"Ah,William," intoned Archbishop Bonne-Ame, "good of you to come." Heavily robed and leaning on his bishop's staff, the old man puffed, out of breath from his short walk across the vestibule. An honour guard of six knights and two earls entered with the king, the water from their cloaks dripping on the polished stone floor, which sent a bevy of clerical servants scampering for rags to mop up the mess.
"My pleasure," grumbled William, shedding his sopping cloak and tossing it to a waiting servant. "Where is he? What's it to be this time? Come, let's get to it."
The archbishop's pale hand fluttered up like an agitated bird. "Oh, my lord king, this is to be a most serious conclave. I hope you understand the gravity of the moment."
"I understand that my brother is as worthless," quipped William, "as is anyone who sides with him. Beyond that, there is only the money it will take to buy him off."
The archbishop stiffened and lowered his head in a bow. "This way, Your Majesty."
The archbishop turned and started away with King William a step or two behind; the king's men threw off their wet cloaks and assembled in a double rank behind him. And as servants rushed to pick up the sodden garments, the ageing archbishop led them down a lofty corridor to a large audience room where the king found assembled a few minor lords standing around the blazing hearth at one end of the room. They looked around guiltily as the king of England and his men entered. Duke Robert was not among them, nor anyone William recognised.
"Where is he?" demanded the king. "I have ridden hard for three days in the rain. I am not playing at games."
"This is what I wanted to tell you, Majesty," explained the archbishop. "Duke Robert is not here. Indeed, few of those summoned to attend have arrived. It's the weather, you see… but we expect them at any moment."
"Do we!" snapped the angry king. "Do we indeed, sir!"
"We do, Majesty," the old cleric assured him. "I have ordered chambers to be prepared for you. If you would like to rest a little before the proceedings, I will have refreshment sent to you."
William gave a last scowl around the near-empty room and allowed himself to be persuaded. "Very well," he said. "Have wine brought to me in my chambers." To one of his men, he said, "Leicester, fetch me dry clothes. I'll change out of these blasted wet things."
"Of course, Sire. At once," replied the Earl of Leicester. With a nod and flick of his hand, he sent one of his men to carry out the errand. "Will there be anything else?"
"No," said the king, feeling a great weariness settling upon him. He started after the archbishop, saying, "You and Warwick will attend me. The others are to see to the horses, then take food and rest for themselves."
"At once, Sire." The earl gave quick instructions to the rest of the king's guard and sent them away. He and the Earl of Warwick accompanied the king to the apartment that had been prepared for him-a large room with a bed and a square oak table with four chairs. Archbishop Bonne-Ame pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the room, glancing around to assure himself that all was in order for his tetchy guest.
A fire burned in the small hearth, and on the table sat a jug of wine with four cups and, beside these, a platter with loaves of bread and soft cheese wrapped in grape leaves.
William walked to the table and poured wine into three of the cups. "Thank you, Archbishop," he said, offering a cup to the nearest earl, "we are well satisfied with our arrangements. You may go."
Bonne-Ame bowed his old white head and retreated, closing the door. "I leave you to your rest."
"My brother is planning mischief," observed the king, his nose in his cup as he gulped down a healthy draught. "I can feel it in my bones."
"Do you know le Bellay?" asked the Earl of Leicester.
"I know my brother," replied William.
"If there is to be bloodshed…," began young Lord Warwick.
The king cut him off with an impatient wave of his hand. "It won't come to that, I think," William said, handing him a cup. "At least not yet." He drank again and said, "I wish I knew what he and his sycophants were up to, though."
"Those men down there," said Leicester. "Who were they?"
"God knows," answered the king. "Never seen the rascals before. You?"
"I might have met one or another. Difficult to say." He replaced his cup on the board and said, "I think I might just go and see if I can find out."
"Never mind," said the king. Drawing out a chair, he dropped heavily into it, then shoved a second chair towards the earl. "Here. Sit. You must be as tired as I am. Sit. We'll drink and rest."
"With respect, Sire, I would rest easier if I knew who those men are and what they're doing here."
The king shrugged. "Go then, but hurry back. And tell the chamberlain we need some meat to go with this bread and cheese."
"Of course, my lord," said the Earl of Leicester, moving quickly towards the door. He hoped to catch the archbishop for a private word before the old man disappeared into the cavern of his palace.
"And more wine!" called the king after him.
William leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "Sire?" said the Earl of Warwick, setting aside his cup. He came to stand before the king. "If you would allow me," he offered, indicating the monarch's feet, "I think we might dry those boots a little."
William nodded, and with a sigh raised his foot so that the young man might pull off the sodden shoe. He guzzled down another draught as the young nobleman attended to the other boot.
"There, now," said Warwick, when he had finished. "Better, no?"
"Mmmm," murmured William into the cup. "Much."
The earl carried the wet boots to the hearth and put them on the warm stones to dry, then returned to the table and sat down. He and the king sipped their wine in silence for a time, feeling the tensions of the road begin to ease beneath application of the sweet, dark liquid.
"This is all my father's fault," mused William after a time. "If he had not promised my ninny of a brother the throne of England, all would be well. He roused Robert's hopes and, fool that he is, the duke has set the value too high-thinks it worth more than it is." He drained the cup and then filled it again. "Truth is," he continued, "the blasted island costs more than you can ever get out of it."
"It was ever thus," Warwick suggested. "King Harold never had two pennies to rub together one day to the next, as my father used to say. And Aelfred was in debt from the day he took the crown till the day they took it off him in the grave."
"This is supposed to cheer me, Warwick?" grumbled the king.
"I merely suggest that your condition is neither more nor less than that which all English rulers have endured. God knows, it is difficult enough even for an earl, much less a duke or a king."
"Duke Robert does right well," William pointed out. He took up a loaf of bread, broke it, and stuffed half into his mouth. He chewed heavily for a moment. "To be sure, most of what he has he got from me."
"Cut him off, Sire," suggested Warwick. "Or make him sign a settlement treaty in exchange for his promise never to raise rebellion again. Get him to put his name to it."
"Robert would have nothing if it wasn't for me propping him up," growled William, the bread half-eaten in his mouth. "No more! No more, hear? This is the end."
"With your permission, Sire, I'll have a treaty drawn up at once," the earl suggested, raising his cup. "We'll get Robert to sign it and be done with him once and for all."