‘Then you will face, when you seek to besiege the Prince of Capua, a force of Norman cavalry at your back which will put in doubt the success of the whole endeavour.’
Guaimar made to speak but William stopped him. ‘You may have the greatest host Christendom has ever witnessed, but we will call upon our brothers from all over South Italy to come to our aid, maybe as many as a thousand lances. I doubt Conrad wants to face such a force, as well as Pandulf and his Normans. Take it from one who knows, and I have no doubt Conrad knows this too, nothing is certain in war.’
There was bluff in what William had just said: Sicily was a more attractive prospect to the rest of the Norman mercenaries in Italy, but he imparted it with enough conviction to make it seem a real threat.
Guaimar sat in silence for half a minute. He did not know whether to be angry or impressed. He had advised Conrad to do the very thing this William de Hauteville was proposing, the notion he had formed before he and his sister escaped from Salerno, the idea he had kept from the archbishop. But he had intended to tease matters out, and draw Rainulf into grateful acceptance of an idea that would seem to come to him with a flash of spontaneity.
Imperial confirmation would make him, as his captain so ably outlined, inviolable: no matter how strong he became once back in his seat of Salerno, he could never revenge himself on Rainulf without incurring the kind of imperial wrath which was about to depose Pandulf, but he had very badly wanted the Norman to be grateful to him at least. Had he been outmanoeuvred? He was not sure, but he was now certain there was no point in doing that which he had originally intended, which was to ride out of Rainulf’s camp with the pretence of going back to plead with Conrad, then return to tell him that, after much argument, he had persuaded the emperor to agree.
‘I have no need to take such a message,’ he said finally, wondering, as he looked into the penetrating Norman’s eyes, if the man ever blinked. ‘It has already been conceded.’
‘As I thought,’ said William.
‘You knew?’ demanded Berengara.
‘No, I did not know, but to detach Rainulf you had to offer him something he could not refuse, and, given he has much wealth, that was the only thing that made sense.’ He turned to look to the top of the table, to where Rainulf was looking confused. ‘I advise you to accept, and if you do, I suggest that it would be a kindness to offer these two visitors both a meal and a bed if they want one.’
Rainulf just nodded. Berengara looked as if she had bitten that yellow fruit the monk had used at Montesarchio to cleanse William’s wound.
‘I would give my eye teeth to see the look on Pandulf’s face when he hears this,’ she said.
‘Let him hear it only when he sees our lances,’ said William. ‘I sent the servants out of the room so that they would not overhear. Not one of the men we command will be told of this till we turn up under Pandulf’s walls.’
‘I must tell the emperor.’
‘No, your honour,’ said William, giving for the first time some credence to his claimed title. ‘It is I who will tell the emperor, and I will also tell him that the next time he will meet you and your sister will be under the walls of Capua.’
‘You don’t trust me.’
Rainulf laughed, his belly shaking. ‘He is a true Norman, of course he does not trust you.’
‘And now,’ William said finally, standing up. ‘I would like a few words with my lord, alone, while you are shown to one of our huts. I fear the accommodation you will be offered will not meet the standard to which you are accustomed, but it is all we have.’
‘You have no idea, William de Hauteville,’ snapped Berengara, ‘of what we have had to live in these last few years.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
William rode out at dawn the next morning, accompanied only by Drogo, leaving behind him a camp speculating wildly about what was afoot. Like his brother, they were in ignorance, and try as he might Drogo could get no answers to his questions until the camp and Rainulf’s tower was well out of sight. That was not just caution on William’s part; he still needed time to think through what he was going to do, well aware that he had been lucky in his talk with Guaimar. Up against a more experienced envoy he would not have nailed things so easily, but he suspected the young man would learn: he had not been stupid enough to seek to string matters out when his ploy had been exposed.
William was in his prime: never had he felt more fit to be a leader and a warrior, and he knew Drogo was also at his peak, unlike Rainulf, who was fading. Though he might have many years to live, his days of leading men into battle were numbered, if not actually over, and while nothing would make William disloyal to a man who had come to trust him, he had to consider, in a world where every creature was at the mercy of an implacable and mercurial God, as well as the vagaries of his fellow humans, what would happen after Rainulf was gone.
‘The wine will kill him,’ opined Drogo, when the thought was finally broached, ‘though maybe if he can get himself a new wife, he might put aside the jug.’
‘You think a woman can rejuvenate him?’
‘It does wonders for me. That Berengara creature would make me feel like the Archangel Michael.’
‘She’s a fine-looking woman…’
‘Ah hah!’ crowed Drogo, who had often guyed his brother about his lack of attachments; there was a woman in Aversa he visited, but so infrequently that to Drogo it was like chastity.
‘But, I think she might be murderous if crossed.’
‘Take my word for it, brother, always choose a woman who might kill you, for such a creature will surely entertain you.’
‘It’s a wonder you’re still with us.’
‘I am fleet of foot. Now are you going to tell me where we are going and what we are going to do?’
‘Let’s walk,’ William said, dismounting.
Drogo whistled more than once as his brother outlined what was about to happen, though he did have his own questions, and he was unaware that William was not telling him everything he had in mind.
‘You’re sure Conrad can win?’
‘If his army is as large as Guaimar implied, he would beat Pandulf, and might do so even if we aided him.’
‘I didn’t like the idea of aiding Pandulf before you said that. I like it even less now.’
‘This may have come just in time.’
‘How so?’ William looked at Drogo as though he was dense. ‘You think we have to fear the Wolf?’
‘Rainulf does, even if he has never openly said so. I do not know if we have to; remember, he tried to recruit us once.’
They talked of that; of the way Rainulf must now be seen by Pandulf, as leading the only force in Campania that could possibly check his ambitions, plus the fact that he was getting older and weaker in manpower, which made him obviously less able to defend himself.
‘You’ve forgotten us.’
‘No I have not, Drogo, but hand on heart, faced with Pandulf, and looking at Rainulf, how many of the men we lead might think it better to defect if it came to a choice?’
Drogo nodded. ‘Too many, because the Wolf would come armed with all the gold he has torn from the throats of his vassals.’
William nodded; Pandulf was not called the Wolf for nothing. Rainulf excluded, he had taxed his inferior lords mercilessly, the likes of Montesarchio being sent back to bleed dry anyone with property, and they in turn bore down on their peasantry, robbed anyone who showed even a hint of prosperity. The man was fabulously wealthy and William was not about to castigate those who might desert Rainulf for a bribe. They were mercenaries: they fought for gold, which was why they had come all the way from Normandy.
‘I’d rather go south,’ Drogo said.
William looked sharply at him then; had he heard about Sicily? Rainulf had confided in him but no one else, but Drogo was just staring at the road ahead, his face bland.
‘Do you remember this road when first we travelled it?’