by Jack Ludlow
‘I would expect nothing else,’ Guaimar replied.
Arduin spoke again, his look deadly serious. ‘This is not skirmishing in Campania, which is all this Turmod of yours has ever done. We are talking about fighting the might of the Eastern Empire—’
Rainulf’s interruption was bellicose. ‘I know that!’
‘Just as you know from fighting them yourself they are difficult to overcome.’
The pair glared at each other. The subject raised was the defeat at Cannae, the very same field upon which Hannibal had massacred the Romans in 216BC. The Lombards and Normans, led by Melus, had not suffered so final a fate in the rout, but the battle had been bloody, the mercenary cavalry left with barely enough horses to flee the field, leaving behind the Apulian milities as they did so to die under a Byzantine sword or a Varangian axe. After every battle lost, there were recriminations: the Normans maintained it was the Lombards who had broken; they, the too confident Normans who had failed.
‘If we are not to repeat what happened previously,’ Arduin insisted, driving home his point with a jabbing finger, ‘then I want a cavalry leader who has experience of real battle, not something barely a step up from that which we witnessed today.’
‘He has the gift of previous success,’ Guaimar added, driving home Arduin’s point; not even Rainulf could match William de Hauteville in that regard. There was also the delicious pleasure of reminding the Count of Aversa that in a proper battle, as opposed to skirmish, he had known only loss. ‘I fear, as your suzerain, Rainulf, I would be bound to insist you grant Arduin that which he wishes.’
There was a moment then, pregnant with threat. Rainulf was an imperial count mainly through Guaimar’s good offices: it was the disenfranchised young heir to Salerno who had first suggested to Conrad Augustus that, instead of seeking revenge against the man who had betrayed his father, only such an elevation would detach him from support for the rapacious Pandulf. Rainulf had turned to Guaimar, who had stood by as he accepted his gonfalon from the imperial hand, to then acknowledge the new young prince as his immediate overlord.
Yet there had not been, since that time, a point on which they could disagree on any vital matter and there was no certainty this Norman, who had made so much trouble in the past, would acknowledge Guaimar’s right to make such a decision. The test had to come at some time: who was the lord and who was the vassal? Odd that it should be over William de Hauteville, the very person who ensured the Count of Aversa felt insecure, and also the very person who had brokered the actual pact with the Holy Roman Emperor to get rid of Pandulf.
‘Perhaps I should lead my men myself.’
‘I need you to stay close with a number of your lances to protect my fiefs and impose my will.’
The pause was long, the looks unblinking, until Rainulf, who had drunk sparingly throughout the feast, picked up a full goblet of wine and drained it in one, pushing it out towards a flagon-bearing child to demand a refill. He did not speak, but then he did not have to.
William was eating at the same high table, close enough to Rainulf and his main guests to observe the depth of their conversation, but he was not near enough to actually hear what was being said, that made doubly impossible by the hubbub of talking and shouting which surrounded him – there was dancing too around a great bonfire – though he had no doubt it involved the proposed invasion of Apulia. It was galling that these matters were being discussed without him; he was in no doubt that he was the one who would have to carry out the task.
So in his mind he ranged over the problems he would face, firstly those of a military nature. Arduin clearly desired to have overall military control, and that was as it should be; if the assault on Apulia was to be based on the notion of Lombard independence, then it required one of that race to be in command. If Michael Doukeianos had trouble holding the many fortified towns, any Norman-led force would have just as much trouble subduing them, and besides, that was not the object: they needed to be won over to the cause, not besieged and forced into surrender.
He would have at his disposal a formidable body of Norman cavalry, but that would not be sufficient: he would need more to face the power of Constantinople, an empire with millions of subjects and, William knew from Sicily, a bottomless treasury. So word must go out from him to other Norman bands in South Italy, enticing them with the possibility of rich rewards. Then there was the man he would face!
Byzantium had different types of commanders, and they ranged from the very good to the utterly useless, the quality and the person depending entirely on intrigue at court. The armies they fielded away from their constantly threatened eastern possessions tended to be bought-and-paid-for fighters, or unwilling milities raised locally. The latter could be a weakness, sometimes more trouble than they were worth, but no army could fight without foot soldiers of some kind, and Arduin would have to raise those. It was necessary they should come to the banner willingly, for the catapan would be obliged to conscript his.
Would Arduin have a force of crossbowmen? If not, they must be recruited, for they were an essential tool against any army in a strong defensive position, and William reckoned, if Byzantium was presently weak in the Catapanate, then a wise general would force the people he saw as rebels to attack him rather than seek open battle with an enemy strong in cavalry. Finally, nothing could be complete without the reduction of the Adriatic ports, that is, if they failed to support the revolt or were held by the catapan; that might mean siege equipment and artisans to construct them on site, weapons of which the Normans knew nothing. He was still ruminating on such problems when he looked up to see Arduin standing behind his shoulder.
‘Rainulf has agreed that you should lead his men into Apulia.’
‘Was it ever in any doubt?’ William enquired, looking towards Rainulf, who avoided his eye. Turning back to Arduin, he could see, as much as the Lombard tried to hide it, that had indeed been the case.
‘I hope you are willing to serve under me?’
‘I am,’ William replied, seeking to control the anger in his voice, lest Arduin think it directed at him. ‘As are my brothers.’
‘All of them?’ When William nodded, Arduin laid a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘Good! I have asked Prince Guaimar to meet with us tomorrow, to discuss the campaign.’
‘I look forward to it.’
That was when the fighting started, round that bonfire; the combination of food, drink and women had worked its usual magic on the many present rivalries to produce a brawl. Normans who had been to Sicily would take a swing at those who had not, added to Italian peasants who resented the mercenaries long before they sought to interfere with their womenfolk. Drogo would be in there somewhere; he always was when there was trouble. There was a time when William would have gone in to seek to cool things down and to ensure Drogo, and for that matter his other siblings, did not suffer from trying to take on too many opponents.
He was not inclined to on this night, which made him wonder if perhaps he was getting old. Turning away from that to glare at Rainulf he saw Berengara leaning forward, watching the fracas with deep concentration. She looked stunning, but it was her evident pleasure, and the flush of blood in her cheeks, picked up by the torches, that was most evident. Was it caused merely by the fighting, or the thought that some Normans might be getting what, in her mind, they deserved?
* * *
There was a certain amount of amusement to be gained from observing the way Prince Guaimar sought to exercise control over the direction of what was proposed while at the same time he made it perfectly plain that Salerno and Capua were detached in terms of interest in the outcome, clearly trying to have the best of both worlds. Watching the other faces was also instructive: Arduin disappointed but resigned that he would not have Guaimar’s complete support – Salerno would provide no foot soldiers, in fact nothing but sustenance on the route, and that would be paid for; Rainulf, obviously suffering from a night of excessive imbibing, looked morose, when not openly furious.
The conference was taking place in Rainulf’s stone donjon, a square defensive edifice that had stood in this place for centuries, possibly since Roman times. The tower lay at the heart of his impressive operations – no less than what amounted to a standing army – and was surrounded by the huts which accommodated his men, as well as their concubines and bastards, a huge barn in which feasts could be held, a manège for training in the use of all kinds of arms, and a square league of paddocks which contained the horses without which his lances were useless. Added to that was a stud which bred even more mounts of the various types Norman cavalry required for movement and combat.
Faintly, through the doorway that led to a long sloping ramp – one that would be pulled up and in when danger threatened – came the sounds of the morning’s exercise. The men might have been drinking heavily the night before, not to mention fighting each other with their fists, but that did not obviate the need for daily practice. It was this constant training, as much as the quality of the men he commanded, which had made Rainulf Drengot so formidable a presence in Campania.
The day William and Drogo arrived – and the same had happened to their brothers – they had been obliged to enter that training manège and prove their ability with sword, lance and fighting mount. Rainulf had a very simple attitude: they were in a foreign land and paid to fight and he wanted no one in his band who was not accomplished at that.
When there was no actual combat they trained hard for their task, so that when they did ride out for whatever purpose they were warriors at their peak, men whom no one locally could hope to stand against. Thus their reputation, which included their inclination to cruelty, went before them, often defeating opposition without the need for them to draw their swords.
Arduin had the floor; he had been given enough gold by Michael Doukeianos to pay for fifty knights to garrison Melfi for a twelvemonth, and that was enough to purchase supplies for three hundred lances to get to the fortress and take it over. If he had hoped that Guaimar would dip into his princely revenues to fund anything, that too was a disappointment, but he was no doubt sustained by the rewards he would acquire for success. What those would be were a matter of some interest to William, but that was what they would have to remain: there was no way he could ask, and even if he got an answer, no way of knowing if he was being told the truth.
‘Initially,’ Arduin insisted, ‘we can live off the land, for it is fertile. For the future, the revenues that Byzantium now enjoys will come to us, and that can be used to reward success.’
‘Is there any possibility the inhabitants of Melfi will close the gates against us?’ asked William. ‘They have no reason to love Normans.’
‘They do not hold the castle.’
‘Right at this moment no one holds the castle. You have no garrison, which means the townsfolk have nothing to stop them taking it over.’
‘I am the topoterites appointed by the catapan. They will not, and cannot, deny entry to me, and if I choose to lead you in…’
The fact that Arduin did not finish that sentence was proof enough to William that he had raised a real possibility, and one that would fatally compromise the whole endeavour. Melfi had to be their base as well as their refuge, and having avoided it more than once as he and Rainulf’s men raided into Apulia he knew how strong it was. Even with untrained townsfolk it could be held for an age if they had enough food, certainly long enough to alert Byzantium to what was happening.
‘Might I suggest that you only approach the town with the fifty lances; in short, the garrison the people can be persuaded to accept. Once they are inside the fortress, the Melfians can object as much as they like to another two hundred and fifty more joining them, it will be of little use.’
‘That smacks of you being fearful,’ Rainulf growled.
‘I am that,’ William replied. ‘I have found it helps to be so in a campaign. Michael Doukeianos will hear soon enough of our arrival and the purpose for which we are there. He will have no choice but to bring everything he can muster to evict us. Arduin needs time to gather local levies so that we can meet him with an army, and we have to find crossbowmen from somewhere since we will not have time to train them.’
‘Let him besiege you,’ Rainulf suggested. ‘Let him waste his strength before your walls.’
William looked at Arduin, who nodded, bidding him continue. ‘What message will that send out to Apulia, Rainulf? That we are afraid to meet him in the field? The best way to rally support across the province and beyond is to give Doukeianos battle, at a time and place of our choosing, and beat him.’
‘We must,’ Arduin added, ‘attack and take some of the nearby towns to encourage him. The quicker he seeks to defeat us the better because of his lack of strength.’
Rainulf was shaking his head, possibly from the memory of the previous defeat, but more likely because he was inclined to disagree with whatever was proposed on principle. There was no doubt he saw what was happening as a diminution of his standing: orders and actions were being proposed for his men and he was not the one deciding on the tactics to be employed. William could see that Guaimar was paying him close attention, watching his every reaction, knowing that each rebuff was a test of his authority.
‘The time will come, Rainulf,’ he said, in an encouraging tone, ‘when Arduin and William have laid the ground for our open support. Every one of us will gain eventually.’
That was so blatant a piece of hypocrisy that William had to fight not to react, and he was not helped by the look on Arduin’s face, which could only be described as contemptuous, hardly surprising given the cynicism of what Guaimar had just said. Clearly the prince realised he had made an error, had spoken too truthfully about what he hoped for the future, for he added quickly and earnestly.
‘Byzantium evicted from our borders can only do us good.’
‘So you still wish me to approach the Prince of Benevento about Argyrus becoming titular leader of the revolt?’
The positive reply was a stammer: Arduin had brought out into the open something meant to be kept close. It was pleasing to see Guaimar discomfited; since his return from Sicily William had not, until this day, seen the younger man put a foot wrong in the way he had played him and Rainulf off against each other, and he was obviously, given the mention of Benevento, planning to play the same game with his Lombard neighbour.
Benevento was a papal fief, answerable to Rome, not an imperial one whose suzerain was the Western Emperor in Germany, thus Guaimar could justifiably insist to Constantinople that they were acting alone: he had no involvement in any Apulian uprising and the ultimate responsibility lay with the Holy See.
If Byzantium managed that which it had done in the past, and massively reinforced the Catapanate, and either defeated Arduin or forced him to withdraw, then no blame – even if there were good grounds to suspect it – could be attached to the Prince of Salerno, and while whoever was sent from the east to chastise Apulia took out their ire on Benevento, he would have ample time to negotiate for a settlement of any perceived grievances with the victorious catapan. The Normans could be explained away as they always were, as greedy mercenaries not under his direct control.
Should the revolt succeed, Guaimar would, no doubt, claim to have been the magnate to instigate it, and he would thus be able to put himself forward as a future ruler of that dreamt-for Lombard Kingdom. Any other nobleman prepared to contest that claim would know that, through Rainulf, he controlled the Norman host, a force impossible to stand against, and that would apply to the Adriatic trading ports as well. The Prince of Salerno might get himself raised to the purple, and Rainulf Drengot would be rewarded with more land and titles to ensure his support.
As a piece of chicanery it was a perfect example of the politics William had come to expect in Southern Italy, one of the reasons no Lombard overlord had ever succeeded in leading a successful rebellion; they were too busy manoeuvring to see the wood for the trees. The second reason was one they were even less ab
le to discern: the way they bore down on their subjects, with arbitrary methods of rule, especially in the area of taxation and law.
No Italian ever won a legal case against a Lombard in courts where those sitting in judgement were either of that race or Lombard appointees; no citizen of any of their lands could be sure that, having paid what taxes their overlord demanded, there would not be a sudden claim for more, with outright seizure a permanent possibility. Even Guaimar would be tainted with that tribal habit, not yet perhaps, but sometime in the future when he felt his coffers to be too low.
So, when they conscripted Italians to fight in their campaigns, often Lombard versus Lombard, they had under their command reluctant men forced to war for something which would provide them little gain, if any at all, excepting death. No wonder they had never managed to form that kingdom these lords of fertile lands all dreamt of; no wonder they needed Normans to fight their wars.
Rainulf was quick to see the ramifications of what had just been said: Guaimar would involve him when he took a hand himself. There would be ample rewards with no prospect of loss and he would, by right, reassume command of his own men and put William de Hauteville back in his place. For the first time that morning he smiled.
To move a force of three hundred cavalry, more than forty leagues, over different types of terrain, was a huge undertaking. Each lance required three horses: a destrier and a packhorse carrying his personal possessions, both led, plus the mount he rode, and that took no account of the spare animals needed for a force expecting to fight, which, given the delicate nature of the beasts, always led to more equine casualties than human. Naturally there were also losses through normal activity: age, sickness and laming.
To a Norman knight these mounts were paramount possessions, the means by which he got to the point of combat; usually – though they often fought on foot – the instrument, along with raw courage, his sword and lance, of victory, as well as, should things go badly, his means of flight. Every one of the men under William’s command had been raised, as had the de Hauteville brothers, in close proximity to horses; they knew their sires and mares, had often attended the foaling of the mounts they rode, had trained them from yearlings, treating them with a combination of strict discipline, affection and careful attention to their well-being.
