‘Don’t fall asleep, Sir John! Without a saddle, you’ll fall off that bloody horse!’ Gwyn’s rough voice jerked him out of his reverie. The big Cornishman looked after him better than any wife, whether it be saving him from an Irish pike or a Saracen’s sword — or just preventing him from falling from his horse. As he pulled his attention back to his present surroundings, he wondered if Gwyn’s brand of Cornish-Welsh had ever been heard here since time began.
The prior in Aquileia had been somewhat optimistic about reaching Gorizia before dark, but the city with its prominent castle on a hill was still visible in the distance just before the last of the day faded. Starlight and a gibbous moon low on the horizon got them to the gate in the city wall, which as usual was firmly closed at nightfall. However, there was an inn outside, which was used to catering for latecomers. At the sight of Hugo’s silver, the taverner, who spoke a halting Italian variety of Latin, was happy to accommodate them. He showed them a large loft which occupied the whole upper storey and said that he could supply straw-bags for sleeping. Their horses were fed and tethered in a paddock at the back and the enterprising landlord sold them another four animals to make up the numbers.
Inside the wooden building, they were given a meal of indifferent potage followed by boiled mutton and beans, washed down with a raw local wine.
After eating, the king called them to a conference around the firepit. ‘So far, we have made good progress, but where do we go from here? The choice is still either to ride east into Hungary — or try to cross the mountains and reach Moravia and then Bohemia, where Prince Ottakar is at odds with Emperor Henry and should look sympathetically on us. From there we can easily move into Saxony.’
John de Wolfe’s knowledge of Central Europe was not enough to follow this and certainly Gwyn had never heard of either of those countries, but Baldwin spoke up. ‘Given that we are unsure of the reception we might get from King Bela — and the very long journey from here to Estergom, I suggest that we consider riding north, even though it is likely to be more hostile country.’
William de L’Etang agreed with Baldwin, though Robert de Turnham was very dubious about crossing into Austria, given the bad blood that had arisen in Palestine between Richard and Duke Leopold. The Lionheart had thrown down Leopold’s banner from the walls of Acre and had refused him a share of the loot, on the grounds that the Austrian had contributed little to the successful siege. De Wolfe had nothing to contribute to the discussion, but could sense that the Lionheart was already set on trying to get directly to Saxony.
‘Sire, are we to make ourselves known to the ruler of this city, or is that too dangerous?’ asked William de L’Etang. ‘Some local knowledge of the route and perhaps the help of a guide would be of great help to us.’
They discussed this for a while, Robert de Turnham and a few others feeling that it would be too dangerous to approach a vassal of the Empire, in case orders had already reached them that the royal party was to be seized on sight. However, the idea attracted Richard, who seemed to find it hard to imagine that his kingly status would not overawe a mere count.
‘Baldwin, dear friend, you are the most diplomatic among us. Take this ruby ring I purchased in Ragusa and go up to the castle to present it with my compliments as a gift to this local chieftain. Your silver tongue will no doubt persuade him to offer us safe conduct and guidance tomorrow.’ Richard pulled off the wide gold band carrying the precious stone and passed it to his courtier.
With misgivings on the part of some of the others, the man from Bethune sought out the innkeeper and, with a few more coins, persuaded him to take him to the town gate, where yet more silver got them entry through a wicket.
The group waited uneasily in the gloom of the tavern for his return. They were all dog-tired after being shipwrecked and then walking and riding across miles of unfamiliar countryside.
John de Wolfe, though a phlegmatic and somewhat unimaginative man, pondered on their being adrift in potentially hostile territory. They had only the clothes they wore, a few weapons and a pouchful of money, with many hundreds of miles between them and home. Though he had spent many months, indeed years, in foreign lands, he had always been part of an army, not isolated like this, with the great responsibility of protecting his king.
After two hours, John began to wonder if Baldwin had been seized at the castle, but finally he appeared at the door, looking anxious and agitated as he hurried to bend his knee to the king.
‘My Lord, dark though it is, I think we should leave at once. I do not trust the man I met to keep his word!’
SEVEN
By the afternoon of the next day, the weary fugitives had reached Udine, the main town of the province. This was another twenty miles to the north, where the stark outline of the Julian Alps were now clearly within view. The town, like so many, consisted of a fortress built on a central mound, surrounded by burgages inside an outer wall. This time, the gates were open, but today Richard was more cautious and sent William de L’Etang and seven others inside on foot to seek an inn, whilst he and the rest of the party remained outside at a tavern built amongst the straggle of dwellings that overflowed the city boundary. ‘When you are settled, come back and lead us to a different hostelry, for we are too conspicuous in one group,’ he commanded.
William, Geoffrey de Clare and six of his Templars strode away while the king and his remaining escort waited uneasily in the outer tavern. They sprawled in exhaustion on benches in the taproom, where Baldwin used Latin mixed with miming signs to order ale and food from a surly potman.
‘There seems no sign of pursuit, sire,’ observed John de Wolfe, as they used their knives to attack thick bread trenchers covered with gristly boiled pork and fried onions. ‘I feared that we would have been seized before we could leave Gorizia last night.’
The Lionheart extended his right hand to look at the ruby ring, which Baldwin had brought back from his abortive visit to Count Englebert the previous evening. The courtier again wished that the king would not flash such a striking jewel around in public.
‘He sounded an honourable man, given the circumstances,’ declared Richard. ‘I’ve got my ring back and we still have our freedom.’
Their precipitate departure from Gorizia the previous evening had been in response to Baldwin’s urgent concerns. He had been granted an audience with the count and offered him the ring as a goodwill gift from the rich merchant ‘Hugo of Tours’ as an overture to requesting a guide for the journey north through the mountains. However, Englebert had handed it back and sardonically told Baldwin that he was well aware that ‘Hugo’ was Richard, King of England, for whom half of Europe was searching. Fully expecting to be seized on the spot, Baldwin was astounded when Engelbert told him that both his party and the Lionheart himself were free to depart. The count declared that although he had the duty to arrest him on behalf of his Emperor, the honour King Richard had done him by offering such a valuable gift, made it unchivalrous for him to lay hands upon him in his own city.
When Baldwin brought this news back to the inn, there was no demur when the Lionheart ordered an immediate evacuation, in case Engelbert changed his mind. Paying their bill and forfeiting a night’s lodging, they took to their horses and hurriedly rode off in the moonlight, feeling their way along the high road to the north. At least every man now had his own horse, and when Gorizia was five miles behind them, they turned aside into a lonely wooded glen. Here they rolled themselves into their cloaks and lay on the damp turf. Though exhausted, they slept fitfully until dawn, with ears cocked for sounds of pursuit. Unfed, they set off again at first light and still on a good Roman road, reached Udine soon after midday.