Interpreting his silence as surrender, Markward nodded again to the burgrave, who drew his sword, the signal for others to do the same. Only then did the guard with the chains come forward. Eyeing Richard warily, he handed the key to the closest man as he clapped the manacles onto the king’s wrists, then reclaimed the key to lock them. Richard exercised all of the self-control at his command to stand motionless as this was done. He was caught by surprise, though, when the man then fastened the chain to a bolt in the wall. He’d not expected to be tethered to the wall like this, and as he looked accusingly at Markward, he realized how easy it would be for them now to fetter him with the leg shackles, too.
As if reading his mind, Markward grinned. “I do not make a habit of it, but I occasionally do honor my word, and fortunately for you, tonight is one of those times. I’m sure we can find use for the shackles elsewhere; we never seem to run out of prisoners here. Sleep well, my lord king.” Opening the door, he smiled again. “Though I daresay my night will be a better one than yours.”
RICHARD SLEPT POORLY, for every time he shifted position, he was awakened by the tension in the chain. The manacles were made of iron and surprisingly heavy; they fit tightly and already his wrists were being rubbed raw. He did not feel thankful that his ankles were not fettered, too, just a burning sense of outrage that a consecrated king should be subjected to such degrading maltreatment. He welcomed the fury, did all he could to feed the flames, clinging to his anger as if it were a shield in a vain attempt to keep the shame at bay. Last night, he’d told himself that he had no choice but to submit, that at least he could spare his pride by doing so. In the cold light of day, it seemed to him that in salvaging his pride, he’d sacrificed his honor.
Being chained up did not even rid him of the guards. There were only a few now and they squatted in the shadows, passing the time by telling jokes, or so he assumed, since they laughed often. But their continued presence salted his wounds, for he’d not been alone for even a few moments since his capture on December 21, not once free from prying, inquisitive eyes.
In midmorning, sounds from the inner bailey floated up through the arrow slits. By listening intently, Richard concluded that Markward von Annweiler was departing, doubtless returning to report to the emperor that he was securely caged at Trifels. He felt no relief, though, that the ministerialis was gone. Now he was surrounded by men who spoke not a word of French or Latin, unable to communicate with any of them.
The hours dragged by. Richard passed the time by recalling every memory of the past thirteen days, beginning with his first meeting with Heinrich in the chapter house. There must be a pattern, something he’d missed. Heinrich was not a man to act on impulse. He’d proved that by pretending to accept the verdict of the Imperial Diet. So what did he want? What did he hope to gain by this betrayal? Did he think he could strike a new deal with a man desperate enough to pay any price to escape Trifels? Or had he concluded that there was nothing to be gained now that he’d been outwitted and outmaneuvered at Speyer? Richard could still hear that cool, dispassionate voice. If you do not agree, then you’re of no value to me, and I have no reason to keep you alive. Had he been sent to Trifels to break his spirit? Or to suffer for daring to make a fool of Heinrich before his own court? He did not know the answer, but he would be given it by day’s end, and from an unexpected source.
He’d been served another scanty supper, a cup of weak ale, more bread and cheese, when the door opened and the burgrave entered, followed by several men carrying torches. The sudden brightness caused Richard to avert his gaze, for once night had fallen, his cell quickly filled with shadows. When his eyes had adjusted to the glare of those flames, he found himself looking into the face of Philip de Dreux, Bishop of Beauvais.
The bishop was grinning. “Have I ever seen a sight so sweet? No, I think not. You’re looking rather bedraggled, Lionheart, and it’s only been two days. Imagine what a pitiful state you’ll be in after you’ve enjoyed the emperor’s hospitality for a month or two.”
Richard got slowly to his feet. “I have you to thank for this, Beauvais?”
“I would love to be able to claim all the credit. But the emperor already had it in mind to send you here. He did not like how easily you beguiled his vassals and decided that you’d cause less trouble at Trifels. I agreed, of course. I explained, though, that it was not enough to keep you secluded, for you’re stubborn, Lucifer proud, and badly in need of a few lessons in humility. Heinrich does not want you dead, if that be any comfort. He wants you broken, and time spent at Trifels usually breaks men like twigs. When you’re ready to beg him for your freedom, then he may be willing to talk about new terms. As for me, I hope you hold out for a while. It gives me great pleasure to think of you cold, hungry, dirty, and fettered like a common felon.”