by Jack Ludlow
It was the tale of every invader who ever lived, for those listening knew that a Christian army from east or west would behave no differently and the Saracens were worse: war bore down heavily on those who had no part in the fighting, but it seemed, in this invective, the Normans were seen as more troubling than others, nothing less than a plague. Eventually it ceased: it seemed either the girl ran out of hate and breath, or there were no more crimes to list.
The poor interlocutor, who expected to pay a heavy price for his explanations, now stood with his head bowed, afraid to look a single one of these Normans in the eye. William, throughout, had been recalling some of the thoughts he had mulled over earlier in the day. Personally not overly bloodthirsty, he knew the fellows he led to be guilty of much that had been said: had he not seen them do these very things on more than one occasion? Had he not in Sicily, to deny his Saracen enemy the means of sustenance, laid waste the land and let loose his men to cow the populace?
‘Hang her from the walls,’ Drogo said, ‘and her brother too.’
‘How do they live?’ William asked, for that had not yet been put to the girl.
Gently the old man enquired, to pass on that the pair came from a family of goatherds, though they had long since lost all but two of their herd.
‘The rest of the family?’
The furious shake of the girl’s head, and the way she dropped it when that was posed, required no translation: they were very likely orphans, so William looked directly at the old man. ‘These things that have been said, you share them, do you not?’
‘My Lord…’
‘I am not your lord, fellow,’ William snapped, taking hold of his sword hilt to drive home the risk the old man was taking: he had no desire to hear either platitudes or untruths. ‘But I will have an answer and it must be an honest one.’
The words that tumbled out were not wholly coherent either, being spoken by a worthy trying to avoid condemning himself to the fate Drogo had suggested for the two youngsters. Yet they were similar, albeit mixed, unlike the girl’s invective, with many an apologetic caveat. It met what William desired: it told him of the depth of distrust, if not loathing, he and his men faced locally.
He could hang them both: they, certainly she, had tried to kill or at the very least maim him, but would that meet his needs? There were two ways to treat the local population, to further increase their dread or to seek to win them over to his side. Would magnanimity do that? Still holding the boy by the scruff of his smock, William pushed him towards the old man.
‘The women in the kitchens, they are local, they will be able to speak with these children?’ That got a nodded response. ‘Then take them there, have them fed.’
‘Gill…’ Drogo protested.
William looked hard at his brother, whom he knew to be an avid despoiler of land and crops. Since their relationship was normally friendly, it was a ferocious glare, which stopped Drogo speaking further.
‘They are to be washed and found clothing as well as a place to rest. From now on these two are wards of mine. Let that be known throughout the region. We do not make war on children.’
‘When you get to the kitchens, old man,’ said Mauger, as nonplussed as the rest of his half-siblings, ‘keep that spitfire away from the knives.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Normans were not only the best soldiers in this part of the world, they were the most mobile, able to react quickly to any emergency: their weapons were kept sharp, their harness always attended to and each lance had a mount fit to get him to where he needed to be and another trained for battle. Thus they were mounted and ready to ride out within hours, word having come from Arduin that a show of force was required outside Venosa, the nearest large fortified town between Melfi and Bari. Leaving a garrison large enough to overawe the locals, William rode out at the head of his men, on a journey of no more than seven leagues, his hope high that the message from Arduin was correct: Venosa would not open its gates unless it could prove to the catapan, should he too turn up outside their walls at a later date, that they had little choice.
If the people of Apulia had seen Normans before, raiding parties which had come from Campania just to loot and rob, they had never seen them in such numbers, over two hundred and fifty warriors fully armed and ready for battle, the sun glistening on their mail and helmets, as well as the tips of their lances, on each of which fluttered a coloured pennant.
For once, sure no enemy had yet gathered to oppose them, they could ride en masse, without the need to send ahead scouts or to put out strong parties to cover their flanks, which pleased William: he wanted those toiling in the fields to observe their power, in the hope that the more adventurous amongst them, the younger sons who would rail against the life they were obliged to live, would see opportunity and flock to join them as foot soldiers.
Fording the higher reaches of the River Ofanto, the force was soon in a country of rolling fertile hills, the landscape studded with pale stone dwellings, the odd one the size of a proper manor house, most single-storey, stone, round and thatched-roof bothies where humans and animals would shelter together at night. Some of the larger properties were enclosed by a defensible curtain wall, high enough to withstand marauding bands provided they were not too numerous; they usually had also, enclosed behind those walls, barns, cattle pens and pig sties, while outside there lay extensive paddocks, everything irrigated by plentiful streams. No horses were in those paddocks now: at the sight of this host, or hearing the rumour that somehow flew ahead of them, they had been taken into safety.
The open fields, many with standing corn, others meadowland lying fallow, would provide stacks of hay in abundance, which was reassuring: this was a well-watered and valuable country in which the Norman cavalry could operate with some freedom; there would be no shortage of sustenance for man nor beast. It was also, given its obvious wealth and fecundity, a rich source of tax revenue, a land Byzantium would fight hard to hold on to.
Arduin, with his escorts and some Lombards he had already recruited, met them within long sight of the town walls, and he and William rode ahead while the remainder of the force rested the mounts they had used to get here, with the added task of making it seem as if they were also preparing for battle. Approaching those walls, a far from formidable edifice, it was obvious they were in a state of disrepair, so poorly maintained as to make withstanding a siege near impossible.
There was no moat and in several places there were gaps where the masonry had fallen, while all along the walls ramshackle dwellings had been built, now deserted, which also rendered the place insecure. The only thing which looked solid was the great pair of studded wooden gates, firmly shut against these interlopers.
‘The populace?’
‘Mainly Italians, with a few Lombards, but not sufficient to make them see sense. They surrendered quickly in the recent troubles. I don’t think the catapan even bothered to bring an army to menace the place. He just sent them an envoy with a threat, the same as we must do.’
‘Then we must encourage the citizenry to repair those walls.’
Arduin looked doubtful. ‘They see safety in not doing so. Stout walls would tempt them to defence, to stand out against a proper siege. The catapan, whoever he happens to be, has openly discouraged such activity, knowing it left them dependent on his forces. Such a thing tends to keep people loyal.’
‘There are others the same?’
‘Many, William, outside the ports, of course.’
‘Lavello is in the same state?’
Arduin nodded, causing William to mull over two things: first the aims and ambitions of this Lombard, which would be for a quick campaign to cement his leadership and ensure his place in any future settlement. There was wisdom in that from his point of view: Doukeianos was certainly weak and it might be possible to expel the catapan quickly while that situation pertained, certainly before this Atenulf appeared on the scene. There was also great risk: in his eagerness Arduin might overreach himself, and
that took no account of past errors or Byzantine resilience.
As yet, Arduin did not have an army, he had Normans, and while that might suffice here outside Venosa, and would certainly be a factor in any open battle, there was no guarantee the case would be the same in the numerous other fortified towns they must secure if they were to conquer the whole province. Certainly a rapid campaign against a vulnerable opponent might secure them the hinterland, the fertile plains, but would it persuade the citizenry of the Adriatic ports to acquiesce?
That William doubted, despite assurances they could not wait to throw off the Byzantine yoke. It only took one great port to refuse, even if all the others joined the revolt, and that would require it to be invested from both land and sea; success would not be quick, which would give the Eastern Empire ample time to send reinforcements – and with a province of such value at stake, never mind their pride, they would most certainly do so. It would provide, as well, a safe enclave in which they could land.
The Lombards had been in advantageous situations before and had always squandered them, either through their squabbles or outright betrayal by one of their number. The way Guaimar of Salerno had refused to openly support them meant divisions were highly likely to occur in the future. That William de Hauteville did not trust the Lombards was a given: he also felt certain that to subdue and conquer this land so completely that Byzantium would give it up was not something which could be achieved in one swift crusade.
Then there was his overarching aim, which he must keep hidden from Arduin, which was to gain in Apulia land for himself and his family. He needed to prepare for a long, hard campaign, in which those whom he now fought alongside might one day become his enemies, opponents who could come at him from east and west. For that he required to secure an area he and his Normans could control against anyone – not just Melfi and a triangle of mutually supporting fortresses met that need.
Melfi held the passage from the west: from the maps he had studied, good maps originally made over a thousand years before by Roman surveyors, it was obvious that any force seeking to come upon and recapture the great fortress from the east had two obvious routes of approach, the first setting out from the coast at Barletta and hugging the River Ofanto. A wise commander would then base himself on Lavello: the town stood midway between two forks of the river on an open, fertile plain. The other route came here to Venosa, from Bari in the south-east. Whichever was chosen, nothing would serve them better than a fortified base close to Melfi. Even one in a bad state of repair was secure when possessed by an army; these places must be denied them.
‘Both towns must be made secure, even if the citizens dislike it. When Michael Doukeianos thinks to come, as come he must, let it be known to him that he will have these places to besiege long before he gets to Melfi, for he dare not bypass them and leave a garrison of Normans to harry his rear.’
‘A garrison! That dissipates our strength.’
William nearly shook his head emphatically, but resisted: Arduin had to be persuaded, not pressured in agreement. ‘First we garrison them to force the townsfolk to repair their walls, for we have time before the catapan can mount any assault.’
‘A quarter, no more.’
‘Once those walls are repaired it will require very few men to secure both towns against their own people. They can be fully equipped to withstand a siege if we are forced to withdraw, which will set even a powerful attacker a real problem.’
Arduin could not help but look glum: whatever he wanted to do, he could achieve nothing without William Iron Arm and the men he led. The Norman was wondering if he was having cause to regret his insistence of his presence. Time for a touch of flattery, something to which he knew this man was susceptible.
‘And in that quarter you can achieve what no other man can, Arduin. You can raise an army, I cannot, and I promise you, once you have that we will march against the catapan, and under your leadership, with you as our general, we will cast him into the sea.’
‘You can repair these walls in time?’
‘Three months, Arduin? We Normans can build as well as fight, and we can make others labour. Take the surrender of Venosa, and then set out for Lavello. Once both are in your hands, you can send out word to raise men and arms to every town in northern Apulia, and when they come to your banner and observe how we, the Normans, accept you as our leader, they will also see that they have nothing to fear.’
The notion of taking the town, albeit the act was more appearance than conquest, cheered Arduin somewhat, though deep down he had to be aware that there was no alternative. Once joined by the de Hauteville brothers, who made an imposing sight, he spurred his horse, as did William, who made sure he and his brothers stayed to his rear, made sure that those watching from the walls would see clearly who led and who followed, when Arduin called upon them to open the gates.
In this the Lombard was in his element: not for him the mere bare bones of a demand, he was gifted a chance to make another speech, one he took heartily. William had never heard the terms of surrender put in so bloodthirsty a fashion. Not for Arduin a simple threat that to refuse would see the inhabitants given no quarter as demanded by the laws of war. He was a general and he was determined they should know it, and know in detail how their houses would be torched, their possessions plundered, their women used as bitches as they watched each man castrated and suffocated on his own genitals.
‘If he goes on much longer,’ Drogo whispered, ‘those walls will come down completely. Jericho would not have needed trumpets if Arduin had commanded instead of Joshua.’
‘Give him his moment, brother,’ William replied, as the gates opened and a penitent group of the leading citizens emerged, carrying the seals of the town. ‘This is his first act as a general.’
It was a flushed Arduin who turned to his Normans and said, in a voice full of arrogance, ‘William de Hauteville, I desire to take possession of Venosa in my name.’
Given the message coming out of Salerno had been sent to Bari in a Byzantine vessel, the captain of the ship had little difficulty in getting to see the catapan personally and immediately; the communication he carried was an alarming one, doubly so for Michael Doukeianos, who now knew, if what he was being told was true, that in appointing Arduin of Fassano to hold Melfi, he had made a terrible error. Looking around the faces of those assembled to counsel him, the leading Greek officials of the Catapanate, he wondered which one would be the most eager to pass on the tale of his foolishness in trusting a Lombard to his imperial master. Whoever it was, it would not be well received in Constantinople.
‘This information, Excellency, came to me from a reliable source, the servant of a man who has the private ear of the prince.’
‘But not from the Prince of Salerno himself?’
‘No, and he would feel the need to be cautious, nor would he want it known outside his own very close circle that he is not truly master in his own domains.’
‘Who is this man?’
‘The clerk to a very important official.’
‘That, fellow, is the name I want.’
‘I gave my solemn oath to keep that secret.’
‘Well,’ Doukeianos said, in a quiet way that was even more threatening than any shout, ‘it will cost you your lifeblood if you do not answer me.’
The hesitation from the ship’s captain, the look at the ground at his feet as well as the despair in his countenance when he raised his head again, was all display: he knew he had to answer with the truth, for he knew that this catapan was not jesting, and, in truth, why should he risk anything for the protection of a Jew?
‘The man’s name is Kasa Ephraim and he is the collector of the port.’
‘A Jew is collector of the port of Salerno?’ When that got a nod, Doukeianos added, ‘Then this prince is a strange ruler indeed.’
‘I was told that the Prince Guaimar would not hold his title without that the Jew had aided him, and that is why he is so trusted, and not just with the port reve
nues.’
‘Explain!’
That demand brought forth the story of how Ephraim had aided Guaimar and his sister to escape the clutches of Pandulf, which in turn had led to that man’s downfall and the young man coming into his rightful title.
‘His clerk was adamant that without the Jew he would now languish in Pandulf’s dungeon and that man would still hold Capua. So he counsels the prince in private, and has his ear in all things. According to the collector’s servant the prince is locked in an embrace with the Count of Aversa from which he finds it hard to free himself, since Drengot still has a large force in Campania. He has demanded that the count withdraw his men from the Catapanate, but he lacks the power to insist that he do so.’
‘Rainulf Drengot is in his pay, is he not? The Prince of Salerno is also his lawful suzerain.’
‘It seems the Normans do as they wish, Excellency,’ the captain replied, a remark which set up much nodding and murmuring from the others present. ‘But there is more. The Jew has advised his master to seek intercession from the Western Emperor, to threaten to strip Drengot of his title if he does not obey his prince.’
For the first time Michael Doukeianos showed a trace of temper, his voice rising. ‘Guaimar does not see fit to send word to me.’
‘He fears to betray a fellow Lombard.’
‘Arduin?’
There was a deep satisfaction in the messenger’s response then; he had thought long and hard how to present this story to the catapan, for if the man was feeling generous the reward could be substantial, and paid in gold, of which he would have an abundance. He had decided very early on, hardly out of sight of the bay of Salerno really, to keep the best till last.
‘Not Arduin, Excellency, but the Prince of Benevento.’ That finally brought Michael Doukeianos out of his seat, his face so suffused with fury that the captain recoiled, his voice rising in panic. ‘The Normans have allied themselves to Benevento, and asked that he lead them in Apulia, since Prince Guaimar refused, even to the point of denying them any supplies on the way to Melfi. It did him no service. I am told they stole them anyway.’
