A King's Ransom (97 page)

A
S THEY RODE INTO
the inner bailey of Vaudreuil Castle, Eleanor was standing in the doorway of the great hall, waiting to welcome them. Berengaria felt no surprise, just a weary prickle of resentment. She said nothing, but Joanna read her face easily and leaned over to murmur that Richard would not have sent for his mother. “He loathes being fussed over when he is ailing.” Berengaria knew this was true. That did not change the reality, though, that once again Eleanor had been with Richard whilst Berengaria had remained in ignorance of his injury.

“He will be so glad to see you!” Eleanor exclaimed, and for a moment, Berengaria actually thought those words were meant for her. Then she saw that Eleanor was looking at Mercadier, and she thought bitterly that this was as good a commentary on her marriage as any, that her husband would summon his cutthroat routier to his sickbed, not his queen.

H
IS DOCTOR HAD TOLD
Richard that he’d been lucky, for the crossbow bolt had embedded itself in the muscle, not the bone, which could have been crippling. He did not
feel
lucky, though. He was in considerable pain, as much as he tried to hide it. He was still fuming over his defeat at Aumale, and now that he was bedridden, he had too much time to brood about it. He was very worried about the fate of the castle and the garrison, and he was finding his powerlessness to be intolerable, calling up memories of his German captivity. He’d not been pleased by his mother’s arrival, and he was vexed beyond measure at having to submit to his doctor’s prodding and poking, even more frustrated by his body’s betrayal; his first attempt to leave the bed and put weight on his injured knee had sent him sprawling to the floor. But the worst was still to come. On this humid, hot August afternoon, he’d gotten word that the garrison at Aumale had been forced to surrender to the French king.

He did not blame them; he blamed himself. He dictated a letter to Baldwin de Bethune, for he had the right to know his wife’s castle had been lost. He dispatched another messenger in search of Mercadier, who’d yet to answer his summons. And he sent a tersely worded letter to the French king, declaring that he would pay whatever ransom would be demanded for the Aumale garrison. After that, he finally fell into a shallow, troubled sleep.

He awoke to find his doctor bending over him. “Sire, how are you feeling?”

“Wonderful,” he said through gritted teeth, thinking that all physicians had sawdust where their brains ought to be.

With a rustle of silken skirts, his mother approached the bed. “You have visitors.”

“Who?” he asked warily, for he felt about as sociable as a baited bear.

“Joanna and your wife.”

He said nothing, for what was there to say? Why did women not understand that a man in pain wanted only to be left alone? But then Eleanor told him that Mercadier had also arrived, which was the first good news he’d gotten since he’d been wounded. While he realized Berenguela would not like it any, his need to discuss military matters with Mercadier was urgent, and he hesitated only briefly before telling her to send the routier up first.

G
UY DE
T
HOUARS WAS
one of the garrison taken prisoner at Aumale Castle, and upon his release, he rode straight to Vaudreuil to thank the king for paying the large ransom of three thousand silver marks. He was seated in the great hall, waiting to be escorted up to the king’s bedchamber, quite happy to pass the time flirting discreetly with the king’s sister. Joanna was encouraging him, for she was bored and he was attractive, with a very beguiling smile. She wondered why he’d not yet married, deciding it was probably because he was a younger brother, overshadowed by Viscount Aimery, who had inherited the family’s title and estates. She thought it a pity that he’d not been the firstborn, for he was more likable than Aimery and far more trustworthy; whilst his brother swung like a weathercock in a high wind, Guy’s loyalty to Richard had been unwavering.

Berengaria liked Guy, too, and she was coming over to greet him when there was a stir at the doorway. Turning to see what was happening, she was dismayed by the sight of her husband hobbling into the hall, leaning heavily upon a wooden crutch. Joanna was already on her feet and while Eleanor had not risen, her eyes fastened intently upon Richard’s halting progress, almost as if she were willing each awkward step. The younger women were not as disciplined and they rushed toward Richard, entreating him to sit down, reminding him that he was not supposed to be up yet.

“I’ve made a career of doing things I am not supposed to do,” he said, with a tight smile that turned into a grimace when he took a misstep and pain shot up his leg.

“Sire!” Guy had been quick to comprehend what was happening, and he hastened over to drop to his knees before Richard, giving him a reason to sit. Richard did, with an alacrity that betrayed his discomfort. “I have come to thank you, my liege, for ransoming me and the other members of the garrison. I am very grateful.”

Richard almost asked Guy if he’d thought they’d be left to rot, catching himself in time, for he’d be lashing out at the wrong target. He motioned instead for Guy to rise and then accepted the wine cup that his practical mother was pressing into his hand. His men were hurrying toward him, delighted that he was on his feet again, and the women stepped back, realizing that he’d not heed them any more than he’d heeded his doctor. In less than a month, he’d mark his thirty-ninth birthday, and he was not going to change his ways at this point in his life.

R
ICHARD WAS STUDYING PLANS
for his new castle at Andely when a message arrived coincidentally from the Archbishop of Rouen. When he swore after reading the letter, Eleanor came to his side; she knew better than to interfere in military matters, but this was a political problem. He did not object as she reached for the letter and read it for herself. It was not good; the infuriated archbishop was threatening to put Normandy under Interdict if Richard did not return Andely to him.

“What do you mean to do?”

“Nothing. If he is rash enough to carry out the threat, so be it. I’ll appeal to the Pope. My offer for Andely was more than generous. Dieppe alone is worth far more than those river tolls.”

That would not have been the way Eleanor would have handled it, but she was not the one determined to build a castle at Andely. He’d insisted that it would change the balance of power along the Norman border, for it would cut off French access to Rouen and provide a base for attacks upon Philippe’s castles in the Vexin. He meant to reclaim the Vexin and saw the stronghold he’d already named Château Gaillard as the means to that end. He envisioned the coming campaign over the Vexin as a naval war as well as a land combat, and he explained to Eleanor that he intended to build a fleet of shallow-hulled ships that would control river traffic on the Seine.

Eleanor knew that he’d proved himself to be a master at sea warfare during his time in the Holy Land, but she saw one major drawback in his ambitious, imaginative strategy. It took years to build a castle. She said nothing, though, for he was well aware of that, and asked him instead about his efforts to end the alliance between the Count of Flanders and the French king. He’d hoped that the new count would be more receptive to English overtures than his late father, but he’d just joined Philippe at the siege of Aumale. Richard remained confident that the trade embargo he’d imposed upon Flanders would work, however. Reminding Eleanor that Flanders was utterly dependent upon English wool for its cloth industry, he insisted that it was only a matter of time until the economic pressure would bring the count to his knees.

Eleanor agreed and expressed approval when he told her he meant to tighten the embargo to include English grain, for Flanders could not feed its own people, dependent upon imported food for the large cities of Ypres, Bruges, Lille, and Ghent. Thinking that he had his father’s flair for long-term planning, she said, “And once the Count of Flanders joins you, Philippe will have only one ally left. A pity we do not have such leverage against the Count of Toulouse, for then Philippe would be utterly on his own.”

“As it happens, I have a plan in mind for Toulouse, too.”

That immediately sparked Eleanor’s curiosity, for Toulouse was never far from her thoughts, her family’s lost legacy. Both of her husbands had tried to take it for her—tried and failed. Her soldier son might have better luck. She did not see how he could fight a war on two fronts, though. But when she tried to find out more about his plans for Toulouse, Richard merely smiled and shrugged, saying he did not yet know if that hawk would fly.

J
OHN USUALLY WENT
to see Richard with all the enthusiasm of a doomed felon being dragged to the gallows. But as they rode toward Vaudreuil, he was in high spirits and laughed when Durand gibed that he seemed as eager as a man about to visit a bawdy house.

“Well, Brother Richard has had a truly miserable summer, so that is bound to cheer me up. Forgetting to duck at Gaillon was just the beginning of his troubles. It is hard to say who is giving him more grief these days, the Bretons or the aggrieved Archbishop Gautier.”

Durand knew that the archbishop was threatening to lay Normandy under Interdict, but he hadn’t heard about new problems with the Bretons; he pricked up his ears in case this was something the queen had not yet heard, either. “The Bretons? I thought they’d come to terms with Richard in the spring.”