“They are willing to make peace.” Richard unrolled a parchment and handed it to the emperor. “Here are their . . .” He almost said “demands,” caught himself in time. “This is a written list of all their terms. I can tell you which ones are not open to negotiation. They want the return of those castles and lands seized from them and compensation for their losses. They want you to swear a public oath that you are innocent of the murder of the Bishop of Liege and find other bishops and lords willing to so swear on your behalf. You gave refuge to the men who killed the bishop, who are now to be banished from your court. Last, they want you to accept the election of the Duke of Limburg’s son Simon as the next Bishop of Liege. He is only sixteen, well under the canonical age, but they assured me you ought to have no problem with that since your youngest brother, Philip, was chosen as Bishop of Würzburg at the tender age of thirteen.”
Richard could not resist a sardonic smile at that. He need not have worried, though, for Heinrich’s attention was utterly focused upon the document. The outburst came from Count Dietrich, who leapt to his feet, his face red with outrage. Richard could not follow his rant, but it was easy enough to guess the gist of it, for Dietrich was the chief suspect in the bishop’s murder. Not only was he very close to the emperor, Heinrich had taken the bishopric from the two legitimate candidates and given it to Dietrich’s brother Lothar. The Hochstaden brothers had suffered the most in the wake of the bishop’s murder, for Lothar had been excommunicated by the Pope and Dietrich’s lands had been razed by the rebels, all but one of his castles captured. It was only to be expected, therefore, that he’d be opposed to any peace settlement. Would Heinrich heed him, though?
To Richard’s relief, the emperor seemed oblivious to Dietrich’s diatribe, although it was loud enough to be heard out in the castle bailey. Watching closely as he read the list of terms, Richard could only hope that he was right in believing the conquest of Sicily mattered more to Heinrich than punishing the rebels. He felt a pang at the thought of a German army descending upon Tancred’s domains, for he’d developed an unexpected friendship with the Sicilian king. Tancred knew another invasion was coming, though, and he’d be ready for it. Nor was Heinrich’s victory a certainty. He’d tried to conquer Sicily once before, while Richard had been in the Holy Land, but his army had suffered greatly in the unfamiliar heat of an Italian summer, many sickening and dying during the siege of Naples. Heinrich himself had almost died of the bloody flux and had been forced to retreat back to Germany to recover. He’d foolishly or arrogantly left Constance behind in Salerno, where she’d been seized by the citizenry and turned over to Tancred. Richard could well imagine how Heinrich would have treated Tancred’s wife had she fallen into his hands, but Tancred had received Constance more like a guest than a hostage, eventually releasing her into the Pope’s custody. She’d managed to escape on her way to Rome, robbing Tancred and the Pope of a valuable pawn, but that had been her doing, not Heinrich’s. His campaign had been an undeniable disaster, and Richard took heart from that now, reminding himself that Tancred was a far better soldier than Heinrich.
When Heinrich finally looked up from the list of demands, Richard suspected he’d been deliberately drawing out the suspense. “Leopold was right,” he said, with one of the supercilious smiles Richard had come to detest. “You can talk as well as fight. I am impressed, I admit it. Their terms are onerous, but not outrageously so, and I can live with them.”
Dietrich interrupted before he could say more, obviously protesting. Heinrich silenced him merely by turning to stare at him. Glancing back at Richard, he said, “You can return to Frankfurt on the morrow and tell them I will meet them at Koblenz in a fortnight to draw up a formal peace settlement.”
“And you will want to inform the French king that you’ll be too busy to meet him at Vaucouleurs.” Richard sought to sound confident, all the while wondering if this was when he got the knife in his back.
But Heinrich merely smiled and said blandly, “Of course. There is no need for such a meeting now, is there?” He signaled to a servant, who hurried over to pour wine for them all, and they drank to celebrate the peaceful resolution of the rebellion, although Dietrich looked as if he were swilling soured milk. The wine did not taste much better to Richard, for he knew this new détente with Heinrich was a walk onto thinly frozen ice, hearing it crack under him with every step he took.
WHILE RICHARD WAS very relieved that he’d been able to stave off that meeting at Vaucouleurs, he could take little pleasure from his accomplishment, even though he’d gained valuable future allies. It galled him greatly that he’d been compelled to act on Heinrich’s behalf and he was unable to join in Fulk and Anselm’s celebration of his success, for he did not feel like a victor, more like a pimp. He kept these dark thoughts to himself, for he did not expect them to understand. Yes, they’d shared his captivity, but they did not share his shame, for they were churchmen, not expected to hold their honor dearer than their lives, as a knight was—or a king.