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Liege
The five-day trek from Boulogne to Liège wouldn’t have been so intolerably tedious for Blythe had Matilda not decided she should ride beside her in the carriage.
Racing with her twin across the Northumbrian moors in summer and the rolling hills of the Welsh Marches in the winter had resulted in Blythe becoming an expert horsewoman. Cooped up in the carriage with a constantly whining child who insisted the blinds be kept drawn provided no opportunity to see the lands through which they passed. Keeping the princess warm was a challenge. There were never enough blankets and the hot bricks placed at her tiny feet lost their heat too quickly.
King Heinrich had sent a sizable troop of soldiers to strengthen the escort, but traveling interminable miles with wagons loaded down with a fortune in silver was nevertheless nerve-wracking.
It was apparent the foreign guards considered themselves superior to the English contingent, resulting in frequent disagreements. Language difficulties increased the confusion. Matilda expressed the opinion soldiers who spoke Norman French should have been assigned, though she laid the blame at the door of some anonymous minion. It wouldn’t do to criticize His Highness.
King Henry of England had provided his daughter and her ladies with a magnificent pavilion. Blythe appreciated its protection from the elements and the soft mattress raised off the hard ground. Matilda complained daily about having to wait for the canvas shelter to be erected, declaring servants would go without food if they didn’t accomplish the task quickly enough.
The army of cooks failed to provide a single meal she approved of.
Dwarfed by the carved chair raised up on a carpet-covered mound of dirt, the princess held court every evening. Nobles and clerics who’d accompanied the entourage from England fawned at her dangling feet.
In the silence of the night, after her mistress had at long last fallen asleep, Blythe stifled her sobs in the mattress, longing for the happy life she’d lived at home in England. She prayed for patience and endurance, hoping matters would improve once they reached Liège and Matilda met her future husband for the first time. A spoiled child had been betrothed to a future emperor, but Blythe was forbidden to marry. It was a bitter truth that stuck in her throat.
She was relieved to finally reach Liège, a town consisting of unattractive buildings clinging to the side of a very steep hill. However, the Palais where they’d been assigned chambers was palatial indeed.
King Henry had appointed an elderly earl to attend to his daughter’s wellbeing. Sir Montague de Baumetes explained to the ladies that Liège was an important Prince-bishopric—whatever that was—and its ruler an influential prince in the court of the Holy Roman Empire. They were to be on their best behavior.
Blythe considered this admonition frivolous. When were Matilda's ladies not on their best behavior? In any case, Prince Otbert paid no attention to anyone but Matilda when they arrived, though his greeting lacked warmth. Blythe sensed an undercurrent of discontent with the proposed betrothal. Or was Otbert simply an old man who had no idea how to relate to a child?
Matilda's ladies were given little time to rest before being called upon to bathe and dress her for the banquet held in her honor.
* * *
The eight-day ride from Wolfenberg to Liège seemed endless, though Dieter had to admit there were compensations inherent in traveling as part of a duke’s retinue.
Lothair provided a sturdy pavilion and three servants who saw to needs above and beyond the services of Dieter’s own valet from home—though there wasn’t much the trusted Bernhardt didn’t do for him.
A dozen Saxon counts accompanied the caravan, but it was Dieter who rode at Lothair’s side as they entered the town of Liège.
“It isn’t a pretty burg,” the duke observed. “Too industrial.”
“Mining, I believe,” Dieter replied.
“Nevertheless, as the largest Prince-Bishopric in the empire, its importance cannot be overestimated.”
“The reason Heinrich has chosen it for this meeting.”
Lothair chuckled. “And he has to mend fences with Bishop Otbert, the current ruler, who was a staunch supporter of Heinrich’s father.”
“Whom Heinrich forced to abdicate.”
“Exactly.”
They rode alongside the Meuse, coming finally to a grandiose, ornate palace fronted by innumerable pillars. “The Palais,” Lothair explained, arching a brow as he dismounted. “It appears Otbert himself has deigned to greet us. Remember, he’s more than just an important cleric.”
Lothair bowed and kissed the portly bishop’s ring. “You honor me, my Lord Prince.”
“Welcome, Lothair, Duke of Saxony,” his host droned, before turning his curious gaze on Dieter.
Lothair smiled. “May I present Graf Dieter von Wolfenberg.”
Dieter bent the knee and dutifully kissed the huge ruby jammed on fat fingers.
His curiosity apparently satisfied, and clearly deeming Dieter worthy of no further attention, Otbert promptly turned back to Lothair. “Pray enter. My guards will show you to your quarters. The princess has arrived, but King Heinrich has not.”
