“It was a sewer,” Leopold said flatly.
Wonderful, Richard thought. Next the man would reveal it had then been eaten by pigs. “Friedrich asked me if I’d have punished my men had I known that. I said no, for they were following my orders, even if they did take it further than they ought. And if I had it to do over again, Leopold, I would still give that order. But I would have talked with you afterward about it. That we did not talk, I do regret.”
Leopold’s dark eyes were unreadable. “That sounds almost like an apology.”
Richard smiled. “I’d say it is rather late for apologies. And under the circumstances, surely my sincerity would be suspect.”
The Austrian duke gave no indication that he’d caught the ironic undertones. “Yes, it would,” he agreed, confirming Richard’s suspicion that the man had no sense of humor whatsoever.
Taking another swallow of wine, Richard leaned across the table. “Let’s talk not of the past, but of the future, then. As I see it, we have a choice of two roads to take. We can let bygones be bygones and I ride out of here on the morrow, ideally with a safe escort into Moravia, whilst you give the order to set all of my men free, too. Or we can discuss a ransom. Naturally, I prefer that first road. But I’m willing to travel down the second one if need be. If it is to be the first option, I will give you my sworn word that I will seek no vengeance, will nurse no grievance against you, for I now understand that I was not as blameless in this matter as I first thought. If it must be the second, I am sure we can reach an accommodation satisfactory to us both. So, which will it be?”
Leopold was no longer meeting his eyes, staring down into the depths of his wine cup. “It can be neither.”
That came as a shock, for Richard had convinced himself he’d be able to talk sense into the other man, having seen subtle signs that Leopold might be regretting grabbing a lion by the tail. A day ago, he’d have erupted in rage, reminding the duke that he’d be cast into eternal darkness if he persisted in this madness, demanding to know if any grievance was worth putting his immortal soul at risk. But a seventeen-year-old boy had done something few others had managed to do: he had gotten him to see a viewpoint other than his own. Setting his wine cup down carefully instead of slamming it to the floor, he said, “Leopold, you are making a fatal mistake. Whatever happens to me, you’ll suffer a far worse fate. We both know the Holy Father will excommunicate you for so great a sin. But it is not too late. There is still time to undo what has been done.”
Leopold pushed his chair back, got slowly to his feet. “You are wrong, Lionheart,” he said somberly. “We no longer have the luxury of choosing our own fates. You see, I was honor-bound to send word of your capture to my liege lord, and Emperor Heinrich has commanded me to bring you to him at Regensburg. We depart on the morrow for the imperial court.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JANUARY 1193
On Road to Regensburg, Germany
This time Richard agreed not to attempt an escape in order to avoid being bound. Hadmar gave him the excuse he needed by telling him it was one hundred fifty miles to Regensburg, but the truth was that he’d have done almost anything to avoid arriving at Heinrich’s court trussed up like a Michaelmas goose. He was disappointed that the Archbishop of Salzburg and the Bishop of Gurk did not accompany Leopold, for he’d hoped he might get a chance to talk to one of them privately. But neither prelate nor the Cistercian abbots were part of the duke’s retinue. Leopold kept a deliberate distance, offering Richard no opportunity to speak with him. He did manage one brief conversation with Hadmar and, figuring he had nothing to lose, he asked if the Austrian clerics approved of his captivity. The other man surprised him by how readily he answered. “Of course they do not. The duke is defying the Church and that is of great concern to them. But they are loyal to him, nonetheless, and will remain so, even if the Pope were to inflict the ultimate punishment upon him.” Not what Richard wanted to hear.
They covered about twenty miles a day, a respectable distance for winter travel, staying at castles, once at a monastery, and once at an inn where their arrival sent the innkeeper into a tizzy. Richard was always lodged in comfortable quarters, but kept isolated and under heavy guard, which gave him too much time to think about what awaited him at the imperial court.
He’d never met Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, but what he knew of the other man was not reassuring. Heinrich was twenty-seven, very well educated, said to be fluent in Latin and, like Richard, a sometime poet. He was also said to be ruthless, inflexible, unforgiving, and haughty. Richard’s brother-in-law, the former Duke of Saxony, and his nephew had nothing good to say of him. Neither had Richard’s mother and wife.
Eleanor and Berengaria had an unexpected encounter with Heinrich and his consort two years ago when they were on their way to join Richard in Sicily. Heinrich and Constance were heading for Rome to be crowned by the Pope, having learned of the death of Heinrich’s father on crusade, and their paths had converged in the Italian town of Lodi, much to the discomfort of its bishop, their reluctant host. Lying on his bed in a German castle, doing his best to ignore the guards encircling him with drawn swords, Richard recalled his mother’s trenchant appraisal of the German emperor.
“Heinrich is clever, too clever by half. And cold. If he were cut, I daresay he’d bleed pure ice. He had all the charm of a wounded badger.” Eleanor had paused when Richard laughed. “But he is a dangerous man, Richard, not one to be taken lightly, for he has no scruples and a great deal of power. He’d make a very bad enemy.”
That was a damning indictment, but Richard found his wife’s somber assessment to be even more troubling, for Berengaria was naturally inclined to give others the benefit of the doubt and she was not one for drama or hyperbole. “He does not appear regal,” she’d said, “not like you or my brother Sancho, and at first I wondered why men seemed to fear him so much. But his eyes . . . Richard, I know this may sound foolish. But when I looked into his eyes, I felt that I was looking into an abyss.”
RICHARD DID HAVE ONE NIGHT in which he was free from his own dark thoughts. Friedrich and Leo sneaked in to chat, bringing their cousin Ulrich, the young Duke of Carinthia. They wanted him to tell Ulrich how he’d ridden out alone to defy the Saracen army at Jaffa, translating freely for Ulrich, whose Latin was shaky at best. Leo seemed to have thawed considerably since their last meeting and Friedrich soon explained why, saying they were very glad that the English king had apologized to their father for disrespecting his banner. This came as a surprise to Richard, but as he listened to the youths chatter on, he realized what had happened. Leopold had taken his expression of “regret” for not having talked at Acre and expanded it to cover the entire incident for the benefit of his sons. Richard had no interest in salvaging Leopold’s honor, but he liked Friedrich and Leo and saw no reason to deny them a lie that obviously brought them comfort. They seemed to think the worst was over now, that the emperor and he would agree upon a ransom and he’d soon be free to return to his own lands, but Richard put that down to the wishful thinking and natural optimism of the young. They were in high spirits and indiscreet, confiding that their mother had wanted to accompany them to Regensburg, for she was fond of Heinrich’s wife, the Empress Constance. Yet their father had insisted she return to Vienna, which had sorely vexed her. Richard encouraged them to talk, wondering why Leopold would deny his wife a visit to the imperial court. He did not like the sound of that; did Leopold expect something to happen that he did not want Helena to witness?
As they rose to go, they conferred briefly and Leo declared that they had news to share. The emperor had ordered the king’s imprisoned men to be brought to Regensburg, too. Count Meinhard was bringing the eight men he’d seized at Udine, Friedrich von Pettau was coming with the six men he’d arrested at Friesach, and their father had sent word to fetch the three prisoners he was holding back in Vienna. They watched Richard, smiling, clearly thinking this would please him. But this was the last thing he wanted to hear—that his men
would be caught up with him in Heinrich’s web. Leopold would have released them sooner or later, if only to soothe his conscience. Heinrich would see them as inconsequential.
ON EPIPHANY, GUNTHER REINED IN beside Richard, said, “Regensburg,” and held up his fingers to indicate they were only ten miles from their destination. Richard was taken by surprise, therefore, when they halted at a castle after riding a few miles, for they could easily have reached Regensburg before nightfall. Like Dürnstein, this stronghold was perched on a cliff high above the Danube River, a stark, brooding silhouette against a winter sky bruised by snow clouds. Hadmar would later tell him it was known as Donaustauf, or Stauf on the Danube, owned by the Bishop of Regensburg. For now, he was given no explanations, merely escorted to an upper chamber. It was not until he unshuttered the window and saw Leopold and his retinue riding away that he realized he was being left behind while they continued on to Regensburg. He found that puzzling, even baffling; surely Leopold would be eager to display his prize at the imperial court? But there was no one to answer his questions, only his German-speaking guards. He’d always found it easy to banter with his soldiers, and he thought he’d have been able to establish a rapport with these Austrian men-at-arms, too, if not for the insurmountable language barrier.
He did not sleep well that night and was tense and restless the next day, expecting at any moment that Gunther would arrive to take him to Heinrich. It did not happen. By the second day, his emotional pendulum was veering wildly from frustration to fury to despair and back again. His guards watched him warily as he paced, murmuring among themselves, this constant surveillance rubbing his nerves so raw that he soon developed a throbbing headache. He went to bed early, for there was nothing else to do. No sooner had he finally fallen asleep, though, than he was jolted awake by a loud pounding on the door.
The guards hastened to lift the bolt and Hadmar strode into the chamber, snapping a command in German that had them gaping at him in astonishment. “You must hurry and dress,” he told Richard, “for we are leaving tonight.”
Richard sat up and stared at him. “Leaving for where? It is rather late for paying a visit to Heinrich.”
Hadmar grimaced, growling another order to the guards. “We are not going to Regensburg. We are returning to Austria, so you must make haste.”
“No,” Richard said, so emphatically that the guards turned to stare at him even though they did not understand a word of Latin. “I am going nowhere until you tell me what has happened.”
The other man scowled. “We’ve no time for this. The duke is waiting below in the bailey, wants us gone from here straightaway.” When Richard did not move, he said impatiently, “You’re not in a position to balk. Must I remind you that I can have you taken from here by force?”
“You think it would go well if you ordered your men to dress me and I resisted?” Richard jeered. “So unless you intend to drag me stark naked out into the snow, you’d best tell me what I have every right to know. What happened with Heinrich?”
Hadmar’s hesitation was brief. “My duke and the emperor could not agree on terms for your surrender and Leopold began to fear that Heinrich might send men to seize you. He thinks it best if they continue the negotiations from a distance. Now, for the love of God, will you do as I ask?”
Richard nodded and swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his clothes. Hadmar’s answer was far from satisfactory, but his other questions could wait, for whatever Leopold’s motivation, it was in his own best interests to get as far away from the imperial court as their horses could take them.
THEY RODE FAST AND HARD, letting neither the cold nor a snowfall on the second day slow them down. Richard got no answers as the miles slipped away, for neither Leopold nor Hadmar ever ventured within speaking range. Even the duke’s sons would no longer meet his gaze, quickly averting their eyes whenever he glanced in their direction. If he’d had any doubts that they knew something he did not, they were erased when he had an unexpected evening visit from the Austrian knight, Gunther. He brought a wineskin and the two men sat together for a while, passing the wineskin back and forth as Richard had so often done in the past, sitting by a campfire, drinking and joking and swapping memories of shared campaigns. With Gunther, there was no talk, of course, only what they could communicate without need of words. They drank in silence and then Gunther rose and departed, but that simple act of camaraderie gave Richard a small measure of comfort.
He actually felt a flicker of relief as Dürnstein loomed on the horizon, for in a world of foreboding shadows and shifting ground, it at least was familiar. And here he’d finally gotten some answers. It was well after dark when they arrived, but he awoke early the next morning to await his long-overdue talk with Leopold von Babenberg. As at Donaustauf, though, he was left alone to fume and fret as the hours passed. For a man with so little patience, waiting was an ordeal, one that forced him to face how powerless he was. The day ebbed away with excruciating slowness. Servants brought meals, then carried them away untouched. It was not until candles and oil lamps were lit as darkness infiltrated the chamber that his suspense was ended. He’d just about given up hope for the night when the door opened and Hadmar entered, followed by a servant carrying several large wine flagons and cups.
“The duke is gone,” he said before Richard could speak. “He left for Vienna this afternoon, so you’ll have to make do with me.” He ordered the servant to put the tray on the table and then turned to Richard with a wide, sweeping gesture and a mocking bow. “After you, my lord king of the English.”
Richard took a seat, glancing toward the flagons, which Hadmar was lining up between them. “This is a discussion that we cannot have whilst sober, then?”
“Sobriety is highly overrated,” the other man said with a lopsided smile. Richard had already noticed his flushed face, the slight slurring of his speech, and his suspicions were confirmed when Hadmar began to pour wine into their cups, his the exaggerated care of one not trusting his own reflexes. The ministerialis might not be drunk yet, but he was well on the way.
Sliding a cup across the table toward Richard, Hadmar took a deep swallow from his own cup. “As I told you at Donaustauf, my duke and the emperor could not agree on terms, and until they do, Leopold is not willing to give you up. Heinrich told him that there is a fortune to be made now that you are helpless in their hands, and Leopold wants to make sure that he gets his fair share.”
Richard could not stop himself. Reaching for the shovel, he said scornfully, “So what began as wounded honor is now all about money.” He at once regretted those intemperate words, not wanting Hadmar to storm out before he learned what had happened in Regensburg.
The Austrian did not appear to have taken offense, though. “So it would seem,” he agreed equably. “Gold tends to bedazzle men as easily as beautiful women. Leopold quite sensibly puts no trust in the emperor’s word and so wants safeguards in place to protect his interests. He also wants Heinrich to promise that you’ll not be physically harmed whilst in his custody.”
Richard set his wine cup down so abruptly that wine sloshed over the rim. “Does Leopold have reason to think my physical safety would be put at risk?”
Hadmar shrugged, drank again, and belched. “Knowing our esteemed emperor is reason enough, especially now that he has the blood of a bishop on his hands.”
“What mean you by that?”
“We arrived at Regensburg to find Heinrich has embroiled himself in a scandal of monumental proportions. Nigh on eighteen months ago, the Bishop of Liege died on his way home from the Holy Land and two candidates soon emerged for his See. Albert of Louvain was an Archdeacon of Liege and, more important, the younger brother of the Duke of Brabant and the nephew of the Duke of Limburg. He was not yet thirty, the canonical age for consecrating a bishop, but oddly, no one bothered about that, not even the Pope.”
He paused to drink again. “The second candidate was another Albert, the Provost of Rethel, whose primary qualificati
on seems to have been that he is the maternal uncle of Heinrich’s wife, the Empress Constance. He was backed by Baldwin of Hainaut, the Count of Flanders, who was not about to accept any man proposed by his rival, the Duke of Brabant. The first Albert won the election easily but the second Albert continued to protest, as did Count Baldwin, and the whole matter was referred to the imperial court. The emperor formed a committee of bishops and abbots to resolve it. They proved not to be the stuff of which martyrs are made, deciding Heinrich should declare the winner. He then proceeded to infuriate both sides and violate canon law by giving the bishopric to Lothar von Hochstaden, who happens to be the brother of Count Dietrich von Hochstaden, one of the emperor’s battle commanders and probably the closest that Heinrich has ever come to having a friend.”
In vino veritas, Richard thought. He was no longer angry at Leopold for his craven escape back to Vienna, for he’d never have gotten such wine-fueled candor from the duke. “So what happened then?” he prodded. “I’m guessing neither Albert raced to congratulate Heinrich’s handpicked puppet.”
“Indeed not,” Hadmar confirmed, peering at Richard owlishly over the rim of his wine cup. “The first Albert headed for Rome to appeal to the Pope, whilst the second Albert, too old for such travel, stayed at home and sulked. The Holy Father submitted young Albert’s claim to the papal curia and they voted in his favor. Apparently Celestine was willing to overlook a small matter like canonical age in order to vex the emperor, for he even honored Albert with the rank of cardinal and sent him off with a saddlebag filled with money and papal letters ordering his consecration.”
Looking surprised to find his cup empty, Hadmar poured himself a generous helping and splashed wine onto the table as he sought to refill Richard’s cup. “The Archbishop of Cologne enraged Heinrich by refusing to consecrate his choice, so he then dragged Lothar to Liege, where he forced the citizens to acknowledge him. Since the dissenters had their houses torn down, most rallied around Lothar. But Albert was now safe in French exile—or so the poor man thought—and there the Archbishop of Reims, who happens to be a papal legate and cardinal himself, was quite happy to consecrate Albert. This was last September. In October, three German knights arrived in Reims, claiming they were fleeing the wrath of Emperor Heinrich. They soon met Albert and won his trust. But this newfound friendship was short-lived, for on November 24, he agreed to go riding with them outside the city walls, and they promptly drew their swords and dispatched him to the afterlife. At least they had the decency not to slay him in a cathedral like your sainted Thomas of Canterbury. The killers then fled and guess where they sought refuge? Yes, indeed, straight as a crow flies to the imperial court.”
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