master, reducing it to a tool that corners prey and bars the way with the mere threat of teeth and claws.
Guarin and Dougray entered and halted to the right of Vitalis who did not have to look around to know Nicola followed. He felt her presence more than her gaze and hoped it meant she had looked upon him only briefly lest she reveal what she felt for her king’s captive.
As Maël closed the door—lingeringly it seemed—a voice that had not yet mastered its bass register called, “With your permission, Your Majesty, I would observe the proceedings so I might learn how to govern as well as I acquire the skills of blade and fist.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Richard who should not be here.
Richard who had been given time by the captain of the guard to put forth his petition.
Richard whose request ought to make William proud his son was eager to learn.
Richard who might have donned the belt of truth upon which to hang greater courage. Had he and were he allowed to enter, possibly of benefit to Vitalis, possibly not.
As the captive held his captor’s gaze, William appeared to wrestle with himself. He might wish his son at his side, but he feared it. It was one thing to chance allowing Maël’s cousins to enter, unaware already they knew of the mantle piece, another to risk his son learning of the humiliation dealt the man Richard ought to admire.
“Non,” Le Bâtard said.
Hearing Nicola’s gasp, knowing it could prove impossible for her not to beseech her king to allow the youth to enter, Vitalis sent up a prayer to aid her.
“As told by Earl De Warenne,” William said, “if the prince is to lead men eager to follow him, he requires mastery of respect and acceptance of discipline. That comes well before this.”
“But Sire—”
“Go, Richard. We shall discuss this later. Sir Guy!”
Booted footsteps from beyond the door verified the chevalier had remained in the corridor. “My liege?”
“Escort the prince to the hall and see he is given his fill of honey milk.”
“Non!” Richard lunged past those facing William and made it to his father a moment before Sir Guy caught his arm. “Attend, Sire!” He groped at his purse. “There is something you must see.”
William waved a hand the sooner to be shed of one deemed a poor reflection of him.
Richard’s resistance was impressive against a warrior half again his weight, most of which was muscle, but it prevented him from digging from his purse that which he sought. As he was dragged toward the door, he entreated, “I have shown my courage, Sir Vitalis, but he will not allow me—”
“How know you this rebel?” William demanded. “And what speak you of courage, Richard?”
Sir Guy and the youth halted near Vitalis.
“If you will allow me to approach, Your Majesty,” Richard said, “I shall explain.”
William landed his gaze on Vitalis. Fire there, in the depths as well as on the surface—the sort used to light one staked atop a heap of dry wood.
Though Vitalis had said the one who possessed the cloth must have the courage to deliver it were it possible to learn of its importance, the fear fueling William’s anger was that his enemy had lied and Richard, who should be drinking honey milk from a cup, was gulping retribution from a goblet.
Neither confirming nor denying what his enemy dreaded, having already told what William wished to know, Vitalis remained unmoving.
“Approach!” the conqueror commanded.
“Merciful Lord,” Nicola rasped.
“And leave us, Sir Guy!”
Only that chevalier? Vitalis wondered. Not the D’Argents other than Maël?
The chevalier released the youth, and Vitalis saw Richard jerk at his tunic as if straightening what had bunched above a twice-looped belt would restore some of the dignity lost in being dragged across the chamber like a temperamental boy who has yet to stand as tall as his sire’s hip.
When the door closed behind Sir Guy, the prince looked to Vitalis, gave a nod, and strode forward.
William thrust out a hand.
His son dug in his purse and dropped into that palm evidence that once Le Bâtard had been more vulnerable than King Saul.
William stared at the frayed cloth unfurling in his hand for having been many times folded, and when it opened like a bud come into its maturity, revealing the embroidery it was said his wife had needled, his shoulders relaxed.
He looked to Vitalis, next his son. “Do you know what this is, Richard?”
“A piece of material cut from a larger one.”
“What might the larger one have been?”
“I was