I feared he was losing his mind.
The grim circumstances came to a head in early September 1193. The winds and rain of autumn had brought more misery and there was still no word of the ransom being paid. I was woken in the early hours of a Wednesday morning by the King shouting insults and threats, which he had begun to do at all hours of the day and night.
I did not realize it at the time but the day was significant. It was 8 September, his birthday. He was thirty-six years old and, despite being the ruler of a vast empire and the greatest warrior in Christendom, he was alone and in despair.
It was a still night and his anguished voice rang around the valley of the River Queich like a howl from Hell. The Castellan’s temper must have snapped. Doors banged, the sound of many footsteps reverberated and there was much shouting, until it became frighteningly obvious that the King was being beaten. The assault went on for some time; I heard sickening blow after sickening blow.
I banged on my door and shouted at them to stop. Eventually, I wailed, begging them to cease, but to no avail. After what seemed like an eternity, the dreadful noise from the beating ended. I heard the sound of running footsteps, and doors being slammed shut.
Then it was my turn; but I am sure my pounding did not last as long as the King’s. After a few minutes, I lost consciousness and was spared more pain.
It was difficult to know whether I came round the next morning or several days later, but it was certainly early in the day. A woman who claimed to be a physician, although she more closely resembled a witch, was tending my bruises with a poultice. I only saw her that once and, ominously, she refused to tell me how the King had fared – or even whether she had seen him.
With a certainty worthy of the highest physician in the land, she told me I had several broken ribs and probably a crack in my jaw; eating and, indeed, any movement at all would be painful. Needless to say, I needed little confirmation of my injuries.
My recovery took several weeks, during which time I heard not a whisper from the Lionheart’s room above mine – not even footsteps, or a door being opened. I assumed he must be dead, but then I wondered. If that were the case, why on earth was I still alive?
My apprehension about the Lionheart’s welfare was salved in late October, when he reappeared at Trifels. I had recovered sufficiently to be able to take a morning walk around the keep. As I did so one cold day, with the threat of winter in the air, the portcullis was raised and a squadron of men rode in at the head of a cart. To my immense relief, the King was sitting at the back of the dray. He was manacled, but was sitting upright and looked much better than the last time I had seen him. He looked well manicured and in reasonable health, although he still seemed sullen and withdrawn.
At least he nodded at me in recognition as he was taken to his room.
Three days later, to my relief, I was allowed to see the King. He was calm and cogent.
‘They took me to the monks at Heidelberg. They have the finest physicians in Germany there. They had nearly killed me; I spat blood for a week. On the second night, they gave me Extreme Unction. I was resigned to my death.’
‘Well, sire, I can assure you that you are still here; I am delighted to see you looking so well.’
‘Do you know what kept me alive? The thought of what I’m going to do to that fat bastard upstairs. He’ll taste the sweetness of my revenge soon enough.’
Then he smiled at me; it was something he had not done in a long time.
‘Ranulf, I am sorry that I behaved so badly, but being kept like a rat in a barrel is a torture I cannot bear.’
‘I understand, sire. You were not made for confined spaces and days of idleness.’
‘How were you treated?’
‘Not as badly as you, just a couple of broken ribs. A witch came to see me to tend my wounds.’
The King greeted my words with another smile, this time a mischievous one, like the old days.
‘Was she pretty?’
‘No, sire. She was old, with a face like a gargoyle!’
‘Shame.’
‘Did you hear any news from the monks at Heidelberg, sire?’
‘Yes, my mother has raised the ransom; she has amassed dozens of cartloads of silver. They are calling it the greatest treasure in history. Most of it has come from England. I’m growing fonder of your homeland by the day.’
These words were followed by a third smile; the lion in the man had been revived.
But our tribulations were far from over. Christmas loomed and word arrived of yet another twist in our tale.
The Castellan brought us the news, salivating as he did so.
‘I have disappointing news for you. Your brother, Prince John, has been conspiring with Philip, King of the French, to extend your stay with us. Indeed, you will be delighted to hear that it is such a lucrative offer, it may give us the pleasure of your company on a permanent basis.’
His smirk was so infuriating that the King could not constrain himself from flying at the Swabian and grabbing him by the throat. It was a futile gesture. The man was a giant; with the help of four of his men, he was easily able to cast the King off. As he did so, he struck the Lionheart a vicious blow across the face.
‘You should be careful, my tame lion, I may be your guardian for life. I could make your existence very unpleasant.’
The King wasn’t cowed by the big man. He spat blood from his mouth and then spat out his answer at him.
‘You are the one who should be careful. One day we will meet on equal terms. And when we do, I’ll kill you like the fat pig that you are.’
I thought the Castellan would be provoked into yet more violence, but he had additional information, which was much more hurtful.
‘Prince John has agreed a treaty with Philip of France. He has ceded the whole of eastern Normandy beyond Rouen to the French, as well as all the castles and fortifications in the border area.’
The Lionheart winced; it was the vital territory that his Norman ancestors had fought so hard to win for over two hundred years. He had spent a fortune in recent decades fortifying and defending it. Now his brother had given it away in the blink of an eye.
‘As part of their treaty, they have written to my Emperor and offered him sixty thousand pounds if he will detain you until the end of next year. Or a hundred thousand if he will hand you over to them. Your brother must be very fond of you!’
‘He’s a coward, just like you!’
Still not rising to the King’s bait, the Castellan just turned and walked out. But as he did so, he barked an order at his guards.
‘Isolate them for a week, confined to their rooms! Only one meal a day, half a ration each, and one jug of water.’
It was a difficult week, but at least it was only a week.
By the time it was over, Christmas and New Year had come and gone. I was beginning to wonder whether our stay in Trifels would, indeed, become permanent and whether the King and I would see out our days in that wretched place.
When I next saw the King, he was still in a fury about the news he had been given.
‘Is there no hope we can escape from here? I must get home before that fool of a brother of mine gives away the Empire.’
‘I’ve thought about escape every day, sire, but I think it would be easier to break into the castle than to get out. But I don’t doubt the Queen; I know she will deliver the English silver soon.’
‘I don’t doubt my mother, either. But John will have won many friends by making big promises to them. The geld he has offered in exchange for my continued captivity is the same amount as my ransom; I fear he may have gained control of it.’
‘I doubt the English will let him have it; they are so fond of you.’
‘You have such faith in your English people.’
‘I do, sire, but they are your people as well.’
‘I suppose they are… which reminds me. Did you retrieve what you wanted to find in Rome, the things that you said would make me fall in love w
ith the English?’
‘Yes, I did, sire.’
‘Well?’
‘I have read the manuscripts, and they are truly remarkable.’
‘So, what do they say?’
‘They tell such a long story of two families, it is hard for me to remember the details, my Lord.’
‘I don’t want the details, just the heart of it.’
‘But, sire, it’s the details that make the story. Please wait until you can hear the full account. It will be worth it, I promise.’
‘Oh, very well, I’ve learned to trust you, as I trusted Alun. And I suppose it can’t be more important than the need to get out of this place.’
Our salvation came soon afterwards in the form of a squadron of Henry’s Imperial Guard which, according to its Captain, had been sent to escort us to Mainz, to appear before the Emperor once more. This time, the meeting would be held in the presence of several dignitaries from the Lionheart’s Empire, including his redoubtable mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine.
Our weapons and armour were returned to us, and we were given good horses. As soon as we were ready to leave, the Lionheart turned to the Captain of the Guard.
‘Am I still a prisoner?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘May an imprisoned King issue a chivalrous challenge?’
The Captain hesitated a little, but then answered clearly.
‘I don’t see why not, my Lord.’
The King rode over to where the Castellan was standing and looked him in the eye.
‘I told you that you would feel my wrath.’
He then turned back to the Captain.
‘Captain, you are my witness. I challenge Rudolph of Landau to meet me in combat at Mainz; Sir Ranulf of Lancaster will be my second.’
The Captain looked at the Castellan, who was distinctly perturbed. But after composing himself, he nodded his agreement.
I was concerned that it was reckless of the Lionheart to issue a challenge to a man of little consequence – especially as he was still far from strong and healthy. But it was typical of him, and a sign that the fire had returned to his belly.
Never one to pass up the opportunity to right a wrong, or avenge a slight, the King meant to have his revenge.
30. Debauchery and Decadence
The gathering at Mainz, at the beginning of February 1194, was held in a red sandstone cathedral as imposing as its twin at Speyer, and with a similarly impressive guest list. But this time there were some significant differences.
The King was not asked to stand in front of the Emperor like a common criminal, and he looked much healthier than he had done before. He was dressed in his royal regalia, which had been brought from Westminster, and stood proudly with a large contingent from his Plantagenet Empire, the most important of whom was Eleanor, the Dowager Queen. Despite now being over seventy years of age, she was the most striking woman there.
She had personally escorted a caravan of silver bullion so large that it took a fleet of ships to get it across the Channel and an army 2,000 strong to escort it from its landfall in Antwerp. With her were many of the great and good of the land. England’s Chancellor, William Longchamp, who had been battling with Prince John for years to keep him at bay and had helped Eleanor raise the ransom, was on her right. On her left stood Walter of Coutances, Archbishop of Rouen, and Savaric of Bohun, Bishop of Bath. Flanking them in their finery were all five of the Grand Quintet, the finest soldiers in Christendom, beaming at the King from ear to ear.
Perhaps the most heart-warming presence for me was the dozen members of the King’s personal conroi, from Westminster. Men from my own corps, they were Englishmen to a man; all were over six feet tall and looked immaculate in their red mantles. They stood as a guard of honour behind the Queen who, as usual, wore a dazzling, pure-white kirtle and cape.
To the King’s great satisfaction, facing him on the opposite side of the Emperor Henry were not only the same nobles who had heard his stirring speech at Speyer, but also his nemesis, Leopold, Duke of Austria. The King made sure to catch his eye whenever he could, and on each occasion he smiled broadly at him, rubbing salt into the wounds of his liberation and his public shaming of Leopold at Speyer.
There was little drama in the formal proceedings at Mainz, other than the flamboyant kiss of peace delivered by the Emperor to the Lionheart as he handed a Plantagenet son back to the bosom of the dynasty’s grand matriarch. It was an egregious act the King later called the most expensive kiss in history.
Eleanor said nothing; her serenity and dignity spoke volumes, as did her fortitude in making the recovery of her son her personal crusade. Her great resilience was not lost on her German audience.
There was also a moment of mocking humour from the Lionheart when Henry gave the King a copy of the letter he had received from his brother, Prince John, and King Philip, offering a huge inducement to detain the Lionheart in Germany. The King laughed out loud as he read it, and exclaimed at the end.
‘I must applaud my brother’s assessment of my worth. All the silver in England; what a compliment he pays me! I will be sure to thank him when I see him.’
There was just one more issue to resolve for the Lionheart before we left the Holy Roman Empire. He dealt with it early the next morning, on Mainz’s Champ de Mars. The King had told few people about his challenge to Rudolph of Landau and there were no more than a dozen people present.
The Lionheart did not want any public accolades, just vengeance. A duel with swords and shields was agreed.
Just before the men came to blows, a priest from the cathedral appeared, an emissary from the Emperor.
‘Sire, the Emperor asks that you show mercy to the Castellan; he was only doing what was asked of him.’
The King was blunt in his response.
‘Tell the Emperor that I hope the Castellan was doing far more than was required of him. Even so, he should be comforted in knowing that I will show the man the same mercy he offered me and that I will return to him in equal measure the courtesies he extended to me.’
Rudolph of Landau looked terrified. He knew he had little chance against the legendary warrior, and that he would be given no quarter. But he had no choice; the challenge had been made in front of one of the Emperor’s captains and could not have been declined.
No words were exchanged between them. The King had said all that needed to be said at Trifels.
The Castellan carried a huge longsword, longer and heavier than any I had ever seen. It made no difference. Even though the King was debilitated by over a year of harsh treatment, he parried his opponent’s wild swings with ease. The Lionheart was far nimbler than the Swabian – especially in coordinating his blade and his shield – and he was soon able to get under the arc of the man’s attempted blows. The King’s deadly thrust came quickly, as he bent one knee and plunged his blade deep into the ample gut of the German.
The big man fell to his knees, mortally wounded.
The Lionheart removed his blade as the Castellan looked at him with the woeful eyes of a dying stag. His plaintive expression did not incline the King to hesitate; he took a mighty swing, which almost severed his adversary’s head.
The Lionheart had already turned, and had taken a stride, by the time Rudolph of Landau hit the ground with a heavy thud.
The King did not look back.
Preparations were soon made for our long procession up the Rhine. The King wanted to thank his old friend, Adolf, Bishop of Cologne, who had helped Queen Eleanor in her negotiations with the Emperor, and so planned to spend a few days with him. When I heard that, I asked the King for permission to travel to Rupertsberg to see Negu.
He was effusive in his response.
‘Of course, my friend. If the flame still burns brightly between you, bring her back to England. I promised you a future when we return; there is one for both of you, if you wish. She can have a nuns’ foundation in parallel with the one I intend to create for Abbot Alun. It is the least I can do.’
<
br /> ‘Thank you, sire. Let’s see if an ageing, one-armed knight appeals to her as much as I did when I was a young man.’
‘Worry not, Ranulf, you’re a hero of the Great Crusade, of England and of the Empire. Besides, when we return home, you will be a rich man; that is usually a key to unlocking a woman’s heart. I have some favours to call in while I am in the Low Countries, and intend to sail for England from Antwerp in the second week of March. Meet me there.’
My life, and that of the King, had suddenly taken a dramatic turn for the better – especially in contrast with the black days we had just been through.
The journey to Rupertsberg gave me time to reflect. I was weary of travel in distant lands and of the toils of war. The thought of rekindling my passion for Negu suddenly became very appealing. It would need to be a clandestine arrangement if she wanted to continue as a nun. But if the Lionheart was true to his promise, and would create a foundation for her within my lands in the north of England, we could control our own destiny. Although they had turned sixty and would now be in their dotage, my mother and father were still alive, as far as I knew. I was desperate to see them before they died and make them part of my peaceful future within the King’s Empire. I wanted to tell them about my adventures and see them take pride in what I had done.
My life with the Lionheart had been an astonishing journey for me. There had been much hardship and not a little pain, but what I had gained in return was worth almost any price. The loss of Alun and my absence from my parents were my only real regrets, but I had become reconciled to both. Losing Negu was also a blow, although it had been her choice and one that was, under the circumstances, inevitable. Perhaps, now that things had changed—
But then I pinched myself; a new beginning with Negu was an unlikely prospect. I had not seen her for years, and much had happened to both of us in the meantime.
I was full of nerves when I reached Hildegard’s famous foundation at Rupertsberg, especially when I announced myself at the gates and asked for Sister Negu. I had washed and cleaned the Hospitaller’s mantle and cape I still wore, and had trimmed my hair and beard. The young novitiates on duty scurried inside, giggling as they went, making me feel like a young knight paying his first call at the household of the young maiden he wished to court.
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