"I could not help but overhear your conversation with Roger," Geoffrey began, his tone deceptively mild, "but I may be mistaken. And I am always a reasonable man. Yet I could have sworn on William's sword that I heard you tell Roger that you did not know how to swim." His voice had risen in intensity, and when Elizabeth, trying to ward off another screaming match, opened her mouth to answer, Geoffrey reached out and clamped one hand over it. "Now you will answer me. Do you know how to swim?"

Since he continued to hold his hand over her mouth, Elizabeth could only shake her head, and that small gesture of denial upset her husband yet again.

"You jumped into the water knowing you did not know how to swim?" he asked, his voice incredulous now.

"I held the rope and I-"

"A simple yes or no." Geoffrey roared the order in a voice that shook the tent.

There is nothing simple about my actions, Elizabeth longed to say. But there was no reasoning with him, she decided. Since he does not wish to hear the whole truth, then let him be upset. "Yes," she said as she folded her hands in her lap.

A loud cough from outside the tent turned Geoffrey's attention from Elizabeth. "Enter," he yelled, louder than he had intended.

Roger lifted the flap of the tent with one hand while he balanced a wooden tray with the other. Without a word, he placed the tray on the floor between Geoffrey and Elizabeth and withdrew to the outside.

Slices of freshly cooked meat, hard crusts of bread, and orange berries filled the tray to overflowing, but neither husband nor wife made a move to touch the fare. Roger reappeared with a single cup and a leather pouch filled with water or wine, Elizabeth surmised. She looked up at the vassal and smiled but Roger did not glance her way and did not see it.

"Thank you, Roger," Elizabeth said when he turned to leave the tent. Though he did not respond with an answer, Elizabeth saw the slight nod.

"You do not thank a vassal for doing his duty," Geoffrey muttered. He took a large chunk of bread, tore it in half, and handed a portion to Elizabeth.

"Why is that?" Elizabeth asked as she accepted his offering. "He has done a kindness. It is only proper to thank him."

"It is not. He does his duty, wife. All of us have duties, obligations… it is the way of things," he stated emphatically. "By thanking him, you imply that perhaps there are times when he does not do his duty to your satisfaction. To counter that, you would have to say thank you each and every time an act is performed in your behalf."

"That is why I have never heard you say thank you or give any praise to your men… or to me!" Elizabeth frowned and could not resist adding, "You boast that you are a reasonable man and yet what you have just said makes no sense to me. To be grateful and to tell of your gratitude is not a weakness, Geoffrey," Elizabeth pointed out in a soft voice. "And the weak shall inherit the earth," she quoted from memory, giving support from the Church for her argument.

"Meek!" Geoffrey bellowed. "It is the meek who shall inherit the earth, woman. I am neither weak nor meek and I do not have any desire to inherit the earth."

"I did not mean to imply that you were," Elizabeth protested. "I merely stated that-"

"Enough! Do not lecture me on what you know nothing about. God's truth, I have run out of patience with you. You have run me in circles since the day I met you and I will not have it. My life is ruled by discipline. Discipline! I know that word is foreign to your nature but I vow it will not be for long. Erratic actions, unplanned responses… these things can be deadly. Had I not happened on you this day, you would most probably be in Rupert's hands now. Have you considered that?" he asked. Yet before Elizabeth could consider her answer, Geoffrey asked another question of her. "Where would you be now if the soldier holding the other end of your rope had been slain?"

"You wish me to tell you that I have acted most foolish?" Elizabeth asked, her voice low.

"I do not need to hear you voice what I already know," Geoffrey corrected. "I'll tell you this, wife. Your action with Roger… it was an act of courage on your part. Yet the other, your decision to be disloyal to me…" Geoffrey shook his head and then added, "It is unforgivable."

His voice was flat, and Elizabeth felt as if a sentence had just been pronounced on her future. Confusion clouded her thoughts. If her action was unforgivable, then what future did she have with Geoffrey?

"I have admitted to you that I was going to Rupert but that I changed my mind because it would have been disloyal to you," Elizabeth responded. "And you find that action unforgivable?"

"I do," Geoffrey argued. "You became disloyal the moment you left Montwright."

"Perhaps you are right," Elizabeth answered. "Though I would not admit it to myself until after the deed was done. Then I turned around and was headed home when you chanced upon me."

"It makes little difference to me when you acknowledged your disloyalty," Geoffrey answered, his voice harsh.

"And you cannot find forgiveness in your heart?" Elizabeth asked. She felt shame that she had hurt him, knew that she had, though he would never admit it, and at the same time, nurtured a deep anger that he was so unbending in his reasoning.

"I do not know," Geoffrey admitted. "This has never happened before. Few have been disloyal to me and those that have I have killed. I have never allowed a soldier to be in my surroundings after such a foul deed."

"Then how shall we go on?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as devoid of emotion as her husband.

"The past cannot be changed," Geoffrey said. "You will learn your duties as my wife but will not have my council," he decided. "Your first duty… aye, your only duty will be to give me sons."

"Has it not occurred to you that I could have lied to you about my reasons for going to Rupert?" Elizabeth challenged. "I could have told you that I was going to visit him and offer my comfort."

"I would have seen through your lies," Geoffrey answered, frowning.

"By being completely honest with you, I have doomed this marriage," Elizabeth replied. "Is that the way of it?"

"I do not know. I must think on this. I do not act in a rash manner like you."

"While you are thinking, consider this," Elizabeth said, letting the anger spill out in her voice. "You have said you cannot forgive me. Now I tell you that I cannot forgive you. I gave you all my love, knowing full well you did not return the affection. I gave you my understanding, when you have exhibited none. I have admitted that my vow of trust to you wavered, but only because of another vow-foolish and vengeful though it was-made before. I gave you my body and my future, my honesty and my heart, and you talk of duty and discipline. You reject all I have to offer and demand what I most lack. Well, from this moment on, you shall have your discipline and your duty. I shall keep my love in my heart and not share the joy of it with you. I do not know if I can keep from loving you, but God's truth, I will try. You are a most unlovable man, Geoffrey, and I will remind myself of that fact in my daily litany. If you decide to forgive me," Elizabeth said in a derisive voice, "then perhaps I will decide to forgive you for belittling all I have given to you."

"So be it," Geoffrey answered, as angry now as she. "Give me only what I ask, and we will do well with each other. Save the love and affection for our children. I do not need it."

The saints were in sympathy, Elizabeth decided, for they nudged Geoffrey from the tent before she began to cry. She did not want him to see how hurt she was, how broken in spirit and motive. Her tears would just show him another weakness, another lack in her character. Until she had met Geoffrey, she had had no idea how many flaws permeated her being. Always she had been taught to look for the good in people, accept the flaws. Geoffrey had obviously been taught just the reverse. Find the flaw and attack… was that his way of thinking? she asked herself. She was too tired to consider her position now, too drained physically and emotionally. She pulled the wet garments from her body and draped them over the rope across the top of the tent while she tried to clear her mind of her torment. Wrapping herself in her cape, she huddled against the pallet and cried herself to sleep.