The Heart of the Lion

by Jean Plaidy

They found a humble lodging on the outskirts of the town where no questions were asked when they explained they just needed a room. Richard told the woman of the house that he was a merchant and dealt in fine objects. This would allay her suspicions if she saw any of the treasures he had managed to bring with him. He told her that he and his servant would like to stay for a week or so for they were tired with travelling and still had far to go. When he asked her the name of the nearby city she told him it was Vienna.

  ‘Ah,’ said Richard, ‘that would belong to Leopold of Austria.’

  ‘He is our noble Duke,’ said the woman.

  Richard smiled inwardly recalling that occasion when he had kicked the fellow for refusing to help build a city’s walls. What would he say if he knew the King of England was now travelling through his realm?

  He was determined this time not to betray himself and prepared to learn the ways of humble folk. He found he enjoyed talking to the woman and her husband. He could speak their language tolerably well and he took an interest in their way of life. He would sit in the kitchen while the woman baked and would watch her and chat while she worked. She took to giving him little tasks and he was often set to turn the meat as it roasted.

  He was recovering from the three days spent in riding fast and picking up food where it could be found. He was strong but he always had to remember that that virulent fever could overtake him at any time and he must always be prepared for it.

  The page penetrated deeper into the town to find where he could find food. He would take some article which Richard gave him and sell it. One of these articles was the jewelled belt – a beautiful thing most delicately wrought and which had often been admired when Richard wore it, which was often. He was sorry to part with it; yet it was necessary to pay for food and lodging.

  In the market place it was inevitable that the page should be noticed. The goldsmith to whom he sold the belt had rarely seen such a fine piece of workmanship. He talked of it and showed it to certain of his noble customers. It was bought by one who was most curious about it.

  Who was this young man who came every day and spent so lavishly?

  One of the traders said to him: ‘You are clearly a gentleman of quality.’

  ‘I serve a greater,’ boasted the page.

  ‘Who is this rich and noble gentleman?’

  ‘He is a merchant.’

  They talked of him when he was not there and watched for him.

  The page greatly enjoyed the sensation he made. He was so proud to be serving the King. One day he took one of the King’s gloves which was very richly embroidered and stuck it in his belt before he went into the market.

  There was one man leaning against a stall who watched him. He swaggered up to him and said: ‘That is a fine glove, my man.’

  ‘Is it not?’ answered the page.

  ‘And not yours I’ll swear. How come you to be wearing it?’

  ‘It is my master’s,’ answered the page. ‘I wear it because I am proud to be in his service.’

  ‘Where is this master of yours?’

  ‘He is making a journey and resting here but a while.’

  ‘A rich merchant is he not?’

  ‘Aye, ’tis so,’ answered the page.

  The man took the glove and studied it intently.

  ‘A royal glove, I’d say,’ he commented.

  The page snatched it from him and sticking it in his belt did not stop to buy what he had come for. He was terrified that he had betrayed his master.

  Hurrying back to the lodging he found the King in the kitchen talking to the woman of the house. He signed that he must speak to him without delay and Richard went to the small room they shared.

  ‘Sire, we must fly without delay. They know who you are.’

  ‘How can they know that? You did not tell anyone?’

  ‘Nay, Sire. I never would. But they watch me. They ask me questions about my master.’

  ‘And you told them I am a merchant.’

  ‘Yes, I told them that.’

  ‘Well, since they are asking questions, we must be wary. We will make our plans to leave within a few days.’

  ‘But, master . . .’

  ‘You are trembling. Why should they guess who I am? They but think me a merchant. If we left too hurriedly they would be suspicious. Nay, since they are curious about you, do not go to the market today. Go tomorrow and buy what we need. Then we will be off and I will tell these people that I am ready to pursue my journey within the next few days.’

  The page was terribly apprehensive. He dared not confess that he had worn the royal glove in his belt and that it had been seized and studied by a man who had asked if his master was royal.

  When the page next went to the market he was aware of two men who followed him. He paused at a stall and they came up beside him.

  ‘Who are you?’ he stammered.

  ‘You will discover. Come with us.’

  ‘Nay, I cannot. I have to buy and return to my master.’

  His arms were seized and he was dragged from the stall.

  He was taken into a building where men sat at a board on trestles. Those who had seized him took him to this board and held him while one of the men with a hard cruel face smiled at him. It was a smile which made the page feel as though a snake was coiling itself about him.

  ‘You come to the market to shop now and then,’ said this man.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ answered the page.

  ‘And you bring objects which you sell.’

  ‘’Tis true. I see no harm . . .’

  ‘Who talks of harm? It may be that you have done much good. Who is your master?’

  ‘He is a merchant . . .’

  The smile again distorted that cruel face.

  ‘It would be better to tell the truth. It could save us much time and you much pain.’

  ‘I am answering your questions. What more can I do?’

  ‘You can tell us the truth.’ One of the men beside him twisted his arm. ‘Come, fellow. The truth.’

  ‘I tell you that he is a merchant . . .’

  ‘Silence. His name. They are pretty eyes. I doubt not that they serve you well. Have you ever thought what it would be like to be deprived of them?’

  The page began to tremble.

  One of the men seized his head and forced him to open his mouth. He took his tongue in his hands and twisted it. The page gasped with pain and the man released it.

  ‘See, it is still there. Have you thought what it would be like to lose it? Come, foolish fellow. We have strong suspicions who your master is. You have but to confirm it and you keep those pretty eyes, that useful tongue. But, by God and his Heavens, if you refuse us you will most certainly lose them.’

  There were tears in the page’s eyes. ‘I will not betray my master.’

  ‘Oh, so there is something to betray! Whose glove did you wear in your belt? What a fine glove. It was like a king’s glove. Be sensible. Do you want to suffer in vain? We are asking very little of you. The name of your master – his true name which you know and which you are going to tell us. Give us his name. Lead us to his lodgings and you go free unharmed. Refuse us and you will be thrown into prison and dealt with as we have already explained.’

  The page fell on his knees. ‘Let me go, master.’

  ‘Assuredly when you tell us what we want to know. Don’t be a fool. We know already. We merely want you to confirm this. We shall not blame you. You are a servant. You must do as you are bid. Come, think of the hot irons and your precious eyes. Think. You would never be able to speak again. So look while you can and speak while you can – for you might as well be dead when we have done what we will do to you if you refuse to tell us.’

  The page broke down. ‘I will tell you. My master is Richard the King of England. I will take you to our lodging. He is trying to reach England and we lost our way . . .’

  ‘Enough. He is a good and wise fellow after all and deserves to keep his eyes and tongue. Come, show us the wa
y.’

  The dwelling was surrounded by soldiers. The news had circulated that Richard Coeur de Lion was in the house.

  The captain of the troop strode into the house and was met by the woman who came from her kitchen to discover what the noise was about.

  ‘King Richard of England is in this dwelling,’ said the captain.

  ‘I have no king here,’ was the reply. ‘There is no one but a merchant who is a pilgrim.’

  ‘We want that pilgrim,’ said the captain.

  ‘He is in the kitchen watching the chickens on the spits.’

  They burst into the kitchen.

  ‘There he is,’ cried the captain.

  Richard stood up to his full height. ‘What means this?’ he demanded.

  ‘We know you to be the King of England,’ said the captain. ‘We have orders to take you.’

  ‘Whose orders?’

  ‘From a high place, Sire.’

  ‘From your Duke no less. From Leopold. Go and tell Leopold that I will give my sword to no one less than himself.’

  The captain was undecided what to do but at length he kept his guard on the house and sent a messenger to the Duke to tell him what had happened.

  Later that day Leopold arrived.

  They faced each other in the kitchen. Leopold was smiling smugly. ‘It is a little different now from when we were on the walls of Acre,’ he said.

  ‘Is it?’ retorted Richard. ‘You were arrogant then and at no good business and so you are now.’

  ‘You are mistaken. This is very good business. You are my prisoner and there are many who will rejoice to hear it.’

  ‘Weak men such as yourself who are afraid of me?’

  ‘I am not afraid of you now, Richard of England.’

  Richard laughed aloud. ‘You are backed by your soldiers and I stand alone. That makes a very brave man of you.’

  ‘You are under arrest.’

  Richard bowed his head. ‘Allow me to present my sword to you. I do not keep it in the kitchen.’

  He went to the room he had shared with the page and taking his sword handed it to Leopold.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you may tell your masters that you have captured the King of England.’

  High on a hill, dominating the landscape, built as a mighty fortress against any invaders, its dungeons so strong that no man had ever escaped from them, the castle of Dürenstein was the ideal prison for the most important prisoner in the world. Built on the banks of the Danube where that river cuts through rocky gorges with the few houses which comprised the little town of Dürenstein clustered at its feet, it was remote and isolated, for few travellers came that way; and here in this fortress, Richard was placed in the custody of one of Leopold’s most trusted officers, Hadamar von Kuenring.

  The importance of his charge had been impressed on von Kuenring and he was determined to hold him against no matter what odds.

  The two men quickly became friendly in spite of the fact that one was jailer, one prisoner. Richard liked to talk of battles he had won and von Kuenring listened eagerly; they played chess together and each looked forward to enjoying the company of the other. Through Kuenring Richard learned a little of what was happening outside. There was excitement throughout Europe, Kuenring told him, because it was being whispered that Coeur de Lion was the prisoner of his enemies.

  ‘If they know where I am, I shall soon be rescued,’ cried Richard.

  ‘They do not know. The Duke is determined that your prison shall be kept a secret. I will tell you something. Leopold has sent word to the Emperor that you are his prisoner.’

  ‘He would not dare to do otherwise,’ commented Richard and added ruefully, ‘Much good will that do me. The Emperor is no friend of mine since I became the ally of Tancred.’

  ‘My lord, you made many enemies.’

  ‘For a man such as I am that is inevitable,’ said Richard sadly. ‘Even those who I thought were my friends turn against me. But never fear. It will not always be so. Think not that I shall spend my life in this prison.’

  Von Kuenring looked wistful. He wished it were in his power to help his prisoner escape.

  Richard understood his feelings and gripped his hands saying: ‘You have your duty. Think not I would wish you to forget that.’

  He was fortunate to have such a jailer.

  When Philip of France heard the news he was filled with an excitement he could not fully understand. They could never be friends again. The old days had gone for ever, and Richard was his enemy. His feelings were difficult even for him to understand. How he wished that Richard were his prisoner! He visualised how he would have gone to him and treated him with tender respect as he had when they were younger. But now a fierce exultation seized him. Richard had been wrong to linger in Palestine. What good had he achieved? How much wiser, he, Philip, had been, to leave when he did.

  And now Richard was a prisoner. Let him remain so. It was better for France that he did; and let sly, greedy John take the throne. There was nothing for France to fear from England with a king like John.

  It was different with Richard.

  And so those who had recently been his allies against the Saracens now gloated on his imprisonment. There in his fortress on the banks of the Danube Richard could look out on the ragged rocks on which it stood. His was a prison from which it would not be easy to escape.

  Chapter XIV

  THE JEWELLED BELT

  Berengaria was sad as the galley carried them away from Acre.

  She stood on deck with Joanna beside her watching until the land faded away.

  ‘Come,’ she said, ‘let us go below. There is nothing more to see.’

  ‘We will pray for Richard’s safe journey,’ said Joanna. ‘I would we were with him.’

  ‘Oh, he is happier with his friends,’ answered Berengaria bitterly.

  It was true, Joanna knew. Poor Berengaria! She, Joanna, had had a husband older than herself but at least he had been a husband to her.

  Joanna said: ‘He is concerned for our safety. Remember he has given us Stephen of Turnham to care for us. Think how such a noble knight could have served him.’

  But Berengaria was impatient. ‘I have done with pretence,’ she said. ‘It is true that in the beginning I was happy to deceive myself, but it is no longer so.’

  She sighed and Joanna knew there was nothing more to be said on that subject.

  They were fortunate in the journey. As though to make up for Berengaria’s disappointment the sea remained calm and there was just the right amount of breeze to carry the ship on its way; the sky was clear; each day was perfect. In good time they arrived at Naples and there they alighted to make the journey to Rome.

  Stephen of Turnham was a man who took his duty seriously and he was determined that no harm should befall the ladies if he could help it. On that long journey he guarded them well. He himself slept outside their door each night at the various houses in which they stayed; and if they must pitch their tents he was at the door of those also. No one should come to them, he said, except over his dead body.

  It was a comforting gesture.

  Berengaria often thought what a strange married life hers was. Most princesses were sent off to their husband’s country when they were children and brought up there. Some had never known their husbands when they were betrothed. She had counted herself lucky because she had fallen in love with Richard long before and had cherished an ideal ever since. How false her dreams were proving to be. And was she to spend the whole of her life following him about the world?

  But she must not complain. She had her good friend Joanna, who had lost a husband she had cared for; and there was the little Cypriot Princess who constantly prayed for her father’s well-being knowing that he was Richard’s prisoner.

  ‘My lot is not worse than theirs,’ she reminded herself.

  And so they came to Rome. There it lay before them this city built on seven hills and round the silver stream of the Tiber.

  �
��Here we shall stay,’ said Sir Stephen, ‘until we find out whether it is safe for us to proceed.’

  A nobleman of Rome offered his mansion to the Queens of England and Sicily and here Stephen decided it would be wise to rest awhile until they could make arrangements to get across Italy and perhaps proceed by ship.

  ‘If only we could have news of Richard’s journey!’ sighed Joanna.

  It was Stephen who heard the news.

  ‘In the markets,’ he told them, ‘it is said that King Richard has been shipwrecked in the Adriatic Sea.’

  ‘Do you believe he is drowned?’ asked Berengaria, her eyes large with horror.

  She loves him after all, thought Joanna. It is all a pretence to say she does not. She is trying to show an indifference to the world which she does not feel.

  ‘I cannot believe Richard is dead,’ said Stephen. ‘If he were shipwrecked, rest assured that he would save himself in some way.’

  ‘If he were shipwrecked,’ replied Berengaria, ‘he must land somewhere. Where would he land and would we not have heard if he were pursuing his journey? How could Richard with all his company avoid being recognised?’

  ‘We shall hear in due course,’ said Joanna. ‘In the meantime let us rest and try to be easy in our minds. We shall need strength to pursue our journey.’

  The days began to pass. There was no news. Stephen thought that they should soon be continuing with their journey. If they could get to Pisa they could take ship to Marseilles and there they could rely on the good friendship of the King of Aragon.

  But something seemed to warn him not to leave in haste and he decided to seek an audience with the Pope that he might solicit his help in getting a safe conduct for his party.

  Meanwhile the Queens were a little restive. There was something in the city air which excited them.

  It was Joanna who had the idea that if they disguised themselves they might slip out and visit the markets. There were good things to buy in Rome.

  It relieved the tedium to study the dress of the women of the city, to acquire similar clothes, to dress themselves in the loose garments girded at the waist by leather belts. Over their long hair they wore wimples not of silk but of linen in the hope that they could mingle unnoticed with the ordinary women of the city.