A King's Ransom

by Sharon Kay Penman

  ELEANOR READ MEN WELL and as Archbishop Adolf made his way across the crowded hall of the imperial palace in Speyer, she felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the snow on the ground or the icy snap in the air. She had only a limited knowledge of Latin and no German, but he spoke surprisingly good French, albeit with a strong accent. “The emperor has delayed the king’s release, Madame. It is now set for February 2 in Mainz.”

  Eleanor shook her eyes briefly, feeling every one of her sixty-nine years at that moment. But even worse was to come.

  “Nor will you be permitted to see your son, Madame. Heinrich has given orders that you are to continue on to Mainz.”

  Eleanor raised her chin, straightening her shoulders. “I would speak with the emperor and as soon as possible.”

  “Heinrich is not here in Speyer. He has been at Würzburg all month, holding an Imperial Diet, and will not be at Mainz for at least a fortnight. Moreover, he has summoned me to join him in Würzburg and so I will be unable to accompany you to Mainz.”

  Eleanor stared at the two archbishops, seeing her fear on their faces. Heinrich already had most of the ransom and now he had the hostages, too. What if he still refused to set Richard free? She’d not realized she’d begun to shiver until her grandson Otto whipped off his mantle and gallantly draped it around her shoulders. The gesture well-nigh broke her heart. Wilhelm had been born in England and Otto had been only five when their parents had taken refuge at the English court. Even if all went as it ought, she’d be leaving her grandsons in a land that was foreign to them, in the hands of a man who knew no more of honor than a bandit or a Barbary pirate. And if all went horribly wrong, what would befall them then?

  AFTER SOME OF THE MOST STRESSFUL DAYS and sleepless nights of her life, what Eleanor had been so desperately awaiting finally happened. On Candlemas Eve, her son arrived at the imperial palace at Mainz.

  They all were eager to see the king, but the first small group to be escorted to Richard’s chamber was restricted to Eleanor, the Archbishop of Rouen, and his nephews, Otto and Wilhelm. Richard was waiting with Longchamp, Fulk, Anselm, Baldwin de Bethune, Morgan, Guillain, and young Arne. As she came through the doorway, Eleanor’s eyes were already stinging and she saw her son through a blur of tears. She’d last seen him nigh on three years ago, standing on the quays at Messina with Joanna and Berengaria, waving as her ship slowly edged out into the harbor. She was not reassured by what she saw now, for he looked like a man who’d been shut away from the sun, a man who’d lost a noticeable amount of weight, a man who’d been living on nerves for far too long. But then he smiled and, as he embraced her, she marveled that it had taken her most of her life to understand that the strongest, most enduring love was that of a mother for her children.

  “Philippe was a fool to wager against you.” Laughing, Richard hugged her again, but then he bent his head to murmur for her ear alone, “Sixteen years—how did you ever survive it, Maman?” telling her with those few simple words all she needed to know about his time as Heinrich’s prisoner.

  Richard greeted the archbishop next and then turned his attention to nine-year-old Wilhelm and sixteen-year-old Otto, pretending to believe that they could not possibly be his nephews. They were much too tall, he insisted, making them laugh and easing any awkwardness they may have felt. But they truly did look like strangers to him, for four years was an eternity in the realm of childhood, and that cheeky five-year-old and solemn twelve-year-old lived only in his memories now. Would his own son seem so unfamiliar, too?

  “Ask him,” Wilhelm urged, and Otto did. “Uncle . . . the German lords and bishops have been arriving all week. Whilst we knew our father would stay away, we hoped our brother would be at Mainz. But he ought to have been here by now. Henrik is not coming, is he?”

  “No, Otto, he is not,” Richard said reluctantly. “Henrik is not in the emperor’s good graces at the moment. You see, lads, your brother managed to steal his bride right out from under Heinrich’s nose.”

  Wilhelm looked puzzled, but Otto smiled. “You mean he was able to wed Agnes after all? I thought the emperor had forbidden the match.”

  “He did, indeed. But he was outwitted by an eighteen-year-old lass with a mind of her own.” Seeing that Wilhelm was still confused, Richard explained that Henrik had been betrothed since childhood to Agnes, the only child of Konrad, the Count Palatine of the Rhineland, Heinrich’s uncle. That betrothal had been a casualty, though, of the feuding between their father and the Hohenstaufens.

  “Heinrich wanted Agnes to marry Ludwig, the Duke of Bavaria. Although she’d been balking, she’d probably have been compelled to yield eventually. But then Heinrich had an offer for her from the French king. Philippe had gotten his puppet princes and bishops to annul his marriage to the unfortunate Ingeborg. You know about her?”

  Richard laughed when they both nodded; if even children like Wilhelm had heard of Philippe’s marital follies, he’d never live that scandal down. “Well, now that he was in the market for a new wife, he cast eyes in Agnes’s direction. I am not sure Heinrich would have agreed, for I cannot see him wanting Philippe to have any claim to the Palatine. But the marriage proposal horrified Agnes’s mother. She asked Agnes if she was willing to wed the French king and Agnes said no very emphatically, declaring she would never marry the man who’d treated Ingeborg so cruelly. When she confided that the only one she wanted to marry was Henrik, her mother took action.”

  Glancing toward Eleanor, he said, with a smile, “If I did not know better, I’d think this admirable lady was kin to you, Maman. She sent word secretly to Henrik and, as soon as her husband was away, she summoned him to their castle at Stahleck, where Henrik and Agnes were quickly wed. Konrad was not happy once he found out, and Heinrich was furious. But when he insisted that Konrad have the marriage annulled, Konrad refused, saying that would bring disgrace upon his daughter.”

  Otto was very pleased for his brother, knowing how much he’d wanted Agnes as his wife. But it made him uneasy to think of Henrik as the object of the emperor’s cold, implacable anger. “Do you think Heinrich will accept the marriage in time, Uncle?”

  “His first reaction was to blame me for it all.” Although Richard laughed, Eleanor and the archbishop did not, wondering if this clandestine marriage could be the reason why his release had suddenly been postponed. They were somewhat reassured by what Richard said next. “But now that Konrad is supporting the marriage, there is not much Heinrich can do about it. That is why he is holding an Imperial Diet at Würzburg, to discuss the marriage. I think the chances are good that he’ll grudgingly come around to an acceptance of it.”

  There was a discreet knock at the door then, reminding them that there were many others waiting to pay their respects to their king, and he nodded to Morgan, who crossed the chamber to let in the next group. Richard was delighted to see William de St Mère-Eglise, who said that Hubert Walter had wanted to come, too, but since Richard had just named him as the chief justiciar, he’d realized he was more urgently needed in England. Eleanor now brought forward a dark, handsome youth of seventeen, introducing him as Berengaria’s brother Fernando. When Richard thanked him for becoming a hostage, he grinned and said he was glad to get away from his father and elder brother’s constant scrutiny. Richard was not sure if his insouciance was due to his youth or to his nature; Berengaria had said Fernando was the family jester, cheerful and carefree to a fault.

  Richard hated turning over any hostages to Heinrich’s mercies, but it was easier to accept for soldiers like his admiral, Robert de Turnham, who’d just entered the chamber, or Robert de Hargrave, who’d been one of the twenty who’d accompanied him to Hell and back. It was much more difficult to watch the innocent nonchalance of youngsters like Fernando, Otto, and Wilhelm. However often he reminded himself that hostages were an integral part of any peace process, frequently offered up as pledges for good behavior and promises given, he knew in his heart that this was different, for Heinrich recognized no moral bou
ndaries.

  He’d just greeted the Abbot of Croyland when he noticed the man standing against the wall by the door, watching the commotion with the wry detachment of a spectator at a Christmas play. Weaving his way through the throng encircling him, Richard came to a halt in front of his cousin. “Why are you lurking in the shadows like this? You’ve always been the first into the breach.”

  André shrugged. “I knew you’d ask why I’d want to make a journey to Germany, of all places, and in the dead of winter, too. I was trying to think of a convincing answer.”

  “If you can come up with a good reason for visiting Germany, I’d be most interested in hearing it.”

  They embraced, then, finding to their mutual embarrassment that they were both blinking back tears. André tried to steer them away from these emotional shoals and into the safer waters of sarcasm, banter, and flippancy by saying huskily, “See what happens when I’m not around to keep you out of trouble?”

  “I’ll teach you to say ‘I told you so’ in German,” Richard promised and they laughed, relieved that they were on familiar ground again.

  Eleanor had followed Richard, marveling, as always, at the male inability to speak the language of the heart. “One day I hope to understand why men see sentiment as the ultimate enemy,” she said dryly, “but I’ll not be holding my breath until it happens.” She was very pleased when Richard put his arm around her shoulders, for she needed the physical proof of his presence after so many months of fearing she would never see him again. “Richard, do you think Henrik’s marriage could be the reason why Heinrich has delayed your release?”

  “I suppose it is possible, Maman. This could be his way of punishing me for it. Or he might simply like keeping me in suspense for a while longer. Heinrich enjoys other people’s pain. Or he could have an ugly surprise awaiting us.”

  For a moment, Richard could not help thinking of Trifels Castle, and as he looked down into his mother’s face, he knew she was remembering Trifels, too. She’d aged visibly in the time they’d been apart, but he suspected it was this past year that had etched those lines in her forehead and smudged such dark shadows under her eyes. He’d always appreciated her strength and her resilience and her unerring ability to separate the wheat from the chaff. Now he regarded her with something approaching awe, having gotten a taste of what she’d endured as his father’s prisoner, not knowing if she’d ever regain her freedom. Little wonder that one of her first acts had been to issue an amnesty for those languishing in English prisons, saying she’d learned by experience that confinement was distasteful to mankind and liberty a most delightful refreshment to the spirit. Realizing that she’d been a prisoner, too, during the months he’d been in Heinrich’s power, he hugged her again, gently, for she seemed alarmingly fragile.

  It never occurred to him to lie to her, though, or to offer false reassurances, and so he said, “Well, whatever Heinrich has in mind, we’ll find out on the morrow.”

  CONSTANCE WAS NOT SURPRISED when Heinrich sat up in bed; he never stayed the night after he’d claimed his marital rights. She was usually very glad to see him go, but now she reached out and touched his arm. “Heinrich . . . may I ask you something? Why did you delay the English king’s release? It has stirred much talk at court.”

  “Has it?” He yawned, idly winding a strand of her long, blond hair around his hand. His natural instinct was for secrecy, but he saw no reason not to indulge her curiosity since all would know on the morrow. “I needed time to consider a new proposal by the French king and the Count of Mortain. They are desperate to keep Richard caged, so much so that they are offering a large sum of money to make that happen. They vow that if I will hold Richard for another eight months—past the campaigning season—Philippe will pay me fifty thousand silver marks and John thirty thousand. Or they will pay me a thousand pounds of silver for every month that he remains my prisoner. Or if I will agree either to turn him over to them or to imprison him for another year, they will match the full amount of Richard’s ransom, one hundred fifty thousand marks.”

  Constance was thankful for the darkness that kept him from seeing her horror or her revulsion. When she was sure she could trust her voice, she said, “I do not understand. Why would you forfeit the English ransom, which is already here, in favor of mere promises of future payment?”

  “That is the beauty of it. I would still get Richard’s ransom, for he’d be even more eager to pay for his freedom after another year of captivity. And I’d also have John and Philippe’s money, which I’d not have to share with Leopold. So you can see why this is a deal well worth considering.”

  “What . . . what have you decided to do?”

  “That will depend upon Richard. If he agrees to sweeten the ransom, all will go as planned. If he balks, I will give serious thought to accepting one of their offers, most likely holding him until Michaelmas. Although that thousand pounds of silver per month is tempting, I admit.”

  Constance was speechless. As well as she’d thought she knew him, she was staggered by this. Did he truly believe that the English and French kings were mere pawns, to be moved around on the chessboard at his will? Did he not care that his duplicity would make his name a byword for the worst sort of treachery? “But I thought you wanted Richard as an ally.”

  “Well, ‘ally’ is too strong a term. Let’s just say we have a shared interest in Philippe’s downfall. And that will not change even if I do hold him until Michaelmas, for however much he may resent me for it, his hatred for Philippe burns far hotter. He’ll have no choice but to make common cause with me against France.”

  She said nothing, for there was no reasoning with a man who recognized no needs but his own. She did not doubt that God would eventually call him to account for his sins, but that day of divine reckoning could be years in the future. She felt sympathy for the English king. Even if he had recognized the usurper Tancred, he did not deserve what had happened to him in Germany. But her greatest fear was for her beloved homeland. She’d always known Heinrich would rule Sicily harshly. Until tonight, though, she’d not realized what a thin line separated arrogance from delusion. She could not remember their names, but she was sure there had been emperors in Ancient Rome who’d come to believe they were gods, not mortal men. What would happen to the Sicilians if they found themselves under the power of a madman?

  She was so caught up in her misery that she did not even notice when Heinrich left. She lay awake as the hours dragged by till dawn, dreading the day to come and damning her nephew for dooming her to this Hell on earth, shackled to a husband she hated.

  AS SOON AS RICHARD ENTERED the great hall, he was surrounded by men eager to speak with him. Eleanor was surprised and impressed by the warmth of their welcome. Clearly Richard had done more than make allies amongst the rebel barons: he’d made friends, too. She already knew Adolf von Altena and Conrad von Wittelsbach, the Archbishop of Mainz. Richard had told her they were the two most powerful prelates in Germany, and it was comforting to know they both were so firmly on her son’s side. She was introduced to the dukes of Brabant and Limburg and to Simon, the seventeen-year-old Bishop-elect of Liege; she wondered how he felt about stepping into his murdered cousin’s shoes or becoming a prince of the Church at such an absurdly young age. But she had no time to talk with him, for the crowd was parting to admit the Marquis of Montferrat into the circle.

  She’d met Boniface three years ago during her chance encounter at Lodi with Heinrich and Constance, and he greeted her as if they were old and dear friends. She’d liked him, for she’d always had an eye for a handsome, charming man, but what mattered now was that he greeted Richard so amicably, for his cordiality was in itself a rebuttal for any who might still suspect Richard of complicity in Conrad of Montferrat’s murder. Not even the most cynical of souls believed Boniface would embrace the English king if he harbored any doubts about his innocence; Boniface was known to be a more honorable man than his slain brother.

  Boniface was one of Heinrich’s
most important vassals and so she asked if he’d heard why the emperor had delayed Richard’s release. He seemed to think it was a minor matter, the delay most likely caused by the Imperial Diet just concluded at Wurzberg. He did have good news about that, he said cheerfully. The emperor had agreed to accept his cousin Agnes’s marriage to her grandson Henrik, and he had also promised to restore Henrik to royal favor. Eleanor hoped this was an omen that the day’s events would go well for them.

  Richard had been talking with the Duke of Brabant, who was also in the dark about the reason for the postponement, but he stopped in midsentence and touched Eleanor’s arm warningly. She tensed, thinking that Heinrich had entered the hall. But the man approaching them was the Duke of Austria.

  He greeted Richard with courtesy so correct it was almost painful, and when Richard introduced his mother, he bowed stiffly over her hand. Eleanor yearned to slap him with it, but she smiled instead, for she’d had decades of practice in hiding her real feelings. The conversation was awkward, for Leopold was obviously uncomfortable, and while Richard was polite, that was as far as he was willing to go. The Austrian duke made his escape as soon as he could, and as he walked hastily away, Richard said quietly to Eleanor, “Leopold is in a foul mood because he knows that when the hunt for scapegoats begins, it will occur in Austria, not Germany. Not only is Leopold sure to be excommunicated, he’ll be waiting years, mayhap decades, to get his full share of the ransom from Heinrich.”

  They were speaking in the lenga romana of Aquitaine and, not having to worry about eavesdroppers, Eleanor felt free to ask whom he blamed more, Heinrich or Leopold. He answered so quickly that she knew he’d given this some thought. “Leopold had a legitimate grievance; I’ll admit that now. Not that it justified what he did. I still gave him the chance to end it honorably. I even offered to pay him a ransom. But he did not have the backbone to defy Heinrich, so he deserves all the misery that is coming his way. When it comes to tallying up sins, though, his are venial; Heinrich’s are mortal.”