A King's Ransom (64 page)

As Heinrich turned toward the dais, clamping his hand down on Constance’s arm when she seemed reluctant to follow, Eleanor plucked at Richard’s sleeve to attract his attention. But her warning was unnecessary. He was staring at several men just entering the hall and she was close enough to see his body react to his recognition, his mouth thinning, the muscles of his jaw tightening. “You see the coxcomb in the green cap, Maman? That is Robert de Nonant, the Bishop of Coventry’s brother.”

He did not need to say more, for although Eleanor did not know de Nonant’s brother by sight, she did know he was a sworn liegeman of her son John. She’d let herself hope that if Heinrich did have a double cross in mind, it would not involve John. Even though she’d so often had to watch helplessly as her sons fought one another, showing all the fraternal love of Cain and Abel, John’s latest betrayal was the most painful, for there was more at stake now than lands or crowns. If John and Philippe won, Richard would die in a French dungeon, suffering the torments of the damned until he drew his last wretched breath.

After he was seated upon the dais, with Constance sitting rigidly at his side, Heinrich beckoned to Richard and then to Robert de Nonant and his companions. They approached slowly, casting hostile glances at the English king as they passed. Once Richard and Eleanor were standing in front of the dais, too, Heinrich held up his hand for silence.

“This was to be the day that my dear friend, the king of the English, gained his freedom. But there has been an unexpected development. The French king and the Count of Mortain have offered a vast sum of money to prolong his confinement, at least until Michaelmas, and they have even promised to match the full amount of his ransom if he is placed in their custody. If I heeded my personal feelings for King Richard, I would, of course, dismiss their offer out of hand. Alas, I must respond as an emperor, not a friend. I have an obligation to consider any proposal that would fill the imperial coffers and finance our expedition to claim the Sicilian crown for my beloved empress.”

Richard was stunned, for even in his worst moments, he’d never thought Heinrich would dare to disavow the Worms Pact, one sworn to upon Heinrich’s immortal soul, sealed in the name of the Holy Trinity, and vouched for by the honor of the most powerful vassals and churchmen of the empire. He felt his mother’s hand tighten on his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh, for although she did not understand the Latin, she read Richard’s body language. The silence in the hall was eerie, absolute, Heinrich’s audience no less shocked than Richard.

Heinrich seemed to be enjoying himself. “I want all to be out in the open, no secrets. So I would have the English king read this proposal for himself, lest he have any doubts about what is being offered.” He snapped his fingers and as soon as rolled parchments were placed in his hand, he held them out to Richard, smiling.

Richard took them automatically. While he glanced down at the letters, the Archbishop of Rouen hastily translated Heinrich’s comments for Eleanor. The letters were indeed from Philippe and John, and as Richard read what was being offered and what it could mean for him, his numbed disbelief gave way to despair and then murderous rage.

His fist clenched around the letters and he flung them to the floor at Heinrich’s feet. But before he could speak, his mother was beside him. “Wait, Richard, wait!” She was clinging to his arm with such urgency that she actually succeeded in pulling him back from the dais. “Look around you,” she said, her voice shaking, but her eyes blazing with green fire. “Look!”

He did and saw at once what she meant. Virtually every German in the hall was staring at Heinrich as if he’d suddenly revealed himself to be the Antichrist. Not a word had yet been said, but their expressions of horror and disgust left no doubt as to how they felt about their emperor’s eleventh-hour surprise. “Let them speak first,” Eleanor hissed. “Let the Germans handle this.”

“My lord emperor!” The Archbishop-elect of Cologne stalked toward the dais. He was Richard’s age, a man in his prime, and though he was a prince of the Church, he looked now like a soldier making ready to do battle with the forces of evil. “We must discuss this matter with you ere it goes any further.”

Heinrich loathed Adolf von Altena and for just a heartbeat, it showed on his face. “I see no such need, my lord archbishop.”

“I do.” This declaration came from the Archbishop of Mainz, who’d moved to stand at Adolf’s side.

“As do I,” Leopold said loudly, striding over to join the archbishops. He was followed by his shocked sons and the Archbishop of Salzburg. By now all of the former rebel lords had added their voices to the growing chorus. When Heinrich’s own uncle, Konrad, the Count Palatine of the Rhineland, also insisted upon it, Heinrich grudgingly gave way and agreed to meet with them in the cathedral chapter house in an hour’s time.

Richard’s moment of pure, primal fury had passed and he was once more in control of his emotions. “This is a shameful offer, craven and contemptible, made by desperate men who lack the courage to face me on the battlefield. I know I need not remind those in this hall that my cowardly brother never took the cross and the French king broke his holy vow, then plotted against me whilst I fought for Christ in the Holy Land. But I have no doubts whatsoever that my
dear friend
the emperor would never act in a way to damage his own honor or that of the empire.”

The last word was to be Richard’s. Rising to his feet, Heinrich exited the hall, only his quickened pace offering evidence of his anger, his
ministeriales
hurrying to catch up. Forgotten in the confusion, Constance sank back wearily in her seat and closed her eyes, praying that Heinrich had at last overreached himself. Richard was assured again and again that this would never come to pass by men practically choking on their own indignation, and then they, too, followed after the emperor, until the hall had emptied of all but the English and Richard’s German guards.

The Bishop of Bath was hovering nearby, sweating and swearing that he’d known nothing of this, but no one paid him any heed. Longchamp declared that he meant to attend that afternoon session of the Diet to speak on the king’s behalf; Richard never doubted that he’d gain admittance. Alarmed by his grandmother’s pallor, Otto went off in search of wine for her. Savaric had finally stopped protesting, silenced by a lethal look from Richard. André thrust his way through the throng to reach Richard’s side, but he was wise enough to understand that nothing he said could be of comfort to his cousin now. The others slowly realized that, too, and for a time, no one spoke at all.

T
HE DAY PASSED AS
slowly as if time itself had been paralyzed by the German emperor’s treachery. After darkness fell, some of the men crowding into Richard’s chamber departed to find meals or lodgings in the city, but his mother and friends had no more appetite than he did. He’d said very little after leaving the great hall, slouched in a window-seat or restlessly pacing the confines of the chamber. He was close enough for her to touch, yet Eleanor could feel the distance between them widening as the hours crept by, for he shared none of his inner turmoil. He’d said only that he would not endure another year in Heinrich’s prison, and what frightened her was that she thought he meant it. André and the men who’d suffered shipwreck and flight and captivity with him seemed to think he meant it, too; at least that was how she read their grim faces and brooding silence. But she doubted she could rely upon any of them to try to talk sense into her son if it came to that. They were much more likely to offer up their lives with his, blind followers of that mad male code of honor. She found it ironic that, even after marrying twice and raising four sons to manhood, the workings of the male brain remained such a mystery to her.

Compline had rung hours ago. Otto had reluctantly departed when it became obvious that his little brother could no longer stay awake. Fernando had amused himself for a while by playing with Richard’s parrot, but he’d finally gone off to bed, too. Of the clerics, only the Archbishop of Rouen remained, and most of the men had left with Hugh le Brun when he declared his intention to find a tavern and a wench and get roaring drunk. Morgan, with the resourcefulness of the Welsh, disappeared for a while and returned with a servant toting flagons of wine and German ale. Richard drained two of the flagons, but he still seemed sober to Eleanor, and she thought that in so many ways, he was very like his father. She was trying to remember if she’d ever seen Harry even tipsy in all the years of their marriage, when the door opened and Longchamp stumbled in.

He looked so exhausted that the Archbishop of Rouen, who detested him, nonetheless reached out to guide him toward a chair. Longchamp bristled and pulled away, for he was far too proud to accept aid from an enemy. “Nothing has been resolved, sire,” he said wearily. “Heinrich’s greed has blinded him to the truth—that Philippe and John could never raise the money they are promising. I pointed out that the annual revenues of France are less than half those of England and what money Philippe has will be needed for his Normandy campaign. I reminded him, too, that John’s rich English estates have been forfeited, so he has not a prayer in Hell of paying his share of this disgusting bribe.”

“Did he hear what you were saying, Guillaume?” Richard asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.

“I think it gave him something to think about, sire. But he is as stubborn as he is arrogant, and I fear it has now become more a matter of pride than money. You see, he stands alone in this. All of them—the three archbishops, the bishops of Worms and Speyer, the dukes of Brabant and Limburg, the Marquis of Montferrat, even Leopold and Heinrich’s own uncle and brothers—are insistent that he honor the terms agreed upon at Worms last June. I think his brothers are enjoying this rare opportunity to see him squirm, but the others are truly outraged. The only one to speak up for him was Count Dietrich, and since he is believed to have the blood of that murdered bishop on his hands, his words carried no weight with any of them. Archbishop Adolf had a very heated confrontation with Heinrich, the first time I’ve seen that bloodless snake show real anger. For the archbishop was fearless, saying that ‘the empire had been sufficiently defiled by the unworthy imprisonment of a most noble king,’ and warning Heinrich that if he did this, he’d be staining forever the honor of the empire.”

Richard smiled for the first time since the morning’s betrayal. “I’d have given a lot to see that. Adolf von Altena is a good man, worth a hundred of Heinrich. But do you expect them to prevail?”

“I am not sure,” the chancellor admitted, after a long hesitation. “When we adjourned for the night, Heinrich was still holding out against them. Emperors are accustomed to getting their own way and do not take kindly to opposition from those they see as lesser men. But they are no less adamant than he. We will resume in the morning. More than that, I cannot say.”

“You’d best get to bed, then,” Richard said, “for you’ll have another difficult day ahead of you. We all will,” he added, glancing over at his mother, who looked just as drained as his chancellor. Eleanor did not argue. Rising to her feet, she crossed the room and kissed her son good night before departing to her own chamber. But she got little sleep that night. All of them did.

T
HE NEXT DAY WAS
one of waiting. Eleanor would have felt better had Richard been fuming and cursing. His silence seemed both unnatural and unnerving, for she was beginning to understand that he was struggling under a burden she’d been spared—a profound sense of shame. She’d had sixteen long years to dwell upon the consequences of her actions, and she’d suffered from regrets, remorse, even guilt for the part she’d played in estranging her husband and sons. But she’d never blamed herself for accepting what could not be changed or challenged.

Watching Richard as he stared moodily into space, she suppressed a sigh. It was almost as if men and women inhabited two different worlds, so differently did they see things. Was it because women learned from the cradle that their freedom was limited, their independence denied? Even a queen must still obey her husband, and punishment was swift and sharp for one who did not. Being powerless was the natural state for most women. But for a highborn man—especially a man like her son—it was intolerable and degrading. Such a wound would be harder to heal than a bodily injury. She would find a way, though, she vowed—if only they could thwart this monster on the German throne.