Robert lifted his head. “Pray Heaven you lie!” he moaned.
“I am more truthful than an oracle,” Hildebrand retorted. “When the wood-wench flouted him, our good King vowed that she should burn for her virtue.”
Robert shuddered at the memory of his own words, of his own purpose.
“Oh, God, have mercy on my wicked soul!” he prayed.
Hildebrand mocked him with a false compassion. “Yet all is not lost, friend Diogenes. If your wit saved her before, your valor may save her now.”
Robert turned to him again.
“If your heart holds any pity, speak,” he entreated, hoping against hope for some leaven of charity in the heart of Hildebrand.
“She can appeal to the ordeal of battle,” Hildebrand said, calmly. “And if she finds a champion valiant enough to overthrow the King’s man, who shall accuse her, then she is free.”
Robert hid his face. “Heaven have pity!” he murmured.