Pandulf.
Yet it was the Wolf who made acceptance dangerous; his recruitment of Rainulf’s men could only have one aim: to so weaken Rainulf that his position as Lord of Aversa became brittle. Pandulf, when it came to greed, knew no limits, likewise betrayal. In his meetings with Rainulf, at which William had now become a presence, the fulsome protestations of love and loyalty looked increasingly threadbare as the number of Normans engaged to Capua increased in direct proportion to Rainulf’s losses. Those coming south from Normandy stopped at the Volturno now — the rewards were greater — cutting off the numbers coming on to Aversa, thus increasing an imbalance which could only end in one way.
‘It would make sense to listen,’ William said, in a whisper, his mind racing with a complex set of calculations.
Rainulf did not respond, but William knew he had heard. He had come to rely on him, trusting him in a way he did not trust Drogo or Turmod, and in part it was his experience as an elder sibling that had gained him such faith. To be a big brother to such an unruly bunch as the de Hautevilles had required qualities that made him useful to his leader: a level head, the lack of a quick temper, a slightly jaundiced seen-it-all judgement that made light of things that breached the code by which the mercenaries lived, added to an ability to resolve disputes between fighting men in a way that left no rancour. The other thing was his utter lack of sycophancy: on more than one occasion he had pointed out to Rainulf, in private, never in public, that he was utterly wrong.
‘Treat them as you would the man they represent.’
If Guaimar had not heard the whispered words, he had seen the lips move. He also saw, after a pause, how Rainulf nodded to this blond giant, and he wondered who was this man who spoke to the Norman leader in that manner; no one else Guaimar had ever known, the likes of Osmond de Vertin, Odo de Jumiege or Turmod, had dared to even look Rainulf in the eye.
‘Drogo, Turmod,’ Rainulf said, ‘look after the escort. See them fed and the mounts cared for. You, Guaimar, I will allow into my tower, along with your sister.’
‘I’d rather take care of her than the horses,’ Drogo moaned.
Though he did not say it out loud, the words were expressed strongly enough to carry to the ears of Berengara. Her smile broadened, as if she was not upset, but Guaimar glared at him, which got him, in response, a very elaborate wink, as if both shared the truth implicit in the remark.
‘William, you will join us.’
In the cool chamber of the tower, Rainulf offered them to sit, then ordered his servants to fetch wine and fruit. While that was happening he sat in silence staring at the young man, during which time William wondered what to say, as he tried not to be too obvious in his glances at the dark line of the sister’s alluring cleavage. It was all very oppressive, with Rainulf clearly, by his stillness, seeking to imply before a word was spoken that, whatever this messenger from Conrad wanted to say, it was of no interest. Tempted to speak again, because it was mere posturing, William knew he should not; his task was to aid his leader, not to diminish him.
Guaimar broke the silence as soon as he had a goblet of wine in his hand, this while Rainulf was draining his.
‘I am not sure I want to speak in front of…’ The young man looked at William, as if inviting him to name himself. That was Rainulf’s right, so all he got in reply was the amused half smile that, unbeknown to him, had once guyed another duke.
‘This,’ Rainulf responded, once his goblet was refilled, ‘is William de Hauteville, and he is my right hand. What you say to me can be said in front of him.’
Two people reacted with disguised surprise: Guaimar because it underlined his opinion that the Norman mercenary had aged; in past times he had never needed another’s counsel. William was astonished for another reason: although he knew he had become trusted enough to give Rainulf advice, the older man had never before used that expression regarding his standing. Berengara’s reaction was different, a sort of coy sideways movement of the head and eyes, as if to say that he had, no doubt, gone up mightily in his own estimation.
‘Conrad intends to depose Pandulf.’
‘Does he?’
‘He should hang, draw and quarter him,’ spat Berengara, showing, both in the way it was said and the expression that accompanied it, a vicious side to her, up till then, amiable character. ‘I would happily cut out his heart.’
‘You would need a long blade to even find it,’ said Rainulf, spluttering at his own jest.
‘I would claw his eyes out with my own fingernails.’
Rainulf was still amused. ‘Your sister is bloodthirsty, Guaimar. I sense that you are not.’
‘I seek only the return of that which is mine.’
‘Was yours,’ the old man snarled. ‘I took it away from you.’
‘Conrad will give it me back.’
‘And if I say that he shall not, what will Conrad do then?’
‘He will add you to his enemies.’
‘Look at me, Guaimar. Do you see me tremble?’
‘You have come to offer something, sir,’ said William, in an even tone, looking at Rainulf who, in nodding, gave him leave to continue. ‘It would be best to get to that and stop this sparring, which produces nothing but bile.’ Seeing Guaimar hesitate, he added, in a much harder tone of voice, ‘You have come with an offer for the Lord of Aversa. Make it!’
‘How do you know I have come to offer no more than the fact he might live?’
Seeing Rainulf sit forward to roar at the youngster, William held up his hand: no good would come from a loss of temper. It was pleasing that Rainulf responded positively, waving to William to carry on and burying his face once more in his goblet of wine.
‘Allow me to speak for my lord. I trust that Conrad Augustus has a brain, and if he is possessed of one he will know that killing Normans is a vow often made and even more often regretted.’
‘I would not regret it,’ said Berengara, words which had her brother holding up his hand to restrain her. Defiantly she added, ‘It would provide much pleasure to line the Via Appia with hanging Norman bodies, as the Roman general Crassus once did with the soldiers of Spartacus.’
‘It would be a pleasure hard won, lady. We Normans tend to spill more blood than we lose.’ As she made to respond, William talked right over her, addressing her brother. ‘But you are not here to vent your spleen, however right you feel in doing so. I repeat what I said just now. You have an offer! Make it, let Rainulf consider it, and when he has decided on it, the response can be taken back to the emperor.’
‘It’s perfectly straightforward,’ Guaimar replied, looking at the bloated, purple face of Rainulf. ‘If you wish to keep the title of Lord of Aversa, you must loosen your ties to Pandulf.’
William was thinking this young man had a lot to learn. Before saying those words it would have been wise to find out from Rainulf what was his view of Pandulf at this time; he knew it was not high after the Wolf’s depredations at Montecassino and it had dropped even more with his inability to go to war on behalf of Byzantium. He had also laid out on the table, without gaining any leverage, the very obvious fact that he was prepared to forget Rainulf’s previous betrayal of his father, if he would change sides once more.
‘So Conrad will reinstate you?’ William asked.
‘He has assured me he will.’
‘And Capua? What happens to that after Pandulf is removed?’
Guaimar shrugged, but the answer was obvious: it would be joined to Salerno.
‘Can you be sure of the emperor’s word?’
‘As sure as I can be of anyone’s.’
‘That does not take you very far,’ William replied, with just a touch of asperity. ‘But let us say you have the right of it, and you’re installed as Duke of Salerno as well as Prince of Capua. You are saying you will confirm Rainulf in all his present lands and titles?’
‘I am.’
‘And I don’t believe you,’ Rainulf growled, before he leant forward. ‘I think like a Norman, and I know a Lombard. You will say and do anything to get rid of the Wolf, but once he is gone, and Conrad is back in his German lair, my title would not be worth a pitcher of piss.’
