A King's Ransom

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Watching as Richard reread his letters, Longchamp wondered why he’d said nothing yet about his diplomatic triumph at Frankfurt. He thought that was a remarkable achievement for a prisoner, but he proceeded with caution in light of the king’s silence. “I encountered Fulk in the Worms market ere I came to the palace, sire. He was haggling with a peddler over a surprise for you and he told me about your meeting with the German rebels. I wish I could be in Paris to witness the French king’s chagrin and anger when he hears how you outwitted him!”

  Richard appreciated his chancellor’s diplomacy; he’d managed to hit upon the one pure pleasure of his Frankfurt feat—the misery it would give to Philippe Capet. Not wanting to talk about the meeting yet, he said instead, “Did I ever tell you how surprised I was when you and Fulk became such fast friends? When you joined my household, I fully expected the two of you to be at odds from the first day, given how prickly you both can be.”

  “True, neither of us suffers fools gladly. Nor are we celebrated for our tact. But that gave us something in common,” Longchamp said with a smile. Taking the hint, he deferred discussion of the Frankfurt council until the king himself brought it up. “Sire . . . you said you had a new task for me?”

  “Your arrival at Worms could not have been better timed, Guillaume, for we are about to negotiate a new agreement for my release. I will be relying upon you to keep Heinrich from draining my body of every last drop of my blood,” Richard said, with a flippancy that did not disguise the bitterness, not to one who knew him as well as his chancellor did. “Afterward, I am sending you to France to meet with the French king. I want you to try to get him to agree to a truce. I hate the very thought of it, but there is no other way to keep him from swallowing Normandy whole whilst I am held prisoner here.”

  He’d just been given a huge challenge, one that would have daunted the most talented of diplomats. Longchamp thrived on such difficult missions, though, and he was promising Richard that he’d do his best when the door opened and Fulk hurried into the chamber. He was carrying Richard’s “surprise,” a caged green parrot that he’d hoped would prove entertaining, but the gift bird had been relegated to an afterthought by his second surprise.

  “Sire, you’ll never guess whom I just met below in the outer court!” Fulk’s usually dour demeanor was utterly gone; he was beaming as he stepped aside to reveal Richard’s new guests. Morgan and Guillain jostled each other in their eagerness to get through the doorway, and the German guards gaped at the jubilant reunion that followed, startled to see the English king embracing these knights like brothers, for they could not imagine their emperor ever showing such favor to men of lesser rank.

  Richard was very familiar with the special camaraderie of soldiers, but he felt a particularly strong kinship with the twenty brave men who’d sailed with him on those pirate ships, and above all with Morgan and Guillain, who’d stood with him during one of the worst moments of his life. Once he’d assured himself that they’d endured their captivity as well as could be expected, he stepped back, frowning.

  “Where is the lad? Was he not freed, too?”

  “He was afraid to face you, sire,” Morgan said sadly. “He thinks your plight is all his fault. We’ve tried to reassure him that you’d not blame him for breaking under torture. I thought we’d succeeded, but he lost his nerve again once we reached Worms.” Morgan was reasonably confident that Richard would not blame the boy, but kings were not always tolerant of human frailties, and so he confided, “He is very young, my liege, even younger than we knew, not yet fifteen. . . .”

  “Go find him, Morgan, and bring him here. If he balks, tell him it is a royal command.”

  It was only after Morgan departed that Richard noticed the parrot. He was very knowledgeable about falcons, but he knew nothing of pet birds and was regarding it dubiously as Fulk insisted it would be good company. He declared that it had potential, though, when Fulk stuck his hand in the cage and was promptly bitten. He and Guillain and Longchamp were laughing at the clerk’s sputtering oaths when the door opened and Morgan half coaxed, half pushed Arne into the chamber.

  The boy stumbled forward, sinking to his knees before Richard, his head bowed. Grasping his arm, Richard pulled him to his feet. “Look at me, Arne.” For a long moment, he studied the youngster, his eyes tracking the crusted red welts that had been burned into his forehead and neck. “I am going to tell you something about courage, lad. It is not a lack of fear; it is overcoming fear. You endured great suffering for me, more than many men could have withstood. You have no reason to reproach yourself.”

  Arne’s throat had closed up and he saw Richard through a blur of tears. Richard reached out, tracing with his thumb the worst of Arne’s injuries, the one slashing from his eyebrow up into his hairline. “Others will look at this and see a scar, Arne. But they are wrong. It is a badge of honor.”

  Morgan and Guillain thought Arne seemed to gain in stature before their eyes, having had an oppressive weight finally lifted from his shoulders. “The king is right, Arne,” Morgan said with a grin. “And that ‘badge of honor’ will serve you well in the future. When you go into a tavern and tell men how you got it, you’ll never have to pay for another drink again.”

  “It will also prove useful when you want to impress a lass,” Richard predicted, and when the men laughed, Arne joined in, awed that so much pain could be healed with a few well-chosen words. Their German guards watched, puzzled by the merriment, agreeing among themselves that the English truly were a strange breed.

  ON THE TWENTY-NINTH OF JUNE, Richard sat on the dais beside the German emperor in the great hall of the imperial palace at Worms as the terms of their agreement were made public. Heinrich’s smile was triumphant and somewhat smug. It amused him to imagine the French king’s dismay when he heard of this pact, especially since Philippe was responsible for his having gotten most of what he’d demanded from the English king; he could have no more effective weapon to hold over Richard’s head than the threat of that Paris dungeon.

  Richard had summoned up what he hoped was a smile of his own; it felt more like a grimace to him, the involuntary rictus seen so often on the faces of the dead. He was determined that none would know how much anguish this agreement had caused him. So he kept that smile steady even as the outrageous new terms were read aloud. His ransom had been raised to a staggering one hundred fifty thousand silver marks, and he would be freed only upon payment of two-thirds of that vast amount, one hundred thousand marks. He must provide Heinrich with sixty hostages and Duke Leopold with seven to guarantee payment of the remaining fifty thousand marks within seven months of his release. If he succeeded in making peace between the emperor and his brother-in-law, Heinrich der Löwe, the payment of that fifty thousand marks would be waived and no hostages would be required. But since the demands made of Der Löwe included his acceptance of the marriage of his son’s betrothed to the Duke of Bavaria, Richard knew that peace would never come to pass. He had also been compelled to agree to wed his niece Aenor to Leopold’s eldest son and to deliver Anna, the Damsel of Cyprus, to the Austrian duke to be wed to his younger son. He could take consolation only from the absence of one earlier demand—that he personally take part in a campaign against the Sicilian king. But that gave him little comfort on this hot Tuesday afternoon, not when he thought about the cost of his freedom, a sum so stupendous that it defied belief, more than three times the annual income of the English government.

  THE CONDITIONS OF RICHARD’S IMPRISONMENT improved considerably after he’d come to final terms with Heinrich. He was given greater freedom, no longer kept under such smothering surveillance, allowed to meet in private with his friends and new German allies, and to conduct affairs of state; he’d even sent to England for his favorite falcons, having been promised he’d be able to go hawking and hunting. Heinrich also released the last of his men and Baldwin de Bethune was warmly welcomed at Worms. The Germans were impressed by the constant stream of visitors from England, men of rank an
d authority making an arduous journey to pledge their loyalty to their captive king, and word soon reached the French court that Richard was being treated more like a guest now than a prisoner.

  Philippe was stunned by the news of the Worms settlement, outraged that Heinrich had played him for a fool, making him believe his offer would be accepted. He was horrified, too, once he realized Richard’s release seemed imminent. He was shaken enough to agree to a truce with England when he met on July 9 with Richard’s chancellor, Guillaume de Longchamp, and his justiciar, William Briwerre, hoping to hold on to the gains he’d made during Richard’s captivity.

  He also sent an urgent message to his ally and coconspirator. When John read that terse warning—“Look to yourself; the Devil is loosed”—he at once fled to France.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JULY 1193

  Rome, Italy

  The Lady Mariam was seated on a marble bench in the Frangipani family’s palace on the Palatine. The sun was at its zenith, but the heat did not bother Mariam, who’d grown up in Sicily. She was waiting for the queens to return from the papal palace. In recent weeks the Pope had been too busy to see them whenever they’d requested an audience. While Berengaria still clung to her faith in the Holy Father, Joanna had given up all hope and his evasiveness infuriated her almost as much as his lack of action, for there was nothing she could do about either. This sudden summons by the Pope had excited them both, convincing them that it meant he’d gotten news about Richard. Mariam did not share their optimistic certainty that the news must be good; no Sicilian harbored any illusions about the Emperor Heinrich.

  Mariam would be happy for Joanna and Berengaria’s sake if the Pope did indeed have encouraging word about Richard’s plight, but she knew it was unlikely that he’d have heard anything about the man who mattered to her, Joanna’s Welsh cousin Morgan. As soon as she’d found out that Richard had ventured into enemy territory with only twenty men, she’d been sure Morgan was one of them, and her suspicions had been confirmed by the de Préaux brothers, Guilhem, Jean, and Pierre. After parting from Richard in Corfu, they’d made their way to Sicily, and were heading home to Normandy when they’d learned of the king’s capture. They at once changed plans, determined to join Richard in Germany. They’d stopped in Rome long enough, though, to tell Richard’s women about his ill-fated journey from the Holy Land.

  Joanna and Berengaria had lavished praise upon them for their loyalty, but Mariam had listened in silence, wondering why male priorities were so hard to fathom. The Préaux brothers were putting their king before their own anxious families back in Normandy, and she did not see that as admirable. She was still resentful that Morgan had chosen to sail with Richard rather than with her, and for a time her relationship with Joanna had suffered. But the two women were as close as any two sisters could be, and Mariam had realized she must let her grievance go. Richard was Joanna’s brother, the one who’d rescued her from captivity, so it was only to be expected that she’d love him dearly and his safety would be of paramount importance to her. Mariam reminded herself, too, that Morgan need not have done as Joanna requested, but that brought her back to the baffling subject of male honor.

  She was so caught up in her thoughts that she started when a cold nose was thrust into her hand. Smiling at the sight of Ahmer, the cirneco that had been her brother’s favorite hound, she fondled his fox-like red ears, remembering William’s pleasure and the horror of his Muslim physician when she’d smuggled the dog into his bedchamber during his final illness. Thoughts of William invariably made her sad for what might have been. If only his and Joanna’s infant son had lived. If only he’d not married Constance off to Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, giving Heinrich a claim to the Sicilian crown. If only he’d not been so stubborn, ignoring the protests of his subjects, who’d sooner have allied with Lucifer than the German emperor. He’d always been a good brother to her and she thought he’d been a good husband to Joanna, despite keeping a harim of Saracen slave girls as his father and grandfather had done. But he’d not been a good king.

  Ahmer’s head came up sharply and then he wheeled and raced back toward the great hall, barking joyfully. Mariam rose and followed more slowly, sure that the dog had heard his mistress’s return. By the time she entered, Joanna and Berengaria were surrounded by the women of their household, all eager to hear the Pope’s news. Mariam needed only one glimpse of Berengaria to know Richard’s prospects had taken a turn for the better, for his wife’s face was glowing, her beautiful brown eyes filled with shimmering light. But Mariam could detect the shadows lurking behind Joanna’s smile, and Sir Stephen de Turnham’s smile was, at best, a polite grimace.

  As Joanna’s eyes met Mariam’s, she slipped away from the others crowded around Berengaria, leaving it for Richard’s queen to break the news that he could soon be free. Emerging into the courtyard, Joanna blinked at the dazzling white brightness of the summer sun and then crossed to a bench in the shade of a silvery-grey olive tree, trailed by Mariam and Ahmer. Once Mariam was seated beside her, Joanna related what they’d been told of the pact Richard and Heinrich had made at Worms on June 25. Mariam listened without interruption, although she could not stifle a gasp at the mention of the staggering ransom demand. Waiting until Joanna had nothing more to reveal, she said quietly, “Those are very harsh terms, meant to break the man and bankrupt his country. Does Berengaria not realize that yet?”

  “She is reacting now as Richard’s wife, not his queen, and she cannot be faulted for that.” Joanna sounded faintly defensive, for she was very protective of the younger woman. “For now, all this means to her is that she may soon be reunited with her husband. Let her have this moment, Mariam. There will be time enough to consider the consequences of this Devil’s deal once Richard is freed.” She paused and then added bleakly, “If he is freed.”

  “Does the Pope think Heinrich will not honor the pact? He stands to gain a huge amount of money by it.”

  “Assuming that the French king does not offer even more.” Joanna very much wanted to share her sister-in-law’s joy, to believe that Richard would soon be freed. But she’d have taken an Outremer scorpion as a pet rather than put her trust in the Holy Roman Emperor. And because she knew her brother far better than his bride did, she nursed a secret dread that she’d shared with no one, not even Mariam—the fear that his imprisonment was ravaging Richard’s pride and scarring his soul.

  “Joanna . . . are you still sure that you ought to keep Queen Eleanor’s letter from Berengaria?”

  “Of course I am sure, Mariam! When I think of all the nights that I’ve dreamed of Richard at Trifels, burning with fever, chained up like a felon . . . Why would I want to inflict such pain upon Berengaria? No, if Richard wants to tell her of his Trifels ordeal, he will. Until then, it comforts her to believe he is being treated with the respect due his rank, and I will not be the one to take that comfort away from her.”

  Mariam could understand Joanna’s reasoning; nor did she blame Joanna for wanting to shelter Berengaria if she could. It was just that if Morgan had been the one kept in irons at Trifels, she’d have wanted to know, the pain notwithstanding. Once she might have argued further, but their falling-out over Morgan had tempered her usual candor, and she chose to change the subject. “Are you going to tell Anna that she is to wed the Duke of Austria’s son?”

  “Berengaria and I discussed this on the way back from the papal palace, and we decided it is better to wait. I doubt that Richard wants to see that marriage come to pass and he might find a way to circumvent it once he is freed.”

  Scorning consistency, Mariam agreed with Joanna about keeping the news from Anna. She was fond of the girl, but Anna was flighty and impulsive and it would be hard to predict her reaction. “Does the Holy Father know the identities of the hostages?”

  “Not all of them, though he says they will be of high birth.” Joanna’s lip curled. “Because Heinrich has no honor, he assumes Richard would sacrifice the lives of his hostages as he himself
would do, and so he is demanding those whom he sees as the most valuable pawns. Our nephews Otto and Wilhelm are on the list. The sons of some of Richard’s barons. Berengaria’s younger brother Fernando. Men close to Richard. Even prelates of the Church.”

  “Has Pope Celestine heard anything about the men taken prisoner with Richard?”

  Joanna shook her head reluctantly. Rallying then, she said with all the assurance she could muster, “I am sure they have been freed, though. Morgan is likely with Richard at Worms by now and making plans to return home.”

  Mariam knew better; Morgan would not leave Germany until Richard did. “Do you think even your mother can raise such a vast sum of money?”

  “I have no doubts whatsoever of that.” Joanna’s voice rang with conviction. “I have more good news, Mariam. The Pope has assumed responsibility for seeing that we get safely back to Richard’s domains. We are to be escorted to Pisa and then Genoa, where we’ll take ship for Marseille.” Despite the scorching heat, Joanna shivered at the thought of setting foot on shipboard again, even though she’d been assured they’d be hugging the coast.

  “Thank God,” Mariam said fervently, for she’d come to see Rome as a gilded cage. “But . . . Marseille? I thought you told me that Richard had to turn back when he learned he could not land safely at Marseille?”

  “I know, and neither Berengaria nor I are at all happy at having to ask the King of Aragon for help. But we have no choice, not unless we want to remain in Rome until Richard can come himself to fetch us.”

  Mariam was not too proud to admit her ignorance of French geography. “I am Sicilian, Joanna, remember? Marseille is a city on the French coast. How does the King of Aragon come into it?”