openly espouse. He alsoknew he was in danger of alienating this man, and that he could not afford. ‘I am, but I do so in concern for you.’
‘Explain.’
‘What if you were to share the fate of Pandulf’s own archbishop?’
Even sitting, such a notion made the bent old man shiver, for it was the stuff of his nightmares. He had heard of the treatment meted out to those in the Wolf’s dungeons, the priestly eminence and the bishop’s mitre no protection, and was aware that the Prince of Capua was as arbitrary as he was cruel. No crime need be perceived or committed to render him that fate; he could be taken to the oubliette at any moment for merely holding his office.
‘What if you had all the aims of my mission and Pandulf sought them from you? He would apply hot irons to your body and rack you to get them, would he not?’ That got a slow nod. ‘So I will keep to myself what I plan, then you cannot be tortured to reveal it.’
That sent the archbishop back into a reverie behind his seemingly praying hands. There he was weighing up doing what had been asked or doing nothing. Both were fraught with risk, but this boy surely proposed the lesser of two evils, the possibility of a return to the peace and prosperity he had once enjoyed under his father. Imperial armies had come before, butalways they had gone home again having ensured their rights.
‘Very well, my son, I see it is the duty of the church to support you in this.’
‘Your Grace will not regret it.’
‘There is a Jew just off the marketplace who will advance sums against plate I have hidden in his vaults. I cannot give you enough to have you journey as you should, like a prince, but journey you must. Only I beg of you, even if you plan to do so in disguise, do not pass through Capua.’
‘The Volturno near the sea is low at this time of year. We do not need the bridge in Capua to follow the road to Rome. We and our animals can wade the river.’
‘Then I ask you to pray with me, my son, for the success of your endeavour. May God protect you and keep you safe on your journey.’
The archbishop, with some difficulty, dipped to kneel on a hassock by his feet and began to murmur a prayer, one in which Guaimar joined him. He thought this young man without guile, but it was he who was the fool. Guaimar had not pointed out to him that if Pandulf found out about his mission and guessed how it had been funded, he would rack and sear this priest regardless of ignorance or knowledge.
CHAPTER FOUR
A week of manoeuvre had come to an end; the field of battle had been set. The Norman host rose stiff from their slumbers to a damp, grey dawn mist, and before they fed themselves, on a morning of expected conflict, more prayers were said, each fighting man using his sword to represent the Cross on which their Lord Jesus had died so that they may be saved. Murmuring the Stations of that Cross they entreated the Almighty that their sins might be forgiven, their fears evaporate, their deeds be courageous and if they should fall that their souls be granted entry into paradise.
Prayers done, their fast could be broken; some, as they ate, made loud jokes to hide their concerns, others laughed at those sallies with too much mirth, but most were silent, concentrating on being surethat everything about their equipment was in perfect order: that their sword could not be sharper, nor less so the blades of their knives and the points of their lance. Many spoke to their horses as if they were still speaking to God, for in battle, their mounts would be as great an aid to survival as their faith.
The destriers they would ride – tough horses bred not for speed but for steadiness and fearlessness – picked up the mood and those inclined to be restless anyway became hard to control as they were saddled and caparisoned, with many a knight or squire required to be swift on his feet to avoid a flashing hoof or a quick nervous bite.
For the first time, the de Hautevilles
‘Explain.’
‘What if you were to share the fate of Pandulf’s own archbishop?’
Even sitting, such a notion made the bent old man shiver, for it was the stuff of his nightmares. He had heard of the treatment meted out to those in the Wolf’s dungeons, the priestly eminence and the bishop’s mitre no protection, and was aware that the Prince of Capua was as arbitrary as he was cruel. No crime need be perceived or committed to render him that fate; he could be taken to the oubliette at any moment for merely holding his office.
‘What if you had all the aims of my mission and Pandulf sought them from you? He would apply hot irons to your body and rack you to get them, would he not?’ That got a slow nod. ‘So I will keep to myself what I plan, then you cannot be tortured to reveal it.’
That sent the archbishop back into a reverie behind his seemingly praying hands. There he was weighing up doing what had been asked or doing nothing. Both were fraught with risk, but this boy surely proposed the lesser of two evils, the possibility of a return to the peace and prosperity he had once enjoyed under his father. Imperial armies had come before, butalways they had gone home again having ensured their rights.
‘Very well, my son, I see it is the duty of the church to support you in this.’
‘Your Grace will not regret it.’
‘There is a Jew just off the marketplace who will advance sums against plate I have hidden in his vaults. I cannot give you enough to have you journey as you should, like a prince, but journey you must. Only I beg of you, even if you plan to do so in disguise, do not pass through Capua.’
‘The Volturno near the sea is low at this time of year. We do not need the bridge in Capua to follow the road to Rome. We and our animals can wade the river.’
‘Then I ask you to pray with me, my son, for the success of your endeavour. May God protect you and keep you safe on your journey.’
The archbishop, with some difficulty, dipped to kneel on a hassock by his feet and began to murmur a prayer, one in which Guaimar joined him. He thought this young man without guile, but it was he who was the fool. Guaimar had not pointed out to him that if Pandulf found out about his mission and guessed how it had been funded, he would rack and sear this priest regardless of ignorance or knowledge.
CHAPTER FOUR
A week of manoeuvre had come to an end; the field of battle had been set. The Norman host rose stiff from their slumbers to a damp, grey dawn mist, and before they fed themselves, on a morning of expected conflict, more prayers were said, each fighting man using his sword to represent the Cross on which their Lord Jesus had died so that they may be saved. Murmuring the Stations of that Cross they entreated the Almighty that their sins might be forgiven, their fears evaporate, their deeds be courageous and if they should fall that their souls be granted entry into paradise.
Prayers done, their fast could be broken; some, as they ate, made loud jokes to hide their concerns, others laughed at those sallies with too much mirth, but most were silent, concentrating on being surethat everything about their equipment was in perfect order: that their sword could not be sharper, nor less so the blades of their knives and the points of their lance. Many spoke to their horses as if they were still speaking to God, for in battle, their mounts would be as great an aid to survival as their faith.
The destriers they would ride – tough horses bred not for speed but for steadiness and fearlessness – picked up the mood and those inclined to be restless anyway became hard to control as they were saddled and caparisoned, with many a knight or squire required to be swift on his feet to avoid a flashing hoof or a quick nervous bite.
For the first time, the de Hautevilles
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