“But the fair Niamh had heard so many stories of the legendary heroes and poets of Ireland that she was desperate to witness them for herself. She heard the tall tales of the Fianna, the warrior band who defended the innocent and protected the weak. And there was a prince among the Fianna, a youth called Oisin, who was legendary for his chivalry, his prowess in battle, and the skill of his poetry and music. Niamh had never seen such a creature on the island and was fascinated by the idea of human males who could be expert in both love and war. No such thing existed in the magical realms, where there was no war and therefore no reason for warriors. And so it was that after much nagging—as we know how relentless young girls can be when they want to get something, don’t we?—the sea god gave in to his precious daughter. He allowed Niamh to take his magical white horse, a creature that could skim the waves and cross to the mainland, advising her that she must stay out of sight and have no contact with the humans. Niamh agreed, and her journey over the water commenced.
“Now, our Niamh was a good girl and she did not set out on this adventure to disobey her father. But as she rode through the hazelwood forest, she came upon a band of men. They were young and strong and vital, for these men were the legendary warriors known as the Fianna. Niamh watched them quietly from the trees, listening as they discussed their victory in the battle to save a village against a tyrant who was terrorizing the womenfolk. All the men were exemplary, but one stood out. He was beautiful as men go, with chestnut-colored curls and sapphire eyes, and Niamh was struck by him immediately. The youth carried a harp carved out of oak, and when the men quieted, he began to play. Like Orpheus, this bard had a magic with music and poetry, and Niamh realized that she was now watching the legendary Oisin. So enchanted was she by his playing that she swooned and fell from her horse. This startled the men, and being warriors, they rushed at her with weapons drawn. But it was the poet prince who reached her first; it was Oisin who rescued her, for that was his destiny.
“Now, you must remember that not only was Niamh painfully beautiful, with her golden hair sparkling with sunlight and eyes that flashed the colors of the sea, but she was immortal and likewise filled with magic. There was a glamour to her, a power, that no mortal man could resist once it was turned upon him. And so when Oisin’s eyes met Niamh’s, there was an instant bond between them that could not be broken. One would never forget the other, from that day into eternity. But alas, they were from different worlds, were they not? Oisin begged her to stay with him, but Niamh could not disappoint her father in such a way, nor could she deny the responsibilities that she had to her kingdom as their favored princess. Sadly, she said to him, ‘Your world is not mine, and mine is not yours,’ and moved toward the white horse that would carry her home.
“‘Take me with you!’ Oisin begged, not wanting this magical creature to leave him behind. But Niamh could not, for she loved him too much. You see, if Oisin were to go with Niamh, he would never be able to return to the mortal world. Once a mortal ventures into the deepest places of magic and immortality, he can never return to a human life, and this is most certainly true if he kisses a woman from the magical realms.
“And so Niamh left him there in the forest with the Fianna, where he belonged with his comrades and his music. Her heart was heavy but she could not ask him to leave his exemplary life here for her, nor could she leave hers for him. But for the next year, Oisin pined for the princess and the glimpse of magic she had shown him. He dreamed of her each night and asked his brothers in arms what they would have done in his place. They all, to a man, told him they found the golden Niamh to be completely irresistible and advised Oisin to go after her.
“‘But I cannot,’ he told them. ‘For if I go after this woman, I know I will never be able to return to this, the land I know so well, where all is familiar and I am regarded as the chief poet and prince of my own people. I can never give that up. There is too much to risk here.’
“For a year, Oisin tried to forget his lady love, but to no avail. She haunted his dreams and his memory beyond all human bearing. And so on the anniversary of their meeting, he went to the seashore and wrote a song to call out to the great god Mannanan Mac Lir. When the sea lord replied, Oisin advised him that he wanted to marry his daughter and humbly requested permission to do so. Mannanan asked Oisin if he understood what sacrifices must occur for him to marry Niamh—that if he were to make the journey on the white horse across the waves to Tir n’Og, he would never see his home or his friends again. He must be willing to give up his old ways for new ones. Of course, Mannanan assured him, life on the island was joyous and peaceful and full of music and light. It was an existence like no other, one of pure magic and happiness, and most of all, love.
“But all the same, humans tend to hold on to the past and to what they know with tight hands, don’t they? Would Oisin be able to let go and live in happiness with his immortal beloved? For he too would become immortal upon joining her in matrimony and physical union.”
Conn stopped the story at this place to help Matilda see the comparisons.
“I’m flattered that you think I’m as beguiling as the legendary Niamh,” she commented, her smile wry.
“Don’t fool yourself, little sister. You are every bit as enchanting, and every bit as dangerous. Particularly to a man with as much to lose as the pontiff himself. So at the moment, Gregory is grappling with the understanding that if he takes that fateful trip on the white horse, if he experiences the immortal and mystical kiss of such a woman…he will never be able to return to the human world. And this is why you haven’t heard from him, Matilda. Because he is wrestling with a mighty demon—the demon of his own mortality, and all that it entails.”
She thought about it for a moment, realizing that, strangely, she did feel better. Conn’s stories always had that effect on her. Finally she asked, “How does the tale end?”
Conn smiled. “Oisin rides to Tir n’Og, marries Niamh, and discovers that the magical world is wondrous beyond his expectations and his immortal woman is full of love and delightful surprises so that he never grows bored. He and Niamh have a son, called Oscar, who is the joy of their lives. Because Oscar is both human and immortal, he is able to travel between the worlds and have the best of both of them. And his parents can rejoice in this. So it is a happy ending, sister.”
Conn neglected to tell her that the legend of Niamh and Oisin had two endings, depending upon the storyteller. The second ending was not nearly as golden, but he chose to reveal only the most blissful outcome to boost her spirits. The responsibilities of storytelling required such choices.
“There is a happy ending waiting for you here, if you will just have Niamh’s patience—and dare I say it, her unselfishness—to leave Oisin to his own decision making. Because I am willing to wager all that I have ever possessed that the time will come when he craves your presence beyond reason and saddles the white horse to ride across the waves and claim you.”
Within the hieros-gamos, the sacred union of beloveds, God is present in their chambers. For a union to be blessed by God, both trust and consciousness must be expressed within the embrace.
As the beloveds come together, they celebrate their love in the flesh: they are no longer two, but one. Outside the chamber, they will live as love expressed in the spirit.
In its sanctified form, love is present in six aspects of expression:
Agape—a love that is filled with the joy of each other and for the world, a purest form of spiritual expression; here is the sacred embrace that contains consciousness;
Philia—a love that is first a friendship and full of respect; this is the sister-bride and brother-bridegroom, but also the love of blood siblings and true companions; here is the sacred embrace that contains trust;
Charis—a love that is defined by grace, devotion, and praise for God’s presence in the chambers; this is where the love of our mother and father is found, on earth and in heaven;
Eunoia—a love that inspires deep compassion and a commitment to
the service of the world and all God’s people; this is where our love for charity and community lies;
Storge—a pure love that is full of tenderness, caring, and empathy; this is where the love of children is found;
Eros—a love that is a profound physical celebration in which the souls come together in the union of the bodies; this is the ultimate expression of beloveds which finds its most sanctified form in the hieros-gamos.
There is no darkness that cannot be defeated by the light of love in one of these expressions. When all are present in harmony on earth, darkness cannot exist at all.
Love Conquers All.
For those with ears to hear, let them hear it.
FROM THE BOOK OF LOVE, AS PRESERVED IN THE LIBRO ROSSO
Fiano, north of Rome
June 1074
CONN WAS rarely wrong where Matilda was concerned.
It would be a full year before Matilda and Gregory had the opportunity to begin his education in the teachings of the Way of Love. The antagonistic political climate that they found themselves in immediately following his investiture demanded their focus as leaders and politicians, leaving no time for anything that would distract from the protection of the papacy. The German king Henry IV refused to censure his bishops and recognize their excommunication as instructed by Rome, causing the tensions between Germany and Rome to escalate. Matilda proved, conversely, to be utterly loyal to the pope in the name of her holdings, which served to further infuriate her husband. Godfrey continued to assert his rights as the duke of Tuscany while immersed in the service of Henry IV, and the battle between husband and wife turned deadlier than any other brewing in Europe. However, Matilda was in Tuscany and Godfrey was not. Matilda commanded the people of the Apennines, hearts and swords, and Godfrey did not. As always, she didn’t care a whit for what her husband said or did and ignored his existence at all times. Outrageously, the pope supported her position, refusing to address any correspondence to her as a married woman and acknowledging her as a co-ruler of Tuscany with her serene mother. As far as Pope Gregory VII was concerned, Godfrey did not exist outside Lorraine.
Ultimately, the bloody nature of the Saxon rebellion in Henry’s own territories forced Germany to seek a humiliating reconciliation with Rome. Henry’s resources were depleted, and he had stretched his loyal nobles, including Godfrey, to their limits. In November of 1073, Henry took an oath of allegiance to Pope Gregory VII before an audience that included papal legates, in the city of Nuremberg. He apologized for his disobedience and swore to participate in the reforms of the Church as dictated by the pope from that day forward. While Gregory was hopeful that this truce would hold, he was too wise and experienced in Henry’s ways to believe that this oath was not taken with the king’s fingers crossed. It was lip service, but it had been a very public display which would at the very least force Henry’s submission for a period of public decorum. As a result of the king’s newfound loyalty to the pope, Godfrey too was forced to reduce his aggression. He left Matilda alone and focused on his own lands in Lorraine and the north.
After months of silence, the pope began to write to Matilda very suddenly and without cessation. The Tuscan countess and Pope Gregory VII engaged in frequent correspondence for the following six months. Their affection for each other was increasing, deepening despite the distance that separated them, or perhaps because of it. As such letters were by nature public, they were written in careful language, and yet both contained effusive sentiments of adoration within their proprietary cover. Matilda referred often to her “great and undying love for Saint Peter” and Gregory expressed his own heart to her in even more emphatic terms. He addressed his letters to her as “My daughter in Christ” but his expressions on paper, containing phrases such as “you must know the love I bear for you” were beyond the boundaries of the filial. Ultimately, he nearly begged her to return to him in Rome with a letter that read:
I am extremely anxious to have further interviews with you, desiring to have your advice in my affairs as a sister and daughter of Saint Peter. Please do not make me wait any longer.
In answer to his plea, Matilda traveled to a private villa in Fiano, outside Rome. She was as anxious as he to have “further interviews.” Beatrice accompanied her, as did Isobel, to play the role of chaperones for any and all who might find impropriety otherwise in such a private meeting place, away from the intense scrutiny of the papal court in Rome, away from all but the most intimate and trusted members of their mutual inner circles.
The chambers Gregory had prepared for their interviews were magnificent. Opulently furnished and dripping with rich fabrics from the Orient, the rooms were worthy of the reunion of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. It was a clever and intentional piece of seduction. For while he was not thoroughly informed in the ways of Matilda’s beloved Order, he was well aware that its followers believed all teachings began with the exotic king and queen of scripture and their legendary union.
Matilda was equally prepared for her role in the great pageant. Isobel, who was still a master at such presentation, spent hours dressing her until she was a vision of alluring, feminine mystery. The countess arrived in the pope’s private chambers swathed in layers of turquoise silk over a deeply cut and jeweled bodice of Turkish damask. Gossamer veils covered her décolletage as well as her hair, giving the illusion of propriety but woven of a material so sheer as to be nearly nonexistent. Her rich copper tresses had been brushed to a high shine beneath the diaphanous veil and were completely unbound, which would have been scandalous in public. Aquamarines and pearls were woven on strands through the soft curls, while matching jewels hung from her ears. For the first time in her life, Matilda’s skin was most thoroughly perfumed and oiled with an attar of roses mixed with frankincense, myrrh, and spikenard from the Holy Land. This costly and sacred preparation had been used since ancient times in accordance with the Song of Songs, to anoint the bride in anticipation of the hieros-gamos, the sacred marriage of true beloveds.
Gregory was speechless as she entered. His memory of this woman had haunted him to distraction for a year, and yet when confronted with her again, he realized that his mind had not done her justice. He kissed her hand, and she his ring, but otherwise they maintained an appropriate distance as they sat on cushioned benches, facing each other.
She began, as he knew she would, with the legend of Solomon and Sheba. There was no better place, for this was the beginning of the teachings regarding sacred union.
Gregory was certainly familiar with the passages in the First Book of Kings, chapter ten, that described Sheba’s coming to Jerusalem. But the extended version as it was taught by the Order both astounded and fascinated him. The applications to their own situation—two great leaders of opposing gender coming together in a meeting of minds and spirits—were unavoidable.
He decided to challenge her immediately, to see how she would defend this cornerstone of their teachings. “Whence does this version of their story come? Surely, nothing in the scriptures indicates that Solomon and Sheba develop such a relationship.”
Matilda had studied this material all her life, was committed to it, and knew it as well as any official teacher in the Order. Her answer was instantaneous.
“First Kings ten, verses two and three: ‘And when she had come to Solomon, she communed all that was in her heart. And Solomon answered all her questions. There was not anything hid from the king, which he told her not.’ The word anything is emphasized there in the scripture. This indicates that Solomon, despite the fact that he is the wisest and most important king in the world, hides nothing from this woman. It is an indication of deep intimacy, as is the language that she communes ‘all that is in her heart.’ No queen on a strictly political mission opens her heart to such a powerful man. Again, it implies a depth of intimacy and, I believe, passion.”
The correlations hung heavy in the air between them, but they were both enjoying the titillating nature of the game far too much to approach it in any dire
ct manner as yet.
“Perhaps. But it does not give us such a complete biography as you claim to have.”
“Their story is preserved as such in the Libro Rosso, as the traditions of our people were passed down and transcribed. But there are also references to the coming together of Solomon and Sheba in the Book of Love, which we have in the hand of the apostle Philip himself.”
“But it is not proof.”
“I would not venture to lecture the pontiff himself on the essence of faith. But I will say that with all matters of spirit, the only proof is in our hearts. No ink or paper can provide truth. Only our hearts can tell us if what is on that page, whether it is your Bible or my Book, is the truth. And each man or woman must come to that choice of his or her own faith.”
He conceded to her eloquence. “I will look forward to seeing this holy book and perhaps gaining a greater understanding of how it has come to give you such extraordinary faith.”
“And I will look forward to showing it to you. You must make your way to Lucca in the near future, as your time permits, and perhaps we will have the opportunity to explore the Libro Rosso together.”
She took him then through the Old Testament version of the Song of Songs, again giving it a new interpretation—which was in essence the oldest interpretation—through the eyes of the Order, via their holy book. That such an overtly erotic piece of poetry was an accepted and exalted piece of scripture was something that was often overlooked in biblical studies, even in an education as thorough as Gregory’s. Church leaders emphasized the idea that the Song of Songs, allegedly written by Solomon, then transcribed again in the fifth century BC, was an allegory for the love of God for the people and his Church. Matilda claimed it as the ultimate proof that Solomon and Sheba were the prototype lovers for sacred union and as an epic poem containing the greatest mysteries of love within it, written originally by Solomon with Sheba as his muse. In fact, she pointed out, the complete first line of this segment of the Bible reads “The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s.”