‘Besides,’ Guaimar added, ‘I have still not fully subdued Amalfi.’
That was received with polite disbelief, but if others were troubled, William was quietly content. Dissension amongst the Lombards suited him and when the meeting broke up he emerged in good humour. Days went by in fruitless discussion, time in which William and his brothers could leave them to their quarrels and escort Kasa Ephraim the short distance to Melfi, there to discuss both how to send funds back to Hauteville-la-Guichard and secure a safe place for that which they intended to keep.
‘You do not trust the fortress of Melfi?’ Ephraim asked, amused, looking around the formidable walls.
‘We don’t trust the people we share it with,’ spluttered Humphrey, braying with laughter.
‘These two tried to kill me,’ William said, quite taken by the reddening of Listo’s cheeks, the reminder embarrassing him. Both now spoke good Latin: the boy’s sister Tirena understood as well, but was, as usual, less contrite, though she no longer looked at William with studied loathing.
‘And you spared them?’ asked Ephraim.
‘We had only just taken over the castle and the locals were fearful. It seemed a good way to show we were not here to plunder them.’
The Jew nodded. ‘You show more wisdom, William, than some of your fellows, who only know how to burn and lay waste. What do you have in mind for them?’
‘Listo here wants to be a soldier.’ That had the boy stretching, and though still small he had put on quite a few inches. ‘For Tirena, perhaps she will become wife to one of my lances.’
William hid a smile to see that look return. He had caught her more than once watching him from some place she thought hidden, that first day from atop the ramparts. She had also taken to carefully dressing her hair and seeking out fetching clothes, which given she too had grown and filled out, had revealed a comeliness that had not been apparent under her previous filth and demeanour. Drogo had to be warned off with the threat of a lance up his arse if he laid a hand on her.
‘It is interesting, my friend, is it not, that when the people of Melfi look to the castle, they see one of their number not only fed but cosseted?’
‘These two are hill people, goatherds, but you are right. It makes for a peaceful life.’
‘I am told your men are instructed to respect them too, on pain of dire punishment.’
‘We live amongst them, they grow our food; to despoil them is stupid, and one peasant with a sharp knife, loose in the paddocks or stud on a dark night, could do more damage than a regiment of Varangians.’
‘It would be especially foolish to plunder them if you have ambitions to rule over them.’
‘Like Prince Guaimar, you mean?’
The silence that followed that question, from a man who was not normally short of words, was telling. William could see Tirena was intrigued too, reminding him of what he had noted more than once: she had a sharp native intelligence, on this occasion able to discern an atmosphere which was not quite as it should be.
‘Listo, see to my friend’s goblet.’
‘I wonder,’ Kasa Ephraim said, without looking at William, instead examining his fingernails, ‘if you and I should talk about things until now left unspoken.’
‘The choice is yours.’
William was looking at the Jew with a curious expression: Ephraim was not one to break a confidence for him, nor did he think he would do it for Guaimar of Salerno, but he was clearly ruminating on something profound, fingering his refilled goblet in a way that implied calculation.
‘What, William, do you think are the chances of a Lombard kingdom in South Italy?’
‘I have the same thoughts on that as you.’
Ephraim smiled as though William had uncovered some secret, and he did not pretend surprise or ask a stupid question like how this Norman could know what was in his mind.
‘And even if it could be achieved, it could not sustain itself,’ William added. ‘The Lombards are not good at rule and they are especially not good at acting together. Petty jealousy would tear it apart.’
‘Not even if Guaimar was to declare himself?’
‘Your prince wants the spoils without the blood, which may serve in Amalfi, but is no way to command loyalty in this part of the world. Besides, he was appointed, or should I say restored, to his fief by the Western Emperor, Conrad. How do you think Constantinople would see his attempt to elevate himself from prince to king?’
‘They would see it as imperial encroachment.’
‘More to the point, my friend, the present Emperor of the West would see it as committing him to the defence of Apulia, and I think an imperial edict would come from Germany telling Guaimar to withdraw his candidacy lest he provoke a greater conflict.’
Ephraim nodded: the two remnants of the old Roman patrimony lived in a mutual regard based on never driving the other to feel threatened. Thus, for years, Byzantium had stayed out of Campania, while Bamberg had avoided encroaching on Apulia.
‘Did you know, William, I have a wife and children?’
‘No, but it does not surprise me.’
‘I often think what I will leave them, apart from what I own.’
‘What do you wish to leave them?’
‘That which any son of Abraham wishes to bequeath to his offspring, a secure place in which to live. That is my sole concern, and one I pursue relentlessly. I am minded to go wherever that can be promised.’
William felt the slow smile of understanding crease his face, and oddly, because he was looking at Tirena, she, mistaking it, gave a hint of a smile in return. But he was not really looking at her, he was thinking that Kasa Ephraim had just offered him his support. A bargain had been struck, and it had been done so by a very clever man, because it had been made without a word being said, or a promise made, by either party.
That frame of mind was ruptured by Mauger rushing in, his voice breathless. ‘Count Atenulf has sold Boioannes back to Byzantium.’
‘What?’
‘And he has kept the gold to himself.’
‘He is truly a Lombard,’ said Kasa Ephraim.
‘But that is not the most surprising thing, brother. Wait till you see who is the messenger.’
The figure that filled the doorway made William wonder if he was looking into a piece of polished silver with magical qualities, for it was like looking at a younger version of himself. His hair had some grey now; that of his brother was still pure gold.
‘Do you not know me, William? I was once your squire and watched you fight the brother of the King of the Franks.’
‘Robert?’
The nod was slow, then the deep-blue eyes turned to look at, first Kasa Ephraim, then at Listo and finally at Tirena, who was wide-eyed at this apparition, so like the man who now held her as ward. The voice was as deep and the air of being in command of all around him prevalent too, a self-confidence that was devoid of the taint of arrogance.
‘I have come to make my way, William.’
Unbeknown to Robert, William’s thinking was still taken with the chicanery of Atenulf. Also, selling Boioannes was an act that could not have been carried out without the connivance of his elder brother. Thus he was frowning, and Robert, who had seen that expression too often on the face of his father, reacted to it.
‘Do I warrant a proper welcome,’ he growled, ‘or am I to be treated like an intruder by a man too grand to acknowledge his own flesh and blood?’
William was not accustomed to being addressed so and the frown turned to a glare, the voice taking on an equally angry tone. ‘You say you have come to make your way. Well, when I have seen you fight I might consent to let you stay, but, mark this, you will sit well behind the rest of your brothers and they will prosper before you do, for they have done service.’