A King's Ransom

by Sharon Kay Penman

  “When we arrived at Aumale, we saw that we were outnumbered and the French siege camp was so well entrenched that the king’s first instinct was to back away. But he felt honor-bound to do all he could for the trapped garrison, and so he led an attack on the camp, only to be driven off.”

  The women were silent, digesting this startling turn of events. “That must have been difficult for him to accept,” Berengaria said at last, in what Morgan thought was a classic understatement.

  “It was, my lady. He intends to make another attempt as soon as he gathers more troops. Whilst waiting for them, he went off to besiege Gaillon Castle, which is held by Philippe’s routier captain, Cadoc.” At that moment, he saw Mariam entering the far end of the garden and he scowled, thinking that he ought to ride away for good; why pine over a woman who did not want him?

  Mariam had halted at the sight of Morgan, and Joanna sought to dispel the sudden tension by snatching at the first topic to come to mind—the recent marriage of the French king to a German duke’s daughter, Agnes of Meran. Since the Pope had adamantly refused to recognize the divorce that Philippe had procured from the Bishop of Beauvais and other compliant French prelates, this remarriage had created almost as much of a scandal as Philippe’s repudiation of Ingeborg. Fernando and Anna had approached in time to hear Joanna’s remark and an animated discussion now ensued about Philippe, Ingeborg, and Agnes, who was acknowledged as queen only at the French court. None of them could understand why Agnes’s male relatives had been willing to make such a match, knowing she’d be viewed as Philippe’s concubine throughout the rest of Christendom. Fernando had just made a bawdy jest about Philippe and Agnes’s wedding night, earning himself a mildly reproving look from his elder sister, when a servant approached to murmur a few words in Joanna’s ear.

  “Good heavens,” she blurted out, so great was her surprise. “Mercadier has just ridden in!”

  Berengaria frowned, for she shared the view of routiers as lowborn killers. It troubled her greatly that her husband had admitted a man like Mercadier into his inner circle, that he showed the routier such favor. He was Lord of Beynac now, for Richard had given him the lands of a Périgord lord who’d died without an heir, and he’d even married into the local aristocracy, wedding the sister of the Seigneur of Lesparre. But to much of their world, he would always remain the scarred, brutal outsider, one of the Devil’s own.

  Yet there was no way they could have refused to receive him; he was Richard’s most trusted general. Berengaria and Joanna rose to their feet, waiting for him to be ushered out into the garden, wondering how he’d even known they were at Le Mans, and wondering, too, what he wanted. Morgan was of no help; all he could tell them was that Richard had sent Mercadier into Berry last month to deal with a troublesome lord. Not all of them were disconcerted by Mercadier’s unexpected arrival. Fernando was intrigued, for the routier’s notoriety had reached as far as Navarre, and Anna was excited to finally meet a man so often spoken of as the Antichrist.

  As Mercadier sauntered toward them, Joanna took the lead in making him welcome, knowing she’d be more convincing than her sister-in-law. She’d met him at Lisieux, so she knew what to expect. The other women did not and stared with morbid fascination at the livid, satanic scar and eerie, colorless eyes as opaque as stone. He bowed correctly, for he’d been in Richard’s service long enough to have any rough edges smoothed away, but Joanna thought he was a wolf masquerading as a domestic dog. “I apologize for intruding upon you, Madames,” he told the queens, “but the king’s messenger who found me in Berry said that Sir Morgan was with you in Le Mans, and I was instructed to bring him back with me.”

  “Of course,” Morgan said promptly, pleased that Richard wanted him to take part in the second attack upon the French. “Are we to meet the king at Aumale?”

  “You have not heard then? The king was wounded at the siege of Gaillon Castle.”

  There were gasps from the women and they were not reassured when Mercadier told them what little he knew—that Richard had been struck in the knee by a crossbow bolt shot from the battlements by Philippe’s routier captain, Cadoc. If infection set in, even a minor injury could quickly become life-threatening, and the wound had apparently been serious enough for Richard to summon Mercadier back from his chevauchée in Berry.

  As Joanna continued to pelt the routier with questions he could not answer, a shaken Berengaria sat down on the closest bench. She’d long feared that she’d be a young widow, yet in the past, she’d not expected to be one of the last to know. She did not hesitate, though, when Joanna said she would accompany Mercadier and Morgan on the morrow, for she knew a wife’s duty. Her place was with her husband in his time of need—whether he wanted her there or not.

  AS THEY RODE INTO the inner bailey of Vaudreuil Castle, Eleanor was standing in the doorway of the great hall, waiting to welcome them. Berengaria felt no surprise, just a weary prickle of resentment. She said nothing, but Joanna read her face easily and leaned over to murmur that Richard would not have sent for his mother. “He loathes being fussed over when he is ailing.” Berengaria knew this was true. That did not change the reality, though, that once again Eleanor had been with Richard whilst Berengaria had remained in ignorance of his injury.

  “He will be so glad to see you!” Eleanor exclaimed, and for a moment, Berengaria actually thought those words were meant for her. Then she saw that Eleanor was looking at Mercadier, and she thought bitterly that this was as good a commentary on her marriage as any, that her husband would summon his cutthroat routier to his sickbed, not his queen.

  HIS DOCTOR HAD TOLD Richard that he’d been lucky, for the crossbow bolt had embedded itself in the muscle, not the bone, which could have been crippling. He did not feel lucky, though. He was in considerable pain, as much as he tried to hide it. He was still fuming over his defeat at Aumale, and now that he was bedridden, he had too much time to brood about it. He was very worried about the fate of the castle and the garrison, and he was finding his powerlessness to be intolerable, calling up memories of his German captivity. He’d not been pleased by his mother’s arrival, and he was vexed beyond measure at having to submit to his doctor’s prodding and poking, even more frustrated by his body’s betrayal; his first attempt to leave the bed and put weight on his injured knee had sent him sprawling to the floor. But the worst was still to come. On this humid, hot August afternoon, he’d gotten word that the garrison at Aumale had been forced to surrender to the French king.

  He did not blame them; he blamed himself. He dictated a letter to Baldwin de Bethune, for he had the right to know his wife’s castle had been lost. He dispatched another messenger in search of Mercadier, who’d yet to answer his summons. And he sent a tersely worded letter to the French king, declaring that he would pay whatever ransom would be demanded for the Aumale garrison. After that, he finally fell into a shallow, troubled sleep.

  He awoke to find his doctor bending over him. “Sire, how are you feeling?”

  “Wonderful,” he said through gritted teeth, thinking that all physicians had sawdust where their brains ought to be.

  With a rustle of silken skirts, his mother approached the bed. “You have visitors.”

  “Who?” he asked warily, for he felt about as sociable as a baited bear.

  “Joanna and your wife.”

  He said nothing, for what was there to say? Why did women not understand that a man in pain wanted only to be left alone? But then Eleanor told him that Mercadier had also arrived, which was the first good news he’d gotten since he’d been wounded. While he realized Berenguela would not like it any, his need to discuss military matters with Mercadier was urgent, and he hesitated only briefly before telling her to send the routier up first.

  GUY DE THOUARS WAS one of the garrison taken prisoner at Aumale Castle, and upon his release, he rode straight to Vaudreuil to thank the king for paying the large ransom of three thousand silver marks. He was seated in the great hall, waiting to be escorted up to the ki
ng’s bedchamber, quite happy to pass the time flirting discreetly with the king’s sister. Joanna was encouraging him, for she was bored and he was attractive, with a very beguiling smile. She wondered why he’d not yet married, deciding it was probably because he was a younger brother, overshadowed by Viscount Aimery, who had inherited the family’s title and estates. She thought it a pity that he’d not been the firstborn, for he was more likable than Aimery and far more trustworthy; whilst his brother swung like a weathercock in a high wind, Guy’s loyalty to Richard had been unwavering.

  Berengaria liked Guy, too, and she was coming over to greet him when there was a stir at the doorway. Turning to see what was happening, she was dismayed by the sight of her husband hobbling into the hall, leaning heavily upon a wooden crutch. Joanna was already on her feet and while Eleanor had not risen, her eyes fastened intently upon Richard’s halting progress, almost as if she were willing each awkward step. The younger women were not as disciplined and they rushed toward Richard, entreating him to sit down, reminding him that he was not supposed to be up yet.

  “I’ve made a career of doing things I am not supposed to do,” he said, with a tight smile that turned into a grimace when he took a misstep and pain shot up his leg.

  “Sire!” Guy had been quick to comprehend what was happening, and he hastened over to drop to his knees before Richard, giving him a reason to sit. Richard did, with an alacrity that betrayed his discomfort. “I have come to thank you, my liege, for ransoming me and the other members of the garrison. I am very grateful.”

  Richard almost asked Guy if he’d thought they’d be left to rot, catching himself in time, for he’d be lashing out at the wrong target. He motioned instead for Guy to rise and then accepted the wine cup that his practical mother was pressing into his hand. His men were hurrying toward him, delighted that he was on his feet again, and the women stepped back, realizing that he’d not heed them any more than he’d heeded his doctor. In less than a month, he’d mark his thirty-ninth birthday, and he was not going to change his ways at this point in his life.

  RICHARD WAS STUDYING PLANS for his new castle at Andely when a message arrived coincidentally from the Archbishop of Rouen. When he swore after reading the letter, Eleanor came to his side; she knew better than to interfere in military matters, but this was a political problem. He did not object as she reached for the letter and read it for herself. It was not good; the infuriated archbishop was threatening to put Normandy under Interdict if Richard did not return Andely to him.

  “What do you mean to do?”

  “Nothing. If he is rash enough to carry out the threat, so be it. I’ll appeal to the Pope. My offer for Andely was more than generous. Dieppe alone is worth far more than those river tolls.”

  That would not have been the way Eleanor would have handled it, but she was not the one determined to build a castle at Andely. He’d insisted that it would change the balance of power along the Norman border, for it would cut off French access to Rouen and provide a base for attacks upon Philippe’s castles in the Vexin. He meant to reclaim the Vexin and saw the stronghold he’d already named Château Gaillard as the means to that end. He envisioned the coming campaign over the Vexin as a naval war as well as a land combat, and he explained to Eleanor that he intended to build a fleet of shallow-hulled ships that would control river traffic on the Seine.

  Eleanor knew that he’d proved himself to be a master at sea warfare during his time in the Holy Land, but she saw one major drawback in his ambitious, imaginative strategy. It took years to build a castle. She said nothing, though, for he was well aware of that, and asked him instead about his efforts to end the alliance between the Count of Flanders and the French king. He’d hoped that the new count would be more receptive to English overtures than his late father, but he’d just joined Philippe at the siege of Aumale. Richard remained confident that the trade embargo he’d imposed upon Flanders would work, however. Reminding Eleanor that Flanders was utterly dependent upon English wool for its cloth industry, he insisted that it was only a matter of time until the economic pressure would bring the count to his knees.

  Eleanor agreed and expressed approval when he told her he meant to tighten the embargo to include English grain, for Flanders could not feed its own people, dependent upon imported food for the large cities of Ypres, Bruges, Lille, and Ghent. Thinking that he had his father’s flair for long-term planning, she said, “And once the Count of Flanders joins you, Philippe will have only one ally left. A pity we do not have such leverage against the Count of Toulouse, for then Philippe would be utterly on his own.”

  “As it happens, I have a plan in mind for Toulouse, too.”

  That immediately sparked Eleanor’s curiosity, for Toulouse was never far from her thoughts, her family’s lost legacy. Both of her husbands had tried to take it for her—tried and failed. Her soldier son might have better luck. She did not see how he could fight a war on two fronts, though. But when she tried to find out more about his plans for Toulouse, Richard merely smiled and shrugged, saying he did not yet know if that hawk would fly.

  JOHN USUALLY WENT to see Richard with all the enthusiasm of a doomed felon being dragged to the gallows. But as they rode toward Vaudreuil, he was in high spirits and laughed when Durand gibed that he seemed as eager as a man about to visit a bawdy house.

  “Well, Brother Richard has had a truly miserable summer, so that is bound to cheer me up. Forgetting to duck at Gaillon was just the beginning of his troubles. It is hard to say who is giving him more grief these days, the Bretons or the aggrieved Archbishop Gautier.”

  Durand knew that the archbishop was threatening to lay Normandy under Interdict, but he hadn’t heard about new problems with the Bretons; he pricked up his ears in case this was something the queen had not yet heard, either. “The Bretons? I thought they’d come to terms with Richard in the spring.”

  It took no more than that, for John enjoyed revealing information that was not yet widely known. “So it seemed. They agreed to offer hostages and Richard agreed to secure Constance’s release from her husband’s clutches, provided that she would agree to be governed by his wishes in the future. The date set for her release was the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, but it came and passed without her being freed or the hostages returned, so the Bretons met at Saint-Malo de Breignon, swore fealty to Arthur, and repudiated their oaths to Richard. They then sought aid from Philippe, which is like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. But common sense has always been lacking amongst the Bretons.”

  What Durand found most interesting about John’s blithe account of the Bretons’ rebellion was that it proved John had a spy, either in Richard’s camp or the Bretons’. That would be information his queen would want to know.

  John was enumerating the other setbacks Richard had suffered that summer—his defeat at Aumale, its fall to Philippe, the loss of Nonancourt Castle, which had been retaken by the French while Richard was confined to his bed. “And we know my brother is surely the world’s worst patient, so how he must have rejoiced when Joanna, our mother, and Berengaria all descended upon him like a flock of hens fluttering about a lone chick!” John laughed again and Durand joined in, thinking that he’d not mind having Joanna nurse him back to health.

  “Do you think your good news will salt Richard’s wound?” he joked, and John glanced his way with a grin.

  “One can only hope.”

  JOHN’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF his brother was that Richard did not look good. He was pale after over a month away from the sun, shadows lurked under his eyes, and he seemed to have put on some weight. Their father’s famous indifference to food or drink had been due in part to the ease with which he gained weight; he’d waged a lifelong battle to avoid becoming heavy. John had inherited Henry’s stocky build, and he’d envied Richard, whose height allowed him to eat without concern about putting on pounds. He was pleased to see now that even Richard was not immune to the effects of prolonged inactivity. Or to the impact of
a well-aimed crossbow bolt.

  “I’m surprised to see you out of bed,” he admitted, earning himself a mirthless smile from his older brother.

  “If you start preaching to me about that, too, Johnny, I swear I’ll hit you with my crutch.”

  “I’ll stay out of range, then. But where are your preachers? I assumed they’d be sticking closer to you than glue.” His light tone notwithstanding, John was vexed that neither his mother nor sister had come into the hall to greet him, and so it was welcome news when Richard said the women were no longer at Vaudreuil.

  “Maman knew better than to hover, but Joanna and Berenguela . . .” Richard shook his head ruefully. “They carried on so about a mere flesh wound that they even had me half believing I was at Death’s door. I endured it as long as I could, and then got Maman to persuade them that it would be best if I was left to heal at my own pace.”

  Reaching for his crutch, Richard insisted upon limping across the hall toward the dais, beckoning John to follow. “I suppose you heard that the Bretons are in rebellion again?” he said, after he’d settled himself in his chair and propped his injured leg upon a stool.

  John nodded. “They are as contrary and querulous as the Welsh. Do not tell Cousin Morgan I said that, though.”

  “I sent Mercadier and my seneschal of Anjou, Robert de Turnham, to quell it—and to stop the fools from smuggling Arthur to the French court.” Richard regarded John with a gleam of mischievous malice. “I suppose that would please you greatly, though.”

  “Paris is a beautiful city,” John said airily. “It would be a shame to deny young Arthur a chance to see it.” As usual, John’s impudence amused his brother. John’s own smile vanished, however, as soon as he saw the youth crossing the hall toward them. He managed to greet Otto affably, but he quickly brought Richard’s attention back to himself by saying, “I have good news. I captured Gamaches Castle for you.”