Looking over the abbot’s head, Pandulf saw Rainulf and his party, and quite naturally his eye was drawn to the man who had defied him. ‘He is in your prayers, Abbot?’
‘As is any soul in distress, and the archbishop must be.’
Pandulf walked past the elderly abbot and called to him over his shoulder. ‘Then cast your eyes on this creature, Theodore, for he is in distress now, and will be in more before the day is out.’
Pandulf was now close to Rainulf, William and Drogo, though he had eyes only for Montesarchio. He was smiling, William thought, as though he had just been presented with his favourite dish. Then he leant forward and spat full in the prisoner’s face.
‘On your knees, pig.’ Both the brothers eased their grip and the man sank to his knees. ‘Now on your belly and kiss my foot.’
‘My Lord…’
‘My foot,’ Pandulf insisted, sticking out a soft leather boot.
‘I seek forgiveness.’
‘Perhaps the abbot here will forgive you.’
Montesarchio extended his body to kiss the proffered foot, only to be kicked hard in the face. William was watching him, at the same time wondering if his brother was thinking the same as he: that for all the smiling they were looking at a man who took pleasure in base cruelty.
‘It will be some time before I do.’
Rainulf spoke up, his voice loud and confident. ‘We have the contents of his coffers out in the courtyard, Prince Pandulf.’
The eyes shot up in mock horror and the tone of voice matched that. ‘My dear Rainulf, I have omitted to greet you. Can you forgive me?’ Then he stepped forward and embraced the Norman.
‘You need no forgiveness.’
William had to stop himself from smiling then, not only because of the honeyed tone of Rainulf’s voice, but in remembrance of his willingness to cheat the man he was no doubt flattering. They seemed a well-matched pair.
‘But I do, Rainulf. What would I be without you as my support?’
Now it was a case, given the number of men he had of his own, of who was flattering whom.
‘And you have come at a most fortuitous time, Rainulf,’ Pandulf added, putting a lazy foot on Montesarchio’s neck, then pressing hard. ‘I have here, as you can see, Theodore, the Abbot of Montecassino, in the hope of reminding him of his obligations to Capua, and do you believe it, he denies it is owed. Some nonsense about the Pope in Rome and the emperor in Germany, leaving me at a loss to know what to do about it.’
‘Perhaps our business,’ Rainulf replied.
‘Yes, my friend.’ Pandulf turned, looking directly at the abbot, and said in a calm voice. ‘You must take precedence over a mere monk, however much he thinks himself elevated by his office.’
‘I am proud to be a mere monk, Prince Pandulf,’ the Abbot Theodore replied. ‘If I have any elevation it is only that given to me by my fellows of Montecassino who honoured me by electing me to lead them.’
‘How humble, Theodore. I have a feeling that perhaps your humility could do with a touch of assistance. But that must wait, we have a recalcitrant vassal to deal with, who at least knows his place.’ Turning back to Rainulf, the smile came onto his face like the light from a lantern. ‘Let us see what this wretch has been seeking to keep from me.’
The wretch was left kissing the floor, with one of Pandulf’s Normans, at the prince’s instructions, pressing a lance into his back.
It was in another, more private chamber that William and Drogo emptied the contents of the panniers they had brought from Aversa, and though the treasure was enough to please any man’s eye, it was telling the way it affected Pandulf. He grasped and caressed the gold in a manner almost sensual in its intensity. As he was doing this Rainulf was relating what had occurred, making sure to claim any credit for himself, leaving William to wonder why he had not done as he had said: he had quite deliberately not introduced either him or Drogo. His next words solved that question.
‘I have left a small garrison at Montesarchio awaiting your pleasure.’
Pandulf observed the way Drogo looked at his brother, and his eyes registered the surprise in the younger de Hauteville face, and that made him look next at William, who was wearing that amused half-smile.
‘It can be held?’ he asked.
‘Easily, though it may need more men, which I am happy to provide…’
‘I shall provide them, Rainulf,’ the prince said quickly, picking up the gold crucifix and kissing it. ‘After all, given this, and what look like healthy revenues, keeping a garrison there will not be a burden.’
‘No,’ Rainulf growled, clearly not happy. ‘And the Lord of Montesarchio?’
‘Can taste my hospitality and learn his lesson. One day I may restore him, we shall see.’ Then he looked up at William, who towered over him. ‘Who are these fellows you have brought with you, Rainulf?’
‘New recruits, the brothers de Hauteville.’
‘And you were at Montesarchio?’
‘One was,’ Rainulf said hurriedly, ‘William here.’
‘I know of the place. Not an easy one to capture.’ His hand swept over the table. ‘I had not expected to see this for many months.’
‘We were lucky, my Lord. The defenders sought to surprise us on the very first night. They forgot we were Normans. We managed to fight our way into the castle before they could reclose the gate.’
‘Truly, Rainulf,’ Pandulf said, his eyes still fixed on William. ‘You are a wonder.’
‘I know who to pick and when, sire,’ the mercenary leader replied, which was as close as he was going to get to an admission he had not been present.
‘This must go to my chamberlain to be counted. I cannot reward you until that is done.’
‘Of course.’
‘But,’ Pandulf said, picking up a clutch of several gold coins, ‘I think your valiant fellow here deserves an extra reward.’
‘Very generous, Prince Pandulf,’ Rainulf said, without any conviction whatsoever, as William accepted the money. As a message it was as plain as a pikestaff: should the brothers seek service in Capua, they would be welcome.
‘Now, Rainulf, I must return and see what I am to do about this damned abbot. We will speak later.’
When they emerged from the private chamber, instead of following Pandulf, Rainulf silently indicated they should follow him. He took them through the castle to one of the outer walls, and then down a winding set of stone steps, which became increasingly damp. The smell of rot increased as well, with Rainulf telling them, in a voice that echoed off the now dripping walls, that through the green slimy one they were passing lay the River Volturno.
At the bottom of the steps they came to a chamber into which daylight would never penetrate, with cells along the inner wall and, in the floor, square openings covered with heavy bars. A partially crippled individual grovelled to Rainulf, who bid him take one of his keys to lift the grill of one of these oubliettes, and then to fetch a torch. That brought and the grill lifted, Rainulf beckoned to them once more, bidding the brothers move forward to peer in.
The creature chained to the wall was naked, his body a mass of open sores. At his feet was a flat board on a rope that went up to a pulley where the floor joined the grill, obviously the method by which he was fed. The man looked up with pleading eyes sunk into an emaciated face, his hair, which would have been white had it not been so full of filth, hanging down his back.
‘This is Osmond de Vertin.’
‘Norman?’ asked William, as Rainulf nodded. ‘What has he done?’
‘He failed.’
‘You?’
‘No. He was my captain once, in a post of honour, but he elected to leave my service and join Prince Pandulf. Osmond failed his new master. He sought his own advantage and as you see he has earned his own reward.’
‘Why are you showing us this?’ demanded Drogo.
Rainulf was looking at William when he replied. ‘You are ambitious, you two, I can smell it. I thought it would do you good to see the cost of failing a man who has just tried to bribe you to join him.’