Matilde of Ringelheim, a paragon of virtue and achievement, a legendary woman of passion, beloved 10th-century queen, and saint of the Germanic states, was one of the most influential and charitable women in European medieval history. Her story of love, family discord, betrayal, prophetic dreams, and political intrigue is an epic account of her history.
As the virtuous daughter of a noble family educated in an abbey, young Matilde faces a promising future, but she keeps a secret. Through her dreams, she can predict the future. When Duke Heinrich of Thuringia arrives unannounced at the abbey and wishes to marry Matilde, her childhood is over. At fourteen, she weds the young, enigmatic duke. She must leave everything behind and learn to navigate the intricacies and intrigues of her new life as a duchess, and later as queen.
Beset by great political intrigues, a ravaged people, fraught relationships, and yet inspired to a greater calling, Matilde sees what her future could hold if she could seize the moment—if her husband will believe in and act upon her prophetic dreams.
This is a newly released book. During the month of September, the book will be featured on Netgalley and a reduced price has been initiated to help launch the book. As sales and rankings become available, I will provide an update.
THE ELATION OF the dream roused me. Drenched in sweat, I waited for my racing pulse to ease. To glimpse the future with stark reality is a terrible burden for me, a young woman of fourteen years, to bear. It is a curse rather than a blessing. At the abbey of Erfurt where I reside for my education, nuns cross themselves or avoid me for fear I might reveal something horrendous. Yet there have been those who revere my prophetic dreams, who seek me out and plead for advice. This I cannot give them, because my prophecies come randomly, unbidden, impossible to control.
The details of last night’s dream were vivid, but the meaning unclear. I sensed something was to change and it would alter my life forever though I knew not how, why, or when.
Dawn’s rays had yet to creep through the closed shutters of my cell. At the basin, I washed with ice-cold water and donned a white linen under-gown and a sapphire woolen over-tunic the color of the Rhein River in spring. I covered my hair with a long ivory-colored veil as the bells tolled for Prime.
After straightening the bed linens, I retrieved my old doll from beneath the pillow and caressed her face. If I stretched my fingers, she could fit in my hand. Years of handling had made the doll’s clothing dingy, but the stitching still held. Made for me by my mother when I was five, the toy was a solitary, fragile link to my fast diminishing childhood. Its presence comforted me. As I tucked it into the pouch hanging from my girdle, I took a cursory glance one last time at my quarters before leaving to attend prayers. The room held a narrow bed, a rough-hewn table set with a basin of water, and a tallow candle. A worn chest at the foot of my bed contained my clothing. My rank as the daughter of Count Dietrich of Westphalia and Ringelheim entitled me to greater luxury, but I preferred simplicity.
