‘Do I?’ Drogo groaned. ‘I can remember my belly was empty and my arse was raw.’
‘We have done well, have we not?’
That made Drogo look hard at William, being far from a fool. He knew by the look on his face that his brother was driving at something and he demanded to be told what it was.
‘Rainulf came south how many years ago, less than twenty, and what has he achieved? Add to that what he will have if Conrad confirms and raises him to an Imperial Count of Aversa. When we rode here, we came with the intention of one day returning home, did we not?’
‘We did, and before you ask me, I am not sure that now I would still wish to do that.’
‘Because there is less for us in Normandy than there is in Italy.’
‘By some margin, brother, unlike you, who had an inheritance to look forward to. I never had a spare piece of copper at home; I have a box of gold here, not much, but some, and so have you, and that is after we have sent back enough coin for father to build his stone donjon.’
William nodded, thinking, if he had an inheritance, it was not a great one. He could ride around Tancred’s demesne in half a morning. As for a proper stone tower, that could not be built without ducal approval, which had been denied.
‘There are things I miss,’ Drogo added, ‘but not having my arse hanging out of my breeches, and knowing that, despite our bloodline, we had nothing, and that was likely the way it was going to remain.’
It was not something of which they often talked, their connection to the ducal house of Normandy, the fact that they both had as good a claim to the title as the Bastard of Falaise who held it. There was little need and both knew everything, and had said it all too often. News had come from the Contentin, mostly discouraging to any hope of increased good fortune there.
Several barons had rebelled, seeking to put aside Duke Robert’s bastard, and each uprising had been crushed with the aid of the King of the Franks. So much for Bessancourt; all Duke Robert had done, as Tancred had predicted, was to strengthen the entity that posed the greatest threat to Norman independence. William had felt the time had come to make a decision he knew he had pondered often and put off again and again. ‘So you think we should stay?’
‘I will, what you do is a choice you make, Gill.’
That was a tacit acknowledgement of William’s prior claim, after Tancred, as head of the family. He would inherit the demesne, if he wanted to. Yet Drogo also knew his brother was not cut out for such a life, any more than he was himself. Yes, it was attractive if it could be extended, but the chances of that, given the present duke and his support from the Capetian King, were slim. In fact it was quite the reverse. At home, William would be drawn into conspiracies of the kind that had already failed. Instead of gaining more land and power, he might lose everything.
‘You have said Rainulf is old, Drogo. It is also true he has no heir. What happens to the County of Aversa after he is gone?’
There was no need for Drogo to respond to that, for the answer was too obvious: the loss of Rainulf would still leave his men, and they had to be led by someone. The heir to that, and quite possibly the title, was William.
‘Do you trust my judgement?’
Drogo hooted, and leapt onto his mount. ‘What fool trusts his brother?’
That reassured him: if Drogo had replied in a serious tone he would have been worried. He too mounted. ‘Then, Drogo my brother, we must, before we go to see the Holy Roman Emperor, call upon the Wolf of the Abruzzi.’
The look Drogo gave William then pleased him mightily; his brother had no idea what he was about.
As they approached the centre of Capua, they could hear the labours being carried out to repair the defences long before they saw the men working on the walls: hammers hammering, levers being used to remove loose blocks of stone, with tackles rigged to fit replacements. No castle was ever properly maintained, such things were put off until danger threatened and many a fortress fell because time did not allow for it to be put into a proper state for defence. Pandulf was no different: rich he might be but he would hoard his money or use it to bribe and suborn, not employ it to ensure he had an impregnable place from which he could defy anyone who threatened him.
Carts loaded with hay and wine, others with wheat and oats, herds of sheep and lowing cattle were crowded in the open space before the castle gates, as the garrison tried to stock up for a siege. Given the number of fighting men working and manning the walls it was obvious that everyone had been called in from the countryside, some from their seized monastery lands; if the castle fell they could kiss those possessions goodbye.
As they forced their way through it was clear the fellow Normans who greeted them were nervous, even if they tried to be bluff and jesting. It was just as telling the looks the two brothers had got as they rode through the streets of the city. Pure hatred was the most accurate description: the good folk of Capua saw the Normans, any Normans, as the power that helped keep them under the thumb and rapacity of the Wolf. There would be no aid from that quarter, which meant the walls of the city, the first line of defence, could not be manned.
‘We bring messages from the Lord of Aversa,’ William called to the sentinels by the gate.
‘He has heard then?’
‘Who has not?’ Drogo replied.
‘When is he coming?’ asked another, a fellow William recognised as one who had left Rainulf’s service.
‘As soon as he is ready,’ Drogo replied.
‘And before any damned emperor,’ William added, before crossing himself by habit. He was still his father’s son.
That got a sort of hollow cheer from the fighting men who could hear, leaving William to wonder what they had been told. Did they have any real notion of what they faced? If they did, would they desert Pandulf?
‘No, they took an oath facing God,’ said Drogo, when William voiced that possibility. ‘They will keep it, as would we.’
They took their horses to the stables and gave instructions they should be fed and watered, then went in search of the Court Chamberlain.
‘William and Drogo de Hauteville to see Prince Pandulf on a matter of great urgency, bearing the greetings of the Lord of Aversa.’
Previously the man’s response would have been haughty; there was none of that now, he practically ran into the audience chamber, shouting who had arrived and on whose behalf. The brothers did not wait, they marched in behind him, to find the Wolf surrounded both by fighting men and courtiers, all of whom seemed intent on giving him advice.
‘My good friends,’ he cried when he espied them, coming towards them arms outstretched.
William went down on one knee. Drogo followed, whispering, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Trust me,’ William replied, just before Pandulf’s hand touched his arm.
‘Arise, arise, you have no need to kneel to me.’
Odd, the thought came, how you always ignored me when I came with Rainulf. Upright, William looked the Wolf right in the eye. ‘I wish you to have no doubt of the depth of respect in which we hold you, Prince Pandulf, and so does our liege lord.’
‘Good. Rainulf sent you to me in my hour of need.’
‘To assure you he is making ready to come to Capua with every lance at his disposal.’
‘Will it be enough?’ Pandulf asked, his face creased with concern.
‘It is to discuss this that we have been sent to speak with you.’
Pandulf could not help himself; a look of deep suspicion crossed his face, before he wiped it off and replaced it with his worried smile.
‘I think we need to speak with you alone, sire.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Pandulf cried, waving his arms at those who had previously surrounded him. ‘Leave us, I must hear what the Lord of Aversa has to say.’
William waited until the room was cleared before speaking. ‘He would have come himself, sire, but he must make all ready.’