Henry the Lion

Whitsun, 3 June 1135, Magdeburg
The beginning of my Henry the Lion novel, set on the day of his baptism in 1135 (though it is unclear whether it was 1135 or 1136). Of course, little Henry is way too old here, just over five years. This is based on the assumption that he was born in 1129. The chronicle of Gerhard, provost of Steterburg stated he died on 6 August 1195 aged 66. However, considering the day of his baptism and that he was still described as a teenager around 1150 means that he was probably born in early 1135. However, I had already written this, plus I like that this way he remembers his grandfather Lothar, the Emperor, and grandmother, Richenza. In reality he probably did not remember grandpapa Lothar and if he had any memories of grandma Richenza they would be very vague.

Officially, Henry the Lion did not have an older half-sister. A. Wolf speculated that he did, a child of a previous marriage of his father, Henry the Proud, and an unknown woman. It’s all speculation, but I liked the idea, so I included Kunigunde in the story.

Henry felt hot and uncomfortable in his new clothes. They were stiff and heavy, but he resisted the urge to fidget. His sister had told him off twice already.
The sun was shining through the wide-open windows of the archbishop’s guest house in Magdeburg. It felt like a summer’s day, though it was only early June. Henry’s mother had commented on this in the morning. She had said that it must be a good omen. Henry was not quite sure what an omen was, but as long as it was good, he did not mind.
A multitude of noises drifted in through the windows, horses neighing and stomping their hooves. Voices rang out, too many to count. Henry wished he could have stayed at the window to watch the arriving nobility, with his sister telling him who they were, but Kunigunde had insisted to make sure he looked his best today.
This was the first time he was going to attend a diet his grandfather had summoned, and the prospect was exciting enough for him run around like a headless chicken, as his sister had told him more than once. But now he was not allowed to run around anymore, he was not allowed to even watch the nobles ride to the archbishop’s palace from their camps. He was not even allowed to scratch his neck, where the embroidery of his tunic rubbed his skin.
“You have to be a good boy today,” Kunigunde said once more. Each word was accompanied by a stroke of her brush through his hair.
Henry nodded. He had been told often enough, but he had been scolded for saying so, so he bore his sister’s admonitions and administrations silently.
“This is a very important day,” Kunigunde continued. “For your grandfather, for our father. You have to make sure you do not embarrass them. - Keep still.”
Henry froze in mid-nod, his chin on his chest. He tried to catch a glimpse of Kunigunde’s face without turning his head, but she was standing behind him, still brushing his hair.
He did know that today was important. He had been told. Kunigunde should know he knew. Grandpapa was holding court, and all of the nobility had come to Magdeburg. For weeks and weeks, he had been told over and over again how important this Whitsun diet was.
Finally, the brushing stopped. Kunigunde walked around him. Her embroidered dress sparkled in the sunlight, rustling as she moved. She too was dressed up for the court, precious stones glittering on her dress and her jewellery. She reminded Henry of one of the jewel encrusted book-covers, Uncle Welf had showed him. Surely, Kunigunde was the prettiest woman in the world - with the exception of mama perhaps.
Kunigunde smiled and bent down to him. With the index finger of her right hand, she tilted up his face.
“This is also your big day, little brother,” she said.
“I know,” Henry replied.
Kunigunde laughed. “I hope you do,” she told him. “It’s not every day you are baptised, and on a great occasion like this.” She tapped his nose with her finger. “Are you excited?” she asked. She really ought to know that he was, but Henry was old enough to know that sometimes adults asked the strangest questions.
“Yes,” he stated firmly.
Kunigunde tapped the tip of his nose again. “I bet you are.”
For a moment, Henry hesitated, afraid to disarrange her dress or his own, then he threw his arms around her neck.
Kunigunde laughed, and straightening up, lifted him from the ground. “My Lord, Henry,” she exclaimed, “you are getting bigger every day. Soon you will be too big for me to carry around.”
Then, belying her own statement and forgetting all her earlier warnings, she spun around herself, swinging him high in the air, until he squealed with delight.
Perhaps, Henry thought, Kunigunde was also excited. After all, she had never attended a diet before as well.
With a thump Kunigunde put him down on the floor again.
“I won’t be able to do that for much longer,” she said, breathing heavily. She looked at him and sighed, “Now we have to brush your hair again.” She did not mind, though, since she was still smiling.
The maid placed the brush into Kunigunde’s hand. “He’s a fine-looking boy,” she said.
Henry pulled a face at the maid. He did not like when people talked about him as if he wasn’t there, but the maid only laughed.
“Don’t do that,” Kunigunde told him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “your mother would not approve.”
Henry obediently stopped scowling. He knew that Kunigunde’s threat was not true. Mama never disliked anything he did. He wondered why Kunigunde had said it even though it was untrue. Grandmama would scold him, but never mama.
Heavy steps coming to the open door announced a new arrival.
 “So here you are,” Uncle Welf exclaimed as if it was a great surprise to find them here. “My favourite nephew getting his last brush up for his big day.”
“Uncle Welf!” Henry twisted out of his sister’s grip and ran to his uncle.
“Now you’re ruining everything again,” Kunigunde complained.
Welf laughed and picked him up, but instead of tossing him in the air as he usually did, he just placed a kiss on his cheek before putting him back on the floor.
“You have to listen to your sister, Henry,” Welf said solemnly. “No more running around.”
“I have to be a good boy today,” Henry replied.
Uncle Welf laughed again. “Yes,” he stated. “So let your sister finish.”
Placing his hand on Henry’s shoulder, he walked him over to Kunigunde, who at once started to brush Henry’s hair again.
“You look particularly pretty today,” Welf said to her. “My prettiest niece and my favourite nephew, this is going to be one fine day.”
Uncle Welf was also wearing richer clothes than usual and more jewels than usual. He bent down to Henry, but before he could say anything, Kunigunde exclaimed, brandishing the brush. “If you’re going to tickle him or something I am going to hit you.”
“Far from it,” Uncle Welf exclaimed, straightening up again. “I was just about to tell him that he really has to be a good boy today. - But then I guess, you have been told often enough,” he added to Henry.
“Yes,” Henry replied.
“Not that I doubt that you are a good boy anyway,” Welf continued, “but today of all days, you have to be particularly good.”
“Done,” Kunigunde stated, and handed the brush back to the waiting maid.
“We ought to go now,” Welf said. “The emperor is waiting.”
He held out his hand towards Henry who put his hand in his uncle’s, and together they started toward the door. Kunigunde followed them, walking a step behind.
There were servants rushing backwards and forwards all around them. Outside the guest house the courtyard was even more crowded, servants, men-at-arms, noblemen and their wives, horses, all were milling around, aimlessly as it seemed to Henry. 
Henry had to almost run to keep up with Uncle Welf’s long steps. He tried to see whether there was anybody he knew, but all he could see were legs. All sorts of legs, men’s and women’s, and horses’ legs, but only legs. Henry craned his neck, trying to see up to the faces of all those people around him.
Then his foot hit something, making him stumble straight towards a pile of horse dumping.
But Uncle Welf held on to his hand and without breaking his stride, picked him up sat him on his hip. “That’s better, isn’t it?” he asked.
Henry nodded and put his arm around Uncle Welf’s neck.
Uncle Welf smelled of horses, he always did. Henry liked the smell. He liked the way Uncle Welf talked to him, that he laughed a lot, even that his cheeks were scratchy when he gave him a kiss, and that he called Henry ‘my favourite nephew’. Uncle Welf, Henry thought, was by far his favourite uncle. And not only because he was the Uncle Henry knew best.
Henry frowned, trying to remember all his uncles, there was Uncle Konrad, who had died in Italy before he was born. He had been a monk. Then there was Aunt Wulfhild’s husband Rudolf, who was a count Bregenz, Aunt Sophie’s husband was Margrave of Stayr. Aunt Mechthild was married to Uncle Gebhard, who was also a count, and his sister was married to Konrad of Staufen who had caused so much trouble to Grandpapa. - Then there was of course Uncle Frederick, Konrad’s brother. Henry had never met him. He had been fighting with his brother Konrad against Papa and Grandpapa for a long time and though he had made his peace with them now, Henry still thought he must be a bad man.
“You will be able to see all the great people that have come here today to pay their respects to your grandfather.” Uncle Welf told him. “And this must be a great day, after all your Aunt Uta has come as well.”
There was a strange tone to Uncle Welf’s voice as he said it. Henry also caught the startled look on his sister’s face. He did know that there was something wrong with Aunt Uta. She must be sick a lot since she hardly ever travelled with Uncle Welf. Henry could not even remember the last time he met her. It must have been a long time ago.
“Have they come as well?” Kunigunde asked. She had caught up with Uncle Welf and put her hand through his arm.
“You mean Frederick, the prodigal Duke?” Uncle Welf asked.
Kunigunde nodded and then lowered her face.
“Yes,” Uncle Welf replied. For a while they continued in silence, then Uncle Welf continued. “He cannot afford to stay away, particularly not him.”
Henry looked around trying to spot the man who had been nothing but trouble. He had been told his uncle Frederick of Swabia only had one eye. and that he was not to stare when he saw him.
“He isn’t here,” Uncle Welf told him. “He’s probably showing up at the last possible moment. - Though I’ve heard he will be accompanying the emperor to his next Italian campaign,” he added to Kunigunde.
“Really?” Kunigunde exclaimed at the same moment as Henry asked, “They are not going away again?”
“Not yet,” Uncle Welf answered him, “not this year, but sooner or later the emperor has to go back to Italy, there are still a good many problems that need to be taken care of.” He smiled at Henry.
“Look,” Welf said, pointing at a man dressed in fine clothes that looked as new and uncomfortable as Henry’s own, “there is Count Albrecht of Brandenburg.”
Unlike Henry, the count did fiddle with his clothes, scratching his neck where his collar probably rubbed it. He caught Henry staring at him and nodded at him with a smile on his face.
There were a good many people staring at them, Henry realised.
“Can you remember your uncle Frederick?” Welf asked Kunigunde now.
“Not really,” Kunigunde said, so quietly that Henry was hardly able to hear her. “They were at mother’s funeral, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they were.” Uncle Welf confirmed sombrely.
Henry looked at his sister’s lowered head, wishing she would cheer up. Of course, he knew it was horrible if your mother died, but it had been such a long time ago. And this was to be a happy day.
“In those days, we were all good neighbours,” Uncle Welf said. “Now, it’s quite a different game.” He paused for a long time, then he continued, “your father and Frederick of Swabia are quite the pair. They stalk around each other like two dogs who are not quite sure whether starting a fight would be worth the consequences.”
Kunigunde looked up at her uncle, then she smiled at Henry, who was glad that she was not sad anymore.
“The Duke of Swabia has brought his son along,” Uncle Welf told them. “Haven’t seen him yet though. I guess, he must be almost your age, Kunigunde. A few years younger, I think.”
Kunigunde nodded again, then she lowered her head.
“Look up,” Uncle Welf told her. “Hold your head high, my dear,” he continued when she had obeyed. “There’s no reason for you to hide your pretty face.”
Kunigunde smiled, this time at her uncle. “I just feel so out of place here.”
“Why should you feel out of place?” Welf asked. “You are the daughter of the Duke of Bavaria, the most powerful man in the empire - after the emperor of course. This is where you belong.”
“I don’t know,” Kunigunde replied, her voice was shaking slightly, but she held her head up. “They’re all staring at us.”
“You better get used to that,” Uncle Welf told her. “Moreover, they are more likely to look at our birthday boy here.” Uncle Welf smiled at Henry.
“It’s not my …,” Henry started, but Uncle Welf interrupted him, “no, not this day, but you were born on Whitsun Sunday five years ago.” Uncle Welf shook his head. “And what a day it was. - Your Grace.” The last was addressed to a man in the colourful robes of a bishop who had just dismounted. He barely nodded in response to Uncle Welf’s greeting. He looked far from happy, Henry noticed.
“That’s the Bishop of Regensburg,” Welf whispered into Henry’s ear. “He’s still pissed off with your father for besieging his city a few years back.”
“Uncle Welf,” Kunigunde hissed, “don’t say things like that. He might hear you.”
“Well, he needn’t have come if he did not want to,” Uncle Welf stated, almost at normal speaking voice again, but then, Henry saw, the bishop had already disappeared behind them. “That, my boy,” Welf said to Henry again, “is when you know you’re winning, when not only your friends but also your enemies come to pay their respects.”
They had left the crowd behind and were approaching the archbishop’s residence, a big building opposite the cathedral.
“The day you were born,” Uncle Welf took up the story again, “I remember it well. Your father was away with the emperor. I was staying with your mother in Ravensburg. - I was not married yet. And it took you a while to come into this world.” He turned to Kunigunde, who was looking down on the ground again. “You were hiding, weren’t you? With all the commotion about Henry’s birth we didn’t notice for a long time.”
Kunigunde looked up, trying to smile, but the smile wavered. “I was so scared. I thought that Gertrud was dying - like my mother.”
“My dear girl,” Welf said, “not everybody who gives birth dies. Look at my mother! How many children did she bear?”
“Eight,” Henry replied at once.
“Exactly,” Welf confirmed, “and seven of us grew up to adulthood. Mother died many years after having the last of us.” Uncle Welf turned to Henry. “You’re a clever boy.”
They had to be close to the chapterhouse of the archbishop’s palace where they were to meet with grandpapa and grandma. The only people passing them were monks who quickly cleared the path for them.
“Finally!” Grandmama’s voice rang out sharply. “Where have you been?”
Grandmama stood in front of a door and glared at them. She looked strange in her stiff, ornamented dress, her hair hidden beneath a shawl. And she was wearing a crown.
Henry stared at the glittering crown, the many-coloured jewels set in it. He had never seen Grandmama wearing a crown before.
“Your Grace,” Welf replied politely with a small bow.
Kunigunde echoed, “your Grace.” and dropped into a deep courtesy.
“Don’t do that,” Grandmama snapped, but then she smiled at Kunigunde and continued, “you‘re family, my dear.” She kissed her step-granddaughter lightly on one cheek. “You look splendid.”
“Thank you,” Kunigunde replied almost in a whisper.
“Come in,” Grandmama said. She put her hand through Kunigunde’s arm and gently led her into the room. “We’ve all been waiting for you.”
The room they entered was full of people. Henry looked around but most of the people were strangers, and almost all were clergy.
A couple of grandma’s ladies were standing in a corner. Henry could see Grandpapa talking to an older cleric, who Henry thought must be the archbishop of Magdeburg. Mama was standing next to him in a glittering golden dress. To his disappointment he saw that Grandpapa was not wearing a crown.
“Where’s Henry?” Uncle Welf asked, looking around in search of his brother.
“He’s gone to make sure the Duke of Swabia and his boy are going to be there before we are,” Grandmama stated. “If there ever was a pair of sore losers it’s those Staufen boys.”
Grandmama was standing between Uncle Welf and Kunigunde. Henry’s eyes were caught again by the crown on her head. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he knew that Grandmama would chide him if he did.
“So, it was not only us who kept you waiting,” Uncle Welf pointed out.
“No,” Grandmama replied with a sigh. “But you were just one more worry. And the Archbishop wants to have a word with young Henry before the ceremony.”
Grandmama turned to Henry and gave him a long look of appraisal that made him squirm.
“Come on,” she said finally, “you don’t want to keep the archbishop waiting.”
Obediently Henry held out his arms for Grandmama to take him. “Oh no,” Grandmama stated firmly. “I think you’re old enough to walk on your own two feet.”
 “Yes,” Henry replied at once. He felt confused. The crowned lady was so distant and strict, almost as if she were not his Grandmama at all.
Uncle Welf stood Henry on the floor. “No running,” he reminded him again.
Henry nodded. Standing on his own feet again he lost sight of grandpapa and mama. 
“Come.” Grandma held out her hand for Henry. “I trust you will look after your niece.” she told Uncle Welf.
“I will,” Uncle Welf replied with a small bow.
Henry put his hand into his grandmama’s. He knew he had to behave. He was not to run, speak out of turn or pull faces, he was to eat carefully and stay close to his family. He did think he had kept the rules, but Grandmama seemed to be displeased anyway.
“Do you like the diet so far?” Grandmama asked as they walked through the crowd.
“Yes,” Henry replied. He dared to look up at Grandmama’s face and discovered that she was smiling at him. Perhaps he had not done anything wrong after all.
“What did you like best?” Grandmama wanted to know.
Henry considered the question, since he had been told to think before he answered. He liked a lot of things about being here. The journey had been exhausting but very exciting. He had never been so far away from home. He liked that all the people treated him like he was something special. He liked having Uncle Welf here, and Kunigunde, mama and papa, and Grandfather and Grandmother. Kunigunde, he had around almost always, and mama, Uncle Welf and even papa were frequently there, but he had not seen grandmama and grandpapa for a long, long time.
“Seeing you and grandpapa,” he answered.
Grandmama raised her eyebrows. “Indeed?”
Henry nodded, and after a moment grandmama laughed.
“That’s sweet of you to say,” she told him. She turned to mama who had appeared behind the bulk of a fat monk. “You heard what he just said?” Grandmama asked, and when mama nodded, she continued to Henry, “Quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
Henry looked from his Grandmama to his mother, wondering what about his answer had been so funny. Sometimes he did not understand any grown-ups.
Mama bent down and kissed him. “I think I should be jealous that you prefer grandmama to me.”
Henry opened his mouth to protest, but mama laughed. “I don’t mind, Henry,” she reassured him. “You haven’t seen them for a long time.”
“You aren’t going to Italy again?” Henry asked his Grandmama, remembering Uncle Welf saying they would.
“Not today,” Grandmama replied, “but at some point, we have to. Come on.” She headed away from mama again.
Henry wished he was taller or that grandmama would carry him. He just couldn’t see anything.
“Your grace,” somebody said, but Henry could not tell who had said it or who it was addressed to.
“There,” Grandmama said, and putting her hands on his shoulders pushed him forward towards a long purple robe and a gold-embroidered one.
Henry looked up and there was the cleric who must be the Archbishop of Magdeburg, frowning at him, and grandpapa. Now Henry could see why grandpapa was not wearing his crown. He held it in his hands.
“Henry,” Grandpapa said. He bent down and kissed Henry on his forehead. “How you have grown.”
Henry looked at his grandfather, who remained bent down smiling at him. Grandpapa’s face looked all wrinkled this close, and he smelled funny, Henry thought, cold somehow, like a church.
“So, do you think you are ready?” Grandpapa asked.
Henry nodded. He had learned all the catechisms by heart. Even the ones in Latin.
“Good,” Grandpapa said, and straightened up with a sigh. Henry could see his fingers were tapping against the crown he held in both hands.
“Why are you not wearing your crown?” The question burst out, before Henry could stop himself. He stared up at Grandpapa, afraid he would be scolded for speaking out of turn, but Grandpapa just heaved a sigh.
“It is very heavy,” he explained. “Wearing it gives me a headache.” He looked down at the octagonal crown in his hands and then at the archbishop. “That is probably to remind me that being the emperor is a burden as well as an honour.”
Henry looked at the crown and then up at his grandfather. He very badly wanted to ask him, whether he could hold it as well, but before he had time to gather the courage, grandpapa sighed once more and placed the crown on his head.
“Some things just can’t be helped,” he said turning towards grandmama. “We should get started. Where is Henry?”
Grandmama shrugged. “I’ll see whether I can find out.”
She gave Henry’s shoulders a squeeze and vanished between the people gathered in the room. There seemed to be even more now than before.
“Now, my dear boy,” the archbishop said, “I would like to ask you a few questions to make sure you are prepared for your baptism.”
Henry nodded. He very much wanted to ask the archbishop why he had to learn all these things, why he had to be specially prepared for his baptism. His sister had been baptised immediately after she’d been born and therefore had not been able to speak, let alone memorise long phrases in Latin. He had asked mama, who had said that as he was older and a boy and therefore more was expected of him. But why had he not been baptised as a baby? What if he had died?
“Do you know the Credo?” the archbishop asked.
Henry nodded again. “Credo in deum, patrem omnipotentem, creator coeli et terra. Et in Iesus Christus, filius eius unicorn, dominus nostrum: qui conceptus et de spirits, natus ex Mary,…"
The archbishop lifted his hand, and Henry stopped his recitation. The archbishop made a face as if he had tasted something sour.
“You have no idea what you are saying, have you?” the archbishop wanted to know, but before Henry had time to protest that he did, his grandfather said, “What do you expect? I am sure that even you were not fluent in Latin at his age.”
The archbishop opened and shut his mouth like a fish out of the water, then he shook his head. “No.”
Grandpapa smiled down at Henry and continued to the archbishop. “I can assure you that my grandson has been brought up as a good Christian. Moreover, his father’s family is well known for their deep devotion to the church. They even count a Saint among them.”
“Bishop Konrad of Konstanz,” Henry said at once. “And Uncle Konrad was very saintly, too, and my great-grandfather died in the Holy Land.”
“There you see,” grandpapa said with a smile to the archbishop. “His Latin may need some improvement, but his history is flawless.”
The archbishop finally smiled as well. “I think the fact that Duke Welf died in the Holy Land just shows that not everybody who ventures out there is a saint.”
Henry frowned. He was not quite sure what the archbishop meant with that, but he seemed to think great-grandfather Welf had not been a good man.
Grandpapa laughed. “Did you ever meet him?” he asked the archbishop.
“No,” the archbishop replied.
“I did,” Grandpapa said. “A saint he was not, but what a character.”
Grandpapa seemed to like great-grandfather Welf, Henry thought, and unlike the archbishop he had met him.
“Saints usually don’t become duke of Bavaria,” Grandpapa continued, “or emperor for that matter.”
“Your grace,” somebody behind Henry said and as he turned around to see who it was, he was hit in the chest by the knee of a tall man that almost knocked him over.
Henry gasped and grabbed the tunic of the man to stop himself from falling over.
The man looked down, startled at first and then with a shocked expression on his face. “I… I am sorry,” he stuttered, “I did not see…”
“I sure hope, you did not step on my grandson on purpose,” Grandpapa told the tall man, then he bent down to Henry. “Are you hurt?”
Henry shook his head.
“Let’s get you out of harm's way, shall we?” Grandpapa said and like Uncle Welf earlier picked him up and sat him on his hip. “You have grown heavy, my dear boy.”
“I’m sorry,” Henry said.
Grandpapa laughed at this. “It’s the natural course of things,” he told Henry. “We’d not want you to do anything but grown heavy. - Now,” he turned towards the tall man, “what is it?”
Henry looked at Grandpapa. He wished he understood why Grandpapa had laughed, but perhaps it was one of these things that could not be helped.
“Your grace, I was wondering when the mess would start,” the tall man said.
Henry could see that many of the people around, where looking at grandpapa, and at him.
“I am still waiting for my son-in-law,” grandpapa explained, “we cannot proceed before he is back.”
Near the windows, Henry spotted Kunigunde and Uncle Welf, who had been joined by grandmama’s ladies. Kunigunde was talking to Uncle Welf, who listened to her intently. Grandmama was nowhere to be seen.
“Tell them to wait in the cathedral,” grandpapa told the tall man.
Sitting up here, Henry decided as he twisted round to see the people behind grandpapa, was much better than standing on the floor.
They all were still staring at grandpapa and him. They looked as if they were expecting Grandpapa to do something.
A dark-haired man was coming in from the hallway, looking around in search for somebody.
 “Papa!” Henry exclaimed as he recognised him and pointed at him, to show Grandpapa who was waiting for him after all.
Grandpapa jumped noticeably. “Careful, I am not deaf.”
Papa caught sight of Henry and his grandfather and quickly made his way across the crowded room.
“And hold still,” grandpapa admonished.
Henry stopped swinging his legs and tried to sit still. Grandpapa must be very upset with him. He had not simply spoken out of turn. He had been very loud indeed.
People stepped out of papa’s way as he hastened across the room, creating a passage that closed again behind him. It almost looked like when a dog marched through a crowd of geese, though the people here were not making as much of a racket as geese would.
Papa looked worried.
“What is the problem,” grandpapa said, very quietly, when papa came to a halt in front of him. “Isn’t he coming?”
“No, he’s here,” papa said in a whisper, and when grandpapa stated, “that’s where we wanted him to be.” he repeated more urgently. “I meant, he’s here.”
“Hm,” grandpapa said. He looked at papa, nodded and turned to the archbishop. “We can start now,” he told him, then towards the tall man, “set the procession up, just get the people out of here. We will be following shortly. This won’t take long.”
The tall man bowed, then both he and the archbishop disappeared into the crowd, whispering and waving at individual people as they passed.
“What does he want?” grandpapa asked.
“He wants to assure you of his loyalty,” papa replied, “at least that’s what he said.”
Grandpapa was still standing with his back to the door, Henry noticed. The people in the room began to file out, under the watchful eye of the archbishop.
“I guess we have to let him join the procession,” grandpapa stated. “And I bet that’s what he was aiming at.”
There were two men standing in the door now, Henry saw, and his stomach bubbled with excitement. One of them must be his Uncle Frederick.
Just in time, he remembered to sit still.
“He’ll have to wait with the assurance of his loyalty until the council,” grandpapa continued. He eased Henry’s hand off his collar and kept it in his.
Henry stared at the new arrivals who were walking across the room towards them.
The man on the right must be his Uncle Frederick, as he only had one eye. Henry had seen people before, who were blind on one eye, but this man’s eye was just not there. A scar cut the eyebrow above the missing eye in half. The remaining eye was pale blue and was looking right at him.
He was not supposed to stare, Henry remembered and quickly looked at his uncle’s shorter companion. Or tried to. He had time to notice that the man standing next to one-eyed Uncle Frederick was shorter than him and had red hair before his eyes returned to Uncle Frederick’s face.
The scar above the missing eye also cut the upper eyelid and ended in a nick on his cheek. There was a dark gap between the eyelids sunken far back into Frederick’s face.
Uncle Frederick’s good eye was still fixed on Henry’s face, as if he saw something just as fascinating as Henry did.
Grandpapa gave Henry’s hand a squeeze and finally turned towards the new arrivals, breaking the eye-contact between Henry and his one-eyed uncle.
“There you are at last,” Grandpapa said as if he had been waiting for them to come all along.
“Your grace,” Uncle Frederick said and bowed stiffly. His companion silently imitated him.
Henry only now noticed that the red-haired man was in fact barely grown-up. He must be the son of Uncle Frederick, Uncle Welf had mentioned. He was looking at grandpapa with a fascinated expression on his face. Henry noticed that his cousin’s eyes were much bluer than Uncle Frederick’s one good eye. And, like other red-haired people, Henry had seen, his cousin had a sprinkle of freckles over his nose and cheeks.
As if he noticed he was being watched, his cousin tore his eyes away from Grandpapa and looked around. When his eyes met Henry’s, a frown appeared on his face. Henry had to grin at his cousin’s grim expression. For a moment his cousin looked startled then he grinned back.
“Gertrud,” grandpapa said, turning to Mama who had suddenly appeared next to him, “would you…”
“Of course.” Mama held out her arms, and grandpapa handed Henry over to her. With a quick smile she nodded at the three men and quickly walked away from the little group.
Henry only now noticed that with the exception of grandpapa and papa, there was only a small group of people left, Uncle Welf, Kunigunde and one of Grandmama’s ladies. They were still standing where Henry had last seen them, next to one of the windows, but while Uncle Welf and even Kunigunde were watching the group around grandpapa, the lady-in-waiting was staring at her feet, nervously playing with her necklace.
“I don’t think this is the time to play ‘I can out-stare you’,” Uncle Welf stated, and turning to grandmama’s lady, he hissed, “and stop that fiddling. You know I can’t stand that, dammit.”
The lady instantly let her necklace go. She did look pale, but she glared at Uncle Welf and after a moment’s pause, she said, “you know I don’t like you swearing.”
Uncle Welf opened his mouth to reply, but mama was quicker. “Welf, Uta, you will both stop. We can’t have you arguing, not here. And there, thank goodness, is mother.”
While the others turned around, Aunt Uta stared at the floor. Her hand reached up to her necklace, but she quickly lowered it again.
Henry wondered whether Aunt Uta and Uncle Welf were allowed to argue somewhere else.
“I really don’t understand what they are trying to do,” mama said. “I had almost hoped that Henry might break the ice and say something.”
“I was told not to speak out of turn,” Henry reminded her.
“I know,” mama replied. “And you are being a very good boy today. Now Grandmama is sorting the situation out.”
Grandmama was talking to the red-haired young man now. Behind her, grandpapa and papa were talking to another man.
“And what is he here for?” Kunigunde asked.
“Balance,” Mama explained. “How would it look if only these the Staufen boys were partaking in the procession?”
“Henry,” grandmama called. She waved at him. “You have to come here.”
Mama gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and put him on the floor. “Be a good boy.”
Henry nodded and slowly walked over to his grandparents.

Frederick steered his horse to the right just before his leg bumped against his father’s. Casting a quick glance at his father, Frederick was relieved to see that his father had apparently not noticed the almost collision. At least, he continued to stare ahead and was not telling Frederick off for bad horsemanship.
Frederick patted his horse on the neck. It almost seemed as if his own nervousness translated to his horse, but that, Frederick realised, was just a rather lame excuse for his own actions. It was he who sought shelter in the shadow of his father and involuntarily steered his horse closer to him whenever he let his attention wander.
He felt uncomfortably exposed, here in a place that was and had been standing steadfast to Emperor Lothar. The people here had little compassion for the former opponents of their lord. The least hostile reaction he had been faced with was curiosity.
Twisting around in his saddle, he could see their two men riding behind him, one of them gave him an encouraging wink. Beyond those two the armed men of Duke of Bavaria marched. Ahead there were another couple of the duke’s men, on horse-back, and just ahead of his father and himself rode the duke.
Frederick stared at the back of this uncle he had met today for the first time. It had been an unpleasant surprise, when Duke Henry had appeared at the camp unannounced to fetch them like disobedient children.
An angry conversation between his father and the duke had followed, before they had finally set out. Frederick hat not paid much attention to what was said, he had been busy watching the Duke, wondering - and surprising himself by it - whether he bore any resemblance to his sister Judith, Frederick’s mother. Frederick had realised how vague his memory of his mother were. That he could not remember what she had looked like, not really.
The duke had apparently been completely unaware of being stared at, or of the presence of anybody besides his brother-in-law.
Frederick had stared at his uncle and wondered about his mother and her family.
As their cavalcade turned a corner, the great cathedral of Magdeburg appeared.
Frederick swallowed. Having met, or rather having been ignored by his uncle had been exciting, but now, he was to come face to face with the emperor himself. The man who wore his father’s crown, but who nevertheless had - over the years - won his father’s grudging respect.
His father’s respect and obedience, and it seemed that even Uncle Konrad would have to surrender to the emperor and give up his claim to the crown.
There was a crowd of people in the cathedral square, mostly commoners, the nobility seemed to have already moved into the church.
Father reigned in his horse and quickly looked around.
A couple of monks who had emerged from the building, they had stopped in front of, “I think we can turn this into something,” father muttered.
He jumped of his horse and followed Duke Henry who was about to enter the large building - the archbishop’s palace, Frederick assumed - without so much as a backward glance at the people he had escorted here. Apparently, the Duke had more confidence that his charges would know what to do and gave no thought to the fact that they may not want to it.
A tall man tried to place himself in father’s way but was ignored.
Climbing off his horse, Frederick did not catch what his father said, as he was too far away, but the frown on Duke Henry’s face was enough to see it was not to his liking.
“The emperor will receive you at the council, like everybody else,” Duke Henry snapped.
“But we are not everybody else,” father returned in the same tone.
“And what exactly makes you special?” Duke Henry wanted to know.
Father straightened up and gave the duke a long glare. “I am the Duke of Swabia,” he stated. “And just how many other dukes do you count here?”
“Two,” Henry replied, “not counting myself.” [Duke of Bohemia?]
For a moment father looked surprised, but he quickly regained his composure. “It is not so long since we,” he indicated himself and Frederick, “have made our peace with the emperor. We want to assure him of our loyalty.”
Duke Henry wrinkled his nose, then he sighed. “We have let the emperor wait too long as it is. Mass should have started by now. You better be quick with those assurances.”
He turned around and stalked off.
Father briefly smiled at him then he followed Duke Henry. Frederick followed a step behind.
Coming from the bright sunshine outside, it took Frederick’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom inside the building.
The hallway they walked through was deserted at first, then people started to file out of a door ahead of them, clerics mostly, who were getting in line. They were setting up the procession to the cathedral, and at once Frederick realised what his father was planning. By showing up here and this late, he would make the emperor let them join the procession, overthrowing the carefully staged order, and showing everybody who attended the mass that he was back where he belonged, at the centre of power.
Some of the men joining the procession, those who were not too busy finding their place, gave them surprised looks, but nobody spoke up.
Then they reached the door to the chamber all these people emerged from, which must be the chapter house, and Frederick spotted a group of people that needed no introduction.
Duke Henry was talking to a gaunt, grey-haired man. But it was not so much that the duke was talking to him, or even that he was wearing the imperial crown that identified the old man as the emperor. It seemed to be more as if an aura of power surrounded him. An aura that was not even tarnished by the fact that he was carrying a small, black-haired boy on his arm.
The child, Frederick realised must be Duke Henry’s son, the one who would be baptised today.
They had come to a halt just inside the door, as if to savour the scene presented to them, the emperor, his son-in-law, and his grandson.
“Ah,” father sighed. “there you can see the future. Three generations of the imperial family.”
“What?” The question burst out of Frederick before he could stop it. Only last night his father had talked at length about the fact that the emperor was old, that the next election would be as open as the last and that next time they would not repeat the mistakes of the past.
“That’s what it looks like, doesn’t it?” father stated. “And, my son, it is better to face the facts than dream about what may be our right. They are the imperial family. They have gained what my brother and I failed to achieve. All we can do is bask in their reflected glory. At the moment. But we will see whether fortune won’t change again.” He gave Frederick a long look, and with a shrug said, “Let’s go. We can’t let our sovereign wait.”
The emperor, Frederick thought, did not seem to be waiting for them. He was deep in conversation with his son-in-law who equally ignored them.
The only person in the room who paid any attention to them was the emperor’s grandson. He stared with obvious fascination at father, his dark eyes round with wonder.
It was, of course, father’s missing eye that drew the boy’s attention. Frederick had seen all sorts of reactions to it. Only recently the son of a visitor, who had been a few years older than this boy, had run screaming to his mother. Wide-eyed wonder was certainly not the most common reaction.
Frederick realised that for the boy his father was the uncle he had never seen before. In a way this was a family reunion. A very awkward one, but surely there had been stranger ones.
Just as father stopped and Frederick started to wonder whether the emperor would continue to ignore their approach, he turned towards them.
“There you are at last,” he said, as if they were indeed long-expected relatives.
“Your grace,” father replied, sounding as if he had hoped for a different reaction. As he bowed, Frederick imitated him.
The emperor smiled at them graciously and gave them a hint of a nod.
A strained silence settled over the room, as their two parties, the emperor and his son-in law on one side, Frederick and his father on the other, were eying each other wearily.
Perhaps, Frederick thought, if the emperor bent his head more, his crown would fall off and that certainly would not be the impression the emperor wanted to make. Frederick could see it happen, the crown imperial falling off the emperor’s head, hitting the floor with a loud clatter, and than rolling in front of father’s feet. Now that would be a portent of special significance.
But the crown was sitting firmly on Emperor Lothar’s head, Frederick told himself, both literally and figuratively. It also would hardly roll: it was octagonal. But it would make a very satisfactory clatter.
Father was right, of course. It was more than likely that the crown would pass to Duke Henry, and later to his son.
In that case, Frederick thought, it would be wise to make peace with these people, whether he liked it or not. In twenty or thirty-years’ time he would be the Duke of Swabia and the little boy his Emperor. Surely, he did not want to spend his life chasing after a crown he could not reach.
Turning his attention from the emperor to the little boy he was carrying, Frederick was surprised to find himself now the object of the emperor’s grandson’s curiosity.
Face up to the facts, damn it, Frederick thought grimly. The little boy wasn’t emperor yet, no matter what he or his family thought.
Frederick stared back at his young cousin.
The boy did not look away or become squeamish, he just returned the stare. Then he grinned at Frederick as if they were the best of friends, and to his own surprise Frederick felt himself grin back. In turn, his cousin grinned even wider.
He seemed to be genuinely happy about their meeting. But then, Frederick reminded himself, he was only a little kid, four years or so. Perhaps he did not feel the tension in the room or notice the strained silence that just went on and on.
“Gertrud,” the emperor said to the young woman standing at his elbow.
The emperor’s daughter was younger than Frederick had expected, and prettier. Standing between her father and her husband, she looked small and almost frail. Judging from her blue eyes and pale skin, she was most likely blond, which meant that her son had his colouring from his dark-haired, dark-eyed father.
She relieved her father of the boy and carried him over to where a last couple of people were waiting.
The silence finally seemed to be wearing father’s patience thin. He suddenly started, “We…,” but just then the empress swept back into the room, and if anybody’s entrance could ever be described that way, Frederick decided, it was certainly this one.
Like her husband she was wearing her crown and looked, if that was possible, even more regal than he did. Behind her trailed a rather bewildered looking nobleman.
The empress came to a halt next to her husband and with a generous smile held her hand out to father.
“My dear duke,” she said, “what a pleasure to see you again.”
Father took her hand and bowed deeply. “Your grace,” he mumbled.
Her gaze wandered to Frederick and caught his eyes. To his embarrassment he felt himself blushing deeply under her scrutiny. She looked at father her eyebrows raised in question.
“My son Frederick,” his father explained, almost gruffly.
“Oh,” the empress said, and with a bright smile turned back to Frederick. “You must be very proud of him.”
She held out her hand to Frederick, who again imitated his father.
“Well,” the empress continued, “as we are now all here, I think we should not let the good people in the cathedral wait any longer.”
She flashed another smile at Frederick, nodded at his father and taking her husband’s arm, she turned to where her daughter was standing with a small group of people. “Henry, you have to come here.”
Gertrud obediently set her son on the floor and after a short, whispered exchange, the boy slowly walked over to his grandparents.
Watching young Henry cross the short distance, the earlier smile replaced by a solemn expression, Frederick wondered what the boy thought of this situation. Of course, he was too young to understand it, too young to remember the time when his grandfather had not been the universally accepted ruler of the empire.
To be honest, he himself could not remember the beginning of the conflict, only brief and confused facets of it. One of his earliest memories was of his enraged father shouting at his mother, calling her father every vile name he could think of. His mother had stood her ground and had yelled back over and over again ‘It’s not my fault’. At the time he had been scared witless. It had seemed that the entire world was falling apart, but why that was and what his parents quarrel was about he had not known.
“Frederick,” the empress voice brought him back to the present. “Your cousin and you will bring up the rear.”
For a moment Frederick did not know what she was referring to, young Henry was surely not to be relegated to such an unimportant position, then he realised that the Empress was referring to the young woman standing next to her.
She smiled briefly at him, as she joined his side, revealing that her front teeth were slightly askew.
“I’m not really your cousin, I guess,” she whispered, as the empress joined her husband at the head of the procession. “My mother was father’s first wife.”
Frederick frowned at her. “That still makes you my cousin. Your father is my uncle.”
“Oh,” she made, blushing deeply. “Of course, how silly of me.”
The emperor and the empress walked out of the room, followed by their small grandson, who at first tried to match their dignified walk but was forced to quicken his step to keep up with them.
Behind the boy walked his parents, followed by father and the confused looking man Frederick did not recognise.
“Who is he?” he asked his cousin.
“Margrave Albrecht,” she informed him.
Frederick wanted to ask what he was doing here, but he suppressed the urge. Which, he decided was a good thing, as the man who joined the procession next, turned around just then to give him a cold and calculating look.
“That’s Uncle Welf,” his cousin informed Frederick in a whisper, “and his wife Uta.”
The lady in question was hardly older than his cousin. There was something odd going on between Uta and her husband, Frederick thought. At first, they were walking with enough space between them to allow another person to walk between them, but as they approached the doors, Welf grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her closer.
Frederick shot a glance at his cousin, but she was staring straight ahead. With one hand she was checking whether her headdress was in place, the other she had raised to her mouth and started to chew on one of her nails. Together they brought up the rear of the procession.
“What’s your name?” he asked his cousin in a whisper.
“Kunigunde,” she replied as quietly, only briefly interrupting her finger-nail chewing. She turned to look at him, and when she noticed that he was observing her, she blushed again. “You must think I am so stupid,” she said, “but I am really nervous.” She paused and then burst out. “I’ve never been at court before. All these people are going to stare at me. I wish I’d stayed at home.”
Frederick had to smile at her confession.
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ve never been at court either.”
Ahead, in front of the emperor and his wife, a couple of monks carrying incense placed themselves at the head of the procession. Right behind the Emperor and young Henry, but in front of his parents a number of bishops joined the procession.
“I also think these people have other things to look at,” he added. “The emperor and empress, your little brother. My father of course, the stray sheep returning to the fold.” He glanced at Kunigunde who though still chewing her fingernails looked a little less distressed than before. “People always stare at father, even if they don’t know who he is.” He looked ahead again. “Then there is your uncle - our uncle,” he corrected himself, “who looks as if he spent a year’s income on his outfit. And if anybody’s eyes stray as far back as us, they either know who you are, or they are going to think you are Uta’s sister, or something. Additionally, they are more likely to look at that,” he pointed at his red hair, “than at you.”
Behind them the remaining clerics and a number of ladies were now walking. Immediately ahead was the gate that led out to the cathedral square. People outside were cheering.
Frederick looked at his cousin and before he could stop himself, he hissed at her, “as long as you stop chewing your fingernails.”
Kunigunde immediately dropped her hand from her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
As they came closer to the door, the cheering outside, Kunigunde looked more and more scared, almost as if she was on the verge of turning and running away.
“It’s going to be alright,” he found himself tell her as soothingly as he could, “Don’t worry, it’s going to be just fine.”
Almost too late, as they crossed the last steps to the door, he realised that even if his cousin did not have a reason to worry, he had. His heart seemed to double its pace and for a moment he had difficulties drawing breath, - what if these people would shout abuse or throw things at him? - then they were outside.
The cheering continued as before, not a single abusive word could be heard. The people seemed to be in a good mood, yelling at the top of their voices and waving, and they did not only cheer for the emperor and his family, they were cheering everybody in the procession.
For a moment Frederick was too overwhelmed to know what to think, then he felt his spirits rise, no, soar up like a released falcon. This was amazing, exciting, marvellous.
He looked around at the people, and he loved them all. This, it seemed, had been the moment he had lived for until now. It was perfect, the hot, sunny day, the cheering crowds, even his newly regained family. Frederick felt as if he was carried along by the enthusiasm of the people. Even Kunigunde, he noticed, smiled and seemed to have forgotten her worries.
The procession made its way into the cathedral and the cheering continued, more muted in this holy place, but nevertheless.
The emperor and his wife marched up the nave of the cathedral. The light falling in through the high windows glittered on their crowns and jewellery. The nobility all dressed in their finest clothes bowed respectfully as they passed.
Frederick wished he could see more. He wanted to know how his father would be received, but there were too many people between them.
The cheering died down as the emperor and empress took their position close to the alter. Their grandson, obviously well instructed, stepped between his grandparents. The bishops and clerics turned to the right and formed a row in front of the people already there, Duke Henry and his wife started a file on the right side of the nave.
Along with Kunigunde, Frederick turned just in front of the steps leading up to the altar. Kunigunde looked up at her young brother, who looked astonishingly small between the two adults. He was quite out of breath as well. Nevertheless, Henry seemed to be having the time of his life. Flushed with excitement, he smiled and looked around at the multitude of people and the great cathedral with unfeigned curiosity. When he saw his sister, he smiled even wider.
Kunigunde smiled back and for the first time, Frederick thought, she looked pretty.
In the wake of his cousin, Frederick walked along the front row past Uncle Henry and his wife. Next came Uncle Welf and in a considerable distance his wife Uta.
Welf caught Kunigunde’s arm and pulled her into the gap between himself and Uta. Noticing Frederick hesitate he waved him along impatiently.
Frederick felt a pang of disappointment marring his enthusiasm. It was obvious that Uncle Welf did not want him or his family here.
But it was the expression on his father’s face he glimpsed as he hastened past him that brought Frederick’s feelings down to earth with a jarring thud. The expression of longing and despair with which his father looked at the imperial family reminded him that this was after all not a family reunion - happy or otherwise - for his father, but a moment of utter defeat.
As Frederick took his place at the end of the first row, he knew exactly what his father was thinking as he stared at the emperor at the front of the church: this should be me.
Frederick forced himself to look at the three people standing at the altar of the great cathedral. Sunlight glittered on the gemstones on the Imperial crown on Lothar’s head.
Hot anger rose in Frederick’s throat, and he wished he could rip the crown off Lothar’s head and shout ‘that’s my father’s!’. He knew that it was unthinkable to act like this. It would disgrace himself and his family for ever.
But Frederick could not help but imagine what it would be like if his father were standing up there now instead of Lothar. His father with the imperial crown on his head with his stepmother Agnes beside him. Instead of young Henry Frederick’s own half-brother Konrad would be baptised today.
His cousin Henry, Frederick realised, would never have been born.
The Archbishop of Magdeburg took his place in front of the altar, raised his arms, and began the service.
Ten years had passed since the late emperor Henry had died. Ten years ago, the election of emperor Henry’s successor had robbed his father of his rightful place in the realm.
As the closest relative of emperor Henry, son of Henry’s sister Agnes, Duke Frederick had been his faithful ally during the turbulent years of his reign. Father had been Henry’s natural successor, but Henry did not leave the royal insignia in the hands of his nephew, designating him as the man he wished to succeed him, instead they were given over into the care of his wife Mathilda.
Frederick turned his attention to the Empress Richenza. She stood with her back to him, but even so he could see that she was not a young woman anymore. Older by a couple of decades than her predecessor, the Empress Mathilda.
Frederick had heard Mathilda being described as beautiful as she was unpopular with the nobility. She would dearly have liked to have a say in who would be her husband's successor but neither his father nor any other noblemen sought her support prior to the election.
His father, Frederick knew, had thought he had all but won the election before it even took place. He was the deceased emperor’s closest relative. He was certain he could rely on the allegiance of the dead emperor’s supporters. As duke of Swabia, he belonged to the highest nobility of the Empire. Moreover, he had made an alliance with his most powerful and dangerous neighbour, the Duke of Bavaria, whose daughter Judith he had married. It must have seemed as if nothing could go wrong.
There was a great shuffle as the entire congregation in the cathedral knelt down, Frederick along with the rest. Momentarily, he tried to concentrate on the mass, but his mind was wandering. At the time he had been too young to understand, and only slowly he had been able to piece together what had gone wrong.
Just when you think nothing can go wrong, his mother had once told him, you have to prepare for a catastrophe.
Frederick swallowed. He could not really remember when mama had said this to him, but just for a moment he could almost see her face in his mind.
Closing his eyes, Frederick tried to recapture the memory of his mother’s, but her image vanished like the impressions of a dream. He could remember the confusion and fear he felt whenever the subject of this struggle had been brought up.
He had understood that his father and uncle Konrad were at war with his mother’s family. It was his mother’s father, Duke Henry of Bavaria, who had suddenly withdrawn his support for his son-in-law during the election, and had instead backed the Duke of Saxony, Lothar. Whose only child then married Duke Henry’s son.
The congregation stood up, Frederick automatically following their example.
And here they were, the Duke of Saxony who became king and later emperor instead of Frederick, Duke of Swabia. Lothar’s only child, Gertrud, and her husband, who had since become Duke of Bavaria were standing almost next to Frederick. And there was their little boy, yet another Henry, who was being baptised with the entire nobility of the realm present.
Frederick let his eyes wander over the congregation of the great and powerful assembled here in the mighty cathedral of Magdeburg.
Some of these men and women were here, like his own father, because it was the opportune gesture to make in a time when the emperor was at the peak of his power, but many had supported Lothar since and some even before he was elected king.
It had not only been the betrayal of his grandfather Henry, Frederick realised as he looked at the congregation, that lost his father the crown. Losing the support of one nobleman - however powerful he was - should not have meant defeat. There had been others who did not want to see the closest relative and ally of emperor Henry on the throne but wanted instead the man who for many years had fought the emperor - and all too often had won.
Frederick stared back at the emperor and his wife and grandson.
He did not like it, but it seemed that the explanation he had been given, that it was all Grandfather Henry’s fault, may be too simple. Two dukes could probably push the electorate congregation to vote for a candidate of their choosing, but would a man so elected been able to retain his position and defeat the opposition?
Father and Uncle Konrad had also not managed to gather enough support to support Konrad’s bid for power two years later. It may have taken Lothar some years to completely crush this stubborn opposition, but he had won in the end.
So, Frederick thought looking at his father’s profile, had it been the disdained reign of Emperor Henry that had brought about the downfall of father’s and Uncle Konrad’s ambition as much as the treacherous machinations of Grandfather Henry? Was this the reason why father had not only forgiven his wife, daughter of the great traitor, but had also been willing to make peace with Lothar right from the beginning?
Only after Uncle Konrad came back from the Holy Land two years after Lothar’s election had they risen against the king. Father had been at odds with Lothar before Konrad’s return, of course. They had been fighting for what father had inherited from his cousin the emperor, lands Lothar said were part and parcel of the royal domain and therefore should not pass along to Emperor Henry’s heir along with his private estates.
Frederick shook his head. This was all very confusing, much more complicated than he had believed so far. Still, there was no doubt about it, the crown should have gone to his father.
Fixing his eyes back on the imperial crown on Emperor Lothar’s head, Frederick decided that even though the crown was lost to his family for now, that they had to accept that Lothar was Emperor now, it would not be lost forever.
Lothar, like his predecessor Henry, had no son. He could as little name his son-in-law his heir as Henry had been able to nominate his nephew. When Lothar died there would be another open election.
Then, Frederick thought, they would come into their own again. He would do all he could to ensure this, he promised himself grimly.
The bells of the cathedral started to toll, announcing the end of the mass. A ceremony that Frederick realised he had not paid any attention to whatsoever.
Lothar and his wife, along with their small grandson whose hair was still dripping wet from his baptism, started the procession out of the cathedral. Uncle Henry and his wife Gertrud followed next, just as they had on their way here, then Uncle Welf and Uta took their places.
Kunigunde, Frederick noticed, had a short, whispered conversation with Welf, before she stepped back to allow Frederick’s father to pass her. She smiled briefly at Frederick, but the smile vanished quickly, and she fell into step next to him.
“What are you thinking off,” she asked quietly as they walked down the nave of the cathedral.
“The future,” Frederick replied.
“Judging from the grim expression on your face, I really don’t want to know,” she stated.
“No, you don’t,” Frederick said. Kunigunde would not really want to hear that he planned to stop her father from ever gaining the crown.
As the procession stepped out of the cathedral into the hot sunshine, the cheering of the crowd welcomed them.
One day, Frederick promised himself, they would cheer like this for his father - and later, they would cheer for him.
“The emperor is not going to punish your family,” Kunigunde reassured him.
Her guess of what troubled him, was so far off the track that for a moment Frederick could only look at her in surprise. Then he smiled at her.
“No, he won’t.”

Sixty Years Later

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