A King's Ransom

by Sharon Kay Penman

  “Does he, indeed?”

  “So he says. He even offered to provide aid to Richard in order to ‘avenge the injuries done by Philippe to both of them.’ Those were his very words. I daresay you can imagine what Richard’s were.”

  Eleanor called Heinrich a name that caused John to regard her in surprised admiration; he had no idea that her command of invective was so extensive. “What does Richard intend to do?”

  “He’s already done it. I have to admit that he came up with a clever ploy. He sent Longchamp to Germany with instructions to find out exactly what aid Heinrich means to offer. Since he cannot openly defy Heinrich as long as his hostages are in peril, that buys him some time whilst the French king’s fears grow by the hour.” John’s smile was gleefully malicious. “Richard said we’d see the sun rise at midnight ere Heinrich would actually commit troops to a war against the French, that he wants Richard to fight his war for him. But Philippe does not seem to know Heinrich as well as Richard does, for one of our spies at the French court sent word that Philippe had panicked at the thought of an English-German alliance aimed at France. He even tried to capture Longchamp as he passed through France, to no avail. So Heinrich’s outrageous interference can be forgiven if it robs the French king of some sleep.”

  Eleanor knew better. By now she understood that each time Richard was reminded of his past helplessness, it lacerated anew a wound that had yet to heal. “Heinrich is remarkably heavy-handed for one supposed to be so clever. Why push for what was already sure to happen? All know the truce between Richard and Philippe was as fragile as a cobweb, to be blown away by a breath.”

  “Well, actually, there is a chance that they might make a genuine truce in light of the word from Spain.” Seeing that she hadn’t yet heard, he smiled, for it was always enjoyable to be the bearer of momentous news. He did not consider it all that alarming himself, but he knew that others did, and he quickly explained that the Caliph of Morocco had invaded the Spanish kingdoms and her son-in-law, the King of Castile, had suffered a great defeat at the battle of Alarcos. English and French prelates at once set up a clamor, arguing that Christian kings ought not to be fighting each other now that Spain was endangered by infidel Saracens.

  “Richard was willing to heed them,” he said, sounding faintly surprised. That was no surprise at all to Eleanor, for she well knew how guilty Richard felt that his war with the French was keeping him from honoring his sworn oath to return to the Holy Land and wrest Jerusalem from Saladin’s sons.

  “I doubt that Philippe gives a fig for the fate of Castile,” John continued, “but he has come under intense pressure from the French Church and he is already in papal disgrace over the Ingeborg scandal. Nor does he want to seem less concerned about the infidel threat than Richard. So ‘peace talks’ are being held this week, and I hear that the bishops are pushing for a marriage between Philippe’s son, Louis, and Aenor, who is conveniently available again since she did not have to wed Leopold’s son. But it remains to be seen how long any such peace will last. Brother Richard will never rest until he reclaims every single castle that he lost to Philippe during his imprisonment, and Philippe . . . Well, that one lusts after Normandy the way other men lust after women.”

  Eleanor agreed. Any peace between Richard and Philippe would be fleeting at best. Yet a marriage that would one day make Aenor Queen of France was not a bad match. Even Constance might be satisfied with that. Meanwhile, she vowed to write that day to her daughter in far-off Castile. But what troubled her even more than the Saracen invasion of Spain was Heinrich’s arrogant intrusion again into her son’s life.

  That evening she went alone to the abbey church. Kneeling before the altar, she offered up prayers for the souls of her husband and the children claimed by Death before their time. And then she prayed that God would punish the German emperor as he deserved, prayed that he would suffer as Leopold had suffered. She did not doubt that her confessor would consider such a prayer to be blasphemous, for she knew what Scriptures said about forgiveness: If ye forgive men their trespasses, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you. She knew what Jesus had said when Peter asked how often he must forgive his brother who’d sinned against him: I say not unto thee until seven times, but until seventy times seven. But Scriptures also said, As wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God. And who was as wicked as a man who’d dared to lay hands upon a king who’d taken the cross?

  TO THE SURPRISE OF MANY, Richard and Philippe’s envoys agreed upon a peace, contingent upon the marriage of Philippe’s eight-year-old son and Richard’s eleven-year-old niece. As Richard had to consult with his ally the German emperor, a truce was declared until November 8, at which time the treaty would be finalized. One immediate result of the truce was the return of the Lady Alys to the custody of her brother, the French king, twenty-six years after she’d been sent to Henry’s court at the age of nine.

  PHILIPPE HAD OFTEN WISHED he’d been an only child, for his sisters had brought him nothing but vexation. Marie and Alix had been much older than he, tainted by Eleanor’s blood; Marie had even allied herself with his enemies in the early years of his reign. His youngest sister, Agnes, had been sent to Constantinople to wed the Greek emperor’s son at age eight; her eleven-year-old husband succeeded to the throne later that year, only to be overthrown and murdered by an ambitious cousin, who’d then forced Agnes to wed him. While Philippe had sympathized with her misfortunes, there was nothing he could do for her. But her maltreatment would later prove to be a source of embarrassment, for he knew men compared his lack of action with Richard’s rescue of his sister Joanna in Sicily, and he was convinced that Richard had deliberately made so much of Joanna’s plight just to make him look bad.

  But Alys had been the most troublesome of his sisters by far. Henry kept finding reasons to delay her marriage to Richard, which was frustrating in and of itself. But then the rumors had begun to circulate that Henry was balking because he’d taken Alys into his bed. Philippe was never sure if the gossip was true or not. From all he’d heard, Henry had gone through life like a stag in rut, but he was far from a fool, and seducing a French princess who was his own son’s betrothed would have been quite mad. Philippe had recognized a golden opportunity to make good use of these rumors, though, for he’d been seeking to estrange Richard from his father, just as he’d done with Richard’s brothers. So he’d seen to it that Richard heard the stories, sure that would keep Richard from reconciling with Henry as he’d so often done in the past. Instead, Richard had turned that weapon against him after becoming king, declaring that he could not wed a woman who was reputed to be his father’s concubine.

  Four years after their confrontation in Messina, Philippe still fumed at the memory, one of the most mortifying moments of his life. His alliance with Richard had always been a precarious one, for they were too unlike for a genuine friendship. But it was not until Richard’s rejection of Alys that his hatred of the English king had become so intense, so all-consuming. And although he realized it was unfair, some of his anger had spilled over onto Alys, too, a living symbol of the way those accursed Angevins had mocked and shamed the French Crown. He’d continued to press for her return, of course. But now what was he going to do with her?

  PHILIPPE WAS STANDING IN front of his command tent, watching the horizon for the telltale dust cloud that would herald the approach of his sister’s escort. His bodyguards hovered nearby, but gave him space, aware of his preoccupied mood. The Bishop of Beauvais showed no such sensitivity, strolling over to say with a grin, “Soon now, eh? I suppose it would be rude to ask her outright if she’d been bedded by the old king.”

  “It would,” Philippe said tersely. He was grateful to his cousin for all he’d done to make life difficult for Richard in the Holy Land and for helping to rid him of Ingeborg. He also valued the bishop as a superb soldier, more at home on the battlefield than behind an altar. But Beauvais’s sense of humor could be a trial at times.

  �
�I was jesting, Cousin,” Beauvais said mildly, although he could not keep from rolling his eyes, thinking Philippe would not recognize a joke if he fell over one in the road. “The best place to hide an embarrassment is behind convent walls. I can suggest several nunneries if you’d like.”

  “That will not be necessary. I decided that marriage would be a better solution than having her take holy vows.”

  “Good luck finding a husband for her. Whether she was Henry’s concubine or not, she’s still damaged goods and well past her youth.”

  “As it happens, I’ve already found one.” Philippe permitted himself a faint, satisfied smile. “Guillaume, the Count of Ponthieu.”

  “Ponthieu? How’d you manage that? She’s old enough to be his mother!”

  “She is also the sister of the French king. And I promised him that I’d give her the county of Eu and the castle at Arques as her marriage portion, which he found very appealing.”

  “I daresay he did. But I thought you agreed to renounce any claim to Eu and Arques as part of the peace terms with Richard.”

  Philippe shrugged. “It must have slipped my mind.”

  Beauvais laughed. “I’m considered the cynic in the family, but I think you could give me lessons, Cousin!”

  Philippe’s brows drew together, for he did not see his actions as cynical. He was merely doing what had to be done, what was best for France. And if Alys failed to give Ponthieu an heir and his lands then escheated to the Crown, so much the better. Just then a shout warned of approaching riders. “Stay to welcome her with me,” he instructed the other man. “I was four years old when she was sent off to the Angevin court, so she is a stranger to me in all but blood. I just hope I can recognize her.”

  “I can help with that,” Beauvais said as the escort came into view. “There are only three women. One is too old to be Alys and the other one is too plain. Look at that receding chin and small, pinched mouth. Can you see Henry lusting after her? No, the pretty lass in the green mantle must be your sister and my cousin.”

  He was proven to be right a few moments later as the women were assisted to dismount. As soon as Alys was out of her sidesaddle, she sank down in a graceful curtsy, saying, “My lord king.” Philippe was disconcerted by what she did next, though. Casting propriety to the winds, she flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Brother, I am so happy to be home!”

  He patted her shoulder. “I am glad you are home, too, Alys.” When he introduced her to their cousin, she pleased Beauvais by curtsying again and kissing his ring respectfully. An awkward silence fell then, broken only when Philippe said briskly, “You must be hungry. There is a meal waiting for you in my tent.”

  They’d been joined by several of his lords and he gave Mathieu de Montmorency the honor of escorting Alys and her attendants into the tent. Beauvais hung back to murmur that Ponthieu was luckier than he deserved, for Alys seemed biddable and looked years younger than thirty-five. Philippe thought she acted younger, too, and wondered if that was because she’d been living for so long like a bird in a gilded cage, of the world but not really in it.

  The dinner went better than Philippe had expected, in great measure due to Mathieu de Montmorency’s gallantry, for he devoted all his attention to Alys and did not let the conversation lag. Philippe was nonetheless relieved when the meal was done, for in truth, he and Alys had very little to say to each other. He certainly had no interest in hearing her talk of the years she’d passed as a betrothed/hostage/political pawn.

  Alys seemed disappointed when Philippe announced abruptly that he’d escort her to the tent that had been set up for her use, but she made no protest and he thought that Beauvais was right about her being biddable, which was in her favor. Accompanied by Beauvais, Mathieu, Druon de Mello, and several other lords, they attracted a lot of attention, for all were curious about the king’s sister, who was both unfortunate and infamous. After she expressed pleasure at the tent’s furnishings, Philippe gave her an obligatory kiss on the cheek, saying she should get a good night’s rest, for they were leaving for Mantes in the morning.

  “Mantes?” Alys sounded puzzled and he realized she knew nothing of French geography. “Is that on the way to Paris, Brother? I am eager to see it again, for I confess my memories have grown dim over time.”

  Best to get it over with. “Well, I am sure that your husband will be happy to take you to Paris, Sister.”

  “Husband?” She looked as bewildered as a child, and he felt a dart of discomfort.

  “Yes, I am delighted to tell you that I’ve made a fine match for you. At Mantes, you are to be wed to the Count of Ponthieu.”

  “Who?”

  “You will be very pleased with him, Alys,” Philippe assured her. “He is highborn, handsome, young . . .” That caused Beauvais to chortle, which Philippe deliberately ignored. Leaning over, he kissed Alys quickly on the cheek again. “Unfortunately, I cannot remain with you any longer. But I know you must have many questions about your husband-to-be, and our cousin will be happy to stay and answer them for you.”

  Beauvais did not think that was so amusing. Before he or the stunned Alys could object, Philippe bowed over her hand and lifted the tent flap, a slight smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. Let Beauvais be the one to tell her she’d be wedding a stripling not yet seventeen.

  LONGCHAMP RETURNED FROM HIS trip to the imperial court in late October. Heinrich had not been pleased by the prospect of peace, he reported, but he brought Richard further proof that, despite his reputation for tactless and arrogant behavior, he could be both diplomatic and persuasive on his king’s behalf. He’d managed to convince Heinrich that he and Richard were natural allies against the French, but only if he stopped making threats and offered instead a gesture of good faith. Much to Richard’s surprise, Longchamp had talked Heinrich into agreeing to release some of his hostages and to remit the remaining seventeen thousand marks of his ransom as recompense for what he’d lost to the French king during his captivity. With his chancellor basking in the glow of his successful mission, Richard prepared to meet Philippe to ratify a peace treaty that neither king expected to be long-lasting.

  RICHARD AROSE EARLY ON the morning of November 8, as the conference was to begin at nine o’clock. Soon after they left camp, they were met by the Archbishop of Reims, the French king’s uncle, who explained that Philippe was still consulting with his council and wished to delay the meeting for a few hours. Richard returned to his camp to wait, but as the afternoon dragged on, he lost patience and ordered his men to saddle up.

  The French tents were in sight when the men saw horsemen coming out to meet them. Richard’s jaw muscles tightened when he recognized the lead rider, possibly the one man he loathed more than the French king. The Bishop of Beauvais reined in his stallion, calling out abruptly, “There is no need to proceed any farther. My master the French king will not be meeting with you, for he charges you with breach of faith and perjury. You gave him your sworn word that you would be here at the third hour of the day and it is now the ninth hour.”

  Richard and his men had listened, incredulous. Several started to argue, pointing out that they’d been delayed by Philippe’s own uncle, but Richard held up a hand for silence. “Tell the French king that he did not have to go to such ludicrous lengths to repudiate the peace talks. If he wants war, I am quite willing to accommodate him.”

  Instead of turning around, though, he rode straight toward the bishop, whose hand dropped instinctively to the hilt of his sword. For a long moment, Richard stared at the other man. “One of these days, Beauvais, your luck is going to run out. You’re going to meet me, not in a German dungeon or at a peace conference, but on the battlefield.”

  The bishop was not intimidated. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said with a sneer.

  Richard’s teeth bared in what was not a smile. “Then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought,” he said, and so much hatred flashed between the two men that several of those watching made ready to intervene if
need be. But Richard was willing to wait, so sure was he that a day of reckoning was coming. He was grateful to God for striking down Leopold of Austria and he hoped that Heinrich would also suffer divine retribution. He intended, though, to deal with the French king and the Bishop of Beauvais himself.

  RICHARD WAS NOT LONG in learning why Philippe had subverted the peace talks. Two days later, the French king led six hundred knights in a spectacular raid upon the port of Dieppe, which Richard had recovered earlier in the summer. Philippe and his men destroyed the town and used Greek fire to set the ships in the harbor alight. Richard was besieging Arques Castle when he heard of the Dieppe attack. Leaving the siege, he set off in pursuit and caught up with the French as they passed through thick woods. He and his men bloodied Philippe’s rearguard, but once again the French king eluded him.

  RICHARD DID NOT UNDERSTAND why his sleep was still so disturbed and fitful nigh on twenty months after he’d regained his freedom. He continued to be haunted by bad dreams that seemed to have their own reality, so vivid and intense were they, and he’d learned to rely upon Arne to rescue him from the horrors of his own imagination. When he was awakened now by a hand gently touching his shoulder, he jerked upright in the bed, his eyes searching Arne’s face. “What—was I having another of those accursed dreams?”

  The youth quickly shook his head. “No, sire. One of the garrison of Issoudun Castle has ridden in, insisting he must see you straightaway.”

  “Fetch him,” Richard directed, relieved that he’d not been revisiting Trifels Castle this night. After every nightmare, he hoped that it would be the last one, and those hopes would rise as time passed. Eventually, though, the dreams always came back.

  It was late November and his bedchamber at Vaudreuil Castle was cold, the brazier of coals giving off little heat; he could see ice skimming the surface of a nearby laver of water. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, knowing an exigent message signaled the end of sleep. He was almost dressed by the time the man was ushered into the bedchamber. Richard had entrusted Issoudun Castle to Guilhem de Préaux and his brother Jean until he could choose a permanent castellan for the stronghold, and he recognized one of Guilhem’s knights.