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 Montesárchio 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?’
‘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.’
‘Tell me of his thinking.’
‘He wishes first, sire, to know the size of the enemy we must face.’
‘Not great,’ Pandulf replied, his eyes suddenly bright with optimism, until he realised with all the activity of repair going on, such a response did not make sense. ‘Large, enough to besiege this place, but, with Rainulf at my side, I think one we can defeat.’
‘It is the emperor?’ Drogo asked.
‘Yes. False words have been placed in his ear. Lies have been told. I am sure when he sees the truth we will have nothing to fear.’
‘You have sent an embassy?’
Pandulf looked at William and, if it was only his eyes that seemed to want to kill him, that was enough. ‘Not yet.’
‘Good,’ William replied.
‘What?’
William smiled at Pandulf’s confused expression. ‘Rainulf is of the opinion that Conrad should be approached jointly, that you and he should present yourselves to the emperor together.’
‘To do what?’
‘To set right what lies he has been told, to seek to deflect him from coming any further south.’
‘What makes Rainulf think he will listen?’
‘Sire, he will listen if you are penitent.’ That was not an emotion pleasing to Pandulf, and try as he might he could not disguise it. ‘Whatever rights you think you hold, sire, you must give up the lands of the Abbey of Montecassino.’
His reply was almost like a man with a wound. ‘Give them up?’
‘That must be what has made him act as he has. No imperial host comes south of Rome without purpose.’
‘Give them up?’ he said again.
‘As well as Abbot Theodore. I assume he is still alive?’
‘I do not know.’
That was very like Pandulf: once someone was put in his dungeons, he had no interest in them at all.
‘Then, sire, I would suggest we need to find out. I think also the Archbishop of Capua should be freed to return to his Episcopal Palace. You must do something to appease the wrath of the emperor, so he will listen, and that would also placate your citizenry.’
It took the Wolf a while, as being placatory was not in his nature, but eventually he acceded.
‘Let us hope Abbot Theodore is up to a journey.’ Pandulf was nodding, but that stopped as William added his next notion, making it sound as though it had just occurred. ‘Perhaps Rainulf is wrong, perhaps it would be better if you accompanied the Abbot Theodore, took him to Conrad as a gesture of peace.’
William could almost see his mind working: there was no way Pandulf was going to put himself in the hands of Conrad, with Rainulf or the abbot at his side, given he knew what he had done and how it was perceived. He would be searching for an alternative, which was what William wanted.
‘My mind is troubled, William.’
‘How so, sire?’
The Wolf began to move around, his arms being used to emphasise his thinking as he posed a stream of rhetorical questions. ‘Regarding what we do not know. Do we have knowledge of the lies Conrad has been fed? No. Do we know the size of his host? No. Do we have any notion of what he intends? No. Of what will satisfy him? No. These things need to be known before I can even think of an embassy. I’m sure Rainulf would say the same.’
‘Would such knowledge alter what you will do, sire?’ asked Drogo, William being grateful his brother had intervened; he was getting sick of doing all the asking.
‘Oh, yes,’ Pandulf said, his voice silky. ‘If we knew how large was his army, we could plan how to confront it, Rainulf and I. If we knew Conrad’s intentions, we would have some notion of how to deflect him. I think it would be better to know these things before Rainulf and I even think of discussing terms.’
‘Terms?’
‘Certain offers will have to be made.’
‘You speak of things of which I know nothing, sire.’
‘I have it,’ cried Pandulf. ‘Conrad, because of these falsehoods laid against me, would be a hard man to deal with directly. He must be brought to think on them first, to see that there are untruths. And, might I say, it would be to the advantage of Rainulf and me to be invited under truce to commune with him. To just arrive, before he has had an opportunity to ponder, might see us seized and given no chance to plead for the justice we deserve.’
Pandulf turned to face them, beaming like a man from whom a great burden has been lifted.
‘The solution is to send emissaries first, to find out that which we need to know and also to extract a safe conduct. And who could be better placed to undertake this than you?’
‘What would I take?’
‘Take?’
‘Sire,’ William said, with a glum expression. ‘No emissary can just turn up with nothing.’
That wiped the smile off Pandulf’s face. ‘No.’
‘There must be some kind of offer, one that Conrad will find so persuasive he will accede to your request.’
‘The abbot?’
‘A sick and undernourished man, as he must be, despite your care, may not impress the emperor or his advisors.’
Pandulf suddenly lost his temper. ‘This is all that little swine Guaimar’s doing, him and his whore of a sister. She’s probably had Conrad inside her shift while she whispers lies about me in his ears. I should have strung the viper up, and once I was done with her, stuck her in a nunnery. Or maybe I should have just thrown her to my Normans…
With some effort he recovered himself; the brothers could see him fighting to control his breathing and when he spoke, the reason for the sudden outburst was obvious.
‘We must bribe Conrad to go away,’ he said, in a voice now flat. He waited for a response, but neither William nor Drogo obliged. ‘I have gold, let him have that and perhaps he will leave me in peace.’
‘How much gold?’ asked Drogo.
It was a telling indication of Pandulf’s character and rapacity that he could answer the question without hesitation. ‘I could give him three hundred pounds in weight.’ He looked keenly at the brothers. ‘For my title and my freedom.’
‘A telling offer,’ said Drogo; in fact it was a fortune.
The Wolf was looking at William. ‘Will you agree to carry this offer to Conrad?’
‘You will, of course, free your prisoners?’ asked William.
‘Of course,’ the Wolf insisted, then obviously, the thought of handing over so much gold made him change his tack. ‘But, you must not just make this offer of my gold unless you see it as necessary. Find out first what we need to know, see if we can contest with this imperial fool. Do not just say I will gift him my riches, and should you feel you must, add that there will a contribution from Rainulf too.’
That got them another suspicious look. ‘I am sure Rainulf would not fail me and the revenues of Aversa are splendid, not to mention all that I have given him.’
‘Never,’ Drogo replied, with deep sincerity. ‘He is your friend and you are his liege lord.’
‘Good. When will you go?’
William said, ‘As soon as our mounts are rested, but…’
Pandulf did not like that. ‘But?’
‘I fear we must have, sire, some token of your esteem, perhaps some part of what it is you are prepared to offer, to gift the emperor immediately, so that he will accept our bona fides. He does not know us and, besides that, he will be surrounded by his court. We may have to pay a bribe just to gain a hearing.’
Pandulf thought on that for some time, but it made sense: two strange knights just turning up with nothing would not be acceptable. ‘I will arrange for you to take enough with you to impress both him and any others you need to bribe.’
‘We must see to our own needs before we go,’ Drogo insisted, ‘and I think we should find out if the abbot is fit to travel, and the archbishop still of this world. The emperor is bound to ask after his welfare.’
‘Do you need someone to escort you to the dungeons?’
‘No, sire,’ said Drogo, ‘we know the way.’
* * *
The abbot was shrunk in his body, but he had the stoicism of his calling; the Archbishop of Capua had fared better, given the man attending the oubliettes was easily bribed by the local clergy, but he was weak. When William asked after Osmond de Vertin that got a raised eyebrow.
‘Release him as well, and get a mendicant to look at him.’
They had to lift Osmond out, a stinking wreck soiled by his own filth, but a cot was arranged and when they left he was at least breathing in air that was less fetid than that to which he had been accustomed. Fed themselves, William and Drogo took possession of that gold crucifix and a heavy purse of Pandulf’s gold, and back on their mounts, leading the old Abbot on a palfrey, to the good wishes of their confrères, they made their way out of the fortress and across the old Roman bridge that led north.