A King's Ransom (71 page)

T
HE KING’S APARTMENTS
in the inner bailey had suffered some damage in the mangonel bombardment, forcing Richard to lodge in the top story of the keep. But the queen’s quarters had been unscathed in the siege and so after the close of the great council, Richard had chosen his mother’s antechamber for an informal meeting with Hubert Walter; two of the justiciars, Will Marshal and William Briwerre; his chancellor, Longchamp; his clerk, Master Fulk; his brother Geoff; his uncle Hamelin; and his cousin André.

Eleanor had detected subtle signs of stress in Richard earlier in the day and she was pleased now to see how much more relaxed he seemed. She thought the council had begun well and, as she’d sat in a place of honor in the splendid great hall built by her husband, she’d savored her preferential status as the queen mother. She’d never been invited to attend one of Henry’s great councils, but Richard took it for granted that she would participate, and if any of the men had doubts about her presence, they were careful to conceal them.

Watching now as her son told the other men about his visit yesterday to the royal forest of Sherwood, she found herself feeling a familiar regret. If only Harry had not clung to every last ounce of power the way a miser hoarded even the most paltry of coins. It was not that he’d dismissed her opinions because they were female opinions. No son of the Empress Maude could ever have viewed women as mere brainless broodmares. No, he simply could not delegate authority, had always to keep his own hand on the reins even if it alienated his wife and antagonized his sons.

Richard was saying he understood now why this castle had been one of his father’s favorites. “My father would gladly have hunted from dawn till dusk, and what better hunting could he find than in Sherwood Forest? It seems to go on forever, with oaks taller than church spires. It must be an ideal haven for outlaws, though.” Accepting a cup of wine, he glanced toward his chancellor. “What is on the schedule for the morrow, Guillaume?”

“Now that we’ve dealt with the shrievalties, we can move on to consider the charges against Count John and the Bishop of Coventry.” Longchamp tried to keep his satisfaction from showing, but not very successfully; Hugh de Nonant’s fall from grace gave him fierce pleasure. “On the third day, we’re to discuss the need for new taxes, and the final day is set aside for complaints against the Archbishop of York by his own cathedral chapter.”

Geoff scowled. “That is a waste of time,” he told Richard vehemently. “Never have I met a more deceitful lot than those sly, scheming canons. They have opposed me from the day of my consecration, and you’d scarce believe what I’ve had to endure at their hands!”

“We have to hear them, Geoff, but you’ll get ample opportunity to respond to their charges,” Richard assured him, with more patience than he usually mustered up for his half brother. Geoff subsided reluctantly, staring balefully at Longchamp as if he suspected the chancellor had encouraged the disgruntled monks.

Eleanor leaned back in her seat, studying Geoff covertly through half-closed eyes. He’d been raised at her husband’s court and she’d made no objections, believing that a man should assume responsibility for children sired in or out of wedlock. But their relationship had soured when she and her sons had rebelled against Henry, for Geoff had never forgiven any of them for that. Richard had honored Henry’s deathbed promises and approved Geoff’s elevation to the archbishopric of York, even though all knew that he did not have the temperament for a Church career and Geoff himself had never wanted to take holy vows. Few had expected him to stir up so much turmoil, though, in his new vocation. He’d feuded bitterly with the Bishop of Durham, even excommunicating him. He’d clashed with Longchamp and antagonized York’s cathedral chapter by trying to get his maternal half brother elected as Dean of York. He’d horrified his fellow prelates by having his archiepiscopal cross carried before him in other Sees than his own, and then offended Hubert Walter by challenging the primacy of Canterbury over York. Eleanor had lost track of all those he’d excommunicated, including a priory of nuns. She’d always known that he’d inherited his fair share of the Angevin temper, but he’d never been so unreasonable or so belligerent in the past, and she could only conclude that York’s archbishop was a very unhappy man.

Richard had told her Geoff’s cathedral chapter was accusing him of a multitude of sins—simony, extortion, violence, and neglect of his pastoral duties. Richard seemed skeptical of these charges and appeared willing to give Geoff the benefit of the doubt, which had not often been true in their contentious past. But Eleanor knew he was pleased with Geoff’s military efforts at the siege of Tickhill; Geoff had also made a good-faith effort to raise money for the ransom, only to be sabotaged by the opposition of his monks, who’d gone so far as to suspend divine services in the Minster in protest. Eleanor did not think this truce between Richard and Geoff would last long; they were both too strong-willed for that. Seeing Geoff glance in her direction, she discreetly lowered her gaze, thinking it was a shame that Harry had been so stubbornly set upon making Geoff into what he was not, could not be, and never wanted to be.

They’d begun a discussion of the new tax to be imposed, two shillings for every one hundred twenty acres of land. Eleanor knew it would not be popular, but she did not see what other choice they had, not if they hoped to free their hostages. Thinking of her grandsons, Otto and Wilhelm, she felt a weary sense of sadness, knowing how homesick they both must be. At least she need no longer worry that Heinrich would renege on the agreement and not release them after the remainder of the ransom was paid, for word had come that the emperor had finally made peace with their father, Der Löwe.

Richard had just told them he meant to send out a letter to the English clerics, thanking them for all they’d done to secure his release. Stifling a yawn, he asked if there was anything else they needed to discuss, saying he’d gotten little sleep last night. André smirked at that, having seen Eve being escorted up to Richard’s bedchamber, but the other men started to rise when Richard did, bidding him good night. Geoff and Hubert exchanged glances, and the latter said reluctantly, “There is one matter, sire.”

Richard sat back down again. “What is it, Hubert?”

“Yesterday, whilst you were riding in Sherwood Forest, the prelates held a meeting.”

Longchamp stiffened, both offended and hurt that even after being restored to the king’s favor, his fellow bishops continued to shun him as if he were a leper, for he’d known nothing of this colloquy. Richard was waiting expectantly, but Hubert took his time, sensing that what he was about to say would not be well received.

“They think it would be a good idea, my liege, if you were to hold a ceremony of some sort now that you’ve returned to England.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. Before he could respond, Geoff intervened, for he did not understand why Hubert was vacillating like this. “He is talking about another coronation,” he said bluntly, “a renewal of royal authority, a way to—” He stopped in midsentence then, for his brother had shoved his chair back with such force that it toppled over.

“A way to . . . what, Geoff? To exorcise the shame of my captivity and homage to Heinrich?”

“We did not say that, sire,” Hubert said hastily.

“You were thinking it, though,” Richard raged. “Why else would I need this
ceremony
, this rite of purification? Well, you tell them this, my lord archbishop. Say that if there is any stain upon my honor, I intend to wash it away with French blood!” With that, he swung around, stalked to the door, and slammed it so resoundingly behind him that they all flinched.

There was a long moment of silence. They’d seen the Angevin temper at full blaze before, but none had expected to be scorched by the flames themselves. Longchamp glared at the two archbishops. “Well done! If you’d bothered to include me in that meeting, I could have told you how the king would react to this ‘good idea’ of yours.”

“It was not
my
idea,” Hubert said curtly.

“They thought he would enjoy a royal ceremony. He’s always liked being the center of attention,” Geoff pointed out, his own temper kindling when Longchamp shook his head in conspicuous contempt. But before he could protest, Eleanor rose from her seat.

“My lord archbishop,” she said icily and at once all eyes fastened upon her, for it was obvious that she was as furious as Richard. “Is what my son said true? Do men think there is something shameful about his having to do homage to Heinrich?”

“I do not, Madame,” Hubert said stoutly. She did not doubt his sincerity, but he’d answered a question she’d not asked, and she turned toward Geoff, who was candid to a fault.

Nor did he disappoint now. “Yes, some do,” he confirmed. “It is not that they are doubting the king’s courage—only a fool would do that. But there are those who see his act of homage as sullying English honor, even though it was not given of his free will. Captivity itself carries a certain degree of shame, and this only—”

“God in Heaven!” Eleanor stared at him and then turned away, so angry she did not fully trust herself. How dare they judge Richard for doing what he must to save himself? False-hearted hypocrites! Men and their daft notions of honor!

André was on his feet, too, by now. “I’d like to see any man dare to say that to the king’s face!” His eyes swept the chamber challengingly. “How many of you agree with them?”

“I am sure I can speak for us all when I say that none of us do,” Will Marshal said in measured, deliberate tones. “The king’s homage was regrettable, but not blameworthy, for he was given no choice in the matter. Nor do I see captivity as shameful.” For a moment, his gaze rested coolly on Geoff. “Any man who says that has never been held prisoner himself.”

Remembering that the Marshal had been held captive by the de Lusignans until Eleanor had paid his ransom, Geoff backtracked, saying earnestly, “I was not voicing my own opinion, merely repeating what some have said. I do agree with the other bishops, though, and believe that the king ought to have a crown-wearing ceremony or even a second coronation. It would be a dramatic way of putting this unfortunate incident behind him and signifying a new beginning.”

No one answered him. No one spoke at all, for Eleanor, André, and Longchamp were still fuming, and the others were uncomfortable, regretting that the king had been so angered and that they had been caught in the line of fire. They did not even know if they should wait in case Richard meant to return.

R
ICHARD HAD NOT GONE FAR.
He’d come to a halt out in the inner bailey, ignoring the deferential greetings of soldiers and curious eyes of servants. The cooling night air did not dispel his rage. But he realized almost at once that he’d lashed out at the wrong target. Hubert did not deserve that. None of the men in that chamber did. He could not even blame the bishops and the others who thought he needed to submit to a cleansing ceremony. If he felt that what he’d done was shameful, how could he fault them for believing it, too? After a few moments of bleak reflection, he turned reluctantly and retraced his steps.

They all jumped to their feet as he entered the antechamber, and he waved them back into their seats. “Whether the bishops’ suggestion is a ‘good idea’ is open to debate, but it is never a good idea to confuse the messenger with the message. I did this and I regret it.” They at once began to insist that his flare-up was of no matter and perfectly understandable, their predictable assurances washing over him unheard and unheeded. Taking a seat himself, he looked from one face to another, his gaze at last coming to rest upon Hubert Walter.

“If you feel this warrants discussion, I am willing to hear you out. But I must say at the outset that I have no intention of having a second coronation.”

“I totally agree with you, my liege. I see no need for a second coronation, either, nor did most of the other bishops. They were talking of something less than that, mayhap a crown-wearing ceremony. Kings used to do that several times a year, but your lord father ended the tradition, not liking the bother of it all. So it would not be an innovation, merely the revival of an old custom—a way to celebrate your return to your kingdom and your subjects.”