The Courts of Love: The Story of Eleanor of Aquitaine (57 page)

He was held a prisoner until he gave up the keys of the Tower and Windsor which he held as Chancellor; and then he was allowed to depart.

In France Longchamp made his way to Paris, where he sought out a cardinal friend, explained his plight and begged the cardinal to help him to an audience with me so that he could tell me of the troubles which were being stirred up by my son John.

As I was well aware of the troubles John was stirring up, I saw a good way of ridding the country of the arrogant and incompetent Chancellor, and I turned a deaf ear to his pleading.

What I needed more than anything was to hear that Richard was married. News was so difficult to come by. But at last messengers arrived and then I felt more contented than I had for a long time. Richard and Berengaria had been married in Limassol, on the island of Cyprus. We were over the first hurdle; now I wanted to hear more than ever that a son had been born to them.

I was horrified when I heard of their adventures. None knew better than I the dangers they would be facing. But at least I was comforted by the knowledge that they were safe so far. I thanked God that my practical, indomitable Joanna was there to look after Berengaria.

They had sailed from Sicily in their fleet of ships—Richard taking up the rear, a huge lantern at the poop of his favorite vessel, the
Trenc-the-Mere,
in which he was traveling. Berengaria was not in his ship as he had said that they were not yet married and it would be improper for her to be with him. She was traveling with Joanna.

Good Friday dawned. The wind had risen and was blowing angry clouds across the sky and Richard, speaking through the large trumpet he kept for the purpose, warned his fleet to be prepared for storms. When they came, it was difficult for the ships to keep together; the sails were useless, and Richard’s voice was lost in the roar of the wind. The storm continued for some hours and when it was over Richard decided that they must call in at Crete to assess the damage to some of his ships. Then to his horror he noticed that some ships were missing, among them his treasure ship and the one in which Joanna and Berengaria were sailing.

I suffered with them when I heard how they had thought their last moment had come. Richard should have had them in his ship. Who cared for propriety at such times? But perhaps it was not propriety in Richard’s case. I could well imagine he wanted a little respite from the adoring Berengaria.

However, when the storm abated, the ship in which Joanna and Berengaria were sailing was still afloat and before them was the island of Cyprus. While they lay at anchor, they were made aware of the precariousness of their position, for a party of English sailors rowed out to them with a story which set them tingling with alarm. They had been in one of the other ships which the storm had cast up on this coast. The Cypriots had helped them salvage what they could from the vessel, but when the goods were safely ashore, the islanders had taken possession of them and put the sailors into prison. When they heard that an English ship was lying off the coast, they had escaped from their prison, found a boat and rowed out to warn their compatriots what would happen to them if they came ashore.

Berengaria and Joanna were frightened. Here they were, off the coast of Cyprus and no sign of Richard. While they were wondering what would happen to them, they saw a small boat rowing out toward the ship. In it was a very splendidly attired naval man, who told them that the Emperor Isaac Comnenus knew who they were and would like to offer them hospitality. Would they therefore allow him to take them ashore?

I was glad that Joanna was there. Having heard the tale the English sailors had to tell, she was wary. She knew that, if she and Berengaria were captive in the hands of Isaac Comnenus, a big ransom could be demanded for them. The last thing Richard would want to do was spend money on them!

She said: “Please bring the Emperor to us.”

“He is so eager to honor you,” she was told, “that he wants to entertain you in his palace.”

Joanna said that they needed time to consider the invitation. They needed time to recover from their ordeal at sea.

“The Emperor will have luxurious apartments prepared for you,” they were told.

Joanna was adamant. They needed time to make ready. They knew that the Emperor would understand, and they thanked him most warmly for his consideration.

Clever Joanna! I tremble to think what would have happened had Berengaria been alone. I was sure she would have trusted the wily Emperor.

The captain of the vessel was greatly relieved that the ladies had avoided accepting the invitation. Later that day some of the shipwrecked sailors who had been imprisoned were fighting their way to the shore; several of them escaped and came out in little boats. They all had the same story to tell: they had salvaged the goods on their ships and these had been seized and they themselves taken away to prison and left to starve. They had been desperate and when they heard that an English ship was close by, they had broken free and made their way to it.

The weather did not improve. Each day they looked eagerly for Richard; each day they wondered how long they would be allowed to remain in peace. Fortunately the bad weather was a help to them. The Emperor was hurt that his invitation had not been accepted, said more messengers; they hinted that continued rejection might anger him.

Their fear increased. They had been three days there when they saw troops massing on the shore, and they thought the Emperor was preparing to attack the ship.

Then one morning they awoke to great joy. Richard, with his fleet, was coming to them. When they heard the trumpet from the
Trenc-the-Mere,
their relief and excitement were overwhelming.

It was Isaac Comnenus’s turn to be afraid. The situation would be quite different now.

Richard was furious when he heard that the salvaged goods had been confiscated and his sailors imprisoned. His men were weary; many had been seasick; but he was going into battle. He rallied them; their comrades had been ill-treated by Isaac Comnenus, who was no friend to crusaders. They came ashore. They had no horses. A peasant was riding by. Richard seized him, took his horse and mounted it. Richard on horseback brandishing his sword was a sight to strike terror into those who opposed him. This was the fabulous Coeur de Lion. Few could stand against him. Certainly not Isaac Comnenus. Soon Richard had put his enemies to flight.

He went to the fort and spoke to the people, telling them he came in peace not war. He did not want to quarrel with them, only with their Emperor who had stolen his goods and ill-treated his men, and he would be punished for this. But Richard was not at war with them. The only war he wanted to fight was a holy war.

The people were submissive; the Emperor’s rule was harsh and they had little love for him; and they were overawed, as all must be, by the sight of Richard.

It was in Limassol that Richard married Berengaria.

I knew I could trust him to keep his promise to me. Joanna wrote and told me about it. I was glad she did for she told me in more detail than the others would have.

The people were pleased to have a royal wedding in their town. The romantic situation appealed to them. Moreover, Richard was such an impressive figure. I doubt any of them had ever seen a man so handsome; Berengaria was a charming bride, and the fact that she had traveled from Navarre and had made the hazardous journey to her future husband was intriguing.

Of course, the Archbishop of Canterbury should perform the ceremony, but on this occasion it was quite out of the question, and Richard’s chaplain Nicholas would have to serve instead. I daresay it occurred to Richard that there might be a possibility of postponing the wedding until he returned to England that the Archbishop of Canterbury might officiate, but he must have remembered his promise to me.

This was something more than a wedding for, having driven Isaac Comnenus several miles inland, Richard had decided to crown himself King of Cyprus. Thus he would make Cyprus safe for pilgrims. He had always said that making the way safe was as important as getting to Jerusalem itself. Many pilgrims had set out and many had been lost on the way, through the treachery of those through whose land they had had to pass. Now he was making Cyprus safe, there should be both a wedding and a coronation.

Joanna said that Berengaria looked very charming with her long hair parted in the center; she wore a transparent veil held in place by a jewel. She was so happy that she looked quite beautiful in her long white gown. Richard looked godlike. Joanna rhapsodized over his appearance. She had never seen any man so splendid. His great height, his Nordic looks, his imperious manner were such as to make people worship him. They were ready to believe in his divinity; and since he had told them that he wished them no ill, they accepted him gladly, for Isaac Comnenus was far from a benevolent ruler.

Richard walked to the church, one of his splendidly appareled knights going before him, leading his horse, whose saddle glittered with jewels. The people crowded in to the feast and, when they saw this godlike being playing the lute so sweetly and singing to accompany it, they thought it was indeed a visitation from Heaven.

So at last they were married. Joanna knew my thoughts, and she added that after the feasting the bride and groom were conducted to their tent. In Joanna’s opinion all ended satisfactorily.

I pray Berengaria be fruitful soon, I said to myself.

The wedding celebrations had been brief. I supposed Richard was more interested in the conquest of Cyprus; and Isaac Comnenus was not a straightforward person to deal with. Richard had announced that Isaac was his vassal and that he would rule Cyprus under him; but as he was committed to leave for the Holy Land, he proposed to put a deputy in charge of the island and take with him Isaac who must now muster up a company of his best soldiers.

On the morning when they were due to depart, Isaac had disappeared. He clearly had no intention of going to the Holy Land. He did not consider Richard ruler of his island; he had merely appeared to capitulate in order to gain time.

But Isaac was no match for Richard, even though, during the fighting, Richard was taken ill with the return of the ague which plagued him from time to time. That he should be enfeebled angered him, but when the fever was on him there was nothing he could do but rest.

Urgent messages were coming from the King of France. Where was Richard? Why was he not with him? Was he or was he not supposed to be leading the crusade?

The King of France would have to learn that one of the greatest tasks facing the crusaders was to make the way safe for pilgrims, and that was what Richard was doing. In his messages Philip referred to him as Duke of Normandy, implying that he was ordering Richard to obey him. That always infuriated Richard as it had Henry. He sent a message back to say that the King of England would come in his own good time and took orders from no one.

But he was eager to go. He was afraid that Philip Augustus would take Acre without him.

He set two men whom he could trust to administer the island. Isaac was in silver chains, and his daughter was in the care of Joanna and Berengaria. So Richard set sail.

The Cyprus adventure had delayed him considerably; but he had made the way safer for pilgrims. and his fame had increased.

Now he was ready to join forces with Philip Augustus and to throw himself into the all-important battle for Acre.

The Road to Chlus

T
HE MONTHS WERE PASSING.
Christmas was upon us. News came that the key town of Acre had fallen to the Christians. I was delighted. This would mean that they were ready to march on Jerusalem. I prayed that their crusade would soon have achieved its purpose and Richard would be back with us.

I spent Christmas at Bonneville-sur-Touques. It was very quiet but I was in no mood for merriment. I was very anxious about Richard. I was sure the climate he was enduring would bring little good to his health, and I was uneasy about England and the French provinces.

Then I had disquieting news. A
jongleur
came to the castle. He had been in Paris and could tell us that Philip Augustus had returned home from the crusade.

“He is very ill, my lady,” I was told. “His hair has fallen out and his nails are dropping off.”

“Was it some pestilential fever?”

“No one knows. He said he was forced to return home because of the treachery of the King of England.”

“This is nonsense,” I said. “He is more likely to be treacherous than my son.”

“It is what he is saying, my lady. He says that the Franks captured Acre and that Richard Plantagenet would take all the credit for it.”

“A likely story. How dare he!”

“The people of Paris are giving him a hero’s welcome.”

I was very uneasy. They must have quarreled, and this, like most lovers’ quarrels, would be violent. I knew Philip Augustus was jealous of Richard. How could he help it? Philip Augustus was a wily King; he could be more devious than Richard; but he lacked Richard’s charisma; he was no Coeur de Lion. I had heard it said that, as soon as they saw Richard, men clustered about him and were ready to go wherever he led. That must have been galling to Philip Augustus. It was true he had loved Richard but that was one part of himself; the rest was all king, and kings of France would always regard kings of England as their natural enemies.

Philip Augustus was saying that his illness was a result of poison and, in view of his relationship with Richard, had half suggested that Richard was behind the attempt to poison him.

I thought the quarrel must have gone very deep.

Philip Augustus was determined to show his anger. He went into Normandy and at Gisors demanded that his sister Alais be returned to him. The Seneschal refused to give her up. I supported him in this. Alais must remain where she was for a time. I did not want more stories spread about her seduction by Henry and her desertion by Richard.

It looked to me as though we might be at war with France and, with Richard far away, that was the last thing I wanted.

However, I was mistaken. Having just returned from what was evidently an exhausting experience and being truly very sick, Philip Augustus had no stomach for war at such a time.

I should have looked elsewhere for trouble.

Messengers came from England with disturbing information. My son John was spreading the fabrication that his brother Richard had no intention of coming home, and as the people could not continue without a king, he, the late King’s son, was ready to be crowned. For this purpose he would need allies. He must have heard of the quarrel between Philip Augustus and Richard, and the French King was just the ally for him. With Richard away and with the French King’s help, it should be an easy matter to take the crown. What revenge for Philip Augustus! What glory for John!

Now I was really worried. I could no longer stay in France. I must go to England with all speed.

It was February—just about the worst time of year to cross the treacherous Channel, but no matter, I must go.

I suffered the journey and made my way to Windsor, where I summoned all the barons and the clergy to come to me.

When they were assembled, I said: “I have information that my son John is gathering together a fleet and an army of mercenaries. His object is to go to France and solicit the help of the French King in gaining the crown. He is ready to give up certain overseas possessions in return for this help; and Philip Augustus is ready to give it. I have heard that he is offering John his daughter Adela in marriage and proposing to give her all Richard’s Continental lands.”

The Council was grave. They did not approve of the King’s absenting himself from his country. He was asking for trouble in doing so. But by now they knew something of John’s character, and the last thing they wanted was for him to usurp the throne. They agreed with me that it must be stopped. The best way to do this was to threaten to seize all John’s English lands the moment he attempted to cross the sea.

Sullen and angry, John knew he dared not leave the country. He went down to his castle of Wallingford to brood over the wrongs he had suffered.

But I knew this would not be the end of his endeavors. I had to be watchful all the time.

I did immediately dispatch a messenger to Richard telling him he must come home. His throne was in danger. We had foiled John once, but we might not be able to do it again. John was obstinate and he longed to get possession of the crown. He was unstable and cruel. It is sad to have to admit this of one’s son but it was true. I was glad that the barons were aware of it.

But we had a mighty enemy in the King of France. His love for Richard had turned sour, and there is never greater hatred than that which has grown out of an old love.

News came in now and then from the Holy Land. Richard was going from success to success. His name was continually mentioned. He was the hero of the Third Crusade. I was sure that it was he and his men, not Philip Augustus and the French, who had taken Acre.

There was talk of a mighty Saracen warrior who it was said was a match for Coeur de Lion. His name was Saladin. There were stories of a meeting between the leaders. Saladin was as outstanding among the Saracens as Richard among the Christians. It was certain that two such men would have the utmost respect for each other.

Richard’s illness persisted. There were bouts of ague and fever. I think they were his real enemies.

Richard and Saladin had come to a point when they must make terms, and Saladin’s brother wanted to marry Joanna. I was outraged at the thought; so, it seemed, was Joanna. But Richard apparently was so impressed by Saladin that it did not occur to him that the proposition was not acceptable. Why should not Christian and Saracen love each other rather than make war? Joanna might convert Malek Adel to Christianity. But what, I asked, if Malek Adel made a Moslem of Joanna?

Inevitably it came to nothing. I could imagine Joanna’s rage at the suggestion.

There had been a truce. Saladin would not surrender Jerusalem, but he allowed the Christians to make pilgrimages to the holy shrines when they wished, and he gave them a strip of the coast between Jaffa and Tyre so that they could travel unmolested.

Many of the crusaders went to Jerusalem and worshipped at the shrines. Richard did not go.

He was reputed to have begged the Lord not to let him set eyes on Jerusalem: he had set out to deliver the Holy City from the enemies of Christianity, and in this he had failed, so he should be denied a sight of it. He had made the way easier for pilgrims, but that was all his campaigning and tremendous expense had been able to achieve. His greatest enemy had been the ague and the fever, from which he suffered still; they had plagued him just when he should have been going into battle.

He respected Saladin, and Saladin respected him, but he had failed in his mission, and he could see there was no use in continuing. It was time to go home.

My relief was intense. So now he would come back and I could hand over the reins of government to him. I need not lie awake wondering what mischief was brewing in John’s mind.

I was an old woman. It was time I had a little rest.

I was planning that Richard should be home for Christmas. I was happy and excited. There should be minstrels and the music he loved. How I longed to see him again.

Berengaria would be with him. Was she pregnant? What joy there would be if she were!

I was very happy.

But Richard did not come home for Christmas.

The weeks passed and still he did not come. I began to realize that something was wrong.

Each day I waited for news. Tension was rising. I knew that John was biding his time. Where was Richard? Why did he not come back home? We had known that he was on his way, but why did he not come?

Something terrible had happened. It was frustrating to live in ignorance. He had just disappeared without trace.

I think that was the most agonizing period of my life. I had seen many tragedies, but this, wrapped in mystery as it was, seemed the hardest to bear.

I needed him. The country needed him. He must return soon or all England, all Normandy and his possessions in France would be thrown into confusion. The people were becoming restive. What sort of king was this to desert his country and go off to fight in other lands? And now the fighting was over, why did he not come home?

Joanna and Berengaria had arrived safely in Rome. They had sailed on the same day as Richard but not in his ship. I could glean nothing from them. They had not seen Richard since they left the Holy Land.

It was the same story whichever way I turned.

Richard had simply disappeared.

Then one day Richard’s chaplain, Anselm, arrived at Court. He had a tale to tell which threw a faint glimmer of light on the mystery. This was the story he told me.

When Richard had arrived in Acre after leaving Cyprus, the French King, who had been eagerly awaiting his arrival, was overjoyed to see him. He made a significant gesture by wading out to the galley in which Berengaria had been sailing, lifting her in his arms and carrying her ashore so that she need not get her feet wet. That implied that all animosity over Alais was at an end.

The two Kings embraced affectionately. Now the conquest of Acre seemed certain. It had been inspiring to see the effect Richard had on the men. He looked magnificent, of course. They cheered him, the sick rose from their beds, and they cried: “Coeur de Lion is here. Now we shall be victorious.” There were men from Germany, Italy and Spain as well as from France.

Now the Kings of France and England conferred together and planned to march on Jerusalem once Acre had fallen. Philip Augustus warned Richard of the mighty Saladin. Moreover, the Saracens had a deadly weapon which they called Greek Fire. Richard knew of this: he had encountered it before. It was sulphur, wine and pitch mixed together with Persian gum and oil, which produced an almost inextinguishable fire. A mixture of vinegar and sand was the only substance that appeared to be of any use against it—and that not very successfully. Greek Fire had impeded progress considerably.

Richard had a new contrivance with him called Mate Griffon. It was a tower on wheels which could be run up against a castle wall, so that men on top could step onto the castle and take it. It was easier than battering the way in.

They planned the assault on Acre. Richard wanted to perfect his weapons before they began. There was a mangonel, a machine which threw stones high in the air so that they fell into a city, causing great damage. This was jocularly called “the Bad Neighbor.” The Saracens invented a machine to throw the stones back which they called the “Bad Kinsman.”

In the midst of these preparations Richard was attacked by the ague and fever. Anselm had no need to tell me of his frustration. He was really ill. Berengaria and Joanna nursed him. Berengaria was delighted to look after him, for when he was well she scarcely saw him and she was deeply enamored of him.

The King would have liked them to wait until he was well before they began the assault, but that was not possible. He could not, however, be prevailed upon to stay in his tent while the battle was going on. He ordered that a litter be brought and he was taken out on it; he shouted his orders to his men; but to see Richard the Lionheart in such a state robbed them of their spirit.

The battle ceased temporarily and the siege was still unbroken. The strangest thing happened then. Richard had heard a great deal about Saladin. His followers saw him and immediately believed in victory. It was the same as with Richard. But Richard was sick, and it was said that he was near to death.

The two men were very much aware of each other. Richard was eager to meet Saladin. He knew that he had a formidable enemy and that in his state he could not hope to compete with him. Richard’s view of Philip Augustus as a soldier was not great. He might score in diplomacy but the battlefield was another matter. Richard knew that Acre could not be taken with Philip Augustus in command.

He must meet Saladin and see if some terms could be arranged. Saladin was not only a great fighter but a man of honor. He was too fine a man to show meanness or pettiness, and he and Richard respected each other as one great leader did another. They instinctively knew certain things about each other because they were so much alike. Richard sent a messenger to Saladin’s camp asking if he would meet him.

Saladin’s reply was that he could not talk with the King of England except over food and drink, and if they ate together as friends, how could they fight each other?

The messengers were allowed to return to their camps unharmed.

Then this strange thing happened. Richard was in his bed, prostrate with fever, when one of the guards came to tell him that a messenger was without and wished to speak with him.

“Bring him in,” said Richard.

The guard did so and remained, suspecting treachery. Richard commanded him to leave.

The messenger leaned over Richard and touched his brow.

“You know who I am,” he said.

There was such accord between them that Richard had no hesitation in answering: “You are Saladin.”

“I am Saleh-ed-Din,” he said.

“Why do you come to me on my bed of sickness?”

“Because I have a talisman which can cure you.”

“We are fighting against each other.”

“You are my enemy on the battlefield. In the sickroom you are my friend.”