They talked of the war for a while. It was a stiff, awkward conversation, and William was relieved when it was broken by a messenger with a letter written on a roll of parchment and sealed with wax. Waleran sent the messenger off to the kitchen to get something to eat. He did not open the letter.
William took the opportunity to change the subject. “I didn’t come here to exchange news of battles. I came to tell you that I’ve run out of patience.”
Waleran raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Silence was his response to unpleasant topics.
William plowed on: “It’s almost three years since my father died, but King Stephen still hasn’t confirmed me as earl. This is outrageous.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Waleran said languidly. He toyed with his letter, examining the seal and playing with the ribbon.
“That’s good,” William said, “because you’re going to have to do something about it.”
“My dear William, I can’t make you earl.”
William had known that Waleran would take this attitude, and he was determined not to accept it. “You have the ear of the king’s brother.”
“But what am I to say to him? That William Hamleigh has served the king well? If it is true, the king knows it, and if not, he knows that also.”
William was no match for Waleran in logic so he simply ignored the arguments. “You owe it to me, Waleran Bigod.”
Waleran looked faintly angered. He pointed at William with the letter. “I owe you nothing. You have always served your own ends even when you did what I wanted. There are no debts of gratitude between us.”
“I tell you, I won’t wait any longer.”
“What will you do?” Waleran said with the hint of a sneer.
“Well, first I’ll see Bishop Henry myself.”
“And?”
“I’ll tell him that you have been deaf to my pleas, and in consequence I’m changing my allegiance to the Empress Maud.” William was gratified to see Waleran’s expression change: he went a shade paler and looked just a little bit surprised.
“Change again?” Waleran said skeptically.
“Just one more time than you,” William responded stoutly.
Waleran’s supercilious indifference was shaken, but not much. Waleran’s career had benefited greatly from his ability to deliver William and his knights to whichever side Bishop Henry favored at the moment: it would be a blow to him if William suddenly turned independent—but not a fatal blow. William studied Waleran’s face as he mulled over this threat. William could read the other man’s mind: he was thinking that he wanted to keep William loyal, but wondering how much he should put into the effort.
To gain time Waleran broke the seal on his letter and unrolled it. As he read, a faint flush of anger appeared on his fish-white cheeks. “Damn the man,” he hissed.
“What is it?” William asked.
Waleran held it out.
William took it from him and peered at the letters. “To—the—most—holy—gracious—bishop)—”
Waleran snatched it back, impatient of William’s slow reading. “It’s from Prior Philip,” he said. “He informs me that the chancel of the new cathedral will be finished by Whitsunday, and he has the nerve to beg me to officiate at the service.”
William was surprised. “How has he managed it? I thought he had sacked half his builders!”
Waleran shook his head. “No matter what happens he seems to bounce back.” He gave William a speculative look. “He hates you, of course. Thinks you’re the devil incarnate.”
William wondered what was going on now in Waleran’s devious mind. “So what?” he said.
“It would be quite a blow to Philip if you were confirmed as earl on Whitsunday.”
“You wouldn’t do it for me, but you’d do it to spite Philip,” William said grouchily, but in reality he was feeling hopeful.
“I can’t do it at all,” Waleran said. “But I will speak to Bishop Henry.” He looked up at William expectantly.
