‘Lord Guillaume is in his solar,’ said the door-ward when I arrived at the hall and gave him my name. ‘He is not accustomed to being made to wait. He was expecting you a half-hour ago, and I should tell you that he is in a foul temper.’
I thanked the man for his kind warning as he led me to the stairs, where he left me. Along the length of the up-floor ran a hallway, at the end of which the door to the solar lay ajar. I knocked and entered.
The shutters lay open but even so the chamber was stifling. Thick rugs covered the floorboards, while richly coloured embroideries decorated the walls, displaying scenes from what I could only assume was a marriage feast. Within a long hall stood a long table replete with all manner of dishes, behind which were seated the lord, his arms outstretched as if in greeting, and beside him his bride, dressed in a blue gown. Around them servants bore bowls of soup, platters of wildfowl and gilded wine-cups, while a fool danced and a minstrel played upon a harp.
Fitz Osbern stood at the far end of the room, gazing out of the open window, his hands clasped behind him. Beside him was a round table and upon it stood an earthenware pitcher together with a goblet of green glass, elaborately decorated with a golden lattice pattern and half filled with what I presumed was wine. He showed no sign of having heard me come in.
‘My lord,’ I said. ‘You wished to see me.’
‘You’re late.’ His tone as usual was curt.
‘I came as soon as I was able,’ I replied just as flatly.
He did not turn from the window. ‘When I summon you to my presence, you do not hesitate but simply do as you are bid. Do you understand?’
I kept my mouth shut, knowing that if I opened it then all the frustration and ill feeling that had been building within me would let itself out. Fitz Osbern did not repeat himself; instead he waited for my answer. When it was clear that none was forthcoming, he turned to face me.
‘I wonder if Malet’s son has indulged you rather too much. A better lord would see that his vassals learnt the meaning of obedience. A true leader would make sure that they knew their place. But then the Malets have always struggled to win the respect of their followers. Or, for that matter, of anyone else.’
This last he muttered almost under his breath. What did he mean by it?
‘Lord—’ I began.
‘Let me warn you, Tancred a Dinant,’ he said, cutting me off. ‘You do not want to make an enemy of me. I have King Guillaume’s ear. If I so wished, I could have you stripped of your lands, expelled from the realm, or worse. So whatever you mean to say, you would be wise to think first, and choose your words with care.’
He held my gaze, his expression fixed in contempt, as if I were nothing more than a louse to him: an irritant, but one that could be easily crushed. There was a slight slur to his words, and I smelt wine on his breath: sour and pungent, faint but enough to be noticeable. How long had he been drinking before I arrived?
‘No?’ he said, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. ‘Very well.’ He began to pace around the room. ‘I am a patient man, Tancred, but not so patient that I readily forgive those who cross me. Consider yourself fortunate on this occasion, but do not presume that I will be nearly so lenient next time.’
‘No, lord.’
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and when he spoke again it was in a milder tone: ‘Do not think, either, that I hold you responsible for what happened in Wales, or that I believe Hugues to be blameless in this matter either.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. That at least was some relief.
‘I am not looking for gratitude. I only tell you this for your own peace of mind.’ He sighed. ‘In any case, all that is behind us, and we have more pressing matters at hand. We must reserve our hatred for the enemy, not waste it on each other. It will do us no good to spread discord amongst our own ranks as long as the enemy is afield.’
‘Has there been any word of their movements?’
‘Not yet,’ Fitz Osbern said. ‘I have sent my fastest riders to keep watch along the valley of the Saverna, and had beacons erected between here and the dyke, the fires to be lit as soon as the enemy show themselves. Thus far, however, there has been no sign of them.’
Some of those beacons we’d seen as we had withdrawn back down the Saverna valley to Scrobbesburh. At best they might give us a couple of days’ warning of any approaching army: a few more hours, then, for us to spend waiting for the inevitable, for those banners and spearpoints to appear over the distant horizon.
‘They will come sooner rather than later,’ I said. ‘They know that we are weakened. They’ll want to press their advantage while they still can, before any reinforcements reach us from Lundene.’
Fitz Osbern shook his head and turned back towards the window. ‘There will be no reinforcements,’ he said quietly.