Her mourning for Hal and Geoffrey had been steeped in guilt, too, for she was tormented by harrowing regrets for past mistakes and missed opportunities. She and Harry had often failed as parents, but she would not—could not—fail Richard now. She must not give in to despair, must remember that the endearing, youthful ghost haunting her tonight was a man of thirty-five, so fearless on the battlefield that she’d heard it said his men would wade through blood to the Pillars of Hercules if he asked it of them. A man capable of inspiring such loyalty was capable of surviving any ordeal that the German emperor could devise. But at what cost? She knew firsthand the wounds that captivity could inflict upon the soul.
No, she could not dwell upon these fears, for she’d drive herself mad if she did. She must somehow put from her mind those images of her son shackled and feverish and defenseless, must not think of the even greater horrors that might await him in a French dungeon. She would gain his freedom, and then she would help him take his vengeance upon the unworthy, cowardly men who’d dared to imprison a king. “I swear it, Richard,” she said softly, “I swear it upon the life of your wretched, faithless brother.”
She thought this night would never end; eventually her aging body yielded to exhaustion, though, and she slept. She awoke just before dawn, not able to recall her dreams, but knowing she’d found no peace in them, for her pillow was wet with tears.
WHEN HEINRICH DEPARTED HAGENAU at the end of April, he had Richard escorted to the free imperial city of Worms, where he was given comfortable quarters in the palace, but kept under close watch. By mid-May, the emperor was staying at the Augustinian monastery of Mosbach on the River Neckar, which was only a two-day ride from Worms in case he needed to check upon his prize prisoner. On this mild Whitsunday evening, he’d been playing chess with his seneschal, Markward von Annweiler, when he was interrupted by a message from one of his Sicilian spies. He was not happy with what he read, for the man he called “that lowborn usurper” was continuing to strengthen his hold on Sicily. Tancred had gotten that gutless Pope to recognize his claim, and now he was negotiating a marital alliance for his eldest son with the daughter of the Greek emperor in Constantinople. Heinrich was disgusted that Emperor Isaac Angelus would agree to a marriage with a bastard’s spawn, but he was concerned, too, for Tancred’s attempts to legitimize his kingship were bearing fruit. Time suddenly seemed to be on Tancred’s side, not his, for he could take no action until those accursed rebels were dealt with.
He’d gone back to the game, but he was unable to concentrate and Markward began to study the board carefully, seeking an unobtrusive way to throw the game, for his emperor did not like to lose. When a knock sounded on the door, Markward welcomed it. A squire hastened over and, much to Heinrich’s surprise, his wife entered. He could not remember the last time she’d come to his bedchamber. Since the beginning of their marriage, he’d always been the one to go to her when he wanted to claim his conjugal rights; that way he could return to his own bed afterward, for he preferred to sleep alone.
Constance nodded coolly to Markward, who was not one of her favorite people, and then smiled at Heinrich. “My lord husband, this is Master Fulk de Poitiers, the English king’s clerk.” She stepped aside, revealing the man who’d followed her into the bedchamber. “I happened to be in the guest hall when he arrived from Worms, and when I learned he had an urgent message from King Richard, I thought you’d want to see him straightaway.”
Fulk had actually sought her out and was impressed now by how smoothly she lied. He thanked her very politely and then knelt respectfully at her husband’s feet. “I am here at my king’s behest. He requests that you grant him an audience, my lord emperor, as soon as it can be arranged.”
“What does he wish to discuss with me, Master Fulk?”
Hoping he could lie as convincingly as Constance, Fulk shook his head regretfully. “I do not know, my lord.” He frowned, trying to look like a man vexed that his king had not confided in him. “He said only that it is a matter of great importance to you both.” He held his breath then, waiting to see if Heinrich would take the bait.
Heinrich studied him dispassionately, but curiosity won out. Turning to Markward, he ordered the seneschal to go to Worms on the morrow and bring the English king to Mosbach. Glad to escape the chess game, Markward rose, offering to find the hosteller and get Fulk a bed for the night. Constance politely bade her husband farewell and would have followed the men had Heinrich not reached out and put his hand on her arm. “I will come to you later, my dear.”
She did not show her surprise; she’d long ago learned to hide her true feelings from this man. “You are always welcome in my bed, my lord husband,” she murmured, giving him a smile as meaningless as the life she led. She could remember a time when she’d been eager to pay the marriage debt, so desperate to conceive that she’d willingly have embraced Lucifer himself. Her hunger for a child was all-consuming in the early years of her marriage—not for Heinrich, but for Sicily. As much as she wanted her birthright—the Sicilian crown—she dreaded it, too, for she well knew that her beloved homeland would not fare well under her husband’s iron rule. If only the Almighty had given her a son, even a daughter, there would have been at least a glimmer of hope for the Sicilians. But her own hopes had withered on the vine long ago, forcing her to face a bitter truth—she was that saddest and most useless of creatures, a barren wife.
HEINRICH WAS ATTENDED BY Count Dietrich, his brother Conrad, Markward, and his marshal, Heinz von Kalden, and Richard was accompanied by Fulk and his chaplain, Anselm, who’d recently been freed from confinement. Once the courtesies had been exchanged and wine served, the emperor leaned back in his chair, with the suggestion of a smile. “So . . . what is this ‘matter of great importance,’ my lord king?”
“It can fairly be said that you and I are in the same leaky boat, my lord emperor, for we both are facing challenges to our sovereignty. In my case, the threat is posed by my liege lord, Philippe Capet, and my own brother, a betrayal twice over. Your danger is greater, though, for even in captivity, I am still a consecrated king, whereas your enemies can do what mine cannot—elect another emperor. Indeed, I’ve heard that they intend to do just that, and since more than half of your vassals are now in rebellion against you, this must be a matter of grave concern to you. Were I in your stead, it would be to me, for certes.”
Heinrich’s complacent smile had vanished as soon as Richard had begun to speak. “I cannot believe you requested an audience merely to tell me what I already know, my lord. What is your point?”
“The longer this rebellion drags on, the more likely it is that other malcontents will join it. You need to take the initiative, to stop an insurrection from becoming a civil war, and I am in a position to help you do that.” Richard paused to take a swallow of wine, keeping his eyes on Heinrich all the while. “If you are willing to make enough concessions, I think I can negotiate a settlement to end the rebellion ere it flares into a conflagration that could end Hohenstaufen rule.”
“And why would they listen to you when they’ve so far spurned my offers to talk peace?”
Richard resisted the temptation to point out that he had greater credibility than Heinrich. “My brother by marriage and my nephew are amongst the leaders of the rebellion, and England has long enjoyed cordial relations with Cologne, an important trading partner for English merchants. Moreover, I think you will agree that at Speyer, I proved I can be quite persuasive.”
Heinrich’s brother Conrad and Dietrich did not like what they were hearing and, abandoning Latin for German, they both lodged what were obvious protests to Richard. The emperor ignored them. “Even if I did grant some concessions, what makes you think they’d be satisfied with that?”
“Because I can speak about combat with an authority that none could question. When I tell them that a battle commander’s last resort ought to be an all-or-nothing war, they might well heed me. If I can convince them that their victory is not a certainty, they are like
ly to come to terms with you rather than risk losing everything.”
Before Heinrich could reply, Dietrich launched another diatribe, speaking with considerable animation. By the time he was done, Heinrich’s icy smile had come back. “Count Dietrich does not trust you and thinks you are up to no good. Mayhap you’d like to explain to him what you would gain from this, my lord king?”
Richard had no doubts that Heinrich knew full well what he’d gain. This challenge was meant to see how he’d respond, how candid he was willing to be. He took another sip of wine, thinking that words were his weapons now.
“Of course I expect to benefit. Had I claimed I was acting from pure benevolence or Christian charity, then Count Dietrich would have cause for concern.” To his surprise, he caught an expression on Heinrich’s face that looked like genuine amusement. It quickly passed, but he took it as proof that he was on the right road. “If I do this for you, I hope you’ll conclude that the empire’s interests are better served by an alliance with England and not France.”
“And cancel that planned meeting with the French king at Vaucouleurs?”
With any other man, Richard would have demanded that as a quid pro quo before he’d ever have agreed to act on Heinrich’s behalf. But an imperial promise would mean nothing, not when it was no more substantial than morning mist. Relying upon Heinrich’s good faith was a fool’s quest, yet he had no choice. “Vaucouleurs is a long way to ride if there is nothing to be gained at journey’s end,” he said with a shrug.
“Indeed it is,” Heinrich agreed, his blasé tone belied by the eyes studying Richard with a hawk’s unblinking intensity. “So you would have me believe that you truly do desire an alliance with the empire? If so, you have a most forgiving nature, my lord king of the English.”
“No,” Richard said, with deliberate coldness, “I do not. What I do have, my lord emperor, is the ability to separate the sheep from the goats. You have not given me reason to think kindly of you. Under other circumstances, I’d be nursing a grudge till my last mortal breath. But the grievances I have against you are no match for the wrongs done me by that Judas on the French throne.”
“Yes, you made it rather clear at Speyer that you’ve no fondness for Philippe Capet. But even so—”
“You do not know the half of it! His treachery began well before we reached the Holy Land. When I seized Messina after the citizens rioted, Philippe offered to fight with Tancred against the English. I saw his letter myself. Yet even as he was betraying me behind my back, he was insisting that the French flag be flown over Messina once it was taken so he could share in the spoils. He then dared to demand half of my sister’s dowry!”
Richard rose to his feet so quickly that his guards reacted with alarm, hands dropping to sword hilts. “Then in Outremer, he did all he could to make sure our holy war would end in failure. He abandoned the Almighty and his own allies and would have taken the French army with him had they not valued their oaths more than he did. But the Bishop of Beauvais and the Duke of Burgundy did his dirty work for him, sabotaging me at every turn, whilst Philippe tried to get the Pope to absolve him of his promise not to attack my lands as long as I was in the Holy Land. Last year he would have invaded Normandy if his lords had not balked. For those crimes alone, I’d see the bastard burn in Hell for a thousand years!”
It was a great relief to let his rage blaze up like this, to be able to speak the absolute truth for the first time in months. “And that only takes us through God’s Year, 1192,” he said bitterly. “Since then, Philippe and his lapdog Beauvais have done their best to destroy my reputation and my honor, with remarkable success. He has seduced my lack-witted brother into treason and even as we speak, a French army is laying waste to my duchy of Normandy. And as if that were not enough, he is now pressuring you to hand me over so he can cast me into a Paris dungeon. He’d not even have the decency to make my death a quick one. No, he’d want me to suffer . . . and all for what? Because I am twice the man that sniveling, cockless milksop could ever hope to be!”
They’d all been riveted by his outburst and when he finally paused for breath, Markward and Conrad grinned and applauded, while Heinrich summoned up another of his chilly smiles, saying dryly, “You really do not like the man, do you?”
“Can you blame me?” Richard reclaimed his seat and finished his wine in several gulps. His face was still flushed and his breathing uneven, for he’d not feigned his anger. To convince Heinrich, he knew he’d have to show passion that none could doubt, hatred hot enough to make it credible that he could overlook these months of captivity and humiliation, even Trifels Castle. For it was not enough that Heinrich agreed to let him try to make peace with the rebels. Even success would not be enough. Ending the rebellion was no guarantee of his safety, not with a man who knew no more of gratitude than he did of honor. Heinrich had to believe that his long-term interests lay with England, not France.
Heinrich signaled for a servant to refill Richard’s wine cup. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll set up a meeting for you with the rebels.”
“You will need to offer genuine concessions,” Richard warned. “You must make it worth their while to end the rebellion. Are you willing to do that?” Dietrich frowned, obviously not liking that he dared to speak so bluntly to the emperor. But he could display the silver-tongued eloquence of God’s own angels and it would count for naught if Heinrich would not offer terms the rebels could accept.
Heinrich did not reply at once. “Yes, I am willing,” he said at last. “I want this over and done with.” He smiled then, again without humor. “If you can make this happen . . . Well, let’s just say that you hold your fate now in your own hands.”
Richard smiled, too, for although it was clearly meant as a threat, it was not one to unnerve him. He’d held his fate in his own hands every time he’d ridden out onto a battlefield.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MAY 1193
Frankfurt, Germany
It took over a fortnight to make the arrangements for the peace conference, as the rebels insisted that the emperor provide hostages as guarantees of their safety. It was eventually agreed upon that Richard would meet them at the imperial palace in Frankfurt while Heinrich took up residence at the castle of Hanau, ten miles away. Accompanied by his clerk, Fulk de Poitiers, his chaplain, Anselm, and his ever-present guards, Richard reached the riverside city on the last day of May. Several hours later a commotion in the inner court indicated the arrival of the rebel lords. Soon afterward, his door flew open and before the guards could react, his nephew burst into the chamber and embraced him exuberantly.
“Uncle, how glad I am to see you!”
Richard was very glad to see Henrik, too. It had been three years since they’d last met and the young man had matured considerably in that time. No longer a gangling clean-shaven youth of seventeen, he was several inches taller and now boasted a well-trimmed golden beard, for he was the only one of Tilda’s children to inherit her fair coloring. He’d returned to Saxony with his parents when their exile ended, but he’d spent enough time in the Angevin domains to form close ties with his mother’s family. He at once launched into an indignant attack upon Richard’s gaoler, assuring him that most Germans were shamed by the emperor’s outrageous maltreatment of a man under the protection of Holy Church.
“What of your father, lad? Is he here, too?”
“No, he refused to come. He said he’d sooner sup with the Devil than talk peace with a Hohenstaufen.”
Richard’s brother-in-law known as Der Löwe—the lion—had once been the most powerful of all the German lords, Duke of Saxony and Bavaria, a force to be reckoned with. But his feuding with the Hohenstaufens had proved catastrophic for his House. He’d been disgraced, exiled, and stripped of his titles and duchies. Richard could understand his bitterness. It did not make sense to him, though, for Heinrich der Löwe to hold out if all of his allies made peace with their hated enemy.
Henrik apparently didn’t think so, either, for h
e said with a sigh, “I tried to convince him that he should at least hear what the emperor is offering. He was not willing to listen—to Heinrich or to me.” His smile was rueful. “He has yet another grievance against the emperor now. I’ve been plight-trothed since childhood to Heinrich’s first cousin. Agnes is the only child of Heinrich’s uncle Konrad, the Count Palatine of the Rhine, so it was a brilliant match, and when he lost his duchies, my father took consolation from that, often saying that at least he did not have to worry about my future. Well, the marriage was forbidden by Heinrich, who wants to wed Agnes to Duke Ludwig of Bavaria. I admit I was very disappointed. Not only is Agnes a great heiress, she has a smile like a sunrise and we’ve always gotten along very well. But my father took it harder than I did. He hates the Hohenstaufens even more than you do, Uncle.”
“No one hates them more than I do,” Richard protested, with such mock outrage that Henrik laughed. “Does your father know you’ve come to the peace conference?”
A King's Ransom Page 32
