The Heart of the Lion

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘The people are with you, my lord, and the King of Scotland your friend. There were bonfires in the hamlets and songs of joy in the streets when news that you were alive was let loose.’

  ‘Then there is nothing to fear from John . . . nor from the King of France.’

  ‘Nay, my lord, not now that you are found.’

  ‘’Twas young Blondel. I shall never forget this.’

  ‘It is reward enough he says that he had the honour of serving you. He says it will never be forgotten and that he is the proudest minstrel in the world. He will be the happiest when you are free.’

  ‘God bless the boy,’ said Richard.

  But the Emperor was determined that he should not be easily released. He had paid certain moneys to Leopold of Austria for the captive and he wanted to get that money back with interest.

  Meanwhile Eleanor had sent messengers to Pope Celestine begging him to intervene in the unlawful detention of Richard. The Pope, always anxious not to favour one side when the opponents were as powerful as the Emperor of Germany and the King of England, gave his verdict that it was indeed wrong to imprison in secret a ruling monarch unless of course there were good reasons for doing so.

  Thus challenged the Emperor declared that he had his reasons. Several people had brought charges against Richard and justice demanded that until these had been satisfactorily answered it was just for Richard – King of England though he might be – to remain a prisoner.

  The Emperor then summoned an assembly and the charges against Richard were stated clearly in his presence, so that he could answer them in person.

  The first charge was that he had supported Tancred to the detriment of the Emperor whose wife was the true heir to the island of Sicily.

  Richard replied that the island had needed a strong king and Tancred was there to provide it. Richard himself had been on his way to a crusade and the most important thing was to proceed with all speed on his mission. By making terms with Tancred he had been able to do this and to make sure that other crusaders on their way to the Holy Land would not be prevented from making the journey. The same applied to Cyprus where he had set up his own ruler so that it could now be a haven for pilgrims and crusaders.

  The serious charge of having brought about the murder of Conrad Marquis of Montferrat was the next.

  This he utterly refuted.

  It was well known, he replied, that the Old Man of the Mountains was responsible for that deed because Conrad had intercepted his ships and robbed them off the coast of Tyre. It was only slander which had brought the charge against him because he had supported Guy de Lusignan as candidate for the crown of Jerusalem. He had however agreed to accept Conrad. Why should he then murder him, for his murder had not put Guy on the throne, for Henry of Champagne had that honour.

  This seemed reasonable and the assembly was swayed in favour of Richard.

  The French representative in the assembly rose to declare that Richard was guilty of treason against his feudal lord, Philip of France.

  Richard laughed so loudly that his laughter echoed through the hall.

  ‘I . . . accused of treason!’ cried Richard. ‘My lords, if there is one guilty of treason that is the King of France. He has sworn friendship with me. We vowed to go together to the Holy Land. He broke his vow. He could not endure the hardships. They brought him near to death, he swears; and he returned to France and planned to rob my kingdom and my dukedom while I continued to act in accordance with the vow I took with the King of France. Is this treason to Philip? Nay, my lords, Philip is the one who is guilty of treason, of breach of friendship, of broken vows and promises. He has taken advantage of one who believed himself to be his friend. Think of his actions during my absence. Is he a man of honour? Come, my lords, search your consciences and do not speak to me of my lack of loyalty to the King of France.’

  There was murmuring in the hall. They must agree with him. He was right. The King of France had betrayed him and what sort of man was it who attacked another’s dominions while he was away engaged in a holy war?

  There were followers of Leopold of Austria who related that Richard had insulted their flag. He had torn it down from the walls of Acre and stamped on it. Was this not an act of treachery against a good friend who had fought side by side with him in the conquest of the city?

  ‘My lord,’ said Richard, ‘this was no single triumph. This was the triumph of the Christian army. In such an undertaking there are certain to be conflicts between nations. As commander of the army it was my duty to suppress this. The Duke of Austria was arrogant, not ready to work with the rest of us. When I myself repaired the walls of the cities with my men, the Duke of Austria declared himself too noble to work with us. I am the son of a King, my lords, yet I could work side by side with my men, share their hardships, show myself to be one of them. It is necessary in an army. It is not good for that army to see among them those who are too proud to share in the task and then would take the glory. I did what you accused me of and, by God, I would do it again.’

  It was not only his words, it was that aura of nobility and almost superhuman power, his exceptional good looks, his tall commanding figure, which made Henry realise it had been a mistake to bring him to face his judges. The accusations should have been made in his absence.

  But Henry was shrewd. He knew he had lost so he went to Richard and embraced him.

  ‘I see,’ he cried, ‘that the King of England has been falsely accused and I believe this assembly to be in agreement with me.’

  There were cries of agreement and cheers.

  Now I shall go home and set my affairs in order, thought Richard.

  But Henry was not going to relinquish his prize so easily. Richard might be innocent of the charges brought against him; Pope Celestine might declare it was not right for the Emperor to detain him, but the Emperor saw that there was money to be gained and he shook his head over Richard and murmured that it was only proper that if the English wished their King to return they must be prepared to pay for the privilege.

  Richard was therefore conducted to the castle of Trifels, a suitable place for a King to be held to ransom. Trifels had been built on a hill surrounded by wooded mountains; there was no town within miles, the nearest dwellings being in the village of Anweiler. Richard was treated with respect; comforts were provided for him; he had his page to sing and play to him and William de l’Estang as a companion. But he was surrounded by an even stronger guard than he had had at Dürenstein. At least, however, thanks to faithful Blondel it was known where he was and he could rely on his mother to do everything within her power to bring about his release.

  The bargaining began and went on for months. Philip was urging the Emperor not to release Richard. He wondered what they would say to each other if they were to come face to face again. How Richard would revile him! He would never understand that he reviled himself. What was it, this desire to destroy that which in a way he loved and yet he hated? Richard would never understand the complex feelings of the King of France.

  Meanwhile Henry of Germany was determined to make the best of his bargain.

  He visited Richard and they talked together.

  Richard was his prisoner, he pointed out. He had bought the right to hold him from Leopold of Austria who had good reason to hate him; and he must have something for his pains. What would Richard think of handing him the crown of England in exchange for his freedom?

  ‘I’d rather you took my life,’ retorted Richard.

  ‘You should have the crown back,’ temporised the Emperor, ‘and hold it as my vassal.’

  Richard laughed at the thought.

  ‘What of seventy thousand marks of silver?’

  ‘That’s a great deal,’ said Richard. ‘Dost think my people would consider me worth as much?’

  ‘They would seem loyal at this time. They regard you as the hero of the crusades. They might think it worth the price to have you back and so avoid the crown’s going to John.’

&n
bsp; ‘Then let us see if they will raise it.’

  ‘The daughter of the Emperor of Cyprus is detained by you. She is the niece of the Duchess of Austria and should be given to her aunt to be brought up.’

  ‘That can be done,’ said Richard.

  ‘To show friendship with the Duke of Austria whom you insulted on the walls of Acre his son should have for wife your niece the maid of Brittany sister to that Arthur whom you have named your heir.’

  ‘That should also be done,’ replied Richard.

  ‘Then all that is left is to raise the money.’

  ‘It will take time,’ said Richard.

  ‘That is to be expected.’

  ‘You cannot hold me here for years. Let us say that when the first instalment is made I am allowed to go.’

  This was agreed on and Richard in his chamber at Trifels waited eagerly for release.

  Eleanor was indefatigable. How could she raise the first instalment of the ransom which was necessary for Richard’s release?

  Nothing and no one must be spared. Every knight must contribute twenty shillings. Every town and hamlet must pay its due. Every man who had anything to give must give it. The abbeys and churches were to give their silver plate but Eleanor swore it would only be as a loan and the articles should later be restored to the churches. The monks were to give the wool from their sheep. No one must be spared.

  Once the King was back there would be prosperity in the land. But the King must return.

  The money was paid and there was no longer any excuse to keep Richard prisoner. He set out from the Castle of Trifels on his way to England.

  William de l’Estang was uneasy, as Richard himself was.

  ‘I’ll not feel safe,’ said Richard, ‘until I am free of the Emperor’s domains.’

  Even so he refused to show any sign of haste and paused in Cologne to receive the Mass which was given in his honour.

  He did not linger though. Something told him that Henry was already regretting his agreement to let Richard go.

  ‘Let us go with all speed without seeming to,’ suggested William, and Richard agreed with this.

  When they arrived at Antwerp it was to find English ships waiting to take them home, but their progress was slow as the sandbanks were notoriously dangerous and skilful navigation was necessary to avoid disaster. A sudden storm drove them into the port of Schouwen where it seemed wise to rest until the sea was calmer. However news came that the Emperor, reconsidering his decision to allow Richard to go, was sending a troop of his best soldiers to bring Richard back to him. The thought of being once more a prisoner decided Richard. He would face the storm rather than that. He was fortunate and managed to weather it, and in due course landed at Sandwich.

  As soon as he knew that his brother had landed John lost no time in going to France.

  Chapter XIX

  THE RECONCILIATION

  So he was back in England. It was four years and three months since the day he had left and now he was landing at Sandwich on this April Sunday.

  It seemed that the whole of England had come out of their homes to welcome him. He was content to have his mother beside him, his good friends around him and his loyal people making him aware of their pleasure in his return.

  First to Canterbury to prostrate himself at the shrine of St Thomas and to thank God and the saint for bringing him safely through so many adventures. Then to London where it seemed the citizens, wild with joy, were determined to make feasts for him and bestow rich gifts upon him.

  And after London to St Albans to kneel before the shrine there and offer to God the banner of Cyprus that his conquest of that island might be blessed.

  Winchester should be next but there were one or two matters to be set right before he went there. Certain of his castles had defected to John and he must show the inhabitants of these that he was determined to take back that which was his by right.

  Nottingham was the chief of these and it only needed him to appear for the citadel to surrender and those who had held it in John’s name to come on their knees and beg his clemency. He was in a forgiving mood. He was so pleased to be free and to know that his kingdom was once more in his hands and his subjects loyal to him.

  At Winchester he enjoyed a second coronation, carrying the regalia as he had done when he was crowned king.

  His mother, who had been beside him during his triumphant progress, was deeply moved. But she it was who reminded him that the life of a King was not all pageantry.

  ‘You have regained England, my son,’ she said, ‘and methinks you returned just in time. But John has gone to France and you know who your real enemy is.’

  ‘Philip,’ he murmured.

  ‘Aye, the King of France. He has encouraged John to act against you and I believe to be true the rumour that he bribed the Emperor to hold you prisoner longer than he might have done.’

  ‘Why, Mother? Why?’

  ‘Because he is the King of France, Richard, and you are the King of England. You hold Normandy and he wants Normandy. What better reason than that?’

  ‘But I had thought Philip was my friend.’

  ‘Always an uneasy friendship, Richard.’

  ‘Aye, so it would seem.’

  ‘What of Berengaria? It is long since you have seen your wife. You should send for her as soon as we reach Normandy, for to Normandy we must go at once. England will be safe now but not so Normandy.’

  ‘’Tis true that we must go to Normandy.’

  ‘And Berengaria?’

  He was silent.

  ‘You do not love her,’ said Eleanor. ‘Does she not please you as a wife?’

  ‘She is well enough.’

  ‘Ah, my son, I understand. You do not want a wife. But it is necessary for you to produce an heir, you know.’

  ‘’Tis the duty of all kings I well know.’

  ‘Get her with child and then pursue your own way of life.’

  Richard did not answer and Eleanor shook her head sadly. It seemed strange to her that a man such as Richard should not love women. He must be induced to go to Berengaria for a while at least. She, Eleanor, must live long enough to see them produce the heir to the throne.

  Before May was out they set sail for Normandy. It was imperative to do so as there was no time to lose. Richard set up a Regent to act for him until he and Queen Eleanor returned.

  In their apartments in the castle of Poitou the Queens of England and Sicily with the Cypriot Princess, who had been their constant companion since Richard had sent her to them, heard the news of the King’s return.

  They knew then that the life which had been theirs since they came to the peace of Poitou was coming to an end.

  During that time Berengaria had often said that she felt they were living in a dream from which they would have to awaken sooner or later. Life seemed to have stood still. There had been the years of waiting for Richard, then the adventure of going to Sicily, Cyprus and the Holy Land, marriage, the perilous journey to Poitou followed by the quiet life when every day seemed like the one before and nothing seemed to happen.

  ‘Nothing?’ Joanna had cried when Berengaria had spoken of this to her. For to Joanna something had happened. Ever since the handsome knight had been bidden to escort them from Marseilles she had begun to change. Joanna and Raymond of Toulouse had ridden side by side on that journey; they had laughed and talked together, becoming so absorbed in each other’s company that any attempt to join them on the part of Berengaria seemed to spoil their pleasure.

  And since they had been at Poitou the Count had visited them frequently, and when he came Joanna was gayer and younger than Berengaria had ever seen her before. In the beginning Berengaria had hoped that the attachment would fade away. The Count of Toulouse had brought them in safety to Poitou and there his duty ended; if he had not returned to them again and again Joanna might have begun to forget their charming escort and those pleasant hours which flew by with such speed as they talked together and discovered so much
in common with each other.

  But it seemed that Raymond of Toulouse found it impossible to stay away from Joanna.

  Berengaria talked of the matter with the Cypriot Princess. ‘It goes too far,’ she said.

  ‘It is too late to stop it now,’ replied the Princess.

  ‘I fear Joanna’s heart will break when she has to give him up.’

  ‘Need she?’

  ‘Richard’s family and his have always been in conflict. Why even during the crusade the Counts of Toulouse invaded Guienne. Had my brother Sancho not fought in Richard’s defence Guienne would have passed into the hands of the Counts of Toulouse.’

  The Princess shook her head sadly. ‘It is all fighting,’ she said, ‘and we must suffer because of it.’

  ‘I trust Joanna will not suffer too deeply,’ replied Berengaria.

  There was about Joanna a defiance. She said that if a Princess married once for state reasons she should be allowed to choose her second husband.

  But all of them knew that the days of dalliance were coming to an end, and the climax which they knew was inevitable was moving nearer.

  Joanna and her lover talked together, as they walked in the castle grounds.

  ‘Now that my brother is free I will send a message to him,’ she said. ‘I will send one to my mother also. Who knows, they may allow us to marry.’

  Raymond was less sanguine. ‘There has always been enmity between our houses.’

  ‘Then, my dearest love, I will point out that a match between us will mend the rift.’

  He kissed her tenderly, loving her vitality, her enthusiasm. Then he said: ‘And if they should refuse?’

  ‘I am not a child,’ she said. ‘I have done my duty once. This time I will have my way. I will go with you wherever you take me.’

  He pressed her hands.

  ‘It could mean death to us both,’ he told her.

  ‘I would face death for love,’ she answered, ‘and whatever the future held we should have had some time together.’