A King's Ransom (33 page)
If possible, it became even quieter; the normal sounds in any assembly—shuffling of feet, coughing, throat clearing, and whispers—were absent. Richard glanced for the first time at Boniface of Montferrat. He was leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, but his relaxed posture was belied by the narrowed eyes, the tightness of his jaw muscles.
“I admit there was no love lost between Conrad and myself. But our differences were political, not personal. I did not believe he should be crowned King of Jerusalem, for I thought his claim was tainted by the circumstances of his marriage. For those of you who are not that familiar with the tangled rivalries of the Holy Land, Guy de Lusignan’s claim to the throne was based upon his marriage to the Queen of Jerusalem, the Lady Sybilla, and when she died at the siege of Acre, he found himself in a precarious position. He argued that he was still a consecrated king, anointed with the sacred chrism, and should continue to rule. But many blamed him for the catastrophe the kingdom had suffered at the battle of H.at.t.in, which led to the fall of the Holy City to Saladin, and few of the Poulains—the native-born Christians—wanted him as their king.”
Richard swallowed with difficulty; his throat was getting dry. “I supported Guy for two reasons. The de Lusignans were my vassals back in Poitou, so I owed them my protection as their liege lord. And I was troubled by Conrad’s actions in pursuit of that crown. Upon Sybilla’s death, her younger sister, Isabella, had the strongest claim to the throne. But Isabella was wed to a man as unpopular as Guy was. Conrad convinced the Poulain lords that Isabella ought to leave her husband, Humphrey de Toron, and marry him. Although Isabella protested, not wanting to end her marriage, she was compelled to do so, for she was a young girl of only eighteen and without allies. I was not yet in the Holy Land, but my Archbishop of Canterbury was at Acre and he objected fiercely to this marriage, saying it would be bigamous and invalid. Had he not died of a fever, I think he may have prevailed. But as soon as he was dead, Isabella was wed to Conrad. One of the men most involved in this sordid affair was the Bishop of Beauvais, a man who never lets canon law or principles interfere with his own ambitions.”
The French bishop had been slouched in his seat, feigning boredom, but at that, he straightened up and glared at Richard, who ignored him. “This is why I could not support Conrad, for I thought his claim to the throne was ill-gotten. When we sought at Acre to reconcile the competing claims of Guy and Conrad, that compromise satisfied no one. Conrad was so disgruntled that he even refused to take part in the campaign against Saladin and withdrew to Tyre.”
Richard halted to allow Hadmar to translate his remarks into German for those who spoke no Latin. “Eventually I withdrew my opposition to Conrad, for I’d come to realize that it was not for us, who would be returning to our own lands, to choose a king for Outremer. We would go home, but the Holy Land
was
home for the Poulains, and the choice should be theirs, for they would have to live with it, not us. So I declared that I would accept whatever decision they made, and the Poulain lords unanimously elected Conrad. It was then that I acted to eliminate Guy as a threat to Conrad’s reign, whilst sending my nephew Henri, Count of Champagne, to Tyre to notify Conrad that he was to be king. He was overjoyed and at once dispatched Henri to Acre to make arrangements for his coronation. But it was not to be.”
Boniface of Montferrat had been given a seat on the dais, too, and the Bishop of Beauvais leaned over now to whisper something, but Boniface paid the other man no heed, keeping his gaze riveted upon the English king. His face was inscrutable; Richard had no idea what he was thinking.
“A few days later, Conrad went to dine with the Bishop of Beauvais, and on his way home, he was ambushed by two Assassins sent by Rashid al-Din Sinan, known as the Old Man of the Mountain. He was carried back, dying, to the citadel, where he instructed Isabella to yield Tyre only to me or to the rightful lord of the land. Would he have done that had he believed I was the one who had set the Assassins upon him? As little as he liked me, he knew I was not capable of such a vile act.”
Richard had been moving about the hall as he spoke. He now approached the dais, his eyes meeting those of Conrad’s brother. “This is a charge that is utterly foreign to my character. Not even my bitterest enemies have ever accused me of cowardice, and what could be more craven than to hire killers to strike a man down? Had I wished any man’s death, I would have challenged him openly, just as I would challenge any man who dared to accuse me of such a cowardly, foul murder now—were I free to do so.”
For the first time, Richard got a response from the audience; he could see some heads nodding at that, as if in agreement. “The captured Assassin was turned over to the Bishop of Beauvais, who would claim he’d confessed under torture that I had sent them to murder Conrad. This is an arrant lie. Moreover, the Assassins are not routiers, willing to sell their swords to the highest bidder, and anyone with any knowledge of the Holy Land would know that. But none of that mattered to the Bishop of Beauvais, who saw a chance to besmirch my honor and leapt at it.”
Hot color scorched the bishop’s face. He seemed about to speak, but Heinrich shook his head, and he sat back, giving Richard a look that was truly murderous.
Richard had wondered if he’d be interrupted or heckled, but apparently that was not proper protocol at an Imperial Diet and they’d so far heard him out in polite silence. Now, though, Boniface sent a murmur of surprise rustling through the hall. “So you are saying that the Bishop of Beauvais lied about it all?”
“The Bishop of Beauvais uses the truth the way other men use whores,” Richard said, and there was a ripple of laughter at that, quickly stilled. “I would gladly swear upon my honor that I had nothing to do with your brother’s murder, my lord marquis. But I daresay there are many in this hall who remain convinced I have no honor, for the good bishop has been slandering me the length and breadth of Christendom, blaming me for everything but the Great Flood. So to those of you who have swallowed the poison ladled out by the bishop, I can only tell you that men do not act against their self-interest. I am sure you all know that at the time of Conrad’s murder, I was in danger of losing my kingdom because of the French king’s plotting with my own brother, the Count of Mortain. The longer I stayed in the Holy Land, the more time I gave them to lay claim to my domains. I will freely admit I was desperate to get back to defend my realm. But I could not bring myself to break the vow I’d made to Almighty God, to abandon the Holy Land the way the French king did. I hoped that once Conrad was king, I could safely leave Outremer in his hands, for I knew his worth as a soldier.”
Boniface studied him in silence for a long moment, his expression still unreadable. “If you are not the one responsible for my brother’s death, who is?”
“I can only tell you what I was told by Balian d’Ibelin, Queen Isabella’s stepfather, and the other Poulain lords. Your brother was a man of great courage and great abilities. But he was also reckless, strong-willed, and stubborn. I do not say that as a criticism,” Richard said, flashing a sudden smile, “for those very words have been bandied about when my name has been mentioned. But I fear those qualities may have cost Conrad his life. He’d seized a merchant ship belonging to Rashid al-Din Sinan, and refused their demands to return the ship, its crew, and its cargo. Balian said that they’d warned Conrad it was dangerous to run afoul of the Assassins, that even Saladin had backed down after Rashid al-Din Sinan threatened to murder his family. Conrad just laughed. . . .”
Boniface said nothing, but Richard dared to hope that he may have convinced Conrad’s brother of his innocence. At the least, he was sowing seeds of doubt where there had been only conviction. His voice was growing hoarse; never had he spoken at such length before, or with such passion. He was both surprised and grateful, therefore, when a servant appeared without warning, offering a cup of wine.
“Danke schön,”
he said, showing off his meager store of German, and drank deeply, wondering whom he had to thank for the wine. When the servant retreated, he nodded to a man in a front row, one who was a stranger to Richard.
“Of all the despicable lies told about me, none is more outrageous or shameless than that I would betray the Holy Land. I was one of the first princes to take the cross. I bear the scar upon my body from a Saracen crossbow bolt. I nearly died at Acre and again at Jaffa from the pestilent fevers that stalk Outremer. Even after learning that my own kingdom was in peril, I honored my holy vow and stayed. And now I find myself accused by the man who did not stay, for this campaign waged against me can be tracked back to Paris.”
Richard had begun to pace, for he could feel the fury flaring up again. “I did seek to meet Saladin upon my arrival at the Acre siege camp, for I knew our only hope of regaining Jerusalem would be through a settlement of some sort. The Kingdom of Jerusalem is like a small island in a Saracen sea. The Christians are vastly outnumbered by the Muslims; at the battle of H.at.t.in, Guy de Lusignan could muster no more than twelve hundred knights. And, of course, I exchanged gifts and courtesies with Saladin, for these are the civilities which brave men share during war with worthy foes. Emperor Heinrich’s own father, Friedrich of blessed memory, and Saladin sent gifts to each other, and none would dare to cast aspersions upon that great man for doing so.”
He paused again for Hadmar to translate, taking deep breaths to get his anger under control. “Did I respect the Saracens? Yes, I did, for brave men are deserving of respect. I established friendly relations with al-Malik al-Adil, Saladin’s brother, and with several of his emirs, hoping that they might influence the sultan to make peace. But I never forgot they were our enemies and infidels, even though many of them were men of honor.
“It is true that I refused to lay siege to Jerusalem. That was because I knew it could not be taken. When we made our march along the coast from Acre to Jaffa, my fleet kept our army supplied. But the Holy City is twenty-five miles inland. Saladin would have cut our supply lines to pieces; we would not even have been able to replace the horses lost. And the walls of Jerusalem are more than two miles in circumference, enclosing an area of over two hundred acres. We did not have enough men to surround the city, so we had no hopes of starving it into submission. The Poulain lords, the Templars, and the Hospitallers saw that we could not capture the city. Everyone saw that—save only the French. Even after we learned that Saladin had poisoned all the wells and cisterns within two leagues of Jerusalem, the Bishop of Beauvais and the Duke of Burgundy insisted that we could not lose because this was a holy war, sanctioned by God. But God was on the side of the Christians at H.at.t.in, and they still lost. The Almighty expects us to do our part.
“Nor did I surrender to Saladin. We reached a negotiated settlement, making a truce for three years. We did not achieve all that we hoped for; I do not deny that. But upon my arrival in the Holy Land, the Kingdom of Jerusalem consisted of the city of Tyre and the siege camp at Acre; all else had been lost to Saladin. When I departed, it stretched along the coast from Tyre to Jaffa, Saladin no longer held Ascalon, and Christian pilgrims were once again free to visit Jerusalem and worship at the Holy Sepulchre.”
Richard moved toward the dais again. “My lord emperor, you have been misled. You believed what you were told by your French allies, but they have lied to you again and again. Let me tell you about these men you thought you could trust. I was not the one who violated his holy oath and abandoned the war with the Saracens. That was the French king. I am loath to say this, as he is my liege lord for Normandy and my lands on the other side of the Narrow Sea. But I knew I could not trust him and so I insisted that he swear upon holy relics that he would honor the protection the Church gives men who’ve taken the cross and wage no war against my domains whilst I was in the Holy Land. He very reluctantly agreed to do so and then tried to get Pope Celestine to release him from that oath, which the Holy Father, of course, refused to do.”
This was the first mention Richard had made, even obliquely, to the fact that he was being held in defiance of Church law, for he’d seen no point in belaboring the obvious. But he thought it couldn’t hurt to remind the Diet that Heinrich was no less guilty than Philippe in that regard.
“That still did not stop Philippe from conniving with my brother against me upon his return to France. And I believe that he instructed his French lords who’d remained in Outremer to thwart me at every turn. I have no other explanation for their conduct. I wanted us to strike at Saladin’s base in Egypt, for that was the true source of his power, and if he thought it was threatened, he’d have been more likely to agree to favorable peace terms. They refused even to consider it. When we learned after our victory at Arsuf that Saladin was razing his stronghold at Ascalon to the ground rather than have it fall into our hands, I wanted us to sail to Ascalon and seize it ere it was destroyed. Again, the French lords balked. I later occupied the ruins of Ascalon and spent a small fortune rebuilding it. It well-nigh broke my heart that we could not persuade Saladin to let it remain in Christian hands. But he did agree that it should not be held by the Saracens, either, and that was no small concession on his part, for Ascalon had been the most formidable of his castles. Yet now I find myself accused of abandoning Ascalon by the very men who thwarted my attempt to take it!
“Nor did their bad faith and perfidy end there. After it was decided that we could not make an assault upon Jerusalem, most of the French withdrew from the army and retreated to Tyre, where they hatched a plan to capture Acre. I was then at Ascalon and only the fact that the Pisans defended the city fiercely until I could come to their rescue saved Acre from falling into the hands of the French. Think about that. They were willing to make war upon their fellow Christians. How that must have delighted the Saracens.”
