The Heart of the Lion

by Jean Plaidy

  Baldwin interrupted: ‘There will always be rumours. It is well not to believe them all.’ Even as he spoke he threw an apologetic look at Richard for interrupting him. It was not only impossible for Richard to disguise himself; it was almost equally so for his men.

  ‘I have heard it said often that the king of France and the Emperor of Germany are against him, as well as Duke Leopold of Austria. My own Governor had reason to hate him.’

  ‘What reasons are these?’ demanded Richard hotly.

  ‘My Governor is Count Meinhard of Goritz, nephew of the Marquis Conrad de Montferrat, who was murdered on the orders of Richard of England.’

  ‘That is not true,’ cried Richard indignantly.

  Again Baldwin had the temerity to interrupt. ‘Who says this?’ he asked mildly.

  ‘All say it. The Marquis was to be King of Jerusalem. Richard of England did not wish this, wanting the crown to go to his own man, Guy de Lusignan; but it was Conrad who had the right. The King of England finally relented and gave his consent to the appointment. It is said that he did this because he was planning to despatch the Count.’

  ‘It was not the King of England who murdered him,’ said Richard. ‘I swear it, on my pilgrim’s palm.’

  ‘Ah, my dear merchant, what can we know of these matters? Very soon after Conrad’s election he was returning home after dining with a friend when he was set upon by assassins and stabbed to death.’

  ‘These assassins were in the employ of the Old Man of the Mountains.’

  ‘Rumours have come from the mountains that it was Richard of England who ordered the murder of the Count.’

  ‘Then the Old Man lies.’

  Their host looked furtive. Then he said: ‘I must beg of you not to speak ill of the Old Man at my table.’

  ‘So you fear him,’ cried Richard.

  ‘All wise men fear the Old Man, sir. It is said that he never forgets a slight. I would not care to be set upon by one of his men. Nay, I speak well of the Old Man. I but wish to warn you that as pilgrims it will be necessary for you to have safe conduct from the Governor.’

  ‘This Count . . .’ began Richard.

  ‘Count Meinhard of Goritz, nephew of the Count Conrad de Montferrat.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Richard. ‘We will ask his permission to pass safely through his land.’

  In the room assigned to them they talked in whispers.

  ‘Think you he knew who I was?’ asked Richard.

  ‘It is certain, Sire, that he knew you were no ordinary merchant.’

  ‘Do not call me Sire. People listen. Call me Hugo. Now, Baldwin, we shall have to ask permission to cross the country. Do you think this fellow is suspicious of us?’

  ‘It might well be so, Sire . . . Hugo.’

  ‘I will send the Count a gift – a ring I have. I will tell the messenger that I bought it from a Pisan merchant at a bargain price. I would wish him to have it to show our gratitude for giving us free passage through his land.’

  ‘My lord . . . Hugo,’ said Baldwin, ‘that ring is a very fine one.’

  ‘Nay,’ said Richard, ‘but a bauble. Let us send it without delay, for I am eager to proceed with the journey. Now we must get a night’s sleep and in the morning be ready to continue our journey.’

  He lay down on the pallet his host had provided. One of the men lay across the door, while the others placed themselves in strategic positions.

  He lay brooding, thinking of the wasted months, of what was happening in his kingdom, of the treachery of John and Philip – an ill-assorted pair – of the nobility of Saladin.

  When the ring was brought to Meinhard of Goritz he looked at it intently.

  ‘A merchant gave it?’ he said. ‘A merchant Hugo who is with a band of pilgrims?’

  He sent for his jeweller.

  ‘It is a very fine ring,’ said the jeweller.

  ‘Scarcely one that a merchant would bestow for a free passage,’ said Meinhard.

  He dismissed the jeweller and discussed the matter with his ministers.

  ‘There is something unusual about these pilgrims,’ he said. ‘I hear that one has a bearing of great dignity. He is said to be a merchant but the other members of the party seem very respectful towards him while attempting not to be.’

  His chief minister smiled slowly. ‘My lord Count,’ he said, ‘we know that Richard of England has left Palestine. He will be wishing to reach England by the shortest route. This might well be by land.’

  Meinhard nodded. ‘And you imply that our merchant Hugo could be the King of England?’

  ‘Who but a king would bestow such a ring as though it is a trifle. What is of great value to most men is a bagatelle to a king.’

  ‘If this is indeed King Richard, the murderer of my uncle, then what shall we do?’

  ‘We will take him prisoner. The Emperor will not easily forgive us if we allow him to slip through our fingers.’

  ‘I will send for the messengers whom we have been holding and give them back the ring. Then we will take him captive.’

  ‘There are many who would not forgive us if we did not make it known that he had arrived.’

  Meinhard of Goritz sent for the messenger.

  ‘Take this ring back to your master,’ he said. ‘It does not belong to Hugo the Merchant. It belongs to King Richard of England. I have given my word to seize and question all pilgrims who pass through my territory and not to take gifts from them in return for a safe conduct. But this is a different matter. This is the King of England whose fame has travelled ahead of him. It is Coeur de Lion himself. Therefore take the ring and tell him that I have given my word not to accept gifts but because of his greatness and his generosity in offering it to me, I will give him free leave to go.’

  When the messenger rode back with the ring and the message there was consternation among Richard’s friends.

  ‘I like not those words,’ said Baldwin. ‘There is a threat beneath them.’

  ‘I think so too,’ answered Richard. ‘We will not leave by sea. They will be watching the coast, and if I travel with a large party I shall be recognised immediately. I will go from here with a few of you and some of my possessions and I will start at once. I feel that to delay would be dangerous.’

  They parted company and Richard set out. He had not been gone more than an hour when troops arrived at the lodging. Those who remained of Richard’s followers were arrested and taken to Meinhard of Goritz.

  When they were brought before him he said: ‘Where is the merchant Hugo?’

  Baldwin said: ‘I know not. He left us to pursue his journey alone.’

  Meinhard was furious. He saw that he had acted in a manner to arouse suspicion. He should have sent the troops back with the ring. He had presumed that Richard would have accepted his promise for safe conduct and have landed right into his net.

  There was no help for it. He had lost the King . . . but temporarily, he promised himself.

  There was no time for reproaches. He sent messengers at once to his brother Frederick of Betsau, for the host of the previous night when questioned had revealed in which direction Richard had gone, which indicated that he must pass through Frederick’s lands.

  Frederick was to look out for the King of England. Every house likely to be used by pilgrims must be watched.

  When he received the message, Frederick sent for his cousin Roger of Argenton.

  ‘A mission for you, Roger,’ he said. ‘The King of England is nearby. He has slipped through my hands but I don’t intend to allow him to continue to do so. I want to capture him. This would mightily please the Emperor. And if he escapes I shall doubtless be reprimanded for allowing him to. He murdered Conrad de Montferrat.’

  ‘I believed that to have been the Old Man of the Mountains,’ said Roger.

  ‘Nay, it was Richard who was his enemy. The Old Man’s followers swear that it was Richard who had him killed.’

  ‘Murderers often like to shift their crimes on to the shoul
ders of others.’

  ‘No matter who murdered Conrad, I need Richard here. Go, Roger, and bring him to me. Do not spare yourself or anyone, but bring me Richard.’

  Riding across the country Roger of Argenton encountered a company of pilgrims. There was one among them, tall, fair and of such dignified carriage that Roger’s suspicions were immediately aroused.

  He asked permission to ride with them. This was granted for Richard liked the look of the young man. He asked him to ride beside him.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Roger, ‘what is your destination?’

  ‘We are on our way to England,’ said Richard. ‘Do you know of a nearer route than the one we are taking?’

  ‘You should head northwards,’ Roger told him, ‘and to the west. You would in due course come to France and from there cross to England.’

  ‘We have a long journey ahead of us,’ said Richard. ‘Tell me, my friend, have you travelled much?’

  ‘I have been in Normandy.’

  ‘Normandy. Ah, a fair land.’

  ‘As a Norman I agree with you.’

  ‘By God’s eyes, you are a Norman. I knew it.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Your bearing, your height. You have the look of a Norman.’

  ‘That is a compliment.’

  ‘None greater. Let us talk of Normandy.’

  They talked of that land for which it was clear they both had a great affection.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Richard, ‘did you ever meet its Duke?’

  ‘To my regret I never did. But he is King of England now and on a crusade to the Holy Land.’

  ‘Kings mayhap should stay in their own kingdoms, think you?’

  ‘’Tis a noble thing to fight for the Cross, but it is said that duty lies first to the homeland.’

  ‘It may well be that you are right,’ answered Richard quietly.

  Roger suggested that they should stay a night at one of his castles. There he would be happy to entertain a party whose company he had so much enjoyed.

  As they entered the castle Richard could see that his friends were uneasy.

  ‘My lord,’ whispered one of them, ‘can we trust this man?’

  ‘I trust him,’ said Richard.

  Alas! thought his men. Was Richard perhaps a little too trusting?

  The pilgrims were given a large room in which they could spend the night and they were invited to eat in the great hall with Roger’s family.

  Afterwards Richard sang for them and they brought a lute for him to play. Then Roger asked that Richard play a game of chess with him.

  They removed to a quiet corner of the hall and sat there, the board between them.

  Richard noticed the fine handsome face, the noble bearing, the fair colouring, the long Norman legs, and liked well what he saw.

  ‘I could find it in my heart to linger here,’ he said.

  Roger flushed slightly and said: ‘Naught would delight me more, my lord.’

  Richard saw that the hand on the piece Roger held trembled a little. He had not noticed he had called him my lord.

  Their eyes met and there was understanding between them.

  Here is a man whom I could love, thought Richard.

  He looked at the rafters above the hall, at their companions still at the table, at the serving men and women passing back and forth.

  ‘It has been a day I shall remember,’ said Richard. ‘I shall never forget you, Roger of Argenton.’

  ‘Nor I you, my lord.’

  ‘What do you know of me, Roger?’

  ‘That you are no humble pilgrim.’

  ‘Pilgrims are not always men of humble standing.’

  ‘Nay, but there is that about you that proclaims you to be of the highest rank.’

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘I know who I believe you to be.’

  ‘And who is that?’

  ‘I dare not say, my lord, but if you would tell me it would make me happy.’

  ‘Can you keep a secret, Roger?’

  ‘I would let them pull out my tongue, my lord, rather than betray one you told me.’

  ‘Then here is one: I am Richard of England. Nay, do not rise. It is our secret, remember.’

  ‘You know they are seeking you?’

  ‘I know I am surrounded by enemies.’

  ‘They seek to trap you.’

  ‘Let them try.’

  ‘There is an order in this land that you are to be sought and when found taken to the Lord Frederick.’

  ‘Fret not, Roger. I will elude them. Think not that Coeur de Lion will be disturbed by some petty ruler like this Frederick.’

  ‘But if you fell into his hands . . . as you are . . .’

  ‘He would be the one who would have to fear. Come, I have put you in check.’

  They returned to the game which Richard won and then he said that it was time for retiring.

  He lay on his pallet but he could not sleep. He was thinking of Philip who had betrayed him and then he thought of the gentle eyes and the Norman bearing of Roger of Argenton.

  Would he would follow me, he thought.

  He was awakened by one of his attendants. ‘What now,’ cried Richard. ‘Is it morning then?’

  ‘Nay, my lord, just past midnight. Roger of Argenton is without. He says he must speak to you. It is of the greatest importance.’

  Richard rose from his bed.

  ‘Have a care, my lord.’

  ‘Fear not. I trust this man.’

  One of his knights put a robe about his shoulders and he stepped out of the room.

  Roger immediately knelt at his feet.

  ‘Pardon, my King,’ he murmured. ‘Pardon.’

  ‘What is your sin?’ asked Richard, ‘that you get me from my bed to ask forgiveness for it.’

  Roger was on his feet, his eyes wide. ‘My lord, you must fly from here without delay. I have had a horse made ready. Do not delay.’

  ‘Why so? You were hospitable enough last evening and now would be rid of us.’

  ‘I must confess. I knew who you were. I was sent by Lord Frederick to intercept you, to bring you here, to trap you. I want you to go before they come for you. I would rather die than be the one who betrayed you.’

  ‘So you set out to do that then, Roger?’

  ‘I was ordered by my lord. But I cannot do it, Sire. That is why I warn you. You must go at once. The horse is ready. I shall tell them that I was mistaken. That you are not in this area.’

  ‘Thank you, Roger.’

  ‘I could not betray you, for I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too,’ said Richard. ‘Nor shall I forget this night.’

  ‘Then prepare and be gone. It has been the greatest honour of my life to receive you here, but I shall not rest until you have gone.’

  Richard drew Roger to him and kissed him.

  Then he turned and went back into the room.

  ‘Dress!’ he cried. ‘Prepare. We are leaving here without delay. Roger of Argenton was meant to betray us and he has saved us instead.’

  When Roger reported to Frederick that the pilgrims were in fact a certain Baldwin de Bethune and his companions, Frederick was bitterly disappointed. So much so that he said he would like to examine the pilgrims himself and he sent out orders for their arrest.

  Roger was ahead of him. He knew in which direction they had gone and he reached them before they were discovered.

  ‘The pilgrims will be arrested,’ he told Richard. ‘They are to be taken before Frederick. You, my liege lord, must not be with the party when it is taken. Leave it now. Your horse will carry you a long way from here. Take with you but one servant. Go northwards as fast as you can. Do not seek rich lodgings. Be careful that you are not noticed.’

  So once again Roger had saved him, for a day after Richard had parted with his knights they were discovered, arrested and thrown into prison.

  There he was, the King of England, accustomed to being surrounded by a retinue of followers, al
one in a strange land, save for one page. When he had left his friends he and his page had galloped northwards for some hours until his horse was exhausted; when they had come to a forest, the page tethered the horses to a tree, spread out a cloak upon the grass and they slept.

  It was dawn when Richard awoke. He looked about for his friends and seeing only the sleeping page realised with dismay what had happened.

  He faced the situation. Richard of England was wandering across Europe, with no knowledge of geography, realising that he was surrounded by enemies, with no servants except the page and only the treasure they could carry to pay for his journey.

  It was an incongruous situation. The man who had but a short time ago commanded men in their thousands was now a fugitive.

  He was not entirely dismayed. This was adventure, although of a different kind from those that usually came his way, but he was ready for any sort of adventure.

  He shouted to his page, who hearing his voice sprang up in confusion.

  ‘Come, page,’ he said, ‘we must be on our way. We have to reach the coast somehow and take ship for England. There are just the two of us which is not a bad thing, for none would suspect a king would travel with just one servant. I doubt not you are as hungry as I am. We will ride on and perhaps find food somewhere.’

  The page brought his master’s horse and they started off.

  For three days they travelled, living as they could. Richard would wait outside a town in a thicket, if that were possible, while the page went and bought food. They rode through the day and slept from exhaustion in fields and woods and on the third day they came to a city.

  Richard did not realise that this city was Vienna and that he was in the heart of that territory which belonged to his bitterest enemy, Leopold of Austria.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we must find a humble lodging and there we shall rest for a while before pursuing our journey. While we stay we will find out where we are and what direction we should take. But first we must rest and eat to sustain ourselves after these days of hardship.’

  The page had grown closer to his master than he had ever been and was filled with pride to think that fate had chosen him to be the one to accompany King Richard on this perilous journey.