RICHARD HAD NOT EXPECTED to be able to sleep, but physical exhaustion prevailed over emotional angst. The next thing he knew, Father Otto was bending over his pallet, apologetically explaining that he’d been summoned by the duke, giving Richard another hard lesson in life as a prisoner—at the beck and call of a man he’d disdained. He was grateful to see that the chaplain had brought a washing basin and a towel, so at least he could clean his face and hands. He suspected that Leopold had it in mind to display him before his barons and bishops, bedraggled and dirty and, as Leopold had gleefully put it, “not at all kingly.” Such an ordeal would lacerate his pride, but he vowed silently that none of them would ever know it and splashed cold water onto his face before breaking his fast with a few swallows of bread and cheese. Only then did he turn to the nervously fidgeting priest and say coolly, “Let’s go.”
But as soon as he emerged from the keep, he saw that he’d misread Leopold’s intentions. It was very early, too early for a gathering of Austrian nobles; stars still glimmered overhead and only a faint glow along the eastern horizon hinted that dawn was nigh. As he followed the chaplain and guards out into the bailey, he glanced around and then came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the riders coming from the stables. Yawning and blinking, they were clad in mail, armed with swords, lances, and shields. Knights ready for war—or to escort a highborn prisoner.
Leopold was standing several yards away, giving instructions to a man who looked as if he’d spent most of his life soldiering; he had the sharp-eyed, dispassionate gaze of one who missed little and was beyond surprising. Seeing Richard then, the duke gestured for a waiting groom to bring up a bay gelding and then strode toward the English king.
“I am sending you to one of our most impregnable strongholds—Dürnstein,” he announced in lieu of greetings.
Richard was thankful that he’d long ago mastered one of a king’s most useful skills—the ability to camouflage his emotions. “Better Dürnstein than Hell,” he said, and had the fleeting satisfaction of seeing Leopold’s mouth tighten and a muscle twitch under his eye.
The other man did not lash out, though, regarding Richard with the deliberation of one who’d resolved beforehand not to lose his temper. “Dürnstein is fifty miles from Vienna. If you give me your sworn word that you’ll not try to escape, you need not be bound. Do you agree?”
Richard was tempted to point out the inconsistency in Leopold’s position. How could he be willing to trust in the honor of a man he’d accused of betraying Christendom? “I do not agree. I’ll not aid and abet you in this abduction or make it seem less than what it is—as much a crime as any ambush by roadside bandits.”
Leopold’s jaw jutted out, but he said only, “Your pride will be your undoing, Lionheart.”
When the soldiers approached him with ropes, Richard held out his wrists, for that would be less painful than having his hands tied behind his back—and he’d not be quite so helpless. They began fumbling with the ropes, but they had so much trouble with the knots that the sharp-eyed soldier shook his head impatiently, waved them off, and completed the task himself.
The groom was waiting with Richard’s horse, but an awkward silence fell as they belatedly realized he would have difficulty mounting now. It was the same knight who stepped forward again, leading the gelding over to a mounting block and then helping to boost Richard up into the saddle. Richard found it profoundly humiliating, and although he kept his face impassive, he could not keep hot color from burning across his cheekbones.
As soon as Richard was mounted, Leopold turned away, heading toward the great hall. But Father Otto lingered, saying quietly, “You need not fear for your men, my lord. They’ll not be maltreated, for they have done nothing wrong.”
“Then why are they being held? There is no legal justification for not freeing them at once, and with the money that was taken from me in Ertpurch. Or does your duke plan to add theft to his growing list of sins?”
The priest winced. “If I may speak plainly, my lord? I understand your anger. But you must learn to govern your tongue.”
“Must I, indeed?”
“Yes, sire,” the older man insisted earnestly, “for your own sake, you must.”
Richard did not reply, but the chaplain still remained out in the bailey, watching until the English king and his guards rode through the gateway and disappeared from view.