A King's Ransom (51 page)

JULY 1193

Rome, Italy

T
he Lady Mariam was seated on a marble bench in the Frangipani family’s palace on the Palatine. The sun was at its zenith, but the heat did not bother Mariam, who’d grown up in Sicily. She was waiting for the queens to return from the papal palace. In recent weeks the Pope had been too busy to see them whenever they’d requested an audience. While Berengaria still clung to her faith in the Holy Father, Joanna had given up all hope and his evasiveness infuriated her almost as much as his lack of action, for there was nothing she could do about either. This sudden summons by the Pope had excited them both, convincing them that it meant he’d gotten news about Richard. Mariam did not share their optimistic certainty that the news must be good; no Sicilian harbored any illusions about the Emperor Heinrich.

Mariam would be happy for Joanna and Berengaria’s sake if the Pope did indeed have encouraging word about Richard’s plight, but she knew it was unlikely that he’d have heard anything about the man who mattered to her, Joanna’s Welsh cousin Morgan. As soon as she’d found out that Richard had ventured into enemy territory with only twenty men, she’d been sure Morgan was one of them, and her suspicions had been confirmed by the de Préaux brothers, Guilhem, Jean, and Pierre. After parting from Richard in Corfu, they’d made their way to Sicily, and were heading home to Normandy when they’d learned of the king’s capture. They at once changed plans, determined to join Richard in Germany. They’d stopped in Rome long enough, though, to tell Richard’s women about his ill-fated journey from the Holy Land.

Joanna and Berengaria had lavished praise upon them for their loyalty, but Mariam had listened in silence, wondering why male priorities were so hard to fathom. The Préaux brothers were putting their king before their own anxious families back in Normandy, and she did not see that as admirable. She was still resentful that Morgan had chosen to sail with Richard rather than with her, and for a time her relationship with Joanna had suffered. But the two women were as close as any two sisters could be, and Mariam had realized she must let her grievance go. Richard was Joanna’s brother, the one who’d rescued her from captivity, so it was only to be expected that she’d love him dearly and his safety would be of paramount importance to her. Mariam reminded herself, too, that Morgan need not have done as Joanna requested, but that brought her back to the baffling subject of male honor.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she started when a cold nose was thrust into her hand. Smiling at the sight of Ahmer, the cirneco that had been her brother’s favorite hound, she fondled his fox-like red ears, remembering William’s pleasure and the horror of his Muslim physician when she’d smuggled the dog into his bedchamber during his final illness. Thoughts of William invariably made her sad for what might have been. If only his and Joanna’s infant son had lived. If only he’d not married Constance off to Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, giving Heinrich a claim to the Sicilian crown. If only he’d not been so stubborn, ignoring the protests of his subjects, who’d sooner have allied with Lucifer than the German emperor. He’d always been a good brother to her and she thought he’d been a good husband to Joanna, despite keeping a
harim
of Saracen slave girls as his father and grandfather had done. But he’d not been a good king.

Ahmer’s head came up sharply and then he wheeled and raced back toward the great hall, barking joyfully. Mariam rose and followed more slowly, sure that the dog had heard his mistress’s return. By the time she entered, Joanna and Berengaria were surrounded by the women of their household, all eager to hear the Pope’s news. Mariam needed only one glimpse of Berengaria to know Richard’s prospects had taken a turn for the better, for his wife’s face was glowing, her beautiful brown eyes filled with shimmering light. But Mariam could detect the shadows lurking behind Joanna’s smile, and Sir Stephen de Turnham’s smile was, at best, a polite grimace.

As Joanna’s eyes met Mariam’s, she slipped away from the others crowded around Berengaria, leaving it for Richard’s queen to break the news that he could soon be free. Emerging into the courtyard, Joanna blinked at the dazzling white brightness of the summer sun and then crossed to a bench in the shade of a silvery-grey olive tree, trailed by Mariam and Ahmer. Once Mariam was seated beside her, Joanna related what they’d been told of the pact Richard and Heinrich had made at Worms on June 25. Mariam listened without interruption, although she could not stifle a gasp at the mention of the staggering ransom demand. Waiting until Joanna had nothing more to reveal, she said quietly, “Those are very harsh terms, meant to break the man and bankrupt his country. Does Berengaria not realize that yet?”

“She is reacting now as Richard’s wife, not his queen, and she cannot be faulted for that.” Joanna sounded faintly defensive, for she was very protective of the younger woman. “For now, all this means to her is that she may soon be reunited with her husband. Let her have this moment, Mariam. There will be time enough to consider the consequences of this Devil’s deal once Richard is freed.” She paused and then added bleakly, “
If
he is freed.”

“Does the Pope think Heinrich will not honor the pact? He stands to gain a huge amount of money by it.”

“Assuming that the French king does not offer even more.” Joanna very much wanted to share her sister-in-law’s joy, to believe that Richard would soon be freed. But she’d have taken an Outremer scorpion as a pet rather than put her trust in the Holy Roman Emperor. And because she knew her brother far better than his bride did, she nursed a secret dread that she’d shared with no one, not even Mariam—the fear that his imprisonment was ravaging Richard’s pride and scarring his soul.

“Joanna . . . are you still sure that you ought to keep Queen Eleanor’s letter from Berengaria?”

“Of course I am sure, Mariam! When I think of all the nights that I’ve dreamed of Richard at Trifels, burning with fever, chained up like a felon . . . Why would I want to inflict such pain upon Berengaria? No, if Richard wants to tell her of his Trifels ordeal, he will. Until then, it comforts her to believe he is being treated with the respect due his rank, and I will not be the one to take that comfort away from her.”

Mariam could understand Joanna’s reasoning; nor did she blame Joanna for wanting to shelter Berengaria if she could. It was just that if Morgan had been the one kept in irons at Trifels, she’d have wanted to know, the pain notwithstanding. Once she might have argued further, but their falling-out over Morgan had tempered her usual candor, and she chose to change the subject. “Are you going to tell Anna that she is to wed the Duke of Austria’s son?”

“Berengaria and I discussed this on the way back from the papal palace, and we decided it is better to wait. I doubt that Richard wants to see that marriage come to pass and he might find a way to circumvent it once he is freed.”

Scorning consistency, Mariam agreed with Joanna about keeping the news from Anna. She was fond of the girl, but Anna was flighty and impulsive and it would be hard to predict her reaction. “Does the Holy Father know the identities of the hostages?”

“Not all of them, though he says they will be of high birth.” Joanna’s lip curled. “Because Heinrich has no honor, he assumes Richard would sacrifice the lives of his hostages as he himself would do, and so he is demanding those whom he sees as the most valuable pawns. Our nephews Otto and Wilhelm are on the list. The sons of some of Richard’s barons. Berengaria’s younger brother Fernando. Men close to Richard. Even prelates of the Church.”

“Has Pope Celestine heard anything about the men taken prisoner with Richard?”

Joanna shook her head reluctantly. Rallying then, she said with all the assurance she could muster, “I am sure they have been freed, though. Morgan is likely with Richard at Worms by now and making plans to return home.”

Mariam knew better; Morgan would not leave Germany until Richard did. “Do you think even your mother can raise such a vast sum of money?”

“I have no doubts whatsoever of that.” Joanna’s voice rang with conviction. “I have more good news, Mariam. The Pope has assumed responsibility for seeing that we get safely back to Richard’s domains. We are to be escorted to Pisa and then Genoa, where we’ll take ship for Marseille.” Despite the scorching heat, Joanna shivered at the thought of setting foot on shipboard again, even though she’d been assured they’d be hugging the coast.

“Thank God,” Mariam said fervently, for she’d come to see Rome as a gilded cage. “But . . . Marseille? I thought you told me that Richard had to turn back when he learned he could not land safely at Marseille?”

“I know, and neither Berengaria nor I are at all happy at having to ask the King of Aragon for help. But we have no choice, not unless we want to remain in Rome until Richard can come himself to fetch us.”

Mariam was not too proud to admit her ignorance of French geography. “I am Sicilian, Joanna, remember? Marseille is a city on the French coast. How does the King of Aragon come into it?”

“King Alfonso is also Count of Barcelona and Marquis of Provence, which gives him control over Marseille. The Holy Father told us he’d written to Alfonso several months ago, asking for his aid once it was safe for us to venture from Rome, and Alfonso promised that he would make sure we got safely from Marseille to Poitiers. I suspect he feels guilty for betraying Richard and allying with that viper in Toulouse. And indeed, he ought to feel guilty, for he and Richard had been friends since they were fifteen!”

The mention of “that viper in Toulouse” jogged Mariam’s memory. She knew Joanna’s mother had a claim to Toulouse, for her grandmother had been the only child of one of its counts, her inheritance usurped by her uncle. That had occurred a hundred years ago, and the dukes of Aquitaine and counts of Toulouse had been feuding ever since. Two years ago, the current Count of Toulouse, Raimon de St Gilles, had somehow inveigled Alfonso into an alliance against their mutual enemy, Navarre, and as a result, Richard had been forced to make his way home through Germany. “I know you say Alfonso was once Richard’s friend, Joanna. But do you think he can still be trusted? What if he hands you and Berengaria over to the Count of Toulouse?”

“No, Alfonso would never do that. He is not utterly without honor like St Gilles. He guaranteed our safety to the Pope and would not renege upon it. Moreover, we will be escorted to Marseille by Cardinal Melior, of San Giovanni e Paolo in Pisa. He is French,” Joanna said, making a wry face, “but he is also a papal legate. I’ve spoken to him on several occasions and he seemed truly indignant about Richard’s plight. He’ll not let us come to harm.”

“A cardinal and a papal legate? I am impressed, Joanna. Dare we hope that the Holy Father is finally heeding his conscience?”

“I suspect his newfound solicitude is due more to fear of my mother than belated conscience pangs,” Joanna said with a sudden grin. When the Pope would no longer meet with them, Joanna had begun to cultivate other sources of information and had easily found a sympathetic ear in one of the papal secretaries, for even men who’d taken holy vows were not immune to a beautiful woman’s charm. She’d not revealed the name of her new friend, playfully calling him the “Good Samaritan,” and she referred to him as that now, saying that he’d told her Eleanor had been assailing Pope Celestine with letters, by turns beseeching and accusing.

“He said she expressed outrage that the Holy Father had not sent a ‘single nuncio, not the humblest subdeacon’ to negotiate on Richard’s behalf. She wrote movingly of a mother’s grief, saying she’d lost ‘the staff of my old age, the light of my eyes,’ whilst she is ‘tortured by the memories of my dead,’ the sons who ‘sleep in the dust.’ She warned him that his failure to act cast a shadow over the Church, demanding to know how he could be unmoved whilst her son is ‘tortured in chains.’ She reminded him of the great evil Heinrich had done against the Church—the murder of the Bishop of Liege, the imprisonment of five other bishops. She accused him of ‘keeping the sword of Peter sheathed,’ of yielding to ‘human fear.’ She wrote, ‘Restore my son to me, man of God, if indeed you are a man of God.’”

“She truly dared to say that, Joanna?”

Eleanor’s daughter nodded proudly. “She signed one of the letters ‘Queen of England by the Wrath of God.’” She added, with another grin, “My Good Samaritan swears the Holy Father shudders at the mere sight of a letter with my mother’s seal.”

When Joanna laughed, Mariam joined in, both women grateful for a moment of levity in a season of such gloom. Neither one heard the soft footsteps approaching, not turning until Ahmer gave a welcoming whine. Berengaria was smiling at them, her expression curious. “What is so amusing?”

“I was telling Mariam about my mother’s letters to the Pope,” Joanna explained, sliding over on the bench to make room for her sister-in-law.

Berengaria had been shocked at first by the accusatory tone of her mother-in-law’s missives, yet she’d been secretly pleased, too, for she was finding it harder and harder to be patient with the Holy Father’s passivity. He was God’s vicar on earth, and she wanted to believe that he would never shirk his pastoral duties for venial political reasons. She
needed
to believe that. But he was not making it easy for her.

“It is outrageous that Richard should have to pay so much money to regain his freedom,” she said, showing them that she was not oblivious to the burden the ransom would impose upon his kingdom. “It will be a massive undertaking to raise the ransom, especially since Richard’s subjects had already been taxed for the Saladin tithe. Do you think your mother will be able to do it, Joanna?” Getting assurances from her sister-in-law, she smiled shyly. “It may be selfish of me to be so happy when I know this ransom will cause misery to so many. But I cannot help it. For the first time, I can see our reunion as a reality, not just a hope glimmering on the horizon. Richard and I have been apart for so long. I was thinking about that this morning and I realized it has been nine months since we left him at Acre. Nine months . . .”