To my great relief, he seemed to accept what I had to say, and raised his hands to quiet his supporters, who obeyed for the most part. He then turned back toward the cardinals, his eyes fixed upon the person who had just accused him.
“It is the custom of the emperors when present in Rome on occasions of high festival to allow themselves to be crowned by the pope, and thus crowned to walk in procession through the city.” He paused for a moment—perhaps for effect, or perhaps to allow his anger to decrease—and then continued. “As His Holiness has not seen fit to join us, we will speak with our counselors about the best way to proceed. Allow us a moment to consider.”
The cardinals were content to stand patiently while the emperor conversed in hushed tones with Chancellor David, Philip of Ravenna, and the lawyer Irnerius. There were murmurs throughout the room. On the opposite side of the nave, Chancellor Giovanni and some of the other cardinals allowed their faces to break into sly smiles. They were sure that the emperor had been backed into a corner with no way out. But upon other faces I saw looks of concern. They might have been afraid that the emperor would seek to overcome them through force of arms, even as he had six years earlier. After a few minutes of this, the discussion was finally abandoned, and my husband returned to his seat.
“Well?” the papal chancellor called out. “What is it to be?”
“I call forward the bishop of Braga,” the emperor answered.
Every eye turned to look upon the bishop, who had until that point been standing with a few others in the space between the two camps, no doubt wishing to appear neutral. Suddenly, I recognized what was about to happen, and that it had likely been agreed upon long before. The bishop strode forward boldly, keeping his gaze fixed on the emperor and not heeding the calls of his brother bishops, many of whom appeared to be quite displeased.
“Here is our brother, Maurice Bourdin, bishop of God’s holy Church, appointed legate of Pope Paschal,” Emperor Henry proclaimed. “He has been with us for these last several weeks and can testify to our good intentions.”
“Good intentions?” Chancellor Giovanni interrupted, leaping to his feet and shaking his head. “Oh, what is this jester who comes before us to speak of his good intentions? We have seen your good intentions, Your Grace: how you have launched this invasion worthy of your barbaric ancestors, molested and robbed churches of God, how you have in your embrace of simony made vile ordinations, and a number of other actions which are not fit for discussion in this sacred place!
“No sooner had you entered the region of Lazio than you wrought war upon its people on behalf of those excommunicates—the abbot of Farfa and the Count of Tusculum—who stand even now within your contemptible company, despite both being under the ban! You may be a king, sire, but you are not above the King of Kings, which is God Almighty! Even if we were disposed to consent to your demands, we could not do so, for we can have no intercourse with excommunicates!”
“Giovanni, you devil! Would you like me to cut out that mouth for you?” Count Ptolemy yelled, striding forward with his sword drawn. He was subsequently restrained by a pair of his fellows, but not before the situation descended into chaos.
Persons on both sides were yelling at their fellows across the way. I had never witnessed such a spectacle and did not care to ever again. My opinion of the male sex, I am sorry to say, was not particularly high at that moment. Then came a cry: “Silence!”
I was amazed to see that it was the bishop of Braga, displaying an unforeseen capacity for noise.
“Now, listen well to the words I say, for God knows I have heard little enough of reason this past hour. I was elected by the pope himself to see to this matter. Cardinal Giovanni de Gaeta”—here he looked toward the papal chancellor—“I have heard your high accusations, and it pains me to see that a man of your noble standing should be in such poor possession of the facts, for I testify to you that in the time I have spent with the emperor, I have witnessed none of the supposed injustices that you mentioned. While I know well Your Grace’s fervor for the law of the Lord—the law by which we all are bound, whether emperor, peasant, or cardinal—I believe that on this occasion, Emperor Henry asks for nothing more than that which has been the standard practice for hundreds of years, and it is no danger to the Church.”
Having heard these words, many of the cardinals began to yell, “Traitor!” “Blasphemer!” and “Portuguese bastard!” However, the papal chancellor said nothing, choosing instead to channel his loathing through a look as furious as the one Master Godfrey had lavished on me all those years ago, nostril flare and all.
“It is therefore my opinion,” Bishop Maurice continued over the shouts of his enemies, “that I, as the papal representative, may place the crown upon the imperial head in good faith and without causing jeopardy to this Church, for it is only in keeping with tradition and the teachings of Scripture, which commands the utmost respect for civil authorities, and declares that there are none except those which are established by God. It is no crime to honor the head which the Lord himself has anointed!”
The bishop then bid the emperor walk toward the altar, before the very bones of Saint Peter. There was a large rounded tile of porphyry embedded in the floor, and upon this red circle the bishop bid him kneel. The imperial guard moved to block any of the cardinals who looked as if they might hinder the proceedings. As it turned out, most of them chose to march out in anger, proclaiming that they would have no part in such a profane act. Those who stood with Emperor Henry moved to gain a proper view. I too was conducted forward, the better to see and be seen. As Bishop Maurice began the ceremony, I could think of nothing but the reception we would receive upon leaving that place.
“Even now, the cardinals are surely conspiring with the Pierleoni to turn the whole city against us,” I thought, “and if the pope has succeeded in gaining the arms of the Normans to the south, then he might arrive any day at the head of a large procession. There is as much to be lost from this act of rebellion as there is to be gained.”
Bishop Gebhard of Trent brought forth the imperial crown. What an object of beauty! I had only witnessed it sitting upon the emperor’s head once before, and that was on the day of our wedding. Jewels of every color under the sun covered its eight sides, and the symbol of the cross was set at the front. With great reverence the bishop of Braga accepted the crown and placed it upon Henry’s head.
“To Henry the Augustus crowned of God, great and pacific emperor of the Romans, life and victory!” he cried, and all present repeated the words still louder. They echoed through the hall and seemed to cast their spell with ease, turning a bitter gathering into one of joy.
The emperor arose and led me out from that place, every person bowing before us. When the gate opened, I was relieved to see that there was no army waiting for us. Apparently the opponents had scattered farther afield. Still, I knew they would not be gone for long.
“That was a good service the bishop of Braga performed for you,” I said so that no one else could hear. “I do hope you intend to reward him.”
“Am I not a man of honor?” he replied. “The bishop has acted of his own free will. Even so, as you say, I shall find some way to thank him, for he has taken great pains on our behalf.”
We traveled in the boats across the Tiber, then mounted the horses for our journey back through the city. The crowds cheered to see the emperor again, this time with the glittering crown upon his head. It was almost enough to distract me from those moments when I saw traces of pain upon my husband’s features. I had marked them out for the past few days, particularly when we were riding. I was not aware that anyone else had noticed, and I was not yet courageous enough to broach the subject. I strongly suspected that he suffered from a stomachache, for I had seen him once or twice pressing his hand against his belly.
By the time we made it back to the villa, there was neither man nor woman among us who did not know some weariness of the body. Even the emperor intended to rest before the feast that ev
ening. However, before he did so, he motioned me aside to have a private word.
“What is it, my lord?” I asked.
“Have your ladies bring you to my room tonight.”
“My lord?” I repeated, wondering if perhaps I had misheard.
“I want you to come to my bed. We have been married now three years. You are a grown woman.”
My mind struggled to form a reply, but in the end all I could say was, “I see. Well, if that is what you wish.”
“It is what I wish,” he said. “See that you do not forget.”
As he left me to attend to his own matters, I was for a moment frozen in place, lost in thought. I was uncertain about a great many things, but this I much knew: it was not a conversation I was likely to forget.
Have you ever noticed, Daughter, how the very hours of the day take on certain lethargy before a dreaded moment? On such occasions I often find myself wishing for a quick conclusion that might place my concerns in the past, but time is not so kind as that; it prefers to torment us for as long as possible, drawing out from every moment the greatest share of misery.
Let me assure you, Daughter, that I was not ignorant regarding the subject of wedded relations. Indeed, my father’s conduct and the wealth of offspring it produced required that I be granted an explanation at an early age. Then there were the words of Scripture to consider, along with the precepts of the Church. Thus what troubled me upon that day was not so much the thought of such intercourse, but rather two more practical fears: first, that my husband might find me wanting in some way, and second, that it was to take place on a holy day.
The clergy in England had often said that it was forbidden for a man and his wife to have relations on any feast day, along with a number of other occasions. On the other hand, the churches in the empire were somewhat different, and even within England there was disagreement on the subject, with some claiming that a Christian ought to abstain on every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, while others claimed it was only the Lord’s Day that required such consideration. And while Easter was among the holiest of days, it was also the end of the Lenten season, and thus an hour for rejoicing rather than austerity. Indeed, was not the bringing forth of new life an apt endeavor for an occasion that celebrated resurrection?
As the hours passed and my mind continued to work over these diverse arguments, I concluded that it was one of those matters about which a person could not be entirely certain, and thus my conscience was somewhat relieved. This left me with the mere problem of proving myself an able wife, a fear which did not abate even as I stood in my bedchamber that evening with the ladies preparing me as usual for the hours of sleep.
However, this was not to be like any other night. The emperor had informed Francesca that I should come to his quarters in a discreet manner. When the rest of the women had been dismissed, Francesca performed her usual duty of lighting a candle for herself and one for me. She then led me out of the room and into the short passage that connected all the private chambers. The rest of the house’s residents had long since made their beds on the floor of the hall below, and I dearly hoped that they remained ignorant of what was taking place above, for I shuddered to think that I might become the subject of unseemly gossip.
Francesca knocked on the door ever so lightly, and I presumed that I would see my husband standing there when the portal was opened. Instead it was one of his attendants, who quickly ushered me into the chamber, which I immediately observed was far larger than my own.
“Why should he receive the grandest room when I am forced to carry twice as many garments?” I thought, but then censured myself for giving way to pointless distraction.
“The emperor will be with you shortly, after he has finished attending to a necessary matter,” the man whispered.
I wished to thank him by name, but my memory failed me, so a simple word had to suffice.
His departure was welcome only in that it gave me a moment to adjust to my new surroundings in solitude. I was deeply troubled in spirit, to the point that I had to set down the candle that I was holding, for my hand was shaking badly. I was about to address a prayer to the Holy Virgin, then thought the better of it and instead directed my plea to Saint Helena, who knew her husband most truly.
“Lady Helena, make haste to help me, for I am in sore need!” I whispered. “I am ready to perform my duty. I wish that even as you bore the blessed emperor, I might bear children who fulfill their divine calling.”
I tried to assure myself that this was a good prayer, but I strongly suspected that Saint Helena would not be impressed. Before I could make a second attempt, the door opened again, and my husband stood before me.
What followed I have no intention to relate, for there are some matters a woman must keep to herself. In any case, it is of little consequence except for what happened afterward. The deed itself was almost completed, and I was inwardly rejoicing that this first test had reached its end, when he pulled back from me and cried out in pain. In the moments before this, I had been so worried about my own actions and so ignorant of how a man might act in such situations, that I did not notice the warning signs that were undoubtedly there. I watched in dismay as he moved to brace himself and continued to groan. I could see now that his disorder did not afflict his bowels, but rather his secret place. Having spoken scarcely a word since he entered the room, I now had no choice but to break the protection of silence.
“Are you hurt, my lord?” I asked. “Should I fetch the physician?”
“No! No!” he said rather desperately, still crouched over in distress. “I do not want anyone else to see me in this condition! It will pass.”
“I don’t understand,” I replied, by this point clothing myself once again, as I did not then and never have since found it possible to have a serious conversation in such a state. “I have been watching now for several weeks as you have tried to hide this pain, thinking it beyond anyone’s notice. Well, it has not escaped my notice, and as your wife, I demand that the physician examine you! I will not hear your protestations!”
I said this with such authority that he seemed to be struck dumb. Not waiting for him to recover his sense of control and bid me stay out of his affairs, I reached for my outer robe and made to leave the room.
“Mathilda!” he called, as I was about to leave. “See to it that no one else knows what has happened here. No one must see you!”
“Of course,” I replied, retrieving my candle and departing.
The feasting that evening had been even more unruly than usual, as the members of the court had consumed an inordinate amount of meat and beer, their fasting period having come to an end. Truth be told, more than one of them had wandered astray during the weeks of Lent, for I did not think that I could have imagined the smell of bacon. Now I felt my bare feet sticking to the stone floors on account of all the drinks that had been spilled; it was a most displeasing experience. The air itself smelled of beer.
I tried to place these thoughts out of my mind and instead pondered how I should go about finding the physician. Surely he would be lying in the Great Hall along with his fellows, but how was I to gain his attention without being noticed? No one must guess the cause of my errand. I came to the open doors and moved into the hall. The fire was little more than embers at that point, and it did not give off enough light for me to see the sleepers’ faces clearly. I thus made my way around the room with all caution, taking care not to step on any hands or feet. It was slow work, for I was forced to stop more than once to make sure that all were really asleep. The heavy dinner seemed to have worked its magic on most, though the sleep of some was spottier, and I waited for them to settle before moving further. At one point my foot accidentally caught an empty goblet and I was sure that I would be discovered, but there was no response save for the squeak of a mouse that wended its way among the bodies in search of a night meal.
Finally I recognized the physician by his rather odd appearance, clothed as he was in robes unlike those of
the other men. I considered how best to wake the good doctor without causing him to make a sound. I decided to place the light of my candle before his eyes and hope that it would perform its work slowly. When this had no effect, I tapped him on the shoulder.
The lids of his eyes slowly opened, and he instantly sought to establish the source of his disturbance. He looked in my direction, but his vision must have been poor in the dark of night, so I held the light near my face to illumine my features.
“My lady?” he whispered. “Is that you?”
Rather than speaking, I nodded and motioned for him to be silent. I then beckoned him to follow me out of the hall. This was somewhat of an ordeal, for the physician was not as light of foot as myself. It was with some relief that we reached the open door and made our way toward the stairs. Then I heard someone walking down toward us, followed by a voice.
“Who goes there?” the voice asked as its owner rounded the corner.
I held the candle aloft to glimpse this inquirer. From what I could make out, he seemed to be one of the Frangipane men keeping watch.
“It is I, Empress Mathilda,” I said in a hushed tone. “Please lower your voice.”
For a moment he gave no reply, and I began to wonder if I had exceeded his knowledge of Latin. He moved closer to us, and I could see from the light of his torch that he carried a flask of some kind.
“You know what I think you are?” he finally said, louder than I would have preferred. “I think you are one of the empress’s ladies, sneaking down here for a bit of a midnight pick-me-up. If it’s more wine that you seek, you can have some of mine here. A pretty face like yours deserves a good drink!”
I was incensed at his suggestion and immediately pushed the flask back in the direction of its owner.
“Do not assume that because you are a drunk, we all must be!” I answered. “I tell you I am the empress, and this is the emperor’s physician, and I am in need of his assistance, for I have felt ill since supper. Now move out of the way at once, or I shall have you thrown out on the street ere morning comes!”
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 34