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.’
‘The men he employs?’
‘Many of them were once in my pay, yes.’
‘You have influence with this prince. It shames you that he has this man in here.’
‘It pleases Pandulf, and that is all that matters. Now I must go and see what the Wolf intends to do with his troublesome abbot.’
William and Drogo, once they were back above ground, were sent to the kitchens, to get food and wine, so missed what happened in the great hall. Rainulf told them on the way back to Aversa.
‘Abbot Theodore can argue till his face goes blue, and quote Holy Scripture all day. The Prince of Capua claims he is the rightful suzerain to the monastery lands, so he will be forced to agree.’
‘And if he does not?’ asked Drogo.
‘Then he will need all the faith he has in God. Pandulf will not be gainsaid. He will have the revenues of Montecassino, whatever it takes.’
Rainulf was right: the news filtered down to Aversa. The Abbot of Montecassino, having made a second visit, was thrown into Pandulf’s dungeons, stripped by the prince of his title. The monks voted for another abbot, but Pandulf just ignored the appointment. Word also came from Capua that men were needed to help Pandulf assert his rights to the property of the abbey, the reward promised being in sequestered land instead of money payment. This request was not put to Rainulf, indeed much effort was made to keep him in the dark, but he knew what was afoot when men began to leave his band and head north.
‘The promised rewards are good,’ said Drogo, as he groomed a horse; he always with an ear closer to the ground than his brother.
‘You think we should join Pandulf?’
‘Do we owe loyalty to Rainulf?’
‘No, Drogo, but a man who throws into a dungeon an abbot of such age is not one I would wish to take employment with.’
‘Not even for land of your own?’
‘No.’
As a conveyance, a servant-borne litter was a rare enough sight to raise the eyebrows of William and Drogo, though it was noticeable that many of their fellow mercenaries knew what it portended: the arrival of the Jew. Those with no interest in the services he provided shrugged and carried on with their training, but others began to put away their weapons, the first of those making for their huts.
The arrangement meant that the Jew, after he and Rainulf had sorted out their own business, took over Rainulf’s quarters, and was given a list of what was due to each man. If they had acquired any extra of their own they tended to exchange that in Aversa, and as long as it was not property that should have been declared to their leader, nothing was said. The Jew would then undertake, for a fee, to get an agreed sum back to Normandy, by methods regarding which no one enquired. No doubt Rainulf knew, and that sufficed.
The Jew, who introduced himself as Kasa Ephraim, William found a pleasant individual, with a relaxed, reassuring voice, a man accustomed to calming the fears of fellows nervous of parting with possessions seen as hard won. He had his fee from Montesarchio, which was substantial, added to the gold with which Pandulf had sought to bribe him and Drogo, which should meet the obligation he had made in the letter he had had composed by the scrivener, yet he would have been the first to admit that the handling of money was to him a strange thing. Coin had been rare in Normandy; barter as a means of exchange was more common.
‘Will they actually see gold?’ he asked.
‘They will, as long as they journey to Rouen to collect it, for the people I deal with would not travel with such in a place where they could be robbed. The risk of that must fall to those you send to. All they will get is a message saying there is a sum to collect.’
‘No one will rob them!’
Having counted out what William gave him, Ephraim responded with a slip of paper on which he had written the sum that would be commuted. ‘If you take this to the scrivener, he will tell you what my charge is for the service.’
‘I can read it,’ William replied, in a voice that showed he was not entirely happy to see a third of his funds go in payment.
‘You read?’
‘And write.’
‘Many of your fellows do not,’ Ephraim smiled, ‘so I see I must explain to you the price of the service I offer. Understand that all these messages must be sent many leagues, and those who carry them must be paid. The person who will give out the money on my bond must also earn from his endeavours. However, if you are unhappy, I will happily give you back what you have brought and leave you to seek some other means of transacting this business.’
‘No,’ William replied. There was only one other means: he or Drogo going all the way back themselves.
‘I did forget to add, that I too am a man of business. Some of what you pay will come to me.’
‘You have others waiting,’ said William, determined not to show gratitude.
