Reckless (Age of Conquest #5) - Tamara Leigh Page 0,99

to be written on parchment to remain remembered. Had they survived the pests and fire of the monastery in which they were stored, they would be covered in the dust of forgotten things—of use only to those who sought to justify doing the same to the ones come before them.

Resolved to sooner end this meeting so he might gain his rest, Vitalis acknowledged his place in this moment by saying, “Truce, William. Tell what you wish to discuss without fear I shall take advantage of one lone warrior who possesses only a dagger with which to defend himself.” He tilted his head. “Do you not trust the word I give, you have only to search backward to confirm this Saxon does not dishonor his training and oaths given in God’s sight with deceit nor the cowardice of putting a knife in a man’s back.”

The sides of William’s long nose swelled with breath surely meant to calm anger and restore patience. “Sir Maël tells you do not have the cloth,” he said.

“I do not.”

“Where is it?”

“Entrusted to one who agreed to deliver it to you. Obviously, he has yet to do so.”

The usurper’s jaw shifted. “Speak his name.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

“It is for him to summon the courage to be the one to give it to his king.”

“Courage? Then this man knows how it was gotten?”

“He does not. If he learns that tale, it will be from you, meaning it shall require you show courage as well.”

Those last words offended the man who had conquered a country by bloodying his own blade alongside those who bloodied theirs for him. But rather than rebuke Vitalis, he asked, “Is that man at Red Castle?”

“I cannot say.”

William adjusted his shoulders as if to ease tension. “Because you do not wish to tell?”

Vitalis declined to answer. This was not a game like those William had played by time and again sending word soon they would meet. Simply, he would not point this man any nearer his son than already he did. Were the youth to deliver the cloth, he must do so of his own accord. If he did not, its fate could prove the same as the aged, inked parchments the usurper used to support what he had done.

“Then we are finished here,” William said.

Vitalis inclined his head.

The guards were summoned, and as the sound of their murmurings was replaced by the scrape of boots, William said, “On the morrow you shall learn what is to be made of your days and nights in my England. Or the next morrow. Or the morrow after.”

Vitalis curved his mouth, and as a guard reached inside and gripped the door’s edge, said, “Whichever morrow you choose, William of Normandy, you shall find me here.” He did not await a reaction. As the guard pulled the door closed, Vitalis as unconcernedly turned his back on one Norman as he did the other two.

The hinges creaked, the door found its fit, the lock engaged, then came the sound of William’s retreat.

“One day, not two,” Vitalis murmured as he returned to his pallet. William wished his captive to believe the King of England was at his leisure, so secure in having won their contest it mattered not whether he pronounced judgment this day or many days hence. The end of this mattered more to William than that, and not only because he hoped when it was done he would also possess proof of his shaming. Never before had England been so securely in his power. There would be more uprisings, but once this rebel leader was dealt with he could turn his attention to the one real threat that remained—Hereward and the Danes.

The Saxon warrior and his followers were formidable, but if King Sweyn could be enticed to withdraw his forces and return to Denmark like the tamed wild dog William wished to make of him, the conqueror could stamp out the final bastion of Saxon resistance.

Of much import but no great challenge, Vitalis thought, certain the Danes intended to depart once their war chests were filled with riches thieved from both Normans and Saxons.

Indeed, already it might have been done in the days since the usurper sent word he intended to ride on Red Castle.

Chapter Twenty-Five

William knew what they all wished to know, and it was early enough in the evening to reveal it. But would he?

He stood at corridor’s end as if waiting for those whose eyes fell upon him to close their mouths. They did, and now he looked