A King's Ransom

by Sharon Kay Penman

  As soon as the door closed, Richard said in a sharp tone he’d never used with her before, “I will not consent to this, no matter what argument you make. Become that misbegotten whoreson’s vassal? When ice burns and fire freezes!”

  “Richard, it is meaningless—”

  “Not to me!”

  “You would be doing it under duress, and the Church holds such oaths to be invalid. Do they not, my lords?” She appealed to the prelates, and they confirmed her understanding of canon law, assuring Richard that doing homage under these circumstances would have no legal consequences.

  Richard was shaking his head again. “How can you not see?” he accused, his gaze cutting from the churchmen to his mother. “My men could never respect me again if I agreed to this. Nor could I respect myself.”

  “Richard, the one thing you need not fear is losing the respect of your men,” Eleanor said impatiently. “They’d follow you to Hell and back if you asked it of them.”

  “You do not understand. Women never do.”

  “Mayhap not. But are you truly willing to sacrifice so much to save your pride?”

  “It is not a question of pride. It is a matter of honor.”

  “You will not be staining your honor by doing this. You will be acting as a king.” Crossing to his side, she looked up intently into his face. “Think what will happen if you refuse Heinrich’s demand. The best you can hope for is that he’ll hold you prisoner in an attempt to coerce your consent. But he’s not only unscrupulous, Richard, he is unstable. No rational man would have been so shameless, so blatant about his crimes. He is intoxicated by his own arrogance, and if you do not let him save face, it is impossible to say what he may do.”

  Eleanor gave Richard no chance to respond, glancing back at Adolf. “Can you say for a certainty, my lord archbishop, that Heinrich would not decide to defy the Diet and turn my son over to the French?”

  “Of course I could not, my lady. I agree with your assessment of the emperor. The man is dangerously unpredictable. He was motivated by greed when he sought to extort even more money from King Richard. But it is hard to say what he might do if he is not offered a way to save face.”

  Eleanor put her hand on Richard’s arm. “Think what will befall your kingdom and your Norman duchy if you are unable to return to defend them. Philippe will overrun Normandy for certes. He could also threaten Anjou, mayhap even Poitou. Your father’s empire would soon be only a memory.”

  Richard stared at her, saying nothing. He’d told no one about his eerie dream at Trifels, hearing that familiar, hoarse voice echoing in the darkness of his prison cell. Save my empire. Do not let my life’s work become dust on the wind.

  Eleanor was encouraged that at least he seemed to be listening. “We both know John would not be able to stave off the French for long. He is not a coward, but he has rarely bloodied his sword, has never proven himself on the battlefield. He might not even fight for Normandy, willing to content himself with his island kingdom. And what do you think that would mean for the English? A king who cannot command respect is a king who will not be obeyed. Bandits would make a mockery of the King’s Peace, and local lords would feel free to pursue their own wars, just as they did during Stephen’s reign. Do you know how the chroniclers described those years, Richard? They said it was a time ‘when Christ and his saints slept.’”

  Richard would have pulled away, but he could not break her grip without hurting her. “You ask too much of me, Maman.”

  “I am not the one asking it of you, my dearest son. You were anointed with the sacred chrism on the day of your coronation. You are God’s vicar on earth, for you swore to defend the Church and deliver justice and mercy to the people of England.” The mention of his coronation oath reminded her of another holy vow he’d taken, and she did not scruple to remind him of it, too, even though she fervently hoped he’d never attempt to honor it. “There is something else you must consider. Your chancellor told me that you’d vowed to return to the Holy Land and retake Jerusalem. You can only do that if you regain your freedom and restore peace to the Angevin empire.”

  Richard could not dispute anything she’d said and he glanced toward his cousin, saying desperately, “For Christ’s sake, André, make her understand why I cannot do this.”

  André looked stricken. “Richard . . . I cannot. I know what you feel, for I feel it, too. But your mother has convinced me. You have no choice.”

  The Archbishop of Cologne decided this was an opportune time to intervene. “Queen Eleanor has articulated the reasons for consenting with great eloquence, and I urge you to heed her, my lord king. I can assure you that the homage will not fetter you in any way for it will be made under duress. Heinrich will not benefit from it—but you could.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Heinrich’s need to save face has blinded him to the consequences of his demand. As soon as you do homage to him, you become the most powerful and highborn vassal of the empire. Think what that could mean if Heinrich dies unexpectedly. He has no son, and even if he did, our crown passes by election, not birth. You’d have a vote when it came to electing the next Holy Roman Emperor and your opinion would sway others. The crown might even be offered to you,” he said, with a sudden grin. “Now, that’s a thought to keep Heinrich awake at night!”

  Richard was not yet ready to appreciate the irony of that. For the moment, he could think of nothing but the ordeal he faced on the morrow—having to kneel and swear homage and fealty to a man he loathed, a man he wanted dead. Turning away, he sat down in the closest chair, and the slump of his shoulders told Eleanor that she’d won. His pain tore at her heart, but his freedom mattered more. She hoped that in time, he’d come to see that, too. But even if he did not, she would have no regrets. There was nothing she would not have done to get her son out of Heinrich’s power—nothing.

  THERE WAS A WIDELY HELD BELIEF that certain days had been identified by ancient Egyptian astrologers as days of ill fortune, upon which no enterprise should be started or blood drawn by doctors. The fourth of February was one of these unlucky Egyptian days, yet to Eleanor, it would be a blessed day, for in the third hour of the morning, her son regained his freedom. She was startled and embarrassed to find herself bursting into tears when it finally happened. But the audience was very moved by the sight of this celebrated, aging queen sobbing in the Lionheart’s arms, and Heinrich was convinced that it had been a deliberate maneuver to sway public opinion in Richard’s favor. He’d awakened in a foul mood, for not even Richard’s act of homage could take away the bitter taste of defeat. But he cheered up somewhat after Markward von Annweiler reminded him how outraged the French king would be when he learned that Richard had done homage to Heinrich for Normandy and Anjou, and it was with a chilly smile of satisfaction that he became the English king’s liege lord.

  Eleanor was sickened by that smile, for although nothing showed on Richard’s face, she knew it would haunt his memory in years to come. The ceremony was a formal one, carefully scripted beforehand. Richard knelt and pledged his faith and fidelity to the emperor. He then offered his leather cap to Heinrich as a symbol of vassalage. Heinrich solemnly accepted the cap and then handed it back to Richard, along with a heavy gold cross, in return for a promise of an annual payment of five thousand marks. Eleanor knew Heinrich would never see a farthing of it. As she glanced around the hall, she thought Richard’s German allies seemed pleased that so renowned a king was now a vassal of the Holy Roman Empire, but Richard’s own vassals looked like men attending a public hanging. She consoled herself that at least the worst was over now, although bidding farewell to the hostages would be difficult.

  After his homage to Heinrich, Richard took the homage of eleven German lords and prelates in return for money fiefs, yearly revenues to be paid from the rents of English and Norman manors. He had told Eleanor that he’d formed an alliance meant to encircle and isolate the French king, while also rewarding the men who’d been so instrumental in wi
nning his freedom. But she’d not realized the full significance of this coalition until she saw how many distinguished, influential men had been drawn into Richard’s league against Philippe: the archbishops of Cologne and Mainz, the Bishop-elect of Liege, the dukes of Brabant and Limburg, the Count of Holland, the Marquis of Montferrat, and in a fine example of either political cynicism or realism, Baldwin, the eldest son of the Count of Flanders and Hainaut, who was firmly allied with the French king. Even Leopold of Austria and Heinrich’s uncle Konrad, the Count Palatine, and his brother, the Duke of Swabia, did homage to Richard for English fiefs.

  Eleanor studied the emperor intently. If Heinrich was troubled that so many of his own vassals and kinsmen were pledging their loyalty to the English king, he showed no sign of it. It was true that their oaths were given with the proviso salva fidelitate imperatoris—saving the honor of the emperor. To Eleanor, this was conclusive evidence that the French–German axis forged by Heinrich’s father was well and truly dead, and as she watched her son accept the homage of his new liegemen, she felt a surge of fierce pride, marveling that Richard could have accomplished a feat like this whilst being held prisoner.

  Richard’s first act as a free man was to entrust one of his vassals, Saut de Breuil, with an important mission. He was to travel to the Holy Land and assure Richard’s nephew Henri, the Count of Champagne, that he would return to fulfill his vow once he had avenged himself on his enemies and restored peace to his domains. In return for this service, Richard made Saut de Breuil a grant of lands worth forty pounds.

  His second act was to summon the Bishop of Bath and request that he be one of the additional hostages demanded by the emperor. Savaric declared it would be his honor, for he was eager to convince the king that he’d played no part in Heinrich’s double cross. But it did not go as smoothly with the Bishop of Coventry’s brother. Robert de Nonant had not made himself inconspicuous as his companions had prudently done. To the contrary, he seemed to be courting attention, swaggering about the hall and infuriating Richard’s knights. Eventually, he caught Richard’s eye.

  De Nonant took his time in responding to the king’s summons and gave Richard the briefest of bows in grudging acknowledgment of his rank. Richard regarded him in silence for several moments before saying coldly, “You are a fortunate man, Sir Robert. I am going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. I will forgive your treachery if you agree to be one of my hostages.”

  That did not go over well with Richard’s men, who felt he deserved no clemency. But to the astonishment of all watching, Nonant showed no gratitude for his unexpected reprieve. “I will not be a hostage for you,” he said, staring at Richard defiantly. “The Count of Mortain is my liege lord, and my loyalty is pledged to him.”

  Richard’s eyes glittered. “As you will.” Glancing around then, he beckoned to his cousin. “Arrest this man for treason.”

  André smiled. “With great pleasure, my liege,” he said, and de Nonant was abruptly hustled from the hall by André’s knights, none too gently, as Richard’s men clapped and jeered and Longchamp watched with great satisfaction, hoping that the Bishop of Coventry would soon suffer the same fate.

  CONSTANCE HAD SOUGHT Eleanor out to confide that Heinrich was not going to honor their request that Otto and Wilhelm be kept together. Otto was to remain at the imperial court, while Wilhelm would be one of Leopold’s seven hostages, accompanying the Austrian duke back to Vienna. Eleanor was grateful for the warning, for that enabled her to alert Otto, so her grandsons would not be taken by surprise. Richard had given his parrot to Wilhelm, much to his delight, and she hoped the unusual pet would help to console the little boy once he was separated from his brother. Otto accepted the news with his usual stoicism, and Baldwin de Bethune, who was also to be one of Leopold’s hostages, promised to keep an eye on the lad. Eleanor was furious, but there was nothing she could do.

  After bidding farewell to the hostages and to Constance, who’d remained in the hall long after Heinrich had departed, Richard paused in the doorway to savor the moment, one in which he was no longer trailed by German guards. Glancing over his shoulder at Heinrich’s empress, he switched from French to the safer lenga romana. “I feel as if we are leaving one more hostage behind.” Looking back at Constance, Eleanor felt the same way.

  The outer courtyard was thronged, for they had a huge retinue—Eleanor’s ladies, Richard’s knights, men-at-arms, the lords and bishops and abbots who’d accompanied the queen from England, and those in attendance upon the Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Brabant, who intended to escort Richard across Germany, none of them trusting in Heinrich’s safe conduct. Eleanor had tried to anticipate all of her son’s needs. She’d ruled out river travel because she was sure he’d want to be on horseback after his long confinement, engaging mounts for the men, horse litters for herself and her women, and for Richard, a spirited grey stallion that brought a delighted smile to his face. Although he’d been able to dress well in recent months, she’d still made sure to bring a wardrobe suitable for a king. And she assured him that English ships would be awaiting their arrival at Antwerp.

  She had forgotten one of Richard’s needs, though, something he found as essential as air. But André had not, and as Richard stood beside his new stallion, talking soothingly to accustom the animal to his presence before mounting, André approached with a large hemp sack. “I thought you might want this,” he said, opening the bag to reveal a scabbard of Spanish leather.

  Sweeping his mantle back, Richard fastened the belt and then drew the sword from its scabbard. He saw at once that a superior bladesmith had labored to create this superb weapon, with a thirty-inch blade and an enameled pommel, reminding him of the sword he’d been given by his mother upon his investiture as Duke of Aquitaine at age fifteen. He admired its balance, his eyes caressing that slender steel blade as a lover might, and when he glanced toward his cousin, André thought that he finally looked like himself.

  “Do you know how long it has been since I’ve held a sword in my hand, André?”

  The other man shook his head.

  “One year, six weeks, and three days.” For a moment, their eyes held, and then Richard sheathed his sword, swung up into the saddle, and gave the command to move out.

  RICHARD’S HOMEWARD JOURNEY WAS turned into a triumphal procession by his German allies. He and Eleanor spent three days as the archbishop’s guests in Cologne, where they were feasted lavishly and entertained by some of Germany’s finest minnesingers. On February 14, they heard Mass in the great cathedral, and the English chroniclers reported gleefully that the archbishop had deliberately chosen the Mass for the August feast day of St Peter in Chains, with the Introit that began, “Now I know that the Lord hath sent His angel and delivered me from the hand of Herod.” The German emperor’s reaction to that was not recorded.

  Richard rewarded Cologne by issuing charters exempting its merchants from paying rent for their London guildhall and other local fees and giving them the right to sell their wares at all English fairs and to exercise their own customs. As England was a major wool exporter to the Rhineland city and its largest market for Cologne’s textiles, wine, and luxury goods, these privileges were greatly appreciated, rebounding to the credit of their archbishop for allying himself with the English king. And although neither man knew it at the time, their friendship would pay even greater benefits in years to come.

  From Cologne, they passed into the territory of the Duke of Brabant, and again they were feted at each town or castle along the way. By late February, they’d reached the duke’s port of Antwerp. Here English ships were riding at anchor in the harbor. After parting from Archbishop Adolf and the duke, Richard spent five days at Zwin. The weather was unsettled, and he took advantage of the delay to scout the estuaries and inlets of the islands, for he had a keen interest in naval warfare and felt certain that if a French-Flemish invasion occurred, it would sail from these waters. The winds finally were favorable, and on March 12, they unfurled sai
ls, raised anchors, and headed out into the Channel. By the next day, they were approaching the port of Sandwich. It had been four years since Richard had last set foot on English soil.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MARCH 1194

  Sandwich, England

  Richard’s unheralded arrival at Sandwich stirred up much excitement, as none had known when he would be returning or even if he would be returning, for many of his subjects had feared he would die on crusade or in a German dungeon. After greeting the townspeople, he continued on to Canterbury, where he gave thanks at the shrine of the martyred saint Thomas Becket, and greatly pleased the Christchurch monks by declaring that he’d not wanted to enter any English church until he’d visited the mother church of Canterbury. Hubert Walter was away besieging John’s castle at Marlborough, but the prior was delighted to play host to their renowned crusader king and his venerated queen mother. It was a source of ironic amusement to Eleanor that after a lifetime of controversy and public disapproval, she was now acclaimed for the very qualities that had once earned her such censure. She had never wielded as much power as she had during Richard’s crusade and captivity. But none had challenged her exercise of this unique authority, for her boldness, determination, and political shrewdness—so unseemly in a wife—were deemed admirable in a mother fighting for her son.

  WORD OF THE KING’S RETURN swept through the shire with the speed of a wind-whipped brush fire. When they rode out of Canterbury the following morning, they found the road lined with people from neighboring villages and hamlets, all eager to see if the rumors were true. Richard was surprised by their enthusiastic welcome, for in the four and a half years since his coronation, he’d spent only four months in England. But Eleanor assured him that the stories of his exploits in the Holy Land had made him known the length and breadth of his kingdom. The crowds slowed them down—priests wanting to offer their blessings, excited children darting underfoot, women holding up little ones so they could one day say they’d seen the king’s homecoming, old men shouting out that they’d sent a son or grandson to fight the Saracens, prosperous merchants and their wives mingling with craftsmen, peasants, monks from the Cluniac abbey at Faversham, pilgrims on their way to Canterbury’s holy shrine, and beggars asking for alms. Eleanor knew this was a day the good people of Kent would not forget and, as she watched her son acknowledge their cheers, she thought that he would remember it, too. It was her hope that he’d soon have memories bright enough to rout the darker ones of Dürnstein, Trifels, and Mainz.