A King's Ransom (45 page)

Fulk sighed, thinking what Philippe or Heinrich would have made of such a statement. Sometimes it seemed to him that his king went out of his way to provide weapons for his enemies to use against him. Before he could respond, the door burst open and the Bishop of Bath hurried into the chamber.

“Sire, I have good news; wanted to be the one—” Savaric got no further, momentarily flustered by the unexpected sight of Fulk de Poitiers, for the two men had no liking for each other. “I did not expect to see you here, Master Fulk. My cousin the emperor must have forgotten to tell me you’d been released from custody.”

Richard thought it might be possible to invent a drinking game based upon how often Savaric used the words “my cousin the emperor” in any of his conversations. Fulk made no attempt to conceal his distaste. “Not all men would be so proud to claim the king’s gaoler as a kinsman, my lord bishop.”

Savaric bristled. “You need to catch up with recent developments, Master Fulk. Our king and the emperor are steadfast friends now and Emperor Heinrich has sent a letter to England’s justiciars in which he pledged lasting peace between our countries and vowed that from now on, he would look upon injuries done to King Richard as if they were done to him and the empire. Even your form of address is out of date, for I am soon to be Canterbury’s archbishop.”

Fulk’s eyes were heavy-lidded and deep-set; now, however, they opened wider than gold bezants. “You—the Archbishop of Canterbury? When pigs—oof!” That exhalation was caused by Richard, who jabbed him sharply in the ribs and then asked Savaric about his “good news.”

The bishop would have preferred to dwell upon his coming elevation to the highest ecclesiastical office in England, correctly assuming that Fulk was going to find it very difficult to accept. But now that they’d gotten that precious letter of support from Richard, he was eager to retain his king’s favor. “Of course, sire. The emperor and the French king have agreed to meet next month at Vaucouleurs on the Nativity of St John the Baptist. I wanted to inform you straightaway, knowing you’d be pleased, for once the emperor convinces Philippe to make peace with you, your kingdom will no longer be in peril.”

With Savaric’s first words, Richard had stiffened, feeling as if he’d taken a physical blow to his midsection. He took several deep breaths, paying no heed to the bishop as he babbled on happily, saying he thought it likely his cousin the emperor would want him to attend this conference and he would be honored to act on behalf of his king. Fulk looked at Richard, then back at Savaric, and for once, held his tongue.

At last Saravic noticed that the conversation was utterly one-sided, and reluctantly took his leave, promising to return on the morrow. Once he’d gone, Fulk switched to Latin, even though he thought it unlikely any of the guards understood enough French to eavesdrop. “Sire, what is going on? Surely that puffed-up peacock is not to be archbishop! As for this upcoming conference with the French king, I do not like the sound of that, not at all.”

Richard dismissed Savaric’s prospects with a profanity, adding, “We’ll see the Second Coming ere that fool ever wears the holy pallium. And you are right to be wary of this meeting. If it comes to pass, it will likely mean disaster for me. Philippe is eager to outbid my mother and my justiciars, wants Heinrich to turn me over to him instead of setting me free.”

While this possibility had preyed upon Fulk’s peace for the past five months, it was still chilling to hear it spoken aloud. “But it would still be easier—and less damaging to Heinrich’s reputation—for him to accept an English ransom. And the queen mother will never be outbid, sire. Surely you know that?”

Richard had risen again, and as he paced the confines of his chamber, he put Fulk in mind of the caged lions he’d once seen at London’s Tower. “If it were just a question of money, I’d not fear the outcome. But Philippe is in a position to offer Heinrich something that my mother cannot, something that could well tip the scales in his favor. When they meet at Vaucouleurs, he will likely promise to provide military aid in putting down the rebellion of Heinrich’s lords. And if that happens, do you truly think Heinrich will refuse?”

Despite the warmth of the May sun flooding the window-seat, Fulk suddenly felt very cold. “Surely God would not let that happen,” he said, without much conviction.

“It may be blasphemous to say this, but I cannot rely upon God to keep this meeting from taking place. No, if catastrophe is to be averted, I must do it myself.”

“How will you do that, sire?”

“I do not know,” Richard conceded, “at least not yet.” And it seemed to him that he could feel his father’s sarcastic spirit close at hand, nodding approvingly as he said, “I will find a way, though.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MAY 1193

St Albans, England

G
uillaume de Longchamp’s return to England had so far been even more of an ordeal than he’d expected. After his ship docked in the estuary of the River Orwell at Ipswich, he’d sent word to Samson, Abbot of St Edmundsbury, letting him know as a courtesy that he would be traveling through lands held by the abbey. He was determined that none could accuse him of arrogance, a sin he now acknowledged he’d been guilty of in the past. Samson was not a friend. Longchamp was shocked, nonetheless, when the abbot responded by ordering a suspension of divine service in any town he passed through, and he’d endured the humiliation of entering a church only to have the priest halt the celebration of the Mass and stand mute at the altar until he’d departed. Longchamp’s outrage was even stronger than his mortification, for he was no longer under a sentence of excommunication, which had been passed by the Archbishop of Rouen soon after he’d been sent into exile. Not only had the Holy Father the Pope absolved him, but Queen Eleanor had convinced the archbishop to lift his sentence of anathema. There was nothing he could do, though, except to push on toward London.

He’d hired mercenaries to see to his safety, but he decided he needed moral support, too, in light of the difficult task he faced; he could not deny that he felt very vulnerable in what he saw as a nest of vipers. All of his brothers had benefited greatly from his rise to a position of such power. He’d made Osbert and Henry sheriffs of Yorkshire and Herefordshire, secured for Stephen a post in Richard’s own household, named another brother as Abbot of Croyland, and made Robert the Prior of Ely, with an even greater prize in mind—the abbacy of Westminster. His downfall had dashed that dream, but at least Robert had not been deprived of his church post, unlike his brothers, who’d been stripped of their shrievalties by his enemies. His family remained loyal and, upon getting his urgent message, Robert had hastened to join him on his journey from Ipswich to London, bringing some good news. Their brother Henry had been arrested in the wake of Longchamp’s disgrace and imprisoned at Count John’s Cardiff Castle, but Robert was able to assure him that Henry was finally at liberty.

Worse was to come, though, for when they reached London, Longchamp found the gates barred to him. The hostility of the Londoners stung all the more because he’d given those ungrateful English dolts the right to elect their own sheriffs. Listening as they hooted and jeered him from the city walls, he thought he could right gladly turn his back on this accursed isle, never to set foot on its soil again—but not until he fulfilled his mission for his lord, the king.

H
AVING LEARNED THAT
Q
UEEN
E
LEANOR
was meeting with the justiciars and the great council at St Albans, Longchamp headed north, girding himself for an encounter that he knew would be acrimonious. Robert glanced at his brother’s profile as the Benedictine abbey of St Albans came into view. “Is there even one here who’ll not want your head on a pike, Guillaume?”

“Well . . . the earls of Arundel and Surrey were my friends once, so they’d likely offer up a prayer for my soul as my head was separated from my body,” Longchamp said dryly. He kept his eyes fastened upon the Norman tower, soaring well over a hundred feet into the Hertfordshire sky. “Whilst I’d not presume to call her a friend, the queen is not my enemy. She did me a great service last year.”

Robert had not seen his brother since he’d been forced to flee England, and he welcomed this chance to learn the details of Longchamp’s failed effort to regain power. “I’d heard that she supported your attempt to return from exile. Was that because she knew King Richard trusted you?”

“I think it was because she knew I’d tried to bribe Count John,” Longchamp said, smiling at his brother’s startled expression. “John had thought he’d be able to have his own way once I was eliminated. He was outmaneuvered by the Archbishop of Rouen, though, who produced a letter from King Richard, authorizing him as chief justiciar if I had to be removed from office. John had not bargained on that, and I hoped he might be amenable to an alliance with me rather than see Gautier de Coutances reign supreme. I was right, too. He agreed to back me if I paid him five hundred marks.”

“But . . . but you detest and distrust Count John, Guillaume!”

“Yes . . . it was a Devil’s deal, Rob. I convinced myself that I could better protect King Richard’s interests if I were back in England, even if it meant making noxious concessions to John. I truly believed that I was doing it for the king, but I can see now that I was also loath to relinquish the power I’d enjoyed as his chief justiciar. Queen Eleanor’s greatest fear was that John would be tempted into treason by the French king now that he’d returned from the Holy Land, and I suppose she saw me as a lesser evil than Philippe. With the queen and John on my side, I thought I could regain at least some of my authority.”

“But . . . but John did not support your return!”

“No, he did not. When I landed at Dover, the queen sought to persuade the council to accept my offer to appear before them and answer any charges that had been made against me. They balked and sought John’s opinion. I will say this for the man: he is remarkably honest about his dishonesty. He candidly told the council that I’d offered him five hundred marks for his support and invited them to better it. When they offered him two thousand marks, he cheerfully switched sides again. John never lets troublesome scruples get in the way of what he wants. So despite the queen’s support, I was forced to return to Normandy, whilst she stopped John from joining Philippe at the French court.”

Longchamp drew rein unexpectedly, turning in the saddle to look his brother full in the face. “But when I said the queen did me a ‘great service,’ Rob, I did not mean her efforts to end my exile. When I was forced to flee, Archbishop Gautier seized the revenues of my diocese of Ely. I retaliated by laying my own See under Interdict, and he and I excommunicated each other. I did him one better then by also excommunicating the other justiciars and my enemies like Hugh de Nonant, though the English bishops ignored my edicts.”

He grimaced at that, for it still rankled that his fellow bishops had been so quick to abandon him. “When Queen Eleanor made a progress into Ely, she was appalled by the suffering of the people—my people—unable to bury their dead or celebrate the Mass or administer any of the sacraments other than baptizing children and offering the viaticum to the dying. She shamed me into lifting the Interdict, making me realize that in my need to punish Gautier de Coutances, I’d punished the innocent. There was a time when I’d have known that, Rob, but I let my hatred cloud my judgment. She then got the archbishop to return the Ely revenues to me and we absolved each other of our mutual excommunications. She is an extraordinary woman,” he added, causing his brother to regard him in surprise, for Robert had never heard Longchamp speak with such admiration for one of the lesser sex.

Ahead of them loomed the great Norman gateway of the abbey and Longchamp reined in his horse again. “I feel,” he confided wryly, “like Daniel entering the lion’s den.” But then he urged his mount forward, politely requesting admittance when once he’d have demanded it, and his brother began to wonder if he was that rarity—a man truly changed by his misfortunes, able to learn from his past mistakes.