“Most gracious empress!” Bruno said with a smile. “How may I be of service?”
“Peace, my lord! I have not come to harry you, but merely to talk.”
“Well, then you had better take a seat,” he replied, making room on the wood bench. “We did not think to be entertained by a queen tonight.”
“Oh, I am afraid I don’t have much to entertain. But who is your fellow here?”
“This is Karl of Worms. As you can see, he is a man of the cloth, but he also attracts many students. He is under Adalbert’s jurisdiction, but given the current circumstances, I have been overseeing his labors and providing counsel as it is needed.”
“You are of our party then, sir? You are for the emperor?” I asked.
“If you mean that I respect his right to rule and submit myself to his decrees insofar as they are in accordance with the Holy Scriptures, then yes, I am,” he replied, “but I prefer to spend more time with my flock or my students.”
“How very dull!” I said in jest. “I am surprised you and the archbishop can keep company with each other. He will preach to you about the merits of power. In fact, I believe he lives for it. He has never met a strategema that he did not like.”
Again the priest spoke. “Perhaps you mistake me. I did not mean to imply that the workings of government are of no value, nor that they are beyond the interest of our Lord—I hope that I am the kind of man one would look to when courage is required—but I prefer a book in my hand rather than a sword.”
“Yes, though I think that more than all, you prefer to hold a glass,” Bruno declared.
“Ah, now you hit on our point of agreement! Tell me, Empress Mathilda, do you approve of the swill they pass off as beer in these parts, or do you obey the words of Christ and drink of the aqua vitae?”
“Aqua vitae? Do you mean aquam vivam?”
“For Karl, they are one and the same,” said Bruno. “Show her that rubbish of yours.”
The priest then produced a pewter drinking vessel of the type that the Germans call Krug, the like of which I had never seen before: it appeared large enough to satisfy any thirst, and upon it were carved figures I was unable to name, though I soon found that there was no need.
“They are from the life of Saint Augustine,” he proclaimed cheerfully.
“I see. How nice.” These were the fairest words I could utter honestly, for I did not share his love of what appeared to my eyes to be a rather ugly and needless object.
“Bruno,” I said, attempting to change the subject, “what can you tell me about the bishop of Châlons?”
“William of Champeaux? You will find him a decent sort of fellow, though he is heart and soul for the papacy and the French king, which is to say that he is unlikely to encourage Calixtus to yield much, even were it for the clear benefit of Christendom.” He then laughed as if amused by some memory. “He used to teach in Paris, you know. He was one of the tutors of Pierre Abélard, the young scholar of whom everyone now speaks.”
“I have heard of him,” I replied, hoping to impress them both a little with my knowledge of world affairs.
“Well, it seems that the scholar found a match and then some in his pupil. Rumor has it that they were often at odds, for Abélard was able to defeat him in their exchanges and carried himself with something less than humility.”
“The poor man ended up surrendering and taking his leave,” Karl added. “I pity him. It must be difficult to face a student more talented than oneself. Of course, I have never had that problem.”
“Abélard is now the more famous teacher, though the ill repute brought on by his wanton behavior may well do him in,” Bruno concluded. “I should not be surprised if he becomes the most renowned scholar of our age. There are not one in a thousand minds like his. However, the fellow cannot seem to contain his passions.”
After a good deal more conversation like this, I found myself tiring of the festivities. The affairs of French scholars were of little interest to me. I offered my regards to each of the eminent guests and then made for my chamber without the aid of any of my ladies, as I believed I was quite able to walk the short distance without a train of followers. As usual, this prompted many complaints, but I would hear none of it and set off immediately.
There was a sort of cloister along my route, and I was a bit surprised to see that the night watch had abandoned their duties and made for the banquet hall.
“Some guardians they are,” I muttered. “They did not even keep all the torches burning.”
I took down one of the remaining flames from its perch on the wall and used it to light my way. The moon gave off no glow that evening, and even the fire seemed to struggle to break through the darkness. I was halfway down the passage when I sensed that I was not alone. There was someone standing in the shadows, just a few paces yonder.
“Who goes there?” I called. “Declare yourself!”
The figure stepped slowly into the light. It was a man whom I recognized but a little: a groom who had lately come into the emperor’s service. He was of about middle age, with a long beard and the kind of powerful figure that would be helpful in his profession.
“Good evening, and God save you, Empress Mathilda,” he said. “I am one of his lord’s grooms. Conrad is my name.”
“Yes, I think perhaps we met once before,” I answered, now hoping to avoid any further discussion. “Good night to you, then.”
I took a step or two in the direction of my chamber, but he moved ever so slightly to block my route.
“Forgive me, my lady, but may I ask you something?”
“I suppose.” I could see now that there would be no way of avoiding this delay, so I attempted to make the best of it.
“Is the emperor to stay long at Straßburg?”
“Only as long as it takes to reach an accord, which is to say, it could be over tomorrow, or it could go on till Judgment Day.”
“I see.”
I was rather put off by his presumption, and thus I added, “I am sure you will be ready to perform your duty for the emperor come what may, or do you have some pressing appointment elsewhere?”
He laughed, a choice that I deemed rather unwise under the circumstances. “They said you had spirit, but I could not have guessed. Indeed, I have heard many tales of you and the emperor since arriving here.”
“Ah. And what have you heard?” Though I wished to be gone from his presence, I reasoned that it might not hurt to know the inner thoughts of those around us, if he was so willing to betray them.
“Just the usual.”
“The usual?”
“Well, there have been rumors, you know, as to why you have never been with child.”
I was taken aback by his words. I suppose I should not have been. Public gossip is never kind. Still, I was incensed that he would broach the subject to my face.
“I do not know what you have heard, sir, but I assure you that there is nothing which requires your consideration.”
Once again I moved to leave, but he was clearly unwilling to let me pass without satisfying his curiosity.
“The lads and I, we all have our own ideas,” he said. “Some of them think he must be a sodomite.”
“What? How dare you make such an accusation? Along with the clear offense against the emperor’s person, your words are not fit for polite conversation with your lawful queen! I demand that you beg pardon at once!”
“I note that you did not deny it,” was his only answer.
“Perverse man! I suppose that only one who is foul himself could devise such a slander. Tell me, are you a sodomite?”
I considered this reply to be rather clever, as it placed him on the defense, but he had an answer ready.
“Hardly! To hell with all the sodomites!”
“To hell with you!”
For the third time I attempted to get around him, but this time he pushed me against the wall with such a degree of force that I was robbed of breath. His hands pressed against my wai
st and my arms were pinned. I had dropped the torch, and it now lay upon the stone pavement. The light reflected in his eyes and made them appear even more menacing.
“You know what I think?” he continued, his voice betraying a kind of madness. “I think that the good emperor has never touched you, and that is why you are not with child. Everyone is saying it: he’s left you a maid because he prefers the company of other men.” Here he spit upon the ground in a show of utter loathing.
“Let go of me, slanderer!” I cried. “The emperor will have your head for this violence!”
He pressed one of his hands against my mouth to silence my pleas. I was in great distress and my mind seemed unable to devise a method of escape. His weight upon my body was such that I could not move, even as he groped at my breasts.
“I suppose there is something you should know about me,” he said. “When I see something gone to waste, I hate to leave it that way. It is a pity you aren’t more handsome, but I’ll have my fill just the same.”
An endless string of curses rushed through my mind, along with an anguished prayer for deliverance. I had lost all hope when something happened which neither of us had foreseen. Out of nowhere, my attacker cried out in pain as he received some blow from behind. I could not see his challenger, but caught a glimpse of the large object that was brought down upon his head, placing the groom in a stupor. His body fell to the ground in a heap, and there before me stood Karl of Worms, his hands holding what remained of his beloved Krug, which was now sadly dented.
“You!” I cried, unable to find any other words to express my relief.
“Yes, it is indeed I,” he replied. “Are you harmed, my lady?”
“I don’t believe so, save for a few scrapes.” I feared the priest might have mistaken what he had seen, so I added, “This man sought to defile me. I struggled to get away, but could not. I swear that I did not encourage him in any way.”
“I believe you. Loathsome creature! I shall report this immediately, if it has not already caught the attention of the guard.”
Even as he said this, several men came running toward us, having apparently heard the clamor. Among them, to my great relief, was Drogo.
“What happened here?” the knight asked.
“This man, Conrad, tried to assault my womanhood! Indeed, he would have succeeded were it not for this priest, who was good enough to hit him over the head.” A thought suddenly came to me. “What were you doing here, anyway?” I asked my rescuer.
“Oh, I was just hoping to take care of some necessary business. Aqua vitae does not stay in eternally . . .”
“We must inform the emperor,” Drogo said, choosing not to press for any further information. “This crime shall be punished. Philip, return to the hall and fetch the lords immediately! I will accompany the empress back to her room. Father Karl, we are in your debt.”
Drogo offered me his arm, and I clung to it with both of my own. I was in too much of a daze to venture any further words of thanks. When I was finally safe inside my chamber, I did ask if my guard could be doubled for the night, a request that was happily granted. Not one moment of sleep did I achieve in that long night, for my every fiber seemed to shake with the terror. The incident continued to play itself over in my mind, an endless nightmare that bound my waking thoughts.
I never saw the man Conrad again. My husband had him put to death before the break of day. There was a report that the emperor beat the criminal with his own hands until he begged for mercy, which was only granted in the form of execution. I have never spoken of this to a single soul—that is, until you, my daughter. Such a humiliation I have seldom felt. My only comfort is that he burns in the fires of hell.
XIX
When a man thinks of himself, he cannot do so without considering the land to which he belongs. His mind turns to the village where he was born and raised, the lord he serves, and the king to whom he is ever faithful. He belongs to the land, and the land belongs to him. But what of those few who find themselves cleft, born in one land and living in another? They are as vagabonds upon the face of the earth—men and women without a constant home. To whom is their fealty due, and to what do their thoughts turn when men inquire as to their origin?
When I was young, I knew that land to which I belonged: England, most blessed kingdom on God’s earth. To be sure, my father was as much the ruler of Normandy as he was over the English, but it would be many years until I visited that land, and to me it was only the stuff of tales. Owing in part to the influence of my mother, I always felt that England was my home.
However, by the year of our Lord 1119, I had dwelt longer within the empire than I had in the isles of Britain. I had so few occasions on which to speak my native tongue that I found myself forgetting certain words or patterns of speech. With the death of Queen Mathilda, I lost my chief source of news from England, and I felt as if I were farther from that kingdom than ever. I wondered, if I were to travel there, would they recognize me still as one of their own? Surely it was a matter of little consequence, for I did not suppose that I should ever set foot upon those shores again.
Nevertheless, I was able to gain some intelligence concerning the situation in the West. As was so often the case, battles against the king of France and his vassals continued. “France is the natural enemy of this kingdom,” my father had told me, and he did everything in his power not only to defend his own lands, but also to make incursions into those territories faithful to Louis VI.
There was no greater dispute between them than the question of who held the dukedom of Normandy. It had once belonged to my uncle, Robert Curthose, but he took up arms unwisely against King Henry and was defeated at Tinchebrai. I was only a small girl when that fiercest of battles was waged and my father took the duke as his prisoner. From that time the Kingdom of England and the Duchy of Normandy were brought together under King Henry’s rule.
Yet Uncle Robert had a son: my own cousin William, called Clito. He became the standard under which all the king’s enemies could unite. They did not love him so much as the opportunity he provided to forsake their rightful lord. As you might remember, William Clito had been placed in the care of the Count of Arques, a relative through marriage; but in the year 1113, Clito was seized and brought to the French court, where he was able to form an alliance.
King Louis of France was first among those who declared William Clito to be the lawful Duke of Normandy. Surely this was for the benefit of the French king’s own interests, and it forced my father into a drawn-out contest over who would control that land. King Louis demanded that any Duke of Normandy must perform homage to the French crown, but my father was loath to suffer such a humiliation. A king cannot bow to another king, for they are equals. Beyond that, he would not do homage for something that he already possessed entirely.
So the two kingdoms fought, until one day—the thirteenth before the kalends of September in the year 1119—Louis marched once again into Normandy with a force of four hundred knights arrayed for battle. The French king desired to meet my father in battle, yet he had been unable to do so. Now their paths met just west of Gisors, in a field named Brémule.
King Henry was not without defenders, for some five hundred of his own knights stood beside him, the flower of French nobility against that of England. Brother Robert was there to fight on behalf of his father, as was Richard, another of the king’s offspring. Do you think it strange that I never met this brother of mine? Then I suppose your own father has not lent his seed to so many bastards as did my own, many of them rather obscure or set apart by many leagues from myself.
Those men of Normandy who remained true fought beneath the standard of Henry, while the treacherous barons sided against their natural lord. Chief among these traitors was William Crispin. Then there was William Clito, puppet of his French lord, who sought to avenge his father and free the former duke from his prison in Devises.
Now, King Louis VI was known to be no small man, to such a point that his own country
men gave him the title Louis le Gros. Yet, as only his appetite for battle exceeded his appetite for food, he would fight beside his knights, though he did totter upon his horse. Two separate French charges were driven back by King Henry’s men. So fierce was the fighting that more than one English knight reached out to take the reins of Louis’s horse and proclaim with a loud voice, “The king is taken!” But what he lacked in grace, the French king made up for in strength, pushing back each one in turn and proclaiming, “The king is not taken—neither at war nor at checks!”
The angels were not on France’s side that day. One by one, their captains were unhorsed and taken captive, until King Louis had no choice but to withdraw. In the chaos of that moment, even after his force of knights had been defeated, the traitor William Crispin found himself free to charge at King Henry. With malice in his heart, he raised his great sword and struck at the king’s head. Oh, the cries of despair which must have been raised! An Englishman by the name of Roger brought the coward down from his horse and pinned him to the ground, sparing his life in an act of great mercy.
As I said, fortune was on the side of England, for the king’s hauberk held firm against the blow, and he suffered no serious injury to his royal person. Despite this outrage, the English proved themselves to be gentlemen of the highest class; they returned King Louis’s horse after the French ruler was forced to flee on foot. My own brother, William Ætheling, sent back William Clito’s palfrey along with many gifts, none of which the traitor merited. The end result of this defeat was that Louis was forced to accept Prince William as the rightful Duke of Normandy and future king of England. He was granted the duchy the following year, though the French king continued to support William Clito whenever possible. My brother had finally reached that lofty height which was his right by birth.
The Girl Empress (The Chronicle of Maud Book 1) Page 39