WORD OF THE KING’S RETURN swept through the shire with the speed of a wind-whipped brush fire. When they rode out of Canterbury the following morning, they found the road lined with people from neighboring villages and hamlets, all eager to see if the rumors were true. Richard was surprised by their enthusiastic welcome, for in the four and a half years since his coronation, he’d spent only four months in England. But Eleanor assured him that the stories of his exploits in the Holy Land had made him known the length and breadth of his kingdom. The crowds slowed them down—priests wanting to offer their blessings, excited children darting underfoot, women holding up little ones so they could one day say they’d seen the king’s homecoming, old men shouting out that they’d sent a son or grandson to fight the Saracens, prosperous merchants and their wives mingling with craftsmen, peasants, monks from the Cluniac abbey at Faversham, pilgrims on their way to Canterbury’s holy shrine, and beggars asking for alms. Eleanor knew this was a day the good people of Kent would not forget and, as she watched her son acknowledge their cheers, she thought that he would remember it, too. It was her hope that he’d soon have memories bright enough to rout the darker ones of Dürnstein, Trifels, and Mainz.
The western sky was staining with sunset crimson and gold when they saw the castle walls and cathedral spire of Rochester in the distance. A large throng was waiting, spreading across the road, and as they came into view, men on horseback rode out to meet them. When they were close enough for recognition, Richard spurred his stallion forward. He swung from the saddle just as Hubert Walter dismounted, and knelt at the archbishop’s feet. The watching crowd cheered wildly, and the Bishop of Rochester and the other churchmen were beaming, delighted by the king’s dramatic gesture of piety. Hubert knew it was more than that; it was also a personal acknowledgment of heartfelt gratitude, and his eyes filled with tears. He held out his hand to raise Richard to his feet and the two men embraced, setting off even more cheering. As if on cue, the city’s church bells began to peal, until all of Rochester seemed to be reverberating with celestial, melodious music.
THE TOP STORY OF Rochester Castle’s keep was bisected into a large private chamber and a great hall, where an informal council was in session. A trestle table had been set up for Richard, Eleanor, Hubert Walter, Gilbert, the Bishop of Rochester, Guillaume de Longchamp, André de Chauvigny, and William de St Mère-Eglise. All eyes were on Richard’s chief justiciar as Hubert began with the bad news.
“You may not have heard this yet, sire, but your brother made another treaty with the French king in January, in which he ceded all of Normandy east of the River Seine to Philippe, save only Rouen, as well as a number of important castles in the Loire Valley, including Loches. Of course John did not have actual control of these lands, but Philippe at once invaded Normandy again and the city of évreux is now in his hands. John then sent his clerk, Adam of St Edmund, to London. This Adam brazenly came to pay his respects to me, and when I invited him to dine, hoping I could learn more, he drank enough wine to boast of John’s close friendship with the French king, your mortal enemy. I sent word to the mayor, who had Adam arrested at his lodgings. There, we discovered letters for the castellans of John’s castles, ordering them to stock up on provisions and to strengthen their garrisons in preparation for a long siege.”
Richard’s response was a sour smile. “It sounds as if John is in need of a better class of spy, at the very least one not so fond of wine.”
“I held a council meeting with the other justiciars and formally declared all of John’s lands in England forfeit. My fellow bishops and I then excommunicated him.” Hubert glanced almost apologetically toward Eleanor, but she showed no reaction to the casting out of her youngest son into eternal darkness.
There was a wine cup at Richard’s elbow and he took a swallow in a futile attempt to wash away the bad taste of his brother’s latest treachery. “What has been done about his castles?”