A King's Ransom (66 page)

His second act was to summon the Bishop of Bath and request that he be one of the additional hostages demanded by the emperor. Savaric declared it would be his honor, for he was eager to convince the king that he’d played no part in Heinrich’s double cross. But it did not go as smoothly with the Bishop of Coventry’s brother. Robert de Nonant had not made himself inconspicuous as his companions had prudently done. To the contrary, he seemed to be courting attention, swaggering about the hall and infuriating Richard’s knights. Eventually, he caught Richard’s eye.

De Nonant took his time in responding to the king’s summons and gave Richard the briefest of bows in grudging acknowledgment of his rank. Richard regarded him in silence for several moments before saying coldly, “You are a fortunate man, Sir Robert. I am going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. I will forgive your treachery if you agree to be one of my hostages.”

That did not go over well with Richard’s men, who felt he deserved no clemency. But to the astonishment of all watching, Nonant showed no gratitude for his unexpected reprieve. “I will not be a hostage for you,” he said, staring at Richard defiantly. “The Count of Mortain is my liege lord, and my loyalty is pledged to him.”

Richard’s eyes glittered. “As you will.” Glancing around then, he beckoned to his cousin. “Arrest this man for treason.”

André smiled. “With great pleasure, my liege,” he said, and de Nonant was abruptly hustled from the hall by André’s knights, none too gently, as Richard’s men clapped and jeered and Longchamp watched with great satisfaction, hoping that the Bishop of Coventry would soon suffer the same fate.

C
ONSTANCE HAD SOUGHT
Eleanor out to confide that Heinrich was not going to honor their request that Otto and Wilhelm be kept together. Otto was to remain at the imperial court, while Wilhelm would be one of Leopold’s seven hostages, accompanying the Austrian duke back to Vienna. Eleanor was grateful for the warning, for that enabled her to alert Otto, so her grandsons would not be taken by surprise. Richard had given his parrot to Wilhelm, much to his delight, and she hoped the unusual pet would help to console the little boy once he was separated from his brother. Otto accepted the news with his usual stoicism, and Baldwin de Bethune, who was also to be one of Leopold’s hostages, promised to keep an eye on the lad. Eleanor was furious, but there was nothing she could do.

After bidding farewell to the hostages and to Constance, who’d remained in the hall long after Heinrich had departed, Richard paused in the doorway to savor the moment, one in which he was no longer trailed by German guards. Glancing over his shoulder at Heinrich’s empress, he switched from French to the safer
lenga romana
. “I feel as if we are leaving one more hostage behind.” Looking back at Constance, Eleanor felt the same way.

The outer courtyard was thronged, for they had a huge retinue—Eleanor’s ladies, Richard’s knights, men-at-arms, the lords and bishops and abbots who’d accompanied the queen from England, and those in attendance upon the Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Brabant, who intended to escort Richard across Germany, none of them trusting in Heinrich’s safe conduct. Eleanor had tried to anticipate all of her son’s needs. She’d ruled out river travel because she was sure he’d want to be on horseback after his long confinement, engaging mounts for the men, horse litters for herself and her women, and for Richard, a spirited grey stallion that brought a delighted smile to his face. Although he’d been able to dress well in recent months, she’d still made sure to bring a wardrobe suitable for a king. And she assured him that English ships would be awaiting their arrival at Antwerp.

She had forgotten one of Richard’s needs, though, something he found as essential as air. But André had not, and as Richard stood beside his new stallion, talking soothingly to accustom the animal to his presence before mounting, André approached with a large hemp sack. “I thought you might want this,” he said, opening the bag to reveal a scabbard of Spanish leather.

Sweeping his mantle back, Richard fastened the belt and then drew the sword from its scabbard. He saw at once that a superior bladesmith had labored to create this superb weapon, with a thirty-inch blade and an enameled pommel, reminding him of the sword he’d been given by his mother upon his investiture as Duke of Aquitaine at age fifteen. He admired its balance, his eyes caressing that slender steel blade as a lover might, and when he glanced toward his cousin, André thought that he finally looked like himself.

“Do you know how long it has been since I’ve held a sword in my hand, André?”

The other man shook his head.

“One year, six weeks, and three days.” For a moment, their eyes held, and then Richard sheathed his sword, swung up into the saddle, and gave the command to move out.

R
ICHARD’S HOMEWARD JOURNEY WAS
turned into a triumphal procession by his German allies. He and Eleanor spent three days as the archbishop’s guests in Cologne, where they were feasted lavishly and entertained by some of Germany’s finest minnesingers. On February 14, they heard Mass in the great cathedral, and the English chroniclers reported gleefully that the archbishop had deliberately chosen the Mass for the August feast day of St Peter in Chains, with the Introit that began, “Now I know that the Lord hath sent His angel and delivered me from the hand of Herod.” The German emperor’s reaction to that was not recorded.

Richard rewarded Cologne by issuing charters exempting its merchants from paying rent for their London guildhall and other local fees and giving them the right to sell their wares at all English fairs and to exercise their own customs. As England was a major wool exporter to the Rhineland city and its largest market for Cologne’s textiles, wine, and luxury goods, these privileges were greatly appreciated, rebounding to the credit of their archbishop for allying himself with the English king. And although neither man knew it at the time, their friendship would pay even greater benefits in years to come.

From Cologne, they passed into the territory of the Duke of Brabant, and again they were feted at each town or castle along the way. By late February, they’d reached the duke’s port of Antwerp. Here English ships were riding at anchor in the harbor. After parting from Archbishop Adolf and the duke, Richard spent five days at Zwin. The weather was unsettled, and he took advantage of the delay to scout the estuaries and inlets of the islands, for he had a keen interest in naval warfare and felt certain that if a French-Flemish invasion occurred, it would sail from these waters. The winds finally were favorable, and on March 12, they unfurled sails, raised anchors, and headed out into the Channel. By the next day, they were approaching the port of Sandwich. It had been four years since Richard had last set foot on English soil.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MARCH 1194

Sandwich, England

R
ichard’s unheralded arrival at Sandwich stirred up much excitement, as none had known when he would be returning or even if he would be returning, for many of his subjects had feared he would die on crusade or in a German dungeon. After greeting the townspeople, he continued on to Canterbury, where he gave thanks at the shrine of the martyred saint Thomas Becket, and greatly pleased the Christchurch monks by declaring that he’d not wanted to enter any English church until he’d visited the mother church of Canterbury. Hubert Walter was away besieging John’s castle at Marlborough, but the prior was delighted to play host to their renowned crusader king and his venerated queen mother. It was a source of ironic amusement to Eleanor that after a lifetime of controversy and public disapproval, she was now acclaimed for the very qualities that had once earned her such censure. She had never wielded as much power as she had during Richard’s crusade and captivity. But none had challenged her exercise of this unique authority, for her boldness, determination, and political shrewdness—so unseemly in a wife—were deemed admirable in a mother fighting for her son.

W
ORD OF THE KING’S RETURN
swept through the shire with the speed of a wind-whipped brush fire. When they rode out of Canterbury the following morning, they found the road lined with people from neighboring villages and hamlets, all eager to see if the rumors were true. Richard was surprised by their enthusiastic welcome, for in the four and a half years since his coronation, he’d spent only four months in England. But Eleanor assured him that the stories of his exploits in the Holy Land had made him known the length and breadth of his kingdom. The crowds slowed them down—priests wanting to offer their blessings, excited children darting underfoot, women holding up little ones so they could one day say they’d seen the king’s homecoming, old men shouting out that they’d sent a son or grandson to fight the Saracens, prosperous merchants and their wives mingling with craftsmen, peasants, monks from the Cluniac abbey at Faversham, pilgrims on their way to Canterbury’s holy shrine, and beggars asking for alms. Eleanor knew this was a day the good people of Kent would not forget and, as she watched her son acknowledge their cheers, she thought that he would remember it, too. It was her hope that he’d soon have memories bright enough to rout the darker ones of Dürnstein, Trifels, and Mainz.

The western sky was staining with sunset crimson and gold when they saw the castle walls and cathedral spire of Rochester in the distance. A large throng was waiting, spreading across the road, and as they came into view, men on horseback rode out to meet them. When they were close enough for recognition, Richard spurred his stallion forward. He swung from the saddle just as Hubert Walter dismounted, and knelt at the archbishop’s feet. The watching crowd cheered wildly, and the Bishop of Rochester and the other churchmen were beaming, delighted by the king’s dramatic gesture of piety. Hubert knew it was more than that; it was also a personal acknowledgment of heartfelt gratitude, and his eyes filled with tears. He held out his hand to raise Richard to his feet and the two men embraced, setting off even more cheering. As if on cue, the city’s church bells began to peal, until all of Rochester seemed to be reverberating with celestial, melodious music.