your reputation would not lend your sword arm to Hereward, nor that he would be content with your presence alone. After all, no king nor duke would I be were I to languish on a high seat while others gain renown that better serves me.”
“Sacking a church and giving its treasures into the hands of false allies is not renown any man should desire,” Vitalis said.
“Then?”
“In the short time I was upon Ely, awaiting an opportunity to free Lady Nicola, I engaged in the work Lady Hawisa’s sire entrusted to me years past. Though upon the isle I was not training up warriors, I bettered the skills of men and women in such desperate circumstances they forsook the tilling of soil to become bearers of arms.”
“If that is true, doubtless some were among the Saxons who desecrated Peterborough Abbey.”
“Doubtless,” Vitalis acceded.
William poked his tongue in his cheek then turned away. He strode to the chest, retrieved his sword, and came around. Thrusting the blade out before him, he closed one eye and sent the other down its length.
“Well balanced, no warp, and wondrously nicked. Were I to believe Sir Daryl’s account of your crimes at Peterborough…” He lowered the sword’s tip to the floor and set his hands atop the embossed pommel. “…I might give him the revenge he seeks, myself lopping off your head for attacking one of my churches, but still I would hesitate. Do you know why?”
“Because the treasure I took from the Duke of Normandy is of greater concern than what was taken from Peterborough Abbey. Though ending my life might alleviate that concern, still somewhere beyond this chamber is that which was cut from the mantle worn to your coronation, and you fear he who possesses it could make use of it as I declined to do.”
Though William did not blink, Vitalis would wager his eyes stung.
“Do not let the hope I can be made to speak that one’s name keep you from doing what is better done now than later,” Vitalis continued. “Too, as already told, the one to whom I gave it does not know what he holds beyond beautiful threads defiled by my blade. If he finds the courage to return it to you, it shall remain as harmless as if he never delivered it.”
“Who has it?” William snapped.
Vitalis closed his mouth.
“Even to preserve your life, you will not tell?” Le Bâtard dangled the hope of imprisonment over death.
When Vitalis did not respond, William said, “It appears I have no choice but to accept what you do tell and deal with the miscreant should he come bearing the cloth. Thus, all that remains is to determine how you die—quickly with well-deserved pain to warn others that no matter what man comes against William the Great, he shall fall at my feet? Or slowly with excruciating pain to award Sir Daryl and his departed sire for having served me well without regard to their family, many of whom are likely dead?”
There was derision in that last, and though it offered no redemption for the man William was, it was good he found abhorrent what the traitorous Saxons had done. By despicable means alongside the great wane of Saxon resistance, Daryl’s usefulness neared its end. At best, he would take up the life of a mercenary.
William shifted his regard to Maël. “What say you, Chevalier?” he said, then as if an opinion that was not forthcoming was forthcoming, held up a hand. “Not to be asked of a D’Argent who has no kind regard for Sir Daryl and whose cousin is wed to Vitalis’s former liege.” He sighed. “As with nearly all things, the burden falls to me.”
A growl sounded between the two standing before the king. Had Vitalis not felt it in his throat, he would have thought Maël the source since he himself was mostly proficient at containing expressions of frustration and disgust.
“Is this impatience, Vitalis?” William said. “Anger? Hatred?”
“This is a warrior more accustomed to battles fought on bloody fields than a game board.”
Were William offended, it did not show, and when he spoke, it was with pride. “I prefer bloody fields as well, but I have enough experience and success to know the games played off them can yield excellent results. Which reminds me of another matter we must address ere I am done with you. But first, I should see what goes below.”
The brazier toward which he strode was not his destination but a small door set in the