"If he thinks I'll buy him off again, he's woefully mistaken," said William. "If he demands another penny from me, I'll march on him, curse the devil, I will! I swear it."
"Well," replied Warwick judiciously, trying to calm the agitated monarch, "perhaps he will listen to reason this time. Would you like me to arrange for a treaty?"
Lord Leicester returned with another jug of wine and, behind him, a servant bearing a platter of cold roast duck and chicken. "His Grace the archbishop says that he is retiring for the night. He wishes you a good night's rest and sleep. He will conduct a Mass in the morning and break fast after."
"And my brother? When is he expected?"
"The archbishop could not say, Sire. Tomorrow, I expect."
"Well, then," decided William, "we could do worse than make a night of it. Here, bring that platter! I'm famished."
They ate and drank, talking long into the night. Both Lord Leicester and his brother, Warwick, remained with the king, sleeping in chairs beside the hearth while William snored in his feather bed. As dawn cracked the damp grey sky in the east, the chapel bell sounded, calling the faithful to Mass. William and his noblemen stirred at the sound, then went back to sleep, awaking again when they heard a clatter in the courtyard below. Warwick got up and walked to the narrow window, pushed open the wooden shutter and looked out. He could see seven men on horseback, or perhaps five men and two women. On closer inspection, at least two of them appeared to be priests. Although the day was still new, their mounts appeared fresh and fairly unsoiled by the mud on the rain-soaked roads. They had not travelled far, the earl surmised. He watched for a moment, scanning the group, but failed to recognise anyone-in any event, they were certainly not Duke Robert and his entourage. Turning from the window, he went to the king's bed and gave a polite cough. When this failed to rouse His Majesty, he took hold of the royal shoulder and gave it a shake.
"Sire," he said, "I think the vultures are gathering. We should be ready for them."
William opened his eyes and tried to raise his head. The effort was too much and he lay back with a groan. "Who has come? Is my brother finally here?"
"I do not know, my lord. I did not see him," replied Warwick. "A priest or two have arrived, but unless the duke travels in the company of priests now, he is not yet here."
"Oh," sighed William, struggling upright. "Why did you let me drink so much?"
"It is a fault of mine, Majesty," the Earl of Warwick assured him. "I must try to do better. Then again, the archbishop's wine is very good."
"It is," agreed William, swinging his short, stout legs off the bed. "Is there any left, do you think?"
Henry walked to the table and began examining the jugs and cups.
"Where is Leicester?" asked the king, stretching his back and yawning.
"He has gone to Mass,"Warwick reported. "I expect him to return soon. Shall I have someone fetch him for you?"
"No, no," decided the king. "Let him be." Heaving his bulk up onto unsteady legs, he tottered to the table and the cup which Lord Warwick now held out to him. The king took a sip, tasted it, then drained the cup. "Ah, that's better."
The young earl disappeared momentarily to summon a servant lurking in the corridor to prepare a basin of water for the king, and commanded another to bring the king's chest to the room. Presently, the servant appeared with a basin of hot water, and while William washed, Warwick supervised the cleaning of the king's boots. "Get all that muck off there and brush them well," he ordered, so that His Majesty would not look like a common farmhand before the other noblemen. The chamberlain meanwhile appeared with the king's chest and a message that some people had come and were seeking audience on a most urgent matter.
"What do they want?" asked William, raising the hem of his tunic and drawing it over his head. Warwick opened the chest and withdrew a clean, white tunic.
"They did not say, Your Majesty," replied the chamberlain. "I was told only that it was of utmost importance that they speak to you at once, and before you speak to anyone else today."
"Impertinent lot," observed William, pulling the tunic over his head. The garment, though handsomely wrought, was made for a slightly smaller frame; the fine fabric stretched over his expansive gut. "Warwick," he said, "go see who it is and find out what they want. I have not broken fast yet, and I'm not in a humour to brook any silliness."
"To be sure, Sire," replied the young earl.
William nodded, picked up a scrap of bread from the remains of last night's supper, sniffed it, and took a bite. Seeing the servant still stood staring at him, he threw the rind of dried bread crust at him. "Bring me my food!" The servant ducked the missile and darted for the door. "And be quick about it," William called after him. "Important people have come. We must not keep them waiting."
CHAPTER 41
S 'truth, I'd never make a sailor. Even the smallest stretch o' water seen from the deck of a ship brings me out in a sweat. If a wave should rock the boat, it's me there hanging onto the rail and spilling my supper into the briny deep. Oh, and I had cause enough. Even the master of the ship said it was the worst storm in many a year o' sailing. And he should know-he's crossed that narrow sea more times than a rooster with a henhouse across the road. Our own small voyage might not have been so bad, and indeed I had allowed myself to imagine that the worst was over when we entered the wide estuary of the Thames and sallied slowly upriver to the White Tower of Lundein to pay our ruddy King William a visit.
Alas, the king was not in residence.
Gone to Rouen, they told us-gone to parley with his brother, not to return till Saint Matthew's Day, maybe not till Christmas.
Never mind, said Bran, we've come this far, what's a little further? "Master Ruprecht!" he called, and I can still hear those fateful words: "Cast off and make sail for France!" As it had turned out, our man Ruprecht, the ship's owner and master, was Flanders born and raised, and could speak both French and English into the bargain. His ship was a stout ploughhorse of a vessel, and he was kept right busy fetching and carrying Ffreinc noblemen and their knights back and forth to England from various ports on the coast of Normandie. Thus, he knew the coasts of both lands as well as any and far better than most. Seizing his ship had been easier than rolling off a stump. We lifted nary a finger, nor ruffled a hair-we simply bought his services.
This easy conquest was not without its moment of uncertainty, however. For as we came in sight of the docks at Hamtun that day and Bran gave Iwan, Siarles, and Jago the command to secure the ship, those three hastened down to the wharf. Cinnia and I arrived close behind and scrambled onto the dock hard on their heels. "Let me talk to them first," offered Brother Jago, as they dismounted. "Do nothing until we see how things stand."
"Hurry then," Iwan said. "We do not have much time before the others get here."
"What will you tell them?" asked Siarles, swinging down from the saddle. "Maybe it would be better to take them by surprise."
"Force is the first resort of the coward," suggested Jago lightly. "Peace, Brother. We have enjoyed great success with our disguises until now. We can trust them a little further, I think."
"Go then," Iwan told him. "See if they will talk to you."
"Whatever you do, make it quick," said I, urging them on.
"All the same, we will be ready to stifle any objections with our fists," Siarles called after him.
I myself could not have stifled so much as a sneeze with my fists, weak and miserable as I was just then. My months of captivity had left me exhausted, and the last few days of travel had all but killed me. It took my last strength to clamber down from the wagon and, on Cinnia's tender arm, hobble onto the dock and make my slow, aching way aboard the waiting vessel where, if it had not happened, I would not have believed it: the ship's master himself welcomed us with open arms.