A King's Ransom (23 page)

He did not sleep well that night and was tense and restless the next day, expecting at any moment that Gunther would arrive to take him to Heinrich. It did not happen. By the second day, his emotional pendulum was veering wildly from frustration to fury to despair and back again. His guards watched him warily as he paced, murmuring among themselves, this constant surveillance rubbing his nerves so raw that he soon developed a throbbing headache. He went to bed early, for there was nothing else to do. No sooner had he finally fallen asleep, though, than he was jolted awake by a loud pounding on the door.

The guards hastened to lift the bolt and Hadmar strode into the chamber, snapping a command in German that had them gaping at him in astonishment. “You must hurry and dress,” he told Richard, “for we are leaving tonight.”

Richard sat up and stared at him. “Leaving for where? It is rather late for paying a visit to Heinrich.”

Hadmar grimaced, growling another order to the guards. “We are not going to Regensburg. We are returning to Austria, so you must make haste.”

“No,” Richard said, so emphatically that the guards turned to stare at him even though they did not understand a word of Latin. “I am going nowhere until you tell me what has happened.”

The other man scowled. “We’ve no time for this. The duke is waiting below in the bailey, wants us gone from here straightaway.” When Richard did not move, he said impatiently, “You’re not in a position to balk. Must I remind you that I can have you taken from here by force?”

“You think it would go well if you ordered your men to dress me and I resisted?” Richard jeered. “So unless you intend to drag me stark naked out into the snow, you’d best tell me what I have every right to know. What happened with Heinrich?”

Hadmar’s hesitation was brief. “My duke and the emperor could not agree on terms for your surrender and Leopold began to fear that Heinrich might send men to seize you. He thinks it best if they continue the negotiations from a distance. Now, for the love of God, will you do as I ask?”

Richard nodded and swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his clothes. Hadmar’s answer was far from satisfactory, but his other questions could wait, for whatever Leopold’s motivation, it was in his own best interests to get as far away from the imperial court as their horses could take them.

T
HEY RODE FAST AND HARD,
letting neither the cold nor a snowfall on the second day slow them down. Richard got no answers as the miles slipped away, for neither Leopold nor Hadmar ever ventured within speaking range. Even the duke’s sons would no longer meet his gaze, quickly averting their eyes whenever he glanced in their direction. If he’d had any doubts that they knew something he did not, they were erased when he had an unexpected evening visit from the Austrian knight, Gunther. He brought a wineskin and the two men sat together for a while, passing the wineskin back and forth as Richard had so often done in the past, sitting by a campfire, drinking and joking and swapping memories of shared campaigns. With Gunther, there was no talk, of course, only what they could communicate without need of words. They drank in silence and then Gunther rose and departed, but that simple act of camaraderie gave Richard a small measure of comfort.

He actually felt a flicker of relief as Dürnstein loomed on the horizon, for in a world of foreboding shadows and shifting ground, it at least was familiar. And here he’d finally gotten some answers. It was well after dark when they arrived, but he awoke early the next morning to await his long-overdue talk with Leopold von Babenberg. As at Donaustauf, though, he was left alone to fume and fret as the hours passed. For a man with so little patience, waiting was an ordeal, one that forced him to face how powerless he was. The day ebbed away with excruciating slowness. Servants brought meals, then carried them away untouched. It was not until candles and oil lamps were lit as darkness infiltrated the chamber that his suspense was ended. He’d just about given up hope for the night when the door opened and Hadmar entered, followed by a servant carrying several large wine flagons and cups.

“The duke is gone,” he said before Richard could speak. “He left for Vienna this afternoon, so you’ll have to make do with me.” He ordered the servant to put the tray on the table and then turned to Richard with a wide, sweeping gesture and a mocking bow. “After you, my lord king of the English.”

Richard took a seat, glancing toward the flagons, which Hadmar was lining up between them. “This is a discussion that we cannot have whilst sober, then?”

“Sobriety is highly overrated,” the other man said with a lopsided smile. Richard had already noticed his flushed face, the slight slurring of his speech, and his suspicions were confirmed when Hadmar began to pour wine into their cups, his the exaggerated care of one not trusting his own reflexes. The
ministerialis
might not be drunk yet, but he was well on the way.

Sliding a cup across the table toward Richard, Hadmar took a deep swallow from his own cup. “As I told you at Donaustauf, my duke and the emperor could not agree on terms, and until they do, Leopold is not willing to give you up. Heinrich told him that there is a fortune to be made now that you are helpless in their hands, and Leopold wants to make sure that he gets his fair share.”

Richard could not stop himself. Reaching for the shovel, he said scornfully, “So what began as wounded honor is now all about money.” He at once regretted those intemperate words, not wanting Hadmar to storm out before he learned what had happened in Regensburg.

The Austrian did not appear to have taken offense, though. “So it would seem,” he agreed equably. “Gold tends to bedazzle men as easily as beautiful women. Leopold quite sensibly puts no trust in the emperor’s word and so wants safeguards in place to protect his interests. He also wants Heinrich to promise that you’ll not be physically harmed whilst in his custody.”

Richard set his wine cup down so abruptly that wine sloshed over the rim. “Does Leopold have reason to think my physical safety would be put at risk?”

Hadmar shrugged, drank again, and belched. “Knowing our esteemed emperor is reason enough, especially now that he has the blood of a bishop on his hands.”

“What mean you by that?”

“We arrived at Regensburg to find Heinrich has embroiled himself in a scandal of monumental proportions. Nigh on eighteen months ago, the Bishop of Liege died on his way home from the Holy Land and two candidates soon emerged for his See. Albert of Louvain was an Archdeacon of Liege and, more important, the younger brother of the Duke of Brabant and the nephew of the Duke of Limburg. He was not yet thirty, the canonical age for consecrating a bishop, but oddly, no one bothered about that, not even the Pope.”

He paused to drink again. “The second candidate was another Albert, the Provost of Rethel, whose primary qualification seems to have been that he is the maternal uncle of Heinrich’s wife, the Empress Constance. He was backed by Baldwin of Hainaut, the Count of Flanders, who was not about to accept any man proposed by his rival, the Duke of Brabant. The first Albert won the election easily but the second Albert continued to protest, as did Count Baldwin, and the whole matter was referred to the imperial court. The emperor formed a committee of bishops and abbots to resolve it. They proved not to be the stuff of which martyrs are made, deciding Heinrich should declare the winner. He then proceeded to infuriate both sides and violate canon law by giving the bishopric to Lothar von Hochstaden, who happens to be the brother of Count Dietrich von Hochstaden, one of the emperor’s battle commanders and probably the closest that Heinrich has ever come to having a friend.”

In vino veritas,
Richard thought. He was no longer angry at Leopold for his craven escape back to Vienna, for he’d never have gotten such wine-fueled candor from the duke. “So what happened then?” he prodded. “I’m guessing neither Albert raced to congratulate Heinrich’s handpicked puppet.”

“Indeed not,” Hadmar confirmed, peering at Richard owlishly over the rim of his wine cup. “The first Albert headed for Rome to appeal to the Pope, whilst the second Albert, too old for such travel, stayed at home and sulked. The Holy Father submitted young Albert’s claim to the papal curia and they voted in his favor. Apparently Celestine was willing to overlook a small matter like canonical age in order to vex the emperor, for he even honored Albert with the rank of cardinal and sent him off with a saddlebag filled with money and papal letters ordering his consecration.”

Looking surprised to find his cup empty, Hadmar poured himself a generous helping and splashed wine onto the table as he sought to refill Richard’s cup. “The Archbishop of Cologne enraged Heinrich by refusing to consecrate his choice, so he then dragged Lothar to Liege, where he forced the citizens to acknowledge him. Since the dissenters had their houses torn down, most rallied around Lothar. But Albert was now safe in French exile—or so the poor man thought—and there the Archbishop of Reims, who happens to be a papal legate and cardinal himself, was quite happy to consecrate Albert. This was last September. In October, three German knights arrived in Reims, claiming they were fleeing the wrath of Emperor Heinrich. They soon met Albert and won his trust. But this newfound friendship was short-lived, for on November 24, he agreed to go riding with them outside the city walls, and they promptly drew their swords and dispatched him to the afterlife. At least they had the decency not to slay him in a cathedral like your sainted Thomas of Canterbury. The killers then fled and guess where they sought refuge? Yes, indeed, straight as a crow flies to the imperial court.”

While Richard could think of a few bishops he wouldn’t mind dispatching himself to the afterlife—the Bishop of Beauvais came at once to mind—he was dumbfounded by the brutality and audacity of this crime. “Knowing what Becket’s murder cost my father, how could Heinrich be so stupid?”

“That is the only plausible argument in Heinrich’s defense,” Hadmar allowed. “For whatever his other failings, he is not stupid. Of course, he is also one of the most arrogant souls ever to walk God’s earth. You’re as prideful as those lions you fancy, my lord king, but when matched against our emperor, you’re a veritable lamb!” Hadmar seemed pleased with his wordplay, for he laughed loudly. “Heinrich denies any guilt, of course. But the slain bishop’s kin have no doubts. The dukes of Brabant and Limburg are in open rebellion and the archbishops of Cologne and Mainz are expressing such outrage that they are likely to join the rebellion, too.”

Richard leaned back in his chair, shocked that Heinrich could have blundered into such a quagmire, but very grateful for it. Hadmar watched him with a smile that held more sadness than amusement, and then shook his head. “You are thinking that Heinrich’s troubles can work to your advantage, but just the opposite is true. There is nothing more dangerous than a cornered wolf and Heinrich sees your capture as a God-given opportunity to distract his subjects and to gain the money he needs to put down the rebellion. He even thinks he’ll be able to use English or French gold to finance his invasion of Sicily, for he’s still set upon claiming its crown in his wife’s name. So he is desperate to get you into his hands and he’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

Richard was no longer listening. “French gold?” he echoed, hoping against hope that he’d heard wrong.

Hadmar’s smile vanished as if it had never been. “Heinrich told Leopold that he thought the English would pay dearly to ransom you. But King Philippe might pay even more to keep you entombed in a French prison for the rest of your earthly days.”

“Heinrich would not dare turn me over to the French! He knows the Church would cast him into eternal darkness for so great a sin.” Richard would have argued further, but he was silenced by what he saw now in the other man’s eyes—pity.

Hadmar nodded to acknowledge the truth in that. “You are right. The emperor knows that even the aged, timid Celestine would have to take action then. That is why he told Leopold he intends to put you on trial.”

Richard had a sudden and urgent need for wine and drained his cup in several swallows. “On what charges?”

“He means to accuse you of conspiring with Saladin to keep the Holy City in infidel hands and of arranging the murder of Conrad of Montferrat, but he may well come up with a few other charges, too. The Bishop of Beauvais visited the imperial court on his way back to France and he seems to have spent the time pouring poison into Heinrich’s ear. The good bishop says you ought to be burned as a heretic, for you might well be a secret Muslim—”

“Lies, all arrant, despicable lies!” Richard raged. “I did all I could to recover Jerusalem, only to be thwarted by the French at every turn. Nor did I murder Conrad of Montferrat. Heinrich cares naught for the truth and he’ll burn in Hell for that. But what of Leopold? Does he believe these lies? Do you, Hadmar?”

“Would I be sitting here now with you if I did?” Hadmar shot back, sounding testy for the first time. “Of course I do not believe these accusations. As for Leopold, I doubt that he does, either, for his grievance against you was always personal. He wanted to make you pay for humbling him in Acre and for deposing his kinsman in Cyprus, not to see you dragged before a German court—”