Mercenaries by Jack Ludlow

exhausted by the travel, and even more so by the endless stream of Pandulf’s grand designs, the flow of which was as ceaseless as the rich food and fine wines. Eventually even a man as insensitive as their host realised they were falling asleep at his board, and he called for candle bearers to light them to their chambers.
    Guaimar, tired as he was, still felt it necessary to ensure his sister was safe and comfortable, and so went to her chamber. About to gently knock, he saw that the door was very slightly ajar, and he pushed with outstretched fingers, swinging it open silently. Berengara was standing with her back to the far wall, her hair loose and in a shift, her hands pressed against the stones and clearly, by her expression, deeply distressed. He knew it was Pandulf, with his back to him, even although he was partly disrobed. Seeing her saviour, his sister’s eye swung to meet his, and that forced Pandulf to turn round at speed.
    His shirt was open, and so were his breeches; the man was obviously aroused, it was in his eyes as well, and it took him a moment to come out of that state and realise that whatever he had intended was not now possible. Caught in the act of seeking to deflower Berengara he yet had about him the wits, or was it the ready ability to tell a barefaced lie, which had served him so well.
    ‘I came to bid your sister a good night’s sleep before going to my wife.’
    ‘As did I,’ Guaimar snapped.
    There was a moment when the youngster wondered what Pandulf would do. He had the power to call armed men to remove Guaimar, the power to do with Berengara this night as he pleased. The youngster never knew what it was that persuaded him to snatch up his jacket from the floor and leave. Was it that he needed the boy as an ally? Was it the proximity of his wife; she would be disturbed by any commotion? The one thing it would not be was remorse at having been discovered, of that he was sure.
    ‘Then that is a duty I leave to you,’ Pandulf said.
    ‘I would like that we return to Salerno tomorrow,’ Guaimar said as Pandulf came abreast of him. The Wolf paused for a moment, flashed that engaging smile as though nothing suspect was happening, and nodded.
    As soon as he was gone he had Berengara weeping in his arms. Having got her into the large bed, settled her down and waited till she went to sleep, he spent an uncomfortable night lying across the now closed door.
        
    Guaimar was once more in the company of the Archbishop of Salerno, this time in his episcopal palace, set in the hills above and away from the filthand stink of the city. From the balcony, across his manicured gardens, they could see the wide sweep of the Bay of Salerno shimmering in the summer heat, set off by the sparkling blue of the Tyrrhenian Sea. In the harbour lay the ships that brought so much wealth from the Levant to Italy; to the boy it was like looking at a constant stream of gold, the river of wealth that had, over five centuries of Lombard rule, raised his family to magnificence. He was not here for the view, but for enough of that commodity to make a journey, from one of the few sources of funds he could, with some safety, tap.
    Not utterly disposed to refuse to part with money, this high cleric had to go through the ritual insistence on poverty, the diocese being much put upon by those seeking charity. ‘The church of Salerno is not wealthy, my son. Our new overlord has set a high tariff on our coffers.’
    ‘I doubt you gifted Pandulf all the plate my father gave you.’
    There was hesitation before the truthful reply. ‘We preserved some, with difficulty.’
    The archbishop, as he said those words, could not help but look like a thief and it was an unchristian thought in the boy to think him that. The man was bent in the back from age and some affliction of the bones, while his head was permanently tilted to one side, the whole subject to some slight palsy. That didnot explain a certain shiftiness in his eyes,