Henrik nodded. “He knows that I am here only to see you. I’ll not be able to join the others if you are able to cobble together a peace. I have to stand with him, even if it is not what I’d rather do.” Relieved when Richard indicated he understood, Henrik straddled a chair, impatiently pushing aside the fair hair slanting across a sky-blue eye. “Uncle Richard . . . I have something to tell you, and you’ll not like it. I had a letter from my sister, confessing that her husband took part in the French king’s invasion of Normandy.” Seeing Richard’s mouth tighten, he said quickly, “Richenza says Jaufre felt he had no choice since Philippe is his king, but she is greatly distressed about it. When I write to her, what should I tell her?”
“Say I do not blame her,” Richard said, with enough emphasis on the pronoun to tell Henrik that Jaufre was not so lucky. Richard was not truly surprised by Jaufre’s defection, but it still stung, all the more because he was sure there would be others.
Henrik confirmed that now by giving him the names of several other barons who’d joined the French campaign, including two who’d fought beside him in the Holy Land. “And that is not the worst of it, Uncle. Richenza says that you lost Gisors Castle. The castellan betrayed your trust and surrendered it to the French king.”
Richard had been expecting some defections, but not this. He slumped back in his chair, not sure whom he loathed more at that moment, the disloyal lickspittle who’d yielded up Gisors, the French king, who was as shameless as he was craven, or that hellspawn Heinrich.
Henrik hated being the bearer of ill tidings and so he’d deliberately held back Richenza’s welcome news till the last, hoping the good would ease the rancid taste of the bad. “But the French king suffered a severe setback when he besieged Rouen, Uncle. The Earl of Leicester not only stopped him from seizing the city, he made a fool of Philippe in the bargain by opening the gates and challenging him to enter—if he dared. He did not and slunk away with his tail between his legs!”
Henrik’s strategy worked; Richard roared with laughter. “What I’d not have given to see that!” He shared then with his nephew some stories of the Earl of Leicester’s heroics in the Holy Land, and he was in much better spirits when the summons came to meet the German lords in the great hall. Rising, he beckoned to his guards as if he still had the right of command, silently vowing to show Philippe that, even as a prisoner, he was capable of thwarting the French king’s treachery.
ALL OF THE GERMAN rebels except Richard’s brother-in-law were present, but the leaders were clearly the Dukes of Brabant, Limburg, and Bohemia, and the Archbishops of Cologne and Mainz. Richard was predisposed to mistrust Heinrich of Limburg, for he’d not followed through on his vow to fight in the Holy Land, but he felt an immediate rapport with Limburg’s nephew Heinrich of Brabant, and he was very pleased to see the Archbishop of Cologne’s nephew Adolf von Altena; he’d been impressed by the cathedral prior’s forthrightness and courage during his trial at Speyer. As he exchanged courtesies with Duke Ottokar of Bohemia, the irony of meeting under these circumstances was not lost upon him, for he’d initially hoped to find safety in Moravia, the duchy of Ottokar’s brother. That was only five months ago, but it seemed as if it were part of the distant past, so much had happened since then.
Once they were seated at a long trestle table in the palace solar, Richard offered the services of his clerk, Fulk, as a scribe, and his chaplain opened the meeting with a prayer. He was encouraged that they’d been willing at least to hear him out. He knew, though, that he would need all of the eloquence at his command to convince them that they ought to make peace with a man they detested and distrusted.
He began by offering his condolences to the dukes of Brabant and Limburg, who were the brother and uncle of the murdered Bishop of Liege. Rather than splashing around in the shallows for a time, he chose to plunge into deep water straightaway, saying, “I want to be candid with you about my motives. I am not trying to end your rebellion because I have always yearned to be a peacemaker, and for certes, not because I wish to ease Heinrich’s troubles. A peace settlement is very much in my own interest and I believe it is in yours, too. After I tell you why, I hope that you will agree with me.”
He paused to assess the impact of his words. Hermann, the Landgrave of Thuringia, was regarding him with open suspicion, which was not surprising, for he’d long been an enemy of Richard’s brother-in-law Der Löwe. The others seemed more curious than skeptical. “I am not sure if you’ve heard this yet. Next month the emperor intends to meet with the French king at Vaucouleurs.” He could tell from their faces that most had not known of this.
“I’m sure you heard that the French king courageously declared war upon England just as I was put on trial at Speyer. Philippe is a most formidable foe—provided that his adversary is fighting for Christ in the Holy Land or hundreds of miles away in a German prison. He knows he cannot hope to defeat me on the field of battle. So he is willing to do almost anything to keep me from regaining my freedom. He has promised to match whatever ransom can be raised in England. But he realizes that it would be easier—and safer—for Heinrich to accept the English ransom, and it is my fear that when he meets Heinrich at Vaucouleurs, he will also offer military assistance in putting down your rebellion. In return for this invaluable aid, all Heinrich has to do is to hand me over to the French.
“If that happens, I am a dead man. But it does not bode well for any of you, either. You’d find yourselves facing the French to the west and Heinrich to the east, trapped between the two. At the moment, I’d say you do have a real chance of defeating Heinrich and possibly even deposing him. The Pope might actually muster up the resolve to recognize your new candidate if presented with a fait accompli. I believe that honor is to be yours, my lord,” he said, with a nod toward the Duke of Brabant. “But if you add French troops to the mix, that changes everything and tips the scales decisively in Heinrich’s favor. I’ve looked at maps and most of your castles are in the Rhineland, no? It would be all too easy for two armies to come at you in a pincer movement, and the consequences could be disastrous. In all honesty, neither Heinrich nor Philippe strikes me as another Caesar. But you’d be fighting a war on two fronts, which is every battle commander’s worst fear. You’d likely be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.”
Richard paused again. They were listening intently, most of their faces mirroring dismay, for they had enough combat experience to recognize the truth in what he’d said. “If this malevolent pact comes to pass, you’re likely to find yourselves fighting not for victory, but for survival. You do have leverage now, though, and I propose that you make the most of it. Heinrich seems to be remarkably single-minded, and I get the sense that his planned conquest of Sicily is all that truly matters to him. He may be overweening and utterly bereft of honor. But he is no man’s fool, and he knows Sicily is beyond his reach as long as his own empire is in turmoil. So he wants peace, and I think he’ll be willing to make it on your terms.”
They began to talk among themselves then, and since his own German was still rather rudimentary, Richard made no attempt to follow these fast and furious conversational outbursts. Henrik grinned and Adolf von Altena nodded approvingly when he caught Richard’s eye. Feeling that he’d made the best case he could, Richard could only wait.
The Duke of Brabant was the first to direct his attention back to the English king, proving himself to be a pragmatist and proving, too, that he’d not really expected to become emperor himself. “It would not be enough for Heinrich to restore the lands and castles he’s seized. He’d have to swear in public, preferably on holy relics, that he played no part in my brother’s murder. Think you that he’d be willing to do that?”
After being forced to swear that he’d not been guilty of Conrad of Montferrat’s murder, Richard found this role reversal very satisfying. By God’s legs, let Heinrich see how he liked it. “Yes,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “I think he would agree.” Adding with a grin, “Of course, I’d not want to be standing n
ext to him when he did it—in case he drew down a celestial thunderbolt upon himself.”
When that evoked laughter, Richard took it as an encouraging sign. Now, he decided, it was time to sweeten the pot. It would have to be carefully phrased so as not to affront anyone’s pride. But if Heinrich and Leopold could disguise an extortion demand as a dowry, he ought to be able to make a bribe sound downright benign.
“There is something else I would like to discuss with you. I have to believe that Philippe Capet will not win and I’ll not end my days in a French dungeon. I’ve discovered that hope is a prisoner’s best armor,” he said, and this time his smile was a bleak one. “I owe him a blood debt and I pass much of my time thinking of ways to pay it. I’ve been doing my best to convince Heinrich that England would make a more useful ally than France. But I want allies I can truly trust—men like you.”
Bruno, the aged Archbishop of Cologne, took it upon himself to speak for the others, for his was one of the most prestigious of the German Sees. “What exactly do you have in mind, my lord king?”
“Once I’m back in my own domains, I mean to reclaim the lands Philippe has seized whilst I was held prisoner. I intend to make a two-pronged assault—one with a sword and one with a diplomatic noose. I want to tighten that noose around Philippe’s neck, to watch him strangling for air, and the best way to do that is by alliances. I would like to offer money fiefs to you in return for your support against the French king. The benefits from such a formal arrangement are numerous. I get to put the fear of God into Philippe, to be sure that you will rebuff any overtures he may make, and to express my gratitude for your goodwill, for your endeavors to gain my freedom.”
These were worldly men and they did not mistake his meaning, but there was nothing blatant about his offer, and their amused, approving smiles showed that they appreciated his deft touch.
“I for one would be quite willing to stand with you against the French king,” the Duke of Brabant declared, making it easy for the others to follow his example. When they began to talk in German again, Henrik leaned over to murmur a playful “silver-tongued devil” that caused Richard to laugh aloud, for he was now sure that he was going to prevail.
It took several hours, but eventually they told Richard what he so urgently needed to hear—that they were willing to make peace with the emperor if he’d meet their terms.
“Very good,” he said, smiling warmly at his newfound friends. “Now . . . tell me what you want from Heinrich, and I will do my utmost to get it for you.”
HANAU WAS A SMALL CASTLE protected by the waters of the River Kinzig. A hamlet had developed in its shadow, a handful of houses and a church, and that only enhanced its forlorn appearance, as if it were forgotten by the rest of the world, even by history. Its lord had been flustered by the unexpected arrival of the emperor and his entourage, uneasily playing host while fearing Heinrich had an ulterior motive for his visit. Why would he have chosen to stay at Hanau when his imperial palace was just ten miles away? The appearance of the English king shredded what was left of his composure. He nervously conducted his new royal guest and guards to the great hall, then hastily retreated.
A rainstorm had swept through the valley as night came on and a fire had been built in the hearth to keep the damp and evening chill at bay. Heinrich had been accompanied to Hanau by his uncle, his brother Conrad, his ministeriales, Count Dietrich, and Ludwig, the Bavarian duke hoping to lay claim to Henrik’s betrothed. His uncle was reading, the others were playing chess and dice, and Heinrich’s head was bent over a lute. It was a source of bafflement to Richard that a man so cold-blooded and callous could share his own love of poetry and music. It was like finding out that Satan secretly read Scriptures.
Heinrich struck a few more chords before he deigned to look up, as if just noticing the English king. “Well? What did they say?”
“They are willing to make peace.” Richard unrolled a parchment and handed it to the emperor. “Here are their . . .” He almost said “demands,” caught himself in time. “This is a written list of all their terms. I can tell you which ones are not open to negotiation. They want the return of those castles and lands seized from them and compensation for their losses. They want you to swear a public oath that you are innocent of the murder of the Bishop of Liege and find other bishops and lords willing to so swear on your behalf. You gave refuge to the men who killed the bishop, who are now to be banished from your court. Last, they want you to accept the election of the Duke of Limburg’s son Simon as the next Bishop of Liege. He is only sixteen, well under the canonical age, but they assured me you ought to have no problem with that since your youngest brother, Philip, was chosen as Bishop of Würzburg at the tender age of thirteen.”
Richard could not resist a sardonic smile at that. He need not have worried, though, for Heinrich’s attention was utterly focused upon the document. The outburst came from Count Dietrich, who leapt to his feet, his face red with outrage. Richard could not follow his rant, but it was easy enough to guess the gist of it, for Dietrich was the chief suspect in the bishop’s murder. Not only was he very close to the emperor, Heinrich had taken the bishopric from the two legitimate candidates and given it to Dietrich’s brother Lothar. The Hochstaden brothers had suffered the most in the wake of the bishop’s murder, for Lothar had been excommunicated by the Pope and Dietrich’s lands had been razed by the rebels, all but one of his castles captured. It was only to be expected, therefore, that he’d be opposed to any peace settlement. Would Heinrich heed him, though?
To Richard’s relief, the emperor seemed oblivious to Dietrich’s diatribe, although it was loud enough to be heard out in the castle bailey. Watching closely as he read the list of terms, Richard could only hope that he was right in believing the conquest of Sicily mattered more to Heinrich than punishing the rebels. He felt a pang at the thought of a German army descending upon Tancred’s domains, for he’d developed an unexpected friendship with the Sicilian king. Tancred knew another invasion was coming, though, and he’d be ready for it. Nor was Heinrich’s victory a certainty. He’d tried to conquer Sicily once before, while Richard had been in the Holy Land, but his army had suffered greatly in the unfamiliar heat of an Italian summer, many sickening and dying during the siege of Naples. Heinrich himself had almost died of the bloody flux and had been forced to retreat back to Germany to recover. He’d foolishly or arrogantly left Constance behind in Salerno, where she’d been seized by the citizenry and turned over to Tancred. Richard could well imagine how Heinrich would have treated Tancred’s wife had she fallen into his hands, but Tancred had received Constance more like a guest than a hostage, eventually releasing her into the Pope’s custody. She’d managed to escape on her way to Rome, robbing Tancred and the Pope of a valuable pawn, but that had been her doing, not Heinrich’s. His campaign had been an undeniable disaster, and Richard took heart from that now, reminding himself that Tancred was a far better soldier than Heinrich.
When Heinrich finally looked up from the list of demands, Richard suspected he’d been deliberately drawing out the suspense. “Leopold was right,” he said, with one of the supercilious smiles Richard had come to detest. “You can talk as well as fight. I am impressed, I admit it. Their terms are onerous, but not outrageously so, and I can live with them.”
Dietrich interrupted before he could say more, obviously protesting. Heinrich silenced him merely by turning to stare at him. Glancing back at Richard, he said, “You can return to Frankfurt on the morrow and tell them I will meet them at Koblenz in a fortnight to draw up a formal peace settlement.”
“And you will want to inform the French king that you’ll be too busy to meet him at Vaucouleurs.” Richard sought to sound confident, all the while wondering if this was when he got the knife in his back.
But Heinrich merely smiled and said blandly, “Of course. There is no need for such a meeting now, is there?” He signaled to a servant, who hurried over to pour wine for them all, and they drank to celebrate the pe
aceful resolution of the rebellion, although Dietrich looked as if he were swilling soured milk. The wine did not taste much better to Richard, for he knew this new détente with Heinrich was a walk onto thinly frozen ice, hearing it crack under him with every step he took.
WHILE RICHARD WAS very relieved that he’d been able to stave off that meeting at Vaucouleurs, he could take little pleasure from his accomplishment, even though he’d gained valuable future allies. It galled him greatly that he’d been compelled to act on Heinrich’s behalf and he was unable to join in Fulk and Anselm’s celebration of his success, for he did not feel like a victor, more like a pimp. He kept these dark thoughts to himself, for he did not expect them to understand. Yes, they’d shared his captivity, but they did not share his shame, for they were churchmen, not expected to hold their honor dearer than their lives, as a knight was—or a king.
GUILLAUME DE LONGCHAMP WAS in need of wine, for he’d been talking nonstop for more than an hour and his mouth was getting dry. But he’d had much to tell his king: the truce struck with his brother John until November, the measures taken by the queen mother and the justiciars to raise the ransom and to select the hostages demanded by Heinrich, and the French king’s successful Normandy campaign. He was glad to discover that Richard already knew of the loss of Gisors Castle and the defections, for he’d been dreading having to break such bad news. He’d not told Richard of his hostile reception in England or the new humiliations inflicted upon him, for he reasoned the king had troubles enough of his own without having to deal with his troubles, too. Instead, he did his best to sound positive, assuring Richard that Hubert Walter would have been consecrated as archbishop by now, stressing the loyalty of the king’s subjects, and praising the queen mother so extravagantly that Richard joked he sounded smitten. But none of his news was as welcome as the letters he brought from Eleanor, Otto, Hubert Walter, the justiciars, and English lords.