“You did what?”
She sounded so incredulous, so horrified, that color rose in his face. “I let him go,” he repeated, this time sounding both defensive and defiant. “It was the right thing to do, Methildis. He’d taken the cross, was under the Church’s protection. Nor had he done anything to deserve being detained. No state of war exists between England and the empire.”
Methildis was so dumbfounded that she could only blurt out the first objection to come to mind. “How can you say he does not deserve to be detained? What about your uncle’s murder?”
His mouth twisted down scornfully. “You did not truly believe that, did you? If there is any man in Christendom who’d do his own killing, for certes it is Richard of England. Conrad counted a day misspent if he did not make at least one new enemy, so he finally reaped what he’d sown.”
Methildis opened her mouth, shut it again. She’d erred by mentioning Conrad. She should have known better, for he’d abandoned his first wife, Engelbert’s aunt, when the opportunity presented itself to wed the sister of the Emperor of the Greeks in Constantinople. “Do you not realize what you’ve done, Engelbert? You’ve defied the Emperor Heinrich!”
“I had no other choice! The Holy Church’s position on this could not be clearer. Men who take the cross to fight the infidels are not to be harmed. Suppose I attempted to seize him, he resisted—as, of course, he would—and he was slain? I could be excommunicated by the Pope, could face eternal damnation!”
“By the current Pope? That timid old man? He’d never dare to challenge Heinrich!”
“He might not have the courage to excommunicate Heinrich, I grant you that. But me? I’d make the perfect sacrificial goat. And I am not about to jeopardize my immortal soul just to keep Heinrich happy!”
“I cannot believe you truly think it is more dangerous to offend the Pope than Heinrich! You could not be that blind, that foolish!”
“I am done talking about this,” he warned. “I followed the dictates of my conscience and no man can do better than that. I’ll say no more on it—and hear no more on it from you. Is that clear?”
Methildis had a much more combustible temper than her husband; it kindled quickly and burned itself out just as quickly. Engelbert’s rare flare-ups of fury were quite different, difficult to ignite and difficult to extinguish. She saw now that she’d poked and prodded a cold hearth until the ashes and embers caught fire, for she recognized that obdurate expression on his face. She’d learned that she could only wait for his anger to cool on its own. But time was the one luxury she did not have; every hour that passed would take the English king farther from G?rz. She was a proud woman, the daughter of a count and the sister of a duke, and she’d never been one to play the role of a docile, biddable wife. With so much at stake, though, she had no choice.
Reaching out, she put her hand on his arm. “I ask your pardon, my lord husband. I was indeed in the wrong to speak to you so shrilly. Will you forgive me?”
He half turned toward her, and she could see surprise on his face, but suspicion, too. “You are not usually so quick to make amends,” he said, sounding skeptical. He did not pull away from her touch, though, and she took encouragement from that. He was not as confident as he’d have her believe; if he was not harboring doubts, why had he been unable to sleep?
“I know,” she conceded. “I can be a shrew, I admit it. But this is different, Engelbert. We must face this danger together, united against it. I truly do understand why you acted as you did,” she lied. “You are a far more honorable man than Heinrich. If you are unwilling to discuss this further, I will abide by your wishes—just as I will support whatever decision you make, as your wife and your countess. I entreat you, though, to answer two questions, just two. After that, I promise to hold my peace.”
He drew back into the deeper shadows cast by the bed hangings and she could no longer see his face. “Very well,” he said, after an endless silence that had her digging her nails into her palm. “Ask your questions.”
“Thank you,” she said, thinking that he’d owe her a huge debt for making her humble herself like this—mayhap that splendid ruby ring he’d been given; she loved rubies. “My first question is this: Do you think the English king will be able to escape capture, to make his way to safety in Hungary or Saxony?”
“No,” he said, after another interminably long pause. “No, I do not.”
“Nor do I,” she agreed quickly. “And when he is taken prisoner, what do you think will happen then?”