A King's Ransom (22 page)

L
EOPOLD DID NOT RETURN
until several hours after darkness had fallen. Richard was encouraged to see he was accompanied by a servant who placed a wine flagon and two gilded goblets upon the trestle table, pouring for both men before making a discreet departure. Leopold took a sip, keeping his eyes upon Richard all the while. “I think that went well,” he said, as close as he could come to thanking the English king.

You mean I did not make you look like a fool in front of your family and vassals,
Richard thought, reaching for his own wine cup. Leopold was showing signs of tension again, drumming his fingers absently upon the wooden table. “I regret my son’s bad manners earlier today.”

“He is young,” Richard said with a shrug. “Besides, I like the lad. He has spirit, reminds me of my own son.”

Leopold looked startled. “I did not know you had a son. I’d not heard that your queen was with child.”

“Philip is not Berenguela’s,” Richard said, taking a swallow of the wine. “He is eleven, born long before my marriage.” He was not surprised to see the other man’s brows draw together, for how likely was it that one known as Leopold the Virtuous would have begotten any children outside of his marriage bed? But Leopold’s frown was puzzled, not disapproving, as his next question proved.

“I thought your queen’s name was Berengaria.”

“It is, but only since our marriage. Her given name is Berenguela, but that was too foreign-sounding for my subjects. I prefer it myself, though, so we agreed that she would be Berengaria in the court and Berenguela in the bedchamber.”

A silence fell then, as they both became aware of the incongruity of this moment, speaking so casually, almost intimately, of family, the sort of conversation a man might have with friends. Richard had mentally rehearsed what might well be one of the most important discussions of his life, but now he heard himself saying something utterly unpremeditated. “I did not know that my men threw your banner into a ditch until Friedrich told me last night.”

“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

T
his 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.”

R
ICHARD 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.

O
N
E
PIPHANY,
G
UNTHER 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.