It was difficult to know whether I came round the next morning or several days later, but it was certainly early in the day. A woman who claimed to be a physician, although she more closely resembled a witch, was tending my bruises with a poultice. I only saw her that once and, ominously, she refused to tell me how the King had fared – or even whether she had seen him.
With a certainty worthy of the highest physician in the land, she told me I had several broken ribs and probably a crack in my jaw; eating and, indeed, any movement at all would be painful. Needless to say, I needed little confirmation of my injuries.
My recovery took several weeks, during which time I heard not a whisper from the Lionheart’s room above mine – not even footsteps, or a door being opened. I assumed he must be dead, but then I wondered. If that were the case, why on earth was I still alive?
My apprehension about the Lionheart’s welfare was salved in late October, when he reappeared at Trifels. I had recovered sufficiently to be able to take a morning walk around the keep. As I did so one cold day, with the threat of winter in the air, the portcullis was raised and a squadron of men rode in at the head of a cart. To my immense relief, the King was sitting at the back of the dray. He was manacled, but was sitting upright and looked much better than the last time I had seen him. He looked well manicured and in reasonable health, although he still seemed sullen and withdrawn.
At least he nodded at me in recognition as he was taken to his room.
Three days later, to my relief, I was allowed to see the King. He was calm and cogent.
‘They took me to the monks at Heidelberg. They have the finest physicians in Germany there. They had nearly killed me; I spat blood for a week. On the second night, they gave me Extreme Unction. I was resigned to my death.’
‘Well, sire, I can assure you that you are still here; I am delighted to see you looking so well.’
‘Do you know what kept me alive? The thought of what I’m going to do to that fat bastard upstairs. He’ll taste the sweetness of my revenge soon enough.’
Then he smiled at me; it was something he had not done in a long time.
‘Ranulf, I am sorry that I behaved so badly, but being kept like a rat in a barrel is a torture I cannot bear.’
‘I understand, sire. You were not made for confined spaces and days of idleness.’
‘How were you treated?’
‘Not as badly as you, just a couple of broken ribs. A witch came to see me to tend my wounds.’
The King greeted my words with another smile, this time a mischievous one, like the old days.
‘Was she pretty?’
‘No, sire. She was old, with a face like a gargoyle!’
‘Shame.’
‘Did you hear any news from the monks at Heidelberg, sire?’
‘Yes, my mother has raised the ransom; she has amassed dozens of cartloads of silver. They are calling it the greatest treasure in history. Most of it has come from England. I’m growing fonder of your homeland by the day.’
These words were followed by a third smile; the lion in the man had been revived.
But our tribulations were far from over. Christmas loomed and word arrived of yet another twist in our tale.
The Castellan brought us the news, salivating as he did so.
‘I have disappointing news for you. Your brother, Prince John, has been conspiring with Philip, King of the French, to extend your stay with us. Indeed, you will be delighted to hear that it is such a lucrative offer, it may give us the pleasure of your company on a permanent basis.’
His smirk was so infuriating that the King could not constrain himself from flying at the Swabian and grabbing him by the throat. It was a futile gesture. The man was a giant; with the help of four of his men, he was easily able to cast the King off. As he did so, he struck the Lionheart a vicious blow across the face.
‘You should be careful, my tame lion, I may be your guardian for life. I could make your existence very unpleasant.’
The King wasn’t cowed by the big man. He spat blood from his mouth and then spat out his answer at him.
‘You are the one who should be careful. One day we will meet on equal terms. And when we do, I’ll kill you like the fat pig that you are.’
I thought the Castellan would be provoked into yet more violence, but he had additional information, which was much more hurtful.
‘Prince John has agreed a treaty with Philip of France. He has ceded the whole of eastern Normandy beyond Rouen to the French, as well as all the castles and fortifications in the border area.’
The Lionheart winced; it was the vital territory that his Norman ancestors had fought so hard to win for over two hundred years. He had spent a fortune in recent decades fortifying and defending it. Now his brother had given it away in the blink of an eye.
‘As part of their treaty, they have written to my Emperor and offered him sixty thousand pounds if he will detain you until the end of next year. Or a hundred thousand if he will hand you over to them. Your brother must be very fond of you!’
‘He’s a coward, just like you!’
Still not rising to the King’s bait, the Castellan just turned and walked out. But as he did so, he barked an order at his guards.
‘Isolate them for a week, confined to their rooms! Only one meal a day, half a ration each, and one jug of water.’
It was a difficult week, but at least it was only a week.
By the time it was over, Christmas and New Year had come and gone. I was beginning to wonder whether our stay in Trifels would, indeed, become permanent and whether the King and I would see out our days in that wretched place.
When I next saw the King, he was still in a fury about the news he had been given.
‘Is there no hope we can escape from here? I must get home before that fool of a brother of mine gives away the Empire.’
‘I’ve thought about escape every day, sire, but I think it would be easier to break into the castle than to get out. But I don’t doubt the Queen; I know she will deliver the English silver soon.’
‘I don’t doubt my mother, either. But John will have won many friends by making big promises to them. The geld he has offered in exchange for my continued captivity is the same amount as my ransom; I fear he may have gained control of it.’
‘I doubt the English will let him have it; they are so fond of you.’
‘You have such faith in your English people.’
‘I do, sire, but they are your people as well.’
‘I suppose they are… which reminds me. Did you retrieve what you wanted to find in Rome, the things that you said would make me fall in love with the English?’
‘Yes, I did, sire.’
‘Well?’
‘I have read the manuscripts, and they are truly remarkable.’
‘So, what do they say?’
‘They tell such a long story of two families, it is hard for me to remember the details, my Lord.’
‘I don’t want the details, just the heart of it.’
‘But, sire, it’s the details that make the story. Please wait until you can hear the full account. It will be worth it, I promise.’
‘Oh, very well, I’ve learned to trust you, as I trusted Alun. And I suppose it can’t be more important than the need to get out of this place.’
