A King's Ransom

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Hadmar understood Richard’s reasoning; he did not trust any interpreter provided by Heinrich. But when he stepped forward to address the court, Hadmar managed to make Richard’s decision to speak in Latin sound like a courtesy, saying the English king knew that most of the men in the hall were familiar with that language. After a brief exchange with the bishop, he turned back to Richard, saying, “They have agreed to your requests.”

  “My requests?” Richard arched a brow in sardonic acknowledgment of Hadmar’s tact, but the latter nudged him, and he saw that the bishop had beckoned a scribe to come forward. The hall had been buzzing since he’d made his entrance, but a silence fell now as the charges against the English king were read aloud.

  Hadmar listened closely, waiting until the man paused so he could translate. “They say there can be no doubt that the Almighty wants you punished for your crimes, or else you’d not have fallen into the power of Duke Leopold. There are a number of accusations, including your ill treatment of the duke’s kinsman, Isaac Comnenus, your lust for profit, and your arrogant conduct in the Holy Land. But the most serious charges are your alliance with the usurper King of Sicily, your complicity in the murder of Conrad of Montferrat, and your treacherous conspiracy with the Saracen Sultan of Egypt, Saladin.”

  It was what Richard had been expecting to hear and he nodded for Heinrich’s spokesman to continue. This time the scribe spoke at some length, gesturing several times toward the Bishop of Beauvais. The audience leaned forward to hear, their gazes shifting from Richard to Boniface of Montferrat. A handsome, fair-haired man in his thirties, Boniface bore such a striking resemblance to his slain brother that Richard did not need Hadmar’s whispered identification.

  “You are accused of recognizing Tancred as Sicily’s king whilst knowing full well that the crown belongs by right of blood to the emperor’s consort, the Empress Constance.” Hadmar would have elaborated, but Richard cut him off impatiently, wanting to know what had been said about Conrad.

  “You’ll not like it much,” Hadmar warned. “It is claimed that you were Conrad’s sworn enemy, that you did all you could to thwart his claim to the crown of Jerusalem. And when you saw that you’d failed and he would be king despite your efforts, you hired the Saracen sect called the Assassins to stab Conrad as he rode through the streets of Tyre. One of the Assassins was slain afterward, but the other one was captured and confessed to the Bishop of Beauvais and the Duke of Burgundy that the killing had been done at your behest.”

  Richard could feel the anger starting to stir, smoldering embers threatening to blaze into fiery life, but he fought it back, for rage made a man reckless. He shook his head, saying nothing, remembering how carelessly he’d once dismissed the charges by Beauvais and Burgundy, so proudly sure that none who knew him would ever give credence to them.

  The scribe was continuing to make the case against him, having saved the most serious accusation for last, that Richard had betrayed his own Christian brethren by an unholy, heinous alliance with infidels. “The Bishop of Beauvais contends that from the day of your arrival in the Holy Land, you showed yourself willing to be beguiled by the Saracens. You at once sought to open negotiations with Saladin. You and he exchanged gifts and courtesies, for all the world as if you were dealing with another Christian king. You met with his brother on numerous occasions, once going off to feast in his tent. You formed friendships with some of Saladin’s emirs and Mamluks. You even dared to knight several of them. And you refused time and time again to lay siege to Jerusalem. No matter how they entreated you, you remained adamant, and you managed to win the native-born Christians and the Templars over to your heretical views, somehow convincing them that Jerusalem could not be taken. You then proved that you were secretly in collusion with Saladin by making a shameful surrender, yielding the stronghold of Ascalon to the infidels, and abandoning the Holy Land to those sons of Perdition, a sin so great that you will surely burn for aye in the hottest flames of Hell.”

  “Is it my turn now?” When Hadmar nodded, Richard strode to the center of the hall. The silence was complete, even eerie. “I was born into a rank that makes me accountable only to Almighty God. But I do not fear the judgment of just men, and these accusations are so scurrilous and vile that I welcome this opportunity to defend myself against them. Be he an emperor, a king, or a knight, a man’s honor is precious in his sight, for it is his legacy, how he will be remembered.” Richard paused and then looked toward the dais. “So when I am done, mayhap the illustrious emperor of the Romans may wish to address those foul rumors that he had a hand in the murder of the Bishop of Liege.”

  Caught by surprise, Heinrich proved that he was not as invulnerable as he’d have others believe, for his hands tightened upon the arms of his chair and although his expression remained impassive, color crept into his face. As their eyes met, Richard felt a hot surge of pure pleasure. He knew the other man would not forgive him for that, but he did not care. If he was going down, by God, he’d go down with his banner nailed to the masthead. He was heartened, too, to see some smiles as he glanced around the hall—smiles hastily hidden, but smiles, nonetheless. So this carefully selected audience was not as partisan as Heinrich had hoped; even here there were men who doubted the emperor’s innocence.

  “I will respond to these charges in the order in which they were made. I arrived in Sicily to discover that my sister, Queen Joanna, had been detained in Palermo by King Tancred, who had also seized her dower lands. I secured my sister’s freedom and after negotiations with Tancred, he agreed to pay twenty thousand ounces of gold as compensation for the loss of her dower, as well as another twenty thousand ounces that King William had bequeathed for the war against Saladin. So yes, I made a treaty with King Tancred, for there was no other way to get the money owed my sister or William’s bequest. I understand why this would anger the emperor. But it was not done with malice. I was not pleased when I learned that the emperor had met the French king at Milan and formed an alliance that I knew would be to my detriment. Yet I did not question the emperor’s right to make such a pact, no more than he can object to my right to act as I saw fit in my dealings with the King of Sicily. That is the way of statecraft, the prerogative of kings.”

  Richard paused again. They were listening intently, but he could not tell if his words were having any impact. “I am astonished that I should incur criticism for the actions I took against the usurper Isaac Comnenus, for I did no more than avenge myself for the wrongs done to my men, and in so doing, I was able to free the Cypriots from his oppressive yoke. When we sailed from Messina for the Holy Land, our fleet was scattered in a savage storm and several of our ships were driven ashore at Cyprus, including the ship carrying my betrothed, the Lady Berengaria of Navarre, and my sister Queen Joanna. Isaac imprisoned the shipwreck survivors and attempted to force my ladies to come ashore with threats, intending to hold them hostage. God willing, I arrived just in time to keep them from falling into his hands. Of course I sought to punish him for such an outrage; is there a man in this hall who would not have acted as I did?

  “When Isaac then sought peace, I agreed, only to have him flee in the night rather than honor the terms of our pact. So I deposed this faithless, evil man, and I make no apologies, for he had refused to permit Christian ships to dock in Cypriot ports and was known to have ties to Saladin.”

  Richard turned then to face Leopold, who’d been given a seat of honor on the dais. “If the Duke of Austria is offended by these actions against his kinsman, I can only remind him that we all have family members who are an embarrassment—or worse. I would speak now of the insult I gave him at the siege of Acre, when I ordered his banner taken down. The initial fault was his, but I will admit I rebuked him too severely, for it resulted in his departure from Acre, and we could ill afford to lose a fighter of his stature. Surely, though, he has been well avenged for this injury by my detention and captivity.”

  Leopold was not looking like a man who’d been well avenged, though, his
mouth tautly drawn, his color high, and his fists clenched at his sides. Richard took heart from the Austrian duke’s discomfort, hoping it meant that he was making a convincing case on his own behalf.

  “Nor did I seek to enrich myself at the expense of others; just the contrary is true. When King Tancred agreed to pay the forty thousand ounces of gold, the French king claimed half of that sum, arguing that we’d made a pact to share any booty won during our campaign. I agreed to give him a third, even though he could have no possible right to any of my sister’s dower. But I did it so there would be peace between us. After I seized a rich Saracen caravan in Outremer, I gave fully a third of the plunder and livestock to the French, for that was their price for taking part in the raid; the rest I shared amongst my soldiers. Nor did I profit personally from the conquest of Cyprus. I sold it to the Knights Templar so we’d have it as a supply base for the Holy Land. And when the Templars decided they no longer wanted the island, I arranged for it to go to the King of Jerusalem, Guy de Lusignan. The Templars had paid only forty thousand bezants and still owed another sixty thousand. I told Guy that if he repaid the Templars, I would waive payment of the sixty thousand. I did this to get Guy and his de Lusignan kindred out of Outremer, thus paving the way for Conrad, the Marquis of Montferrat, to become Jerusalem’s king.”

  If possible, it became even quieter; the normal sounds in any assembly—shuffling of feet, coughing, throat clearing, and whispers—were absent. Richard glanced for the first time at Boniface of Montferrat. He was leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, but his relaxed posture was belied by the narrowed eyes, the tightness of his jaw muscles.

  “I admit there was no love lost between Conrad and myself. But our differences were political, not personal. I did not believe he should be crowned King of Jerusalem, for I thought his claim was tainted by the circumstances of his marriage. For those of you who are not that familiar with the tangled rivalries of the Holy Land, Guy de Lusignan’s claim to the throne was based upon his marriage to the Queen of Jerusalem, the Lady Sybilla, and when she died at the siege of Acre, he found himself in a precarious position. He argued that he was still a consecrated king, anointed with the sacred chrism, and should continue to rule. But many blamed him for the catastrophe the kingdom had suffered at the battle of H.at.t.in, which led to the fall of the Holy City to Saladin, and few of the Poulains—the native-born Christians—wanted him as their king.”

  Richard swallowed with difficulty; his throat was getting dry. “I supported Guy for two reasons. The de Lusignans were my vassals back in Poitou, so I owed them my protection as their liege lord. And I was troubled by Conrad’s actions in pursuit of that crown. Upon Sybilla’s death, her younger sister, Isabella, had the strongest claim to the throne. But Isabella was wed to a man as unpopular as Guy was. Conrad convinced the Poulain lords that Isabella ought to leave her husband, Humphrey de Toron, and marry him. Although Isabella protested, not wanting to end her marriage, she was compelled to do so, for she was a young girl of only eighteen and without allies. I was not yet in the Holy Land, but my Archbishop of Canterbury was at Acre and he objected fiercely to this marriage, saying it would be bigamous and invalid. Had he not died of a fever, I think he may have prevailed. But as soon as he was dead, Isabella was wed to Conrad. One of the men most involved in this sordid affair was the Bishop of Beauvais, a man who never lets canon law or principles interfere with his own ambitions.”

  The French bishop had been slouched in his seat, feigning boredom, but at that, he straightened up and glared at Richard, who ignored him. “This is why I could not support Conrad, for I thought his claim to the throne was ill-gotten. When we sought at Acre to reconcile the competing claims of Guy and Conrad, that compromise satisfied no one. Conrad was so disgruntled that he even refused to take part in the campaign against Saladin and withdrew to Tyre.”

  Richard halted to allow Hadmar to translate his remarks into German for those who spoke no Latin. “Eventually I withdrew my opposition to Conrad, for I’d come to realize that it was not for us, who would be returning to our own lands, to choose a king for Outremer. We would go home, but the Holy Land was home for the Poulains, and the choice should be theirs, for they would have to live with it, not us. So I declared that I would accept whatever decision they made, and the Poulain lords unanimously elected Conrad. It was then that I acted to eliminate Guy as a threat to Conrad’s reign, whilst sending my nephew Henri, Count of Champagne, to Tyre to notify Conrad that he was to be king. He was overjoyed and at once dispatched Henri to Acre to make arrangements for his coronation. But it was not to be.”

  Boniface of Montferrat had been given a seat on the dais, too, and the Bishop of Beauvais leaned over now to whisper something, but Boniface paid the other man no heed, keeping his gaze riveted upon the English king. His face was inscrutable; Richard had no idea what he was thinking.

  “A few days later, Conrad went to dine with the Bishop of Beauvais, and on his way home, he was ambushed by two Assassins sent by Rashid al-Din Sinan, known as the Old Man of the Mountain. He was carried back, dying, to the citadel, where he instructed Isabella to yield Tyre only to me or to the rightful lord of the land. Would he have done that had he believed I was the one who had set the Assassins upon him? As little as he liked me, he knew I was not capable of such a vile act.”

  Richard had been moving about the hall as he spoke. He now approached the dais, his eyes meeting those of Conrad’s brother. “This is a charge that is utterly foreign to my character. Not even my bitterest enemies have ever accused me of cowardice, and what could be more craven than to hire killers to strike a man down? Had I wished any man’s death, I would have challenged him openly, just as I would challenge any man who dared to accuse me of such a cowardly, foul murder now—were I free to do so.”

  For the first time, Richard got a response from the audience; he could see some heads nodding at that, as if in agreement. “The captured Assassin was turned over to the Bishop of Beauvais, who would claim he’d confessed under torture that I had sent them to murder Conrad. This is an arrant lie. Moreover, the Assassins are not routiers, willing to sell their swords to the highest bidder, and anyone with any knowledge of the Holy Land would know that. But none of that mattered to the Bishop of Beauvais, who saw a chance to besmirch my honor and leapt at it.”

  Hot color scorched the bishop’s face. He seemed about to speak, but Heinrich shook his head, and he sat back, giving Richard a look that was truly murderous.

  Richard had wondered if he’d be interrupted or heckled, but apparently that was not proper protocol at an Imperial Diet and they’d so far heard him out in polite silence. Now, though, Boniface sent a murmur of surprise rustling through the hall. “So you are saying that the Bishop of Beauvais lied about it all?”

  “The Bishop of Beauvais uses the truth the way other men use whores,” Richard said, and there was a ripple of laughter at that, quickly stilled. “I would gladly swear upon my honor that I had nothing to do with your brother’s murder, my lord marquis. But I daresay there are many in this hall who remain convinced I have no honor, for the good bishop has been slandering me the length and breadth of Christendom, blaming me for everything but the Great Flood. So to those of you who have swallowed the poison ladled out by the bishop, I can only tell you that men do not act against their self-interest. I am sure you all know that at the time of Conrad’s murder, I was in danger of losing my kingdom because of the French king’s plotting with my own brother, the Count of Mortain. The longer I stayed in the Holy Land, the more time I gave them to lay claim to my domains. I will freely admit I was desperate to get back to defend my realm. But I could not bring myself to break the vow I’d made to Almighty God, to abandon the Holy Land the way the French king did. I hoped that once Conrad was king, I could safely leave Outremer in his hands, for I knew his worth as a soldier.”

  Boniface studied him in silence for a long moment, his expression still unreadable. “If you are not the one responsible
for my brother’s death, who is?”

  “I can only tell you what I was told by Balian d’Ibelin, Queen Isabella’s stepfather, and the other Poulain lords. Your brother was a man of great courage and great abilities. But he was also reckless, strong-willed, and stubborn. I do not say that as a criticism,” Richard said, flashing a sudden smile, “for those very words have been bandied about when my name has been mentioned. But I fear those qualities may have cost Conrad his life. He’d seized a merchant ship belonging to Rashid al-Din Sinan, and refused their demands to return the ship, its crew, and its cargo. Balian said that they’d warned Conrad it was dangerous to run afoul of the Assassins, that even Saladin had backed down after Rashid al-Din Sinan threatened to murder his family. Conrad just laughed. . . .”

  Boniface said nothing, but Richard dared to hope that he may have convinced Conrad’s brother of his innocence. At the least, he was sowing seeds of doubt where there had been only conviction. His voice was growing hoarse; never had he spoken at such length before, or with such passion. He was both surprised and grateful, therefore, when a servant appeared without warning, offering a cup of wine. “Danke schön,” he said, showing off his meager store of German, and drank deeply, wondering whom he had to thank for the wine. When the servant retreated, he nodded to a man in a front row, one who was a stranger to Richard.

  “Of all the despicable lies told about me, none is more outrageous or shameless than that I would betray the Holy Land. I was one of the first princes to take the cross. I bear the scar upon my body from a Saracen crossbow bolt. I nearly died at Acre and again at Jaffa from the pestilent fevers that stalk Outremer. Even after learning that my own kingdom was in peril, I honored my holy vow and stayed. And now I find myself accused by the man who did not stay, for this campaign waged against me can be tracked back to Paris.”

  Richard had begun to pace, for he could feel the fury flaring up again. “I did seek to meet Saladin upon my arrival at the Acre siege camp, for I knew our only hope of regaining Jerusalem would be through a settlement of some sort. The Kingdom of Jerusalem is like a small island in a Saracen sea. The Christians are vastly outnumbered by the Muslims; at the battle of H.at.t.in, Guy de Lusignan could muster no more than twelve hundred knights. And, of course, I exchanged gifts and courtesies with Saladin, for these are the civilities which brave men share during war with worthy foes. Emperor Heinrich’s own father, Friedrich of blessed memory, and Saladin sent gifts to each other, and none would dare to cast aspersions upon that great man for doing so.”