Authors: Anna Markland
The strident sound of a trumpet fanfare rent the air, rattling her from her reverie. “The end must be in sight!” Her long legs were stiff from standing and kneeling—up and down, up and down. She stifled a yawn, concealing it with her kerchief. “What a long ordeal! Adelaide will need a nap,” she whispered to Dorothea. “I suppose we must call her Queen Matilda now.” The thought sent a cold shiver creeping down her spine. She’d striven unsuccessfully over the years to find love in her heart for her mistress. Adelaide had been arrogant enough as a mere Princess.
The rehearsals for this grand rite had been lengthy and tedious and Blythe fell into her assigned place in the long procession out of the cathedral, squaring her shoulders to face whatever lay ahead.
As predicted, Queen Matilda fell asleep upon regaining the imperial chambers and before the banquet. Blythe was kept busy helping with the disrobing, preparing the bath and redressing her mistress. A worry nagged at her and she wondered if anyone had explained to the infant queen what might be expected of her on her wedding night. Had Adelaide’s mother prepared her? Would Heinrich expect his conjugal rights from a twelve year old? If so, she hoped he was a gentle and considerate man. Blythe’s mother had told her daughters what would be expected of them in the marriage bed, hinted at the exhilarating passion to be found there.
“Not that I’ll ever need the knowledge,” she lamented bitterly.
***
Emperor Heinrich was preoccupied with events within the borders of his empire that involved revolt rather than union. He faced a rebellion initiated by the citizens of the ancient city of Köln, along with allies from the Saxon nobility.
While he waited for the summons that all was in readiness for the banquet, he met with his advisors. “I have naught but disdain for the rebellious upstarts in Köln. Is the army assembled to march against them?”
The commander of his forces bowed. “Yes, sire, mostly Alemannians and Bavarians. It’s a grand army.”
Heinrich rubbed his finger along his moustache. “
Gut!
I vow to reduce Köln to shame and insignificance. They think they are one of the great cities of the Empire. Be ready to march on the morrow.”
“But sire, your bride?”
Heinrich snorted. “She’s twelve! What am I supposed to do with her? I’ll come back when she’s grown up a little.”
The assembled noblemen snickered with sympathetic laughter.
***
Spring turned to summer, bringing sweltering heat. Queen Matilda whined constantly about the weather and Heinrich’s absence, though she didn’t seem concerned for his safety. The clothing Blythe had brought from England was completely unsuitable for the climate in Mainz, and she’d never felt so uncomfortable. Lady Dorothea had thrice mentioned nervously to their mistress the discomfort of all the English ladies-in-waiting, but nothing had come of it so far. The elderly woman was reluctant to bring up the subject yet again.
Blythe’s tightly braided auburn hair was a crown of thorns that grew more painful when she was obliged to listen to Matilda’s regurgitation of the accounts of the campaign as they were brought to her.
Matilda sat, dwarfed by her massive throne, boasting of her husband’s prowess. Though her Imperial robes touched the mosaic floor, the occasional bulge in the heavy fabric indicated the tiny Empress was swinging her feet. She paused, making sure everyone was paying attention. “It took His Highness two days to march with his army from Mainz to Tuitium, a fortified town on the opposite side of the Rhine to Köln established by the Roman Emperor Constantine eight hundred years ago.”
Blythe resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Matilda was a scholar repeating her lessons as she prattled on. “A bridge connects Tuitium to Köln and His Highness planned to capture the town and from there lay siege to Köln. Tuitium is an important centre of learning and its Abbey home to several noted theologians.”
Saints preserve me and rescue me from this child.
Blythe had already learned Heinrich had captured Tuitium. It was common knowledge. Apparently Matilda was the last to be told anything.
Oblivious to the uncomfortable shuffling around her, Matilda carried on. “Once he captured the town, he stationed a garrison there and was able to cut Köln off from all river trade and transportation.”
She smiled and looked smugly down her nose at the assembled courtiers. “That should teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget.”
Pleased with her husband’s military success, she was apparently unaware of subsequent events. Blythe wasn’t going to be the one to tell her, and the nervous glances of her fellow ladies-in-waiting told her they too would keep silent. Lady Dorothea swayed and clutched Blythe’s arm.
Everyone listening to the Empress was aware that Köln had amassed a sizeable army of young men who had crossed the Rhine with a strong force of bowmen. They had anticipated the Emperor’s attack. It was rumoured, and later substantiated, that Heinrich had met with his advisors and decided to draw out the battle until evening, thinking the enemy would withdraw, worn out.
There were a few indecisive skirmishes, then suddenly a great cloud of arrows came showering in from the Köln side and a large number of Heinrich’s men fell dead or wounded. Because of the sweltering heat they’d removed their armour of horn.
Let someone else tell the child Queen that!
Heinrich had decided to yield the field and retreat behind the improvised military camp he’d set up. The next day he’d directed his army against Bonn and Julich, two fortified places belonging to Köln, and plundered and burned everything within reach.
On his return, heavy fighting ensued and Heinrich was apparently gaining the upper hand, having captured several noteworthy prisoners. Then Count Frederick of Westphalia came up with heavy reinforcements. Heinrich was forced to give way and barely escaped the pursuing enemy. Reports were that he was exhausted. Taking Köln was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.
Blythe hoped someone informed the Queen of events before her humiliated husband returned to Mainz.
The tension in the small chamber exhilarated Dieter von Wolfenberg.
A cadre of young noblemen within the city of Köln, supported by journeymen and apprentices, were gathered to confirm details of their plot to take advantage of Heinrich’s absence from Mainz. They wanted to be free of the Empire and resented the Anglo-Norman child who’d been made Empress. They intended to kidnap Queen Matilda and hold her for ransom.
They planned to make their way to Mainz, overpower Matilda’s guards and spirit her away. Dieter, a Saxon count, vassal of Duke Lothar von
Süpplingenburg, was their leader.
As the men prepared to leave on their mission Magnus Braunschweig approached him. “Can we trust Süpplingenburg?”
Dieter owed allegiance to his Duke, a powerful new force in Saxon politics, but he had to be evasive. There was much he could not reveal about his overlord. “He’s been fortunate in expanding his own lands through inheritance.”
Magnus eyed him suspiciously. “I know you are his man, Dieter. It was he who made you
Graf
when he extended his authority into the north and west. But isn’t he in the Emperor’s pocket?”
Lothar had effectively transformed himself into the head of a Saxon nation, but Dieter knew he schemed to be perceived as a supporter of Heinrich. Lothar was in fact incensed by taxes imposed by the Emperor, and plotted secretly to free Saxony from Imperial rule. Dieter was ambitious and saw great benefit in being of service to his Duke. It was the reason he’d left his home in Saxony and come to
Köln
. The clandestine nature of his activities on the Duke’s behalf appealed to his darker side. It had been relatively easy to scheme his way into a position of trust among the disaffected noblemen.
He’d been torn by the decision to leave Wolfenberg, a place filled with bitter memories of a loveless marriage. But his son, Johann, was there, in the care of Dieter’s father and sister. Johann was the one good thing to come from the years of erratic behaviour on the part of his wife. Madness had eventually driven her to take her own life. Now his son was motherless, but better that than the future he’d have had at Frederika’s hands. Johann was a bright, happy boy who exhibited no outward signs of his demented mother’s lunacy. But when Dieter and Frederika had been betrothed as children, she’d seemed normal too.
By now, several of the conspirators had drawn close, anxious to hear his reply. He must get his mind back on the business at hand and consider his words carefully. “We owe the Duke our fealty and must trust in his judgement. In any case, this is our plot, not the Duke’s. It is for us to free Köln from the blockade.”
A few nodded, others mumbled; Magnus remained silent. However, most of them seemed satisfied and prepared to embark on the mission. He breathed a sigh of relief. The sooner the Emperor was removed from power, the sooner he’d be able to return to Wolfenberg.
***
Dieter and two score handpicked men left Köln under cover of darkness. Clad in the black tunic, hauberk, leggings and boots he typically favoured, he had left off the long white cloak he often fastened to his shoulders. The scabbard and hilt of his sword were black. His jet black hair and swarthy complexion would ensure his invisibility in the dark.
They completed the two day journey to Mainz and arrived in the city without challenge, much to their surprise. “Heinrich is so preoccupied with Köln he leaves his own nest unprotected,” Dieter observed to Magnus.
They stole into the cathedral under cover of darkness and took up their positions. The plan was to seize Queen Matilda when she came to the Emperor’s private chapel in the cathedral for morning mass, which she was known to do daily. To take her in the palace would be nigh on impossible.
Dieter rehearsed over and over in his mind the details of how the abduction would proceed. Nervous dread and anticipation warred within him. He dozed intermittently, waiting impatiently for dawn, leaving his station only occasionally to prod a snoring comrade.
***
The daily excursion to accompany the Queen to morning mass was at least a relief from the boredom of Blythe’s routine. She was learning a few German words, but finding it difficult. The Queen was bored too and spent most of her day changing outfits, for which Blythe was responsible. She supposed she should be flattered to be the Queen’s ‘favourite’! In all the years she’d been in service to Matilda, she’d never taken a liking to the child, who’d grown more arrogant as time went on. Her Majesty had done nothing to provide her ladies with a more suitable wardrobe.
She refused to learn German and complained constantly about the German courtiers who surrounded her.
Blythe wondered how Matilda and Heinrich were ever going to communicate.
Perhaps he doesn’t care about communicating, only getting her with child
.
Her attention wandered quite a bit these days. Homesick for England, she missed her family. She knelt for the Invocation of the Holy Spirit, the droning voice of the priest lulling her to sleep. She stifled a yawn, but was abruptly jarred awake by a gloved hand pressed firmly over her mouth. She struggled and tried to scream, but tasted leather. Heart racing, she was dragged unceremoniously over the back of the bench by a strong arm clamped around her ribcage. Her attacker kept his other hand over her mouth. Screams rent the air. Blythe squeezed her eyes tight shut, hoping when she reopened them, this nightmare would be a dream. It was only too real. Lady Dorothea lay in a crumpled heap a few feet from the altar. Three Imperial guards had formed a shield in front of their Empress and were fighting off a group of masked men. Booted feet echoed off the stone floor, running, coming closer. Male voices shouted in anger and alarm. Matilda cowered behind her guards with the priest, pressing herself up against the altar, a terrified little girl. “I should have been with her,” Blythe thought wildly. “I could have protected her.”
Breathing became difficult. Her eyes watered. Her feet touched the floor for an instant, then she was hoisted over a broad male shoulder, forcing the air out of her lungs with an
oomph
. The man carried her out of the cathedral, moving quickly. His shoulder jarred her belly as he loped along. She pounded his back with her fists. It was like hitting a wall. She braced her hands against his back trying to get air back into her lungs. Even through the leather of his hauberk he was rigid, hard-bodied, all muscle. A thrill of fear coupled with indignation swept over her. Now free to scream, she did so—loudly. Without warning, she was jerked back to her feet. The cold blue eyes of a swarthy man bore into her. He pulled down his mask, smiled at her laconically and said in French, “You will deafen me if you scream in my ear,
milady
.”
She gulped air as he coolly appraised the décolletage of her dress, his deep voice penetrating to her belly. Her mind whirled. Before she could utter a word he’d gagged her and she was back over his shoulder, his right arm holding her thighs, his left fending off another Imperial guard with his sword.
A deadly lunge dispatched the guard and the man loped on, sword in hand, towards the ancient church of St. Johannis. He paused for a moment behind a sarcophagus, listening. Blythe forced down the bile rising in her throat.