Mercenaries c-1

by Jack Ludlow

  ‘They were supposed to stay out of harm’s way.’

  William laughed. ‘They are your sons, sir. They do not know how.’

  ‘I’ll tan their hides.’

  ‘Only after we tot up what they have managed to steal.’

  The de Hautevilles did not linger, not from fear of Duke Robert’s anger, but because, once they had been paid for their service, the cost of maintenance fell on them and that was cheaper at home than loitering here. They sold or traded what they had taken from the field of battle, as well as most of the contents of Serlo and Robert’s enterprise. Drogo even sold his ransom at a heavy discount to the Constable, given it would be easier for a high official to collect on a prisoner housed in Duke Robert’s castle of Moulineux.

  On the first night they camped back on Norman soil, and after all had been seen to with horses and food, Tancred sat down his boys round a fire to tell them what they already knew: there would be no service in the ducal household, no chance to raise themselves in that service. There were other things of which they were aware, whatever their age: that this had dashed their father’s long-held hopes and the reason — the property on which they had been raised was too small to support them all.

  ‘I had hoped, as you know, that you would win your own advancement. We fought today, and fought well, but who can say what the future will hold?’

  It was William who underlined what his father was driving at. ‘With Duke Robert allied to the King of the Franks, there is little prospect of war service…’

  ‘I have no desire to arm myself with a plough,’ Drogo insisted.

  There was a weariness in Tancred’s voice as he responded to that. ‘I raised you to do what I did, and that is fight. That you can do, but William has the right of it.’

  ‘The duke might fall out with the Franks,’ said Geoffrey de Hauteville. ‘They are not natural bedfellows.’

  ‘How long will that be?’ Tancred replied. ‘One year, two years, ten? The Bretons were our allies today, as well. As for the Angevins, they too are supine. For the first time in my life the borderlands are at peace.’

  ‘Which is why our Duke Robert can go on pilgrimage.’

  That opinion came from his namesake, really too immature to be taking part. It was a measure of Tancred’s gloom that he did not remind the youngest son present of the fact. ‘Jerusalem? He will be gone a year at least, possibly two.’

  ‘He may well come back a monk,’ Drogo scoffed.

  ‘Would that be so bad?’ asked Montbray.

  A period of silent reflection followed, as each son contemplated a life of peaceful husbandry, albeit such an existence would be punctuated by the kind of local conflicts endemic to the Contentin, not one of which would ever advance them in any way. They were no more farmers than their sire, and so it seemed to the eldest they must do what he had done when a young man.

  ‘We too should seek the solution elsewhere,’ said William.

  ‘A pilgrimage?’ Drogo demanded, in a voice that showed what he thought of that idea.

  ‘Your soul is beyond redemption, brother,’ William replied, grinning, ‘and you know that is not what I meant.’

  ‘The work of God is being pressed east of the Elbe, converting the Slav barbarians.’

  William looked at Montbray. ‘That is your work, cousin, not ours. We need to fight for recompense, not to spread the faith.’

  ‘Which means Spain to fight the Moors, or Italy?’ Tancred said, without enthusiasm.

  William nodded. ‘Those who have returned from Italy seem to have done well.’

  ‘Which is a tenth of the number whose bones are still there.’

  ‘Show me an alternative.’

  ‘I could try to speak with Duke Robert again,’ his father responded, but in a voice that held out little hope.

  ‘Beg!’ William exclaimed. ‘Not even to a duke would I have you do that and I cannot ever see myself bending my knee to a man who denies consideration to a blood relation in the way he has so clearly done.’

  ‘Let me think on it.’

  William de Hauteville was quite brusque with a parent to whom he normally showed great respect. ‘It is not yours to decide, Father, it is up to each one of us who is of age to make that choice for ourselves.’

  In the firelight, all of Tancred’s sons could see the disappointment in his face, looking more lined in the flickering fire than it truly was. From oldest to youngest, they all knew the hopes he had entertained for his house, hopes that through his sons the name of de Hauteville would stand high in the annals of Normandy, hopes held over many years that had been dashed in the last week.

  He had said many times how they would rise in the service of their liege, had said the death of Duke Richard made no difference, his brother would inherit the title and the obligation to the sons of his sister, and that, given the way he had raised and trained them to be warriors, they could be so assured of advancement. Their half-siblings too would prosper in the same way, on the backs of their established brothers.

  He had put aside their doubts when his repeated requests to the court, written for him by his nephew of Montbray, received no reply. He had kept them training, and saw them use their skills in various local quarrels. His boys were not just good: they were, as fighters, exceptional, so much so that in the part of the Contentin in which they lived few dared to dispute with the family now so many were grown to a good age. A de Montfort would because he commanded enough lances; no one of the same rank as Tancred dared.

  On the journey home to the demesne, in which every avenue was discussed, what was a notion became a decision. Money constrained them, even with what they had just acquired; only two could make the journey, but they, if they were successful, could send for the others. William claimed the right to be first, which naturally meant Drogo asserted that he should be the other. Humphrey and fourth son Geoffrey would follow, while their cousin of the same name declined to even consider a move to Italy. His ambitions lay in the Church and Normandy.

  No one even mentioned Serlo or Robert, which had no effect on the first and genuinely annoyed his half-brother, who saw it as a slight for his not sharing the same mother.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Jew was not one to open his door to a stranger, but in a place like Salerno, bustling but not large, everyone knew the features of the old Duke’s heir, for they had seen him paraded alongside his father at every religious festival, Roman or Orthodox, held in the city since he was a babe in arms. He recognised the boy as soon as he threw back the cowl on his head. He was also a man from a race that had learnt to be cautious: he knew that any gentile could represent danger to an Israelite, and the boy standing close to the doorway lantern more than most.

  So, through a hatch in his heavily barred door, he bade the youth recover his head and walk off into the gathering gloom of the evening, bidding him come back in another two chimes of the cathedral bell, time in which he made sure his premises were not being observed by agents of Pandulf or his Norman hirelings and, by use of his contacts with the less salubrious orders of the city, that his cloaked visitor was not being followed.

  When Guaimar returned he had no need to use the knocker: the door was opened as he lifted his hand and he was swiftly drawn inside. From his doublet, Guaimar produced a wax tablet bearing an imprint of the archbishop’s seal, which the Jew, a tall man dressed in good woollen garments, took close to a wad of flickering tallow, then held the object in even closer proximity to his nose.

  ‘You recognise the seal?’

  ‘I do, honourable one.’

  ‘I am scarce honourable now, sir.’

  ‘You are your father’s son, that is honour enough.’

  There was something in the way the fellow said that which made Guaimar ask a question, his brow furrowed with doubt. ‘You knew my father?’

  ‘It is not an association he would have been keen to let all Salerno know about, but I was often of use to him.’

  ‘In what way?’

&
nbsp; The Jew chuckled. ‘Let us say that rich men, powerful men and others sometimes need to transact business that must be kept from prying eyes.’

  ‘What kind of business did my father have that required your services?’

  ‘Secrecy was our bond. I would not tell even you, honourable one.’

  ‘Then how can I know to believe you?’

  ‘You bear the seal of the most saintly Archbishop of Salerno, but I do not ask how you came by it. Nor will I tell anyone who enquires that you came here or what it is you wish for. That will be our bond, the same secrecy as I kept for your father so that his subjects were not troubled in their respect for him.’

  Those words implied something underhand, even perhaps double-dealing, transactions kept hidden from those who trusted him. Was the father he so revered not as upright as he thought?

  ‘I need money.’

  ‘Many people who come here have that need.’

  ‘You hold in trust certain items for the Archbishop.’

  ‘He fears the clutches of the Wolf.’

  ‘He asks that you advance me sums of coin, with them as surety.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘How much is there?’

  The Jew laughed, a low and growling affair that shook his shoulders, but attractive. ‘I have a bond with the archbishop too. You must tell me what it is you require and let me decide if what I hold will meet your needs. I see you hesitate.’ Guaimar nodded. ‘If you do not tell me I cannot help you.’

  ‘I do not wish to disclose too much.’

  ‘Do you plan a bribe?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A purchase?’

  ‘Perhaps that,’ Guaimar replied eagerly, too eagerly for a man as wise as the fellow he was talking to.

  ‘A journey then?’

  The way Guaimar looked then produced from the Jew a hearty guffaw. Then he came forward, took the youngster by the arm, and said, ‘You would grace my house if you would make use of my private chamber.’ The boy found himself led through a door into a sumptuously furnished room and invited to remove his cloak. ‘Pray be seated, honourable one.’

  ‘I do not know your name.’

  ‘Kasa Ephraim, ho…’

  ‘I am Guaimar,’ the boy said, quickly, cutting off the honorific. ‘To say more is excessive.’

  ‘This I know, and I do not seek to flatter you by addressing you so. I think it is no more than you deserve.’

  ‘I am without titles which go with the tribute.’

  ‘You have nobility in your blood, and I think very likely in your person. You will take some wine?’ Guaimar nodded and picking up a ruby-coloured glass jug, chased at the tip with silver, Ephraim began to pour a deep-red wine into a golden goblet. Having passed the goblet to Guaimar, he settled himself in another chair. ‘I am bound to ask after your sister. She is well?’

  ‘She is well, but given to anxiety.’

  ‘With the Wolf of Capua on the prowl, that is not a surprise.’

  ‘Do you have a bond with him?’

  ‘No, but he may have a bond elsewhere, and if he has it will probably be with one of my race.’ The Jew raised a flat hand, palm upwards. ‘Please, drink. And so, Guaimar of Salerno, of what service can I be to you?’

  ‘I have told you.’

  ‘Forgive that I dare to disagree. You have yet to tell me what journey it is you wish to make, and how you plan to make it.’

  ‘I have not said I am going on a journey.’

  ‘You are young, honourable one, and I think clever, but I am a man who deals with men of all kinds, some of them best off in the shadows. I have learnt much in my time, and…’ He indicated his surroundings. ‘…I humbly say that I have made a fine return on the occupation I follow.’

  Guaimar suspected he traded with the local merchants and smugglers, who worked hard to avoid the customs dues of the port. If he did, had his father known, and if he had, why did he not put a stop to it? It could only be to do with money, secret money, for that was clearly this man’s business.

  ‘Your father understood that for certain matters to be controlled they must in some way be allowed. Yet that did not mean that all revenues should be lost.’

  Or openly declared, Guaimar thought, before he spoke. ‘Can you read my mind?’

  ‘No, but I can see that I would have sent your thinking in certain directions. Now enough, tell me of your journey, so that I may help you, and be assured, honourable one, you do not just have to depend on the items left in my care. I would see it as a privilege to help the son of a man for whom I had so much respect.’

  ‘I want to go to Bamberg, with my sister, passing through Rome, my aim…’

  The Jew held up a hand. ‘I do not think you need tell me that. How will you travel?’

  Having lied to the archbishop about heading north, avoiding Naples, to cross the nearly dry summer riverbed of the Volturno between Capua and the sea, Guaimar had no idea why he told this Jew of his true intention.

  ‘We shall go due east through the mountains, seemingly heading first for Mount Gargano, ostensibly on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint Michael. Then, once clear of observation, we will head north. A monk who knew my father says he will guide us to monasteries in the Apennines where we may take shelter.’

  ‘Such a journey requires preparation, the use of horses and mules, as well as the purchase of supplies. You would be stopped from going, and even if you were allowed, Pandulf would attach to you an escort. He is no fool.’

  ‘I have been assured the monks of my father’s late order will gather what I need with discretion.’

  ‘Better you go secretly by boat to Ostia.’

  ‘With whom?’ Guaimar asked, and when he got in reply a shrug, he added, ‘Smugglers?’

  ‘They are people who are accustomed to evasion. That you need very much to do.’

  ‘But they are not to be trusted?’

  ‘Trust is a word much abused. Your father trusted the Normans, did he not, and they broke their word and his spirit. You suspect I deal with these people and you are correct, but with them too, I have a bond. These monks of which you speak, good Christians they may be, but even if you could get away from Salerno, undetected, one of their number could betray you, on what is a long journey, for what Pandulf would pay them as reward.’

  ‘Our identity would be kept secret once we were clear of the city.’

  ‘No!’ Ephraim insisted. ‘I think you must go by the route I suggest. You can be aboard a boat and out at sea before anyone has an inkling you are gone, and with a fair wind…’

  ‘There could still be a pursuit.’

  ‘How many boats leave this harbour before the sun is up, a hundred, two?’

  ‘Fishing boats.’

  ‘In the dark, no one will trouble to comment on a larger vessel, a not much larger vessel.’

  The look in Kasa Ephraim’s eye was one that told the young man not to enquire too closely; someone would be bribed to look away, and he had no need to know anything of that transaction.

  ‘Money?’ Guaimar asked.

  ‘That, honourable one,’ Ephraim said, rubbing his finger and thumb together, ‘we will come to. Now let us drink another goblet of wine to seal the bargain.’

  They were on that second goblet of wine when the Jew explained his thinking. ‘You need little money for the journey to Ostia and it is best not to have too much about your person in case someone is tempted to robbery.’ Seeing Guaimar raise an eyebrow, he added, ‘It is not a good idea to put too much temptation in the path of those who have little.’

  ‘Even if you have engaged them to a purpose.’

  ‘Even then! In Ostia there is a synagogue where you must wait. From there to Rome I will arrange. You can call upon the people I deal with to give you gold, for north of Rome, and surely in Bamberg, that is what you will need. There is in the Eternal City a family called Pierleoni, once of my faith but now converts and immensely rich. I will give you a coded letter to them, and they, who know
more than I do what will be required, shall ensure you are well supplied on my bond. I will also ask them to give you access to their agent at the imperial court, in case bribes are required there.’

  ‘And for this?’

  ‘Look around you, honourable one, and you will easily see I am a man of business. Through the Pierleoni, I advance to you what you need out of love for a city more at peace than it now is. But, should you succeed, and should the Emperor place you back in your rightful position, I would beg to be given as my reward the office of collector of the port.’

  ‘A handsome one,’ said Guaimar, feeling cheated, which was risible, given the task he still had to perform. Yet the collector of the port was the most lucrative office in the ducal gift.

  ‘Rest assured, honourable one, entrusted with that office we will have a bond. I will not cheat myself, but neither will I cheat my Lord.’

  ‘And the smuggling which goes on now?’

  ‘You have a sharp mind, as I suspected.’ Kasa Ephraim smiled. ‘We men are sinners, and when one sinner dies or is caught, another will take his place.’

  ‘So it will continue?’

  ‘Be assured it must continue, but also take my bond. It will not get worse and you too will find, should you come into your inheritance, that a flow of funds to do with what you wish can much enhance a man’s power with those he must command, but dare not trust.’

  The prospect of the departure of William and Drogo from Hauteville-le-Guichard was, like all family partings, full of false emotion: brothers not travelling joking how much easier life would be without their pesky siblings, no mention that, in a dangerous world where God moved in mysterious ways, to say goodbye to anyone going on a journey could very easily be a final farewell. William and Drogo were just as bogus in their display of extreme confidence; they too knew that to travel five hundred leagues, even on busy pilgrimage routes, to a place where they could only hope they would be welcome, was a daunting prospect.

  As if to underline the need to go, they were barely returned from service with Duke Robert, when their father’s second wife, the Lady Fressenda, was delivered of another boy child. Geoffrey de Montbray baptised him with the name Roger as soon as it was seen he would live, and, true to the family trait, he cried as lustily as all his seniors when his head was ducked in the church font. He too, God willing, would grow to impressive manhood.