A King's Ransom

 

LEOPOLD DID NOT RETURN until several hours after darkness had fallen. Richard was encouraged to see he was accompanied by a servant who placed a wine flagon and two gilded goblets upon the trestle table, pouring for both men before making a discreet departure. Leopold took a sip, keeping his eyes upon Richard all the while. “I think that went well,” he said, as close as he could come to thanking the English king.

 

You mean I did not make you look like a fool in front of your family and vassals, Richard thought, reaching for his own wine cup. Leopold was showing signs of tension again, drumming his fingers absently upon the wooden table. “I regret my son’s bad manners earlier today.”

 

“He is young,” Richard said with a shrug. “Besides, I like the lad. He has spirit, reminds me of my own son.”

 

Leopold looked startled. “I did not know you had a son. I’d not heard that your queen was with child.”

 

“Philip is not Berenguela’s,” Richard said, taking a swallow of the wine. “He is eleven, born long before my marriage.” He was not surprised to see the other man’s brows draw together, for how likely was it that one known as Leopold the Virtuous would have begotten any children outside of his marriage bed? But Leopold’s frown was puzzled, not disapproving, as his next question proved.

 

“I thought your queen’s name was Berengaria.”

 

“It is, but only since our marriage. Her given name is Berenguela, but that was too foreign-sounding for my subjects. I prefer it myself, though, so we agreed that she would be Berengaria in the court and Berenguela in the bedchamber.”

 

A silence fell then, as they both became aware of the incongruity of this moment, speaking so casually, almost intimately, of family, the sort of conversation a man might have with friends. Richard had mentally rehearsed what might well be one of the most important discussions of his life, but now he heard himself saying something utterly unpremeditated. “I did not know that my men threw your banner into a ditch until Friedrich told me last night.”

 

“It was a sewer,” Leopold said flatly.

 

Wonderful, Richard thought. Next the man would reveal it had then been eaten by pigs. “Friedrich asked me if I’d have punished my men had I known that. I said no, for they were following my orders, even if they did take it further than they ought. And if I had it to do over again, Leopold, I would still give that order. But I would have talked with you afterward about it. That we did not talk, I do regret.”

 

Leopold’s dark eyes were unreadable. “That sounds almost like an apology.”

 

Richard smiled. “I’d say it is rather late for apologies. And under the circumstances, surely my sincerity would be suspect.”

 

The Austrian duke gave no indication that he’d caught the ironic undertones. “Yes, it would,” he agreed, confirming Richard’s suspicion that the man had no sense of humor whatsoever.

 

Taking another swallow of wine, Richard leaned across the table. “Let’s talk not of the past, but of the future, then. As I see it, we have a choice of two roads to take. We can let bygones be bygones and I ride out of here on the morrow, ideally with a safe escort into Moravia, whilst you give the order to set all of my men free, too. Or we can discuss a ransom. Naturally, I prefer that first road. But I’m willing to travel down the second one if need be. If it is to be the first option, I will give you my sworn word that I will seek no vengeance, will nurse no grievance against you, for I now understand that I was not as blameless in this matter as I first thought. If it must be the second, I am sure we can reach an accommodation satisfactory to us both. So, which will it be?”

 

Leopold was no longer meeting his eyes, staring down into the depths of his wine cup. “It can be neither.”

 

Sharon Kay Penman's books