Entering silently, Ranulf took one look at his royal patron and read the king’s disposition instantly. “His Majesty is displeased,” declared Cardinal Ranulf from the doorway. He made a small bow and smoothed the front of his satin robe.
“Displeased?” wondered William, beckoning him in with a wave of his hand. “Why would you say displeased? Hmm?” Rising from his chair, the king began to pace along the length of the table where he had lately enjoyed a repast with his vavasours. The king’s companions had gone, or been sent away, and William was alone.
“Why, indeed?” said the king, without waiting for Ranulf ’s reply. “My dear brother, Robert, threatens war if I do not capitulate to his ridiculous whims . . . my barons find ever more brazen excuses to reduce their tributes and taxes . . . my subjects are increasingly rebellious to my rule and rude to my person!”
The king turned on his chief counsellor and waved a parchment like a flag. “And now this!”
“Ill tidings, mon roi?”
“By the holy face of Lucca!”William shouted. “Is there no end to this man’s demands?”
“Which man, Sire, if you please?” Ranulf moved a few paces into the room.
“This jackanapes of a pope!” roared the king. “This Urban—he says Canterbury has been vacant too long and insists we invest an archbishop at once.”
“Ignore him, Sire,” suggested Ranulf.
“Oh, but that is not the end of his impudence,” continued the king without pausing to draw breath. “Far from it! He demands not only my seal on a letter of endorsement, but a public demonstration of my support as well.”
“Which, as we have often discussed, you are understandably loath to give,” sympathised the cardinal, stifling a yawn.
“Blast his eyes! I am loath to give him so much as the contents of my bowels.”William, his ruddy cheeks blushing hot with anger, threw a finger in his counsellor’s face. “God help me if I ever suffer one of his lick-spit legates to set foot in my kingdom. I’ll boil the beggar in his own blood, and if Urban persists in these demands, I will throw my support to Clement—I swear I will.”
“Tell him so,” suggested Ranulf simply. “That is what the Conqueror would have done—and did, often enough.”
“There! There you say it, by Judas!” crowed William. “My father had no illusions about who should rule the church in his kingdom. He would not suffer any priest to stick his nose into royal affairs.”
It was true. William’s father, the Conqueror, had ruled the church like he ruled everything else on his adopted island. Not content to allow such a wealthy and powerful institution to look to its own affairs, he continually meddled in everything from appointing clerics to the collection of tithes—ever and always to his own advantage. Ranulf knew that the son, William the Red, was peeved because, try as he might, he could not command the same respect and obedience from the church that his father had taken as his due.
“Mark me, Bayeux, I’ll not swear out my throne to Urban no matter how many legates and emissaries he sends to bedevil me.”
“Tell His Eminence that his continued attempts to leech authority from the throne make this most sacred display of loyalty a mockery.” Cardinal Ranulf of Bayeux moved to a place across the table from his pacing king. “Tell him to stuff the Fisherman’s Ring up his sanctimonious—”
“Ha!” cried William. “If I told him that, he would excommunicate me without a second thought.”
“Do you care?” countered Ranulf smoothly. “Your Majesty holds Rome in contempt in any of a hundred ways already.”
“You go too far! My faith, or lack of it, is my own affair. I’ll not be chastised by the likes of you, Bayeux.”
Ranulf bowed his head as if to accept the reprimand and said, “Methinks you misunderstand me, Sire. I meant that the king of England need spare no thought for Pope Urban’s tender feelings. As you suggest, it is a simple enough matter to offer support to his rival, Clement.”
William allowed himself to be calmed by the gentle and shrewd assertions of his justiciar. “It is that,” sneered William. The king of England surveyed the remains of his midday meal as if the table were a battlefield and he was searching for survivors. “I much prefer Clement anyway.”
“You see?” Ranulf smiled, pleased with the way he had steered the king to his point of view. “God continues to grace your reign, Sire. In his wisdom, he has provided a timely alternative.