"What am I to do with you?" Geoffrey addressed the question to the top of her head. "Look at me," he commanded. When she complied, he continued, "In the space of one meager day, you have disobeyed me God knows how many times and openly admitted your disloyalty." He placed her on the ground, facing him, and then added, "I have killed men who have ventured less."
"I am not a man, I am your wife," Elizabeth replied, shrugging his hands off her shoulders.
"It is you who forgets that fact more often than I," Geoffrey retaliated. He turned from her and called to his squire, "We camp here for the night. See to my tent." Turning back to Elizabeth, he noticed that she trembled, and assumed it was due to the chill of the night. "You look like a drowned pup and your gown clings to you in an inappropriate manner. Find your cloak and cover yourself." His voice was as cold as her clothes, and Elizabeth found she no longer felt like crying. God's truth, she wanted to scream again!
She watched her husband walk away from her, barking orders as he moved toward his men, and shook her head. And I thought I understood him, she thought with despair. "Ha," she muttered aloud before sneezing once more. "I swear he is the most unreasonable, hardheaded, stubborn mule of a man that ever walked this earth," she ranted while she paced between the trees. "And to think I thought he would find merit in my deed! No, he finds no merit, for he has no mercy, no understanding, no love in his heart." The squeak of her waterlogged shoes seemed to underline each negative remark she made.
"Mistress?" Roger's voice intruded on her rantings and she was glad for it. She turned and saw that he held her cloak in his hands. "I imagine after your swim you have need for this," he said, his voice gentle.
She accepted the garment and wrapped it around her shoulders, grateful for its warmth. "I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Roger. And are you feeling well after your swim?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light. No need for the vassal to know how miserable she was feeling, she decided.
"I am," Roger replied. "Come now. Gerald has the Hawk's tent set up. I will find you some food and see you settled. I would think you quite exhausted after the day's events."
"I do find I am rather tired," Elizabeth admitted in a soft voice. She walked beside the knight toward the camp. Roger seemed agitated as they neared the group of soldiers, stopping several times to turn to her before resuming his silent walk again. Elizabeth knew the cause for his anxiety and finally placed her hand on his arm to gam his full attention. "Roger, you are glad that I helped to pull you from the water?" she began in a hesitant voice. She did not wait for him to answer before continuing on, "But at the same time you wish I had not contradicted my husband's orders. Is that not the way of your thinking? The reason for your frowns?"
Roger nodded and then spoke. "I am thankful to be alive and it was you who saved me. I owe you my life," he added in a fervent voice.
Elizabeth didn't quite know how to respond to his statement. If she agreed that she had indeed saved his life and he should be thankful, then she did not practice the virtue of humility, she considered. On the other hand, if she denied her deed, she wasn't being honest with him… or herself. Worse still, if she belittled the act and acted quite blase about the happening, then wouldn't she be telling the vassal that she placed little significance on his life? Humility be damned, she decided. "I would do it again, regardless of my husband's wrath. Please understand, Roger, your lord is not angry that you were saved; he is only displeased with my unseemly behavior. You must consider that he is unfamiliar with having a wife… and he is-"
"Do not trouble yourself explaining your husband to me," Roger replied, smiling. "He has already discussed the matter with me and he is most thankful that you were able to save me."
"He told you that?" The amazement was obvious in her voice. Then why has he carried on so? Elizabeth asked herself, though she dared not question the knight. It was not his place or his duty to instruct her in the ways and thoughts of her husband.
Roger took hold of Elizabeth 's elbow and bent his head toward hers. "They light the fires now. Come and stand close to one and warm yourself. You tremble with the cold."
"They risk a fire?" she asked as she followed the vassal through a group of soldiers. "Won't Rupert's men-"
"Do not concern yourself," Roger admonished in a quiet voice. "Your husband knows what he is about. You have only to trust him."
"Aye," Elizabeth immediately responded, embarrassed that she had asked the question of the knight.
There were perhaps ten or twelve soldiers circled around the fire as she and Roger edged up to the center, and Elizabeth noticed that each time she made eye contact with any of the men, they smiled and then lowered their gazes, as if in deference… or embarrassment. Elizabeth wasn't sure and found herself feeling very awkward and somewhat hurt by their attitude. It was another puzzle after a long day of puzzles and confusions. "My presence seems to intimidate the men," she whispered to Roger with an embarrassed little sigh.
"They are in awe," Roger whispered back, giving her elbow a little squeeze.
"Awe?"
"Your courage has shaken them," he said, smiling at the surprise in her eyes. "They have never known one such as you, for you are not like other women."
"And that is praise?" Elizabeth asked, smiling in return.
"Aye, it is," Roger explained. "You are a fitting bride for their leader," he proclaimed.
Their leader does not agree with you, Elizabeth thought. She glanced around, looking for her husband, but Roger's gentle tug on her elbow turned her thoughts back to him. From the look in his eyes, it appeared that he was not quite finished with his gratitude. "I am sorry that you placed yourself in such danger for my benefit, yet now that it is over and done with, I am glad. I will thank God each and every morning that you had the courage to do what you did." He chuckled when he saw the flush on her cheeks his praise caused, and added as a jest, "Why, I will even pray to the souls of your parents for having the foresight to see that you learned how to swim, since I was the one who benefited from their schooling." He was grinning with his last remark, and Elizabeth smiled again.
Geoffrey had walked up behind Elizabeth, as quietly as a panther stalking in the night, and found himself losing some of his anger with Roger's remarks. He was about to pull his wife into his arms and lead her to his tent when her words stopped his actions.
"I am afraid your prayers to my parents would only confuse them, Roger, for God's truth, I do not know how to swim yet. Though I tell you it does not appear to be overly difficult if you remember to hold your breath and-"
Geoffrey's bellow of rage jarred Elizabeth a good foot off the ground. She clutched at her heart and whirled around only to bump into her husband.
"Geoffrey! What is the matter?" Elizabeth could barely get the question out, so shaken was she by his scream.
"Do not say another word," Geoffrey rasped, "do not…" His anger was fresh as a new flower just bursting into bloom, and he felt he was close to being totally out of control, and if he could just get her into his tent, away from his men, perhaps then he could calm himself enough to merely throttle her.
Elizabeth was half-dragged, half-pulled into the small tent and then dropped like a sack of barley onto a blanket.