Текст книги "The Heart of the Lion "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

‘Is it not?’ answered the page.

‘And not yours I’ll swear. How come you to be wearing it?’

‘It is my master’s,’ answered the page. ‘I wear it because I am proud to be in his service.’

‘Where is this master of yours?’

‘He is making a journey and resting here but a while.’

‘A rich merchant is he not?’

‘Aye, ’tis so,’ answered the page.

The man took the glove and studied it intently.

‘A royal glove, I’d say,’ he commented.

The page snatched it from him and sticking it in his belt did not stop to buy what he had come for. He was terrified that he had betrayed his master.

Hurrying back to the lodging he found the King in the kitchen talking to the woman of the house. He signed that he must speak to him without delay and Richard went to the small room they shared.

‘Sire, we must fly without delay. They know who you are.’

‘How can they know that? You did not tell anyone?’

‘Nay, Sire. I never would. But they watch me. They ask me questions about my master.’

‘And you told them I am a merchant.’

‘Yes, I told them that.’

‘Well, since they are asking questions, we must be wary. We will make our plans to leave within a few days.’

‘But, master . . .’

‘You are trembling. Why should they guess who I am? They but think me a merchant. If we left too hurriedly they would be suspicious. Nay, since they are curious about you, do not go to the market today. Go tomorrow and buy what we need. Then we will be off and I will tell these people that I am ready to pursue my journey within the next few days.’

The page was terribly apprehensive. He dared not confess that he had worn the royal glove in his belt and that it had been seized and studied by a man who had asked if his master was royal.

When the page next went to the market he was aware of two men who followed him. He paused at a stall and they came up beside him.

‘Who are you?’ he stammered.

‘You will discover. Come with us.’

‘Nay, I cannot. I have to buy and return to my master.’

His arms were seized and he was dragged from the stall.

He was taken into a building where men sat at a board on trestles. Those who had seized him took him to this board and held him while one of the men with a hard cruel face smiled at him. It was a smile which made the page feel as though a snake was coiling itself about him.

‘You come to the market to shop now and then,’ said this man.

‘Yes, I do,’ answered the page.

‘And you bring objects which you sell.’

‘’Tis true. I see no harm . . .’

‘Who talks of harm? It may be that you have done much good. Who is your master?’

‘He is a merchant . . .’

The smile again distorted that cruel face.

‘It would be better to tell the truth. It could save us much time and you much pain.’

‘I am answering your questions. What more can I do?’

‘You can tell us the truth.’ One of the men beside him twisted his arm. ‘Come, fellow. The truth.’

‘I tell you that he is a merchant . . .’

‘Silence. His name. They are pretty eyes. I doubt not that they serve you well. Have you ever thought what it would be like to be deprived of them?’

The page began to tremble.

One of the men seized his head and forced him to open his mouth. He took his tongue in his hands and twisted it. The page gasped with pain and the man released it.

‘See, it is still there. Have you thought what it would be like to lose it? Come, foolish fellow. We have strong suspicions who your master is. You have but to confirm it and you keep those pretty eyes, that useful tongue. But, by God and his Heavens, if you refuse us you will most certainly lose them.’

There were tears in the page’s eyes. ‘I will not betray my master.’

‘Oh, so there is something to betray! Whose glove did you wear in your belt? What a fine glove. It was like a king’s glove. Be sensible. Do you want to suffer in vain? We are asking very little of you. The name of your master – his true name which you know and which you are going to tell us. Give us his name. Lead us to his lodgings and you go free unharmed. Refuse us and you will be thrown into prison and dealt with as we have already explained.’

The page fell on his knees. ‘Let me go, master.’

‘Assuredly when you tell us what we want to know. Don’t be a fool. We know already. We merely want you to confirm this. We shall not blame you. You are a servant. You must do as you are bid. Come, think of the hot irons and your precious eyes. Think. You would never be able to speak again. So look while you can and speak while you can – for you might as well be dead when we have done what we will do to you if you refuse to tell us.’

The page broke down. ‘I will tell you. My master is Richard the King of England. I will take you to our lodging. He is trying to reach England and we lost our way . . .’

‘Enough. He is a good and wise fellow after all and deserves to keep his eyes and tongue. Come, show us the way.’

The dwelling was surrounded by soldiers. The news had circulated that Richard Coeur de Lion was in the house.

The captain of the troop strode into the house and was met by the woman who came from her kitchen to discover what the noise was about.

‘King Richard of England is in this dwelling,’ said the captain.

‘I have no king here,’ was the reply. ‘There is no one but a merchant who is a pilgrim.’

‘We want that pilgrim,’ said the captain.

‘He is in the kitchen watching the chickens on the spits.’

They burst into the kitchen.

‘There he is,’ cried the captain.

Richard stood up to his full height. ‘What means this?’ he demanded.

‘We know you to be the King of England,’ said the captain. ‘We have orders to take you.’

‘Whose orders?’

‘From a high place, Sire.’

‘From your Duke no less. From Leopold. Go and tell Leopold that I will give my sword to no one less than himself.’

The captain was undecided what to do but at length he kept his guard on the house and sent a messenger to the Duke to tell him what had happened.

Later that day Leopold arrived.

They faced each other in the kitchen. Leopold was smiling smugly. ‘It is a little different now from when we were on the walls of Acre,’ he said.

‘Is it?’ retorted Richard. ‘You were arrogant then and at no good business and so you are now.’

‘You are mistaken. This is very good business. You are my prisoner and there are many who will rejoice to hear it.’

‘Weak men such as yourself who are afraid of me?’

‘I am not afraid of you now, Richard of England.’

Richard laughed aloud. ‘You are backed by your soldiers and I stand alone. That makes a very brave man of you.’

‘You are under arrest.’

Richard bowed his head. ‘Allow me to present my sword to you. I do not keep it in the kitchen.’

He went to the room he had shared with the page and taking his sword handed it to Leopold.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘you may tell your masters that you have captured the King of England.’

High on a hill, dominating the landscape, built as a mighty fortress against any invaders, its dungeons so strong that no man had ever escaped from them, the castle of Dürenstein was the ideal prison for the most important prisoner in the world. Built on the banks of the Danube where that river cuts through rocky gorges with the few houses which comprised the little town of Dürenstein clustered at its feet, it was remote and isolated, for few travellers came that way; and here in this fortress, Richard was placed in the custody of one of Leopold’s most trusted officers, Hadamar von Kuenring.

The importance of his charge had been impressed on von Kuenring and he was determined to hold him against no matter what odds.

The two men quickly became friendly in spite of the fact that one was jailer, one prisoner. Richard liked to talk of battles he had won and von Kuenring listened eagerly; they played chess together and each looked forward to enjoying the company of the other. Through Kuenring Richard learned a little of what was happening outside. There was excitement throughout Europe, Kuenring told him, because it was being whispered that Coeur de Lion was the prisoner of his enemies.

‘If they know where I am, I shall soon be rescued,’ cried Richard.

‘They do not know. The Duke is determined that your prison shall be kept a secret. I will tell you something. Leopold has sent word to the Emperor that you are his prisoner.’

‘He would not dare to do otherwise,’ commented Richard and added ruefully, ‘Much good will that do me. The Emperor is no friend of mine since I became the ally of Tancred.’

‘My lord, you made many enemies.’

‘For a man such as I am that is inevitable,’ said Richard sadly. ‘Even those who I thought were my friends turn against me. But never fear. It will not always be so. Think not that I shall spend my life in this prison.’

Von Kuenring looked wistful. He wished it were in his power to help his prisoner escape.

Richard understood his feelings and gripped his hands saying: ‘You have your duty. Think not I would wish you to forget that.’

He was fortunate to have such a jailer.

When Philip of France heard the news he was filled with an excitement he could not fully understand. They could never be friends again. The old days had gone for ever, and Richard was his enemy. His feelings were difficult even for him to understand. How he wished that Richard were his prisoner! He visualised how he would have gone to him and treated him with tender respect as he had when they were younger. But now a fierce exultation seized him. Richard had been wrong to linger in Palestine. What good had he achieved? How much wiser, he, Philip, had been, to leave when he did.

And now Richard was a prisoner. Let him remain so. It was better for France that he did; and let sly, greedy John take the throne. There was nothing for France to fear from England with a king like John.

It was different with Richard.

And so those who had recently been his allies against the Saracens now gloated on his imprisonment. There in his fortress on the banks of the Danube Richard could look out on the ragged rocks on which it stood. His was a prison from which it would not be easy to escape.

Chapter XIV

THE JEWELLED BELT

Berengaria was sad as the galley carried them away from Acre.

She stood on deck with Joanna beside her watching until the land faded away.

‘Come,’ she said, ‘let us go below. There is nothing more to see.’

‘We will pray for Richard’s safe journey,’ said Joanna. ‘I would we were with him.’

‘Oh, he is happier with his friends,’ answered Berengaria bitterly.

It was true, Joanna knew. Poor Berengaria! She, Joanna, had had a husband older than herself but at least he had been a husband to her.

Joanna said: ‘He is concerned for our safety. Remember he has given us Stephen of Turnham to care for us. Think how such a noble knight could have served him.’

But Berengaria was impatient. ‘I have done with pretence,’ she said. ‘It is true that in the beginning I was happy to deceive myself, but it is no longer so.’

She sighed and Joanna knew there was nothing more to be said on that subject.

They were fortunate in the journey. As though to make up for Berengaria’s disappointment the sea remained calm and there was just the right amount of breeze to carry the ship on its way; the sky was clear; each day was perfect. In good time they arrived at Naples and there they alighted to make the journey to Rome.

Stephen of Turnham was a man who took his duty seriously and he was determined that no harm should befall the ladies if he could help it. On that long journey he guarded them well. He himself slept outside their door each night at the various houses in which they stayed; and if they must pitch their tents he was at the door of those also. No one should come to them, he said, except over his dead body.

It was a comforting gesture.

Berengaria often thought what a strange married life hers was. Most princesses were sent off to their husband’s country when they were children and brought up there. Some had never known their husbands when they were betrothed. She had counted herself lucky because she had fallen in love with Richard long before and had cherished an ideal ever since. How false her dreams were proving to be. And was she to spend the whole of her life following him about the world?

But she must not complain. She had her good friend Joanna, who had lost a husband she had cared for; and there was the little Cypriot Princess who constantly prayed for her father’s well-being knowing that he was Richard’s prisoner.

‘My lot is not worse than theirs,’ she reminded herself.

And so they came to Rome. There it lay before them this city built on seven hills and round the silver stream of the Tiber.

‘Here we shall stay,’ said Sir Stephen, ‘until we find out whether it is safe for us to proceed.’

A nobleman of Rome offered his mansion to the Queens of England and Sicily and here Stephen decided it would be wise to rest awhile until they could make arrangements to get across Italy and perhaps proceed by ship.

‘If only we could have news of Richard’s journey!’ sighed Joanna.

It was Stephen who heard the news.

‘In the markets,’ he told them, ‘it is said that King Richard has been shipwrecked in the Adriatic Sea.’

‘Do you believe he is drowned?’ asked Berengaria, her eyes large with horror.

She loves him after all, thought Joanna. It is all a pretence to say she does not. She is trying to show an indifference to the world which she does not feel.

‘I cannot believe Richard is dead,’ said Stephen. ‘If he were shipwrecked, rest assured that he would save himself in some way.’

‘If he were shipwrecked,’ replied Berengaria, ‘he must land somewhere. Where would he land and would we not have heard if he were pursuing his journey? How could Richard with all his company avoid being recognised?’

‘We shall hear in due course,’ said Joanna. ‘In the meantime let us rest and try to be easy in our minds. We shall need strength to pursue our journey.’

The days began to pass. There was no news. Stephen thought that they should soon be continuing with their journey. If they could get to Pisa they could take ship to Marseilles and there they could rely on the good friendship of the King of Aragon.

But something seemed to warn him not to leave in haste and he decided to seek an audience with the Pope that he might solicit his help in getting a safe conduct for his party.

Meanwhile the Queens were a little restive. There was something in the city air which excited them.

It was Joanna who had the idea that if they disguised themselves they might slip out and visit the markets. There were good things to buy in Rome.

It relieved the tedium to study the dress of the women of the city, to acquire similar clothes, to dress themselves in the loose garments girded at the waist by leather belts. Over their long hair they wore wimples not of silk but of linen in the hope that they could mingle unnoticed with the ordinary women of the city.

It was a great adventure to visit the shops, slipping out of the house without the knowledge of Sir Stephen who would have been horrified at the thought of his precious charges roaming the streets.

But how it relieved the days! The three of them – for the Cypriot Princess was still their constant companion – would venture out in the quiet of the afternoon and walk along by the Tiber and savour freedom.

They loved best to visit the market and so carefully had they disguised themselves that they were not recognised and were thought to be ordinary travellers who were pausing on their journey to spend a short time in Rome as so many people did.

All three loved to visit the goldsmiths’ and silversmiths’ shops, there to see the wonderfully wrought pieces of jewellery at which the jewellers of Rome seemed to excel.

They had bought several trinkets and were known as good customers so that when they were seen the traders would bring out what they considered choice pieces.

One afternoon the three young women had dressed in their simple gowns and wimples and gone out into the streets making their way to the market and the goldsmith’s shop.

Berengaria was interested in a ring and wanted to look at it again. It was a glowing emerald set in gold.

She turned it over in her hand, tried it on her finger.

‘The setting is exquisite,’ she said, ‘but there is a flaw in the stone.’

‘I see you have an eye for precious stones, my lady,’ said the jeweller.

Joanna said: ‘’Tis a pretty ring. But if you do not like the emerald why do you not choose some other stone?’

‘I have the very thing,’ cried the jeweller. ‘Some very fine stones have just come into my possession. One moment please.’

He disappeared into a room behind the shop and came back holding a belt which was set with many dazzling gems.

‘I have only just bought this . . .’ he began.

Berengaria swayed a little and Joanna caught her arm. ‘What ails you?’ she asked.

‘I feel unwell,’ said Berengaria. ‘But no matter . . . May I look at the belt?’

‘Assuredly, my lady. These stones are very fine indeed. It is rarely that such have come into my possession.’

Berengaria held out her hands and took the belt. She turned it over and looked at it closely.

‘You see, my lady, this emerald . . . It is finer than anything I have here. And I would not ask much. The one who sold the belt knew not its value. I got a bargain so I am in a position to make you a very fair price.’

Berengaria handed him back the belt.

She turned to Joanna. ‘I must go back,’ she said. ‘I feel unwell.’

‘Then let us go at once,’ said Joanna. She turned to the jeweller. ‘We will come again when my sister is better.’

They came out into the street.

‘Berengaria, what ails you?’

Berengaria said slowly, ‘That jewelled belt . . . I know it well. I have seen it before. Richard was wearing it the last time I saw him.’

‘What does it mean?’ murmured Joanna.

‘I don’t know. I am very uneasy.’

‘It could be another belt.’

‘There is only one such belt.’

‘It might mean that he gave it to someone who sold it to this merchant.’

‘I do not know,’ said Berengaria, ‘but I greatly fear that some harm has befallen him.’

Sir Stephen was horrified when they told him – not so much at first about the belt but the fact that they had been out in the streets without protection. It must never happen again, he said; if they must go out he would send two men to guard them.

‘And let it be known who we are!’ cried Joanna. ‘The fun of the adventure is in our not being recognised.’

‘I want no one to know your identity,’ said Sir Stephen, ‘until I have seen the Pope.’

‘But what think you of this belt?’ asked Joanna.

‘If it is indeed the King’s . . .’

‘It is the King’s,’ insisted Berengaria. ‘I know it well. I noticed it the very last time I saw him wearing it.’

‘I will go to this goldsmith,’ said Stephen, ‘and ask for fine jewels. I will ask him to show me the belt, and ask him how he acquired it.’

‘And if it is Richard’s . . .’ began Joanna.

‘He may have given it away.’

‘To whom would he give such a valuable piece?’

‘We cannot say,’ said Sir Stephen. ‘It is something we must attempt to find out.’

Later that day he went to the goldsmith and came back with the news that he had seen the belt and agreed with Berengaria that it belonged to Richard. The goldsmith told him that he had bought it from a merchant who had come from Austria.

‘That means Richard must be there,’ said Joanna.

They were startled by the news. Richard should never have set foot in Austria. They all knew how Leopold had disliked him. He had never forgiven him for what he called the slight on the walls of Acre, and that other incident when Richard had actually kicked him before his followers.

They were all very uneasy.

Sir Stephen had told them not to return to the goldsmith. He would be suspicious of too much interest in the jewelled belt. They could not resist going out but they did follow Sir Stephen’s orders by taking two menservants with them.

There was a great deal of gossip in the streets. As they mingled with the crowds they heard Richard’s name mentioned.

They went into a shop to buy silk for which the city was renowned, and there they heard more rumours.

The owner of the shop told them that he had heard that the great Richard Coeur de Lion had been travelling near Vienna with his page and that he had been captured.

‘Captured!’ cried Joanna indignantly. ‘How could this be? He would never allow himself to be captured.’

‘I but tell what I hear, my lady,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘The rumour is that the great King was shipwrecked and came to the Austrian coast and that many of his friends were captured. He was the last to be taken but he had gone on with only his page and the page was taken and confessed who his master was.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Joanna.

‘That no one knows,’ was the answer. ‘But it seems certain that the hero of the crusades is now in the hands of his enemies.’

They hurried back. There they found Stephen. He too had heard the rumours.

‘If it is true that Richard is indeed in the hands of the Duke of Austria that means also the Emperor of Germany. We must take especial care. Were we to venture out of Rome it might well be that we too should be captured.’

‘Of what use would that do Richard’s enemies?’ asked Joanna.

‘They would doubtless give a great deal to lay their hands on the wife and sister of the King. Nay, we shall not now ask the Pope for safe conduct to Pisa, but that we may rest here for a while until we can learn whether there is any truth in these rumours.’

There must be no more wandering in the streets. The situation was perilous. If the King were indeed the prisoner of his enemies, then he was in no position to protect his wife and sister. Any ill might befall them and there be none to avenge them, for there was another rumour which was to the effect that the King’s brother John was in no mood to help his brother.

Stephen was relieved when he received the Pope’s permission for the Queens and their party to remain in Rome.

How endless the days seemed now! There was no longer any doubt that Richard was a prisoner though none knew where he had been incarcerated. That he was in the hands of the Emperor Henry VI of Germany there seemed to be no doubt, and Henry would certainly not feel very friendly towards the man who had allied himself with Tancred, the usurper of his wife’s crown of Sicily. The future looked black for Richard unless he could contrive to escape.

There was little news of England and that which came was disturbing. It seemed that Richard’s brother John was determined to take advantage of Richard’s absence and was seeking to take the throne itself.

The two Queens with their Cypriot friend, who never seemed to wish to leave them, passed their days in embroidering, playing chess and conversing with each other.

‘It seems it would have been better if Richard had never left England,’ said Joanna. ‘What good has he achieved in Palestine? What lasting good I mean; and when you think of all the blood that has been shed and treasure that has been lost . . . and now where is the King? And we are here in this foreign city depending on the goodwill of the Pope. What is the good of it all, Berengaria?’

‘Life is sometimes hard,’ said Berengaria. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether I shall ever lead a natural life with Richard.’

‘And you, little one,’ said Joanna turning to the Cypriot, ‘what do you wonder?’

‘When I shall see my father again. Whether I shall ever have a husband.’

‘Who can say what will befall any of us,’ said Joanna.

So they talked again and again of their plight and constantly they speculated on what the future would bring.

‘We cannot stay here for ever,’ said Joanna to Sir Stephen. ‘It is five months now since we came.’

Sir Stephen replied that if the Pope would give them safe conduct to Pisa and from thence to Genoa, they could now sail for Marseilles.

‘I would he would do so,’ said Joanna fervently. ‘I am tired of remaining in one place.’

‘We must remember though,’ said Sir Stephen, ‘with the King a prisoner if we were taken it might go hard with us.’

‘I would take the risk,’ declared Joanna.

The others agreed with her.

Finally the Pope sent word to them that he would instruct one of his Cardinals to give them safe conduct to Pisa. They were overjoyed when at last Cardinal Mellar came to them and told them that on the Pope’s orders he would look after them.

The journey to Pisa was made without incident and from that town they were conducted to Genoa where a ship was found to take them to Marseilles.

It was a great pleasure for Berengaria on arriving at Marseilles to find that they were met by Alfonso of Aragon, a friend and a kinsman whom she was sure she could trust. He embraced her with great warmth and was gracious to Joanna and the Princess.

He welcomed them to Marseilles and he said how pleased he was that they had escaped mishap on their arduous journey.

‘You are safe now,’ he told them. ‘I myself will conduct you from my Provençal lands and I shall make sure that I place you in the hands of one whom I can trust.’

Travelling with Alfonso was very different from travelling with the Pope’s emissary. There was feasting and entertaining wherever they stopped and Berengaria could not help hoping that the journey would take a very long time. Her future seemed uncertain whether Richard remained a prisoner or came home. It was disconcerting to have a husband who was no husband.

Too soon it seemed they reached the borders of Provence where they rested, while awaiting the coming of the Count of Toulouse.

‘The Count of Toulouse,’ cried Berengaria. ‘Did he not invade Guinne recently?’

‘That was the father of this Raymond,’ explained Alfonso. ‘He is a strong man and a gallant one; he is eager to conduct you to Normandy and to give his life if need be in your defence.’

Berengaria was worried. Her brother Sancho had beaten the Count of Toulouse in battle and it seemed strange that an enemy should be their protector.

However when the Count arrived, she was charmed by him. He was very handsome and his manner charming. He immediately disarmed suspicions by declaring that he wanted to wipe out his father’s indiscretion and if he could serve the ladies with his life he would be content.

Even Joanna, who was never impressed by flattery, was charmed by him.

And as they made their journey towards Poitou she became more and more so. She and the Count rode together, talked together, and could not it seemed have enough of each other’s company.

‘You will be sorry when we have to say good-bye to the Count of Toulouse,’ said Berengaria.

Joanna admitted this would be so.