‘No, lord,’ I said, a little too quickly.
Malet smiled again. ‘Just because my end is near, Tancred, don’t presume that you must tell me what you think I want to hear. I know what’s in your mind. Robert thinks the same. And you are right, both of you.’
I didn’t know what to say to that, and so I bowed my head.
‘It is a strange thing, pride,’ he murmured. ‘We are taught that it leads to disgrace, and that anyone who is proud of heart is an abomination to God. These things are true, aren’t they?’
Both proverbs were ones that I recognised. They had been favourite sayings of the prior at the monastery where I’d grown up.
‘So the Scriptures tell us,’ I replied neutrally. Not for the first time, I felt as if he were testing me. ‘But they are not meant to bind us, only guide us. There is no shame in taking pride in one’s work and deeds, so long as that pride is not excessive. There is always a middle path to be found.’
‘And yet it is not always so easy to follow that path, is it?’ He breathed deeply, and I heard a rasp in his throat. ‘That is why it has taken me so long to say what I will tell you now.’
He held out a pale hand, and I took it. His skin was dry, like the parchment in the gospel books I had sometimes copied from during my studies as an oblate.
‘I have been mean-spirited, and undeservingly so, given all that you have done in my name and that of my kin. For that I am truly sorry.’
I felt a tear forming in my eye and tried to blink it back. My throat was dry and I swallowed to moisten it.
‘You served me well, Tancred, for the brief time that you were sworn to me, difficult though it was for me to acknowledge that when we parted ways. And you have served Robert well, too.’
‘He is a good lord,’ I replied.
‘He is becoming one, certainly. God knows he can be pig-headed at times, much like myself. Still, at least he understands how to win respect. He will do well for himself, and for those who follow him, in the years to come. Better than I have done, at any rate. But he needs loyal men around him.’ He made a feeble attempt to squeeze my hand. ‘I ask that you remain faithful to him. That is my one wish.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You know that I will.’
‘Do I have your oath?’
I laughed, not with frustration but with amusement. I had lost count of the number of times I’d sworn pledges of one sort or another to various members of the Malet family.
‘You have my oath,’ I assured him.
He rested his head back upon the pillow, closed his eyes and coughed again, after which he gave a flick of his hand, and I realised he wanted the ale-cup brought to him. Cradling the back of his head with one hand, gently I lifted it to his lips. He sipped at it and his mouth twisted in distaste.
‘Whatever this infusion is that Dudo has prepared, it is supposed to be good for me. Or so he insists,’ he said when he had finished and I had set the cup back down on the stone floor. ‘But the taste of it is foul.’
‘I thought it was ale.’ I raised the rim to my nose and sniffed at it, but could smell nothing offensive about it, nor much at all, save for the faintest trace of honey.
‘Ale?’ he asked. ‘Alas not, though I have often asked for it. That, and some of the Rhenish wine I used to enjoy. But he will not bring me any. Such things are bad for the balance of my humours. So I am told, anyway. Is that likely, do you think?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, lord.’
‘You could bring me some, perhaps.’
‘I could, but Dudo wouldn’t thank me for it.’
‘Come,’ Malet said. ‘He does not have to know. He has done all he can for me. I promised myself that I would live to see this day, and with his help I have done so. The battle is over. The Isle has fallen. And now you come with news that Hereward is dead, too?’
‘It is true, lord.’
Malet settled down beneath the sheets. ‘Then I have nothing more to live for,’ he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper now. No doubt the effort of speaking had tired him. ‘I am ready to face my Lord.’
He closed his eyes. I laid his hand back upon the blankets and watched for I knew not how long as his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. Eventually, once I thought he was sleeping, I got to my tired feet and made to leave, moving as lightly as possible across the stone flags so that my footfalls and the chink of my mail did not disturb him.
I’d barely taken three paces when I heard him say: ‘Before you go, there is one more thing.’
I turned. ‘What is it, lord?’
‘I have had Dudo draw up a will.’