enough Italian to keep an argument going. Not wishing to enter, he just shouted the instruction for the next morning.
The brothers had passed through Capua on the way south, it being on the Via Appia and having the only bridge between the city and the sea, but they had not stopped, except to water their horses at the public trough. This time they rode in some splendour, William in a new red and black surcoat which, like the others, he had only donned on the limit of the city. Rainulf was more magnificent still, his garment bearing his coat of arms as Lord of Aversa. Not needing to humiliate the Lord of Montesarchio, he had been allotted a horse, though he arrived at Pandulf’s palace covered in dust, his face growing more and more gloomy the closer he came to what could not be other than an unpleasant fate.
The gates and walls of Pandulf’s castle were guarded by Normans, and it was pleasant to find themselves greeted in French and engaged in conversation by mercenaries who, they were eager to tell, had taken direct service with the prince. William was curious: given the numerous fighting men he employed, why had Pandulf not sent his own men to bring in their prisoner? But he decided against enquiring.
Also the look on Rainulf’s face as he regarded these men was not one of fondness, and it was curious the lack of communication he had with them and they with him, given their shared birthright. It was Drogo, in his genial, chatty way, who nailed the reason: most of them had at one time served Rainulf, only to switch to a prince who paid a higher stipend and had no desire to depend on another for his protection.
In the courtyard they found the mounts of another party, the acolytes and donkeys that turned out to be those of the Abbot of Montecassino and, on entering the palace, they found that aged cleric in audience with Prince Pandulf, one that was clearly not proceeding well, given they entered a chamber in which voices were wont to echo to the sound of angry shouts. Marching behind Rainulf, William and Drogo had an arm each on the Lord of Montesarchio, aware that behind them came some of Pandulf’s men.
‘The Pope has no say in the matter!’ Pandulf yelled.
The voice that answered was soft and emollient. ‘We are all beholden to Christ’s Vicar on Earth, and it is to him that any excess funds from our humble monastery must be commuted.’
‘What you send to Rome is a pittance compared to what you bring in.’
‘Nevertheless, we are not part of the diocese of Capua or any other.’
‘And me, Abbot, am I nothing?’
‘It is to be hoped, my Lord, that you are as much a son of the Church as you are lord of your domains. But I must say again, those domains do not include the Monastery of Montecassino.’
‘You would deny me, Theodore? Might I remind you that the archbishop of the diocese you stand in is, at this moment, in my dungeon.’
‘And he is in my prayers,’ the abbot replied, his voice somewhat firmer. ‘I do not seek to defy you, Prince. I merely seek to lay down to you the bounds of your fiefs. The monastery is church land: it is not subject to any temporal overlord, and never can be.’
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
