The Heart of the Lion (40 page)

Richard did not realise that this city was Vienna and that he was in the heart of that territory which belonged to his bitterest enemy, Leopold of Austria.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘we must find a humble lodging and there we shall rest for a while before pursuing our journey. While we stay we will find out where we are and what direction we should take. But first we must rest and eat to sustain ourselves after these days of hardship.’

The page had grown closer to his master than he had ever been and was filled with pride to think that fate had chosen him to be the one to accompany King Richard on this perilous journey.

They found a humble lodging on the outskirts of the town where no questions were asked when they explained they just needed a room. Richard told the woman of the house that he was a merchant and dealt in fine objects. This would allay her suspicions if she saw any of the treasures he had managed to bring with him. He told her that he and his servant would like to stay for a week or so for they were tired with travelling and still had far to go. When he asked her the name of the nearby city she told him it was Vienna.

‘Ah,’ said Richard, ‘that would belong to Leopold of Austria.’

‘He is our noble Duke,’ said the woman.

Richard smiled inwardly recalling that occasion when he had kicked the fellow for refusing to help build a city’s walls. What would he say if he knew the King of England was now travelling through his realm?

He was determined this time not to betray himself and prepared to learn the ways of humble folk. He found he enjoyed talking to the woman and her husband. He could speak their language tolerably well and he took an interest in their way of life. He would sit in the kitchen while the woman baked and would watch her and chat while she worked. She took to giving him little tasks and he was often set to turn the meat as it roasted.

He was recovering from the three days spent in riding fast and picking up food where it could be found. He was strong but he always had to remember that that virulent fever could overtake him at any time and he must always be prepared for it.

The page penetrated deeper into the town to find where he could find food. He would take some article which Richard gave him and sell it. One of these articles was the jewelled belt – a beautiful thing most delicately wrought and which had often been admired when Richard wore it, which was often. He was sorry to part with it; yet it was necessary to pay for food and lodging.

In the market place it was inevitable that the page should be noticed. The goldsmith to whom he sold the belt had rarely seen such a fine piece of workmanship. He talked of it and showed it to certain of his noble customers. It was bought by one who was most curious about it.

Who was this young man who came every day and spent so lavishly?

One of the traders said to him: ‘You are clearly a gentleman of quality.’

‘I serve a greater,’ boasted the page.

‘Who is this rich and noble gentleman?’

‘He is a merchant.’

They talked of him when he was not there and watched for him.

The page greatly enjoyed the sensation he made. He was so proud to be serving the King. One day he took one of the King’s gloves which was very richly embroidered and stuck it in his belt before he went into the market.

There was one man leaning against a stall who watched him. He swaggered up to him and said: ‘That is a fine glove, my man.’

‘Is it not?’ answered the page.

‘And not yours I’ll swear. How come you to be wearing it?’

‘It is my master’s,’ answered the page. ‘I wear it because I am proud to be in his service.’

‘Where is this master of yours?’

‘He is making a journey and resting here but a while.’

‘A rich merchant is he not?’

‘Aye, ’tis so,’ answered the page.

The man took the glove and studied it intently.

‘A royal glove, I’d say,’ he commented.

The page snatched it from him and sticking it in his belt did not stop to buy what he had come for. He was terrified that he had betrayed his master.

Hurrying back to the lodging he found the King in the kitchen talking to the woman of the house. He signed that he must speak to him without delay and Richard went to the small room they shared.

‘Sire, we must fly without delay. They know who you are.’

‘How can they know that? You did not tell anyone?’

‘Nay, Sire. I never would. But they watch me. They ask me questions about my master.’

‘And you told them I am a merchant.’

‘Yes, I told them that.’

‘Well, since they are asking questions, we must be wary. We will make our plans to leave within a few days.’

‘But, master . . .’

‘You are trembling. Why should they guess who I am? They but think me a merchant. If we left too hurriedly they would be suspicious. Nay, since they are curious about you, do not go to the market today. Go tomorrow and buy what we need. Then we will be off and I will tell these people that I am ready to pursue my journey within the next few days.’

The page was terribly apprehensive. He dared not confess that he had worn the royal glove in his belt and that it had been seized and studied by a man who had asked if his master was royal.

When the page next went to the market he was aware of two men who followed him. He paused at a stall and they came up beside him.

‘Who are you?’ he stammered.

‘You will discover. Come with us.’

‘Nay, I cannot. I have to buy and return to my master.’

His arms were seized and he was dragged from the stall.

He was taken into a building where men sat at a board on trestles. Those who had seized him took him to this board and held him while one of the men with a hard cruel face smiled at him. It was a smile which made the page feel as though a snake was coiling itself about him.

‘You come to the market to shop now and then,’ said this man.

‘Yes, I do,’ answered the page.

‘And you bring objects which you sell.’

‘’Tis true. I see no harm . . .’

‘Who talks of harm? It may be that you have done much good. Who is your master?’

‘He is a merchant . . .’

The smile again distorted that cruel face.

‘It would be better to tell the truth. It could save us much time and you much pain.’

‘I am answering your questions. What more can I do?’

‘You can tell us the truth.’ One of the men beside him twisted his arm. ‘Come, fellow. The truth.’

‘I tell you that he is a merchant . . .’

‘Silence. His name. They are pretty eyes. I doubt not that they serve you well. Have you ever thought what it would be like to be deprived of them?’

The page began to tremble.

One of the men seized his head and forced him to open his mouth. He took his tongue in his hands and twisted it. The page gasped with pain and the man released it.

‘See, it is still there. Have you thought what it would be like to lose it? Come, foolish fellow. We have strong suspicions who your master is. You have but to confirm it and you keep those pretty eyes, that useful tongue. But, by God and his Heavens, if you refuse us you will most certainly lose them.’

There were tears in the page’s eyes. ‘I will not betray my master.’

‘Oh, so there is something to betray! Whose glove did you wear in your belt? What a fine glove. It was like a king’s glove. Be sensible. Do you want to suffer in vain? We are asking very little of you. The name of your master – his true name which you know and which you are going to tell us. Give us his name. Lead us to his lodgings and you go free unharmed. Refuse us and you will be thrown into prison and dealt with as we have already explained.’

The page fell on his knees. ‘Let me go, master.’

‘Assuredly when you tell us what we want to know. Don’t be a fool. We know already. We merely want you to confirm this. We shall not blame you. You are a servant. You must do as you are bid. Come, think of the hot irons and your precious eyes. Think. You would never be able to speak again. So look while you can and speak while you can – for you might as well be dead when we have done what we will do to you if you refuse to tell us.’

The page broke down. ‘I will tell you. My master is Richard the King of England. I will take you to our lodging. He is trying to reach England and we lost our way . . .’

‘Enough. He is a good and wise fellow after all and deserves to keep his eyes and tongue. Come, show us the way.’

The dwelling was surrounded by soldiers. The news had circulated that Richard Coeur de Lion was in the house.

The captain of the troop strode into the house and was met by the woman who came from her kitchen to discover what the noise was about.

‘King Richard of England is in this dwelling,’ said the captain.

‘I have no king here,’ was the reply. ‘There is no one but a merchant who is a pilgrim.’

‘We want that pilgrim,’ said the captain.

‘He is in the kitchen watching the chickens on the spits.’

They burst into the kitchen.

‘There he is,’ cried the captain.

Richard stood up to his full height. ‘What means this?’ he demanded.

‘We know you to be the King of England,’ said the captain. ‘We have orders to take you.’

‘Whose orders?’

‘From a high place, Sire.’

‘From your Duke no less. From Leopold. Go and tell Leopold that I will give my sword to no one less than himself.’

The captain was undecided what to do but at length he kept his guard on the house and sent a messenger to the Duke to tell him what had happened.

Later that day Leopold arrived.

They faced each other in the kitchen. Leopold was smiling smugly. ‘It is a little different now from when we were on the walls of Acre,’ he said.

‘Is it?’ retorted Richard. ‘You were arrogant then and at no good business and so you are now.’

‘You are mistaken. This is very good business. You are my prisoner and there are many who will rejoice to hear it.’

‘Weak men such as yourself who are afraid of me?’

‘I am not afraid of you now, Richard of England.’

Richard laughed aloud. ‘You are backed by your soldiers and I stand alone. That makes a very brave man of you.’

‘You are under arrest.’

Richard bowed his head. ‘Allow me to present my sword to you. I do not keep it in the kitchen.’

He went to the room he had shared with the page and taking his sword handed it to Leopold.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘you may tell your masters that you have captured the King of England.’

High on a hill, dominating the landscape, built as a mighty fortress against any invaders, its dungeons so strong that no man had ever escaped from them, the castle of Dürenstein was the ideal prison for the most important prisoner in the world. Built on the banks of the Danube where that river cuts through rocky gorges with the few houses which comprised the little town of Dürenstein clustered at its feet, it was remote and isolated, for few travellers came that way; and here in this fortress, Richard was placed in the custody of one of Leopold’s most trusted officers, Hadamar von Kuenring.

The importance of his charge had been impressed on von Kuenring and he was determined to hold him against no matter what odds.