DüRNSTEIN WAS TO HOLD several surprises for Richard. The first one was waiting in the outer bailey to greet them, for he was a man Richard knew—Hadmar von Kuenring, an Austrian knight who’d accompanied Leopold to the Holy Land. Richard had shared a meal with him one hot July night before Acre fell, and he remembered swapping bawdy jokes with Hadmar, something he could not have imagined doing with Hadmar’s prickly, proper duke, Leopold the Virtuous.
Hadmar was a ministerialis; when Richard had first heard that term, he’d assumed it meant Hadmar was a court official. He’d been astounded when Hadmar had confided over several flagons of wine that ministeriales were of the knightly class but they were unfree. They served their lords in a variety of ways just as English and French knights did, and some of them—like Hadmar—enjoyed noble status. But they could not wed without their lord’s permission, nor could they leave his service, for they were bound to him in the way that an English serf was bound to the land. Upon recognizing Hadmar, Richard’s unease intensified, for how could a ministerialis heed his own conscience?
Hadmar seemed slightly uncomfortable and Richard wondered if he remembered that night in the siege camp at Acre, too. “My lord king,” he said, with a wry half smile. “I’d usually say ‘Welcome to Dürnstein,’ but that seems ridiculous under the circumstances. I suppose we’ll just have to muddle through this as best we can. You must be tired and hungry—”
He broke off then, for he was close enough now to see Richard’s bonds. Drawing his dagger, he cut through the ropes, and then gave Gunther a look as sharp as his knife blade. After rubbing his wrists to restore the circulation, Richard swung from the saddle, saying, “Sir Gunther was merely following the duke’s orders, Sir Hadmar.”
They’d been conversing in Latin, but Gunther seemed to understand that the English king had just come to his defense, for as their eyes met, he nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching in what was almost a smile. Hadmar was frowning, clearly taken aback to learn that Leopold had ordered Richard bound, but then he nodded, too, and said briskly, “Whatever needs to be said can be said inside, by a fire. Come with me.” And he turned, starting to walk toward the inner gatehouse, taking it for granted that Richard would follow.
RICHARD’S SECOND SURPRISE WAS the room where he was to be confined, for it was a bedchamber much more comfortable than he’d have dared to expect. It had a real bed, one laden with pillows and fur-lined coverlets, a charcoal brazier heaped with smoldering coals, woven wall hangings to block out the December chill, a trestle table and two chairs, an abundance of candles and several oil lamps, even fresh floor rushes. Glancing around, he wondered who’d been evicted from this chamber for his benefit, and he wondered, too, how Leopold would react to Hadmar’s generosity.
As he moved farther into the room, he stopped so suddenly that one of his guards bumped into him, astonished by what he saw in the corner behind the bed: a large wooden tub, with padded rims and a stool. The rest of his guards had followed him into the chamber, so he assumed he was to be kept under constant surveillance here, too. They did not interfere as he prowled the confines of his new prison, watching him with more curiosity than hostility, not objecting even when he unshuttered one of the windows. It offered a spectacular view of the mountains and the swift flowing waters of the Danube, but no chance of escape, not unless a man was desperate enough to commit self-slaughter, ending his earthly suffering, but at the cost of eternal damnation. Richard closed the shutters and was warming his hands over the brazier when a knock sounded on the door and his guards admitted servants lugging large buckets of heated water, an armful of towels, and even a bowl of liquid soap. Thinking that Hadmar von Kuenring was deserving of an English earldom, Richard began to strip off his clothes.
Having done his best to scrub off several weeks of grime, he was still soaking in the tub, luxuriating in the feel of the hot water upon his aching, constricted muscles, when Hadmar entered. “No offense meant,” he said with a slight smile, “but I assumed you’d be in dire need of a bath by now.”
“No offense taken, for I was.”