The Book of Love (30 page)

The church of San Pietro in Vincola, Saint Peter in Chains, was one of these locales. It sat atop the steep hill, a holy monument for Christians in the center of the Eternal City. It was named for yet another relic of great import to early Christianity, one that was immortalized within the gospels, in the Acts of the Apostles. In Acts, chapter twelve, Saint Luke wrote of Herod’s imprisonment of Peter in the Mamartine, following the execution of the apostle James the Less. Peter was kept in chains, shackled to the wall of this dankest dungeon, until a miracle occurred as specified in verse seven:

The angel who released the shackles then led Peter out of the prison and to freedom, completing the miracle. The chains that had bound Peter in his captivity were sent to Constantinople for protective keeping as holy relics and proof of the miracle, where they remained until the fifth century. It was then that the Empress Eudoxia sent one half of the set to her daughter in Rome and the other half to Pope Leo I. The pontiff chose this site of a former Christian residence, one where Peter
was known to have conducted many secret baptisms, as the foundation for the grand church he built to enshrine the chains.

It seemed a likely place for miraculous events to occur.

It was here that the funeral mass was held for the deeply mourned Pope Alexander II, and here that an extraordinary incident occurred on the same day: the impromptu selection of a new leader for the Church by an emotional mob of churchmen and clerics, a man who wasn’t even an ordained priest on the day he was selected to hold the highest and most sanctified office in all of Christendom.

It started slowly, quietly, as the bishops who came to mourn their pontiff whispered among themselves. They required strength under the papal tiara, a strong reformer who could continue to stand up against the tyranny of the German king. Among other outrages, Henry continued to practice simony and had purchased a number of bishoprics for his closest supporters, despite the strong laws passed against this corruption. Turning the Church back into a spiritual entity with no ties to a temporal monarch was going to require a leader of great wisdom, experience, and strength. It required someone bold and fearless to the point of outrageous. The bishops all agreed that only one man among them had the singular potential to fulfill that destiny: Ildebrando Pierleoni. On the cusp of his fiftieth year of age, Brando was significantly younger than many of the popes who had preceded him, giving him a further advantage through his virile and masculine persona. Even his physical appearance identified him as a strong and capable leader.

One of the Roman bishops stood first and made a short but impassioned speech regarding the need to support Brando as their new pontiff. The tide swelled quickly, and within minutes, the entire faction of mourners was chanting his name and insisting that he accept his election to the papacy, right there and right then. A chant of “God has decreed the new pope” began to build, first from within the church and then bursting throughout the streets of Rome. Brando, who was immensely popular with the people of his city, was confirmed overwhelmingly by both bishops and the populace as the only acceptable heir to the keys of Saint Peter.

Nobody seemed to remember that Ildebrando Pierleoni had never taken any kind of clerical vow, or that he had just been elected pope through an illegal and outmoded process, in violation of the very election decree that he himself had written and implemented under Pope Nicholas II.

Every pope since Peter himself had taken a new name on his accession to the papal throne. Ildebrando Pierleoni knew immediately what his own name would be. In honor of his uncle, the deposed Pope Gregory VI, who had been his mentor and greatest teacher, he took the same name, the name that meant “one who cares for his flock.” It was seen by savvy politicians for what it was: a powerful statement and an intentionally provocative choice, one that sent a message to Henry IV and alerted everyone else that the battle between the German crown and the might of Rome was far from over.

During the final days of June 1073, ceremonies were called to ordain the newly elected Brando to the priesthood and to invest him on the throne of Saint Peter under the name of Pope Gregory VII.

Matilda and Beatrice arrived in Rome with a full retinue to witness the new pope’s investiture ceremony and to show their encouragement for this man who had been loyal to their people in Lucca and to the elder Godfrey during his lifetime. As Isobel adorned Matilda’s hair in preparation for the ceremony, Beatrice briefed her daughter on the politics and protocol that this day would require.

“We will no doubt be in a highly visible position today, which is why you must take such care with your appearance. With us, we bring the support of almost half the Italian land mass. I expect to be seated in a place of honor as a result.”

Matilda smoothed out the exquisite and costly silk of her skirts, laughing as she did so. Isobel smiled at the mischief she saw in Matilda’s eyes.

“Romans have always looked askance at Tuscans; they have always felt themselves superior,” Matilda said. “And what is worse, they do not
allow women in positions of authority here. So I shall take great pleasure in showing them just exactly what a Tuscan countess looks like! I hope they place us in the front row, so we can waltz past the Roman aristocrats and scandalize them all.”

Matilda of Tuscany was now twenty-seven years old, outlandishly wealthy and extremely powerful. She was relishing the idea of causing a stir in conservative Rome by adding a splash of colorful Tuscan culture to the ceremony today, while at the same time reminding the stodgy Roman nobility that she was one of the wealthiest and most powerful rulers in Europe. Anything that elevated Tuscany in the eyes of the Romans—and the pope—would benefit her and her people.

But there was great substance beneath her lavish style. Matilda held sway over tens of thousands of troops who could be mobilized at any time under her expert strategic command. Matilda’s military support, combined with her control of the Apennine Pass, would be the determining factor in a war with Germany.

Beatrice, who wasn’t as amused as Isobel by Matilda’s antics, returned the topic to their political influence.

“Your military might is, no doubt, going to be of far more interest to the new pope than anything else. So while our show of wealth is important, you must remember what is at stake here and not get too caught up in the frivolity.”

“Yes, of course, Mother.” Beatrice still treated Matilda like she was a child, for all that she ruled half of Italy and led her own troops into battle. Matilda had learned long ago to nod obediently while in her mother’s presence, and then go and do exactly what she wanted.

But in this case, she thought Beatrice might actually be right. This pope was, after all, a Roman nobleman. It was likely he would be as conservative and dreary as his countrymen.

The newly named Pope Gregory was receiving a similar briefing in his chambers prior to the formal investiture ceremony. His advisers went
through the list of influential guests, providing details about each of them.

“Next is Matilda, Countess of Tuscany. No doubt you have heard of her, Your Grace. She is…controversial.”

Gregory was definitely curious about this woman who was a legend in the northern territories. Everything about the countess was mythical: her wealth, her power, her appearance, and her behavior, which was decidedly outrageous for any feudal leader, but unimaginable for a woman.

“I cannot be bothered with her outrageous habits. What I am bothered with is her military might. And her territories, which are strategically critical. Be sure that she is seated in a place of honor. We need her to be well disposed toward us.”

He had seen her once, some years ago when she was little more than a child. Now she was a married woman, although by all accounts something of a rebellious one who did not openly acknowledge the influence of her husband, the duke of Lorraine. This was one of the issues he wanted to address with her.

“Godfrey of Lorraine is Henry’s lapdog, and therefore dangerous,” Gregory mused aloud. “I must know where the countess stands in relation to her husband, and I must know today. Her support could mean everything in the event of war.”

Gregory had opposed the German king virtually every day since Henry’s coronation at fifteen years of age. The tensions between the sacred throne and the temporal throne, the Church versus the German crown, were about to rise to epic proportions. The new pope was determined to increase the separation of the papacy from monarchical influence, while Henry was determined to unify the two by calling himself Holy Roman Emperor. There would be no middle ground, no possibility for compromise, from either of them.

“In this case, it could be to our benefit that Countess Matilda is not one to behave as a good Christian wife. If her actions allow us to save our Church from Henry’s grasp, I am sure that God will forgive her whatever transgressions she is guilty of. That glorious end would surely justify any method of achieving it.”

As Gregory VII climbed the altar to take his seat, he turned to look out upon the bishops, nobles, and supporters in attendance. He radiated strength and confidence on this, the most important day of his political career. Here was the culmination of everything he had worked for, the reward for the years of exile and hardship in defense of the papacy. He did not think that there was anything in the world that could equal this feeling of ascending these steps on the path to becoming the greatest spiritual leader in the world.

And then he looked down.

In a place of honor in the very front row was the most mesmerizing sight he had ever encountered. Matilda of Tuscany sat with her mother, a vision in azure silk. Strands of pearls were woven through her remarkable hair, which was only partially covered by a gossamer veil. Her coiffure was anchored by a gold and jeweled crown of fleurs-de-lis, a vivid reminder to all in attendance that Matilda and her mother were direct descendants of the holy and exalted emperor Charlemagne. Her slender throat dripped with a fortune in jewels; she was breathtaking to the point of distraction. So disconcerted was he that, as he accepted the key of Saint Peter as the symbol of his new position, Gregory VII had to turn his head away from the crowd in order to maintain his concentration.

The new pope was not the only disconcerted spirit in attendance that day. The Countess of Canossa, Duchess of Tuscany and Lorraine, sat perfectly still and entirely speechless throughout the ceremony. She could not take her eyes off the powerful and charismatic man who was inheriting the papal tiara. While he was certainly an arresting presence and an astoundingly handsome man, Matilda was most stunned by the realization that she had seen him before: she had seen him in a vision, at the center of the labyrinth, just before she departed from Orval on that terrible day.

Beatrice of Lorraine was a wise woman and an experienced one. She also had eyes. She had not missed the heated, if silent, exchange between her daughter and the new pope during the investiture ceremony. Here was a relationship to be cultivated if ever there was one. The alliance of the Holy Roman Church with the might and wealth of Tuscany had the potential to be an unstoppable force. When the time came later in the afternoon for her to attend the papal audience with her daughter, she pleaded exhaustion and insisted that Matilda attend alone. She was a married woman and a countess in her own right; surely she did not require a chaperone in the presence of the Holy Father.

Matilda was escorted to the audience chambers, where she waited only for a moment before the door was opened to admit Gregory. She prayed that he could not hear her heart pounding in her chest, because it sounded like ten war drums in her own ears. He reached out his hand to her and she kissed the papal ring, dropping into a deep curtsy. She steadied her voice as she looked up at him, aquamarine eyes locking with steel gray.

“I have come to pledge the loyalty of Tuscany to the cause of Saint Peter. You may count on my support and that of my people in all things which are dear to preserving and protecting the teachings of our Lord as the focal point of our communities, and to enforcing your selection as God’s chosen apostle to lead the Church.”

Gregory thanked her for her fealty, impressed by the strong statement, and indicated that she should sit down. After pleasantries that included asking after her mother’s health and giving regards to Bishop Anselmo, the pope stunned Matilda with an outrageous question.

“I understand that you are indoctrinated into the ancient heresies that are still held in Lucca. What am I to make of that?”

Matilda sat motionless, trapped. She had believed this man to be an ally because of his support of Alexander, but perhaps she had miscalculated. Matilda was thinking quickly, trying to conjure a safe response to buy more time. There was no need to. The pope continued almost immediately.

“It is not my intention to make you uncomfortable with the question. Rather, I would have you know from the outset of our relationship that I am aware of who you are and where you come from. I am the pope, elected by popular opinion of the clergy and the people because I am so well versed in the issues that face my Church. You cannot be surprised that I am familiar with the whispers of heresy that emanate from Tuscany.”

Matilda nodded mutely but still said nothing. Gregory smiled at her broadly then, working hard now to allay her obvious concerns.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Matilda of Canossa. I was not born into the priesthood and I do not bring any of the prejudices that come with the narrow view of some who preceded me. I like to think of myself as a scholar, as a man who will learn entirely what it is to be a Christian, not from reiterating the popular teachings, but from studying all documents and traditions that are available to me. And my grandfather was a Jew, which broadens my religious perspective, and my desire for learning, even further. Some would applaud me for it, others would despise me for it. I am told that the traditions of Tuscany, though shocking to many, hold deep secrets and can be traced directly to the first Christians. Indeed, even to those who were contemporaries of our Lord Jesus Christ himself, including his own family. What manner of spiritual leader would I be if I did not examine those traditions and teachings in depth for myself? I have spent enough time in Lucca, with both Anselmos, the elder and younger, to understand that there are many layers to the way Christianity is expressed there. For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, no? And so, Matilda, we have many things to speak of. If you are so inclined to do so.”