by Hilary Green
Hildred looked at him. 'Well, now you look ready to fight any man. The complete warrior! Congratulations!'
Ranulph realised the two visitors were still standing, watching, and remembered his manners. 'Please, take a cup of wine with us. I have some I think you will find palatable.'
Once they had arrived to join the besieging forces they had all been paid from the Emperor's purse. Ranulph had been very glad of the money, because his limited funds were almost exhausted, but now he was able to purchase a few small luxuries to make camp life easier. There was little available in terms of delicacies to eat. Every town and village within riding distance had been stripped by the besiegers and they were reliant for their food on supplies brought in by the Emperor's men from the other side of the Alps. But he had managed to find a small vineyard where there were still a few barrels of a good vintage. He had acquired a knowledge of wine on his voyages to Bordeaux and had recognised its quality and snapped up a barrel to share with his companions.
The two men accepted the invitation and Rosa handed round the wine. Sitting round the fire, the conversation turned inevitably to the progress of the siege. Henry of Germany, who regarded Rome as rightfully belonging to him as Emperor and King of the Romans, had decreed that no destruction should be visited on the city. Instead, it was invested and all supplies cut off, in the hope that when the Romans found food running short and all their trade disrupted they would change their allegiance and open the gates.
'Peace be upon you, my children.'
Ranulph looked up to see Father Anselm, the priest who acted as chaplain to the mercenary army, smiling benignly down at the little group. Normally he felt uneasy in the presence of any churchman. Tonight, however, he felt sufficiently at peace with himself to tolerate the priest's presence and when Leofric invited him to join them he did not object.
As the discussion continued Ranulph took the opportunity to ask a question he had asked more than once before. 'I don't understand why the Emperor and the Pope are at war. What are we fighting for?'
The usual answer was 'because we're paid to' but this time he got a better response from Janeck. 'As far as I can make out, it is all to do with a dispute about who has the right to invest bishops with the symbols of their authority. It has always been accepted that the King, Henry in this case, is the one who invests them and in return receives homage for the lands and castles that go with the bishopric. Now this Pope, Gregory, wants to change that. He says that he is the only one who can appoint bishops and that they receive their authority from him.'
'Is that worth going to war over?' Ranulph asked.
'The point is, bishops are not just important men in the church. They are all great land owners, powerful secular rulers. If the king cannot command their allegiance it weakens his position and makes them almost independent princes.'
'You can see Henry's point,' Leofric said. 'A king can't have his authority undermined like that.'
'Would you say the same if we were talking about the Usurper?' Ranulph asked dryly.
'That's different. William is not the rightful king of England. In the old days everyone accepted that the earls and the bishops all owed their allegiance to King Edward.'
Ranulph turned his gaze to the priest. 'This cannot be easy for you, father. You minister to forces supporting the Emperor against His Holiness. How do you reconcile that with your Christian vows?'
'Very easily,' Anselm replied. 'Our Lord answered the self same question. The Bible tells us that he was asked whether it was right to pay taxes to Caesar. He asked for a coin and when it was given him he pointed to the head of Caesar which was stamped on it. Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's, he said, and to God that which is God's. Temporal power belongs to the king anointed by God and we do ill to attempt to undermine it.'
The explanation was greeted by a low murmur of approval. Mercenaries as they were, it was still comforting to know that they were fighting on the right side.
'How long has this been going on?' Ranulph asked.
'Oh, years!' Janeck said. 'Gregory excommunicated Henry and then Henry did penance at Canossa a couple of years ago and got the excommunication lifted. Apparently, he stood outside Matilda's castle at Canossa, where the Pope was staying, for three days in the snow before Gregory relented – or so I've heard. But whatever agreement they reached then, it soon fell apart and now he's excommunicate again.'
'None of this matters to us, anyway,' Leofric said. 'The point, as far as I'm concerned, is that Henry is opposed to the Normans. Is it true that Alexios, the Emperor of Constantinople, actually paid him to keep fighting, in order to distract Robert Guiscard from attacking his own territories?'
'The Normans are the Pope's allies, certainly. But so far they seem more interested in attacking Byzantine lands in Greece.'
'Let's hope they decide to honour their alliance with Gregory,' Ranulph said grimly. 'Then we shall have a chance to get to grips with them.'
His last words ended in an enormous yawn and he suddenly felt very tired. The visitors took their cue and said goodnight. Ranulph drained his cup and was almost ready to stretch out where he was and fall asleep, when Hildred remarked, 'I'd get out of that hauberk before you drop off, if I were you. You won't find it very comfortable to lie down in.'
Reluctantly, Ranulph dragged himself to his feet. He knew from watching others that there was only one way to take off a hauberk. He bent double and let it slide over his head and fall, chiming, to the ground. Rosa gathered it up and took it away to put it safely with his other possessions in the tent. The Italian summer night was warm. Ranulph spread his cloak on the ground, stripped off his tunic and folded it to make a pillow and was almost asleep when he felt her snuggle down beside him.
He had not escaped from the fight completely unscathed and when he woke next morning he was aware of a throbbing pain in his left calf. On inspection he found a long gash which he had no recollection of receiving. Hildred examined it and said, 'Take my advice and go to see the surgeon. 'You don't want to risk that wound turning bad.' A little distance from the main camp there was a large tent and Ranulph had seen wounded men carried into it, but he had never felt the need to seek the help of the man who worked there. He had heard cries and screams coming from it and his instinct was to avoid it at all costs. At Hildred's insistence he suppressed his fears and ventured inside. He immediately wished he had not. Pools of blood were congealing on the ground, covered in buzzing flies, and the stench of blood was everywhere. A man was strapped down on a table and the surgeon was bending over him with a knife in his hand. Rooted to the spot with horror, Ranulph watched as he sliced through flesh and sawed through bone, apparently oblivious to the man's screams. Worse was to come, as the bleeding stump was thrust into boiling pitch to stem the flow. By this time, the man was unconscious. The surgeon bandaged the wound, wiped his hands on his apron, and turned to Ranulph.
'What can I do for you, friend?'
Ranulph backed away. 'Nothing … no, really I shouldn't take up your time.'
'Come along,' the man said. 'There's nothing to worry about. Let's have a look at that leg.'
'No. no!' Ranulph tried to leave but the surgeon had hold of his arm.
'What's the matter? Frightened I'll take yours off like that poor fellow over there?Don't be afraid. It looks like a good clean cut. I'll put a salve on it and cover it. You don't want it to go putrid, like his leg.'
'Is that what happened?'
'The fool didn't come to me in time, or I might have been able to save it, but yours doesn't look dangerous. Sit here, and let me deal with it.'
Ranulph sat and allowed the surgeon to smear an evil-smelling ointment on his cut. Somewhat reassured, his natural curiosity came to the fore.
'What is that stuff?'
'It's a herbal remedy. I purchased it from one of the monks at the abbey of St Nicholas. I believe it contains yarrow, among other things. It seems to be effective in keeping wounds clean.'
Ranulph left the t
ent, greatly relieved, but with his mind busy with new ideas. He remembered how in the monastery where he grew up the Brother Infirmarian had a garden where he cultivated healing herbs. He wished now he had paid more attention to what they were. It was not long before the everyday life of the camp reclaimed his attention, however, and pushed the thought to the back of his mind.
The long, hot days dragged on. When they were off duty the men ranged the countryside in search of provender to relieve the monotony of camp food. Ranulph rode out with three companions one day, heading for a stretch of forest that had, until the withdrawal of Mathilda's forces, been too risky to investigate. Reaching it, they agreed to split up in search of game. Ranulph chose a narrow path which wound along a shallow valley beside a stream and it was not long before he saw the unmistakable prints of deer in the damp earth. He followed them for some distance until the trees thinned, giving a glimpse of an open clearing. He dismounted and looped Silver's reins over a convenient branch and went forward cautiously on foot. Slung on his back he was carrying a bow. He had won it in a game of dice and had been practising assiduously at spare moments ever since. Reaching the edge of the clearing he saw a lone stag grazing peacefully. Moving slowly, he unslung the bow, braced it and nocked an arrow to the string. He drew, aimed and let fly. The stag reared up, the arrow deeply embedded in its neck, just above the shoulder, and for a moment he was afraid that it was going to run, but after a few steps it collapsed and he breathed a low cry of triumph. This meant venison for the whole troop and he was already imagining their gratitude.
He ran across the clearing, drawing his dagger as he did so, knowing that the beast must be gutted at once to stop the meat from tainting.
'Hold!' The word of command rang across the space.
Ranulph stopped abruptly and looked beyond the deer. In the shadow of the trees opposite stood a man with a drawn sword. He was a man in his prime, with thick dark hair that curled over his collar. His dark green tunic was without ornament but too fine for a peasant. He stepped forward.
'Do you not know the penalties for poaching?'
Ranulph swallowed. He did, indeed. 'I did not know who owned this land. So many men have been driven out by the recent fighting.'
'And you thought to take advantage of the situation. So understand this. You are on my land and this is my beast and you will answer for its death. Put down that knife and drop your weapons.'
Ranulph stood still, searching the forest beyond the other man. There was no movement. It seemed they were alone.
'I will not,' he said. 'You will have to take them from me, if you dare match me blade for blade.'
To his surprise, the other man's reaction was to laugh. 'A challenge? You are bold. Do you really think I will fight with a mere commoner?'
'If you want your deer, you will have to,' Ranulph replied. The mockery in his opponent's eyes infuriated him and now it was much more than a question of saving himself from punishment, or of retaining his kill. It was a matter of honour.
The other man's eyes narrowed, but he continued to smile.'Very well. Let us see if your skill matches your impudence. On guard!'
Ranulph's sword was out before he had finished the words and they came together with a sharp clash of metal. The initial encounter was enough to tell him that he was dealing with a dangerous opponent, but it seemed the other man had come to the same conclusion and for a space they circled each other, feinting and withdrawing, testing for a weakness. Then the stranger seemed to come to a decision and attacked, his blade weaving so swiftly that Ranulph needed all his skill to save his skin. Then he found the opening he was waiting for. He engaged his opponent's sword and was able to force it aside and step in close. The knife was still in his left hand ready to stab, but in that instant he met the other man's eyes and what he saw there checked the movement. There was no fear in them. Instead he looked almost amused. His fractional hesitation was enough to allow the other man to gather himself. He brought up his knee and thrust Ranulph backwards so that he was momentarily off balance. For a split second he anticipated the sensation of a sword thrust to his heart; but instead the other man lowered his blade and said, panting, 'Enough! You have proved yourself. The deer is yours.'
Ranulph stared at him, convinced that this must be a ruse. His opponent dug the point of his sword into the turf and stepped away from it.
'There! Will you put up your weapon now?'
Slowly, without taking his eyes of the other man, Ranulph returned his sword to its scabbard and his knife to its sheath. His adversary nodded and smiled.
'Good. You fight well. Will you tell me your name?'
'It is Ranulph.'
'Just that, without addition?'
'They call me Ironhand.'
'With good reason. I have never met anyone who could match me so skilfully. You are one of the men fighting for King Henry?'
'Yes.'
'One of the English mercenaries, I should guess from your appearance.'
'You know of us?'
'Of course. I also support the Emperor.'
'And you are...?'
'My name is Alessandro di Monteforato.' He stretched, easing his muscles, and continued, 'Well, if you intend to eat that beast, we had better gut it before it becomes inedible.'
To Ranulph's continuing amazement he produced a knife from his belt and assisted him with the gory business as if this was the normal course of events. When it was done, he led the way to the bank of the stream and rinsed his hands and forearms. Ranulph knelt beside him and did likewise, and then they both scooped up water in their palms to drink.
'That's good!' Alessandro exclaimed. 'But I've something better to quench our thirst to hand. Will you join me?'
He went to the edge of the trees and picked up a flask hanging from a baldric ,which he had presumably been carrying slung over his shoulder before he challenged Ranulph. He gestured to a grassy patch in the shade. 'Shall we sit?'
Still warily, Ranulph lowered himself to the ground and accepted the proffered flask. The wine it contained was some of the best he had tasted. He handed it back and his companion took a long draft and lay back on the grass with a sigh of contentment. Ranulph took the opportunity to study him more closely. He was a remarkably handsome man. Below the dark curls his brow was broad, his nose straight, his cheeks and chin close shaven. His eyes were very dark and fringed with lashes that would have been the envy of any woman. There was something about his assurance, and his mastery of swordsmanship, that suggested high rank, but it puzzled Ranulph that he was apparently wandering the forest alone. No nobleman, in his experience, ever moved without a retinue of attendants. Perhaps, he thought, he might be a squire to one of the knights fighting for the Emperor. But he had spoken of 'my land'. Possibly, then, the younger son of a local lord? That seemed the most likely conclusion.
The dark eyes were switched to his face. 'I hope you are satisfied with your scrutiny.'
Ranulph felt himself blush. 'I did not mean to be impertinent.'
'No?' The glint of amusement was back but this time it was less infuriating. 'I had the impression that it was your stock in trade.' He sat up. 'So tell me, how did you learn to use a sword like that?'
Ranulph shrugged. 'From necessity. When you live by your sword it is as well to be proficient.'
'So you are a mercenary?'
'Yes.'
'How does an Englishman come to be fighting as a mercenary in the Emperor's wars?'
'What other option is there, when you are driven out of your home and your country?'
'Ah, of course. The Norman invasion. But you cannot have been more than a child.'
'I was four years old when my father was killed defending our land.'
'Your land? He held land of his own then?'
'He was a thane holding land from the Earl of Mercia. When the earl rose up against the invader, he was bound by his allegiance to fight for him.'
'Of course.' Alessandro was looking thoughtful. 'An earl would be a great no
bleman, on a par with, say, a Duke?'
'Yes.'
'And a thane held land directly from him?'
'Yes.'
'So he would be equivalent perhaps to a count?'
'I suppose so.'
'Forgive me. I called you a commoner. In your own country you would be the son of a count. You have noble blood.'
Ranulph shrugged again. 'It is of little use to me, except to spill in other men's battles.'
Alessandro looked at him for a moment and Ranulph thought he was about to pursue the point. Instead he said, 'You speak good Tuscan. How does that come about?'
'I made a point of learning, since it seems I shall be here for some time. And it is not difficult if you have grasp of Latin.'
'You know Latin?'
Ranulph hesitated, unwilling to embark on the story of his life with this stranger; but there was a genuine interest in the expressive dark eyes that made it seem discourteous to refuse. 'I was educated in a monastery, after my parents were killed.'
'Ah, that explains it. I thought there was something in your speech and manner that was somewhat finer than one expects in a common soldier.'
Ranulph expected further questions, but Alessandro rose to his feet. 'If you are going to share that venison with your comrades you had better get it back to camp before the flies have it. You have a horse somewhere, I suppose?'
Ranulph remembered Silver with a start. 'Yes, a little further back.' He got up and grabbed the stag by the antlers.
'Here, let me help.' Alessandro heaved the carcass onto Ranulph's shoulders and steadied it with a grip on the hind legs.
Silver was standing patiently where he had left her and between them they hoisted the deer across her withers. Ranulph turned to face his new acquaintance. The meeting seemed curiously inconclusive.
