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Royal Meeting
The next day, clad in his usual black tunic and white cape, Dieter dutifully joined the ranks of noblemen assembled in front of the Palais to greet Heinrich. He kept to the back of the throng, hoping to catch sight of the auburn-haired Englishwoman who’d rushed to prevent the princess from falling headlong. Something about her intrigued him, though she was just a young girl and her tightly braided hair looked uncomfortable. The severity of the braids marred her beauty. Perhaps the pout that had momentarily dissolved when she caught him staring was intentional.
Unfortunately, Matilda did not appear. Heinrich was evidently not planning to meet his child bride on the steps of the Palais.
Heralded by a jarring fanfare, the royal entourage eventually arrived, led by Heinrich mounted on a magnificent white destrier. A warhorse hardly seemed fitting for the occasion, but it was obvious the ramrod straight King of the Germans relished being the center of attention—hence, no doubt, his wish to meet the princess later, at a time of his choosing.
Bishop Otbert greeted his powerful guest with respect but was quick to thrust his ring under Heinrich’s nose. The king gave it a fleeting peck. Clearly, there was no love lost between the two men.
Dieter hadn’t seen Heinrich for several years. A full beard did little to soften the jutting chin, and his aquiline beak seemed to have grown more prominent. The hooded, predatory eyes hadn’t changed. The sizable crowd gathered to meet him was respectfully silent, though a low murmur began when his startlingly effeminate voice reached their ears.
In what could only be seen as a deliberate slight, Heinrich turned his back on his host and preceded the bishop into his own Palais.
* * *
Sulking, Matilda stood by the window of her apartment overlooking the courtyard. “Why wasn’t I invited to greet His Highness?” she whined.
Relegated to the back of the chamber, Blythe inhaled deeply. With great fanfare, a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle was taking place below, yet it hadn’t occurred to the princess her ladies might also want to see the king for the first time.
Sir Montague bowed. “King Heinrich deemed it preferable you meet him in private, Your Majesty.”
Lady Dorothea Le Roux, senior lady-in-waiting, suggested, “Your father would approve of a more dignified meeting.”
Matilda flounced away from the window. “Heinrich looks old.”
Blythe sank her teeth into the back of her hand to stifle an urge to titter at the little girl’s first thoughts about her future husband. Of course, a grown man would look old to a child.
“May we watch, Your Majesty?” Dorothea finally asked.
Matilda gestured to the window as if swatting away an irritating gnat.
Taking it as permission granted, Blythe and her fellow ladies-in-waiting gathered around the window, just in time to see Heinrich kiss Bishop Otbert’s ring.
Blythe was aware the King of Germany was in his late twenties, but he looked much older. Her first impression was of a sly, powerful man who wasn’t to be trusted. Her mother often said first impressions were usually correct.
Like Blythe, the other ladies remained silent. She suspected all harbored the same thoughts about Matilda's betrothed, but none would risk uttering their opinions out loud.
“Wonderful pomp and ceremony,” Lady Dorothea declared half-heartedly.
Blythe privately thought pompous might be closer to the mark. Still at the window, she watched the crowd below, most of whom began to move away after Heinrich entered the Palais.
Soon, only two men remained. One had dark hair and was dressed all in black except for the white cape draped from his shoulders—definitely the same man she’d seen the night before. A peculiar thrill raced up her spine. She’d hoped to see him again. If his rank entitled him to greet the king, perhaps he would be in attendance when Matilda and Heinrich met. She didn’t know why it mattered. He was older than she, but something about his smile was intriguing.
* * *
Four hours after Heinrich’s arrival, Dieter and his duke stood near the front of a throng of hundreds of noblemen and women in the garishly ornate great hall of the Palais.
“Clearly, he’s in no hurry to meet Matilda,” Lothair whispered as they watched Heinrich enter, again preceded by a fanfare trumpeted by twenty soldiers. People grimaced as the strident tribute echoed off the high ceiling.
Men bowed. Women curtseyed.
Heinrich signaled for all to rise once a dozen pages had arranged the ermine-trimmed flowing cape to his satisfaction around the base of a golden throne.
“I notice there’s only one throne,” Dieter whispered to Lothair.
“Of course. Matilda isn’t his wife yet.”
A flurry of activity near the rear doors signaled the arrival of the princess.
