Henry’s feet were torn from the rocky walk up the mountains, and trickles of blood ran over the rash that covered his arms from the terrible hair shirt. He was an impressively wretched sight. Clearly, he had suffered in this journey. But the legate merely repeated his original pronouncement as it had been given him by the pope and disappeared inside, leaving the most powerful king and abbot in Europe to stand at the locked gates as the snow began to fall once again.
Matilda was beside herself with frustration. She could not believe that Gregory was so intractable. Henry, for all his odious behavior, had made a very dramatic and public show of penance. He had humiliated and humbled himself in a way that no king in history ever had, and yet Gregory still would not allow him into his presence. The pope was not listening to anyone, including his most beloved. She had ceased speaking with him as it only caused them to argue.
While Matilda had sought Isobel’s counsel on this conflict as a woman, she decided that she needed a male perspective and went in search of Conn. She found him in the stables, where he was not pleased to see her.
“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”
“I need you.”
“Come inside then, little sister. I know what this is about and I would tell you a story that I think you should hear.”
He rushed her back into the warmth of the castle, in the antechamber near the kitchen. This room had the benefit of being close to the cooking fires, as well as possessing its own fireplace. Matilda’s grandfather had built it specifically for the purpose of holding meetings in the wintertime, to combat the fierce cold of these mountains. Matilda warmed her hands over the fire and sat on the padded bench, with her back to the wall. She sighed heavily as she leaned against the hard stone.
“Oh Conn, what am I going to do with him? He is acting as a tyrant.”
Conn shrugged. “Is he?”
Matilda was taken aback. She had fully expected him to agree with her. “Of course he is. After Henry’s display of penance, he still will not admit him? It’s outrageous.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s strength. Respect it and leave him alone.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am serious.”
“But—”
“There is no but. Gregory knows clearly what Henry is. And what Henry will always be. Matilda, that man is a monster in a crown. Do not ever underestimate what he is capable of. Now I am begging you. Whatever it is that has softened your heart toward your evil cousin, do not allow yourself to forget what you know of his past and his actions. He is a very dangerous man, and a more dangerous king. And he is more deadly to you than to anyone else. How can you not see that? And believe me, as angry as you are at Gregory, he is really protecting you more than himself.”
Matilda considered this for a moment. While she did see it, she also wanted to believe that there was potential, given the strength of Henry’s exhibition today, that there was sincerity in the penance. “So you do not believe that a wicked man can ever change his ways?”
“I do not believe that this particular wicked man can change his ways. And this brings me to the story I wanted to tell you.”
Matilda nodded and settled in to listen to the great Celtic warrior weave his hereditary magic through storytelling.
“When I was a student at the school of Chartres…”
“Chartres?” Matilda jumped at the mention of the holy city, which Conn always refused to talk about. He scowled at her.
“Later. Don’t interrupt me. The school of Chartres brought learned men from all over Europe, and I was once fortunate enough to spend time in the presence of a man from the east. A Sufi master. He told me this story which I am about to tell to you. It is the story of the scorpion and the toad.
“Toad was a kind and gentle creature who swam happily in his pond and had many friends, as he was liked by everybody. One day as he was bathing, he heard a voice calling him from the edge of the pond. ‘Hey, Toadie,’ the voice called. ‘Come over here.’
“And so Toad swam to the shore, and there he saw that it was Scorpion who was calling to him. Now remember that Toad was by his nature a trusting creature, and a kind one, but he was not stupid. He knew that Scorpion was dangerous and known for his poisonous sting, which could strike at any time and often for no reason. Thus Toad kept his distance but replied politely, ‘What can I do for you, Brother Scorpion?’
“‘I need to get across the pond,’ Scorpion told him. ‘Yet it would take me many days to walk. If you would carry me on your back and swim across, it would take me no time at all. I am told that you are kind and generous, and I hope that you will consider doing me this great favor which would help me so much and be very appreciated.’
“Now, Toadie had a conundrum. His nature was to help, but he was afraid of Scorpion’s bad reputation. He decided to be honest. ‘Brother Scorpion, I would like to help you, but you are known for your volatile nature, and for your deadly sting. If I put you on my back and swim into the pond, what if you decide to sting me? I would die then, and I do not wish to die.’
“Scorpion laughed at this. ‘Ridiculous! Brother Toad, think about what you have just said! If I were to sting you while you were swimming, you would sink and we would both drown. I have no desire to destroy you, and certainly not myself, so why would I ever do such a thing? I simply need to get across the pond, and I need your help to do so. Please, brother.’
“And so the trusting toad allowed the scorpion to climb upon his back and began to swim. When they were midway into the pond, Toad felt a sharp and horrible pain. ‘Ouch! What was that?’ he cried. To which Scorpion replied, ‘Oops. I stung you. Sorry.’ Toad was incredulous, and as the poison seeped into his body and he began to sink, he asked the Scorpion, ‘But why, brother? Why did you sting me when now we will both surely perish?’
“The Scorpion sighed, going down with the Toad, and explained very simply as they both prepared to die, ‘I couldn’t help it. It’s just my nature.’”
Conn let the moral hang in the air for a few moments before continuing. “You see, Matilda, what is equally important as the ending of this fable is another understanding, and that is this: when the scorpion told the toad that he did not want to hurt him, he came across as sincere because he was sincere—at the time. At that moment, he really didn’t want to sting him and he didn’t want to do anything obviously self-destructive. But his nature overcame him, as it always had and always would, and he simply couldn’t help himself.”
Matilda sighed with the truth of it. “Henry is indeed a scorpion.”
“He is. So whereas he may even believe himself that he is repentant, do not think for a moment that he has overcome his nature. And Matilda…”
“Yes?”
“The final lesson is that Toad is as much to blame for his own demise as Scorpion. He knew what Scorpion’s nature was, and all his instincts told him not to trust. But he denied his own higher wisdom.”
“So what exactly are you saying to me?”
“Don’t be a toad, little sister. Don’t be a toad.”
The German contingent camped at the base of the hill, outside the fortress. They repeated the spectacle of Henry’s penance, and that of his noble retinue, for three days. At the dawn of the fourth day, the papal legate announced that Henry’s penance had been accepted and that he would be admitted into the presence of the Holy Father.
What Henry, and history, would never know was just how instrumental Matilda had been in the ultimate acceptance of this king’s repentance by Pope Gregory VII. The countess of Canossa, while not wishing to make the mistakes of the tragic toad in Conn’s fable, was terrified that her cousin the king was actually going to freeze to death at the gates of her fortress. She could simply not allow such a thing to happen. It was inhumane and violated everything she stood for spiritually and personally. Further, it would not serve Gregory’s agenda to strengthen the Church, and certainly not a church dedicated to love and compassion. She feared that Gregory’
s actions would ultimately be viewed as tyrannical, harsh, and unforgiving. Even her own people of Canossa, as loyal as they were to her, were beginning to stir with discomfort. They watched the daily spectacle of a king who was wasting away with fasting and cold. The shamed monarch begged for simple admission into the papal presence—in order to continue his pleading and further his humiliation. Gregory’s resolve bordered on ruthlessness. It had to stop.
Before retiring to bed on the third night, Matilda presented Gregory with an ultimatum that represented the most difficult choice of her life. While she loved him beyond reason, her supreme duty was to her mission and to the promise she made to God in her role as his servant on earth. It was a promise to live by the teachings of a man they called the Prince of Peace. In light of this, Matilda could no longer stand by and allow the spectacle of humiliation to continue. Either Gregory admitted Henry into his presence, or she was leaving Canossa. She would no longer participate in any action that she felt to be against the will of God or the teachings of his son.
The pope was stunned by Matilda’s extreme position, but he refused to be swayed by her ultimatum initially. It was not until he heard her giving orders to prepare for her departure that he realized she was indeed serious. Gregory finally concluded that he needed to relax his position in order to save everything that he held most dear.
The same extraordinary passion and intensity that brought Gregory and Matilda together would also serve to challenge them at this critical juncture in their relationship. Two minds and spirits of such strength cannot expect to live in the same place in total harmony at all times. It was a lesson that both of them needed to learn. It was one of many that were brought to light in Canossa during the winter of 1077.
King Henry IV was admitted into the presence of Pope Gregory VII, with Matilda standing by his side, late in the afternoon of January 28. He was a pathetic figure of chapped and torn flesh. To look upon him as he prostrated himself, near to tears, before the pope was to see a broken man in total surrender. Matilda felt pity as she watched him; Henry was, indeed, a victim of his own nature. His viciousness had caused him to be in this place now, half dead and completely demoralized, face down on the cold stone floor and begging for forgiveness from a man he hated.
Gregory agreed to forgive him, as a man if not as a king. The sentence of excommunication was lifted, and Henry was allowed to take communion inside the small chapel within the fortress. He was then welcomed into Canossa, where he was fed and given fine chambers to recover from his ordeal.
Henry stayed just long enough to observe his cousin and her style of leadership within her own domain. He sought audiences with her for hours each day. While Matilda would never trust him, she was generous with her time in her genuine hope for peace and reconciliation. Her cousin, who genuinely appeared to care about finally becoming a great king, spent several hours asking for her advice on methods for ruling Europe with justice. The people of northern Italy adored Matilda, and he explained that he would emulate her actions in the future in an effort to win back his own subjects. Perhaps, he proposed, as they were cousins who had known each other since early childhood, they could forget their differences and come together as great rulers to work in harmony.
And perhaps the scorpion would allow the toad to swim gently and happily across the pond.
Henry’s time in Canossa was indeed a great turning point for his poisoned, imperial psyche, but not in the way Matilda had hoped. The humiliation he experienced at the hands of Gregory burned within Henry. It was a conflagration that destroyed any semblance of humanity that may have once existed in his twisted mind. Worst of all, he concluded that his whore of a cousin was obviously the force behind it all. She controlled the pope, clearly. It was obvious that such a witch could manipulate any man using her demonic feminine wiles. It could only have been Matilda who demanded that Henry remain in the snow for three days and nights. She would pay for what she did to him, just as the pretender pope would pay. But he would make Matilda pay most personally.
Nothing would hurt his cousin more than destroying her precious Tuscany and giving the Tuscan people an understanding of what loyalty to such an unnatural demon would cost them. He would start, perhaps, with Lucca. Or her childhood home of Mantua. These were the places she held most dear, and they were the places that would suffer.
As King Henry IV returned to his own lands across the Alps, he took careful stock of the regions he passed through and began to plan his retribution, the devastation of Matilda’s beloved Tuscany. He paused in Lombardy to rejoin the schismatic nobles who opposed Gregory. Within mere days of his pardon, Henry had once again declared himself the bitter enemy of the pope—and the nemesis of the Tuscan countess.
It was, after all, his nature.
Hail, Mary.
It is a name of great sanctity. It comes from many sources and many traditions, and in all of them it is holy, as each of these contains the seed of knowledge and truth. It is known in forms all over the world, where it is Mary, Maria, Miriam, Maura, Miriamne.
From Egypt it is Meryam, and this was the name of the sister of Moses and Aaron. Here it comes from the root of the word mer, for love, which becomes the name Mery, which is to say cherished. Or beloved. It was used for daughters who were determined to be special, chosen by the gods for a divine destiny in terms of their birth, family, or prophecies that surrounded them.
It has been said that the form which is Miryam combines several words to create the meaning “myrrh of the sea,” and some variations carry the meaning “mistress of the sea.”
But there is yet another great secret of this perfected female name. It blends both the Hebrew and the Egyptian traditions within it: the Egyptian mer, for love, and the Hebrew Yam which is a sacred abbreviation for Yahweh. Thus the name when the traditions are combined means “she who is the beloved of Yahweh.”
During the life of our Lord and beyond, the name was often given after the coming of age, as a title earned by a girl who had proven her worth and special nature.
To become a Mary was a blessed thing.
THE HISTORY OF THE SACRED NAME,
AS PRESERVED IN THE LIBRO ROSSO
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Confraternity of the Holy Apparition
Vatican City, Rome
present day
Peter escorted Maureen and Bérenger into the Vatican City meeting hall where the monthly meeting of the Confraternity of the Holy Apparition was held.
Peter was here tonight in support of Father Girolamo as well as his housekeeper, Maggie Cusack. Maggie was a most dedicated member of this confraternity and had committed much of her spare time to the celebration and commemoration of Our Lady’s miraculous appearances throughout Europe: at Fátima, La Salette, Medjugorje, Paris, Lourdes, and the Belgian apparitions of Beauraing and Banneaux. These meetings, which welcomed the public, featured a presentation highlighting a specific incident of Our Lady’s apparition. Tonight the presentation featured Our Lady of Silence, the apparition that occurred in western Ireland in the nineteenth century, in the village of Knock. Maggie was giving the presentation and had been preparing it for weeks, often asking Peter for his opinion and perspective on the related history. Peter’s family was from a neighboring county, and Knock was easy to visit from their home in Galway. He and Maureen had been to Knock on pilgrimage with his mother several times as kids, and they knew the village and its history well.
Bérenger Sinclair was fascinated by the idea of the confraternity and wanted to see it for himself. Yet if he was hoping to see any semblance of secret society activity, which the confraternities had been full of during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, he was to be disappointed. The twenty-first-century version was filled predominantly with Italian Catholic matrons who baked lovely biscotti, served coffee to the newcomers, and handed out leaflets with information on the confraternity and a prayer to Our Lady of Fátima. This was a friendly and open environment. There was nothing at all secretive or mysterious about it
. A few priests filed in at various intervals, as did some local families who were no doubt connected to the biscotti makers. Peter noticed with more than a degree of surprise that Marcelo Barberini, the cardinal he served with on the committee, slipped in quietly and was standing at the rear of the room. Everyone took their seats as Father Girolamo came to the podium at the front and welcomed them to the meeting. He thanked Maggie Cusack for her hard work and introduced her to the group, who applauded politely as she took her place at the podium and began to tell the story of the miracle of Knock.
Knock, County Mayo, Ireland
August 21, 1879
IT WAS A TINY PLACE, unimportant even as most small villages go, located in the southeast corner of County Mayo. Even the name was unimaginative. Cnoc. It was quite simply the Irish word for “hill” in honor of the windswept location on which the town was perched. It wasn’t even much of a hill, truth be told. Why Our Lady chose this place for her particular blessing was still a great mystery.
The only indication of grace in its history had occurred some 1,300 years prior to the apparition. Saint Patrick himself had seen a vision here and pronounced the location blessed. He announced that it would one day become a site of devotion and worship, that pilgrims would travel from all over the world to venerate the sanctity of the place. The “hill” was now holy.
In 1859, the newly completed but unremarkable church in Knock was consecrated to Saint John the Baptist. It was a difficult time for the people of Mayo, still recovering from the terrible famine that had ravaged Ireland with death and dispossession, killing an estimated one third of the native population. British landlords continued to use the enforced poverty of the famine to evict the destitute peasants and confiscate their property, land that had been in the care of Irish farmers since the dawn of the Celts. A number of families who could not pay their rent in County Mayo had been made homeless by wealthy English noblemen who had no conscience about leaving them to suffer the elements, abandoned to a fate of destitution or death.