Scene from A King's Ransom

February 4th is an important date in the Angevin calendar; on this day in 1194, Richard I was finally released from his German captivity after the payment of a staggering 150,000 silver marks. I suspect there must have been some of his subjects who wondered if he was worth such a vast sum, but his mother would have paid twice that amount to set him free and she was the driving force behind the collection of the ransom. Eleanor disappeared from Lionheart once Richard sailed for the Holy Land, but she has a prominent role in Ransom, protecting her son and his kingdom, then coming to her daughter’s aid in Joanna’s time of greatest need, and finally securing the crown for her last-born son, John.
Richard was imprisoned for almost as long as the time he’d spent in the Holy Land and it was a very stressful time, including a trial before the Imperial Diet at Speyer where he was accused of betraying Christendom to the Saracens, and a stint in chains at the dreaded Trifels Castle, always with the threat hanging over his head of being turned over to the French king. Here is a brief scene from February 4th, 1194.
A King’s Ransom, pages 333-334
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The outer courtyard was thronged, for they had a huge retinue—Eleanor’s ladies, Richard’s knights, men-at-arms, the lords and bishops and abbots who’d accompanied the queen from England, and those in attendance upon the Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Brabant, who intended to escort Richard across Germany, none of them trusting in Heinrich’s safe-conduct. Eleanor had tried to anticipate all of her son’s needs. She’d ruled out river travel because she was sure he’d want to be on horseback after his long confinement, engaging mounts for the men, horse litters for herself and her women, and for Richard, a spirited grey stallion that brought a delighted smile to his face. Although he’d been able to dress well in recent months, she’d still made sure to bring a wardrobe suitable for a king. And she assured him that English ships would be awaiting their arrival at Antwerp.
She had forgotten one of Richard’s needs, though, something he found as essential as air. But Andre had not, and as Richard stood beside his new stallion, talking soothingly to accustom the animal to his presence before mounting, Andre approached with a large hemp sack. “I thought you might want this,” he said, opening the bag to reveal a scabbard of Spanish leather.
Sweeping his mantle back, Richard fastened the belt and then drew the sword from its scabbard. He saw at once that a superior bladesmith had labored to create this superb weapon, with a thirty-six inch blade and an enameled pommel, reminding him of the sword he’d been given by his mother upon his investiture as Duke of Aquitaine at age fifteen. He admired its balance, his eyes caressing that slender steel blade as a lover might, and when he glanced toward his cousin, Andre thought he finally looked like himself.
“Do you know how long it has been since I’ve held a sword in my hand, Andre?”
The other man shook his head.
“One year, six weeks, and three days.” For a moment, their eyes held, and then Richard sheathed his sword, swung up into the saddle, and gave the command to move out.
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