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 Montesarchio 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
