Several men had just entered the hall. It was December 12, but Richard felt as if Christmas had come early, for the one in the lead was Baldwin de Bethune. He rose as quickly as Will had and they both hastened toward the Fleming, with the other men right on their heels.
“I knew Leopold would release the hostages once he found himself excommunicated! Are the others with you? Wilhelm?” Richard’s gaze shifted toward Baldwin’s companions, but none of them were familiar. When he glanced back at his friend, his joy congealed at the sorrowful expression on the other man’s face.
“Leopold has not yielded, sire. He remains defiant. I am here because he entrusted me with an urgent message for you. He said to tell you that if you do not send your niece and the Damsel of Cyprus to Vienna straightaway, he will execute all of your hostages.”
“Jesu!” Richard stared at Baldwin, torn between horror and disbelief, for he’d never even heard of a case in which hostages had been put to death. “Has he gone mad?”
“Not mad, desperate.” Baldwin was suddenly aware of how exhausted he was, and was grateful when the Bishop of Lincoln grasped his arm and steered him toward the warmth of the hearth, where he slumped down on a stool, stretching his frozen feet toward the flames. “It has been a bad year for Austria, sire. First there was heavy spring flooding when the snows melted, then destructive forest fires caused by lightning that burned villages and farms, too. When pestilence began to rage, some of the people began to whisper that God was punishing their duke for seizing a king who’d taken the cross. And then the Archbishop of Verona lay Austria under Interdict and put the curse of anathema upon Leopold himself.”
Someone handed Baldwin a cup and he drank in gulps. “So far the Austrians have supported Leopold, as have the clergy—however reluctantly. But Leopold is no fool and he understands how quickly that can change. When bodies cannot be buried and marriages cannot be made and people cannot hear Mass, it will not take long for them to start asking why they must suffer for Leopold’s sins. He has already spent twenty-five thousand marks fortifying the walls of Vienna, Hainburg, and Wiener Neustadt, has only four thousand still unspent, and so he cannot afford to repay the ransom as the Pope demands. He is cornered and he knows it. But he is a stubborn, angry man, and now a bitter one. I do not know why he is so set upon these marriages. To reward his sons, to prove he is not Heinrich’s puppet, to punish you, to show the Austrians that he will not be cowed by kings, emperors, or popes? I can only tell you that I think he means it when he says he’ll kill the hostages. Mayhap not the little lad. I would hope to God that his madness would not take him that far. But the others . . . Yes, I think he would.”
There was a shocked silence when he was done. Richard turned aside, fighting back a rising tide of fury. How could this be God’s Will? He was no longer a prisoner, so how could he still be so powerless?
Will reached over and rested his hand on the Fleming’s shoulder, a gesture that brought a weary smile to Baldwin’s face. A smile that vanished when William de Forz told him how lucky he was. His head jerking up, he stared at the other man. “And why is that, my lord count?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
“Why? Because you’re here and safe, not trapped back in Vienna with those other poor sods.”
Baldwin got to his feet, and although he was normally imperturbable, not easily angered, Will made ready to intervene in case his friend lunged for de Forz’s throat. “I gave my sworn word,” Baldwin said, slowly and deliberately, as if speaking to a child or lack-wit, “that I would return with the king’s answer. I intend to honor it.”
The count was astonished that the Flemish lord could be such a fool. But he sensed the other man’s outrage, even if he did not fully understand it. He could see that the Marshal shared it, and however little he liked that man, he was wary of offending him, for Marshal had been quick in the past to challenge men who’d insulted his honor. He was thankful, therefore, when Richard drew all attention back to himself.
Oblivious to the tension between Baldwin and the Count of Aumale, Richard looked around the hall, seeking men he could trust implicitly; his gaze soon settled upon Guillain de l’Etang and his Welsh cousin. “Morgan, I want you and Guillain to fetch the girls from Rouen.” When they assured him they’d leave within the hour, he crossed to Baldwin’s side, counterfeiting a smile. “It looks as if you’ll be making another long journey, my old friend.”
Sitting down again, the Fleming smiled, too, just as unconvincingly. “It could be worse, sire. At least I’ll not have to set foot on shipboard again.”
“The other hostages . . . Do they know of Leopold’s threat?”