When Hubert Walter finally returned, William began to pelt him with questions even before he’d closed the door. The bishop held up his hand as if to ward them off. “I will tell you all, I promise. But let me sit down first. I’d sooner bargain with the Devil’s own than that lot.”
William hastened over with a wine cup. “It was only to be expected that the emperor would be in a foul mood after the king’s triumphant acquittal Monday.”
“We did not see the emperor. He sent the bishops of Speyer and Bath to speak for him, although Leopold was there, and looking none too happy about it.”
“The Bishop of Bath? Since when did he become the emperor’s puppet?”
“He insisted he was the ideal choice, being blood-kin to the emperor and yet loyal to the king. But I doubt their kinship means much to Heinrich, and Savaric’s loyalty is primarily to himself.” Hubert took a swallow of wine and then another, realizing for the first time just how fatigued he was. “Are you ready to hear what they are seeking now? The emperor still wants that one hundred thousand silver marks, but this time around, it is being disguised as a ‘fee’ to reward Heinrich for brokering a peace between Richard and the French king.”
William’s jaw dropped. “He has no more chance of doing that than he does of earning sainthood!”
“I know, and so does he. That is why he has agreed that if he fails to reconcile the two kings, nothing will be owed to him.”
William sat down on a nearby stool to consider this. “So . . . they are trying to save face now.”
Hubert nodded, pleased the other man was so quick to comprehend. “That seems to be their primary concern, although they do want some tangible concessions, too. For Heinrich, that means Richard will provide him with fifty galleys and two hundred knights for a year’s service.”
“He is no longer demanding that Richard accompany him in person when he invades Sicily, then?”
“No, that was not even mentioned. Heinrich is proving to be a pragmatist, fortunately. He seems willing to settle for getting some military assistance in his war against Tancred whilst posing as the king’s new friend, one led astray by those false, deceitful French. As for Duke Leopold, his price is the freedom of his kinsman and Richard’s niece as a bride for his son. He was actually more obstinate than the emperor’s spokesmen, most likely because he can see who is going to be the scapegoat when all the dust settles. But even he is not being utterly unreasonable. Richard said flatly that under no circumstances would he return Anna to her father, calling Isaac a lunatic and worse. So Leopold then came up with an alternative plan, that Richard’s niece wed his eldest son and Anna wed the younger lad. Which is not a bad compromise when you think about it.”
William nodded thoughtfully. “He’ll need something substantive to point to when his duchy is laid under Interdict, something to show his unhappy vassals, and I suppose a royal marriage will have to do. What of the hostages?”
“They are being much more reasonable on that, too. Instead of two hundred, they are now willing to settle for sixty highborn hostages sent to the imperial court and seven sent to Vienna.”
“And the king? How did Richard react to these more modest demands?”
Hubert smiled wryly. “After his rather spectacular vindication in the Imperial Diet, he does not think any demands at all should be made upon him.”
“I understand that, I do. But these new terms are a great improvement over what they first tried to extort from him. I think we should accept them and get the king out of here as fast as horses can run.”
“I agree,” Hubert said, with another weary smile. “Now we need only convince Richard of that.”
RICHARD HEARD THEM OUT in a foreboding silence that made William de St Mère-Eglise and the Cistercian abbots uneasy, expecting his anger to erupt at any moment. Hubert Walter had come to know the king well during their time in the Holy Land and he interpreted that silence differently, seeing it as evidence that Richard had reluctantly come to the same conclusion as they had—that his first priority had to be regaining his freedom. Richard’s common sense was their ally; it was his lacerated pride that they must win over.
“We understand why you are loath to consent, my liege. You have right on your side and thanks to your brilliant defense on Monday, you have demolished any possible legal justification for your detention. Yet none of this changes the fact that you are still in Emperor Heinrich’s power, a man we know to be untrustworthy and dishonorable. They need to save face, and as much as I hate to say it, we need to let them.”
“Bishop Hubert speaks the truth, my lord king,” William said earnestly. “It is not safe to defy Heinrich, not until you are free again. Then you can pressure the Holy Father to move against them, as he ought to have done from the outset.”
“There is another reason to accept their terms,” Hubert continued. “The longer you remain in Germany, the more time that gives the French king and your brother to wreak havoc in your domains. Philippe has already led an army into Normandy and the queen’s spy warned her that John hoped to gather a fleet at Wissant to invade England. You can spare your subjects much suffering if you get home ere that happens.”
Richard said nothing, but when he sat down in the closest chair, the slump of his shoulders and his bloodshot eyes spoke eloquently of his exhaustion, of the toll this was taking upon his body and his spirits. Hubert thought he was about to agree—until the Abbot of Boxley made the mistake of pointing out how much more reasonable the new demands were. Richard’s head came up sharply at that, his eyes glittering. “I doubt that Tancred, the Cypriots, my niece, or Anna would agree with you,” he snapped.
Dismayed to have blundered, the abbot looked to Hubert for help and the bishop did his best to provide it. “Tancred’s fate will not rise or fall upon your providing Heinrich with fifty galleys. He has always expected Heinrich to launch another invasion and will be ready for it. Nor are the Cypriots at risk if Isaac regains his freedom. He is a broken reed, no longer posing a threat, for he lacks what any despot most needs—money.”
“Nor are the marriages disparaging ones, my liege,” William said quickly. “The Lady Aenor might do better, I admit, being the niece of England’s king. But it is no disgrace to be the Duchess of Austria. Leopold’s House is a proud one, with blood ties to many of the royal courts in Christendom. His mother was a Greek princess, his duchess the sister of a Hungarian king, and he can claim kinship to the Hohenstaufens, too. As for the Lady Anna, her prospects are not so promising, even if you were to provide a marriage portion for her. Isaac is disgraced and deposed, and he never had a legal right to Cyprus in any event. I suppose she might be welcomed by her mother’s kindred back in Armenia, but few lords of high birth would see any benefits in taking her as a bride. So marriage to Leopold’s younger son may be the best she can hope for.”
“William is right, sire,” Hubert said, just as quickly, wanting to head off any objections from Richard. “The girls could do far worse. Unless you object to Leopold’s sons, fear that Friedrich and Leo will not do right by them?”
“No . . . they are good lads, both of them. I have no reason to think they would not be decent husbands to my niece and Anna.”
Encouraged by this grudging concession from Richard, Hubert smiled. “We ought to remember, too, that not all betrothals lead to the altar. For certes, yours to the Lady Alys did not. And if my memory serves, your lord father and Emperor Friedrich were once talking of a marriage between you and one of the emperor’s daughters, which came to naught.”
“Thank God for that,” Richard said fervently. “Had it come to pass, Heinrich would have been my brother by marriage.” And when they laughed, he managed a thin smile of his own.
“So may we tell them on the morrow that you accept the terms?” Hubert would not have posed that question were he not already sure of the answer. He still held his breath, though, until Richard nodded, apparently finding the words themselves too bitter to the taste.
They were all gre
atly relieved to have it settled. Hubert suspected that Richard was, too, even if he’d never admit it. It was then, though, that the Abbot of Boxley made another error. “Let us drink, then, to the king’s impending release,” he exclaimed, and bustled over to the table to pour wine for them before Hubert could stop him.
Richard took a cup when it was thrust into his hand, but his eyes had darkened to a storm-sea grey. Hubert and William had too often seen the old king’s eyes take on that same ominous shade just before the notorious Angevin temper ignited, and so they were braced for what happened next. The abbots and Richard’s guards were not, and they all flinched and gasped when Richard’s fist closed around the cup and he then flung it furiously across the chamber. It struck the wall with enough force to shatter, sending shards of glazed clay flying in all directions, while the wine splashed the whitewashed surface with splatters that looked eerily like bloodstains.
“I may have to agree to this odious extortion,” Richard snarled, “but by God, I’ll not celebrate it!”
RICHARD WAS RECLINING IN the window-seat of his chamber in the Bishop of Speyer’s palace, strumming a small harp; it was tangible evidence of his improved prospects, for as soon as he’d requested one from the bishop, it had been delivered to him within hours. He’d also been allowed to meet with some of the German prelates, and had even spent an enjoyable afternoon with the Provost of Cologne, Adolf von Altena, who’d given him an interesting update on the rebellion. But now that Easter was past, the men who’d attended the Imperial Diet had departed Speyer, and Richard’s flood of visitors had ebbed to a trickle. He was pleased, therefore, when a knock sounded at the door, for after three months in semiseclusion, he welcomed Heinrich’s open-door policy; isolation had been a punishment in and of itself for a man accustomed to being the center of attention.
He had new guards now that Leopold had formally surrendered him to the emperor, and one rose and moved casually to the door, admitting Hadmar and Leopold’s two sons.
“We’ve come to bid you farewell,” Friedrich declared, “for our lord father is returning to Austria today and so we might not see you again.”
“Unless you come to our weddings,” Leo chimed in, with a cheeky grin that Richard could not help returning.
“I expect I’ll be too busy putting the fear of God into my brother and his French partner in crime.”
“Well, you would be welcome,” Friedrich assured him. “After all, when I wed your niece, you and I will be kin.”
He sounded rather proud of that, and his brother elbowed him in the ribs. “Are you going to call him Uncle Lionheart?”
“Over my dead body,” Richard said, and both youths laughed.
“Pay Leo no mind. I wanted to tell you,” Friedrich said, with an attempt at adult gravitas, “that I am honored to marry your niece.”
“He also wants to know what she looks like,” Leo gibed, earning himself an indignant look from Friedrich.
“You are just as curious about the Damsel of Cyprus!”
Richard was amused by their playful rivalry, in such contrast to his own contentious relationship with John and his other brothers, and he surprised himself by thinking that whatever else might be said of Leopold, he’d proven to be a good father. “Well, I’ve not seen Aenor for over three years, and she is a little lass, only . . .” He paused to calculate rapidly. “. . . nine. But by the time she is old enough to be a wife, I daresay she will be pleasing to you, Friedrich. The women in my family are usually beauties.”
“What about Anna? Is she pretty? How old is she?”
“Fifteen. And very pretty indeed, Leo, with long fair hair and blue eyes. She is also lively and quick to speak her mind, so if you expect a docile little lamb, you’ll be disappointed.”
“I fancy a lass who shows some spirit,” Leo said loftily, for all the world as if he had vast experience with spirited girls, and Richard hid a smile. He was still angry at being forced to make these marriages, but it did help that both boys were so likable.
“You called her ‘Aenor,’” Friedrich interjected. “I thought her name was Eleanor?”
“It is. Aenor is the Breton form. Geoffrey named her after our lady mother,” Richard explained, thinking that this was one of the few times when he’d been pleased with his brother, for their father had been quite vexed by that, just as Geoffrey had intended.
“Breton?” Friedrich pondered that for a moment. “Is that what she speaks . . . Breton?”
“No, she speaks French, for that is the native tongue of the Breton dukes. I do not think her mother, Constance, speaks any Breton at all.” For the first time, Richard thought about his sister-in-law’s reaction to the marriage. She’d be furious, but he was not overly concerned about that. He had no fondness for Geoffrey’s widow, thinking she’d proved herself to be quite untrustworthy during her marriage to his brother, urging him to ally with the French king and to lay claim to Aquitaine.
Leo had little interest in his brother’s bride and wanted to know now what languages Anna spoke. He looked pleased when Richard said Anna spoke Greek and Armenian, and her French had improved dramatically since she’d joined his sister Joanna’s household. “Very good! I speak some Greek, too. Our grandmother was the daughter of the Greek emperor in Constantinople and our father insisted that we learn it, saying we should be proud of that, being able to claim an emperor in our family.”
Leo had straddled a chair, clearly planning to stay for a while, but he rose reluctantly to his feet when Hadmar reminded him that their lord father planned to depart within the hour. As they went charging into the stairwell like young colts, Hadmar lingered for a moment to say his own farewell to the English king.
Richard had not seen the Austrian ministerialis since he’d been transferred from Leopold’s custody to Heinrich’s, and he was pleased to have this opportunity for a few words. “You made my confinement more bearable than it might otherwise have been, Hadmar, and I will not forget that. I thank you for your courtesy, your kindness . . . and your advice,” he added, with a slight smile. “I would hope that you’ve not lost favor with your duke because of it.”
“He was not pleased with me after your trial, for he thought I welcomed your vindication too enthusiastically. But it passed, as he knows I would be loyal to him till my body’s final breath. And he knows, too, that I do what few dare—I always tell him the truth, and every ruler needs such a man.”
“Yes, they do, indeed.” Richard found himself thinking of his own truth-teller, Fulk de Poitiers. The Bishop of Speyer had assured him that his men would soon be freed, and he hoped so, for he’d missed his irascible, shrewd, and sarcastic clerk, a man as loyal to him as Hadmar was to Leopold. Did Heinrich have any such men? He very much doubted it.
Hadmar bowed, but then hesitated, his hand on the door. He had nothing that would justify his suspicions, much less constitute proof. It was just that he’d never known the emperor to yield so easily. But Heinrich had given the English king the kiss of peace, witnessed by every man present at the Imperial Diet. Would he dare to disavow that? Could he be so careless of his own honor? No, surely not. Why burden Richard with his own misgivings when they were likely no more than shadows and smoke?
“Godspeed, my lord Lionheart,” he said, and moved into the stairwell after his duke’s sons.
HUBERT WALTER HAD BEEN horrified when Richard confided that for the first weeks of his detention, he’d been watched at all times by men with drawn swords, and the bishop was reassured now to see that his new German guards were playing a dice game, yet more proof that the king’s circumstances had changed for the better. “I’d hoped they’d have been removed altogether,” he admitted.
Richard had hoped so, too, but he merely shrugged. “They are polite and seem to think it is an honor to be guarding a king. The Bishop of Speyer even found one who speaks a little French; very little, if truth be told. Still better than my German, though.” Gesturing toward the table, he said, “There are the letters I want you to tak
e to England. William already has his. Did I tell you I have a scribe now? According to the bishop, the emperor thought it was not fitting that a king should be writing his own letters and kindly provided one for me.”
Hubert smiled, for Richard’s voice had been dripping with sarcasm. “I was trying to think,” he continued, “who’d make a better spy than a scribe. Aside from a royal confessor, no one.”
“Jesu forfend,” Hubert said, only half jokingly, for violating the sanctity of the confessional was a serious sin. “I assume the letters are to the queen and your justiciars.”
Richard nodded. “You’ll be able to tell them all that I thought best not to commit to parchment.” He gave the bishop a sidelong glance and a mischievous smile. “You’ll be most interested, though, in one of the letters I entrusted to William, telling my lady mother that we need to address the vacant archbishopric of Canterbury. It has been over two years, after all, since Archbishop Baldwin died at Acre. I’d say it is long overdue to fill it, no?”
Hubert nodded, hoping that his inner agitation was concealed beneath his matter-of-fact demeanor. As much as he yearned for the archbishopric, he’d never discussed it with Richard, too proud to campaign for a post that he might be judged unqualified for. Hubert had received extensive administrative and legal training in the household of his uncle, King Henry’s chief justiciar, and had gained considerable experience serving as a justice of the Exchequer Court before Richard had approved his elevation to the bishopric of Salisbury. But he lacked the formal education expected of a prince of the Church, and was self-conscious about his inadequate command of Latin; he’d had to rely upon William’s whispered translation in order to follow Richard’s speech to the Imperial Diet. Fearing that if he asked Richard and was refused, it might damage a relationship he valued greatly, he’d never sought to plead his own case before the king. Nor would he do so now.