Eleanor’s hand clenched upon the arm of the chair. “How do you know this, André? How sure are you?”
“All too sure, Madame. I was going stark, raving mad at Chateauroux, waiting for word. I thought Archbishop Gautier would be amongst the first to hear anything, so I rode to Rouen after Christmas. I was still there when one of his spies arrived from the French court.” André shifted uncomfortably, his body aching from hours in the saddle, and Eleanor gestured for him to rise. As he sank down upon a nearby coffer, he gratefully accepted the wine cup Amaria was offering. “Whatever the archbishop is paying his man, it is not enough. He somehow managed to make a copy of a letter Heinrich had written to Philippe, revealing Richard’s capture.”
“You have it with you?”
“I do, a copy of the original and a translation into French.” Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a leather pouch. “Here is the archbishop’s letter to you, Madame, and here is Heinrich’s.” Not sure if she was familiar with Latin, an uncommon skill for most women, he handed her the French copy.
Eleanor waited until one of her ladies hurried over with a candlestick before she unrolled the parchment. The candle helped, but not enough. Eschewing false pride, she handed the letter back. “The lighting is too dim for my aging eyes. Read it aloud, André.”
He rose and carried the letter toward a large iron candelabrum that was suspended from the ceiling. Clearing his throat, he gave Eleanor a quick glance, as if apologizing for what she was about to hear.
“Heinrich, by the grace of God, emperor of the Romans and ever august, to his beloved and especial friend Philippe, the illustrious king of the Franks, health and sincere love and affection. . . . We have thought it proper to inform your nobleness that whilst the enemy of our empire and the disturber of your kingdom, Richard, King of England, was crossing the sea for the purpose of returning to his dominions, it so happened that the winds brought him to the region of Istria, at a place which lies between Aquileia and Venice, where, by the sanction of God, the king, having suffered shipwreck, escaped, together with a few others.
“A faithful subject of ours, the Count Meinhard of G?rz, and the people of that district, hearing that he was in their territory, and calling to mind the treason and treachery and accumulated mischief he had been guilty of in the Land of Promise, pursued him with the intention of making him prisoner. However, the king taking to flight, they captured eight knights of his retinue. Shortly after, the king proceeded to a borough in the archbishopric of Salzburg, where Friedrich von Pettau took six of his knights, the king hastening on by night with only three attendants, in the direction of Austria. The road, however, being watched, and guards being set on every side, our dearly beloved cousin Leopold, Duke of Austria, captured the king in a humble house in a village in the vicinity of Vienna.”
André paused then to take a swallow of wine, hoping to wash away the vile taste of the words in his mouth. “Inasmuch as he is now in our power, and has always done his utmost for your annoyance and disturbance, we have thought proper to notify your nobleness, knowing that the same is well pleasing and will afford most abundant joy to your own feelings. Given at Rednitz on the fifth day before the calends of January.”
“It sounds as if Richard was trying to reach Saxony,” Eleanor said after a very long silence. “He had obviously been warned that he dare not land at any Italian, French, or Spanish ports. But how did he come to have so few men with him, André? He was riding into enemy territory with less than twenty men? What happened to all the knights with him when he sailed from Acre?”