The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1)

by Amy Mantravadi

  “Ah, so you need the wine for your stomach!”

  “No, you fool! I want you gone this instant!”

  “Very well. I can tell when I’m not wanted,” he muttered, stumbling down the remaining stairs and passing back the way we had come.

  “Are you really unwell? Is it your stomach?” the physician asked.

  “No, sir. It is not I who need your help. Please follow me.”

  Feeling it was a miracle that the entire house was not awake, I preceded the physician through the narrow passage that led to my husband’s room. As I placed my hand on the latch, I turned and whispered, “You are not to tell anyone of your visit here, do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said without restraint.

  I opened the door and found my husband seated on the bed, this time fully clothed, with his arms crossed and head down.

  “My lord, here is the physician. What was your name, sir?”

  “Bernard,” he answered.

  “This is Master Bernard,” I repeated.

  Without looking up the emperor beckoned for the man to come near. When Master Bernard was no more than a single pace away from him, he bowed and asked, “Your Grace, with your permission, what is the nature of your problem?”

  At this the emperor finally raised his head and let out a sigh.

  “We will no longer be requiring your presence,” he told me.

  “Very well. Good night, my lord.”

  I turned and left the room once again, walking back to my own chamber. I opened the door to find Francesca sitting in a chair near the fire, fully awake and staring at me. Without a word I closed the door and set my candle down on a nearby chest.

  “Have you been sitting here this whole time?” I asked, but of course the lady did not understand me.

  She rose and helped me remove my outer garments. Before departing, she turned back to me again.

  “Did he?”

  “What?”

  She lifted her fingers and made a crude gesture.

  “Get thee to bed! I have no more need of you or your perverse questions!”

  Francesca only shrugged and left the room, granting me the solitude I so dearly craved. Yet I was not to be blessed with sleep that night, save for a few brief moments. Instead I lay in the darkness contemplating all that had taken place and wondering what it could mean. My husband was ill; that much I guessed. But of what nature was this illness? Would it pass quickly or remain? Did it pose any danger to his life?

  There were no answers for me as I lay there staring up at the eaves, wishing for better days.

  XVII

  The sun did not show its face the following morn. The rain clouds had pushed in from the sea, and now the fall of water could be heard upon the roof tiles—striking, pooling, and then rushing toward the ground in a stream just beside my window. The noise was comforting, or it would have been had my mind not been otherwise occupied by my night ordeal. As soon as I could, I called my ladies out of their pleasant sleep to begin the day. Candles must be lit, food must be consumed, the body must be cleansed, and clothing must be worn; such were the usual tasks of those early hours. Upon this dawn I would brook no delay.

  At the earliest opportunity, I called for Drogo and bade him fetch the doctor for me. Many in the hall below had yet to stir from their slumber, but I was in need of answers, so any disturbance to the sleepers would have to be borne. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and as one of the ladies—a girl, in truth, for the poor thing had no breasts—went to open the door, I imagined I would see in the light of day that same man with whom I had spoken in the night. But alas, it was not the physician, but rather the chaplain, Altmann, who stood before the threshold waiting to enter.

  “Come in,” I called out. As he bowed before me, I asked, “What is it?”

  “My lady, you had asked me to come hither for our morning Scripture reading. I am certain that you said so last night at supper.”

  “Did I? Very well then, but I am to have another visitor at any moment.”

  “Ah. Perhaps it would be better if I came again at a later time?”

  I was about to answer him when the door was opened once again for Drogo and the physician. From the look in his eyes, I guessed that the doctor had achieved no more sleep than myself.

  “Master Bernard, please do come and sit!” I said to him, motioning to an empty chair.

  “Do you wish me to leave then?” Altmann asked.

  “If you would, just for a few minutes,” I replied.

  He duly departed into the adjoining room, and once the ladies moved to join him, I was left alone with the man whose confidences I so desired.

  “Master Bernard, I cannot thank you enough for your assistance last night,” I began. “I know that I can trust you to be discreet about all of this.”

  “If Your Highness has called me here for that purpose, you need not be worried,” he answered. “I would never betray your trust.”

  “For which I am most thankful. Now, I wish for your opinion as a physician. After I left, what did you speak of with my husband? Is all well?”

  He paused, eyes moving to and fro as if to search for any hidden eavesdropper. Finally he said, “I conducted a thorough examination of the emperor’s complaints. He was in pain; that much was clear. At first he bid me not to touch the point in question, and I did not see anything that gave me cause for alarm. However, I felt it my duty not to leave him until I had also been able to feel for any deformity, if you understand me.”

  “I think I do,” I replied.

  “Yes, well, he finally consented that I should feel his . . .”

  “His what?”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but it is hard to know how one should speak of such things.”

  My patience was by now in short supply. “Sir, you may speak in plain terms with me. I might appear young to your eyes, but already my own have seen things which the aged man in his bed can scarcely comprehend, and though I may yet be ignorant of more than I care to tell, I must be informed of everything regarding the emperor’s health, for you and I may be the only ones permitted to aid him.”

  After a moment of reflection, Bernard seemed to accept my request, for he said, “Very well. I felt that part which we call in Latin testis. You know of that which I speak?”

  Now it was I who was left to feel the fool, for though I had boldly proclaimed my knowledge of the world, I was forced to admit to myself that this was one subject where I was less than expert.

  “You refer to his member?”

  “No, not quite,” the physician replied, clearly beyond his level of comfort. “The other thing, or perhaps I should say, things.”

  “Oh. Go on, then.”

  “Yes. All was as it should be, except that I felt a small point which was . . . hardened.”

  “Hardened?”

  “As if there were a pebble lodged within the flesh, and all around it was inflamed.”

  “And what was it?”

  “That is the trouble. It may be any one of several things. I have observed such masses of varying sizes on every part of the human body. Some fade away over the course of a few months. Others remain as they are for years. Still others continue to grow and become more painful until surgery is necessary.”

  That was a word that sent a chill through my bones. I knew enough of surgery to be well aware of its perils. From what I could tell, a man was as likely to die from it as receive healing.

  “Do not be troubled,” he told me. “As I said, there are many kinds of masses, and there is no way to tell which one the emperor, that is, your husband might have. In some cases I have made a small cut and found them to be formed entirely of liquid, but others are as flesh. I think it quite possible that surgery will not be necessary. For the present, he will simply have to deal with the pain.”

  “So you are certain this is what has led to his condition?”

  “Quite certain. I believe he thought it might have been some disorder of
the passions which should have been cured through the usual manner, but I am afraid that is not the case.”

  I struggled to believe that this news was not as grave as it seemed. With great effort I told him, “Thank you, Bernard, for your care of my husband, and for informing me as to his condition.”

  “With pleasure, my lady. I instructed him to keep watch for any changes, and to tell me immediately if the pain worsens. In the meantime I proposed that he take some wine to help lessen his discomfort. He was most intent that this matter should remain a secret between the three of us.”

  “Yes, I am sure he is right. Farewell then, and please send my confessor in when you depart.”

  In the space of a moment, the doctor was gone and Altmann appeared, prayer book in hand, ready to receive my penitence. He sat in the newly empty chair and offered me a few words of joyful greeting that seemed entirely out of line with the gloom that had settled upon my spirit.

  “My child, I am ready to hear your confession, if you wish to give it.”

  I fought to restrain the tears that threatened to break forth from their bounds and run down my cheeks with vigor. Though my iniquities were ever present, I felt more in need of divine comfort in such a dreadful hour.

  “I confess that my spirit is addled,” I answered, uncertain of how to proceed. “I have had some news which troubles me.”

  “No matter escapes the notice of God,” he replied. “Empty yourself of these fears, and he may grant you the comfort which you desire.”

  “Would that it were so simple, but I fear this is not something that I can share with others—not even you.”

  “It is not an issue of sin then?”

  “No, at least I do not believe so. Merely one of misfortune.”

  Altmann nodded his head slowly, as if to show that he shared my concern. At length he said, “Perhaps it would be better if we were to skip over the confession and move on to the reading.”

  I made no reply, but silently consented to this new order. He retrieved a large volume from the stand near the bed and opened it to a passage he deemed proper. As the raindrops continued to pound on the roof overhead, he recited words that were quite familiar.

  “‘Comfort you, comfort you my people, will your God say. Speak comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned: for she has received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.’”

  How these words to ancient Israel might be applied to my own life, I was not sure, but they did seem to lighten my mood. In fact, I was enjoying the sound of his voice when he came upon a few sentences that gave me pause.

  “‘He sits upon the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers; he stretches out the heavens as a curtain, and spreads them out as a tent to dwell in. He brings the princes to nothing and makes the judges of the earth as vanity, as though they were not planted, as though they were not sown, as though their stock took no root in the earth. For he did even blow upon them, and they withered, and the whirlwind will take them away as stubble.’”

  “Some comfort this is!” I thought to myself, suddenly aware of an unspoken longing to sit beside my mother, there to release the cares that had weighed me down. Then I remembered the last words she spoke to me, words of which I now had great need: “The just shall live by faith.”

  We remained in Rome for another forty days, the same as Christ dwelt in the wilderness when he faced the temptations of Lucifer. The devil had offered the Son of God all the kingdoms of the world, but alas, the emperor would have to content himself with lands already acquired, most especially those in Tuscany.

  You may wonder how the Romans came to hold Emperor Henry in such high regard, for only a few years earlier they had risen in armed rebellion against his claims. It was the violence of the past year, combined with the lavish gifts he’d made to the people of that city, that allowed him to gain their devotion, at least for a time. In the interest of maintaining his influence over that region, it was resolved that his daughter, Bertha, was to wed the son of Count Ptolemy of Tusculum. A happy prospect this was for my husband, and I suppose I should have been pleased that she was to be sent far from us. Yet I could not but feel sorry for her in this, that her plight was not unlike that which I had experienced at such a young age, to my own perturbation. Thus I hoped that the match would grant her some measure of comfort.

  All was proceeding as intended, until we received news from the South that the pope was to hold a synod at Benevento. There was a sense of apprehension among the company, for there could be only one purpose to this action: namely, to denounce the emperor and all those who sided with him. My greatest concern was that His Holiness might at last pass the order of excommunication against my husband, which would not only place his immortal soul in danger of everlasting torment, but also lend comfort to his earthly enemies, particularly those who had risen against him within the empire.

  A few days later, we received a letter from Abbot Pontius—who continued to act as arbitrator between the opposing sides—saying that the pope and his allies had condemned the action by the bishop of Braga, declaring it to be an utmost betrayal. The bishop was placed under the ban of anathema. Yet there was the sole mercy that the emperor himself was once again spared from that chief reproach of excommunication, the pope having stayed true to his pledge granted in their past encounter. Small comfort this was, for Bishop Maurice could no longer claim any papal authority, nor could the emperor long hope to maintain the support of the Roman public once the full measure of the church’s censure was made known. To make matters worse, Paschal was said to have won the full support of the Norman lord Robert of Capua and his army, and he could soon be marching at the head of an invasion. Therefore it seemed best to Emperor Henry that we should not remain in Rome past the feast of Pentecost. After all, it was not strange for emperors to leave the city during the heat of summer.

  That was to be a day I would never forget. We set aside the hardships of the past month and proceeded once again to the Church of Saint Peter. This time there were two thrones placed within the chapel of Saint Gregory, and I was to be crowned along with my husband. This was customary for a visiting monarch, though the pope’s opposition and that of all his cardinals meant that the bishop of Braga was forced to do the deed once again. I was not in favor of this decision, for as an excommunicate it hardly seemed fit that the bishop should set foot within the basilica, let alone perform the ceremony. But what was I to do? We queens are not as sovereign as men might suppose. What power we have must be exercised within the bounds the world has placed upon us. Were our kingdoms truly subject to our commands, what visions we might achieve! It is that belief which creates this madness within us, even as we know ourselves to be subjected as much as subjecting.

  Thus, if my coronation was not by the hand of Paschal, but was performed by another as a matter of necessity, and I desired in all things that which was pleasing to the Lord, for surely the pope bore no objection to my humble person—if all these things were true, then we might say that I was crowned by the pope indeed. And if in later years men reported that it was Paschal who crowned me on that day, and I have taken no pains to correct them, it was for this very reason. Think not ill of me, for in anointing my husband six years earlier, the true pope had already bestowed his blessing on our reign, and therefore my crowning was acceptable before God.

  After the passing of Whitsuntide, we departed the city almost immediately, having heard a report that Robert of Capua had marched his troops into the region of Campagna as far as the southern hills. Already they had laid siege to Piglio, burning and pillaging as they pleased. Within one or two days, they might stand before the city gates, and my husband did not wish to test his forces in battle, though most thought it certain that he could achieve victory.

  “I am not here to crush the Normans, nor even the pope, but to safeguard my inheritance,” he said, and these seemed to be words of wisdom. “If they come after us, we w
ill behave as great lords and show them of what metal we are made, but we must not allow for the impression that we have come as invaders.”

  We made with all haste for the town of Sutri, which lies just north of Lake Bracciano. The town was well within Count Ptolemy’s territory and this should have placed us out of danger, but when we were still a half day’s march south of our destination, a messenger approached our train with all speed, carrying most unwelcome news.

  “My lord! My lord emperor!” he cried out. “Where is the emperor?”

  I had been lying in the carriage, mind in a state near dreaming, when these words pierced into my ears and woke me with sudden violence. I opened my eyes and immediately looked out toward the source of this tumult. Our progress had ceased and there was a whirl of men and riders moving about, consumed in hectic discourse. I could not make out their words, but it appeared that the men belonging to Count Ptolemy were preparing for a hasty departure, along with a contingent of those from Germany and the other imperial lands. I noticed the clerk, Burchard, passing by, and called out to him, “Burchard! Come hither!” When he merely turned to look in my direction, I yelled once again, “To me! Quickly!”

  He was coming now upon his black horse, and I could see from the look in his eyes that he was in no mood to suffer interruptions. Still, interrupt I must.

  “Yes, my lady?” he said upon arriving at the carriage.

  “What is happening? I heard the messenger approach, and now there is chaos.”

  “Robert of Capua has been sighted not five miles from here and moving in our direction. Several of the men are breaking off to face him.”

  “What? I thought he was south of Rome!”

  “So he was, but it appears that he has grown bolder in the past few days. We cannot always account for such things.”

  I looked once again at the men preparing for battle. “Who will go then?” I asked. “Is the emperor to lead the charge?”

  “No, that would be just what the enemy desires. The Count of Tusculum is more than able to put off this attack, I think.”