Chapter Twenty-Nine
Christopher paced the floor of John’s audience chamber calmly enough, but inside he was as cagey as a cat.
He was almost frantic to know why John had called an audience of Richard’s loyalists, he and the justices, and a few close advisors of the absent king.
Yet even as he wondered, he knew the reason and his stomach tightened in response, word must have come about Richard.
He didn’t know why his instincts told him that, but he knew it just the same.
All of the justices sat or stood in relative silence, waiting in the chill of the ornate audience hall, their minds riveted to the same thought, they knew why they were here, too.
William Marshal watched Christopher pace, his aged face creased with fatigue and worry this night. Whatever the reason they had been summoned, it could not be a good one and he would not let his concern show.
“Would you sit down, Chris? You are going to wear a hole in the damn floor,” he said quietly.
Christopher eyed William, slowing his movement but not sitting. William raised an eyebrow at him.
“I realize that you believe sitting in John’s presence is a sign of submission, but force yourself,” he said with suppressed sarcasm, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “You are making me nervous.”
Christopher continued to eye him doubtfully but did as the elder man asked and took a seat next to him.
William relaxed back into his chair, eyeing Christopher’s stiff body with faint amusement.
He shook his head and smiled; Christopher hated John more than any of them, and for good reason, and was preparing to shoot to his feet the moment the prince entered the room.
He might as well still be standing for all of the relaxing he was doing on his arse.
“Tell me, how is your wife?” William asked.
“Well, sire,” Christopher replied. “Her appetite and vigor have returned, thankfully.”
William nodded. “Well and good,” he eyed Christopher. “Any thoughts on returning her to Lioncross?”
Christopher shrugged vaguely. “Thoughts, of course, but no action.”
William nudged the big man with an elbow. “You’d miss her too much, wouldn’t you?”
Christopher lifted his shoulders again, not meeting William’s knowing gaze. “I’d rather have her here with me.”
William laughed softly; Christopher was not a man to admit attachment to anything or anyone other than Richard, even though it was painfully obvious his wife had usurped their king in the Defender’s heart.
Yet before William could goad him further, a small door behind the throne swung open and Ralph marched through.
He hadn’t taken two steps when Christopher was on his feet, his huge body coiled with anticipation.
Everyone rose out of pure protocol when John entered the room, waving benevolently at the group of men and followed by his closest advisors.
Christopher eyed the small group of seedy, shady characters, even if they were some of England’s most noble blood.
Bringing up the rear was none other than Sir Dennis le Londe.
He spied Christopher and gave him a wolfish sort of smile.
Christopher met the expression with an unreadable face, wishing he could get the man alone just long enough to snap his neck like kindling.
They never had gotten along, merely tolerated one another because they were fighting for a common cause.
Dennis was a devotee of Philip Augustus, as passionate about his king as Christopher was for Richard.
Since Richard and Philip Augustus despised each other, it was only natural for Christopher and Dennis to feel the same way.
What had happened in the tournament had not increased Christopher’s loathing, but simply reinforced it.
John took his seat, adjusting his robes as a woman would fuss over her surcoat. The justices sat and waited patiently while John deliberately stalled, conferring with various men around him before finally clearing his throat and facing the expectant throng.
“Loyal vassals of Richard,” he began. “I am afraid ’tis bad news I must give you. I received word from the continent today regarding Richard’s whereabouts and well-being and, I am sorry to say, the information is most disturbing.”
Christopher braced himself mentally, not daring to glance at William Marshal but so wanting to. John continued.
“On December 12, Richard was captured by forces of Duke Leopold. He and Emperor Henry are holding our king hostage and the inclination seems to be that they will demand a ransom for him, a ransom I am sure we as a country cannot meet.” He was relishing the open reaction of some of the justices.
“As Richard’s heir, ’twould seem that England would be mine in that case. ”
William rose beside Christopher, eyeing John with disbelief. “Is Richard well?”
“He is healthy and whole, as far as we are told,” John replied without a hint of distress.
“Then ransom or not, sire, Richard is King of England until his demise,” William said evenly.
“But England needs a king who is not being held prisoner,” John said, trying to control the temper that threatened to flare.
“Richard cannot rule from a cell.”
“Richard is king,” William repeated. “The throne of England is his. And it is quite possible that we may deliver the requested ransom; has any amount been discussed yet?”
John’s jaw ticked. “Nay, not yet,” he replied quietly. “But surely it will be overwhelming and the royal coffers are already near to bone dry. There will be no way to pay it.”
“Begging you pardon, sire, but how do you know?” William said. “Richard has many loyal, wealthy vassals and it is quite possible that the booty will be raised. Mayhap we should wait and see what Leopold and Henry demand before we draw any conclusions.”
John was thoroughly agitated. Already the meeting was not favorable in his behalf, as he had hoped. William Longchamp, Richard’s chancellor, suddenly bolted from his seat, wringing his hands behind his back.
“How dare they take Richard prisoner as if he were a common thief,” he raged. “By what right do they possess the power to take our sovereign hostage?”
“They consider Richard a criminal, my lord, as you well know,” William said steadily, hoping Longchamp would calm down and realize now was not the place for dissension amongst Richard’s ranks.
“We have known that for a long while now, yet it changes nothing. Leopold and Henry the Lion hold Richard and we must deal with them.”
Christopher was surprisingly collected. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, listening to Marshal’s voice of reason.
“Would an armed incursion be possible, my lord, were we to find out where they are holding him?” he asked William quietly.
“I will not allow it.” John shot out of his chair, shaking his fist at Christopher. “You will not take an army into the empire to free my brother. Such acts could be deemed provocative and before we would realize it, we would be at war with the entire empire.”
Christopher’s gaze was cool on John. “We are already at war with Henry, so to speak,” he said. “He has captured our king. Would you not consider that act the least bit provocative?”
John’s mouth worked furiously. “No armed excursion, de Lohr. I forbid it.”
“You cannot,” Christopher responded flatly. “You have not the power. Only the justices can deny me.”
The veins on John’s neck bulged. “But I am the bloody prince and heir to the throne. ’Tis well within my royal right to approve or deny the use of crown monies and power.”
“The troops are mine, as pursuant to Richard’s decree,” Christopher reminded him, wondering how long it was going to be before John was having seizures on the floor. “Your use of them is limited.”
“They are crown property and I am the crown,” John shot back. “But you are not king.” How Christopher loved to say that.
“They are Richard’s troops and he has given the responsibility to me in his absence. Why must we go over this, sire? You read the missive and know full well the royal appointment. ’Tis not up for discussion, and certainly not with me. I am simply following Richard’s orders.”
John was bordering on another fit and Ralph leaned closed to his liege, whispering in his ear until John visibly relaxed.
All in the room watched as he regained his seat with mounting control over himself.
He seemed to calm with amazing speed and Christopher wondered what in the hell Ralph said to him, but not really wanting to know.
“My brother will never leave captivity alive, you know,” he said finally.
“Philip is akin to this kidnapping and he and Henry want him dead, almost as badly as they want money. Mayhap they will decide that his death is more important to the good of the free world after all. ’Twill be interesting to see if there is a ransom demand at all. ”
A rapid change of attitude, no doubt to throw the justices off guard. Christopher raised an eyebrow at the prince, but William remained impassive.
“Mayhap, sire,” he replied. “I suppose we will find out in due time. Was that all you wished to speak with us about?”
John stared back at William, mulling over the question, before letting out an ironic snort. “I should think it would be enough, yet you do not seem overly concerned. It is possible you care not what happens to your king or that you have become accustomed to running the country in his absence?”
William smiled wryly. “I both care what happens to our king and look forward to his return, sire. As do you.”