Captives by Emily Murdoch

“High praise indeed! Then write to this brother of yours, and tell him to come to me. Tell him to present himself at court, with your name as his standard, and he shall become a knight of my chamber. You can come yourself when Fitz is finished with you.”
    Marmion’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Fitz smiled, and clapped a hand on his young friend’s shoulders.
    “I am sure Marmion feels all of the respect and joy for himself and his family that you no doubt intend, my lord King William.”
    “Thank you,” Marmion stammered. “I shall write to my brother immediately – right now, my lord King, I shall write to him –”
    “That suits me well, young man,” the King interrupted, “because I have need to speak with Fitz. Go, write your letter.”
    Marmion bowed low, and then bowed to Fitz. He bowed to King William once more before Fitz muttered, and he almost fled.
    King William chuckled. “He seems a good boy – very like one of my boys. Where did you find him?”
    “He found me,” Fitz said honestly. “And he has proved himself over and over to be a man of loyalty and integrity.”
    “You like him?”
    Fitz was surprised by the question. He had not expected the King of England and the ruler of Normandy to be so interested in his opinion.
    “If you do not find it offensive, my lord King, I would ask why you care so much about my thoughts? I had not considered myself one of your confidants.”
    “A reasonable question.” William nodded. “It is true that we are not as close as we once were.”
    Fitz nodded. Having grown up in the same household, the two men could have been very close; but there was something that had always held them back. Although related, there was enough distinction to keep them wary throughout childhood, and that wariness had never quite dissipated. They trusted each other, but it was a trust based on distance.
    “Fitz, I must speak to you about the attacks that we have been suffering.”
    William’s boldness and brashness threw Fitz, but he recollected his senses quickly.
    “I want to make sure that anything I tell you remains with you,” William continued. “And that if it does escape you, that the few you would share it with are trustworthy.”
    “You offend me,” Fitz said hotly, “if you suppose that anything you impart to me could be shared with another. I am your cousin, and your servant, and your subject.”
    The two men stared at each other, neither sure exactly who should speak next. Eventually, Fitz dropped his gaze.
    “I beg your pardon, my lord King William,” he said stiffly, “if I gave offence with my rash words. But I stand by them.”
    “I would expect nothing less of you, and you were right to speak them.” William smiled. “There should be trust between us.”
    “There is,” Fitz assured him. “I know that I have little to trust you with, but I hope that you will be able to share with me anything that troubles you.”
    William nodded. “There is much to speak about, but I am… unwilling for all to know my thoughts at this time. It is vital that I trust this discussion to you completely.”
    Fitz bowed. “Then speak.”
    The King sighed. He shuffled his feet, almost as if he was not sure whether or not to continue. Fitz couldn’t believe what he was seeing: William of Normandy, William the Conqueror of England, King William who had travelled across the sea to take the land that was his once his – unsure of himself?
    “God’s teeth, man,” Fitz said eventually, “I am no mind reader!”
    William barked out a laugh. “That you are not, my friend, and I apologise once more. You have, of course, kept receiving messengers about the unrest in this land?”
    Fitz swallowed. “I have indeed, my lord, but I have not considered it serious enough to pay much of my attention to. I feel, now, that I have been in error.”
    “The error has been made by many, and I am included in that number. Hereford’s rebellion was expected, but Exeter has