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.