AN EARLY MARCH SNOWFALL had powdered the inner bailey of Dürnstein Castle, and the noonday sun gave it a sparkling, crystalline sheen. Hadmar von Kuenring paused to watch as his two young sons pelted each other with snowballs, shrieking with excitement. Hadmar’s smile faded, though, as he continued on toward the tower where the English king was held, for he’d grown weary of being a messenger of ill tidings.
He was in the stairwell when he heard the raised voices coming from Richard’s chamber. Alarmed, he quickened his pace, taking the steps two at a time. Thrusting the door open, he came to a halt at the sight meeting his eyes. Richard and Eberhard, a tow-haired, good-natured youth half a head taller than his fellow guards, were seated at the table, hands gripped as each man sought to force the other man’s arm down, while the rest were clustered around, laughing and cheering. They fell silent as soon as they saw Hadmar in the doorway and backed away from the table. Richard looked amused, but Eberhard went beet red and got to his feet so hastily that his chair toppled to the floor.
On several occasions, Hadmar had interrupted what appeared to be language lessons, with Richard pointing to various objects and his guards giving him the names in German. He hadn’t commented on that, but arm wrestling was a bit too convivial for his liking and he thought it might be best to assign Eberhard to other duties—until he remembered that he’d soon be relieved of the responsibility for the English king’s security.
Richard rose, clapping Eberhard playfully on the shoulder. The guard grinned sheepishly, but then addressed his lord, saying anxiously that he hoped he had not offended. Hadmar brushed aside the apology, regarding his prisoner with an ironic half smile. “I’ll thank you not to suborn my men.”
“We have to find some way to pass the time. They are as bored as I am by now.” Richard gestured toward his vacated chair in a mocking parody of a host welcoming a guest. “Have a seat. You may as well be comfortable whilst you give me your bad news.”
“What makes you think I bear bad news?”
“When have you ever brought me good news?”
Hadmar abruptly abandoned the bantering. “Nor is today any different. I have heard from my duke. He writes that he and Emperor Heinrich have agreed upon the terms for your surrender and he commands me to escort you to the imperial court at Speyer.”
After two months of treading water, Richard just wanted to reach the shore, for he knew it was the waiting before a battle that eroded a soldier’s confidence. It was never a good thing for men to have time to consider all that could go wrong. “Did Leopold tell you what they intend to demand of me?”
“No, he did not.” Hadmar had not realized he was going to lie until he heard the words coming out of his mouth. It was not that he didn’t believe the English king had a right to know, for he did. It was that he did not want to be the one to tell Richard what awaited him at Speyer.
RICHARD HAD EXPECTED to be taken directly to Speyer; instead, they headed for Ochsenfurt, a small town on the left bank of the River Main, where they were to await a summons from Duke Leopold. Heinrich apparently wanted to delay his appearance until his bishops and lords arrived for his Easter Court. Richard remembered reading how the Roman generals would bring their defeated foes back to Rome, and when they made their triumphant entry into the city, the captives would be dragged behind them in chains for the crowds to mock and jeer. He wondered bitterly if Heinrich knew about this ancient Roman custom; he was said to be well read.
Richard was being held in the guest hall of the Premonstratensian monastery dedicated to St Lambert, John the Baptist, and St George. He’d yet to meet the abbot, only occasionally caught a glimpse of one of the white-clad canons as they went about their duties. He did not see much of Hadmar, either, and time hung heavy on his hands. He tried to read and worked on a song he’d been composing about his captivity. Nothing he wrote satisfied him and he had to keep scraping the parchment clean and starting afresh, doubting that he’d be permitted to keep Hadmar’s books and writing materials once they reached Speyer. He’d been surprised to discover that these minor indignities mattered so much, but they did—small, stinging reminders that he had less power than the least of his subjects, as defenseless as the Christian prisoners he’d freed at Darum. They’d been on their way to the slave markets in Cairo and they’d wept with joy at their deliverance. While he’d been glad that he was able to rescue them, he had not given it much thought after it was done. Now that memory was so vivid it occasionally intruded into his dreams.
He was lying on his bed, hoping to nap, when Hadmar came around the screen that had been set up to partition the hall. He was smiling. “You have guests.”