“But he warned us that we must leave G?rz straightaway,” Morgan said bleakly. “He said you were in great danger, that Heinrich has cast a wide net and men will be on the lookout for you everywhere since you could be anywhere.”
Richard was silent for a moment, weighing his rapidly dwindling options. He could not remember ever being so tired or so disheartened. Turning toward the Templar, he told him to fetch the men who’d gone to a tavern across the street from the stable, and sent Arne back to the inn to gather up their belongings. And then he gave the command his aching body and weary brain dreaded, the command they all dreaded, saying grimly, “Saddle up.”
METHILDIS OF ANDECHS, former Countess of Pisino and current Countess of G?rz, was not happy with her husband. He’d been tossing and turning for hours, making it impossible for her to sleep. It was like sharing a bed with a river eel, and when he rolled over again, this time jabbing her in the ribs with an elbow, she’d had enough.
Sitting up in bed, she shook his shoulder. “You may as well tell me what is troubling you, Engelbert. Neither of us will be getting any sleep this night unless you do.”
He sat up, too, running his hand through his tousled hair. “As you wish, my dear,” he agreed, so readily that she felt a suspicion spark, wondering if he’d deliberately awakened her so they could talk; usually she had to coax him into unburdening himself. He surprised her greatly by what he did next, calling out sharply to his sleeping squire, ordering the befuddled boy to fetch a flagon of wine from the buttery. He was usually an indulgent master, sometimes too indulgent in his wife’s opinion, and the squire was obviously shocked to be torn from sleep and sent off on an errand in the middle of the night. Shivering, he dressed with haste, clutching his mantle tightly as he stumbled toward the door. As soon as they were alone, Engelbert jerked the linen hangings back, allowing the blackness of their cocooned bed to be diluted by the white-gold flames in the hearth.
By now, Methildis was feeling stirrings of alarm. “Engelbert, what is it?” she asked, all her earlier vexation gone from her voice. “What is wrong?” She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. They’d been married for two years, time enough for her to learn he was a worrier by nature, given to conscience pangs and prone to second-guessing himself. But his next words took her breath away.
“The English king is in G?rz.”
“What . . . here? Are you sure?”
There was enough light now to see him nod his head. “He sent three of his men to me today, asking for safe conducts. They gave a false name, of course, claimed he was a merchant, traveling with other pilgrims on their way home from the Holy Land. I knew, though, that they lied.”
Methildis was wide-awake now, and enthralled, already envisioning the imperial favor they’d be enjoying for capturing the emperor’s hated foe. “How did you know, Engelbert? What made you even suspect them?”
“Two days ago a man came to me, someone who’d brought me useful bits of information in the past. He said he’d met a sailor in a dockside tavern in Aquileia, whose ship had arrived from Ragusa that past week. The sailor claimed that the English king was in Ragusa, being acclaimed by the count and townspeople as the savior of the Holy Land, and planning to build a great cathedral in their city. That seemed an unlikely story to me and I dismissed it as drunken tavern ramblings. But then these men came seeking safe conducts, and they were so obviously ill at ease that I remembered the Ragusa tale. When I mentioned Ragusa to the stripling who spoke German, he went whiter than a corpse-candle. I still had only suspicions, of course . . . until they gave me a ring as a token of their master’s goodwill—the most magnificent ruby I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?” Methildis breathed, for she dearly loved jewelry. As eager as she was to see it, though, that could wait. “I do not understand, Engelbert. Why did that confirm your suspicions?”
He smiled thinly. “Because no merchant, however wealthy, would ever have given up something of such value. That was a grand gesture only a king would make, a king accustomed to spending lavishly and bestowing largesse without counting the cost.”
That made sense to Methildis. “What happened then? Did they try to deny it?” She doubted the English king was already in custody, for surely he’d have told her, told them all, if that were so. It was hard not to berate him for keeping this secret from her, but she swallowed her reproaches and asked instead if he’d forced them to reveal Richard’s whereabouts. Even if they were still balking, they’d not be able to hold out for long. Her brother had once told her that there were ways of making the bravest man talk, and with so much at stake, Engelbert could not afford to be squeamish.
Her husband did not reply, though, instead giving her an odd look, one she could not interpret, and she had a sudden sense of unease. “Engelbert? What are you not telling me? Richard did not escape, did he?”
“No,” he said, and she heaved a sigh of relief, until he added, “I let him go.”