Текст книги "The Heart of the Lion "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Thank God for allowing her to return safely; she dreaded to think what might have been happening during her and Richard’s absence. At least, now that she was here she could do her best to hold the kingdom loyal to him. But during her journey she had often thought how unwise it was to leave it, particularly as he had so recently attained it. She had hinted this much to him but she had quickly seen that it was impossible to turn him from his purpose. The lives of most people were strewn with unwise actions and looking back one could see what effect they had had on events. But being old at least one acquired a certain wisdom and sometimes she thought that acquisition was worth all the high adventures and excitements of youth.

A terrible doubt had come to her in that she had acted unwisely in advising Richard to allow his brother John and his half-brother Geoffrey to return to England. She loved her son John. She was after all a mother and he was her youngest and her inordinate love for Richard did not prevent her caring for her other children. John would be contented, she tried to soothe herself. Richard had been generous and John was rich, for his marriage with Hadwisa of Gloucester had brought him rich lands. He would not make trouble. She knew him well. Pleasure loving he most certainly was but could she blame him for that? When she had been his age what a glutton she had been for excitement. It was said that John was a profligate, that he indulged in lascivious orgies, that no woman was safe from him. She could not expect a son of hers to live like a monk and because she was saddened by rifts in the family she had persuaded Richard to give him permission to come back to England if he wanted to.

Did he want to? He had come immediately.

Now she wondered what was happening and after she had been ceremoniously received in London she travelled to Winchester and asked William de Longchamp and the Archbishop of Rouen to meet her there.

The Archbishop came. Where, she wanted to know, was Longchamp? She believed there had been some trouble between him and Prince John.

The Archbishop explained that there had indeed been great trouble, that Longchamp had been guilty of indiscretion in arresting the Archbishop of York and quarrelling with Prince John.

Eleanor was alarmed.

‘What was Prince John’s grievance?’

‘That Longchamp had asked the King of Scotland to support Prince Arthur as heir to the throne, for news had reached us that the King had made an agreement with Tancred and had given Prince Arthur to Tancred’s daughter.

There was a great deal of news which Eleanor had yet to learn. She asked the Archbishop to let her know at once all that had happened while she was making the journey home.

What she heard gave her no comfort. She saw that her worse fears had some foundation. John was too mischievous not to try to make trouble during his brother’s absence. Oh yes, indeed it had been a mistake to allow him to come back to England. Her only consolation was that had he not come he would have attempted to make trouble in Normandy.

When she heard that the King of France had invited John to visit him she realised how deep was the danger.

‘My lord Archbishop,’ she said, ‘my son John must not go to France.’

‘I agree, my lady,’ was the answer, ‘but how can we prevent him?’

Eleanor’s eyes flashed. The old vitality was still with her.

‘Know this,’ she said, ‘that my youngest son would wrest the crown from his brother. It seems to him a heaven-sent opportunity with Richard away. There is only one king of this country while Richard lives and that is Richard. We must take firm action.’

‘He is due to embark next week,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I have made myself aware of his movements.’

‘It would seem,’ said Eleanor, ‘that I have come home just in time.’

‘What do you propose to do, my lady?’

‘We will travel with all speed to Southampton. Let us take with us William the Marshal and Hugh of Lincoln. These men and ourselves will convey to the Prince that he must take note of what we say. I myself will speak to him and let him know that if he attempts to make terms with the King of France he will lose everything he possesses in England.’

‘Can you make him accept this, my lady?’

‘You will see,’ she answered.

As he came into Southampton John was surprised to be met by members of his mother’s household.

The Queen wished to see him, he was told, and would he go to her with all speed.

John grumbled that he was on the point of departure but he could not, of course, refuse to see his mother.

When he came into her apartments she greeted him with affection.

‘It is good to be in England with my son,’ she said, her eyes watchful.

‘Indeed yes, Mother. It has been an anxious time. I dared not think how you might be faring on the seas.’

‘Travel is perilous,’ she said. ‘I fear for the King.’

She could not fail to see the cunning lights in John’s eyes. He was hopeful, she thought ruefully. It was indeed fortunate that she had come home in time.

‘He has conquered Acre,’ said John. ‘Doubtless by this time he is setting the Christian flag over Jerusalem.’

‘I pray God that he has done that and is on the way home. The kingdom misses him.’

‘’Tis true,’ said John smiling wryly.

‘There are always those who would take advantage of a sovereign’s absence. It is good fortune indeed that I am here to watch over Richard’s rights.’

John nodded.

‘Never forget, John, that Richard is strong. It would go hard with any who sought to take advantage of his absence.’

‘He would be a brave man who dared do that,’ said John blithely.

‘Nay, only a foolish one.’

‘How so?’

‘Because when Richard returned he would have to answer to him.’

‘What if Richard did not return?’

‘That is a matter I will not consider.’

‘Then you should, my lady, for the chances are that he never will.’

‘Is that why you plan to see the King of France?’

‘What mean you?’

‘Philip has invited you, I believe.’

‘We are his vassals for Normandy.’

‘We. The King holds Normandy under the King of France it is true but he stands his equal as King of England. Philip has made propositions to you, has he? He has promised you great glory if you will be his tool. That is so. He will give you Normandy? Make you its Duke? Is that what he has promised? Let me tell you this, John, he has no power to do that. The dukes of Normandy are the rightful heirs of Normandy and there is already a Duke. He is Richard your King and your brother.’

‘Who cares more for fighting the Saracen than holding his throne.’

‘Because he has made a holy vow, because he is a soldier of the Cross, that does not mean he is not a great King.’

‘Of a country he has scarcely seen?’

‘What have you in your mind, John? To take it from him? Is that why you go to France? He has made you rich here, given you great lands; he has allowed you to marry into Gloucester although there is consanguinity there. He has given you a great deal and you would play the traitor to him. You will not go to France.’

John’s temper was rising.

‘Madam, I am merely waiting on the wind.’

‘Very well, go to France. Play traitor to your brother with the man who once was his friend. See how he will treat you. Remember this, though, as soon as you set sail for France all your lands in England will be confiscated and held under the crown.’

‘Who would dare do this?’

‘I would dare, John. I am your mother and during the King’s absence I rule this land. If you wish to hold what you have in this country then stay here, and keep what you have intact, for with God’s help I will strip you of every possession you have if you dare conspire with your brother’s enemies against him.’

She left him then. John bit his lips and foamed with anger. He would show her who was master. He had men to follow him. He was going to set sail for France. He was going to see Philip, work with Philip, and together they would rob Richard of his crown.

But to lose everything in England! She meant it, and she could do it. Suppose he lost everything in England – and Normandy not in his grasp! Could he trust the King of France who had been so friendly with Richard but recently?

His schemes were crumbling. How could he take the risk?

He gave way to temper. He tore at his clothes; he lay on the floor and kicked. He gnawed the rushes as his father used to do in his outburst of fury.

No one dared approach him.

John and his mother were on uneasy terms. She had shown so clearly whose side she was on; and responsible men of the country ranged themselves beside her.

Several months passed and there came news that the King was sailing for home. John was angry and frustrated. Richard had not after all captured Jerusalem; this crusade had achieved the capture of Acre and three years’ truce – not much for all the expense that had been incurred, pointed out John; but few listened to him. The King was coming home. It was not the time to range themselves about his young brother. John might talk of the perilousness of journeys, but no one listened.

Christmas came. Some pilgrims arrived in the country, with the news that they had seen the King’s ship at Brindisi but that Richard was not there.

Speculation was rife. Where was the King? What would the next news be? John’s hopes were high. It was time the King returned. If the pilgrims were in England so should he be.

‘He has met some disaster,’ he said to Hugh Nunant. ‘Depend upon it.’

‘Alas, we must depend on nothing,’ answered Hugh. ‘We must walk very carefully now that your mother is here.’

‘Richard was always her favourite,’ said John sulkily. But he was full of hope. He was sure Richard was dead.

Messengers came to him from the King of France. The news they brought was startling. Philip enclosed the copy of a letter he had received from the Emperor of Germany. King Richard of England was his prisoner, ran the letter; he was to be held for ransom. The whereabouts of his prison was unknown but it was somewhere in the Emperor’s territory.

It was impossible to keep such news to himself. Moreover travellers coming into England reported that they had heard of the King’s capture.

Eleanor was in despair. She conferred with the Archbishop of Rouen. She raved against the injustice done to the man who had done more for Christendom than any other living at the time. He had sacrificed a great deal, he had placed his kingdom in jeopardy for the sake of the Holy War, and what had happened to him, he was imprisoned, not by a Saracen, which would have been understandable, but by those who should have been his friends.

She was desperate. She prayed that God might overlook the wickedness of her youth and not visit her sins on her innocent sons. She spent hours on her knees calling to the virgin. ‘Mother of Mercies, help a miserable mother.’ But she was not of a nature to rely on prayer alone.

First she considered going in search of him; then the possibility of what might happen in her absence if she did deterred her from this action. She must stay here. When he was released there must be a kingdom for him to govern.

But what could she do? Would the Pope help? He could demand Richard’s release immediately if he wished. But why should he go against the wishes of powerful Henry?

She was desperate and uncertain and as she passed one of the rooms she heard the mournful strumming of a lute.

She looked inside to see who was there and saw Blondel de Nesle, one of Richard’s favourite minstrels. He was seated on a stool and as he played a sorrowful dirge the tears ran down his cheeks.

‘What ails you?’ asked Eleanor.

‘My lord’s absence, my lady.’

‘I believe you were a favourite of his. He loved you dearly.’

‘’Twas so, my lady. I would have fain stayed with him and begged to do so, but he wouldn’t have it and sent me here.’

‘Do not weep, pretty boy. He will return.’

When she had left him Blondel continued to weep.

He must return, he said to himself, or I shall die.

Chapter XVII

BLONDEL’S SONG

The frustration which had overwhelmed Richard when he was first brought to the Castle of Dürenstein had given way to resignation. He had endured hardship during his campaigns and had never complained on that score, so that now he found himself a prisoner in an alien land, he could shrug aside any physical inconveniences.

That it should have been Leopold into whose hands he had fallen was indeed galling and that Leopold’s overlord should be the Emperor Henry VI of Germany was a further ironic twist. During the first weeks of his captivity he had asked himself what could possibly happen next; and now it seemed that fate might decide to allow his brother John to succeed in making himself King.

But his resilience had never failed him yet. There was that in him which could overawe those about him. Even when he had faced Leopold and been obliged to hand over his sword the Duke of Austria had quailed before him. He might be a prisoner but he was still Coeur de Lion, the greatest and most renowned soldier in the world. No one could forget that and when they stood before him and he drew himself to his full height and gave them his cold stare their stature seemed to decrease and they trembled. It was amusing. He had no fear of them. That was the secret. That was his great quality. Whatever the situation, Richard was the one who struck fear into his opponent not they into him whatever their advantage.

He had seen that when the Duke of Austria brought him here he was uncertain what should be done with him, and had immediately despatched messengers to his Emperor for instructions because he feared the responsibility of holding King Richard. Poor Leopold, he had always been a braggart and braggarts were notoriously men of straw, crowing like cockerels in a farmyard to call attention to their strength lest it should be suspected that they had none.

So Richard had passed his first weeks in Dürenstein speculating on the possibility of escape. It might seem remote and it was clearly because his captors feared they could not hold him that they had chosen such a spot as Dürenstein. It seemed impregnable with iron bars set across the narrow window which was cut out of the thick stone wall. The natural rock formed part of the castle wall on one side and below were the craggy rocks and the River Danube. Escape that way seemed out of the question. There might be other ways. His custodian Hadamar von Kuenring feared it, and he was a very anxious man. But during his first days in the castle von Kuenring had come to him being most anxious to impress on him that he was well aware that the King was a very special prisoner and he had no desire to show disrespect; indeed he was eager to do everything possible – providing he did not go against the wishes of his master Leopold – to make Richard’s stay at Dürenstein comfortable.

‘Such a situation as that in which I find myself could scarcely be expected to bring me comfort,’ said Richard. ‘If you can do that you are possessed of supernatural powers.’

Richard smiled wryly as he spoke but there was little humour in this officer of Leopold’s guard. He went on: ‘Your page who betrayed you is here in the castle. I will send him to you that he may serve you. We hold another of your men, William de l’Estang, and I shall put nothing in the way of your enjoying the companionship of your friend.’

This was indeed good news. William de l’Estang was a man Richard had always liked and his company would be very welcome.

His young page was brought to his cell and fell on his knees before the King who raised him up and embraced him.

‘My lord, Sire,’ cried the boy and began to weep.

Richard stroked his hair. ‘I understand, little one. The cruel men threatened you.’

‘To tear out my tongue and to put out my eyes.’

‘And would have done it too, God curse them. All is well. Have no fear now.’

‘But, my lord, I led them to you.’

‘Nay, they would have found me. Dry your tears. Serve me well and it shall be as it ever was.’

The boy fell once more on to his knees and kissed Richard’s feet.

It was pleasant to have him.

The days began to pass. Richard was allowed to walk out on to the ramparts as long as he was surrounded by guards. William de l’Estang came and spent the hours of daylight with him; they played chess together and sometimes von Kuenring would play against one of them while the other looked on. Von Kuenring gave Richard a lute and while they played chess the page would play softly. Richard himself often played it and the three of them would sing together.

Richard’s voice which was powerful could often be heard in the castle and it was marvelled that one who was a captive could so forget his woes in such songs, many of which were gay.

In fact they marvelled at Richard who did not seem to resent his captors. He liked to test his physical strength with his guards in the courtyard where he would wrestle with them much to the amusement of the onlookers. He selected the tallest and strongest looking men for his opponents and the rest of the guards would watch in amazement, for invariably Richard proved himself the stronger.

Then he would go to his cell and play chess or sing. He was composing a sirvente of seven stanzas which he said would tell the world – if it ever heard it – how he felt about his prison.

Sometimes he would talk to William de l’Estang of escape. Was it possible? Could they scale those rocky walls? The guards were ever watchful. Every night special men came to his cell. They were the biggest and most powerful soldiers in the Duke’s army, and that was why they had been chosen to guard Richard. They placed themselves about his bed and through the night sat there, their great swords at their sides.

‘If we were to escape,’ said de l’Estang, ‘where should we go? We should be discovered in a short time and put in an even stronger fortress.’

Richard agreed.

‘If we could but get a message to my mother . . .’

‘But how? We are watched day and night.’

‘I know not,’ said Richard. ‘But help must come from somewhere.’

When he was most desperate he turned to his music. It comforted him more than anything.

He sang the first verses of his sirvente to William. Poignantly it expressed the plaintive lament of the prisoner.

‘It is a little like a song I composed with Blondel de Nesle some time ago. Do you remember Blondel, William?’

‘I do, Sire. A handsome boy and devoted to you.’

‘He wished to come with me. If I had allowed him to he might well be here with me now. I wondered whether he would have lost his eyes or his tongue for my sake. I would not have had it so. Our poor little page lives in perpetual remorse. Comfort him, William. Make sure he knows that I understand.’

‘You yourself with your usual generosity have conveyed it, Sire.’

‘I hope Blondel reached England safely. He is a good boy and a fine minstrel.’

‘I doubt your brother will appreciate that.’

‘Let us hope so, William. Send for the page. Let him sing for us. You and I will go to the chess board and get a game while daylight lasts.’

The news was spreading through Europe. Richard a prisoner and none knew where. But there was a firm belief that he was in the hands of Leopold of Austria and that meant that Henry of Germany would have jurisdiction over him.

John was gleeful. The news couldn’t have been better. He chuckled over it with Hugh Nunant. Philip of France was sending secret messages to him. Nothing could have suited them better. Philip was amused. He remembered the altercation between Richard and Leopold on the walls of Acre. Was Richard regretting his hasty action now? No, the answer must be. Richard would remain aloof and dignified implying that he would do it again even if he had pre-knowledge that later he would be the Duke’s prisoner. There was something fine about Richard. Would to God, thought Philip, that he were my prisoner.

And here he was trying to form an alliance with John. It was all for the good of France. He sent a message to the Prince. ‘If Richard is in the hands of Henry of Germany, a fact on which all rumour seems to agree, it is our good fortune. The longer he remains there the better.’

They should offer Henry money to keep him a prisoner until the end of the year 1194. He, Philip, would be prepared to pay fifty thousand marks of silver to Henry of Germany if he would hold Richard until that time and keep his place of captivity a secret. Philip thought John should offer the Emperor another thirty thousand. ‘Of course,’ added the King of France, ‘it might be wiser to pay the Emperor month by month, for if we paid a large sum in advance and Richard escaped the money would be wasted. One thousand pounds of silver say for every month the Emperor held Richard.’ They might add that they would jointly be prepared to pay the large sum of one hundred and fifty marks of silver if the Emperor would give the prisoner into their care.

Philip’s eyes shone at the idea. He could picture Richard’s riding in the centre of his guards, coming to him, to be his loving hostage as he had been once before.

John was excited by all this intrigue and he believed it could not be long before he was on the throne of England.

Queen Eleanor was deeply distressed. She who had never been pious now spent long hours on her knees reproving herself, asking God if he were punishing her son for her past misdeeds.

‘What can I do?’ she demanded of the Archbishop of Rouen. ‘My son’s dominions here and in Normandy are threatened on all sides. I must go and search for him, but if I do what will happen here and in Normandy? You know how he suffered from his fevers. I greatly fear he may not survive the life of a prisoner.’

The Archbishop soothed her by recalling Richard’s fine physique. ‘There is no man to compare with him,’ he insisted. ‘He has the strength of twenty men.’

‘If I but knew where he was . . .’

‘What should we do then?’

‘Bring him back.’

‘It is certain that they would want a ransom.’

‘Then they must have a ransom.’

‘Who knows what terms they will insist on.’

‘Whatever the terms, they must be accepted. Anything . . . anything is preferable to the death of the King.’

Then she began to talk of her sins in the past and to cry out in her wretchedness that she believed she was paying for them now.

The Archbishop sent one of the minstrels to attempt to soothe her with his music. Blondel de Nesle crept silently in and seating himself in a corner started to play.

She listened, charmed by music as she ever was.

‘It was beautiful,’ she said. ‘Who composed it?’

‘My lord the King and I together,’ answered Blondel.

‘You harmonised well I believe.’

‘He said so,’ replied Blondel. ‘There is another song we made together. We have never sung it except when we were alone. He said that was how he wished it. It was our song.’

Eleanor nodded. ‘I grieve for him, Blondel. How I grieve for him.’

‘Can nothing be done, my lady?’

‘We do not know where he is. His captors will not tell us. Until we know how can we do anything to save him?’

‘It is said he is in Austria.’

‘It is said so. Would we could prove it. His Queen Berengaria saw a jewelled belt for sale in Rome and she knew it for his.’

‘How could it have been in Rome, my lady?’

‘He might have given it to someone who travelled there.’

‘Surely that person would have treasured a gift from the King?’

‘It could have been stolen from him. Oh, Blondel, my child, we cannot know what has become of him. I am filled with foreboding.’

‘If someone could but find him, my lady . . .’

‘I would go and seek him . . . were it not for the state of the Kingdom.’

‘His captors would be aware of you, my lady. It would seem to me that one should go who would not be recognised.’

‘You are a wise boy, I see. Come, play to me. Play Richard’s song.’

And as he strummed Blondel thought of the King and his many kindnesses towards his minstrel; and he yearned to see his face again.

The next day when the Queen asked that Blondel come to her to soothe her with his music, Blondel could not be found.

It had been a long journey to Austria. Blondel had sung his way across the continent. He had stood in the market places of many towns and so sweet was his voice that people had paused to listen and drop a coin into his hat. He was so handsome that many took pity on him. Often some mother would be reminded of her son and bring him in to her cottage and make him cut wood or perform some such service for his supper and a place to sleep under her roof.

He asked questions about the castles and those who lived in them and whether it was possible that if he called and asked to sing for them he would be allowed to do so.

He invariably was. A minstrel was always welcome, especially one with as fine a voice as Blondel’s.

Arriving at a castle he would humbly ask that he might rest a while and play his lute for the company. He would be taken to the great hall and there would invariably be many who were eager to hear the songs of a wandering minstrel.

He would make a point of being friendly with those of the kitchen. They would give him titbits to eat and smile at what they thought was his cunning. Cunning it was, but his motives were not what they thought.

‘The youth has not seen a good meal for many a long day, I’ll trow,’ said the cooks. ‘’Tis small wonder he wants to fill up while he be here.’

But it was gossip he wanted. He would sit by the great fires turning the spits and singing as he did so. In the kitchen they would know perhaps if there was a stranger in the castle whose presence was not generally known. Such a stranger would have to eat and the cooks must be aware of it. There would be a certain ceremony about a king’s meals surely.

He asked searching questions and every time it seemed he came away disappointed.

There must be a castle somewhere which was an impregnable fortress. Perhaps on a hill, its thick grey walls a challenge to any invader, it would be formidable. A fortress, thought Blondel, and a prison.

When he came to Dürenstein he went into the square to talk to the traders and sing for his supper and a bed.

There was one woman who had brought her eggs to market and because he thought she had a kindly face – his adventure had made him quick to assess character at a glance – he took his stand near her and sang for her. Tears filled her eyes and she begged for more and as he sang she thought how young he was.

She beckoned him to come nearer and this he did singing and attracting customers with his songs and helping her to sell her produce.

‘You are travelling alone?’ she asked.

He told her that he was.

‘And you sing for your living. Where will you sleep tonight?’

‘In the forest, beneath a hedge . . . I will find somewhere to sleep.’

‘My son has recently married a wife. He no longer lives with me. You may have his bed if you will sing again for me and mayhap come to market with me one other fine day.’

It seemed that she was suggesting he stay for a while and he answered that he was a wanderer, but he would gladly accept her offer for the night and would be willing to do any work for her providing it was not beyond his powers.

He went home with the woman and as they sat at table he asked her who lived at the grand castle on the hill and what was the name of it.

‘It is Dürenstein,’ she told him. ‘It belongs to our Duke Leopold.’

Blondel remembered him at Acre and wondered how he would have behaved if by some chance he was Richard’s jailer.

‘A very important officer is now the custodian. They say he is of high rank. He came to the castle some time ago. We see him riding in the town now and them.’

‘I shall ask if I may sing for them. Do you think I may?’

‘I know not. You can but try. And if they will have none of you, you may rest here for a while.’

Blondel thanked her. He did not go to the castle the next morning but waited until later in the afternoon. That was the time when men and women were more mellow. They had generally eaten well and often dozed at such an hour. It was then and at night that music sounded sweeter.

He presented himself at the castle gate.

‘I am a wandering minstrel,’ he told the serving men. ‘I would I might sing in the great hall tonight.’

The men exchanged glances.

‘Do you think . . . ?’

One shook his head. ‘Our master would not care for minstrels.’

‘Who is your master, kind sir?’

‘He is Hadamar von Kuenring and very important. The Duke himself comes frequently to the castle since . . .’

‘Since when?’ asked Blondel.

‘Since it has been in our master’s hands.’

‘What think you?’ asked one of the men. ‘Wouldn’t you come into the kitchens and sing for us?’

He would indeed, with the greatest pleasure. He chose gentle songs, songs of love to bring tears to the eyes of the women.

They gave him cold venison and half a loaf with ale to wash it down.

‘I sing better when my throat has been moistened,’ declared Blondel.

He sang some more and then he asked if he might stroll round the castle, for he had thought it quite the most impressive castle he had ever seen.

One of the serving men said he would take him round. He had quite clearly taken a great fancy to Blondel, and as they went Blondel sang.

All the time he was alert; he looked for windows – narrow slips with bars of iron across, the window of a prison. There high in the castle was one of them. A great feeling of excitement possessed him; he broke into song suddenly; he let his voice soar up throwing it with all his might towards that barred window; and then his heart seemed to stop beating, for someone was singing up there, singing in answer to Blondel’s song. Blondel continued to sing and the voice answered him.

‘I have never heard that song before,’ said the serving man.

‘Someone in the castle has. Who was that singing with me?’

‘I know not,’ said the man. ‘I have heard the voice but I know not whence it comes.’

‘Come,’ said Blondel, ‘let us return to the castle hall. Think you your master and mistress will allow me to sing to them tonight?’

‘I know not, but it will please us of the kitchens if you do.’

What did it matter? thought Blondel. His one thought was to get back to England.

He had discovered Richard’s whereabouts, for that was Richard’s voice he had heard and the song they had sung was that one which they had composed together and which Richard had decreed should be sung by no one but themselves.