“We’ll have time to hear of your captivity later, sire,” he said briskly. “For now, I think it best if we speak of Heinrich and what he hopes to gain by this outrageous crime.” William seemed surprised, but Richard’s fleeting look of relief confirmed Hubert’s suspicion that this was still too raw a wound to be probed.
THIS THURSDAY BEFORE HOLY WEEK would prove to be a day of surprises for Richard. Only a few hours after the arrival of Hubert Walter and William de St Mère-Eglise, Hadmar ushered in two more visitors, men clad in the distinctive white cloaks of the Cistercians. They were exhausted, jubilant to have finally found their king, and mildly disappointed to see that they had not been the first to reach him. As fond as Richard was of the Bishop of Salisbury, he was even more elated by the arrival of these abbots from England, for their presence was proof that his plight was now known to his justiciars and his mother.
They brought more than news—a stack of letters so thick he thought every lord in his realm must have sent one. He read his mother’s letter first, then those of his justiciars, and when he was done, he no longer felt so alone. Their outrage all but scorched the parchment, the pen strokes as slashing as sword blades as they railed at the blatant disregard of Church law and the laws of war. This was what he needed to hear, not his queen’s pious certainty that Pope Celestine would prevail upon Emperor Heinrich to set him free.
“My lady mother says that you will tell me of my brother’s conniving with the French king,” he said, and they did, sharing all they knew of John’s treason. Richard listened without interruption and then began to stalk back and forth as his anger caught fire. After Henry’s death, men like Will Marshal had feared they’d suffer for their loyalty to the old king. But with fine inconsistency, Richard had rewarded those who’d stayed with Henry until the end and mistrusted those who’d been so eager to court his favor. Only John had not been chastised. Their mother had some misgivings about the generous provisions he made for John, and he still remembered his response, telling her that “Johnny deserves a chance to show he can be trusted if I play fair with him,” adding with careless confidence that he did not see Johnny as any great threat.
Of course, he’d never expected that three years later, he’d be a prisoner of the Emperor Heinrich, unable to protect his own body, much less his distant domains. For the first time, he fully understood how his father must have felt upon being told that his best-loved son had betrayed him, and not for the first time, he wondered if the Almighty was punishing him for the part he’d played in Henry’s downfall. But thoughts like that were reserved for those sleepless hours when he struggled to understand and accept God’s Will. It was Johnny’s treachery he must deal with now. Fortunately, he knew how to do that, knew what weapon would draw the most blood, would gash Johnny’s pride to the bone. Mockery was the one thing Johnny could not abide.
Turning to face the other men, he smiled derisively. “My brother John is not the man to conquer a kingdom if there is anyone to offer the least resistance.”
THIS WAS EASILY RICHARD’S BEST DAY since they’d sailed from Ragusa. While he was by nature an optimist, nearly three months in isolation had taken its toll. For all of his courtesy and occasional kindnesses, Hadmar von Kuenring was no friend, and Richard dared not forget that. But until Hubert Walter’s unexpected appearance, he had not realized how lonely he was. Being able to speak freely to men he knew he could trust—and in French—did much to raise his spirits. After they departed, promising to return the next day, he was feeling cheerful enough to reach for Hadmar’s lute. He could hear the music in his head and was strumming exploratory chords when he glanced up to find Hadmar standing several feet away. The Austrian’s face was inscrutable; that in itself was warning enough. “I do not suppose you’ve come to tell me that my queen has arrived for a conjugal visit.”
“I received a message from Duke Leopold,” Hadmar said, his voice no more expressive than his face. “He said that we are to leave on the morrow for the imperial court.” He waited for a response from Richard. Not getting one, he started to turn away and then stopped. “My duke did tell me that he was able to get the emperor to promise that you will suffer no bodily harm.”
Richard deliberately picked up the lute again. “And we both know how much the emperor’s promises are worth,” he said, striking another chord. When he looked up again, Hadmar had gone.
THEY REACHED SPEYER three days later as dusk was falling. It was Palm Sunday and the great cathedral of St Mary and St Stephen was packed with worshippers, reminding Richard of how long it had been since he was shriven of his sins. He was expecting to be taken to the royal palace or perhaps to the bishop’s palace, wherever Heinrich had been able to gather the largest audience for the spectacle of surrender. When Hadmar escorted him into the cathedral precincts and then to the chapter house north of the great church, he concluded that once again he was to be held offstage until Heinrich was ready for the circus to begin. But as soon as he crossed the threshold, he saw that he was wrong. It would seem that the emperor had chosen not to make their first meeting a public one.
Heinrich was seated in the ornate bishop’s chair, flanked by Leopold and a stout, richly dressed man whom Richard assumed to be the Bishop of Speyer. There were others in the chapter house, but he was given no introductions to any of them. After Hadmar had gone to kneel before the emperor, Heinrich gestured for Richard’s guards to bring him forward. Richard’s first thought as he gazed upon his enemy was that Berenguela was right. There was nothing regal about Heinrich von Hohenstaufen. He was only of moderate height and slightly built, with a thin face, his pallor accentuated by blond hair and a sparse beard. But Berenguela was also right about his eyes. They were so pale they seemed colorless and Richard thought it was like looking into the flat, dead eyes of a snake.
Heinrich was holding a magnificent golden goblet studded with rubies. He drank, then set it down without haste upon the arm of his chair. “I expect men to kneel when they come into my presence.” His voice was without inflexion, his Latin excellent.
“Well, we do not always get what we expect, do we?”
A faint smile touched those thin lips. “I could make you kneel.”
Richard returned the smile. “No,” he said, “you could not,” giving the pronoun just enough emphasis so that there could be no mistaking his meaning. Such an insult would have sent angry blood into Philippe’s face. Heinrich did not react at all and Richard suddenly remembered his mother’s caustic comment: that he had ice flowing through his veins.
It was Leopold who spoke up. “Can we get on with this?” That he would show such impatience told Richard that he was not happy to be here. It also showed he was confident that he had leverage with Heinrich, and Richard decided the Austrian duke was more of a fool than he’d first thought.
“Of course, Cousin.” Heinrich smiled again, one of the most chilling smiles Richard had ever seen. “You may be the one to read the terms to the English king.”
Leopold did not like that at all. When one of the emperor’s scribes held out a parchment scroll, he took it with reluctance. Unrolling it, he glanced at it briefly and then back to Richard. “The Holy Roman Emperor and I agreed at Würzburg on the ides of February that I will deliver you, the king of the English, into his custody. You will be held at the emperor’s pleasure until payment is paid of one hundred thousand silver marks. Half is to—”
“You cannot possibly be serious!” Richard was stunned. Even in his worst moments, he’d not expected a demand like this. One hundred thousand silver marks was twice the annual revenues of England and Normandy.
Leopold frowned. “If I may continue? As I said, you are to pay the sum of one hundred thousand marks. Half of this amount is to be the marriage portion of your niece, the Duchess of Brittany’s daughter, who will wed my son Friedrich this coming Michaelmas. The remaining fifty thousand marks shall be paid at the beginning of Lent next year, and it is to be divided between the emperor and me.”
He raise
d his eyes from the document to glare defiantly at Richard. “You will also give the emperor two hundred highborn hostages as surety that you will fulfill the terms of this agreement. The emperor is to provide me with two hundred hostages of his own as surety that if he dies before these terms are met, you will be returned to my custody. If I should die, my son is to act in my stead. If you die whilst in the emperor’s power, your two hundred hostages will be released.”
Thinking that Richard meant to protest, he raised his hand. “There is more. You must free my cousin, Isaac Comnenus, and return his daughter, Anna, to him. You must also provide the emperor with fifty war galleys and one hundred knights, and you must go in person with another one hundred knights to fight at the emperor’s side in his war to overthrow the man who usurped the Sicilian throne.”
Leopold paused then, as if to savor what was coming next. “There is one more condition for your release. The emperor will hold your hostages until you have persuaded the Pope to absolve me in the event that I am unfairly excommunicated for taking you prisoner.”
It was one of the few times in Richard’s life when he was speechless. He stared at them, thinking that he’d fallen in with madmen. One hundred thousand silver marks was a sum so vast that it beggared belief. And did they think the world would be fooled because they called it a dowry, not a ransom? The demand that he help personally to overthrow his ally Tancred was beyond vindictive and would reduce the King of England to the status of one of Heinrich’s German vassals. The other terms were just as outrageous. Turn two hundred hostages over to Heinrich’s mercy and wed his niece to Leopold’s son? Free that whoreson Isaac Comnenus and give Anna back to him? Plead with the Pope on behalf of the man who’d abducted him?
“I think you have both lost your minds. I will never agree to any of this—never!”
Leopold flushed angrily, but Heinrich continued calmly sipping his wine. “Oh, I think you will,” he said, with another of those frigid smiles. “You see, if you do not agree, then you’re of no value to me, and I have no reason to keep you alive.”
As a bluff, it was well played. But Richard knew it was a bluff, for these greedy lunatics were not going to kill him, not when they thought they could plunder England’s coffers like Barbary pirates. “Well, then, we are at an impasse, for I would die ere I ever agreed to these terms.”
His defiance did not seem to disturb Heinrich’s composure in the least. “I will give you time to think it over.” He gestured to the guards, who moved forward to encircle Richard again. Realizing he’d just been dismissed as if he were a servant, Richard felt a surge of hatred so strong that it momentarily blotted out all else; never had he wanted a sword in his hand as much as he did at that moment. He did not resist the guards, though, unwilling to give Heinrich that satisfaction. The emperor watched as they started toward the door, waiting until it had been opened before he spoke.
“There is one more matter. Your trial begins on the morrow.”
CHAPTER TEN
MARCH 1193
Speyer, Germany
Richard was back in the cathedral’s chapter house, for Heinrich had decided that his trial would be held in the great hall of the Bishop of Speyer’s palace. He was awaiting Hadmar’s return and had begun to pace restlessly, while his Austrian guards tried to give him a little privacy by withdrawing to a corner of the chamber. He sensed their sympathy, but knew he’d be encountering a far more hostile audience when the Imperial Diet began, for Hadmar had already informed him that this was not to be a representative assembly of German princes. Since half of them were in revolt against Heinrich, they, of course, were conspicuously absent. The Austrian duke was present, with his brother, the Duke of Mödling, and his sons. Heinrich’s closest kin were in attendance, too: his uncle, the Count Palatine of the Rhine, and two of his brothers: Conrad, the Duke of Swabia, and Otto, the Count Palatine of Burgundy. Hadmar had reported that the Archbishop of Trier was in the great hall, as were the bishops of Speyer, Worms, Passau, Freising, and Zeitz. So were the imperial ministeriales, led by Heinrich’s marshal, Heinz von Kalden, and his seneschal, Markward von Annweiler, along with churchmen, envoys sent by the French king—and Boniface d’Aleramici, Marquis of Montferrat, younger brother of the man Richard was accused of murdering.
It seemed utterly unreal to Richard that he should be facing a trial, charged with betraying the Holy Land, and it felt like an eternity until Hadmar reappeared. “They are ready for you now,” he said somberly. “You will not be entirely friendless, for the emperor has permitted the Bishop of Salisbury, the Bishop of Bath, William de St Mère-Eglise, and the abbots to attend.”
The Bishop of Bath’s presence was a surprise to Richard, and not an entirely welcome one, for he did not trust the man all that much. “But they do not get a vote, do they?”
Hadmar glanced at the guards and then lowered his voice, even though he knew they spoke no Latin. “May I offer you some advice?”
“I’d rather you offered me a fast horse and a head start,” Richard said, with a tight smile. “But I’ll take the advice, too.”
“I think you ought to kneel to the emperor.”
“I’d sooner jab a needle into my eye!”
Hadmar had been expecting such a reaction and raised his hand. “At least hear me out. After Emperor Heinrich’s father drowned on his way to the Holy Land, much of the German army died when a plague struck Antioch. Heinrich’s brother Friedrich eventually got the survivors to the siege camp at Acre, only then to die of a fever himself. Yes, I realize you know all this, but indulge me. When Duke Leopold and the Austrians arrived several months later, he took command of the Germans as the highest-ranking vassal of the emperor. So when you treated his banner with such blatant disrespect, you were insulting the Germans as well as the Austrians. Many of the men in the great hall think that you maligned Duke Leopold’s courage and have contempt for all those of German blood.”
“That is nonsense! I never accused Leopold of cowardice, just bad judgment. And my sister’s sons and daughter, who are half German, are very dear to me.”
“Nevertheless, this is what many believe and it is up to you to convince them it is not so. You can best do that by showing respect for Heinrich’s rank, if not for the man himself.”
“Even if I could assure them that I harbor no hatred of Germans, do you truly think that would affect their verdict?”
Richard knew Hadmar had tried in his way to be honest and he did not disappoint now. “No,” he conceded, “most likely it would not. But it could not hurt, either.” And with nothing more to be said, he signaled to the guards that it was time to escort the English king to face his accusers.
THE BISHOP OF SALISBURY had been anxiously watching the doorway and as soon as Richard’s guards appeared, he jumped to his feet and hurried toward them. They seemed hesitant, unsure if he should be permitted to approach the prisoner, but Hadmar said something in German and they stepped aside. Hubert had hoped to be able to alert Richard, but he was too late. His king was surveying the hall, his gaze moving from the men seated on the rows of benches to those on the dais. His audible, indrawn breath told Hubert that he’d spotted the man seated to Heinrich’s left.
“I am sorry, sire,” Hubert said softly. “We did not know the Bishop of Beauvais was here until this morning, or I would have gotten word to you somehow.”
Richard was staring at the French bishop with loathing he made no attempt to conceal. “It might be for the best,” he said at last. “I can hardly call Heinrich a liar to his face in front of his own Imperial Diet, but I’m free to expose Beauvais for the treacherous snake that he is.”
Hubert felt a throb of relief, for he’d been troubled by his first glimpse of Richard; the deep shadows hovering under his eyes testified to a wakeful night. But he’d heard the English king sound like this before—coolheaded and composed, able to adapt his strategy to changing circumstances. This was the way he was on the battlefield, and Hubert thought he’d never faced a more daunting ba
ttle than he did on this March Monday in Holy Week.
There was a stir in the hall as the French envoys rose and, after bowing to the emperor, moved to intercept Richard. He knew one of them, Druon de Mello, for he’d been with the French army in the Holy Land. Richard had a favorable opinion of the older lord, seeing him as an honorable man often burdened by his king with tasks he found distasteful, and indeed, Druon did not look happy. “My lord Richard,” he said, with another polite bow. “We bring you this from our lord, the king of the French.”
Richard took the parchment, broke the seal, and read. When he glanced up, he saw that two of the envoys were regarding him challengingly, but Druon had averted his gaze. Without comment, he passed the letter to Hubert Walter, smiling grimly at the bishop’s angry exclamation. Retrieving the parchment, he rolled it up and tucked it into his belt, and then, knowing he was the focal point of all eyes, he raised his head defiantly, determined that they’d see him show no unease.
The man Hadmar had identified as the Bishop of Speyer now rose to his feet and began to speak. When he was done, Hadmar said in a low voice, “The bishop says that they have found someone who speaks French so that you may understand the charges against you. He will also translate your responses into German.”
“How magnanimous. Tell them it is not necessary. I prefer that you be the one to interpret for me. And I will be responding in Latin, not French.”