De Lacy was there already, mid-conversation with his castellan, Hamon Glover. Glover looked like a wine barrel that had decided to stand up one day and exercise a bit. After William’s night reuniting with Arable, it took a serious bit of work to remind himself why he was supposed to care about other things.

“Bring them,” the Sheriff ordered, and the castellan wobbled from the room.

“Company?” William asked. Robin had done it, he dared to hope. He’d convinced John Little to—

“Have a morning bite with us.” De Lacy gestured loosely to an assortment of fruits and bread at the table. “I have guests that may interest you. The Earl of Warwick, an old friend of mine, arrived yesterday with what he claims is urgent news. He’s a sharp fellow, but he’s the sort that is like to believe the moon is conspiring to kill the sun each day.”

“Oh dear.” William made a face. “The sun is always getting itself into trouble.”

The sheriff answered with a stern glare, and William chastised himself for making a joke. Within a minute they were joined by the Earl of Warwick, a fidgety gentleman with greying hair that seemed mostly concentrated within his ears. Anything unexpected is an opportunity, William recited, scrutinizing the visitor.

“Walerian,” de Lacy said warmly. He exchanged a meaningful embrace with the earl and cleared his throat. “William de Wendenal, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Walerian de Newburg.”

The earl smiled. “Nobody calls me that anymore but you.”

“Or Waleran, Earl of Warwick, if you insist,” de Lacy rolled along, “I’m not going to ask you why you’re here, because it will undoubtedly spoil my happiness in seeing you. Please take a seat, we are just about to eat.”

“I have news that cannot wait,” the earl said, clearly eyeing William. His hesitation lasted only a second before giving him his full consideration. “Wendenal, you say? The son of Lord Beneger de Wendenal, from Derbyshire?”

“Indeed.” De Lacy tilted his head. “William is here on behalf of King Richard himself. He has come a long way to hear old men such as ourselves discuss problems that have no solution.”

William fought down the urge to respond, and instead took the man’s hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Waleran chided. “I’m not nearly as old as he.”

“You foolishly continue to determine your age,” de Lacy sipped from a wine glass, “by the number of years you’ve lived. By all other means you’re as old as I. And William here would be old enough to have fathered us both.”

He had not expected such a compliment. “I wouldn’t say that, Baron.”

“Oh no? Dispose of your humility, it’s a cousin of shame. I say any man who has bled on the war’s edge has knowledge that I never will.”