Lionheart (79 page)

RICHARD WAS HOARSE, for he’d been pleading with the departing knights for over an hour, to no avail. Some looked shamefaced, others obviously miserable, but they felt they had no choice. Conrad had reminded them that their king had appointed Hugh of Burgundy as commander of the French forces and this was a direct order, one given in Philippe’s name. Even Richard’s offer to pay for their expenses did not sway them, and he withdrew to his tent, discouraged by this latest setback. Henri found him alone soon afterward, a rare state for a king, slumped on a coffer, his head in his hands.

“Uncle . . .” Not wanting to intrude, the younger man hesitated. “You sent for me? I can come back later. . . .”

“No, come in. I promised the French knights that I’d provide them with an escort to Acre, and I want you and the Templars to see them safely there.” Richard straightened up and accepted the wine cup Henri was holding out. “Over seven hundred knights lost, plus their squires, their men-at-arms, crossbowmen, their horses and weapons . . . Christ Jesus, Henri, the timing could not be worse. I truly thought we had a chance to put enough pressure upon Saladin to exact better terms. But now this.... Even men like Guillaume des Barres and the Montmorency lad feel obligated to return to Tyre rather than disobey a direct order from their king and liege lord. They apologized profusely, promising to return if they can persuade Hugh to release them. That is about as likely as my taking holy vows.”

Richard paused to drink, but even the wine tasted sour. He was putting the cup aside when an awful thought struck him and his hand jerked, spilling liquid as red as blood. “What of your knights, Henri? I know you’ll stay with me, but will your men?”

“They will, Uncle,” Henri assured him, “they will. I’ve never been so proud of them, for they laughed at Conrad’s command. ‘Yes, Philippe is our king,’ they said, ‘but our liege lord is Count Henri and we take our orders only from him, not the damned Duke of Burgundy.’ Bless them all, for nary a one was willing to heed Hugh or Conrad. Of course, they know I’ll protect them from the French king’s wrath.”
Assuming we ever get back to France
. Henri left that thought unsaid. There were times when his beloved Champagne seemed as far away as the moon in the heavens, but he did not think his uncle needed to hear that now. If he felt so discouraged at times, how much worse it must be for the man who bore the burden of command upon his shoulders.

“Thank God,” Richard said. That was all, but to Henri those two words spoke volumes about his uncle’s state of mind. Wishing André was here, for he always seemed to know what Richard needed to hear, he sat down on the carpet at Richard’s feet, his eyes searching the older man’s face. Henri had suspected for some time that the hellish Outremer climate and the constant stress were having a detrimental impact upon his uncle’s health, sapping some of his energy and stamina. He could see now that Richard’s color was too high, a flush burning across hollowed cheekbones, and his eyes were very bright, obvious evidence that he was running a fever. But he was not likely to admit it, and so Henri bit back the words hovering on his lips. As hard as it was to keep silent, he could only hope that Richard did confide in Master Ralph Besace, his chief physician.

“What I cannot understand,” Richard said after a brooding silence, “is why so many of the local lords can stand aloof from this war. How can men like Balian d’Ibelin and Renaud of Sidon refuse to fight with us when their very world is at stake?”

“Uncle . . .” Henri paused, marshaling his thoughts. He’d not been able to help Richard bridge that great gap separating him from so many in his army. Men inflamed with holy zeal were bound to mistrust their commander’s pragmatism, and too often Richard had failed to take that into account. Would he have any more luck now in addressing what he saw as his uncle’s one major mistake since arriving in the Holy Land?

“Whilst it is true that to the French, this war is about you more than Saladin, that is not true when it comes to the
poulains
. To them, it is all about two men and only two men—Conrad of Montferrat and Guy de Lusignan. I think you erred in backing Guy, Uncle.” Seeing Richard’s head come up sharply, he said quickly, “I know you do not like to hear that. And I am not defending Conrad. He’ll never be a candidate for sainthood. But it is a crown he seeks, not a halo, and the very qualities that may damn him to Hell—his ruthlessness, his lack of scruples, his ambition—make him a good choice to rule over a troubled land like Outremer. The
poulains
see his flaws as well as you do. But they need a strong king, a man who will be able to defend his kingdom to the death if need be, and they trust Conrad as they cannot trust Guy. They know that Guy is a puppet king, your puppet, and he can be propped up only as long as you are here to support him. Once you leave, he’ll collapse like a punctured pig’s bladder, and that is why they have held ‘aloof ’ as you put it. Guy will never be forgiven for Ḥaṭṭīn, Uncle. It is as simple as that.”

“There is nothing ‘simple’ about life in Outremer,” Richard scoffed. But Henri was heartened by that relatively mild response, and he dared to hope he’d planted a seed that might eventually take root, for he was convinced that peace with the Saracens would not ensure the survival of Outremer—not if Guy de Lusignan was still its king on the day they departed its shores for their own homelands.

ON APRIL 15, Richard finally got a message from his chancellor, carried by the prior of Hereford. Soon thereafter, he met with Henri, the Earl of Leicester, and the Bishop of Salisbury, men who stood high in his confidence, and they remained secluded for much of the afternoon. By now Joanna and Berengaria had learned of the prior’s arrival, and they grew more and more uneasy as the hours passed. Richard had already gotten unwelcome news earlier in the week—word of a rebellion in Cyprus against the heavy-handed rule of the Templars. They had put down the revolt, but the situation on the island remained volatile; the Templars had made themselves quite unpopular, so this was just one more worry for Richard to deal with. The women fervently hoped that the news from England would not be troubling, too. They took turns reassuring each other that Eleanor was quite capable of maintaining peace in her son’s kingdom, but they both knew that Philippe’s return was akin to setting a wolf loose in a flock of defenseless sheep.

They’d been discussing whether to wait further or to seek Richard out; Berengaria did not want to risk interrupting his council and Joanna wanted to head straight for his tent. The debate was ended by Richard’s sudden arrival. One glance at his face and they both tensed, for it was as if they were looking at an engraved stone effigy, utterly devoid of expression.

“Good—you’re both here,” he said, and his voice, too, was without intonation.

“I’d not want to have to tell this twice. Send your ladies away.”

Once they were alone, Richard seemed in no hurry to unburden himself. He sat down on the edge of Berengaria’s bed, only to rise restlessly a moment later. By unspoken consent, both women remained quiet, waiting for him to begin. At last he said, “Prior Robert brought a rather remarkable letter from my chancellor . . . my former chancellor, I should say, since Longchamp was deposed and sent into exile last October. I’ll spare you the depressing details, for they do none of the participants much credit. My brother Geoff crossed over to Dover in mid-September and Longchamp saw that as a breach of his oath to remain out of England whilst I was gone, claiming not to believe that I had absolved Geoff of that oath. The chancellor was not in Dover at the time, but his sister is wed to the constable of Dover Castle and they took it upon themselves to order Geoff’s arrest. He of course refused to submit and instead took refuge in St Martin’s Priory, which they encircled with armed men. He then proceeded to excommunicate the Lady Richeut and all others who were participating in this siege of the priory. This impasse lasted for several days, ending when Richeut and that idiot she’d married sent armed men into the priory to take Geoff out by force. He resisted and they dragged him, bleeding, through the town to the castle, with him hurling excommunications left and right like celestial thunderbolts.”

They’d listened, openmouthed, to this incredible story. Berengaria was appalled that they’d dared to lay hands upon a prince of the Church. It sounded almost farcical to Joanna, but she saw the serious implications, too, and marveled that a man as clever as Longchamp could have made such a monumental miscalculation. “What happened, then, Richard?”

“What you’d expect. When word got out of Geoff’s arrest, people were horrified, all the more so because it stirred up memories of Thomas Becket’s murder in Canterbury Cathedral. With that one foolish act, Longchamp united all of the other English bishops against him. And Johnny was suddenly aflame with brotherly love for Geoff, whom he’d detested up until then, sending knights to Dover to demand Geoff’s release. With the entire country in an uproar, Longchamp finally realized how badly he’d erred and he ordered Geoff freed on September 26. By then it was too late. He’d managed to transform Geoff into a holy martyr for Mother Church, giving Johnny all the weapons he needed to bring Longchamp down. The final outcome was inevitable. Urged on by Will Marshal and the other justiciars, the Archbishop of Rouen produced the letters I’d given him in Sicily, which authorized him to depose the chancellor if Longchamp ignored their advice—as indeed he had. It got so ugly that Longchamp took refuge in the Tower of London and seems to have lost his head altogether for a time. He tried to flee England disguised as a woman, only to be caught, shamed, and maltreated. He eventually was allowed to sail for Flanders, where he wasted no time in appealing to the Pope. The Pope reacted with predictable outrage, for Longchamp is a papal legate, after all, and at Longchamp’s urging, he proceeded to excommunicate the Archbishop of Rouen, the bishops of Winchester and Coventry, and four of the other justiciars, amongst others.”

“Dear God!” This exclamation was Joanna’s; Berengaria was speechless.

“You’ve not heard the half of it yet,” Richard said, and for the first time they could see the fury pulsing just beneath his surface composure. “I think the lot of them have gone stark, raving mad. Let’s start with our new archbishop. Once Longchamp had gone into exile, Geoff went to his see in York, where he resumed his feuding with the Bishop of Durham, Hugh de Puiset. When Durham refused to come to York to make a profession of obedience, Geoff publicly excommunicated him. Durham ignored the anathema and so did Johnny, who chose to celebrate Christmas with Durham. So Geoff then excommunicated Johnny for having eaten and drunk with one who must be shunned by other Christians.”

“Richard . . . can you trust what the prior says, though? If he was sent by Longchamp, naturally he’d try to cast Geoff and Johnny and his enemies in the worst possible light.”

Richard had been pacing back and forth. At that, he turned toward his sister with a smile that held not even a hint of humor. “Prior Robert is adept at swimming in political waters. He did indeed carry Longchamp’s letter. But he also brought one from our mother, having alerted her that he would be making that dangerous journey from France to Outremer on Longchamp’s behalf. I do not ordinarily approve of such blatant self-seeking, but in this case, I am glad the prior was so eager to curry favor with both sides. I might otherwise have doubted Longchamp’s vitriolic account of Johnny’s double-dealing with Philippe.”

Joanna winced, for she’d truly hoped that her younger brother would not fall prey to the French king’s blandishments. “What did Johnny do?”

“Philippe offered Johnny his unfortunate sister Alys and all of my lands in France in return for his allegiance. Johnny was untroubled by the inconvenient fact that he already had a wife, and was planning to sail for France when Maman arrived in the nick of time. She kept him in England by threatening to seize all of his English castles and estates as soon as he set foot on a French-bound ship.”

Berengaria was shocked by John’s disloyalty, for she could not imagine either of her brothers ever committing such a shameful act of betrayal against one of their own blood, much less a king who’d taken the cross. But as she struggled to think of a way to offer Richard comfort, she could not help remembering Sancho’s warning.
They are not like us, little one
.

Joanna was not shocked, merely saddened. “When did Prior Robert leave France?” she asked, and Richard gave her a grimly approving look, for she’d gone unerringly to the heart of the matter.

“In February,” he said, “so God alone knows what has happened since then. Maman made it quite clear that Johnny cannot be trusted now that Philippe has begun to whisper treasonous inducements in his ear. She says others have been loath to oppose Johnny, for they fear I will not be coming back; it seems half of England is convinced I’m sure to die in the Holy Land. And Longchamp has made a bloody botch of things. I ought to have listened to her about him. But I valued his loyalty so much that I overlooked his arrogance and unpopularity. To her credit, Joanna, she refrained from saying ‘I told you so.’ She did say that I need to come home—and soon. She fears that if I do not, I may not have a kingdom to come back to.”