The Autumn Throne (44 page)

Alienor crossed the space between them and kissed her son’s cheek, over the softness of his beard. ‘But there is always a deeper truth in our hearts.’

As she returned to her own chamber, she did not know if she had succeeded with him. He might still try to make the crossing and deal with Philippe, and that would be disastrous. John might think he was good at manipulation, but he was a child when it came to matching the King of France. Richard would be home by the end of the year and one of her few comforts was that each day that passed was a day closer to that time. She had to keep hold of John’s leash until then, and after that, he was Richard’s responsibility.

The court children sat in a half circle before a tall wooden box draped with brightly coloured fabrics edging a stage. All were giggling at the antics of a puppet husband and wife who were arguing vigorously with a drunken bishop and a devil. Watching the entertainment with the children, Alienor was laughing too, but with a hollow ring at the centre of her mirth. Now and again she glanced towards the door, praying that Richard would stride in, whole and vibrant. But each time
the door did open it was only to admit a guest or a servant, and when it closed she felt as if there was a cold draught at her back even though she wore an ermine cloak.

The devil offered the bishop a sack of gold. The latter took it, seized the devil round the neck and, climbing on his back, rode him back and forth across the stage, to gales of laughter from the children and amused chuckles from the courtiers, who well recognised the priest as Longchamp. A crowned figure arrived, knocked the priest off the devil, seized the sack of money and fled offstage.

Alienor raised her brows but was reluctantly amused, especially when a much larger crowned figure arrived wearing a white cross on his tunic. Having killed the devil in a vigorous sword fight, he dragged the other crowned figure on stage, seized the money from him while beating him soundly, and then gave the sack of money to the man and wife to loud cheers and applause.

The entertainment over, the children went off with their nurses and attendants. Alienor watched with amusement as William Marshal paused to play a moment of fisticuffs with some little boys before extricating himself.

‘That was fine entertainment, madam,’ he said to Alienor with a broad grin. ‘It reminds me how much I used to love the players that came to Marlborough when I was a child.’

Alienor nodded. ‘It is good to have such things for distraction and especially for children to remember.’ After a hesitation she added, ‘Another ship arrived today with soldiers on their way home from Outremer, but not one of them carried word of the King.’

‘I heard, madam, and I am sorry.’

She frowned with anxiety. ‘Berenguela and Joanna reached Rome in October and Richard was supposed to be following close behind. He should have been here weeks ago.’

‘He cannot simply disappear,’ William said. ‘News will come. Perhaps he is waiting for a decent crossing even now. The weather has been bad in the Narrow Sea.’

Alienor waved
her hand. ‘You are right, and kind to offer me comfort. You would think I would have learned how to wait after all my years as Henry’s prisoner, but in this matter my patience wears thin and I know that if he was on the other side of the Narrow Sea, nothing would prevent him from making the crossing.’

‘He will come,’ William reiterated.

‘Yes,’ she said with a wan smile. ‘So I hope and pray.’

That night, unable to sleep, she kept vigil in her private chapel, alone save for Amiria. Bowing her head, Alienor prayed for Richard, imploring God to be merciful and keep him safe. He couldn’t be dead; she would know in her heart. He had reached Brindisi, that was certain, so he could not be lost at sea. ‘Where are you, my son?’ she whispered into the shadowy darkness, her breath clouding the chilly air.

Soft footsteps padded behind her and she whirled round to see the glint of green silk, and inhaled the scent of incense, wafted by the movement of another presence. John crossed himself and, kneeling at her side, put his hands together. For a while there was silence, but eventually he raised his head and looked at her. ‘I am praying for Richard,’ he said, ‘for his soul.’

Alienor drew a sharp breath.

‘Mama, you have to face the possibility that he is dead.’

‘Is that what you think or what you wish? Do you know what it does to me to hear you say that?’

‘Well who else is to say it, Mama?’ John answered in a reasonable tone and unclasped his hands. ‘How much longer will you dwell in denial? He should have been home a month ago. No one is delayed that long. If he was sick, word would have been sent.’

‘And the same if he was dead.’ She clenched her jaw. ‘I do not doubt that some sort of trouble has prevented him from reaching home, but he is not dead; I would know it in here.’ She struck her breast. ‘I do not dwell in denial; I dwell in hope.’

‘As do
I, Mama,’ John said flatly. ‘Why else would I come here to pray in the small hours of the night?’

‘Yes, but in hope of what?’ If her heart told her that Richard was not dead, then her heart also told her that John would make it bleed. ‘Do not cut the ground from under my feet.’

He kissed her cheek. ‘No, Mama. If it is your wish to believe Richard is still alive, I honour you for it – but I will not wait much longer.’

He left as silently as he had arrived and Alienor closed her eyes, two tears rolling down her face.

The weather in January turned bitterly cold with a brutal wind and despite blazing fires in every hearth, latched shutters and drawn curtains, everyone huddled in their cloaks and shivered. Ice frilled the edge of the Thames and the frozen layers in troughs and butts had to be hacked with picks to get at the water.

In her chamber, Alienor sat in council with the country’s regents going over general matters of business. There was still no word of Richard and she was beginning to fear the worst even though she was trying desperately to keep her hopes alive. John was part of the group gathered round the fire, but separate from them at the moment and pacing as his father had been wont to do.

‘How much longer must we wait?’ he demanded. ‘There has been no news and that tells me he must have taken a river crossing and drowned, or been caught in a storm and perished somewhere that his body will never be found.’

Alienor’s throat constricted. ‘No, I will not believe that.’

‘I am sorry, Mama, but we must be practical and face the facts.’ John came to crouch at her side, holding the arm of her chair. ‘I am not the only one who sees it, even if I am the scapegoat who must use the words.’ He glanced round at the silent, tight-lipped justiciars. ‘We have to make plans based on the premise that Richard is not going to return.’

Alienor drew herself up. ‘Indeed we do, and it is my advice
that we wait. I know time is passing, but it is not yet the moment to make these decisions. England is stable and well-governed. Another week or two will make no difference. If no news has come by Lent, then and only then shall I reconsider.’

‘And when it comes to Lent, shall you then postpone it to Easter?’ he demanded with impatience.

‘Enough! You have your answer,’ she snapped. ‘We will wait.’

John made an exasperated sound through his teeth and stormed out.

The assembled counsellors prepared to leave, summoning their scribes and gathering their parchment and equipment together.

A clerk belonging to Walter of Coutances entered the room and hastened up to his master with a letter in his hand and a worried look on his face. The Archbishop took it from him, scanned the contents, and called out to the men leaving the chamber. Then he turned to Alienor.

‘Madam, there is news. The King is alive, praise God.’ There was little joy in his expression which was set and grim. ‘But I am sorry to say he is a prisoner.’

Alienor stared at him while the words tumbled into place. ‘What do you mean “a prisoner”?’ She gestured at the parchment. ‘What is this?’ She had risen to see the men out, but her legs threatened to buckle and she had to sit down again.

Walter of Coutances grimaced. ‘It appears to be a copy of a letter from the Emperor of Germany to the King of France.’

Alienor made a peremptory gesture. ‘Read it.’ Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might lift straight out of her chest.

Coutances held the piece at arm’s length and squinted a little, but his voice was firm as he began to speak.

‘
Because our Imperial Majesty has no doubt that your Royal Highness will take pleasure in all of those providences of God which exalt us
and our empire, we have thought it proper to inform you of what happened to Richard, King of England, the enemy of our empire and the disturber of your kingdom, as he was crossing the sea on his way back to his dominions
.’

Alienor dug her nails into her palms and held her breath.

‘
His ship was storm-driven onto the Istrian coast and wrecked. By God’s will, he and a few others escaped. A loyal subject of ours, Count Meinhard of Gorz, hearing that Richard was in his territory and calling to mind the treason, treachery and mischief of which he had been guilty in Outremer, went to arrest him. He captured eight knights from his retinue but Richard escaped. He reached a town called Friesach in the archbishopric of Salzburg, where six more of his knights were arrested. Richard himself escaped yet again, this time with just three companions, and rode hard in the direction of Austria. But the roads were watched and guarded, and our dearly beloved cousin Leopold, Duke of Austria, captured the King in a disreputable house near Vienna. He is now in our power. We know that this news will bring you great happiness
.’

A long silence ensued after Coutances had finished. Alienor exhaled and drew a painful breath. The words had numbed her, but now anger seeped in to take its place.

‘This is not to be borne,’ she declared. ‘That the German Emperor should write to Philippe of France and commit this terrible deed against a fellow sovereign and brother in arms is a disgrace. This is the work of men who disrespect God and are lower than maggots!’ Her eyes flashed around the gathering. ‘If the Emperor is holding Richard captive, then Philippe will turn on Normandy. We must prepare for war.’ Her body shook as anger and fear became rage and terror. ‘I shall write to the Pope immediately. We must discover where Richard is being held. And then we shall set about the matter of setting him free.’

‘I shall find people to do that, and send them straight away,’ said Walter of Coutances. ‘At least the King is still alive, madam, praise God.’

She nodded grimly. ‘And when he is found, we shall need
to know his wishes in the matter of government. There is no reason why he cannot direct us from where he is.’

Already she could not bear the waiting. She wanted to be there in Germany. She wanted to bend apart the bars of his prison and kill those who had imprisoned him. But that was all in her mind and she had to press it down; she had to have control. Richard was not dead, thank God. Hold on to that thought above all others.

Alienor woke from a ragged sleep in which she had been imagining Richard as a lion, fur matted, tangled up in chains and roaring with impotence, and found Amiria leaning over her.

‘Madam, William the Marshal is requesting to see you. I told him you were resting and he said if that was the case he would return, but he has news he thinks you should hear. Shall I admit him or send him away?’

Alienor rubbed sleep from her eyes and sat up. Her throat was parched and raw both from dictating to her scribes and the weeping she had done in private with no one to see her grief and despair. William had not been present when the announcement of Richard’s capture had been made, and she had written to him at his manor of Caversham on the Thames to tell him.

‘Bring wine,’ she said, ‘and help me dress. Bid him wait.’

When William was ushered into her presence, she was gowned and composed but the sight of him, strong, tall and utterly dependable, brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away and stopped him as he began to kneel to her. ‘Come, sit.’
She pointed to a chair by the fire. ‘Give Amiria your cloak and boots. I can see it’s been raining and you might as well be comfortable while you tell me what this is about.’