Hubert smiled. “At last I have good news to share with you, my liege. All but two of John’s castles are now in our control. William Marshal took Bristol Castle in February. I captured Marlborough Castle, whilst William Marshal’s faithless brother, its castellan, was mortally wounded in the fighting. I am pleased to report that my own brother Theobald, also John’s sworn man, has seen the error of his ways and yielded Lancaster Castle to me. And in Cornwall, Henry de la Pommeraye no longer holds St Michael’s Mount for John; he died of fright upon learning that you’d regained your freedom.” Seeing Richard’s skepticism, he smiled again. “It is true, sire. When he heard this, he gasped, clutched his chest, and went down like a felled tree.”
That evoked laughter, which ended, though, when Hubert revealed that the two castles still holding out were the formidable strongholds of Tickhill and Nottingham. Tickhill was under siege by the Bishop of Durham, Hubert told them, and the earls of Chester, Huntingdon, and Derby were leading the assault upon Nottingham.
Richard was pleased to hear that the Earl of Huntingdon was taking part in the siege, for he was the brother of the Scots king and his presence at Nottingham was further proof of King William’s friendship. Upon taking the crown, Richard had agreed to let William buy back for ten thousand marks those castles William had been forced to surrender to Henry after the Great Rebellion of 1174 and recognized Scotland’s independence. Richard had received some criticism for it at the time, but he thought the goodwill he’d gained was worth far more than ten thousand marks; William had even made a substantial contribution to the ransom. Making a mental note to invite William for a state visit once John’s rebellion was crushed, Richard glanced around the table at his mother and the men who’d never lost faith in him, no matter how dire his prospects seemed.
“I may have more than my share of enemies,” he said, “but I have been blessed in my friends. I have not felt truly freed from Heinrich’s yoke until now, finding myself back on English soil.”
They all smiled, several of them blinking hard, and Eleanor reached over to squeeze her son’s arm. André rescued them from this looming sentimental storm by saying dryly, “My lord archbishop, I hope you will see that my cousin’s words are widely circulated. It never hurts a king to declare his love for his homeland, even one with such wretched weather and wine.”
Midst the ensuing laughter, Richard discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that he’d actually meant it. Aquitaine would always have the first claim upon his heart, and in truth, he agreed with André about England’s weather and wine. But he’d not realized how much he valued his island kingdom until he’d come so close to losing it.
They were rising to go to their beds—Richard was impatient to reach his, since he had a woman waiting in it—when Hubert Walter remembered he’d not told the king about the shocking news from Sicily. “My liege, two days ago we received a letter from Rome. The King of Sicily is dead.”
Even though he’d heard Tancred had been ailing, Richard had not expected this. He felt a throb of regret, for he’d developed a genuine respect for the Sicilian king and he’d been hopeful that Tancred, a much better soldier than Heinrich, would be able to fend off the coming German invasion.
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said, “very sorry.” He’d met Tancred’s eldest son during the five days he’d spent at Tancred’s court in Catania, and he tried to remember how old Roger was then. Sixteen, mayhap seventeen, which would make him nineteen now. No longer a stripling, yet young to shoulder such a burden.
“Roger is a good lad; I liked him. I am sure the Sicilian lords will rally around him, but it will not be easy to win his war.”
Hubert was shaking his head sadly. “Roger is dead, too, sire. He died unexpectedly in December, so suddenly that some spoke of poison. Tancred’s heir is now his four-year-old son.”
“Christ Jesus,” Richard said softly, feeling a stab of pity for Tancred, who’d died knowing that both his dynasty and his kingdom were doomed, for few would dare to defy Heinrich on behalf of a child king. The German emperor would lay claim to Sicily, financing his campaign with the ransom money he’d extorted from England, and untold thousands would suffer under his heavy-handed rule. Richard could only wonder, with both bitterness and bafflement, why the Almighty had let any of this happen.