Eleanor of Aquitaine (40 page)

Richard had now been in the Holy Land for a year, and was still no nearer to launching an assault on Jerusalem than he had been the previous December. He had fought and sweated with his men, looked diligently to their safety, worked as a stonemason and labourer when the need arose, and during a siege at Darum in May 1192 was seen helping to drag cumbersome catapults for a mile across the sand. During the spring he had suffered such a severe attack of fever that his life was despaired of.

In July, ascending the heights above Emmaus, he glimpsed the distant city of Jerusalem and shielded his eyes, that he might not behold the city God had not permitted him to deliver. He knew now that he had to relinquish his dream of reconquering it. The Christian allies had been divided by bitter quarrels, and what had begun as a holy enterprise had degenerated into a forum for insults and petty squabbles. The time for a united push against the Saracens had long gone.

Returning to the coast, Richard sailed north and was just in time to relieve Jaffa from an assault by Saladin. Leaping into the sea without waiting even to arm himself fully, he waded purposefully to shore in order to rally the defenders, and when he rode out in full view of the enemy host, challenging any of them to meet him in single combat, there were no takers.

Sadly, the fall of Jaffa would turn out to be the last engagement of the crusade. In August, Richard fell ill again-- he had never fully recovered from his bout of malaria the previous year-- and at his request Saladin sent him fruit and snow. Worn out by his ceaseless exertions, disease, disappointment in his allies, famine, and the extremes of the eastern climate, which alone had killed thousands of crusaders,72 Richard now began to think of going home. His mother's letters and other disturbing news from England had convinced him that he should return, and he began negotiating a long truce, which would enable him to do so.

News from Outremer was irregular and often frustratingly fragmentary. Eleanor learned that on 29 September the King had dispatched Berengaria, Joanna, and the daughter of Isaac Comnenus homewards on a ship sailing towards Sicily.73 Then she heard that Richard had concluded a three-year truce-- the Peace of Ramla-- with Saladin. The truce left the crusaders with a coastal strip of land incorporating Acre and Jaffa, which would from now on be ruled by the new nominal King of Jerusalem, Eleanor's grandson, Henry of Champagne. Furthermore, the truce secured for all Christians the right to make pilgrimages to Jerusalem unmolested by the Turks, who would retain possession of the Holy City until the twentieth century.

After the truce, Saladin invited Richard to view the holy places, but he refused, declaring he was not worthy. "Sweet Lord," he wept, "I entreat Thee, do not suffer me to see Thy holy city, since I am unable to deliver it from the hands of Thine enemies!" 74

Eleanor knew that the King had left Acre on 9 October, intending to be back in England in time for Christmas. Reports asserted that his ship, the
Franche-Nef
had been sighted near Brindisi or had stopped briefly at both Cyprus and Corfu, then sailed on in the direction of Marseilles; in Normandy, expecting his imminent return, his subjects gathered to welcome him.75

But, bewilderingly, there was no further news of him. As the autumn turned into winter, the crusaders began arriving home, boasting of the brave deeds of King Richard, but no one knew where he was. Fears were now voiced that some calamity had befallen him on the journey, and throughout England his subjects lit candles for him and offered up prayers for his safety. It was also suggested, behind closed doors, that Philip and John had colluded in a sinister plot to assassinate the King. The situation in Normandy was so tense that the Queen again gave orders for the strengthening of defences on the border. That year, she kept her Christmas court at Westminster. By then, Berengaria, Joanna, and the Greek princess had reached Rome.76

Then came the blow. Early in January 1193, Walter of Coutances sent to the Queen a copy of a letter sent by the Emperor on 28 December to the King of France, informing him that, on 21 December, "the enemy of our empire and the disturber of your kingdom, Richard, King of England" had been taken prisoner "in a humble village household near Vienna" by "our dearly beloved cousin, Duke Leopold of Austria,"77 the former ally whom Richard had mortally offended after the fall of Acre.

18. "The Devil Is Loosed!"

After leaving Acre in the company of his chaplain Anselm, a clerk, two noblemen, and a party of Knights Templar, King Richard had sailed west for Marseilles. His ship had stopped at Pisa for supplies on the way, but had then been driven back by fierce storms to the island of Corfu. Here the King managed to hire two Romanian pirate vessels to take him up the Adriatic to northern Italy, but after being driven ashore by tempests at Ragusa (modern Dubrovnik), where he transferred to another vessel, he found himself blown by strong winds past Pula and was finally shipwrecked on the coast of Istra, just south of Trieste.1

Richard decided to make his way homewards overland and struck north through the friendly domains of King Bela III of Hungary, but was then obliged to cross the border into the territory of his mortal enemy Duke Leopold of Austria. In order to preserve his safety, he disguised himself as a merchant called Hugo.

He was recognised, however, by the Duke's loyal vassal, Count Mainard of Gortz, who pursued him, took all his knights prisoner, and informed Leopold of his presence in Austria. Richard and his three remaining attendants managed to evade Mainard, but soon found that all the roads were being watched. The King was now suffering from a recurrence of malarial fever, and, posing as a pilgrim, took refuge "in a humble house in a village in the vicinity of Vienna,"2 where he was set to work turning chickens on a spit. Here he was found by the Duke's men, arrested, and taken to the secure fortress of Durnstein (now a ruin), high on a steep slope above the River Danube. Imprisoned there in solitary confinement, he was guarded day and night by soldiers with drawn swords.3

Leopold, meanwhile, had hastened to inform his cousin and overlord, the Emperor Henry VI, of Richard's capture. Henry was a ruthless young man who had already become notorious for vicious cruelty; he was no friend to Richard, who had recognised his rival Tancred as king of Sicily and whose father had supported his greatest opponent, Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony. In his letter announcing the capture of "the disturber of your kingdom" to the King of France, Henry wrote that he knew the news would afford "most abundant joy to your own feelings."4 While the Emperor insisted that Richard was being held as a punishment for "the treason, treachery and mischief of which he was guilty in the Promised Land,"5 both he and Philip were aware of just how valuable a prisoner he was, and each planned to gain the greatest advantage to himself from this novel situation. Philip urged the Emperor to ensure that Richard was kept in the closest confinement.

No one troubled to inform the English government of the King's arrest and imprisonment, but Walter of Coutances had his spies in France and they were able to obtain for him a copy of the Emperor's letter, which he sent to Eleanor with a covering note of his own, exhorting her with many scriptural precepts to bear the news with fortitude. Nevertheless, since she knew what it was to be a prisoner, her sorrow was great.6 Her first thought was that she must go to Austria herself to see Richard and negotiate his release, but she dared not leave the realm at such a time.7

There was general consternation in England when the King's fate was made public, not least because of the reputation of the Austrians. "They are savages, who live more like wild beasts than men," wrote Ralph of Diceto. No one knew where Richard was being held, so Eleanor sent the Abbots of Boxley and Pont-Robert (Robertsbridge) to Austria to find him.8 She also dispatched Savaric FitzGeldewin, Bishop of Bath, to the court of the Emperor, whose cousin he was.9

Tormented by the conviction that her son's imprisonment was a punishment from God for her sins, and wasting away with anxiety,10 the Queen sought solace in the prayers of the nuns of Fontevrault, which she solicited twice at this time, sending gifts from Winchester and Westminster.

Berengaria and Joanna were in Rome when they heard the news of Richard's capture, and they decided to stay there, fearing that the Emperor would try to take them hostage also if they ventured forth on a homeward journey that was hazardous at the best of times.

The Pope, shocked to learn that Leopold of Austria had violated the Truce of God by imprisoning the crusader king, summarily excommunicated him, and threatened Philip of France with an interdict if he trespassed on Richard's lands."

A popular tale, first recounted by the Minstrel of Rheims in the mid-thirteenth century and typical of the legends that later attached to Richard the Lionheart, relates how Richard's French minstrel, Blondel le Nesle, learning of his captivity, went searching for him in Austria, loudly singing the verses of songs they had composed together outside castle after castle, hoping for a response. At Durnstein, when a familiar voice issuing from an arrow-slit high above him echoed a chorus, he knew he had found the King. Most historians dismiss this tale as a myth, but it is not entirely implausible, and there is contemporary evidence that a troubadour called Blondel le Nesle actually existed.

Despite having been assigned no official role, Eleanor set aside her personal sorrow and assumed control of the government of Richard's kingdom in his absence. In this task she was ably assisted by Walter of Coutances, Hugh de Puiset, and other councillors. The Queen, who was now "exceedingly respected and beloved," ruled England "with great wisdom and popularity."12

The government's priority was to keep Richard's kingdom secure until his return, but there were fears that King Philip would exploit the situation to his own advantage and seize Richard's continental possessions." Eleanor was also concerned about John's intentions,14 and with good reason, for "when John heard that his brother was in prison, he was enticed by a great hope of becoming king. He won over many people all over the kingdom, promising much, and he quickly strengthened his castles."15 He then sped across the Channel to Normandy and proclaimed himself Richard's heir.16 Receiving a lukewarm response from the Norman lords, he moved on to Paris, where, accorded a warm welcome, "he made a pact with the King of France that his nephew Arthur, Duke of Brittany, should be excluded from the hopes the Bretons nourished for him."17

John then paid homage to Philip for all the Angevin lands on the continent18-- and, it was rumoured, for England as well, over which Philip had no feudal jurisdiction. Rumour also credited John with promising to marry Alys and hand over to Philip Gisors and the Norman Vexin.19 But John's sights were set on England for the present, and with money given him by the French King he proceeded to raise an army of Flemish mercenaries. He and Philip also agreed to do everything in their power to keep Richard in captivity.

Realising that the unity of the kingdom was essential at this time of crisis, the Queen exacted new oaths of allegiance to the King from the lords and clergy. "Queen Eleanor, the King's mother, and Walter of Coutances and other barons did their utmost to conserve the peace of the kingdom, seeking to join together hearts which were permanently at loggerheads."20

* * *

In February 1193, in return for the promise of part of the ransom Henry VI intended to demand, Leopold handed over his illustrious prisoner to the Emperor,21 who had Richard moved from Dürnstein to the eleventh-century castle of Trifels, perched high above the little town of Annweiler in the forests on the Swabian border.22 His journey took him via Ratisbon (Regensburg) and Würzburg, and it was just south of Würzburg, at Ochsenfurt, in the middle of March, that the Abbots of Boxley and Pont-Robert briefly met their king, whom they found in good spirits, determined to outwit the Emperor.23

Richard's brother-in-law and Henry VI's chief adversary, Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, and other German princes protested vehemently against Richard's continuing imprisonment, but the Emperor silenced their protests by threatening to have the King executed for his alleged crimes if they did not desist. This was a mere bluff, for he secretly intended to use his captive for more lucrative purposes.

On 23 March, Richard was brought before the imperial council, or Diet, at nearby Speyer on the Rhine24 to answer certain charges, but spoke up so well for himself that the Emperor was moved to give him the kiss of peace.

Present at this ceremony was Richard's loyal servant Hubert Walter, Bishop of Salisbury, who had learned of his master's capture in Sicily while travelling back to England from the Holy Land, and had immediately gone to Rome to seek the Pope's advice as to what he should do. Celestine told Hubert to go to Germany and seek out the King, then assist him as best he could. Hubert had hastened north, tracking down his master by trailing rumours from town to town.25

Richard had a high opinion of Hubert Walter. Tall, elegant, and handsome, Hubert hailed from East Angha and was the nephew of the former justiciar Ranulf Glanville. An expert lawyer and administrator, he had served the Angevins well, first as chaplain to Henry II, then as a royal judge, a baron of the exchequer, Dean of York, and latterly as Bishop of Salisbury. During the crusade he had worked tirelessly to assist injured and dying soldiers, and Richard had entrusted him with the task of leading his army home. When Hubert arrived at Speyer, the King decided that he was the obvious candidate to replace Archbishop Baldwin of Canterbury, and sent him back to England with letters authorising the Queen to secure his appointment as primate.

During March, the two abbots returned from Germany and reported to Eleanor that they had seen the King. They also warned her that the Emperor was likely to demand a large ransom in return for Richard's release.

Eleanor was alarmed to learn that her beloved son was now a prisoner of the Emperor, for she had heard something of Henry's reputation, and it was probably this that prompted her to write the first of three extraordinary letters to Pope Celestine III. After his initial censures, the Pontiff had promised three times to send a legate to intercede with Richard's captors, but had failed to do so. Eleanor felt that he should be doing a lot more to alleviate the situation, and now angrily castigated him for his tardiness in aiding a crusader who was supposed to be under the Church's protection.

Copies of the letters she sent were preserved among the papers of her secretary, Peter of Blois, who almost certainly had a hand in their composition, since his style is evident in parts, and it is unlikely-- although not impossible-- that Eleanor was sufficiently erudite to include so many citations from scripture. Some modern historians believe that Peter composed the letters himself as an exercise in Latin rhetoric. There is no record of their dispatch, nor of their receipt in Rome. Yet this does not mean to say that the Pope never received them, since most letters of the period are lost. It is true that these remarkable letters were not attributed to Eleanor until the seventeenth century, yet why the connection was not made earlier remains a mystery, given the salutations, the authenticity of the detail, and the passionate sentiments expressed, which are in keeping with what we know from other sources of the period of Eleanor's feelings, actions, and character. Moreover there is some evidence of a papal response to the second letter. The conclusion must be, therefore, that Eleanor not only initiated this correspondence but was also its coauthor.

Because so few of Eleanor's letters survive, this one has been quoted at length, especially since it gives us such a graphic and intimate view of the Queen's personal feelings, and in particular the anguish and anger she felt at this time, and her fears for her son-- rare in a mediaeval royal letter:26

To the reverend Father and Lord Celestine, by the grace of God, the Supreme Pontiff, Eleanor, the miserable and-- would I could add-- the commiserated Queen of England, Duchess of Normandy, Countess of Anjou, entreats him to show himself to be a father of mercy to a pitiful mother.

O holiest Pope, a cursed distance between us prevents me from addressing you in person, but I must give vent to my grief a little, and who shall assist me to write my words? I am all anxiety, both within and without, whence my very words are full of suffering. Without are fears, within contentions, and I cannot take one breath free from the persecution of my troubles and the grief caused by my afflictions, which beyond measure have found me out.

I am all defiled with torment, my flesh is wasted away, and my bones cleave to my skin. My years pass away full of groans, and I wish they were altogether passed away. O that the whole blood of my body would now die, that the brain in my head and the marrow of my bones were so dissolved into tears that I might melt away in weeping. My very bowels are torn away from me. I have lost the staff of my old age, the light of my eyes, and would God accede to my prayers He would condemn my ill-fated eyes to perpetual blindness that they no longer saw the woes of my people.

Who may allow me to die for you, my son? Mother of mercy, look upon a mother so wretched, or else, if your Son, an unexhausted source of mercy, requires from my son the sins of the mother, then let Him exact complete vengeance on me, for I am the only one to offend, and let Him punish me, for I am the irreverent one. Do not let Him smile over the punishment of an innocent person. Let He who now bruises me take up His hand and slay me. Let this be my consolation-- that in burdening me with grief, He does not spare me.

O wretched me, yet pitied by no one. Why have I, the Lady of two kingdoms, the mother of two kings, reached the ignominy of this abominable old age? My bowels are torn away, my very race is destroyed and passing away from me. The Young King and the Count
[sic]
of Brittany sleep in the dust, and their most unhappy mother is compelled to live that without cure she may be ever tortured with the memory of the dead.

Two sons yet survive to my comfort, who now live only to distress me, a miserable and condemned creature. King Richard is detained in bonds, and his brother John depopulates the captive's kingdom with the sword and lays it waste with fire. In all things the Lord has become cruel towards me, turning His heavy hand against me. His anger is so against me that even my sons fight against each other, if indeed it can be called a fight in which one languishes in bonds and the other, adding grief upon grief, tries by cruel tyranny to usurp the exile's kingdom.