Mean knights, to whom the moving of my sword
And shadow of my spear had been enow
To scare them from me once.
1192
After a last visit to Cyprus[1045]—perhaps for the purpose of removing the officers whom he had placed there and transferring the custody of the island to representatives of Guy—Richard directed his course straight for Marseille, and in less than a month was off the coast of Barbary, within three days’ sail of his destination. Disquieting rumours had, however, reached him; from passing ships, or at sea-ports where he had touched, there had come to him repeated warnings that the count of Toulouse, so long his determined enemy and now his unwilling vassal, was in league with some of the neighbouring princes and nobles to seize him as soon as he should land. He could not but suspect that Oct.-Nov. Philip Augustus was either an accomplice in the plot or would at least be only too ready to support the plotters; he therefore suddenly altered his course, and sailed to Corfu.[1046] 1192 It is difficult to guess why he did not proceed through the Pillars of Hercules direct to England. Instead, he seems to have deliberately chosen the much more hazardous adventure of a voyage up the Adriatic and an overland journey through the territories of the Empire. His motives for this strange choice can only be conjectured. He may have counted on a personal meeting with Henry VI as a means of renewing and cementing the old alliance of England with the Empire, and thus securing a valuable support in the struggle with France for which he knew he must prepare himself in every possible way. But if so, the moment and the circumstances were extraordinarily ill chosen. Richard indeed could not fully know how untoward the circumstances really were. That the young Emperor was as unscrupulous and false as his father had been upright and honourable; that he was just then making an attempt—destined to failure—to obtain possession of Naples; that on his way back to Germany Philip would meet him; and that there were symptoms of coming trouble in the Empire from the party of Richard’s brother-in-law Henry of Saxony, to whom Richard, like his father, had given shelter and protection, and at whose return to Germany in violation of an oath to set foot there no more Richard was said to have connived[1047]—all these things Richard could not know. But he did know, or ought to have known, that the German contingent had been a source of constant disturbance in the crusading host; that his own alliance with Tancred, the Emperor’s successful rival for the crown of Sicily, had made the Emperor his natural enemy; and that he had also a personal enemy—again of his own making—in Duke Leopold of Austria, who, though his territorial possessions were insignificant, was of considerable importance in German politics by reason of his close family connexion with the imperial house and with several of the chief feudataries of both the German and Italian realms.
Richard’s scheme seems, in fact, to have been prompted by the spirit of sheer adventure and knight-errantry; and in the same spirit he set out to carry it into effect. On reaching Corfu he saw three galleys lying off the coast of the mainland; he at once put off in a little boat to hail them.[1048] Nov. Their crews were pirates, and instantly attacked the boat; but Richard, through one of his sailors, entered into a parley with them, “and for their laudable bravery and boldness” made a bargain that they should carry him, with a few attendants,[1049] for two hundred marks of silver, to Ragusa.[1050] Probably, and not unreasonably, he preferred to embark with a crew as familiar with the intricacies of the Dalmatian coast as they were hardened to its perils. So furiously, however, did the wind drive the ships up the gulf that a wreck seemed imminent; and the king made a solemn vow to spend a hundred thousand ducats in building a church on whatever spot he should come safe to land.[1051] He found refuge on a little rocky island called Lacroma, lying half a mile south of Ragusa, and at that time forming part of the territory of that city, which was an independent republic. The rulers of Ragusa, on hearing of his arrival, begged him to accept a lodging in their city, and gave him a respectful and hospitable welcome. The chief inhabitants of Lacroma were a community of Benedictine monks; Richard at once proposed to fulfil his vow by rebuilding their monastic church. The rulers of the republic, however, represented to him that the sum which he had vowed was out of all proportion 1192 to the size of the monastery and the requirements of the monks, and would be far better employed in rebuilding the cathedral church of Ragusa on a scale befitting its metropolitan dignity. To this he agreed, on condition that the republic should obtain the Pope’s sanction to this deviation from the terms of his vow, and should at its own cost rebuild the little church on the island; and that, further, the abbot of Lacroma, assisted by his monks, should have in perpetuity the privilege of celebrating Mass in the cathedral church once a year, on the feast of the Purification of our Lady. Hereupon, it seems, “the good king having borrowed a large sum of money for the purpose,” the work was begun immediately. The zeal of the pilgrim king fired that of the people of the diocese, and his gift, supplemented by contributions from them, resulted in the erection of a church which for nearly five centuries stood without a peer in Illyria for the stately grace of its proportions and the beauty of its architectural details.[1052] An earthquake destroyed it in 1667; but Richard had, all unknowing, laid in a nation’s heart the foundation of something more precious and more lasting than any material edifice. The little republic of Ragusa kept her independence till 1810, when she was conquered by Napoleon. Four years later she was annexed to Dalmatia under the yoke of Austria. Although never before incorporated into any of the Slavonic states which surrounded her, she had a natural affinity with them; the greater part of her inhabitants were, like theirs, of Serbian blood. Her cause thus became bound up with that of the whole Serb race in its aspirations after freedom and a national existence. When there came upon that sorely tried race the darkest hour it had ever yet known, a Serbian statesman publicly appealed, as the ground of his confidence in England’s help, to the memory of the mutual obligations formed more than seven centuries before between Ragusa and Richard the Lion Heart.[1053]
At Ragusa the king took ship again. What port he really made for we cannot tell; for he was wrecked a second time, and came finally ashore somewhere between Aquileia and Nov.-Dec. Venice.[1054] Stranded in this remote corner of the Italian border-land, where almost every local magnate was a connexion or a dependent of either the house of Montferrat, the duke of Austria, or the Emperor, or of all three, Richard suddenly awoke to his danger. He despatched one of his followers to ask Count Mainard of Gorizia, the most powerful noble of the district,[1055] for a safe-conduct for the little party; he bade the messenger describe them as Baldwin de Béthune (who really was one of them), a merchant called Hugh, and their companions, all pilgrims returning from Jerusalem; and he also—most unwisely—sought to gain the favour of the count by sending him, in the name of the “merchant Hugh,” a valuable ruby ring. Mainard, who was a nephew of the marquis of Montferrat, gazed intently at the ring, and 1192 then said: “His name is not Hugh; it is Richard, the king. I have sworn to seize all pilgrims coming from those parts and to accept no gift from any of them; but for the worthiness of this gift, and of him who has honoured me, a man unknown to him, by sending it, I return it and give him free leave to depart.” On receiving this message the terrified pilgrims bought some horses and set off in the middle of the night,[1056] Richard, according to one account, disguised in the habit of the Temple,[1057] of which Order there were several in the little company.[1058] Their fears were well founded; Mainard and his men pursued them and captured eight of the party.[1059] The rest made their way through Friuli[1060] to Freisach in Carinthia;[1061] but Mainard had sent spies to dog their steps all the way, and warned his brother, Frederic of Pettau, to lie in wait for them there. Frederic chanced to have in his household a Norman from Argenton, named Roger, who had been in his service twenty years and whom he trusted implicitly. He bade this man search the houses where pilgrims were wont to lodge, if haply he might recognize the king by his speech or other token; promising Roger half of the town if the prize were captured. Roger soon penetrated his native sovereign’s disguise, and instead of delating him, besought him with tears to flee at once, gave him an excellent horse for the purpose, and then returned and told his lord that the reports about Richard were all false. Frederic flew into a rage and ordered all the pilgrims to be arrested. Meanwhile, however, Richard with two companions had slipped out of the town. For three days and three nights they rode without food; then hunger Dec. compelled them to halt at a little inn close to Vienna.[1062] 1192 To pay for his lodging Richard was obliged to send one of his attendants, who could speak German, into the city to change some bezants. The lad made too much display of his commission and of his self-importance; detained and questioned by the citizens, he said that he was in the service of a rich merchant who was coming to the city in three days. They let him go, and he hurried back to his master and urged him to instant flight. Richard, however, was so exhausted by his adventures by sea and land that he determined to risk a few days’ longer stay, and sent the lad into the town again several times to make purchases. Once—on December 20 or 21—the messenger was careless enough to go with his master’s gloves stuck in his belt. He was seized by the authorities, beaten, and tortured till he confessed who his master really was. The duke of Austria, who was in the city, was immediately informed and the king’s lodging Dec.
20-2 surrounded. Richard, feeling himself helpless among such a crowd of “barbarians,” managed to make them understand that he was willing to surrender, but only to the duke in person. Leopold came; Richard went forth to meet him and gave up his sword.[1063] Leopold sent him to 1192 “Dirmstein,”[1064] Dirnstein or Dürrenstein, a remote castle in the mountains near Krems, and placed him in charge of a strong guard who were to keep watch over him with drawn swords Dec. 28 day and night.[1065] A week later the Emperor triumphantly announced to Philip of France the fate which had overtaken “that foe of our Empire and disturber of your realm, the king of England.”[1066]
1193
Jan. 6