  “Out! Out!” I shouted, in no mood for company. “De! Oh, what is the word? Fuori! Yes, fuori!”

  The lady looked downcast as she slunk away, but I could not explain. In the work of a moment, I found the letter, smaller than the rest and sealed with the mark of Her Royal Highness Queen Mathilda of England. I broke the seal with such eagerness that I ripped through a section of the parchment.

  “No matter,” I told myself. “I can still read it.”

  My eyes passed over her words searching for some note of comfort. Here was news of the birth of a child to my brother Robert, the loathing of the king’s subjects for taxes and strange weather, and an assurance that the nobility had placed their support behind William Ætheling and not that traitor, William Clito. Nowhere did my mother mention her own health as a subject of interest, stating only that she had attempted to introduce citrus into her diet upon my suggestion. Being that this was a letter from the queen, there was also an abundance of spiritual wisdom included, but nothing that could soothe my spirit. Here was one last note, perhaps added at a later time.

  “I beseech you, Daughter, to embrace your high station and bid the emperor make peace with our holy Church. He has it within his power to reach an accord like that that was granted to this kingdom, the better to bring about peace in our time. I confess myself ignorant as to the degree of your influence at court, but who is to say that the Lord himself has not placed this charge upon you so that you might aid the work of reconciliation? All Christendom awaits the outcome of this present debate. Better that we should unify ourselves against that enemy which awaits at the eastern gate than to drift into conflict unending.”

  “What would you have me do?” I said aloud, but there was none on hand to witness it.

  In resignation, I placed the queen’s letter to the side and proceeded through the rest one at a time, finding little there to hold my interest. At length the promised guests arrived—first Count Ptolemy and Giovanni Frangipane with their bands of knights, then finally the men of Farfa Abbey—and we enjoyed one last evening together before setting out the following morn for that object of all our desires, Rome.

  I have heard it said that whatever road one takes, it is certain to end in Rome. I never set much store by this even in childhood, for I reasoned that on an island such as my beloved England, there were as many roads as one could wish for leading only as far as the coast. But if one does seek to enter Rome by the northern road, it is necessary to cross over the Milvian Bridge. That name is famous throughout Christendom, for upon those banks Constantine the Great, having received a vision from the Lord Jesus, took up the Holy Rood as his standard against the forces of the tyrant Maxentius. And though the enemies of Christ set upon the army of Constantine, they behaved as true men, preferring fight to flight. For even as the arrows rained down and blade clashed upon blade, the lances striking this way and that, God himself led the host of Constantine to victory, even as the chronicler Eusebius recorded in describing the end to which Maxentius was reduced.

  “He turned back before the God-given might of Constantine, and began to cross the river in his path, having himself constructed a perfectly sound bridge of boats from one bank to the other, contriving thus an instrument for his own destruction.”

  And then he writes again, “In this way, through the breaking of the floating bridge, the crossing collapsed, and in a moment the boats, men and all, went to the bottom.”

  It was with some pleasure that I observed that the Tiber, or Tevere as the Italians name it, was now bridged by a more firm construction, as sturdy as one might desire. Such a large company does not move with haste, and it took the greater part of an hour before the thousands of soldiers, clergy, jurists, nobles, and servants of the royal household were able to cross. We had with us by that point all the forces of Count Ptolemy of Tusculum, as well as those of Giovanni Frangipane, in addition to all who had ridden with us from the lands to the north. I could not count their full number, but I imagine that it would have equaled that host which was fed by Christ, if not exceeded it.

  I had until that point occupied my usual place in the carriage, stepping out only for a brief time while we waited for the company to cross the river. As I made to return to my seat, I heard a voice calling out my name.

  “Frau Mathilda!”

  I turned and saw the emperor approaching on foot. He motioned for me to come near, and I did so without delay.

  “I wish for you to ride beside me when we enter the city. There is to be a great procession through the streets, and it is proper that the empress should be there for all to see.”

  I was taken aback by this request, for I had not been notified that I was to display my riding skills in public. Alas, Daughter, I did not possess such talents as seemed necessary for the wife of an emperor. When by myself, I preferred to ride as a man would, even as Drogo had taught me. But to ride in the manner of a woman—this was not to my liking, for it offended my sense of balance. Thus I made the best excuse that my mind could create.

  “Surely such an action would only detract from the glory due Your Highness!”

  He was not taken in, but seemed determined to counter my every word.

  “I will not hear such folly from your lips! Your presence could only add to my glory. In any case, it has already been decided. You will ride, and that is the end of the matter.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he would hear none of it, silencing me with a raised hand and then moving to speak with one of his grooms. I felt a sense of dread come over me. The chance of falling from a horse in full view of the entire city, thus lending humiliation to the emperor’s hour of renown, was rather a certainty in my mind. I looked in all directions for the one person who could help me.

  “Drogo! Drogo!” I called out, each cry growing wilder. “Drogo, where are you? I have need of you!”

  A few frantic moments passed before I finally saw him, his figure plain due to his unnatural height. He paced in my general direction, but was apparently deaf to my cries.

  “Drogo!” I cried again with such fervor that he was forced to take notice, quickening his steps until he reached my position. “Where have you been? I trust you have a sufficient excuse!”

  Poor Drogo really did not deserve such censure, but I was in a rare mood.

  “I would rather not say, Your Highness,” he replied.

  “On what account? Tell me or I shall have you scalded!”

  “You would never!”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Well, if you command it.”

  “I do.”

  “I was taking a piss.”

  Ah, a well-laid trap I had set for myself! I was uncertain of how to respond, for I might as well tell you, if you do not know, that it is not the custom of men and women to discuss such things. After a few seconds of consideration, I determined that I would simply press on as if this revelation had never happened.

  “Drogo, the emperor wishes me to ride next to him through the city.”

  “And you feel less than certain about this?”

  “I know neither the horse nor the road.”

  “And you would prefer not to end up in the mud?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Fear not! I shall walk beside you and hold the reins. You will not have to worry about the horse. If you feel unstable, speak to me in our own language and I shall help you. No one will understand.”

  �
�But I still think . . .”

  “Think nothing, except that you will be magnificent!”

  A sense of calm returned, and I found myself saying, “What would I do without you, Drogo? I think I should not last the week.”

  “And without you, I might be plowing some field in Cornwall.”

  “Barons never plow fields!”

  “I might have been the exception. My father has a love of dice.”

  Soon we made our way to the head of the procession, and I was lifted with great care onto a gray mare draped with the colors of the imperial household. The ladies had dressed me this day in the brightest red garment they could muster, for they said that it would allow the people to see me more clearly amid the throng. They placed the finest crown of gold, which I had not worn since my wedding day, upon my head. As if to prove to the Romans the extent of my spiritual devotion, I was furnished with a crucifix of such weight that I feared it might pull my neck to the ground.

  At last the mighty company began to move south in a ponderous manner. We could see the Porta San Valentino directly ahead. The workings of the Frangipane had ensured that the gates would be open to us. There was but one arched portal through which man and beast could pass, and on account of the long years since its construction, its base had become buried to the point that some of the taller banners had to be lowered to permit entry. So narrow was the opening that only two horses could walk through side by side.

  Once inside the walls, we found the road lined with cheering citizens, the buildings decorated with garlands of flowers, and the general spirit such that it must have approached the Roman triumphs of old. But even as we began to enjoy this reception, our progress was suddenly halted.

  “What is this?” the emperor complained to the men in front of us. “Keep moving!”

  “Sire,” one of them answered, “there are three men in the road—bishops, by the look of it. Perhaps even cardinals.”

  At once, the emperor alighted from his horse and started moving toward the site of the disturbance.

  “Drogo,” I said, “lead us up toward the front of the line.”

  “My lady?”

  “I want to see what is happening!”

  After what appeared to be a moment of deep consideration, he signaled to the mare to follow his lead around the soldiers and heralds until we could see the emperor with Philip of Ravenna standing beside him. Walking toward them were three cardinals of varying rank, each with his hands clasped, as if in prayer.

  “Who are they? Did the pope send them?” I asked, but Drogo had no more answers than I.

  Finally, Philip called out to them in Latin, “Who is this that hinders the emperor’s progress?”

  “Most Serene Highness,” the senior cardinal replied, “I am Giovanni da Gaeta, chancellor to His Holiness Pope Paschal II, who is currently visiting with our dear friends in Benevento.”

  “You mean that he has fled to Benevento like a wounded deer,” Drogo muttered, but I silenced him.

  The cardinal continued, “Here with me are the bishop of Ostia and the papal vicar here in Rome, Bishop Pietro of Porto.”

  “Yes, we are familiar with them both,” the emperor answered. “On what account do you come before us now?”

  “First,” Cardinal Giovanni answered, “we wish to welcome you to Rome and express our dearest wish that the days of your visit might pass in peace and tranquility.”

  “That has ever been my aim,” Emperor Henry responded.

  The look on my husband’s face was one of part weariness, part annoyance, while the cardinals seemed doubtful of his claim of peaceful intent. I imagined that they must have been remembering the result of the last imperial visit to Rome.

  “Second,” the cardinal continued, “we bid you hearken unto these words of the Holy Father, who is your lord and ours in all spiritual matters. He is ready to make peace with you if you would only renounce this supposed right to invest the bishops of this Church with ring and crozier. Such a thing was never written in the Holy Scriptures, nor did the esteemed fathers, to whom we all look for wisdom, declare it. It is not right that the hand that bears the sword should also grant the staff. Surely you can see how this is a perversion of divine intent!”

  “I see no such thing,” my husband responded, his frustration clearly increasing. “If I do claim any right, it is only that which has been passed down from the days of my ancestor, Charles the Great, to the present time. Do not think that I am some heathen! I am as much a servant of Jesus Christ as you, and I think it only right that these men who are to be raised up within my kingdom should profess fealty to their king, even as the Apostle Paul teaches us. Yes, my lords, I too read Scripture!”

  “But this is a scandal against the Church and against all propriety!” the bishop of Ostia declared. “How can you stand there and speak to a prince of the Church in such a manner! Consider that your obstinacy has already imposed great damage upon Christendom, placing the Church in danger from those wolves who would afflict it. If you would but accept the pope’s gracious offer, then the state of the Church would surely be improved in all things.”

  “A neat argument,” the emperor replied, “but I find fault with it. It is the Gregorians who first created the present situation when they sought to overreach the divinely ordained bounds. I have been anointed by Pope Paschal himself!”

  “Only under the most vile duress,” the bishop of Ostia answered.

  Clearly inflamed, the emperor yelled, “Bishop Maurice!”

  The bishop of Braga, he that had joined us in Arezzo, stepped forward from the crowd of officials.

  “Brother Maurice!” Cardinal Giovanni called out, “I see that your mediation has failed.”

  “Not failed, brother Giovanni, but perhaps this is not the best time to discuss such things. Stand aside and let the emperor pass, the better to gain his good will.”

  The look in the cardinal’s eyes was one of great suspicion, but he finally said, “If you have your orders from the Holy Father . . .” With that the three men relented and made their way to the side of the road, melting into the crowd.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” the emperor said to the bishop of Braga.

  “Never fear, my lord! The people are on our side. It is only a matter of time until they relent,” Philip proclaimed.

  I could not imagine on what grounds he made such an assertion, but it seemed to satisfy the emperor, and within the space of a few minutes, we were once again proceeding down the Via Corso, past the ancient mausoleum in which were once buried the remains of Caesar Augustus and his family.

  “They say it was pillaged long ago by the Visigoths,” my husband told me.

  “Truly?” I replied. “So much for the mighty Augustus! Sic transit gloria mundi!”

  “What was that?”

  “Sic transit gloria mundi. The glories of this world are fading. It is something that Bruno taught me. They used to whisper it in the ear of the victorious generals as they marched through the streets in triumph, and it is now used for papal coronations.”

  “And so you whisper it unto me?”

  “I was not implying anything about Your Highness.”

  “No, perhaps not, but your words may yet prove true. Ah, there is the Pantheon!”

  Rising high above its neighbors was the dome of that famous church, shining boldly in the sunlight.

  “I have never seen such a thing,” I murmured. “There is such a sense of awe . . . One is struck with wonder.”

  “Yes, Rome has that effect on the visitor,” the emperor said with a laugh.

  Before long we had come to the site of the ancient Forum, the very heart of Rome. Here was the Arch of Severus, now partially buried, but nevertheless a fine sight to behold. The site was littered with lone columns, partial walls, and piles of rocks that would no doubt make their way into buildings of the present age. We alighted and began to walk through this maze of stone that was now overgrown by all manner of plants, the marble pillars wrapped in wild vine
s. More than one stray animal could be seen climbing upon the ruins, and it seemed that the city’s beggars had taken up residence there.

  “Is that it?” Emperor Henry called out to the bishop of Braga, pointing to the area next to the Arch of Septimius Severus.

  “Yes, this is where the ancient rostra used to stand. The great orators would make their speeches here.”

  “Perfect,” my husband replied, mounting the small hill along with several officials. I had no intention of joining them, but was beckoned thither by the emperor. “The empress must be seen!” he told me yet again.

  The crowd was now pressing in on all sides, men and women struggling to move closer to the supposed dais. At last, when the clamor had lessened, the emperor spoke.

  “Citizens of Rome, I, Henry, Holy Roman emperor, anointed by God to do his work, descendant of the emperors that were, lord over the kingdoms of Germany, Burgundy, Bohemia, and Lombardy, and all the duchies which lie therein, do declare the great esteem in which I hold this jewel of cities, the seat of our holy Church, the heir of the greatest empire the world has ever seen, which lives on even now in our own dominion.

  “We have heard of your subjugation, how men who would seek to trample your freedom and make this city naught but a vessel for their own ambitions have denied your ancient rights. Not that we mean to offend His Holiness the pope, but rather we see that he has been ill advised by men who do not know their place and who lead him along a path which bears no resemblance to the teachings of our Lord or the decrees of the councils.

  “Honorable Romans, we have heard your cries of distress and come hither to deliver you from the state of chaos that has prevailed for this past year. With tender love we wish to treat with you, and to establish a friendship between the lands of the North and those of the South; even between our self and you. We shall install Prefect Peter, your own appointed leader, in his rightful place. We shall bestow upon you blessings from the wealth that God has so richly granted to us. We shall oversee the creation of a restored Rome.

  “Following the advice of our princes, we seek to appease the very serious conflict between Romans and the pope. We have heard the joyous testimony of the clergy and the people and visited the places of the apostles; and because we have not found the apostolic lord, who has fled out of his dread of the Roman people, we present our judgment to those in the Church. We thank God that there was none found who sought to accuse us either in secret or in public, but rather the voice of praise and joy was heard, which has commended them to their imperial lord, to God, and to the blessed apostles Peter and Paul.