by Jack Ludlow
Worse, they were inclined to treat their womenfolk as chattels to be used as and when they wished, and that was doubly the case when they went pillaging. Even if he knew little of what went on around Montecassino, it was an attitude William had observed and disliked since his arrival in Aversa: the way his confrères treated the locals, as if they were raiding the land instead of living in it. His notion that they should remember how their forbears had settled Normandy, and how they had come to live in harmony with those over whom they exercised lordship, when mentioned to others, seemed to have no impact and had fallen on deaf ears.
To be seen as worse than the Lombards was stupid, but it was brought on by the mercenary status of the Normans. When gathered, and especially when in their cups with too much wine, they would wax nostalgic about the land they left and the one to which they were determined to return, which flew in the face of experience. Some did travel back to Normandy, but most left their bones in Italian graves, and had the prayers paid for by their compatriots said by priests or monks who knew nothing of their antecedents, but were well aware of the way they had lived their lives, one in which their redeemer had much to forgive.
Retribution came at the monastery itself, where a captain called Rodolf had stopped at the monastery church to pray, in the company of some fifteen of his men. No Italian, indeed few Lombards, would seek to challenge a Norman when he was wearing his weapons, but there was one occasion when even these warriors were obliged to divest themselves of their swords, for it was sacrilegious to take those into a church; bloodthirsty they might be, but they were also deeply pious, many never letting a day go by without Mass being said so they stood in good stead with God, and this day was no exception.
The monastery servants had seen those gathered weapons and seized them, ringing the church bell as well, a signal that the monastery was in danger, to summon all within earshot to its defence. When Rodolf sought to lead his men out, curious as to the cause of this commotion, he found the church doors barred, that was until the peasants who had come to the aid of their church entered, using those same swords left behind to slay men who, for all their prowess, only had their knives with which to defend themselves. By the time the monks arrived to seek to mediate, all the Normans had been slain.
From that, the revolt spread, so that no Norman, by the very nature of their existence, living in small isolated bands, was safe; nor, given the number of people committed to this revolt, was Rainulf Drengot when he rode out with a larger number of his men. A hurried plea came to Melfi for support, a request that some of his lances be returned to help him regain control; that was an appeal William was ready to turn down, and for two good reasons: Rainulf had brought this upon himself and, quite apart from that, he had, in George Maniakes, an enemy much closer, who to his way of thinking was a more potent threat, especially given the tactics he had chosen to employ.
With few experienced men to do his bidding – he had brought no more than five hundred soldiers with him – George Maniakes resorted to terror in order to make his enemies fearful. Wisely, he began his campaign well to the south, as far as possible from Melfi and an army that could beat him if engaged. Instead of landing at Trani, staunchly loyal to Byzantium and reasonably close to his enemies, he made his landfall in the far south, below Brindisi.
Raising what conscripts he could, he bypassed that great port city, it being too strong, and force-marched his men on to Ostuni. Normally this hill town, perched on a rocky outcrop half a league from the Adriatic, was a place no serious general would have troubled to capture, and it was one that had shown no stomach for either intrigue or revolt in previous decades. That, against the likes of George Maniakes, was not enough to save it.
Poorly defended, with no garrison, a broken-down watchtower and cathedral atop the mount on which it stood, and with walls much-pilfered for house building, fortifications that had not been maintained for decades, it had no chance of resistance and the citizenry knew it. Envoys bearing gifts of food and wine were sent out as soon as the Byzantine force was spotted moving up the coast accompanied by a small fleet of supply ships.
Pitching his tents in the narrow strip of land between the outcrop and the sea, George Maniakes received those envoys and took their gifts just before he personally, with a sword big enough to match his great stature, took their lives by lopping off their heads in a quartet of single blows. Then he sent his men into Ostuni with instructions to show no quarter, and for once, that was an order strictly applied. Every man found was killed, the women of all ages raped before joining them in death, so that the narrow steep-stepped streets of the town ran with great effusions of blood.
Those children who had not fallen to blows from swords, knives and clubs were brought out onto the plain, the older ones set to digging a pit deep enough to hold their bodies, one they were thrown into as soon as it was completed, joined by the younger children down to toddlers, the earth they had toiled to remove thrown over them to suffocate them while they still breathed, their tears and wailing wasted on the ears of the tyrannical general who had ordered this massacre.
Houses and the cathedral were torched after being despoiled, everything of value going to Maniakes’s men, for they were wise enough to torture the people who might have something to hide before despatching them to meet their Maker, and for those who resisted, the mutilation of one of their children or the brutal deflowering of a pubescent daughter was usually enough to loosen parental tongues. Livestock was driven out to be slaughtered on the beach, those not roasted and eaten were salted and barrelled to provide supplies.
As always – and it was a mystery to those who had pillaged Ostuni – there were some who survived their efforts at total eradication. Forced to flee the inferno of their burning dwellings, and with fires too good to waste, many were roasted alive over the flames so recently used to cook food. Maniakes ordered that half a dozen be spared, young men who could travel with speed. These he ordered out of his camp, with food and water, to travel in all directions and tell the surrounding towns and villages what they could expect.
It is probable such places thought it a warning not to resist. It was not that: for most it was a notification of the coming storm. Town after town, and every hamlet in between, saw the same treatment, and as George Maniakes marched up the coast, sending raiding parties inland where there was something to pillage, assaulting towns with his whole force if they warranted the effort, he turned the province into a desert in his wake.
The roads of Apulia were lined with rotting bodies swinging from the trees, with the cadavers of women and children putrefying by the roadside. The message was not for those little towns and rural settlements, it was for the port cities that had the ability to defend themselves: do so, and this is what you will face – utter and complete destruction and death.
It took time for the news to reach Melfi, and that came with the first of the port cities to submit. Monopoli, originally, in antiquity, a Greek settlement and still mainly that in sentiment and religion, was too close to the mayhem in its hinterland, too aware of the fate it faced, to hold out, lacking the military mind and judgement that would have advised it do so, for in truth, even if it was not large, it was rich enough to keep its walls in good repair and George Maniakes did not yet have the forces or equipment to take a place of that size.
But the terror, allied to the Greek inheritance that went back to pre-Roman times, worked its devilish magic, and the bloodthirsty catapan was shrewd enough to offer to spare them chaos, thus underlining his message to those further up the coast. Yet every able-bodied man of the right age in Monopoli now found himself a soldier in the service of Byzantium, and the treasury of the port was plundered as a means to pay them.
For Arduin, when he heard what was happening, the problem was acute: previously, marching his men to fight had involved no extended distances. To stop this new threat required him to take his volunteer milities far from their homes, families, and more importantly for the majority, their fields. Yet t
o do nothing was to watch Apulia burn and Maniakes get stronger, for it was obvious that each port up the coast would follow Monopoli and submit as soon as they saw the Byzantine host outside their walls. Something was needed to inspire them to resist, and also encourage his army to fight far from its home. In the new titular leader, Arduin thought he had the answer.
‘William, this is Argyrus, son of the great Melus. Landulf of Benevento has finally relented and sent us the leader we require.’
William nodded and looked the young man up and down, noting that he seemed, just by the look in his eye and the way he held himself, to be a better prospect than that idiot, Atenulf. About the same age as the newly arrived Robert, he was not martial in his bearing, being slim of build, but William had to remind himself that it was an error to judge Lombards, Greeks or Italians by the same yardstick he applied to Normans.
‘I bid you welcome, Argyrus. I hope you are aware that it was you we looked to before the Prince of Benevento sent us his brother.’
‘Arduin spoke with me then, and I will not hide from you that I was made angry by the prince’s decision. Not that I could make that too obvious: I was, after all, a guest in Benevento.’
A strong voice and not lacking in wisdom, thought William, certainly clever enough to keep his head on his shoulders: for guest, read near-captive.
‘With Argyrus as our leader, William,’ Arduin crowed, enthusiastically, ‘the men who have volunteered will march anywhere, to the ends of the Earth if need be.’
That piece of hyperbole was taken for what it was, a way to flatter this new talismanic arrival.
‘You have heard of the depredations of George Maniakes?’ Argyrus nodded. ‘Arduin and I have thought on how to counter him; I wonder if you have any notions of your own.’
Unlike Atenulf, who would have been floored if required to answer to his own name, the young man replied with speed and precision, yet so quickly that William guessed he must have been primed by Arduin regarding what to say. That mattered not, it was only important that he grasped the essentials and agreed with them.
‘Maniakes is marching up the coast, gathering strength with every place he subdues but does not destroy, yet we have to hope that Brindisi and Bari will hold out as they have done so often in the past. Not even George Maniakes is going to devastate the two greatest sources of revenue in Apulia, even if he had the force to breach their walls, which I doubt he could yet muster. Our aim is a revolt which will rid South Italy of Byzantium for ever, is it not?’
William nodded: he and Arduin had discussed this often, and though they had their differences, they agreed on that.
‘Maniakes, while he has burnt and despoiled everything around it, has spared Monopoli, therefore it is probable to assume he will do the same to Molfetta and Giovinazzo and, if he could come far enough without a battle, to Barletta.’
Given another nod, Argyrus continued confidently. ‘But before he can get to Barletta there is Trani, and it is my view that in order to show that we, the Lombard revolt, can not only win battles but take cities, I suggest we invest that port and do to those loyal to Byzantium what Maniakes has done to others.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Arduin, ‘do you not agree, William?’
Tempted to sarcasm, William expressed himself with more care. ‘A wise course of action, but it will not be easy. Trani has stout walls.’
Argyrus stretched a tad, to show fortitude. ‘Then we must build siege engines capable of breaching them.’
‘At some point we will have to meet and defeat Maniakes.’
‘Of course.’
‘And given his penchant for destruction, the further south that happens the better.’
‘If we take Trani, it will so lift the spirits of our troops, who will have gold in their purse and the blood of Greeks on their weapons, taking them further will be easy.’
Robert de Hauteville, complaining loudly to his bored brothers about the inactivity of the Normans, did not see William enter the chamber behind him. If he had not been so obsessed with his argument, that they should be out harrying this Maniakes instead of leaving him to do his worst, he might have noticed the looks on the faces of those he was addressing: not any warning, but more interest than they had shown hitherto. Not even the one closest to him, Mauger, was going to miss the upshot and fun to be had from this.
‘He can’t supply all his needs from the sea. He must forage, and when he does we should be there to kill his parties. And he sends detachments to attack the smaller towns, not his whole force, people we could easily beat.’
‘You are welcome, brother, to ride out of here with your weapons and do what you wish.’
Robert spun round, then back again to scowl at his now grinning brothers. ‘It may not sound like sense to you, William, but it does to me, and not to take on an enemy when the chance presents itself smacks of caution.’
‘I cannot help but think our father should have administered to you a few more smacks as you grew up. It might have beaten some sense into your head.’
‘He would have needed a club,’ wheezed Humphrey, quite taken with his own joke.
‘We have mobility while Maniakes has none,’ Robert protested.
‘Leave us,’ William insisted, waving a peremptory arm at the others, a gesture that was not well taken: William was normally more careful of their pride. But they complied, knowing it was Robert at fault, given, in the short time he had been present, he had shown an ability to rile William that was unusual.
‘Sit down,’ William commanded. Set to protest, just for the sake of it, Robert finally shrugged and complied. ‘You are new here, so I will forgive your ignorance.’
‘I—’
Robert got no further, and William shouted at him to be silent.
‘Do not question my tactics any more than you would question an order in a battle. I presume Father has taught you to do that! There are things here you do not understand, and if you wish to, silence and listening would be a better method than prattling to your brothers and trying to undermine me.’
‘I do not seek to undermine you.’
‘Then what have I just heard you do?’
‘I am suggesting a course of action, a more honourable one—’
William cut across Robert again. ‘One you suppose me too stupid to see?’
Robert, for once, replied in a somewhat chastened tone. ‘I am sure you have considered it.’
‘And discounted it, for which I think you will grant I must have a reason.’
Not accustomed to conceding much to anyone, it was a reluctant reply that emerged. ‘Perhaps.’
‘We are about to march out of here…’
‘To where?’
William shouted again. ‘To where I command our conroys should go. You are a lance amongst others and sharing blood with me grants you no rights above another. We are going to fight, and when I have seen what you can do, I will decide if you are an asset or a liability. If it is the second of those, you may as well load up your packhorse and go back to Normandy for I will have no use for you here. Until then, do as you are ordered.’
Robert was seething, but his voice was not raised as he answered, it was icy. ‘I will make you eat those words, man to man if need be.’
‘You are here to try to kill our enemies, not your relations.’
‘My brother and I wish to accompany you,’ said Tirena. ‘It is not nice to be here when everyone else is gone.’
‘To do what?’ asked William.
‘Listo will be your squire and look after your weapons and horses.’
‘And you?’
The eyes, which had been looking at him eagerly, dropped then. ‘There are things I can do.’
‘You are still a child, Tirena.’
That got him one of those glares he remembered so well. ‘I am not. Ask the other women and they will tell you.’
William was tempted to laugh, but he knew that would not be taken as he intended. This girl was too serious to see that it
would be brought on as much by warmth as surprise at that which she was clearly suggesting. Slowly he nodded.
‘Very well, Tirena, but remember you must do as I command.’
Meant to deflect what she was obviously proposing, it had exactly the opposite effect, as she dashed forward and flung herself at him so furiously he had no choice but to catch her, and she showed remarkable tenacity in the way she hung onto his neck. Finally he got her free and gave her a look that matched any she had ever given him.
‘Behave, or stay in Melfi! Now, get your brother, and both of you see to my panniers.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Trani had defensive walls that were indeed formidable, running right to and beyond the seashore, high and crenellated, with stout gates. The location of the town that supported the twin wooden jetties of the port, laying on a flat plain, meant that to invest the place was practicable as long as the besieger was prepared to be patient and had vessels able to enforce a blockade and stop supplies of food and reinforcements. Arduin had no ships, but he had absolute confidence that no more troops would arrive to aid the defence: the only ones close by were otherwise engaged.
Maniakes had finally decided he had enough strength for a siege, and had chosen to subdue Bari: thus he was too occupied, though there was no news that he had been reinforced. So if Constantinople would not support him there, they would not do so to protect a less important Byzantine outpost. The defence of Trani would be left to the citizenry, and they could be overcome if the right tactics were employed, which meant avoiding the gates, with their overhanging brattices designed to drop boiling oil and heavy rocks upon anyone attacking. Instead he would seek to mount an assault by siege tower at a point along the curtain wall.
The land to the north was low-lying marsh, too full of bog to support anything weighty. It was yielding even now, in early spring, useless for large numbers of soldiers on foot and thus even more so for cavalry. While those marshes acted as a protection for that portion of the defence, they also presented a barrier to the occupiers. They would struggle to sally out to a poorly manned frontage with any hope of achieving sudden surprise – soft marsh would slow them as well, giving a chance to react: by the time they reached firm ground, the mounted Normans, able to swiftly deploy and now close to a thousand in number, would be waiting for them.
