A King's Ransom (50 page)

W
HILE
R
ICHARD WAS
very relieved that he’d been able to stave off that meeting at Vaucouleurs, he could take little pleasure from his accomplishment, even though he’d gained valuable future allies. It galled him greatly that he’d been compelled to act on Heinrich’s behalf and he was unable to join in Fulk and Anselm’s celebration of his success, for he did not feel like a victor, more like a pimp. He kept these dark thoughts to himself, for he did not expect them to understand. Yes, they’d shared his captivity, but they did not share his shame, for they were churchmen, not expected to hold their honor dearer than their lives, as a knight was—or a king.

G
UILLAUME DE
L
ONGCHAMP WAS
in need of wine, for he’d been talking nonstop for more than an hour and his mouth was getting dry. But he’d had much to tell his king: the truce struck with his brother John until November, the measures taken by the queen mother and the justiciars to raise the ransom and to select the hostages demanded by Heinrich, and the French king’s successful Normandy campaign. He was glad to discover that Richard already knew of the loss of Gisors Castle and the defections, for he’d been dreading having to break such bad news. He’d not told Richard of his hostile reception in England or the new humiliations inflicted upon him, for he reasoned the king had troubles enough of his own without having to deal with
his
troubles, too. Instead, he did his best to sound positive, assuring Richard that Hubert Walter would have been consecrated as archbishop by now, stressing the loyalty of the king’s subjects, and praising the queen mother so extravagantly that Richard joked he sounded smitten. But none of his news was as welcome as the letters he brought from Eleanor, Otto, Hubert Walter, the justiciars, and English lords.

Watching as Richard reread his letters, Longchamp wondered why he’d said nothing yet about his diplomatic triumph at Frankfurt. He thought that was a remarkable achievement for a prisoner, but he proceeded with caution in light of the king’s silence. “I encountered Fulk in the Worms market ere I came to the palace, sire. He was haggling with a peddler over a surprise for you and he told me about your meeting with the German rebels. I wish I could be in Paris to witness the French king’s chagrin and anger when he hears how you outwitted him!”

Richard appreciated his chancellor’s diplomacy; he’d managed to hit upon the one pure pleasure of his Frankfurt feat—the misery it would give to Philippe Capet. Not wanting to talk about the meeting yet, he said instead, “Did I ever tell you how surprised I was when you and Fulk became such fast friends? When you joined my household, I fully expected the two of you to be at odds from the first day, given how prickly you both can be.”

“True, neither of us suffers fools gladly. Nor are we celebrated for our tact. But that gave us something in common,” Longchamp said with a smile. Taking the hint, he deferred discussion of the Frankfurt council until the king himself brought it up. “Sire . . . you said you had a new task for me?”

“Your arrival at Worms could not have been better timed, Guillaume, for we are about to negotiate a new agreement for my release. I will be relying upon you to keep Heinrich from draining my body of every last drop of my blood,” Richard said, with a flippancy that did not disguise the bitterness, not to one who knew him as well as his chancellor did. “Afterward, I am sending you to France to meet with the French king. I want you to try to get him to agree to a truce. I hate the very thought of it, but there is no other way to keep him from swallowing Normandy whole whilst I am held prisoner here.”

He’d just been given a huge challenge, one that would have daunted the most talented of diplomats. Longchamp thrived on such difficult missions, though, and he was promising Richard that he’d do his best when the door opened and Fulk hurried into the chamber. He was carrying Richard’s “surprise,” a caged green parrot that he’d hoped would prove entertaining, but the gift bird had been relegated to an afterthought by his second surprise.

“Sire, you’ll never guess whom I just met below in the outer court!” Fulk’s usually dour demeanor was utterly gone; he was beaming as he stepped aside to reveal Richard’s new guests. Morgan and Guillain jostled each other in their eagerness to get through the doorway, and the German guards gaped at the jubilant reunion that followed, startled to see the English king embracing these knights like brothers, for they could not imagine their emperor ever showing such favor to men of lesser rank.

Richard was very familiar with the special camaraderie of soldiers, but he felt a particularly strong kinship with the twenty brave men who’d sailed with him on those pirate ships, and above all with Morgan and Guillain, who’d stood with him during one of the worst moments of his life. Once he’d assured himself that they’d endured their captivity as well as could be expected, he stepped back, frowning.

“Where is the lad? Was he not freed, too?”

“He was afraid to face you, sire,” Morgan said sadly. “He thinks your plight is all his fault. We’ve tried to reassure him that you’d not blame him for breaking under torture. I thought we’d succeeded, but he lost his nerve again once we reached Worms.” Morgan was reasonably confident that Richard would not blame the boy, but kings were not always tolerant of human frailties, and so he confided, “He is very young, my liege, even younger than we knew, not yet fifteen. . . .”

“Go find him, Morgan, and bring him here. If he balks, tell him it is a royal command.”

It was only after Morgan departed that Richard noticed the parrot. He was very knowledgeable about falcons, but he knew nothing of pet birds and was regarding it dubiously as Fulk insisted it would be good company. He declared that it had potential, though, when Fulk stuck his hand in the cage and was promptly bitten. He and Guillain and Longchamp were laughing at the clerk’s sputtering oaths when the door opened and Morgan half coaxed, half pushed Arne into the chamber.

The boy stumbled forward, sinking to his knees before Richard, his head bowed. Grasping his arm, Richard pulled him to his feet. “Look at me, Arne.” For a long moment, he studied the youngster, his eyes tracking the crusted red welts that had been burned into his forehead and neck. “I am going to tell you something about courage, lad. It is not a lack of fear; it is
overcoming
fear. You endured great suffering for me, more than many men could have withstood. You have no reason to reproach yourself.”

Arne’s throat had closed up and he saw Richard through a blur of tears. Richard reached out, tracing with his thumb the worst of Arne’s injuries, the one slashing from his eyebrow up into his hairline. “Others will look at this and see a scar, Arne. But they are wrong. It is a badge of honor.”

Morgan and Guillain thought Arne seemed to gain in stature before their eyes, having had an oppressive weight finally lifted from his shoulders. “The king is right, Arne,” Morgan said with a grin. “And that ‘badge of honor’ will serve you well in the future. When you go into a tavern and tell men how you got it, you’ll never have to pay for another drink again.”

“It will also prove useful when you want to impress a lass,” Richard predicted, and when the men laughed, Arne joined in, awed that so much pain could be healed with a few well-chosen words. Their German guards watched, puzzled by the merriment, agreeing among themselves that the English truly were a strange breed.

O
N THE TWENTY-NINTH OF
J
UNE,
Richard sat on the dais beside the German emperor in the great hall of the imperial palace at Worms as the terms of their agreement were made public. Heinrich’s smile was triumphant and somewhat smug. It amused him to imagine the French king’s dismay when he heard of this pact, especially since Philippe was responsible for his having gotten most of what he’d demanded from the English king; he could have no more effective weapon to hold over Richard’s head than the threat of that Paris dungeon.

Richard had summoned up what he hoped was a smile of his own; it felt more like a grimace to him, the involuntary rictus seen so often on the faces of the dead. He was determined that none would know how much anguish this agreement had caused him. So he kept that smile steady even as the outrageous new terms were read aloud. His ransom had been raised to a staggering one hundred fifty thousand silver marks, and he would be freed only upon payment of two-thirds of that vast amount, one hundred thousand marks. He must provide Heinrich with sixty hostages and Duke Leopold with seven to guarantee payment of the remaining fifty thousand marks within seven months of his release. If he succeeded in making peace between the emperor and his brother-in-law, Heinrich der Löwe, the payment of that fifty thousand marks would be waived and no hostages would be required. But since the demands made of Der Löwe included his acceptance of the marriage of his son’s betrothed to the Duke of Bavaria, Richard knew that peace would never come to pass. He had also been compelled to agree to wed his niece Aenor to Leopold’s eldest son and to deliver Anna, the Damsel of Cyprus, to the Austrian duke to be wed to his younger son. He could take consolation only from the absence of one earlier demand—that he personally take part in a campaign against the Sicilian king. But that gave him little comfort on this hot Tuesday afternoon, not when he thought about the cost of his freedom, a sum so stupendous that it defied belief, more than three times the annual income of the English government.

T
HE CONDITIONS OF
R
ICHARD’S IMPRISONMENT
improved considerably after he’d come to final terms with Heinrich. He was given greater freedom, no longer kept under such smothering surveillance, allowed to meet in private with his friends and new German allies, and to conduct affairs of state; he’d even sent to England for his favorite falcons, having been promised he’d be able to go hawking and hunting. Heinrich also released the last of his men and Baldwin de Bethune was warmly welcomed at Worms. The Germans were impressed by the constant stream of visitors from England, men of rank and authority making an arduous journey to pledge their loyalty to their captive king, and word soon reached the French court that Richard was being treated more like a guest now than a prisoner.

Philippe was stunned by the news of the Worms settlement, outraged that Heinrich had played him for a fool, making him believe his offer would be accepted. He was horrified, too, once he realized Richard’s release seemed imminent. He was shaken enough to agree to a truce with England when he met on July 9 with Richard’s chancellor, Guillaume de Longchamp, and his justiciar, William Briwerre, hoping to hold on to the gains he’d made during Richard’s captivity.

He also sent an urgent message to his ally and coconspirator. When John read that terse warning—“Look to yourself; the Devil is loosed”—he at once fled to France.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN