The Forsaken Monarch Page 6

“Yes, but he is indisposed.”

  “Indisposed, how?”

  “Never you mind! He is simply disinclined to receive visitors at the present time, however noble.”

  “Send them in!” the emperor called, and the young men pushed past me and into the chamber. It would seem that my words had fallen on three pairs of deaf ears.

  The emperor was able to rise and balance himself against the hearth with one hand, using the other to poke at the fire with an iron rod as if nothing were amiss. Fortunately for him, his nephews did not possess the best skills of observation: they failed to notice how his hand quivered upon the mantle and the muscles in his face were tight, attempting to prevent any sign of pain.

  “Lord Emperor—uncle,” Frederick began, “we come hither bearing news. As you know, I rode up to Mainz the day before last, and I have spoken with the papal legate.”

  “You spoke with Adalbert?” the emperor asked with a clear note of incredulity. After all, Adalbert had not been known to speak directly to anyone in the imperial party for some time.

  “Yes, I most certainly did, and he assures me that both His Holiness and Bishop Lambert are ready to lift the order of excommunication and make peace with you under the terms we have discussed. They will bestow the regalia, it will be a free election, but the bishops must do homage to you for their estates, of course.”

  The emperor turned his back to his nephews and continued to feed the flames. He looked for a moment as if he might be ill again. I tried to fill the silence.

  “Those must have been bitter words for Adalbert to speak. I wonder that he should utter them now.”

  “Rome is tired of this affair, Pope Calixtus most especially,” Conrad said.

  “Yes,” I replied, “but we have all been quite tired of this affair for the past few years. My concern is that there is always someone a bit less tired than the rest.”

  “What do you mean?” Frederick asked.

  “Tell me, Duke Frederick, do you trust Adalbert? After everything that has happened?”

  “He has done all of this to gain the liberty of the Church, which he will achieve through this agreement.”

  “If he does choose to place his name on such a document, it will only be because His Holiness forced the pen into his hand. How long do you reckon it will take for him to conjure some excuse that will annul what he has written?”

  Frederick scoffed. “Truly, my lady, he has shown good faith. Is there nothing he could do that would set your mind at ease?”

  He could die, I thought, but decided not to speak the words. As it so happened, the emperor had recovered himself.

  “Frederick,” he said, turning to face us, “send word to the bishop of Ostia: I will accept their offer, but only if the investitures take place in the presence of the emperor.”

  “And when they argue that such a request is simply meant to coerce the Church?” Frederick asked.

  “There is ample precedent for it,” the emperor replied.

  “It is true,” I said. “In the accord of 1107 set down by my father, King Henry I of England, and Pope Paschal II.”

  “And the French got such a deal as well,” the emperor added. “So will you make my appeal?”

  “They will seek consent from Rome, which you may not receive,” he answered, a look of concern on his face.

  “Yes, I imagine Adalbert will demand it, but the wind is in our favor. Now, leave me to finish my work.”

  As the three of us turned to leave him in peace, I whispered to Frederick, “Adalbert is false, and you know it. Why would you seek to advise the emperor otherwise?”

  “Lady Mathilda, you have much to learn about matters of state. They were friends once: they can be friends again. This is how deals are made.”

  “Or how fools are made,” I concluded, then walked off before he could offer a rejoinder.

  As I returned to my own chamber, I was filled with two different sentiments: relief that a deal with the pope might finally be reached that would end the emperor’s excommunication, and sorrow that his health, along with our chances of bearing a child, continued to decline.

  The ceremony took place in a field just to the north of Worms, upon the banks of the Rhine. Since the agreement had been declared, the conversation had turned from whether the emperor and the Church could settle their differences to what would happen when the emperor and his former chancellor, Adalbert, met face to face. I saw it happen before my very eyes, with each person in attendance straining to catch a glimpse. Apart from myself and a few of the dukes and bishops, the entire crowd was standing, so I cannot imagine those less blessed with height saw anything at all. The emperor and archbishop mounted the dais from either side, with neither man showing any hesitation in his stride. There were no harsh words exchanged when they met—just a shake of the hand and nod of the head.

  There was little wind pushing the river along that day, and although summer had by that time faded into autumn, the weather was pleasant. It appeared that the entire town of Worms had been emptied into that field. It was perhaps the greatest assembly of ecclesiastics the kingdom had ever seen, save for my own marriage feast.

  First, they read out the two declarations: the Henricianum and the Calixtinum. The emperor’s words were as follows:

  In the name of the holy and indivisible Trinity, I, Henry, by the grace of God august emperor of the Romans, for the love of God and of the holy Roman Church and of our master Pope Calixtus, and for the healing of my soul, do remit to God, and to the holy apostles of God, Peter and Paul, and to the holy Catholic Church, all investiture through ring and staff; and do grant that in all the churches that are in my kingdom or empire there may be canonical election and free consecration. All the possessions and regalia of Saint Peter which, from the beginning of this discord unto this day, whether in the time of my father or also in mine, have been abstracted, and which I hold: I restore to that same holy Roman Church. As to those things, moreover, which I do not hold, I will faithfully aid in their restoration. As to the possessions also of all other churches and princes, and of all other lay and clerical persons which have been lost in that war: according to the counsel of the princes, or according to justice, I will restore the things that I hold; and of those things which I do not hold I will faithfully aid in the restoration. And I grant true peace to our master pope Calixtus, and to the holy Roman Church, and to all those who are or have been on its side. And in matters where the holy Roman Church shall demand aid I will grant it; and in matters concerning which it shall make complaint to me I will duly grant to it justice.[3]

  And these were the words of the Holy Father:

  I, Bishop Calixtus, servant of the servants of God, do grant to thee beloved son, Henry—by the grace of God august emperor of the Romans—that the elections of the bishops and abbots of the German kingdom, who belong to the kingdom, shall take place in thy presence, without simony and without any violence; so that if any discord shall arise between the parties concerned, thou, by the counsel or judgment of the metropolitan and the co-provincials, may give consent and aid to the party which has the more right. The one elected, moreover, without any exaction may receive the regalia from thee through the lance, and shall do unto thee for these what he rightfully should. But he who is consecrated in the other parts of the empire shall, within six months, and without any exaction, receive the regalia from thee through the lance, and shall do unto thee for these what he rightfully should. Excepting all things which are known to belong to the Roman Church. Concerning matters, however, in which thou dost make complaint to me, and dost demand aid, according to the duty of my office, will furnish aid to thee. I give unto thee true peace, and to all who are or have been on thy side in the time of this discord.[4]

  Then Bishop Lambert of Ostia announced the removal of the papal excommunication and the restoration of Emperor Henry. He led us all in the Holy Mass, and the emperor stepped forward to receive the host and the kiss of peace. I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my soul,
for I had daily made supplication to the Lord that he might spare my husband from the torment of eternal damnation. Not only that, but his rule over Germany would now be assured, for the rebels would have no just cause against him.

  At the closing of the service, we sang “Ubi Caritas.” It seemed odd to me that the hymn, which was usually reserved for Maundy Thursday, should be employed in such circumstances. Then I considered the words and recognized how clever the bishop’s choice was, for it spoke of mutual love and communion.

  “Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.

  Simul ergo cum in unum congregamur:

  Ne nos mente dividamur, caveamus.

  Cessent iurgia maligna, cessent lites.

  Et in medio nostril sit Christus Deus.”[5]

  I hoped that this spirit of harmony would remain after the signing of the concordat, but experience had taught me to beware the promises of men, particularly when there was something to be gained. Are we not all like Diogenes, wandering the streets of our own Athens, lamp in hand, searching for a true man?

  When it was all complete, I lingered for a bit in the midday sun. Although Archbishop Bruno of Trier had been unable to come on account of his ill health, there were still several persons with whom I wished to speak. I quickly found the main object of my search—the archbishop of Mainz—engaged in a conversation with Duke Frederick. Their backs were turned to me, and they seemed to be discussing something of great import.

  I heard Frederick say, “It is fortunate that the matter is settled, for I must get back to Waiblingen as soon as possible. I have not told the emperor yet, but I received word this morning: my son is born.”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” Adalbert replied, “though I am surprised that you could keep it a secret.”

  “I know. It has been difficult to contain myself, but I had no desire to take away from this grand occasion. God knows, the birth of a child may prove to be of little note in comparison to the restoration of our beloved emperor.”

  “Perhaps, but I would not be surprised if your own son lives to be emperor.”

  “No, no,” Frederick said. “I am sure my uncle will soon produce a son of his own, and a great one at that.”

  “Do not be so sure. Despite what has happened today, the emperor has committed many offenses against our Lord. That is why he has been denied offspring thus far, and I would not be surprised if it continues. In such a case, all of Germany will look to you and yours to unite us.”

  These words pierced my heart. There was the old slander again: that our lack of a child was caused by the wrath of God. I wanted to deal the archbishop a blow to the head right then and there, but I remained silent to hear the rest of their conversation.

  “It is not right for us to speak thus,” Frederick replied, “not when the emperor is alive and well.”

  “Is he well? I admit that it has been several years since I made his regular acquaintance, but he looks rather thin to me. I suspect he is in poor health. If the empress continues to fail in her duty to provide imperial offspring, he will make you heir to the Salian estates. When that time comes, you will find a friend in me.”

  I could listen no more. I turned and began walking in the direction of my ladies, refusing to heed several calls for my attention. Then came one I could not avoid.

  “Empress Mathilda!”

  It was Shmuel ben Yitskhak, surrounded by the city’s Jewish elders. I had only just met him the week before, when he had come to the palace to make a petition and the emperor was unable to receive him. I quickly took a deep breath—an attempt to keep any tears from falling—and allowed them to approach me. A bishop and a few noble women moved out of the way, striving to remain as far from the men as possible. Shmuel paid them no heed and prompted all of his fellows to bow as one.

  “How nice to see you,” I said, though in truth I was in no mood to talk. Adalbert’s words were still ringing in my ears.

  “My lady, this is our beloved rabbi, Ezra ben David,” Shmuel said, indicating the oldest one among them. He took the man’s arm and guided him closer. “He was so hoping to meet you and thank you for your goodness to us.”

  “Good day,” I replied simply, uncertain how one ought to address a rabbi.

  The rabbi’s eyes looked just past me, and his left hand groped forward even as his right continued to cling to Shmuel’s arm. Looking closely, I could see that his eyes were white in the center, and I concluded that he must be almost completely blind. I reached out and grabbed his left hand so he would know where I was, and this seemed to give him confidence to address me.

  “Dear empress,” he said, “we have heard of your talk with young Shmuel, and that you are a lover of the sacred word.”

  I was not sure whether to continue to look him in the eye, for his gaze was pointed slightly away from my face. It made the conversation somewhat awkward, but I persevered.

  “Yes, we had a very nice conversation, and I assure you the emperor will see to the matters he raised,” I said. “We must leave the city now that the council is completed, but you should receive word from the imperial court very soon. Emperor Henry is committed to ensuring the welfare of your people here in the Palatinate.”

  I let go of the old man’s hand and made a sign to Gertrude, who had come up just behind me.

  “Wait!” the old man cried.

  He walked forward, feeling the air with both hands, until he was far closer than most men would have dared.

  “You carry a heavy burden. I see it in your eyes,” he said.

  “I am not sure what you mean,” I replied, in part because I did not follow his reasoning, and in larger part because I doubted he could see whether I had two eyes or three.

  Without saying another word, he reached out his aged hands and touched my belly. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the air and began to whisper words in another language. This made me feel quite uneasy and I could not help but notice the number of German faces staring at us, along with a great deal of murmuring. I was about to ask him to stop, when he opened his eyes again and said, “I have prayed the Lord’s blessing upon you. I have asked that he might open your womb and give you sons. I believe he has heard me.”

  I was deeply moved by his words. How could this man whose eyes could see nothing at all have seen into the depths of my soul and put his finger on the point of pain? Although I was most beholden for his kindness, I had a sudden fear of exposing too much: as if acknowledging my gratitude in front of all those people would betray something that ought to be secret—would make me seem only human. I therefore said a quick word of thanks and set off with my ladies, hoping to avoid any more attention. However, despite this quick departure that was far less than they deserved, I did walk away feeling something I had not known for ages: hope. I sensed it might die before the day was done, but for giving me that feeling for one moment of time, I owed the rabbi a great deal.

  III

  Sometime after I had departed the land of my youth for the Holy Roman Empire, King Henry of England had taken the twins Robert and Waleran de Beaumont into his household. They were the sons of Robert de Beaumont, the first earl of Leicester, and Elizabeth de Vermandois, a relative of French royalty. They therefore had the most noble of noble blood, and they were said to be excellent scholars as well, for they were trained by Godfrey de Bayeux. Yes, this was the same Godfrey who once instructed my brother William and me, only to leave the court of Westminster amid scandal. I am told Master Godfrey ended up becoming a leper and dying in extreme poverty. I would say I felt sorry for him, but that would be a lie.

  Upon arriving at the Norman court, the Beaumont twins quickly fell in with the king’s lads—my half brother Earl Robert of Gloucester, my cousin Count Stephen of Mortain, Brian fitz Count, and others—and distinguished themselves in the king’s household. That is, they distinguished themselves until the year 1123, when Waleran had the very bad idea to throw in his lot with William Clito, the same cousin of mine to whose standard every rebel rallied.

&n
bsp; Why would Waleran do such a thing? It was not entirely clear to me at the time, but I tell you with the benefit of years that he hoped in gaining the dukedom of Normandy for William Clito that he would have a new master whom he could control. On account of his bloodline, Waleran thought of himself as something of a king, but as no one would give him a throne of his own, the next best thing was to install a king who harkened to his call.

  I remember when I received word of all this. It was during the first days of spring in the year of our Lord 1124, and we were back at the castle of Trifels by then, for the weather was good for sport. Indeed, since I had grown comfortable with the falcon Brünnhilda, I had come to enjoy hunting. However, Emperor Henry’s pain was increasing, and there were some days on which he did not feel well enough to ride. I would have liked him to reveal his illness to more people, but he was certain this would lead men to dismiss his authority.

  “I swear to you, this is only a passing thing!” he used to declare in those days. “If we tell people that I am nigh unto death, they will never respect me, even when I am well again. I will simply give more of my time to archery, and I will send the nobles away as much as possible. I wish to be alone in any case.”

  The sad thing was that I had no great hope that my husband’s condition would improve. Though he was excellent at hiding his pain, I could tell that it was wearing him down, and I feared for the future of both the empire and myself. Not only would my position be reduced if I lost the husband who had given me standing, and not only would England possibly lose a vital ally, but I would be robbed of the company of a husband I had come to respect. However, I tried as much as possible to put these fears out of my mind, for there was nothing that could be done to improve matters, and when there is nothing to be done, fear is simply a weight without purpose.

  On the day I received the sealed message from my father that told of Waleran’s betrayal, I read it at once, then ran to inform the emperor, who was out shooting. Whereas the birds had to be kept further down the hill, the targets were mounted on the very summit, right beside the palace itself. When I found my husband, he was practicing with his bow while enjoying the glorious views of the forest below. He had one servant who stood by his side, handing him a new arrow after every shot and retrieving them when requested. In line with his desire, the number of people around him had been greatly reduced.