ELEANOR READ MEN WELL and as Archbishop Adolf made his way across the crowded hall of the imperial palace in Speyer, she felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the snow on the ground or the icy snap in the air. She had only a limited knowledge of Latin and no German, but he spoke surprisingly good French, albeit with a strong accent. “The emperor has delayed the king’s release, Madame. It is now set for February 2 in Mainz.”
Eleanor shook her eyes briefly, feeling every one of her sixty-nine years at that moment. But even worse was to come.
“Nor will you be permitted to see your son, Madame. Heinrich has given orders that you are to continue on to Mainz.”
Eleanor raised her chin, straightening her shoulders. “I would speak with the emperor and as soon as possible.”
“Heinrich is not here in Speyer. He has been at Würzburg all month, holding an Imperial Diet, and will not be at Mainz for at least a fortnight. Moreover, he has summoned me to join him in Würzburg and so I will be unable to accompany you to Mainz.”
Eleanor stared at the two archbishops, seeing her fear on their faces. Heinrich already had most of the ransom and now he had the hostages, too. What if he still refused to set Richard free? She’d not realized she’d begun to shiver until her grandson Otto whipped off his mantle and gallantly draped it around her shoulders. The gesture well-nigh broke her heart. Wilhelm had been born in England and Otto had been only five when their parents had taken refuge at the English court. Even if all went as it ought, she’d be leaving her grandsons in a land that was foreign to them, in the hands of a man who knew no more of honor than a bandit or a Barbary pirate. And if all went horribly wrong, what would befall them then?
AFTER SOME OF THE MOST STRESSFUL DAYS and sleepless nights of her life, what Eleanor had been so desperately awaiting finally happened. On Candlemas Eve, her son arrived at the imperial palace at Mainz.
They all were eager to see the king, but the first small group to be escorted to Richard’s chamber was restricted to Eleanor, the Archbishop of Rouen, and his nephews, Otto and Wilhelm. Richard was waiting with Longchamp, Fulk, Anselm, Baldwin de Bethune, Morgan, Guillain, and young Arne. As she came through the doorway, Eleanor’s eyes were already stinging and she saw her son through a blur of tears. She’d last seen him nigh on three years ago, standing on the quays at Messina with Joanna and Berengaria, waving as her ship slowly edged out into the harbor. She was not reassured by what she saw now, for he looked like a man who’d been shut away from the sun, a man who’d lost a noticeable amount of weight, a man who’d been living on nerves for far too long. But then he smiled and, as he embraced her, she marveled that it had taken her most of her life to understand that the strongest, most enduring love was that of a mother for her children.
“Philippe was a fool to wager against you.” Laughing, Richard hugged her again, but then he bent his head to murmur for her ear alone, “Sixteen years—how did you ever survive it, Maman?” telling her with those few simple words all she needed to know about his time as Heinrich’s prisoner.
Richard greeted the archbishop next and then turned his attention to nine-year-old Wilhelm and sixteen-year-old Otto, pretending to believe that they could not possibly be his nephews. They were much too tall, he insisted, making them laugh and easing any awkwardness they may have felt. But they truly did look like strangers to him, for four years was an eternity in the realm of childhood, and that cheeky five-year-old and solemn twelve-year-old lived only in his memories now. Would his own son seem so unfamiliar, too?
“Ask him,” Wilhelm urged, and Otto did. “Uncle . . . the German lords and bishops have been arriving all week. Whilst we knew our father would stay away, we hoped our brother would be at Mainz. But he ought to have been here by now. Henrik is not coming, is he?”
“No, Otto, he is not,” Richard said reluctantly. “Henrik is not in the emperor’s good graces at the moment. You see, lads, your brother managed to steal his bride right out from under Heinrich’s nose.”
Wilhelm looked puzzled, but Otto smiled. “You mean he was able to wed Agnes after all? I thought the emperor had forbidden the match.”