A King's Ransom (15 page)

R
ICHARD AWOKE WITH A
start, torn from sleep so abruptly that he felt disoriented. For a disquieting moment, he did not know where he was, for this deeply shadowed chamber did not seem familiar. But then Morgan came into his line of vision, holding a candle aloft, and he remembered. He’d slept for hours, gotten up in the night to pass water, finding it so cold that he thought his piss might freeze, and then rolled into his blanket again and sank back into sleep as soon as he’d closed his eyes. Sitting up, he winced, for every muscle in his body was aching. “Is it morning yet?”

“Actually, the day is well-nigh gone,” Morgan said. “It is about two hours till sunset.”

“Jesu, Morgan, why did you not awaken me? We lost an entire day!”

“We needed to rest, sire,” Guillain said, quietly but firmly. “And so did the horses.”

Richard had to acknowledge the common sense of that, for he knew he’d just about reached the end of his endurance. Morgan was putting down a plate, saying the alewife had brought them cheese, bread, and ale to break their fast, and they’d sent Arne into the town to buy food and blankets.

Richard sipped the ale but did not touch the food. His face was flushed, and they could see sweat stains on his tunic, perspiration beading his forehead. Picking up a second cup, Morgan handed it to the other man. “Drink this, sire,” he urged. “It is barley water, which is said to be good for fevers.”

Richard started to deny his fever, then realized that was pointless. Reaching for the cup, he drank the barley water, grimacing at the taste. He forced himself then to swallow some of the bread and cheese, feeling their eyes upon him. “You say Arne went into the town? Is that safe for him?”

“They’re looking for knights, grown men, foreigners, not boys whose native tongue is German,” Guillain said. “Why would anyone pay heed to him?”

Richard was silent, thinking of all the men they’d lost so far. “I’d give a lot,” he said at last, “to know what happened back in Friesach.”

“I can tell you that,” Morgan said, so confidently that Richard paused with the bread halfway to his mouth. “They spent money like drunken sailors and mayhap even started a brawl if Baldwin thought it necessary to attract attention. When this Lord Friedrich arrived to interrogate them, they denied that the English king was amongst them and were highly indignant that men who’d taken the cross should be harassed or threatened. My guess is that Friedrich then put them under arrest. He must be in dread of Heinrich’s disfavor if he raced all the way from Salzburg to chase down a rumor. But they will not be harmed, sire. They are under the Church’s shield, and whilst some of Heinrich’s lords might be willing to seize you in defiance of that protection, I very much doubt that they will risk excommunication for anyone else.”

“I hope you are right, Cousin.” Setting the bread down, Richard lay back on the blanket, covered himself with his mantle, and his even breathing soon told them that he slept again.

Morgan took out their map and, after positioning the candle, he began to study the route they would take into Moravia. Fifty miles, not far at all. Then Bavaria and Saxony and sailing for England from a North Sea port. Lying down on his own blanket, he wondered where Joanna and Mariam were on this December day. Probably in Rome by now. Mariam would not be pleased when she learned that he’d refused to stay with the others in Friesach, for she had no liking for the English king and would not want him to put his life in peril for Richard. But he’d rather deal with her resentment than face Joanna and tell her he’d abandoned her brother in the lion’s den. He was very fond of his beautiful cousin, but she had a hellcat’s temper. All the Angevins did, he thought with a drowsy smile. He was half asleep when the door burst open and Arne stumbled into the room.

Guillain gestured toward Richard, warning Arne not to speak too loudly. “He needs his sleep. What happened, lad? By the looks of you, nothing good.”

His composure was both comforting and calming. Arne took several deep, bracing breaths, waiting until he could speak clearly and coherently. “I was stopped and questioned by men in the town. The moneychanger told them about my gold bezants. I was about to leave when they grabbed me. I was so scared . . .” he confessed, unable to repress a shudder.

Morgan handed him Richard’s unfinished ale. “Drink it down, Arne, then tell us what happened. Were they the duke’s men? How did you get away?”

Arne gulped the ale in several swallows. “No, I think they were the moneychanger’s friends, for they interrogated me there in the street, not at the castle. They were satisfied with the answers I gave and let me go. I told them I had the bezants because my master was coming back from the Holy Land. I explained he had not returned with Duke Leopold and the other Austrians because he’d been very ill at Acre, but he recovered and fought under the Duke of Burgundy’s command until the peace was made.”

“So you gave them the name of the knight you’d accompanied to Acre. That was quick thinking, Arne.”

Arne was too unnerved to appreciate the praise. “It was all I could think to say. My master had been a household knight of Sir Hadmar von Kuenring and I mentioned his name, too. What I said was true . . . except that my master did not survive, but I thought no one would know that. I told them he had stopped at Holy Cross Abbey in Heiligenkreuz to rest because he was ailing and sent me on ahead to buy supplies. And they believed me. The Almighty truly guided my tongue,” he whispered, and shivered again. “But this is a dangerous place, Sir Morgan. Too many men are looking for the king, greedy for the reward they think they’d get from the duke. We need to leave here straightaway.”

Morgan and Guillain looked at each other and then over at Richard’s motionless form. “We cannot do that, Arne, not yet,” Guillain said, keeping his voice low. “The king is still too ill to ride. He needs to rest for another day or two.”

Morgan nodded in agreement. “As long as we take care, we ought to be safe enough here. Did you get the aqua vitae, lad? And the food?”

Arne pointed toward the sacks he’d dropped by the door. “Wait till you see all I bought! I’ve blankets and a pillow for the king and the aqua vitae and herbal potions and lots of food. . . .” He frowned suddenly, rooting about in the sacks. “It is gone! The beaver tail I bought for the king! Those wretches must have taken it whilst they were questioning me. . . .”

They had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded so ludicrous that they both laughed. When Richard awoke hours later and was told the story of the stolen beaver tail, he laughed, too, and Arne considered the loss well worth it, then, for this was the first time they’d heard Richard laugh in days, not since he’d had to leave the rest of his men behind in Friesach.

T
HE NEXT DAY IT
snowed and the men hunkered down in the widow’s house. Richard passed the hours sleeping, Guillain and Morgan napping and playing hazard with their new dice, Arne doing chores for Els and telling her sons about the strange beasts called camels that he’d seen in the Holy Land. The next morning dawned cold but clear and Richard seemed better, too, so it was decided they would depart on the following day.

Els had told Arne this was the saint’s day of Thomas the Apostle, just four days from Christmas, and he thought it would be a memorable one, for by then they’d have reached safety in Moravia. He was nervous about making another trip into Vienna, but they needed food. Richard was still sleeping, Guillain had gone to the smithy to groom their horses, and Morgan had offered to cut firewood for Els, so there was no one to see Arne off. Taking care not to awaken the king, he fastened his mantle and then looked around for Guillain’s woolen cap; the knight had said he could borrow it for the ride into town. In his search through their meager belongings, he came across Richard’s gloves and pulled them out to admire them. Gloves were still a novelty, worn only by churchmen or the nobility; this pair was made of fine calfskin, lined with vair fur, embroidered with gold thread. Arne couldn’t resist trying them on and they felt so good that he was reluctant to take them off, for the air outside was so frigid that the village seemed encased in ice and men’s breaths trailed after them like white smoke. He jammed Guillain’s cap down upon his head—it was too big, but at least it covered his ears—and then checked to make sure Richard’s sleep was restful; they were fearful that his quartan fever might come back, and each day without the telltale chills was a great relief to them all.

T
HE WIND WAS CUTTING
and Arne urged his mount on, covering the few miles between Ertpurch and Vienna at a brisk pace. He was pleased to see that it was a market day, for that should make it easier to buy what he needed. He remembered just in time to remove Richard’s costly gloves, tucking them into his belt, and took care to avoid the moneychanger’s stall. He gave a coin to the ragged beggar again, getting a blessing in return, then headed for the cook-shop, where he bought more fish tarts and wafers. After that, he browsed the marketplace, looking for food they could pack into their saddlebags. He settled on loaves of bread, hard cheese, almonds, and strips of unappetizing salted herring, not bothering to haggle with the vendors, for he wanted to leave Vienna as soon as he could.

But then he saw the girl. She was admiring a peddler’s merchandise, her blue eyes caressing his finely woven cloths, delicate lace, and bright ribbons, and Arne thought she was the prettiest sight he’d ever seen, her cheeks scarlet with cold, the tips of her blond braids peeking provocatively from beneath her veil. As if feeling his gaze, she glanced up and for a moment their eyes met; then she looked modestly away, but he was sure the corners of her mouth were curving in a smile. He sauntered over and casually began to examine the peddler’s wares. Reaching for a ribbon, he held it up for her appraisal, murmuring, “This is the very color of your eyes.”

“You think so?” She gave him a sideways glance, and this time he definitely saw a smile.

The peddler was in no mood to indulge their flirtation, though, sure that they hadn’t a pfennig between them. Snatching the ribbon back from Arne, he growled, “Do not put your greasy fingers on the goods! As for you, Margrethe, you’d best be on your way ere I tell your father you were making calf eyes at this bedraggled knave.”

Arne flushed darkly and glared at the man. “If this is how you treat your customers, no wonder you are doing so poorly!”

“Customers are people who buy things, boy,” the peddler said with a sneer.

“Well, that is what I am doing,” Arne snapped, grabbing the ribbon and several items at random. “I’ll take these.” The peddler named a price so high that several of the bystanders nudged one another and snickered, but Arne was too angry to calculate the true worth of the ribbons and lace. Pulling out his money pouch, he flung a handful of pfennigs at the other man, who looked so flustered that their growing audience laughed and applauded Arne. Only then did he realize that they’d drawn a crowd.

“This is for you,” he said, with all the dignity he could muster, offering the ribbons and the square of lace to Margrethe. “Please accept it as an apology for involving you in this unseemly row.”

She blushed, but reached out to take the gift as some of the bystanders applauded again. It was clear to Arne that the peddler was not a popular figure in Vienna. It was also clear to him that he’d attracted attention he could ill afford. Making the girl what he hoped was a courtly bow, he turned and began to push through the crowd. He was still flushed, but now it was embarrassment and not indignation that colored his cheeks. Thank God Almighty the king and the others need never know about this foolishness.

He’d gone only a few paces, though, before several men stepped in front of him, barring the way. “We do not often see a stripling who looks like a beggar but spends like a lord,” one said. “How did you come by so much money, lad?”

Arne took a backward step, but people were thronging around him and there was no room to retreat. “I am no thief, if that is what you think,” he said, as steadily as he could. “My master sent me into town to buy goods for him. The money is his, not mine.”