The Reception of King Herold
“King Herold! Welcome to Francia.” Long, thin fingers tapped an arrhythmic beat on the arm of a gilded throne. Queen Judith scanned their audience through steepled fingers, watching her husband greet the king of Norway. “We shall have a banquet on this day to celebrate your arrival, God be praised!” Judith returned her attention to the Norseman before them, who cleared his throat.
“You are most gracious, King Louis. As you see, I have brought my entourage with me, to take part in your generosity.” Herold gestured around him to the many people surrounding him, the smell of salt air from their voyage beginning to thicken the air of the great hall. Judith continued to watch his eyes, even as the Viking continued to speak of his entourage. Kings could lie all they wanted with their pretty words and their bold gestures, Judith had learned, but the eyes could never hide intent. Herold wanted something.
“We have decided, as a people, that it is time to give up our old ways and customs. One of your priests came to us and told us of your God, whose power we have seen firsthand.” Judith glanced over his retinue, who rumbled in agreement. As she scanned their ranks, she saw nods of agreement, men and women of the court standing by their king. All except...her. Judith’s eyes came to rest on the Viking’s wife, who was watching her with an inscrutable expression. Judith narrowed her eyes slightly. It seemed that she was not the only politician in the room.
Her husband’s voice brought her back to the present. “Herold, my friend, what you have asked, I shall do for you, giving thanks to God.” Judith looked to her husband, pasting on a smile. “Hasten, and make ready all that is needed for baptism!” He directed the priests, who scurried about to procure garments and holy water. The court stood as one after the king rose, and Judith locked eyes with her counterpart as the royal families came together. First, Judith watched as her husband submerged the foreign king in the waters. It was her turn next; she smiled, polite but guarded, as she did the same to the foreign queen. She gently draped fine robes around the queen as her son Lothar did the same to Herold’s son.
Judith stood, still dripping from the waters, while her husband bequeathed numerous gifts to his counterpart. When it was her turn, she smiled for the crowds, brushing her hands over the beautiful tunic she’d had her servants procure for royal visits. “You know,” she said under her breath, disguising the conversation by leaning in and feigning particular attention to her counterpart’s necklace. “It’s not often we get such civilized visitors from the North. Why are you here?” She held the other queen’s gaze, searching for answers. She saw only the honey-brown shield of a woman who, like her, knew how to play a role.
“Your hospitality is spoken of even in my kingdom, your grace,” the other woman spoke lowly in a thick accent. “And your priest was very convincing.” She smiled, gracefully, her eyes cold as the steel of her guards’ swords, as the queen returned to her place by her husband.
When all the holy business was done, it was time for the processional march. Judith kept a smile on her face as the men of each house moved to the front, digging perfectly shaped nails into her palms to keep from screaming as the crowds pressed around them, screaming alternately in praise of her husband and barely-veiled lewd comments at her and the foreign queen. It was something, she mused, that all royal women had to grow accustomed to; something that she shared with her newly Christened opponent. It was funny, she mused; now that their husbands had finally put an end to a war of blades, it was up to their wives to begin the war of words and law. Her husband might be willing to let bygones be bygones, but she was not so forgiving after so many years of bloody conflict.
She sits, face locked in a rictus of polite serenity, through the following service, already thinking of the diplomacy that lay before her. There was culture to learn, people to meet, alliances to forge and enemies to keep appeased. The delicate threads of peace and war and all the sutures in between needed to be interlaced just so. The world was a tapestry, and Judith one of her weavers. She breaks from her reverie at the sound of a deep and resounding, “amen” as the service was concluded. She bowed her head in quiet for a moment, before the bustle of leaving began.
Later, during the hunt, as Judith watches a young doe run through the woods, flitting from shadow to shadow in a wild, panicked attempt to save itself, she thinks she sees herself astride it between the sun-dappled trees. She watches herself, free and terrified, and thinks that she could very well be seeing a message from God Himself, a warning. Her eyes slide over to the other queen, and she wonders, for a moment, how history will remember her. She has the impulse, for a moment, to spur her horse ahead, to break custom and show the world that she is half the ruling power in Francia.
The deer is killed. The moment passes. As the men laugh, congratulating each other on the kill, Queen Judith grips the reigns of her mount more tightly and reminds herself that the role of a queen is not to be recognized, but to rule. She thinks of the powerful women felled by their attempts to make public their importance.
Another laugh from the men. She schools her features into a gaze of pleasant indifference. Let the fools of the court have their day; she would know, even if the world would not, whose power truly kept the peace. With a white-knuckled grip on the reins of her mount, Queen Judith stayed in line and watched the reflection of a sun-dappled canopy gently shift and change in the deer’s glassy eyes.
“You are most gracious, King Louis. As you see, I have brought my entourage with me, to take part in your generosity.” Herold gestured around him to the many people surrounding him, the smell of salt air from their voyage beginning to thicken the air of the great hall. Judith continued to watch his eyes, even as the Viking continued to speak of his entourage. Kings could lie all they wanted with their pretty words and their bold gestures, Judith had learned, but the eyes could never hide intent. Herold wanted something.
“We have decided, as a people, that it is time to give up our old ways and customs. One of your priests came to us and told us of your God, whose power we have seen firsthand.” Judith glanced over his retinue, who rumbled in agreement. As she scanned their ranks, she saw nods of agreement, men and women of the court standing by their king. All except...her. Judith’s eyes came to rest on the Viking’s wife, who was watching her with an inscrutable expression. Judith narrowed her eyes slightly. It seemed that she was not the only politician in the room.
Her husband’s voice brought her back to the present. “Herold, my friend, what you have asked, I shall do for you, giving thanks to God.” Judith looked to her husband, pasting on a smile. “Hasten, and make ready all that is needed for baptism!” He directed the priests, who scurried about to procure garments and holy water. The court stood as one after the king rose, and Judith locked eyes with her counterpart as the royal families came together. First, Judith watched as her husband submerged the foreign king in the waters. It was her turn next; she smiled, polite but guarded, as she did the same to the foreign queen. She gently draped fine robes around the queen as her son Lothar did the same to Herold’s son.
Judith stood, still dripping from the waters, while her husband bequeathed numerous gifts to his counterpart. When it was her turn, she smiled for the crowds, brushing her hands over the beautiful tunic she’d had her servants procure for royal visits. “You know,” she said under her breath, disguising the conversation by leaning in and feigning particular attention to her counterpart’s necklace. “It’s not often we get such civilized visitors from the North. Why are you here?” She held the other queen’s gaze, searching for answers. She saw only the honey-brown shield of a woman who, like her, knew how to play a role.
“Your hospitality is spoken of even in my kingdom, your grace,” the other woman spoke lowly in a thick accent. “And your priest was very convincing.” She smiled, gracefully, her eyes cold as the steel of her guards’ swords, as the queen returned to her place by her husband.
When all the holy business was done, it was time for the processional march. Judith kept a smile on her face as the men of each house moved to the front, digging perfectly shaped nails into her palms to keep from screaming as the crowds pressed around them, screaming alternately in praise of her husband and barely-veiled lewd comments at her and the foreign queen. It was something, she mused, that all royal women had to grow accustomed to; something that she shared with her newly Christened opponent. It was funny, she mused; now that their husbands had finally put an end to a war of blades, it was up to their wives to begin the war of words and law. Her husband might be willing to let bygones be bygones, but she was not so forgiving after so many years of bloody conflict.
She sits, face locked in a rictus of polite serenity, through the following service, already thinking of the diplomacy that lay before her. There was culture to learn, people to meet, alliances to forge and enemies to keep appeased. The delicate threads of peace and war and all the sutures in between needed to be interlaced just so. The world was a tapestry, and Judith one of her weavers. She breaks from her reverie at the sound of a deep and resounding, “amen” as the service was concluded. She bowed her head in quiet for a moment, before the bustle of leaving began.
Later, during the hunt, as Judith watches a young doe run through the woods, flitting from shadow to shadow in a wild, panicked attempt to save itself, she thinks she sees herself astride it between the sun-dappled trees. She watches herself, free and terrified, and thinks that she could very well be seeing a message from God Himself, a warning. Her eyes slide over to the other queen, and she wonders, for a moment, how history will remember her. She has the impulse, for a moment, to spur her horse ahead, to break custom and show the world that she is half the ruling power in Francia.
The deer is killed. The moment passes. As the men laugh, congratulating each other on the kill, Queen Judith grips the reigns of her mount more tightly and reminds herself that the role of a queen is not to be recognized, but to rule. She thinks of the powerful women felled by their attempts to make public their importance.
Another laugh from the men. She schools her features into a gaze of pleasant indifference. Let the fools of the court have their day; she would know, even if the world would not, whose power truly kept the peace. With a white-knuckled grip on the reins of her mount, Queen Judith stayed in line and watched the reflection of a sun-dappled canopy gently shift and change in the deer’s glassy eyes.
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