“Before Germany,” Guillain said, and Morgan nodded, both of their eyes shifting across the hall toward the dais, where Richard was holding court. “I had my own misgivings at first about him,” Guillain admitted, “for I’d been one of the household knights of his brother the young king, and it is only natural that we’d be loyal to the memories of our lords, may God assoil them both. Now, though, I cannot imagine serving anyone but our king.”
“Nor can I,” Morgan agreed, and for a moment, they were silent, remembering what they’d shared with Richard on the way home from the Holy Land, having forged a bond beyond breaking.
It was then that the messenger arrived from the Archbishop of Cologne.
RICHARD FOUND HIMSELF HESITATING before opening the letter. Exchanging glances with his mother, he saw that the same thought was in her mind—that they were about to learn how Heinrich had punished Constance for the part she’d played in the conspiracy against him. Richard also dreaded hearing that Heinrich had left for the Holy Land. He’d rather that Jerusalem remain under Saracen control than to have it retaken by the German emperor, and if that was a sin, it was not one he could honestly repent.
Eleanor watched tensely as he broke the seal and began to read. His sudden intake of breath caused her own breathing to quicken. When he glanced up from the letter, he seemed so stunned that she closed her eyes. God pity Constance. Harry had never forgiven her, yet he’d not treated her as harshly as he could have, as their world felt he had the right to do. But what did Heinrich von Hohenstaufen know of mercy?
Richard had raised his hand to quiet the hall, getting to his feet. “The Emperor Heinrich is dead!” There was a shocked silence, and then pandemonium.
THE UPROAR HAD STILL not subsided by the next day. As guests continued to arrive at the royal court, they were met with the astounding news of the German emperor’s death, and they then hastened into the great hall to ask the king if it was true. Richard had lost count of the times he’d had to assure these newcomers that it was indeed so, and then had to share with them what little he knew so far of Heinrich’s unexpected demise at age thirty-two.
John was in a very good mood that Christmas, for Richard had wanted him to swear to uphold the terms of the treaty signed with the Count of Flanders, and he took that to mean he was once again in serious consideration as his brother’s heir. He was also enjoying the excitement stirred up by the news about Heinrich, for he was drawn to intrigue like a shark to blood in the water. Snatching a wine cup from a passing servant, he presented it to Richard with a flourish. “Are you not weary by now of repeating the same story?”
Richard drank and then smiled. “I could never tire of saying, ‘Heinrich is dead.’ Rarely have my ears heard sweeter music than those three words.”
“You’d best make ready to say it again, Uncle,” Otto chimed in, and John thought that if anyone could get drunk on good news, their nephew was well on the way.
Richard followed Otto’s gesture and sat up in surprise, for he’d not expected André and Denise to attend the Christmas Court this year. André’s pilgrimage to Rome had proved inconclusive, with Pope Celestine dithering as usual, accepting the Bishop of Bourges’s charge that André had behaved in a “tyrannical manner” but putting off a final decision. Richard knew how bitter the Pope’s inaction had been for his cousin and his wife. But for now, at least, they were aglow with elated astonishment, and André barely restrained himself long enough to make a formal greeting suitable for such a public forum.
“Tell me it is true,” he entreated, “even if you lie! Give me those few moments of utter joy.”
Richard laughed. “No need to lie. Heinrich died at Messina on the twenty-eighth of September as he made ready to depart for the Holy Land.” Anticipating the next question, he said, “Of a fever, or so it is said. Adolf wrote that there was talk of a tertian fever and that is certainly common enough in Sicily. But he says there has also been talk of poison, since it happened so quickly—and since half of Christendom would have thanked God fasting to see that whoreson breathe his last. I do not much care how he died, just as long as it was painful.”
After a moment, Richard laughed again. “It seems Celestine has discovered it is easier to defy a dead man, for he has forbidden Heinrich to receive a Christian burial until my ransom is repaid. I doubt I’ll see so much as a single pfennig, but I’ll consider the debt paid in full if Heinrich is truly left to rot or is buried in unhallowed ground.”
“What of the empress?” Denise interjected, for André had told her of Constance’s peril.
“We can safely say she shed no tears,” Richard said with a grin. “Nor did she waste any time. Heinrich had named Markward von Annweiler as regent for his son, but Constance was having none of that. No sooner was Heinrich dead than she seized control of the government, rallied the Sicilians, and had all of the Germans expelled from the kingdom.”