The Book of Love (41 page)

She climbed into bed and allowed herself the release that can come only with crying alone, as long and as hard as one needs to. Tonight, it was for a very long time. There was a litany in her soul that she had to work through: the pain, the insecurity, the uncertainty, the risk, all the
things that accompanied the supernatural experiences that were becoming a daily part of her life. All the emotions and fears she could not show to the world, even to those closest to her. Perhaps especially to those closest to her. They all needed her to be strong in this, depended on it. Like Matilda, she was The Expected One, and she was never allowed to doubt that, or to be anything less than that.

Hardest of all was the loneliness. It seemed crazy, to say that she was lonely, when there were so many people who cared about her. She did not suffer from a lack of love, and for that she was grateful. But the loneliness came from something she could not control, and that was the feeling that no one else on earth could really understand what she was going through. How could they? How could anyone know what it felt like to be in her skin? To have her responsibility and yet not be affected by it, not get so caught up in it as to become nonfunctional? Because most of the time she couldn’t allow herself to think about the gravity of what she was trying to accomplish, or why it was even her mission in the first place. That way madness lies. Instead, she had to live one day at a time and simply do the work as it was given to her, and be strong enough to deal with what was put in her path.

And that was the true mental and emotional conundrum; the paradox of her life was that it required her to be sensitive and vulnerable and emotionally open in order to experience the visions, listen to them, believe in them. But to act upon them in a twenty-first-century world, which was hard and cynical and had long since given up on mysticism and faith, required tremendous strength. It was very difficult to have it both ways.

It wasn’t that she truly felt sorry for herself; it was simply that she wished there was a single person in the world who could understand and with whom she could talk about the weight of it all. Perhaps that was why she was beginning to feel such emotional closeness to Matilda in the telling of this story. Here was another human being who had experienced this strange destiny that had the power to be both miraculous and malevolent. They were sisters across time and space. Unfortunately, Matilda had been dead for a thousand years and wasn’t much
for dialogue. Maureen hoped that in the continued unveiling of Matilda’s life, she would find more comfort than questions.

When she had exhausted herself through introspection and more tears than she had shed in a long time, she felt better. And she felt tired. Maureen rolled over on her side and for the first time in years, she slept a dreamless, peaceful sleep until dawn broke over Rome and the first rays of light glittered off the marble of the Pantheon.

Father Girolamo was disconcerted as she left his office. He had not anticipated the meeting with Maureen and had not expected her to come to these conclusions at all, much less so quickly. Either she was the most gifted visionary of all the women he had studied, or she was receiving extraordinary divine guidance on her journey. Both scenarios were of tremendous interest to him.

He took the key that he wore around his neck and unlocked the desk drawer. He removed the prophetic manuscript from his desk and began to page through it once again, all the while clutching his precious reliquary in one hand.

Canossa
January 1077

G
REGORY AND
M
ATILDA NEEDED
time to find their love again and heal, following the stressful exhibition of Henry’s penance. They would be granted this by the Lord himself, as the winter that approached was too severe to allow the pope’s return to Rome. Gregory VII would, in fact, find a way to stretch this visit into a six-month period of respite in Tuscany at the side of his beloved, who was now heavy with his child.

The Benedictine monk Donizone would write later about Matilda and Gregory’s time in Canossa: “As Martha who served Jesus, attentive
and inviting, and like Mary who sat at the feet of Jesus, Matilda listened to every word uttered by this pope.”

They lived together as man and wife in Canossa, as the stronghold was staffed only by Matilda’s most trusted insiders, all of whom were members of the Order and sworn to keep this secret of the pope’s wife and child. So it was that on the day that Matilda went into labor, she was surrounded by those who loved her most.

Unlike in her first experience with childbirth, she was safe and comfortable. Most of all, she was eternally in love with the man who had fathered this child, a baby who had been conceived “immaculately” as defined within the Book of Love, created through a union of trust and consciousness. And as Isobel was on hand to serve as midwife, Matilda knew that she and the infant would be cared for perfectly. Gregory remained in the chapel, visited often by Conn, praying for Matilda’s safe delivery.

Her baby arrived quickly and without great effort to the mother. He was small but perfectly proportioned, with a hearty cry that indicated his strong lungs and general health. Matilda sobbed with relief as she held this newborn to her breast. She was infinitely grateful to God that this baby had been delivered safely, so much so that she could not, at this joyous moment, allow herself to think of the future. She would not allow herself to consider the sad reality that she would never be able to publicly acknowledge that this precious being was her child. The world must never know that Matilda of Canossa had given birth to this little boy. The world must certainly never know that this little boy was the child of Pope Gregory VII.

Matilda held the baby close to her face, and he looked at her with eyes that were wise beyond those of a newborn. She gasped, realizing that she had made eye contact with this same little being once before. Staring back at her were the eyes of her first child, the tragic infant she had named Beatrice Magdalena just minutes before the infant passed from this world to the next.

Was it possible that this was the same spirit, the same child returned to her in a different form? Matilda was certain that the eyes she was
looking into were the same she had connected with so briefly once before. The eyes were truly the windows of the soul, and Matilda knew she had gazed into these. Her baby had come back to her in a time and place where its spirit would be safe and nurtured.

The time returns.

The baby, whom she and Gregory named Guidone, stayed with his mother and father until Gregory’s return to Rome. Matilda kept him with her until the end of the summer, when it was time for her to join the pope at the Lateran palace to put into play the elaborate plan they had been constructing during their confinement. On the day before her departure to Rome, Matilda entrusted her son into the keeping of the brothers at San Benedetto de Po, brothers of the Order who would raise him in the sacred traditions of their people. If Matilda could not acknowledge this baby as her own, at the very least she would dedicate him to God.

Rome
October 1077

K
ing Henry IV waited in Lombardy for months in an effort to gauge Gregory’s position. He had his own set of problems, as the dukes who had demanded his surrender to the pope were appalled at Henry’s ability to turn his coat so quickly. Realizing beyond doubt that there was no honor in such a king, the rebellious dukes of Germany elected Rudolf of Swabia as their new monarch. This election was supported by fully half the German territories, while the other half maintained loyalty to Henry. A bloody civil war loomed; however, it did not keep Henry from continuing his attacks on Gregory and Matilda.

In Canossa, the couple had spent their months together creating a strategy by which to protect Matilda’s properties in the likely event that Henry decided to declare them forfeit under Salic law. Like his father before him, Henry could attempt to confiscate all Tuscany, as it was within the German king’s feudal territories. He could also choose to give them to Godfroi of Bouillon, the hunchback’s legal heir, in exchange for a pledge of fealty and a very large cut of the tribute that they would demand of the Tuscan people. Either possibility would push Italy and Germany into war. Either possibility would prove catastrophic to Matilda and the pope.

As Matilda and her retinue from Tuscany made the approach into Rome, Conn rode up beside her. He was uncertain how she would be received by the Roman populace, and he intended to stay near in case of a hostile reaction. Gregory’s own position in Rome was now somewhat tenuous as his prolonged absence from the Lateran had been terribly unpopular with both the cardinals and the noble families who supported him. All of them blamed Matilda, and Conn was concerned about reprisals.

“Quiet so far,” he commented.

She nodded. “Thanks be to God.” They rode in silence for a few moments before Matilda spoke again. “Conn, we will get through this. With the declaration I am prepared to make, I believe we can win the allegiance of the Romans to our side once more.”

Conn considered this for a moment. “Are you certain that you want to do this? It is…a great risk, Tilda.”

Matilda swallowed hard. She was nervous about the decision she had made and the proclamation she would present in Rome the following day as a result. But she was equally determined to follow through with it. “It is a risk I am prepared to take, and one that I believe will save Gregory. As such, it is the only possible course of action for me. Gregory is more to me than life, more to me than even Tuscany. There is nothing I would not risk for him.”

Conn nodded silently. He knew that to be true, whether he liked it or not.

It was against this backdrop of uncertainty that the countess of Tuscany rode into Rome, determined to save her inheritance, strengthen Gregory’s position and that of the Church they intended to reform, and thwart the wicked Henry once and for all.

Matilda of Canossa addressed the Lateran Palace, dressed for grandeur in a red velvet robe trimmed in ermine and wearing her golden crown of fleurs-de-lis over her heavy silk wimple. She looked as grand
and wealthy as any empress who ever reigned; her appearance on this day would be discussed and recorded for posterity by scribes and artists. With all the noble Roman families in attendance to witness her historic decree, she stood and read aloud the following proclamation:

There was silence immediately following Matilda’s proclamation as those in attendance wrestled with the reality of what they had just heard. Could it be possible? Was the countess of Tuscany, the most powerful woman in Europe, relinquishing all her worldly possessions to the Church? Had she just proclaimed that all her properties—which constituted nearly a third of Italy, and certainly the most wealthy and strategic territories—were now under the absolute control of Gregory VII?

It was shocking, it was unprecedented, and it was brilliant. In one stroke, Matilda had protected Tuscany, strengthened the papacy and indeed all Rome, while diminishing Henry’s claim on Italian territories. The Roman families and the cardinals were overwhelmed by this tremendous display of loyalty and generosity, the likes of which had never been witnessed. Gregory must surely be a blessed and honorable man, more than worthy of the papal tiara, if he had secured such an enormous, unparalleled donation to the Church. Matilda was immediately celebrated as a savior in Rome, as the cry rose up through the Lateran:

“God bless the countess Matilda! May she live forever!”

Matilda moved her household to Rome to spend the next three years with her beloved Gregory and to sort out the administration of her territories through the Church. She made special stipulations for the monastery of San Benedetto de Po to be protected by the pope into perpetuity, as this was now a significant outpost of the Order as well as the dwelling place of her son. Matilda and the pope were inseparable during their time in Rome, and yet given her generosity to the Church, no one dared speak out about it. Her presence was accepted, if not always revered, as a result of her extraordinary donation. It was proof of her undying love for Saint Peter.

Donizone, writing later about Matilda and Gregory’s days in Rome, said, “The wise countess kept the words of this blessed man in her heart just as the Queen of Sheba kept the holy words of Solomon.”

For Matilda, the declaration to bequeath her property to the pope had been painless. He was, after all, her husband.

Henry’s response to Matilda and Gregory’s outlandish plan to bequeath Tuscany to the throne of Saint Peter—his Tuscany—was to call once again for the pope to be deposed. The king went further than ever this time, nominating an antipope in Gregory’s place. Guiberto, the archbishop of Ravenna who had served Henry’s father before him, was elected pope by the schismatic German bishops.

Gregory responded by excommunicating Henry for the second time, and he excommunicated the antipope Guiberto, also for the second time. The battle lines were drawn, and Henry was poised for war. But it was now a highly personal conflict, and the king decided to twist the knife in his cousin’s back by diminishing her hold on the most sanctified locale of her people: Lucca. Henry seized Lucca and harvested discord against the countess and the pope, expelling Bishop Anselmo and confiscating property that belonged to the Order. Thankfully, the Libro Rosso had been saved, as had the Master and the remaining elders of the Order, who had moved to San Benedetto Po,
under Conn’s armed escort. But Lucca seceded from the duchy of Tuscany, demanding independence from Matilda and embracing the antipope in collusion with the schismatic Lombardy lords who were loyal to Henry. Matilda was heartbroken by this loss but had little time to mourn it as Henry continued with more vicious attacks on both Tuscany and the papacy.

Matilda had cause for alarm. Her dramatic gift of property to the Church protected her from Henry—but only as long as the reigning pope was loyal to her and gave her continued free rein to administer the territories at her free will. If Gregory lost his footing and was replaced by Henry’s antipope, she risked losing everything she and her family had ever fought to build and protect. And Henry was gaining strength as the northern Italian dukes, many of whom had been aligned with the schismatic contingents since the first days of Gregory’s investiture, bonded together to support the antipope in hopes of avoiding invasion by German forces.

The vernal equinox of 1081 did not bring with it a celebration of Matilda’s birth as it normally did. Instead it brought dangerous and troubling news. Henry IV had crossed the Alps and was riding for the Apennines, with an army of invasion at his back. He was coming to claim Tuscany.

Matilda and Gregory spent that night in her tower in Isola Tiberina, quietly discussing their options. There was no choice but for Matilda to ride back to Tuscany immediately and defend her territories. It was a harsh and sad time as they considered the dire nature of their circumstances. The German king was invading with great strength, and it would require all Matilda’s forces to oppose him, forces which Henry had systematically decimated over the last four years.

“I don’t know when I will see you again, my dove,” Gregory said, pulling her into his arms to kiss her gently. He stroked her cheek with his long fingers and toyed absently with the strands of hair that sur
rounded her face as he spoke. He appeared to be memorizing everything about her. “This war is escalating. God is sending you to Tuscany while at the same time demanding that I stay and defend my position in Rome. We must surrender to his will, of course, but I cannot say that I understand it.”

There were tears welling in her eyes as she clasped her hands over his own. “God’s will is done, Gregory, as it always must be. Someday, somewhere we will understand it, even if that time is not today. Perhaps this is our greatest test as beloveds—the test of Solomon and Sheba, to know that we must be separated as duty demands, and yet know that we are never truly separated. For we are connected in our hearts and souls, as we have been since the dawn of eternity. And what God has put together…”

Gregory finished the sentence, “Let no man separate.” And he took her in his arms and into their deepest embrace of trust and consciousness, where their spirits were intertwined once and for all in the passionate union of their bodies.

When Matilda returned to Tuscany, she arranged for the creation of a piece of art as a gift for Gregory. She had their son brought to Canossa. Guidone was now a bright and thriving five-year-old Tuscan boy with dark curls and gray eyes, the perfect image of his father. Matilda sat with him upon her lap, when she could stop his squirming, as their portrait was created by one of the monks from San Benedetto, who was a highly skilled illuminator. Because the painting was to be delivered to the pope in these troubled, warlike times, it was disguised as a typical madonna and child. Matilda wore the sumptuous azure silks that were her trademark in public and covered her hair with the traditional wimple and veil beneath the crown that identified her as a descendant of Charlemagne the Great. The golden tiara was capped with fleurs-de-lis, and the crown studded with the same five jewels that could be found on the cover of the Libro Rosso. The fortress of Canossa was
painted at the very top of the parchment, and the perfected dove of their tradition hovered over the image of the mother and child.

To any unsuspecting eye, it was a devotional portrait of a regal madonna and child. For Pope Gregory VII, it was a beloved image of his wife and his son.

Destiny is the search. Destination is the finding.

Whoever searches must continue to search until they find, for to seek is the sacred task that drives all men and women who would become fully realized. What if we all stopped searching for God? The world would turn dark as we would have no means in which to understand the light.

But those who know they must seek have already found God.

In the finding there is disturbance, a knowing that all we have ever believed that is outside God’s love is an illusion.

And finally, there is wonder. Wonder that the world created by Divine Will is more perfect and beautiful than we ever imagined.

F
ROM THE
B
OOK OF
L
OVE, AS PRESERVED IN THE
L
IBRO
R
OSSO

Rome
present day

“G
UIDONE.”
Maureen was the first to comment on the name of Matilda’s child, but Bérenger was already on the same page.

He retrieved the copies of the document which had been sent to the château, the family tree that began with a child called Guidone, born in Mantua in 1077. He displayed them for Peter and Maureen.

“Now I understand it,” he explained. “When I first received this document, I did some research into how Michelangelo could have been related to all this. I found several references to the fact that he claimed
openly during his life that he was a descendant of Matilda of Tuscany. He was ridiculed for this claim as all recorded history regarding Matilda asserts that she only had a daughter—the infant Beatrice who died the day she was born. Michelangelo refused to elaborate, other than to insist that he knew who he was and that he was Matilda’s descendant.”

“So he knew.” This was Maureen. “He knew about Matilda and Gregory, and he knew about Guidone, because that is where his line of descent comes from.”

Bérenger nodded. “Art will save the world? This opens up an entirely new investigation into the works of art that the great one was creating, doesn’t it?”

Maureen jabbed Peter, who was sitting next to her, in the ribs. “Like the gorgeous young Pietà in Saint Peter’s, who is clearly not a mother holding her son.”

Peter nodded. “I may have to concede based on this. You realize, of course, that this gives us far more questions than answers?”

Maureen laughed. “Doesn’t it always?”

But the questions of Michelangelo’s contribution to preserving the truth would have to wait for further investigation. The Roman police had arrived to take a report regarding the theft in Maureen’s room. While they were treating it as a routine robbery, Bérenger and Peter were both certain that whoever stole the computer and the notebooks was looking specifically for Maureen’s journal entries.

Maureen wasn’t sure what to think, other than that she was terribly frustrated by the loss and now had no formal means of keeping track of her thoughts or her dreams. Perhaps her sleep would be dreamless tonight.

Exhausted from the events of the day, Maureen decided to turn in early. As she drifted to sleep, her last thought was of the shocking realization that she and Lucia Santos were sisters of the spirit. So much for dreamless sleep. The vision that came was more vivid than ever.