“I daresay I’d have heard had you been elected Pope. Celestine is the man on the papal throne and are you so delusional that you truly believe he’ll agree with you? When pigs fly!”
They’d been speaking in French, so only Morgan and Guillain could follow the accusations they were hurling at each other. Knowing that Richard had never learned to guard his tongue, Morgan took a quick step forward. While he did not think Leopold was a man utterly without honor like Heinrich, he’d still been willing to lay hands upon a crusader. What might he do behind his castle walls if Richard continued to bait him like this? Judging it a good time to intervene, he said, “My lord duke,” seeking to sound respectful and deferential. “What of Arne, the lad who was seized in the marketplace? Where is he?”
Leopold looked his way, seemingly debating whether the question deserved an answer. “I was told the boy was stubborn,” he said after a long pause, “and had to be persuaded to talk. But I doubt that his injuries are serious.”
Morgan forgot about placating the Austrian duke. “You tortured him?” Guillain was no less outraged and he glared at Leopold, calling him shameless and milk-livered, insults that, fortunately for him, were not heard by the duke, whose attention was focused upon the English king.
Richard was staring at Leopold with all of the considerable contempt at his command. “You are bound and determined to get to Hell, Leopold. The boy your men tortured took the cross, too, and is under the protection of Holy Church no less than we are.”
Leopold was as angry as Richard, but he was coming to realize that it was not advisable to continue exchanging insults with the English king. Even if his knights and men could not understand what was being said, there was no mistaking Richard’s defiant tone, and some might find it demeaning that he was allowing himself to be challenged by a man who was his prisoner, after all. “We are done here,” he said curtly and ordered horses brought up for the three men. “Are you going to mount on your own or shall we have to drag you back to Vienna like a common felon?”
As he expected, Richard had far too much pride for that, and he and his companions were soon astride horses fitted with halters and leads instead of bridles and reins. Richard still found himself surrounded by riders with drawn swords, for Leopold was taking no chances with his prize prisoner. As they rode out of Ertpurch, the villagers clustered in the road to watch them go, astonished that such high drama had occurred in their peaceful little hamlet. Els was already the target of jokes about her boarder, the king of the English, but they were good-natured jests; her neighbors were thankful that she was not being punished for the inadvertent role she’d played in aiding their duke’s great enemy. She said what was expected of her, expressed shock and dismay that she’d had such wicked men under her roof. But all the while, she could feel the money pouch hidden between her breasts, for Morgan had managed to slip it to her while gallantly kissing her hand in farewell. She did not doubt that Duke Leopold was a good man, a good ruler. She meant to pray, though, for the safety of the prisoners, a secret she’d share only with God. And she would pray, too, she decided, for the soul of her duke, for surely he would burn in Hell for what he’d done this day.
CHAPTER SIX
DECEMBER 1192
Vienna, Austria