‘I did owe you, Rainulf, for you trusted me once, you raised me and named me as your heir. But you took something away from me and I have now taken it back. You have your county of Aversa, you have many lances, if not as many as I, rest content with that, and whatever crumb Prince Guaimar is prepared to throw you in Apulia. I’m sure he will give you something.’
‘You will fly too close to the sun, William de Hauteville.’
‘Better that, Rainulf, than to grovel in the mud for what you would grant me. I will put out word that anyone who wishes to return with you to Aversa is free to depart. I will do no more than that.’
Once Rainulf had departed, William had to sit down: he was weak and he could feel himself shaking, cold even as he could feel the sweat on his brow and in the crook of his back. It was Tirena who led him to his cot, laid him to rest and fetched cold water to mop him down, listening as, in a fever, he went forwards and backwards in his life, cursing sometimes, at others weeping for the sins he had committed. It was near dawn before he fell into a troubled slumber.
Still weak in the late morning, William nevertheless dragged himself to where he needed to be, fully dressed and armed, so that those he led could see their general parade along the battlements of Melfi. Every time a group spotted him he was cheered. If they saw behind him the boy Listo, they knew him now to be a squire. If they also observed Tirena, who was much concerned for her lord and master, that had them nudging each other in the ribs, for it was no secret what she had become.
Beneath and below, Guaimar was struggling with a dilemma. In trying to make the best of bad circumstances, Rainulf could not avoid letting slip how much he had lost control of the mercenary force he had once led, one now massively more powerful, and, in doing so, he forced upon Guaimar a complete change of approach.
The prince had hoped Rainulf, for all the problems he had left behind, still had some authority: he now knew without doubt that he had to deal with William de Hauteville, and that whatever he was to achieve here in Apulia could only be attained by his good grace. Allied to William, he could overawe the others; without his aid, all he had was bluster.
‘I cannot think you could delude yourself into expecting more. The Normans have never done anything else but betray our house.’
‘Berengara, please,’ Guaimar pleaded.
He pointed to the others in the room, not just his courtiers, his wife and children, but Rainulf Drengot as well. She was, as usual, saying things in public best aired in private, yet his sister was seen by those who advised him as more than her station implied. They had been through much together: he had said many times, and in public, that without her by his side in his youth he would not hold his title. She had suffered with him and travelled with him, and used her wiles to charm the emperor who had restored him to Salerno. In short, she was seen to stand so high in his esteem that to command her silence in such a gathering was difficult.
‘Why should I hold my tongue, brother?’
Guaimar nodded towards Rainulf. ‘For propriety if for no other reason.’
‘We are talking of Normans. Surely I do not need to remind you of what they are capable.’
‘Am I to be publicly insulted for my loyalty-?’
There was a sudden wail to break Rainulf’s response, as Sichelgaita, Guaimar’s baby daughter, let everyone know she was unhappy. Looking at her, and not for the first time, her father was given to wonder at her: from where had the girl sprung? Younger than her brother, she already outdid Gisulf in height; her hair was, unlike his own dark locks, the flaxen colour of her mother, her eyes a startling blue, and she was growing at a rate. Her throat was not left behind in this, and her cries, as she struggled with his wife, filled the room.
‘I think my niece wails for our impotence, brother,’ said Berengara maliciously, looking at Rainulf. ‘When a treacherous slug can prate about loyalty…’
‘If you were a man you would be dead by now,’ Rainulf responded, his eyes now so narrowed that they disappeared into the purple folds of his face.
Berengara tilted her head and sneered. ‘If I were a man you would have been dead years ago, Rainulf, and the rest of your Norman pigs as well. I’d rather trust a Saracen than you-’
‘Stop,’ Guaimar shouted, though whether at his still-wailing daughter or his sister no one could initially tell. ‘Sister, you go too far.’
‘Brother,’ she replied, as Sichelgaita took to whimpering: the shout had alarmed her. ‘You have never gone far enough.’
‘A ruler cannot always do that which he wishes, however tempted he might be.’ There would have been silence, if it had not been for the sound of Rainulf Drengot storming out of the chamber. ‘There goes the only hope I had, Berengara, of enforcing my will on those gathered here, and not for the first time your tongue has run ahead of your brain.’
‘I will not be chastised for speaking the truth.’
‘I think the problem is, sister, you have never been chastised for anything, but I tell you, this day you have forfeited something, and I think you may come to regret it. Now, leave me, all of you, and someone go to William de Hauteville and ask him if he would attend upon me.’
‘William,’ Guaimar said, in a friendly tone, ‘are you unwell? You look pale.’
‘A fever, no more. It will pass.’
‘It has come to the point where you and I must talk.’
Not willing to let him forget, William responded. ‘Have we not talked in the past?’
The prince nodded, even if he looked less than pleased to be reminded of the divide-and-conquer game he had played between William and Rainulf. But he was still the most powerful lord in Campania, so he was not about to let pass such an obvious admonishment. His voice was sleek with insincerity as he responded, saying to this Norman very much the same as he had earlier said to his sister.
‘The needs of state come before private inclinations.’
‘And that is more true now than when I sought your help.’
Guaimar had to look away then: this damned Norman had found a sharp way to tell him the boot was now on the other foot. ‘You did not speak at the great gathering, as others did.’
‘I had nothing to say.’
‘You must have…’ Guaimar waved his arms, as if the word would not come.
‘You have changed since first we met.’
Both would have little trouble in recalling that encounter, with William forcing the young man, an innocent in negotiation, to be open about that which he wished to conceal. How different Guaimar was now: as devious and conniving as every other Lombard magnate in the south of Italy.
‘I was a disinherited youth then. I am not that now.’
‘No, you are a man and a prince, but if you can recall that first meeting you will also remember that I am not one to waste my breath, nor am I inclined to weave spells before making my case. I prefer to talk plain and to the point.’
‘Are you daring to rebuke me for the way I go about my affairs?’
‘I am daring to say to you that you have in mind words to use. Offer me what you have so that I may judge its worth. I am too weary for your sport.’
‘You are so sure I have something to offer?’
‘I am sure you have no choice but to make me one.’
‘You get above yourself,’ Guaimar replied, with a hiss, for the first time letting his frustration show.
‘Is it really necessary for me to spell out that which you already know, that you have no power in Apulia unless I agree to it? I asked you to remind Rainulf of his obligation to me in the matter of the succession to Aversa, but you chose to play the prince and deny my claim. Now I can claim what I want.’
‘No, William, you can make a claim but it will have no legitimacy unless I agree. Swords and lances count for much, but they do not count for everything. You may choose to give yourself a title, you may accept the acclamation of those you lead, but it will be a bastard one unless you have a suzerain.’