‘Your family is rich enough,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you pay the fee and become a volunteer?’
He looked at me as if I’d just made a lewd suggestion and he was a nun. ‘I fight for gold,’ he said. ‘What can your Order do for me?’
‘Why are you come on crusade, then?’ I asked.
He laughed, leaning his stool back on two of its legs and stretching his booted feet towards the unnecessary fire. ‘To be rich!’ he said.
‘Not to travel to Jerusalem?’ I asked.
‘Not unless the streets are actually paved with gold,’ he laughed.
Despite my new-found maturity, he was beginning to get to me. He meant to, and when they set themselves to it, Gascons can be the most offensive men in the world. Perhaps even when they do not set themselves to it.
‘This crusade is just a chevauchée?’ I asked.
D’Albret grinned. ‘There’s no war in France and not much in Italy since Hawkwood got beaten. They paid us to leave Provençe, and then they paid us to winter at Venice, and now we’ll take a few Saracen cities and despoil them and go home rich as bankers. It was this or Spain.’ He looked into the distance. ‘Or perhaps when this is done, I’ll go to Spain. There’s to be fighting there. I hadn’t expected this misbegotten expedition to take so long.’
I started to speak, but he rode over me.
‘It’s the fucking peasant the Pope sent. He knows nothing of war – a total fool. Can you imagine? An actual serf off Talleyrand’s estates, pretending to command men. The Pope wanted this expedition to fail.’
I had finally understood that he meant Father Pierre. ‘The legate?’ I said. ‘Without him, there would be no crusade. Don’t be a fool, d’Albret. Whatever his birth, he’s no peasant.’
D’Albret laughed his older brother’s nasty laugh. ‘Once a serf, always a serf. They flinch when you snap your fingers.’
I could imagine what Father Pierre would say if I fought a duel for his good name. So I took a deep breath, looked elsewhere, and finally rose. ‘We will have to agree to disagree,’ I said. ‘I see him as a great man, a living saint.’
D’Albret spat. ‘Well, the problem will be solved for us soon enough, or that’s what I hear. The Serf – that’s what we call him – has given offence to certain parties, eh?’
‘Who do you mean? And how will the problem be solved?’ I asked. I had been about to slap money on the table and walk away, but I knew a threat to my lord when I heard it.
D’Albret looked both smug and superior. ‘I just know the Serf will be gone soon. And then we will have a good war, and booty. That’s what everyone says.’ He shook his head. ‘When you killed that French bastard who stole your sword in the spring? I told everyone I knew you. I was proud to know you, eh? What happened? Priests take your stones? I heard d’Herblay beat the crap out of you. He says you are a coward.’
Before I knew it, my hand was on my hilt.
He laughed. ‘So you are still alive,’ he said.
‘You serve d’Herblay,’ I said. It was obvious. He wore the blue and white arms.
‘He’s not so bad. Better than the Bourc. The money’s good.’ He shrugged. ‘He’ll kill you, William. When the legate’s gone you had best hide.’
It was a busy day. D’Albret wasn’t gone a heartbeat before Nicolas Sabraham occupied his stool. From his look at d’Albret’s departing arrogance, I immediately understood his interest.