Текст книги "The Heart of the Lion "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Chapter XVIII 
RELEASE
With as much speed as he could muster Blondel made his way back to England and sought out Queen Eleanor without delay.
She was astounded when she heard his story and gave way to relief and joy. Richard was alive, albeit a prisoner, and she knew where. He must be brought home; his kingdom must be set in order, his enemies scattered.
‘And you, Blondel, have done us this great service,’ she cried. ‘Rest assured you shall be rewarded.’
‘All I ask,’ replied Blondel, ‘is to see my lord home safe and well.’
Eleanor lost no time. She sent for the Archbishop of Rouen and they called ministers and barons together at Oxford where they discussed what should be done. The news had seeped out. Richard alive and well was a prisoner of Leopold of Austria and the Emperor of Germany in the castle of Dürenstein. It was a scandal that the great hero of the Crusade should be treated so.
The news was spreading all over the country. The story of the discovery of the minstrel was like a romance of which minstrels sang. It appealed to the people. They were in love with their King.
Those who had murmured against his absence and supported John now asked themselves how they could ever have been so false. Richard was a hero. He was the greatest soldier of the times. He was a legend. They wanted Richard back. There was wild talk of going to war with Germany with an army, of scouring the country, putting it to fire and sword out of vengeance for this treatment of the Lion-Heart. They planned grand processions through the land with Richard at their head while they proclaimed to the world the sort of treatment which would be given to those who dared insult their great King.
All dreams, of course, for how could England invade Germany? But it was good for the people to feel thus, reasoned Eleanor, and they should be encouraged in it.
John was furious. He wished he had cut out Blondel’s tongue before he had gone off singing round the castles of Europe. He gave vent to his rage in the usual manner but chewed rushes were small consolation for power.
With her usual energy Eleanor set about taking action. An embassy should be sent without delay, not to Leopold of Austria but to his overlord the Emperor of Germany. Terms for Richard’s release would no doubt be suggested. They must consider them and if the only way of freeing him was by paying a ransom then that ransom must be paid.
The Emperor received the embassy courteously. It was indeed true that Richard was a prisoner of his vassal Leopold, and when it was pointed out that he could command Leopold to release Richard he agreed that this was so but added that there were charges against Richard which must first be answered.
Like most rulers Henry was in need of money and he believed that the English would be ready to pay a high ransom for their King. Moreover he had a personal grudge against Richard. Henry’s wife Constancia was the sister of the late King of Sicily and in Henry’s opinion the rightful heiress to that island. Richard had supported Tancred the usurper, made agreements with him and promised his nephew Arthur to his daughter. Richard would have to pay for that. But he promised the embassy he would take action.
He ordered that a strong guard be sent to Dürenstein and that Richard should be brought to Haguenau where he would summon an assembly of States and there certain charges should be brought against him.
Richard, delighted to be free of Dürenstein and aware now that the fact of his imprisonment was well known and his enemies could no longer let it be presumed that he was dead, was in high spirits. His stay in Dürenstein had not been uncomfortable, merely restricting; and his health had improved a little. There had been no attack of the recurring fever which had so sapped his strength and from which it took time to recover. He was therefore in excellent health.
Arrived at Haguenau he was permitted by Henry to meet members of the embassy from England.
He plied them with questions. The answers were not very comforting.
He heard what had happened to Longchamp, how John was raising supporters and that Philip of France had become an ally of John and it seemed that their motive was to put a crown on John’s head.
Richard did not seem greatly surprised.
Philip hates me now, he thought. Strange that once we were such friends. But such friendships are sometimes not of the heart.
And John! My own brother!
He smiled wryly. ‘There was ever conflict in our family,’ he said. ‘Sons against father, brother against brother. Perhaps it is why we are known as the devil’s brood. It may well be true that my ancestress was a witch. As for John he is not the man to win a kingdom by force of arms, if he meets the slightest resistance.’
‘It would seem, my lord, that you will come home just in time.’
‘How are the people? How is the King of Scotland? He has always seemed to be a good friend of mine.’
‘The people are with you, my lord, and the King of Scotland your friend. There were bonfires in the hamlets and songs of joy in the streets when news that you were alive was let loose.’
‘Then there is nothing to fear from John . . . nor from the King of France.’
‘Nay, my lord, not now that you are found.’
‘’Twas young Blondel. I shall never forget this.’
‘It is reward enough he says that he had the honour of serving you. He says it will never be forgotten and that he is the proudest minstrel in the world. He will be the happiest when you are free.’
‘God bless the boy,’ said Richard.
But the Emperor was determined that he should not be easily released. He had paid certain moneys to Leopold of Austria for the captive and he wanted to get that money back with interest.
Meanwhile Eleanor had sent messengers to Pope Celestine begging him to intervene in the unlawful detention of Richard. The Pope, always anxious not to favour one side when the opponents were as powerful as the Emperor of Germany and the King of England, gave his verdict that it was indeed wrong to imprison in secret a ruling monarch unless of course there were good reasons for doing so.
Thus challenged the Emperor declared that he had his reasons. Several people had brought charges against Richard and justice demanded that until these had been satisfactorily answered it was just for Richard – King of England though he might be – to remain a prisoner.
The Emperor then summoned an assembly and the charges against Richard were stated clearly in his presence, so that he could answer them in person.
The first charge was that he had supported Tancred to the detriment of the Emperor whose wife was the true heir to the island of Sicily.
Richard replied that the island had needed a strong king and Tancred was there to provide it. Richard himself had been on his way to a crusade and the most important thing was to proceed with all speed on his mission. By making terms with Tancred he had been able to do this and to make sure that other crusaders on their way to the Holy Land would not be prevented from making the journey. The same applied to Cyprus where he had set up his own ruler so that it could now be a haven for pilgrims and crusaders.
The serious charge of having brought about the murder of Conrad Marquis of Montferrat was the next.
This he utterly refuted.
It was well known, he replied, that the Old Man of the Mountains was responsible for that deed because Conrad had intercepted his ships and robbed them off the coast of Tyre. It was only slander which had brought the charge against him because he had supported Guy de Lusignan as candidate for the crown of Jerusalem. He had however agreed to accept Conrad. Why should he then murder him, for his murder had not put Guy on the throne, for Henry of Champagne had that honour.
This seemed reasonable and the assembly was swayed in favour of Richard.
The French representative in the assembly rose to declare that Richard was guilty of treason against his feudal lord, Philip of France.
Richard laughed so loudly that his laughter echoed through the hall.
‘I . . . accused of treason!’ cried Richard. ‘My lords, if there is one guilty of treason that is the King of France. He has sworn friendship with me. We vowed to go together to the Holy Land. He broke his vow. He could not endure the hardships. They brought him near to death, he swears; and he returned to France and planned to rob my kingdom and my dukedom while I continued to act in accordance with the vow I took with the King of France. Is this treason to Philip? Nay, my lords, Philip is the one who is guilty of treason, of breach of friendship, of broken vows and promises. He has taken advantage of one who believed himself to be his friend. Think of his actions during my absence. Is he a man of honour? Come, my lords, search your consciences and do not speak to me of my lack of loyalty to the King of France.’
There was murmuring in the hall. They must agree with him. He was right. The King of France had betrayed him and what sort of man was it who attacked another’s dominions while he was away engaged in a holy war?
There were followers of Leopold of Austria who related that Richard had insulted their flag. He had torn it down from the walls of Acre and stamped on it. Was this not an act of treachery against a good friend who had fought side by side with him in the conquest of the city?
‘My lord,’ said Richard, ‘this was no single triumph. This was the triumph of the Christian army. In such an undertaking there are certain to be conflicts between nations. As commander of the army it was my duty to suppress this. The Duke of Austria was arrogant, not ready to work with the rest of us. When I myself repaired the walls of the cities with my men, the Duke of Austria declared himself too noble to work with us. I am the son of a King, my lords, yet I could work side by side with my men, share their hardships, show myself to be one of them. It is necessary in an army. It is not good for that army to see among them those who are too proud to share in the task and then would take the glory. I did what you accused me of and, by God, I would do it again.’
It was not only his words, it was that aura of nobility and almost superhuman power, his exceptional good looks, his tall commanding figure, which made Henry realise it had been a mistake to bring him to face his judges. The accusations should have been made in his absence.
But Henry was shrewd. He knew he had lost so he went to Richard and embraced him.
‘I see,’ he cried, ‘that the King of England has been falsely accused and I believe this assembly to be in agreement with me.’
There were cries of agreement and cheers.
Now I shall go home and set my affairs in order, thought Richard.
But Henry was not going to relinquish his prize so easily. Richard might be innocent of the charges brought against him; Pope Celestine might declare it was not right for the Emperor to detain him, but the Emperor saw that there was money to be gained and he shook his head over Richard and murmured that it was only proper that if the English wished their King to return they must be prepared to pay for the privilege.
Richard was therefore conducted to the castle of Trifels, a suitable place for a King to be held to ransom. Trifels had been built on a hill surrounded by wooded mountains; there was no town within miles, the nearest dwellings being in the village of Anweiler. Richard was treated with respect; comforts were provided for him; he had his page to sing and play to him and William de l’Estang as a companion. But he was surrounded by an even stronger guard than he had had at Dürenstein. At least, however, thanks to faithful Blondel it was known where he was and he could rely on his mother to do everything within her power to bring about his release.
The bargaining began and went on for months. Philip was urging the Emperor not to release Richard. He wondered what they would say to each other if they were to come face to face again. How Richard would revile him! He would never understand that he reviled himself. What was it, this desire to destroy that which in a way he loved and yet he hated? Richard would never understand the complex feelings of the King of France.
Meanwhile Henry of Germany was determined to make the best of his bargain.
He visited Richard and they talked together.
Richard was his prisoner, he pointed out. He had bought the right to hold him from Leopold of Austria who had good reason to hate him; and he must have something for his pains. What would Richard think of handing him the crown of England in exchange for his freedom?
‘I’d rather you took my life,’ retorted Richard.
‘You should have the crown back,’ temporised the Emperor, ‘and hold it as my vassal.’
Richard laughed at the thought.
‘What of seventy thousand marks of silver?’
‘That’s a great deal,’ said Richard. ‘Dost think my people would consider me worth as much?’
‘They would seem loyal at this time. They regard you as the hero of the crusades. They might think it worth the price to have you back and so avoid the crown’s going to John.’
‘Then let us see if they will raise it.’
‘The daughter of the Emperor of Cyprus is detained by you. She is the niece of the Duchess of Austria and should be given to her aunt to be brought up.’
‘That can be done,’ said Richard.
‘To show friendship with the Duke of Austria whom you insulted on the walls of Acre his son should have for wife your niece the maid of Brittany sister to that Arthur whom you have named your heir.’
‘That should also be done,’ replied Richard.
‘Then all that is left is to raise the money.’
‘It will take time,’ said Richard.
‘That is to be expected.’
‘You cannot hold me here for years. Let us say that when the first instalment is made I am allowed to go.’
This was agreed on and Richard in his chamber at Trifels waited eagerly for release.
Eleanor was indefatigable. How could she raise the first instalment of the ransom which was necessary for Richard’s release?
Nothing and no one must be spared. Every knight must contribute twenty shillings. Every town and hamlet must pay its due. Every man who had anything to give must give it. The abbeys and churches were to give their silver plate but Eleanor swore it would only be as a loan and the articles should later be restored to the churches. The monks were to give the wool from their sheep. No one must be spared.
Once the King was back there would be prosperity in the land. But the King must return.
The money was paid and there was no longer any excuse to keep Richard prisoner. He set out from the Castle of Trifels on his way to England.
William de l’Estang was uneasy, as Richard himself was.
‘I’ll not feel safe,’ said Richard, ‘until I am free of the Emperor’s domains.’
Even so he refused to show any sign of haste and paused in Cologne to receive the Mass which was given in his honour.
He did not linger though. Something told him that Henry was already regretting his agreement to let Richard go.
‘Let us go with all speed without seeming to,’ suggested William, and Richard agreed with this.
When they arrived at Antwerp it was to find English ships waiting to take them home, but their progress was slow as the sandbanks were notoriously dangerous and skilful navigation was necessary to avoid disaster. A sudden storm drove them into the port of Schouwen where it seemed wise to rest until the sea was calmer. However news came that the Emperor, reconsidering his decision to allow Richard to go, was sending a troop of his best soldiers to bring Richard back to him. The thought of being once more a prisoner decided Richard. He would face the storm rather than that. He was fortunate and managed to weather it, and in due course landed at Sandwich.
As soon as he knew that his brother had landed John lost no time in going to France.
Chapter XIX
THE RECONCILIATION
So he was back in England. It was four years and three months since the day he had left and now he was landing at Sandwich on this April Sunday.
It seemed that the whole of England had come out of their homes to welcome him. He was content to have his mother beside him, his good friends around him and his loyal people making him aware of their pleasure in his return.
First to Canterbury to prostrate himself at the shrine of St Thomas and to thank God and the saint for bringing him safely through so many adventures. Then to London where it seemed the citizens, wild with joy, were determined to make feasts for him and bestow rich gifts upon him.
And after London to St Albans to kneel before the shrine there and offer to God the banner of Cyprus that his conquest of that island might be blessed.
Winchester should be next but there were one or two matters to be set right before he went there. Certain of his castles had defected to John and he must show the inhabitants of these that he was determined to take back that which was his by right.
Nottingham was the chief of these and it only needed him to appear for the citadel to surrender and those who had held it in John’s name to come on their knees and beg his clemency. He was in a forgiving mood. He was so pleased to be free and to know that his kingdom was once more in his hands and his subjects loyal to him.
At Winchester he enjoyed a second coronation, carrying the regalia as he had done when he was crowned king.
His mother, who had been beside him during his triumphant progress, was deeply moved. But she it was who reminded him that the life of a King was not all pageantry.
‘You have regained England, my son,’ she said, ‘and methinks you returned just in time. But John has gone to France and you know who your real enemy is.’
‘Philip,’ he murmured.
‘Aye, the King of France. He has encouraged John to act against you and I believe to be true the rumour that he bribed the Emperor to hold you prisoner longer than he might have done.’
‘Why, Mother? Why?’
‘Because he is the King of France, Richard, and you are the King of England. You hold Normandy and he wants Normandy. What better reason than that?’
‘But I had thought Philip was my friend.’
‘Always an uneasy friendship, Richard.’
‘Aye, so it would seem.’
‘What of Berengaria? It is long since you have seen your wife. You should send for her as soon as we reach Normandy, for to Normandy we must go at once. England will be safe now but not so Normandy.’
‘’Tis true that we must go to Normandy.’
‘And Berengaria?’
He was silent.
‘You do not love her,’ said Eleanor. ‘Does she not please you as a wife?’
‘She is well enough.’
‘Ah, my son, I understand. You do not want a wife. But it is necessary for you to produce an heir, you know.’
‘’Tis the duty of all kings I well know.’
‘Get her with child and then pursue your own way of life.’
Richard did not answer and Eleanor shook her head sadly. It seemed strange to her that a man such as Richard should not love women. He must be induced to go to Berengaria for a while at least. She, Eleanor, must live long enough to see them produce the heir to the throne.
Before May was out they set sail for Normandy. It was imperative to do so as there was no time to lose. Richard set up a Regent to act for him until he and Queen Eleanor returned.
In their apartments in the castle of Poitou the Queens of England and Sicily with the Cypriot Princess, who had been their constant companion since Richard had sent her to them, heard the news of the King’s return.
They knew then that the life which had been theirs since they came to the peace of Poitou was coming to an end.
During that time Berengaria had often said that she felt they were living in a dream from which they would have to awaken sooner or later. Life seemed to have stood still. There had been the years of waiting for Richard, then the adventure of going to Sicily, Cyprus and the Holy Land, marriage, the perilous journey to Poitou followed by the quiet life when every day seemed like the one before and nothing seemed to happen.
‘Nothing?’ Joanna had cried when Berengaria had spoken of this to her. For to Joanna something had happened. Ever since the handsome knight had been bidden to escort them from Marseilles she had begun to change. Joanna and Raymond of Toulouse had ridden side by side on that journey; they had laughed and talked together, becoming so absorbed in each other’s company that any attempt to join them on the part of Berengaria seemed to spoil their pleasure.
And since they had been at Poitou the Count had visited them frequently, and when he came Joanna was gayer and younger than Berengaria had ever seen her before. In the beginning Berengaria had hoped that the attachment would fade away. The Count of Toulouse had brought them in safety to Poitou and there his duty ended; if he had not returned to them again and again Joanna might have begun to forget their charming escort and those pleasant hours which flew by with such speed as they talked together and discovered so much in common with each other.
But it seemed that Raymond of Toulouse found it impossible to stay away from Joanna.
Berengaria talked of the matter with the Cypriot Princess. ‘It goes too far,’ she said.
‘It is too late to stop it now,’ replied the Princess.
‘I fear Joanna’s heart will break when she has to give him up.’
‘Need she?’
‘Richard’s family and his have always been in conflict. Why even during the crusade the Counts of Toulouse invaded Guienne. Had my brother Sancho not fought in Richard’s defence Guienne would have passed into the hands of the Counts of Toulouse.’
The Princess shook her head sadly. ‘It is all fighting,’ she said, ‘and we must suffer because of it.’
‘I trust Joanna will not suffer too deeply,’ replied Berengaria.
There was about Joanna a defiance. She said that if a Princess married once for state reasons she should be allowed to choose her second husband.
But all of them knew that the days of dalliance were coming to an end, and the climax which they knew was inevitable was moving nearer.
Joanna and her lover talked together, as they walked in the castle grounds.
‘Now that my brother is free I will send a message to him,’ she said. ‘I will send one to my mother also. Who knows, they may allow us to marry.’
Raymond was less sanguine. ‘There has always been enmity between our houses.’
‘Then, my dearest love, I will point out that a match between us will mend the rift.’
He kissed her tenderly, loving her vitality, her enthusiasm. Then he said: ‘And if they should refuse?’
‘I am not a child,’ she said. ‘I have done my duty once. This time I will have my way. I will go with you wherever you take me.’
He pressed her hands.
‘It could mean death to us both,’ he told her.
‘I would face death for love,’ she answered, ‘and whatever the future held we should have had some time together.’
‘You are reckless, Joanna.’
‘Let us be reckless. I will if you will.’
‘Then be ready.’
‘First though I will send to my brother and to my mother also. I have hopes, for Richard has never been vengeful. I believe I was always his favourite sister and I know he would wish to see me happy. As for my mother she knows what it is to love. Let us hope, Raymond.’
So Joanna sent messengers to Richard and Eleanor and, at the same time, being uncertain of what their reaction would be, prepared herself for flight.
Each day she and Berengaria were at the turret watching for riders.
Berengaria thought: Richard will send for me. He must now that he is in Normandy.
During the years of his captivity she had forgotten his neglect of her in the Holy Land; she made excuses for it. He had been so deeply involved. His purpose was to regain Jerusalem. He had no time for the society of women. But there had been occasions . . . She shut out such thoughts and memories of the rumours she had heard about his nature. She thought only of the knight in shining armour whom she had first seen at the tournament of Pampeluna. The dreams of an idealistic young girl were superimposed on the bitter truth of experience.
‘Richard will come to me soon,’ she told herself.
The Cypriot Princess was growing out of childhood. She still thought of her father and dreamed of the day when she had heard that he was a prisoner. That had been so difficult to understand at that time. He the mighty Emperor whom all men feared, a prisoner in chains – silver chains she was told, as though that would console her.
She had been frightened then but she had not fully understood the possibilities of what could happen to an unprotected princess. Since the fall of Cyprus she had lived closely beside Joanna and Berengaria; she had seen Berengaria’s unhappiness through the neglect of her husband and Joanna’s delight and fears as the prospect of marriage with Raymond of Toulouse or of parting with him for ever loomed up before her.
Why could not life be simple as it had seemed to a child in her father’s palace? she wondered. But to enjoy the simple life one must be simple oneself. As one grew older and knew what was happening in the world one realised the awful possibilities.
She knew why the Queens watched eagerly. Joanna was waiting for a messenger from King Richard and Berengaria was waiting for King Richard himself.
At length it came. Ironically no one was watching at that time and the messenger rode into the courtyard while they were at table.
Joanna stood up, all the colour drained from her face. Berengaria was trembling.
Letters. The royal seal. Not for Berengaria. Of course he will come in person, thought Berengaria. But letters for Joanna.
She seized on them and carried them to her own chamber. Berengaria felt limp with disappointment. She knew in her heart that she had been foolish to hope.
She went to the chamber next to that of Joanna. She wanted to be alone. Is it that he dislikes me? she asked herself. Can the rumours be true? Are there some he loves?
Joanna was at the door. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining.
‘Wonderful news, Berengaria. Richard is the dearest and kindest of brothers! He wants me to be happy, he says. I have suffered a great deal. He loves me dearly.’
‘They are permitting the match with Raymond?’
‘They are ready to make arrangements. Concessions will be asked doubtless. But what do we care for that? Raymond and I are to be married.’
She threw herself into Berengaria’s arms. ‘I’m so happy, Berengaria. Princesses are rarely so happy, I know. When I think of my last marriage . . . a little girl going into a foreign land to a stranger . . . And now Raymond! Oh what a good brother Richard is to me! And there is my mother. She writes that there has always been conflict between her house and that of Toulouse and that the Counts of Toulouse have always believed they had a claim in Aquitaine. She will give up her rights to Aquitaine to me so that in this way the claim will be settled.’
‘So, my dear Joanna, you are the most fortunate Princess alive. You can mend a quarrel between states and marry for love at the same time.’
Joanna paused and looked at Berengaria, her delight momentarily dimmed. Here am I rejoicing, she reproached herself, when Berengaria is so sadly deserted.
Oh Richard, how can you be so good to your sister and so cruel to your wife!
‘I doubt not,’ she said, ‘that Richard will be here. He will want to be with you as soon as he has made Normandy safe.’
Berengaria turned away.
She knew the truth.
As Richard moved across Normandy recovering all that had been lost, John was terrified. All his dreams of power had evaporated. Richard was home safe and well and likely to live for a good many years. He gave way to his violent rages but of what use were they? He had to face his brother sooner or later and what the outcome of that would be he dared not think.
There was one hope. His mother was with Richard. If he could talk with her in secret, if he could get her to plead with Richard . . . there might be a chance. But would she? She was on Richard’s side absolutely. Her greatest mission in life was to keep him on the throne. What would she think of one – even though he were her son – who had tried to take it from him?
She was softening in her old age. Look at this affair of Joanna’s! She had always been fiercely against the house of Toulouse. There was the perennial quarrel about their claim on this and that. Yet she had talked with Richard, and Joanna’s happiness had been a factor in their decision. She was a mother as well as a Queen and she was his mother.
Richard had power to send him to prison. The fate which befell prisoners would not bear contemplation. To be shut up in a dungeon for years, to have jailers who might treat him with cruelty or at least without respect, was something he could not endure. Yet he had played the traitor. He had to admit it. He had intrigued against the King and even though his father had named him his successor Richard was the eldest son and accepted by the people as the true King. One only had to remember how they had drooled over him when he had returned. The great hero, the Saviour of Acre, the man whose name was a legend throughout the Christian world. The Lion-hearted King! They forgot he had deserted them, had taxed them to pay for his crusade, had cared little for his native land and had offered to sell London if he could get enough money for it to spend on his Holy Wars. Yes, they forgot that. He had come home covered with honours; he was romantic; he had been imprisoned in a German schloss; he had been discovered by his minstrel boy and they had had to pay a vast sum for his ransom. This did not add up to a good king but they loved him none the less. And there was no doubt that he was strong. None it seemed could stand against him. Philip was less friendly now that he was back, inclined to be contemptuous of John and speaking of his enemy Richard as though he were some kind of god.
John knew when he was beaten and he was beaten now. His only hope was his mother.
He would go to her quietly, secretly; he would plead with her to speak for him to Richard as she had for Joanna. He would remind her that he was her youngest son.
