There were the beams of afternoon sun glittering through the trees and catching the surface of water just ahead. Matilda moved toward it, already knowing it was a well. Leaning over to gaze into the water, Matilda was convinced of the fathomless depths, that this well was indeed sacred and ran deep into the earth. There was a kind of magic here in this place. The forest itself was ancient, primeval, a place of deep and natural power. It would be a fine location to build their monument to love and wisdom.
Dipping her hands gently into the dark and frigid water, Matilda did not feel her cherished gold ring, the seal of Maria Magdalena, loosen at first. It slid off her finger so quickly that all she could do was watch in horror as her treasure drifted into the depths of the well.
Matilda screamed.
Kneeling down at the stone edge of the well, Matilda searched the water to see if she could catch a glimpse of the ring, but it was hopeless. Rising slowly to her feet in resignation, she caught a sudden glimmer of something flashing in the water. Splash! An enormous fish, a type of trout glittering with golden scales, leaped from the water in the well, then back into the depths. She waited to see if the remarkable fish would return. Another splash split the water, and the trout leaped in the air again, this time seeming to move in slow motion. Protruding from the fish’s mouth was her precious ring.
Matilda gasped as the fish released the ring and sent it sailing toward her. As she held out her hand, the ring dropped safely in her open palm. She closed her hand tightly around it and clutched it to her heart, grateful that it had been retrieved by the magical fish, which subsequently retreated into the depths of the well. The water went still once again; the magic was gone.
Returning the ring to her right hand, Matilda carefully peered into the well one final time to see if there were any more miracles to be had in this extraordinary place. The water was quite still, and then the tiniest ripple broke the surface. A wave of golden light began to suffuse the well and the area surrounding it. The sunlight appeared to flow as if liquid gold poured from the sky, gilding everything in Matilda’s vision. Soon the valley was flowing with rivers of gold, and the trees were covered with it. Everything glittered all around her with the rich warm light of liquid ore.
In the distance she heard the girlish voice, the one that she knew belonged to their little prophetess, Sarah-Tamar.
“Welcome to the Vale of Gold.”
Matilda heard a gasp behind her. She turned to see Patricio approaching, rapt with the same vision of a magical golden valley. It lasted as long as a vision lasts. Seconds? Minutes? It was impossible to know. But the golden light faded ultimately, as it must, and the two of them were left standing in the great green forest once again.
There was comfort in sharing such a vision with a trusted friend. Patricio was now as much a part of the prophecy as Matilda was. They shared a fraternal embrace, the warm and innocent exchange that occurs between two people who love each other in the most simple way. Truly, they could have been brother and sister in blood. Together they vowed to build the greatest abbey in Europe in this place: a shrine, a library, and a school, all dedicated to the Way of Love. They would install it with the richest treasure in all humanity.
And they would call it Orval. For this truly would become a Valley of Gold.
Matilda returned to Verdun in the evening, exhilarated. She even remembered to restore the hated wimple to her head, covering her hair, which was more scandalous than usual after a day of hard riding. An urgent summons from her mother and stepfather awaited her; she was to come to their chambers upon her return. Her heart dropped. She prayed that Godfrey’s health had not taken a bad turn while she was out. After cleansing the smell of horses from her and changing into more appropriate attire, she hurried down the long hall to her stepfather’s quarters.
“Come in, my dear. Come in.”
She breathed an immediate sigh of relief. While Godfrey was drawn and pale, he was sitting at his desk and looked better than she had seen him in weeks. Perhaps the last two days of negotiating with his son had brought some of his old politician’s spirit back.
Beatrice spoke next. “Your stepfather has been working hard to come to an agreement that would benefit everyone involved. It will save Tuscany for you and save face for Godfrey the Younger. It will also protect you from the more outlandish and unlawful outcomes that Godfrey has threatened you with.”
The elder Godfrey continued. “My son has agreed to sign a document that indicates he has rights in Tuscany only as long as he is married to you. If he chooses to put you aside for any reason, he loses all those rights. Further, you have the right to leave him and return to Tuscany if he is ever physically cruel to you in any manner, and for specific legal reasons which will be carefully laid out in the document. You also retain the right to visit Tuscany annually and to carry out the administration of your lands while you do so.”
Matilda was stunned. Such an agreement was unheard of, but Godfrey knew the law well and had no doubt researched the legalities of it. It was certainly a better option than going to war against both Henry and the hunchback in order to preserve her inheritance.
“Would this be acceptable to you, daughter?”
Nodding slowly, Matilda considered the position she was in strategically. It was quite a strong one. She decided to push it one step further.
“Today I had a vision while in the forest. I wish to build a great abbey here and dedicate it to the glory of Our Lady, the mother of God, with Patricio as its abbot. I would ask that the younger Godfrey provide the resources to build such a monument as his wedding gift to me.”
While neither Godfrey senior nor Beatrice was fooled in terms of whom the abbey would be truly devoted to and what its ultimate purpose was to be, neither saw fit to argue the point. If building an abbey in the forest for the Order would help to resign Matilda to her fate of marrying a hunchback and staying in Lorraine, so be it. Perhaps becoming the patroness of a great abbey would also aid in Matilda’s reputation locally. There were already slanderous whisperings about her, but surely a duchess who was so devoted to the Lord and his holy mother that she spent all her waking hours building a monument to them could not be a witch.
Her stepfather smiled at her, with some of his old vitality. “I’m sure my son will be more than willing to provide the funding for such a worthy project, and equally overjoyed that his wife is such a pious woman and a fine Catholic.”
Curtsying deeply, Matilda thanked her parents for their generosity and left their chambers. It wasn’t a perfect scenario by any means, but she could learn to live with it. And most of all, she was in a position to begin immediate construction of the community she would christen the Abbey of Our Lady of Orval. She would fulfill her obligation as The Expected One, just as she had kept her promise to the Holy Face. Nothing was more important than that.
“Thy will be done,” Matilda whispered as she walked back through the cold corridors of Verdun, eyes raised to the sky. She was in search of Patricio, to tell him the good news of his official new commission to become the abbot of Orval.
Patricio supervised the initial design and construction of the abbey, with the help of the elder Godfrey’s Benedictine advisers. Matilda, of course, was consulted on all major matters. Messengers were sent to the Order in Lucca to advise Isobel and the Master that they had successfully found the Valley of Gold, and that the monks from Calabria who would begin the task of transcribing the Libro Rosso and other histories should be prepared to come north by the summer of 1070.
Matilda kept a carved ivory casket in her chambers; it had been a gift from her father on her sixth birthday. It was her prized possession, as it was inlaid with the crest of the Lucchesi side of the family, Siegfried’s crest, in semiprecious stones. Within the casket she kept another of her cherished personal items. It was the scroll tied with a red satin ribbon that contained the drawing of the six-petaled rose as made by the Master. Removing the scroll from the box, Matilda carried it to the meeting hall wher
e Patricio was conversing with the architects.
“I wish to create a window with this pattern,” she announced, unrolling the scroll to display the symbol. “I want the light of day to shine through the petals of the rose and illuminate the floor beyond it. On the floor there shall be a labyrinth. Patricio has the design for it.”
Solomon’s drawing of the labyrinth and the specifications for building its eleven circuitous pathways toward the center were contained within the Libro Rosso. It would be a great challenge for the masons, as she wanted a labyrinth both within the walls as well as in the garden. But Matilda wasn’t finished giving them difficult tasks.
“I have had a dream about how the nave shall look. It shall be the most exalted building in Lorraine, truly worthy of the treasure it will contain. While I am not so skilled as an artist, I have seen it in my vision and I shall try to draw it for you.”
Matilda took the pen from the chief architect and began to illustrate as Patricio smirked at her false modesty. Matilda was brilliant at architectural drawing and had usually completed her lessons on Solomon’s Temple faster and with greater attention to detail than he had.
She explained to the architect, “I would have these great pointed arches, as high as we can build them, supported by columns made of golden marble. There will be a long nave, with many columns and many arches. This will be a monument to the glory of God and of what can be created in the name of love. It must be accordingly grand.”
The architect nodded at the future duchess of Lorraine with more than a little awe. This woman was astonishingly skilled in her drawing, and her understanding of architectural principles was thorough. What she was proposing was an enormous challenge but one she had obviously thought through. By the time Matilda had finished, the architect was convinced that he understood her vision, her very expensive vision: that of building the grandest abbey in Northern Europe.
She had prolonged the inevitable as long as she could. The elder Godfrey was failing, and it would be necessary for Matilda to take her vows with the abhorrent hunchback in three days’ time. She found Patricio in the chapel.
“Patricio, help me. I know that I must do this, but I am terrified to let him touch me. What shall I do?”
Patricio had had the same education as Matilda and was well aware of the sanctity of the bridal chamber. He was equally aware that Matilda would not find the sacred union of their scriptures in this marriage to an odious man whom she despised. But he had little enough experience with such matters in terms of practicalities. While Matilda often teased him that she was searching the blond German beauties in her household to find him a suitable abbess to partner with, Patricio had yet to encounter this opportunity. He was at something of a loss, so he asked, “What advice did Isobel give you?”
Matilda took a breath and tried to recall her last conversation with Issy. “She told me not to kiss him.”
Patricio nodded. This was understandable advice. The Book of Love and the Song of Songs spoke of the kiss as purely sacred. It was through the kiss that the souls were blended, that two spirits merged together in the shared breath. This, as much as—or perhaps more than—the ultimate intimacy of intercourse, was considered integral to divine union.
Isobel had said, “It is his right as your husband to beget children, Tilda. You will have to submit your body to him, to surrender from the hips down whenever he desires it. But you do not have to submit your soul. Everything from the heart up belongs to you. Allow him his legal duties as a husband, but reserve your own rights. Do not allow him to kiss you if you find him abhorrent. That is not a treasure you have to yield to anyone other than your most beloved.”
Issy had then given Matilda cause to blush by instructing her in a select set of shocking distractions that would make a man forget all about kissing. Quickly. She had listened closely, somewhat appalled, but taken mental notes. Now, as the ominous event approached, she was glad she had paid such close attention.
Matilda was nothing if not a great student. When the vows were said in the chapel of Verdun three nights later, she was shaking, both with the cold and with fear of the wedding night. But she had determined to approach the marriage bed with strategy, as just another battlefield where she would have to fight to protect what was rightfully hers. In this case, she was protecting her soul.
When the hunchback approached her in the bridal chamber, she scandalized him by playing the wanton with utter conviction. She greeted him in the full glory of her absolute nakedness, a vision of wild, copper-crimson tresses, contrasted against flawless alabaster skin. That the legendary, wicked red hair did not stop at her head and softly covered her most female region was both tantalizing and shocking, and surely too much for any Christian man to bear. He was certain that this unnatural creature was every bit the witch she was believed to be. Here was the serpent Lilith, the demon temptress, the consort of the devil. But at that moment, he was willing to risk his immortal soul even if this were the case. The devil had won.
Godfrey was mesmerized by his new wife, while at the same time horrified by her. For her part, she lost no time in taking advantage of his stunned state. Utilizing the harlot’s tricks that Isobel had taught her, Matilda ensured at once that her husband would have no interest in kissing her. Not surprisingly, it was over quickly. Godfrey the Hunchback rolled over almost immediately and began to snore, leaving Matilda’s body a little worse for the wear but her soul intact.
The following day, when asked about the wedding night by a retinue of his men, the hunchback grunted, “It is all true, what they say about redheaded women.”
The lascivious laughter that followed the comment was clear indication that everyone in Lorraine knew only too well what red hair wrought behind the closed doors of the bedchamber.
The elder Godfrey, the duke of Lorraine, fell into a deep coma the following day. He died three days later on Christmas Eve of 1069. Matilda mourned him with the honor and sincerity she would have given to her natural father, which was more than she could say for her husband. Godfrey the Younger had been perched like a vulture, waiting for his father to die that he might inherit the totality of his properties in combination with Matilda’s own.
The good that came out of the hunchback’s greed was that he was now too busy to bother with her overmuch. Matilda did what she wanted, which was to spend time with Patricio in the supervision of Orval. Building would not begin in earnest until the springtime, but they had plenty to do in preparation. The Ark of the New Covenant that contained the Libro Rosso was kept in a private chapel that only Matilda and Patricio could access; this had been part of her prenuptial demands until Orval could be built and it could be transferred properly for copying. Of course, she had lied to the hunchback about what the ark contained, but he wasn’t nearly observant enough to notice. Patricio spent most of his time in the private chapel now, painstakingly attempting to re-create the sketch of Solomon’s Labyrinth that was contained within the Book of Love. They would need a blueprint of it to present to the master mason.
Matilda also visited with her mother for several hours a day. She was widowed now for the second time, and on both occasions she had lost men she truly loved. Beatrice carried her grief with the same grace and dignity with which she had lived the rest of her life, but Matilda could see that it was taking a toll. A thick streak of silver shone through her once pristine black hair, and her legendary beauty was beginning to fade with age and strain.
“When the snow thaws, I am returning to Mantua,” Beatrice announced unexpectedly one evening at dinner.
Matilda was taken aback. Because Beatrice was from Lorraine, she had believed that her mother was happy to be here in her ancestral home.
Beatrice elaborated. “Tuscany became my home over our years there, Matilda. It is far more my home than Lorraine will ever be. But beyond that, I do not trust your husband as I trusted mine. He will be tied up with the affairs here in Lorraine, and I would return to our lands to see to their proper administration. It is f
or your protection as well as mine.”
“I wish I could go with you,” Matilda sighed.
Beatrice reached a hand out to pat her daughter’s arm. “One day, my dear, one day. Do not despair. You are young and you will see Tuscany again.”
And very unexpectedly, Matilda did something she rarely allowed herself the time to do. She cried. Putting her head in her hands, she wept: for her lost homeland, her dead fathers, her friends who were too far away, her repellent marriage, her spiritual responsibilities, and now for her departing mother. Beatrice, for her part, allowed Matilda to cry until she had exhausted herself, all the while stroking her hair in a rare display of maternal affection.
Pray in the manner in which I have instructed you, using the rose as the model for the Holy Spirit.
And working from the left to the right always, embrace the first petal of the holy rose, which is to say the petal of FAITH, and pray,
To Our Father Who is Benevolent and Reigns in Heaven,
Your names are hallowed and sacred.
Contemplate here your faith in the Lord your God and the grace of the Holy Spirit, while giving gratitude for the presence of both in your life and on earth.
Embrace the second petal, which is to say the petal of SURRENDER, and pray,
Your kingdom comes to us through obedience to your will.
Thy will be done.
Listen to the voice of your Father that you may hear his will and carry it out without fear or fail. Stay in this petal for as long as it takes you to submerge yourself and find the blessed release of surrender to his will rather than your own.
Embrace the third petal, which is to say the petal of SERVICE, and pray,