Matilda Empress
by Lise Arin
Genre: Historical Fiction
Matilda, a twelfth-century Empress of the Holy Roman Empire and daughter of Henry I, is twenty-four years old and a widow. She returns to her father's double realm of England and Normandy and is promptly married against her will to Geoffrey, a minor continental nobleman. When she is absent from England at the time of her father's death, Matilda loses her throne to her cousin Stephen despite their ongoing and secret love affair.
For almost twenty years, anarchy reins, and their passion fluctuates between hatred and obsession. The only hope in sight is Matilda and Stephen's two sons, whose rightful claim to the throne may finally end the bloody and endless war.
In the vein of Philippa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl, Matilda Empress follows the real history of the early English monarchs, and what happens when a strong woman at the center of great upheaval refuses to play by the rules laid out for her.
I am
the Dowager Empress Matilda, twenty-four years old and a widow. I travel on a
ship bound for England, my homeland. I enjoy the sensation of speed, and relish
the early morning fog that surrounds me like a cloak. I always stand upwind
from the crew’s stench and stretch my face into the gusts of fresh air that
swell our sails and tangle my veil and braids. I inhale deeply of the brisk
breeze, for it is the breath of our Heavenly Father. To keep my mind occupied,
I chant the blessings of Christ: “Tranquility, amour, purity--discipline,
strength, form--rule, custom, terminus--road, counsellor, foundation--heart,
blaze, majesty--essence, lion of creation.”
Each
day I scan the sky for the sea birds that will herald the coastline, as
vultures are the harbingers of a corpse. Death and upheaval are two faces of
the same coin. Cancer defeated my husband at Utrecht, revoking my whole future.
If I had had a son, I would have reigned in his stead, during his minority.
Instead, the Duke of Saxony is elevated to the throne of the Holy Roman Empire.
Having turned over most of the imperial regalia, all but one seal, I am put
forth on the ocean, to a new beginning. Although many forget my English
origins, I do not aspire to wed any of the minor German princes who compete for
my hand, as a means to remain in my adopted country. Neither do I wish to
immure myself in any European convent, to spend the rest of my days outside the
ebb and ow of all the world’s affairs.
Over the years, my father’s letters brought me the tragic tidings of the death of my
mother, and then of my only legitimate brother, drowned in the English Channel.
His Majesty remarried, in the hope of siring another legitimate son.
Unfortunately, his second queen has not born any offspring. Lately, the king sleepwalks,
troubled by nightmares. He dreams that his peasants desert their furrows and
his barons their fortresses, part of some violent revolt; he alone takes the field
to reclaim the peace. In truth, his power is well established, yet fears for
the future security of his empire plague him.
Now
that I return to my native land, His Majesty determines that I shall be queen
of England and Normandy. His barons must accept his daughter, if he is to have
no son. This new destiny suits my aspiring spirit. Educated to reign, I am well
used to wielding authority. I will serve my father’s family, as I did my
husband’s. I will be a splendid queen, worthy of praise.
Often,
I am spellbound by the waves breaking tumultuously around the prow of the ship.
Do their force and crash echo my inner strength? Will I be able to sail into my
father’s kingdom, and claim my due? Behind the stern of our vessel, the sea has
been flattened so that a white trail of foam stretches out behind us. Need I
fear that I am not the boat, but the water, deflated, suppressed, made quiet
again?
I
berate my own ignorance of astrology, examining the stars in the wide sky above
me, but unable to decipher the meaning of the patterns in the firmament.
Instead, I count the calls of the swooping gulls, prognosticating my future
wealth and fertility. I study the glistening entrails of netted fish presented
to me by the rough deck hands, and try to interpret therein the likelihood of my
glorious ascendance to the throne.
I do
not have complete confidence in what is to come. For who am I? What is my
worth? I am the Holy Roman empress; there is none who sits higher, or comes
between me and the throne of heaven. But I am my father’s unmarried daughter,
to be disposed of according to his will. I can walk among the English court
with my head held aloft, with none daring to meet my eyes, and yet I resume my
place as an ivory pawn upon King Henry’s chess set. On the other side of
Europe, I dispensed the law with an iron st. And now I shall be forced to
sheath my mail in silk and manipulation. My face is struck from the imperial
coinage. I have lost my currency.
I am
the Holy Roman empress, but my greatness tumbles overboard, into the abyss of
the ocean. To the world, I am no one, a child, a head without a crown. I must
remember that I am stripped of my honors. It will serve me no purpose to cling
to my former status, to remember with pride that I was divine. This will be a
hard lesson, that of renunciation. How swiftly shall I learn it?
Have
you written any other books that are not published?
When I was a small girl, I had a best friend named Christine,
and apparently felt compelled to memorialize our banal suburban experiences in
a series of novels, The Adventures of Lise and Christine. Although I
gave myself top billing, I didn’t hog the limelight within the stories
themselves. The books were booklets really, made of folded and stapled yellow
legal paper. I also illustrated them, despite a dearth of artistic skills. I had forgotten all about these early
literary endeavors until I discovered the cache of them in a box of childhood
memorabilia. But it seems I was a writer born, not bred.
Lise Arin has a PhD in English Literature from Columbia, and an undergraduate degree in History and Literature from Harvard. She has two children, and lives with her husband in New York City. This is her first novel, although it has been in the making for twenty years. Please follow @lisearin on Instagram and Twitter.
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