by Jack Ludlow
The whole camp was awake now, all gathered around this unwanted bonfire, looking up with a mixture of anger and wonder as the labours of weeks was consumed.
‘Stand back,’ he yelled, ‘all of you.’
That was a command slow to be obeyed, even if it was much repeated, but the crowd had retired before the weight of the structure, acting on the destroyed lower parts, began to buckle and slowly fall. There was a strange grace to that, so slowly did it happen, that shattered by the crash of contact as parts broke off sending sparks flying in all directions. By the time it was down, Arduin was standing next to William.
‘It was set alight after being drenched,’ he said,’ I can smell the pitch.’
William was looking at the faces all around, lit by the orange glow, including his brothers. ‘Who was guarding it?’
‘A party of my men were set to watch it,’ Arduin replied, shaking his head. ‘Ten in number. Those not speared I saw with their throats slashed.’
‘Where’s Argyrus?’
Arduin looked around, as had William, scanning the faces, easily able to identify those he knew. ‘I pray to God it is not he.’
‘Then why can we not see him, or any of his escort?’
‘Perhaps he still sleeps.’
That got the Lombard a look, one he had to acknowledge despite how bitter it made him feel: no one could sleep through the noise of a whole camp rudely brought awake and the light from such a blaze.
William and Arduin saw Argyrus at first light. They were standing by the still-smouldering embers of the tower with the acrid taste of smoke in their throats. He was looking over the walls of Trani, while all around him the jeers of the defenders rose and fell in mockery. There was no need to wonder at what had caused his betrayal: it would be Byzantine gold, as it had been in the case of Atenulf selling his prisoner. Angry as he was, William could at least see what had prompted the young man’s treachery.
Since his father’s death he had been a prisoner of Byzantium, and who knew what his feelings were truly like towards them? Released, he had become the pawn of others more powerful than he, sustained by the hope that things would at sometime turn to his advantage. He had been used by Landulf of Benevento and surely he had been told of the council called by Guaimar, where he had been extolled by his fellow Lombards as a potential leader with obvious insincerity: whatever they saw him as, it was not as a future ruler. If Argyrus had any sense, he must have seen, too, in the Prince of Salerno’s manoeuvring, a future source of disappointment, so he had decided no doubt to take what was on offer now, in place of the uncertain rewards of the future.
Arduin was near to tears: for him this was no mere setback, it was like a physical blow. Who now would lead the revolt and provide a banner around which the ordinary Lombards, those who sought only freedom, could rally? He had been looking into their faces since the first grey light tinged the morning sky, and had seen in their expressions, as the word spread of this treachery, coming hard on the heels of what Count Atenulf had done, how badly it had affected them. The question was unavoidable: would they still fight?
‘Do we rebuild?’ William asked. He, at least, had no doubt what his men would do: they were professionals when it came to fighting. ‘It is for you to decide.’
‘I need to gauge the spirit of those who have volunteered.’
‘Their spirits will be lifted by your determination, Arduin.’
‘I will gather, then, after they have prayed and eaten, but I have to tell you, William, at this moment I cannot think what words I will use to inspire them.’
As the day wore on, with a listless besieging host clearing up the charred mess of that burnt tower, Arduin kept putting off that which he knew he needed to do. For all he had a silver tongue, he felt it would need to be diamond encrusted to overcome the disillusionment which was apparent in every face with whom he exchanged a glance. Equally troubling, and a problem that had him sulking like Achilles in his tent, was what to do next if the siege was not to be pressed, for if these men he led, Normans not included, would have been reluctant to go so far south as to fight George Maniakes before, they would be even more so now.
He looked up angrily as the tent flap was hauled back, prepared to snap that he wanted to be left in peace. But they were not words he could use to William de Hauteville.
‘You had best come, Arduin. Trani has opened a gate and is sending out envoys carrying olive branches.’
He saw them as soon as he emerged and moved to the edge of the camp, with William on his heels, the olive branches of peace being waved above their heads, and when they spoke, to tell him why they were now ready to hand over their port city, he had to stop himself from laughing out loud. George Maniakes had rebelled against Constantinople, lifted the siege of Bari, had his troops declare him emperor, and had set off in a fleet of ships for the lands of Romania, intent on toppling Constantine.
‘Argyrus?’ he demanded.
He had fled by sea, and once they had entered the city, and were on the jetty that made up half the harbour of Trani, they could still see the sails of his ship beating up into an unfavourable wind as he sought to escape their vengeance.
Over the following week, Arduin began to sense that the betrayal of Argyrus was impacting on him, and that was compounded by what had occurred with the idiotic Count Atenulf: it was in looks and conversations hurriedly abandoned whenever he appeared, and it was from his fellow Lombards that he felt the most distaste – the ordinary Norman lances, as they always had, paid him little attention. He had had his men in the palm of his hand until that siege tower was destroyed, able to rouse them to great deeds with his rhetoric. They had been fired to take Trani and spill their blood in doing so.
Yet now, only days later, if he issued a command, he had to wait for it to be obeyed, and when the men he led were collected in numbers such an order led to a ripple of unpleasant muttering, not silenced by their captains, a sure indication of a serious loss of authority, and he knew in his heart that what he was witnessing was impossible to repair.
There was little point in seeing it as unfair: yes, it was he who had started the revolt, but it was also he who had sought that titular leader around whom the Lombards could unite, never doubting in his own mind that it could not be himself. Both had betrayed the cause he espoused, and it took no great imagination to discern that he was being held responsible, being examined, in covert looks, in a way that saw him in the same light, even now that victory was at hand.
Alone in the villa he had taken, overlooking the harbour of Trani, idly throwing dice onto a table, which held a meal unconsumed since the night before, he was forced to examine, as the first hint of grey tinged the eastern sky, his options. News had come that Prince Guaimar had departed Salerno and was on his way to Melfi, where he had called a great council of all who mattered in Apulia. Sure he was entitled to much reward, Arduin had serious doubts as to whether he would get his just deserts, and he would certainly never receive that of which he had entertained in many dreamlike fantasies: real power in the province he had helped to conquer.
The realisation, which he had always known but now saw with great clarity, did nothing to reassure him. Without the Normans he was nothing, especially if he would struggle to command his own volunteer levies, many of whom, in any case, were drifting away. The atmosphere in his military lines, in the rows of Lombard tents which surrounded Trani, as he had walked through them that day, had been rank with dissent and suspicion.
For the tenth time he unfolded the note which had been pressed into his hand as he made his way through the bustling town on his return, an act carried out with such speed and in such a crowd that all he had seen of the deliverer was the disappearing back of the cowl on his head. The words he read only underlined the thoughts on which he had been ruminating, as he wondered if the people who had sent this to him had also fomented that suspicion he had felt in the looks aimed at his back, from the same eyes that would not engage with his own.
It was impossible to put out of his mind the meeting Guaimar had held at Montecchio, to forget how the delegates who had come from the port cities and inland towns had made it plain that they had no real regard for him; that they saw him as no more than an instrument of Norman ambition and would certainly not now wish to see him elevated to a position of any authority. Was he that, a dupe? Was such a role all he could claim? Had he been a tool not only of Norman aspirations but also those of Guaimar, who had done nothing to raise him in the eyes of the Apulian Lombards?
And what would happen if that were true? If he could not command his own levies – and he certainly would never command the likes of William de Hauteville or the Normans he led, if he was not trusted by Guaimar or his fellow Lombards – for what was he working, what ambition of his own was going to be fulfilled? The other objects on the table were his personal possessions: a bundle of clothing, including a heavy purse of gold, the contents of his now empty strongbox, the rewards he had garnered from his campaigning. Clothes he did not need, his new masters would see to that.
With a heavy heart, Arduin of Fassano stood up, picked up the leather purse and exited the villa through the terrace and gardens that led down to the harbour. The note lay still on the table, and that would tell all who wanted to know where he had gone, though he did wonder if they would reason out why. The boat he had been told to expect was waiting for him, and as soon as he climbed aboard the sail was lifted aloft on the mast and he headed out to sea, ready to accept from Byzantium the same kind of offer which had suborned Argyrus.
The news was not slow in coming to William, for the villa he occupied was only a stone’s throw from that of Arduin, and while his brothers were loud in their condemnation he was less so. Firstly, he felt unwell and lacked the energy to fulminate. But there was another reason: he alone had some inkling of what had prompted the Lombard’s flight. The question which occupied him was not that it had happened but what to do about it.
‘Find the trumpeter,’ he commanded, ‘and call an assembly. The men must be told.’
Hurriedly obeyed, the whole host, Norman and Lombard, was gathered by the time he exited the city gate, and he knew by the buzz of talk that news of Arduin’s betrayal had spread. There was no platform from which to address them so he clambered with some difficulty onto the embers of that siege tower, from where he could be seen by all, wondering, as he began to speak, if his voice would carry.
‘I do not have the silver tongue of Arduin—’ He had to stop then, the name made them react with boos, cries of shame and whistles and he had to wait some time till it died down. ‘But I do have one virtue: there is no chance that I will ever take Byzantine gold.’
‘That would depend on how much they were offering,’ he heard Humphrey, who was just below him, say.
‘I come here not to address the men I lead but to talk to you all. You have been thrice betrayed.’ More braying greeted that, and another pause was necessary, besides which he needed to take a firm grip on a protruding bit of burnt timber to steady himself. ‘So the time has come to find a leader who will never desert you.’
Drogo, as usual, was quicker to pick up what was needed than the others, and he stepped out and pulled out his sword, raising it in the air as he cried, ‘I follow William de Hauteville, my brother. Who will join with me?’
That the Normans reacted positively to that was only to be expected, and their yells, as well as their swords or lances, rent the air. What was less expected was the reaction of the men Arduin had recruited, and it was an indication of how far their leaders had fallen in their eyes that they, too, loudly acclaimed William as their leader, and in amongst the shouting he could hear there were voices vowing to follow no other.
‘There you are, Gill,’ Drogo shouted into his ear. ‘You have an army. All you need now is an enemy.’
‘Never fear, Drogo,’ William replied, his fist raised to accept the continuing acclamation. ‘There are many out there, and not just from the east.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The meeting Guaimar called at the castle of Melfi had nothing in common with that which he had held before at Montecchio in the previous year: that had been a muted affair. Now he was in Apulia in all his pomp, bringing along with him not only his court, but his wife and children, as well as his sister, an imposing caravanserai, and the summons for all the powerful people of the province to attend on him was just that: not couched as a request, but as an instruction they would disobey at their peril.
Rainulf, still troubled by the rebellion around Montecassino, had been summoned too, but the one person not asked to attend was the Prince of Benevento, who was brusquely informed that should he or his brother show themselves they risked both life and limb from their fellow Lombards, still incensed by the way the captured catapan, Basil Boioannes, had been sold back to Byzantium. Cunningly, Guaimar went out of his way to plant in men’s minds that he was responsible, too, for the defection of Arduin and Argyrus.
So they came again, the leading citizens of the towns and cities of Apulia, some travelling through lands still suffering the devastation visited upon it by George Maniakes, which stood as a reminder that caution was a policy best kept in reserve, and if they travelled knowing that Guaimar was intent on asserting some kind of authority, they also did so with the certainty of the need for their own independence.
The Normans of Troia had agreed to actively participate in the revolt, greeted, as they joined, by a less-than-fit William – his journey from Trani had been made in a litter. He had spent much time welcoming like-minded bands from all over South Italy, lances who had become aware that prosperity, if it were to be had, was to be found in Apulia. Given there had, over the course of the campaign, been a steady increase in the numbers of men William commanded, the Normans had grown to constitute a far more formidable and numerous force than that which had originally arrived in Melfi. More importantly, these warriors owed no allegiance to Rainulf Drengot and now outnumbered the men he had brought from Aversa.
After much feasting and talking over several days, which William pushed himself through on willpower, with the various delegates seeking allies or common positions, everyone who mattered was gathered in the great hall of the castle, the babble of noise deafening as it echoed off the bare stone walls. Guaimar had overseen the making of a high dais on which he could disport himself, dressed in silken garments with more than a hint of purple, a signal to all that he now saw himself as the overlord of all who had obeyed his ordinance. He wanted to look majestic, and he did, but when he finally imposed silence and sought to issue various edicts, he found he lacked the power to command: not one of the constituent bodies in the hall were prepared to just stand and allow themselves to be dictated to.
One by one they stated their objection to that which Guaimar was obviously seeking to impose: his own regal ambitions. Again the first to baulk were the port cities, with their mixed populations, who had no intention, individually or collectively, of dipping the knee to the Prince of Salerno, however he chose to style himself, nor did they wish to pay for Norman support.
They would look to their own walled defences to maintain themselves, and hire their own mercenaries, if need be, to protect their newly gained freedoms. Had one of their number not just seen off George Maniakes? It seemed pointless to seek to get them to agree that it had been the man’s ambition, not their efforts, which had sent him east.
Next came hostility from the Lombards of the inland towns and cities, where if they were not in a majority they formed the leading citizenry. Though the word ‘king’ was never mentioned, it was made plain by allusion that they had no desire to accept as sovereign a man who had stood aside from the fighting and all the losses of wealth and people that had entailed – an impostor, who had now come to claim the rewards.
William de Hauteville, the single most powerful person present, said nothing, and merely kept his own counsel, partly through a feeling of lassitude, but also from policy. Eventually, after much rancorous
debate, Guaimar called for the meeting to be adjourned until the following day, and, plainly unhappy, stormed off to the part of the castle set aside for his use.
‘They must have an overlord,’ Guaimar shouted, vehemently yet safely, given he was in the company of his sister and the man he trusted most to advise him.
‘I suggest,’ said Kasa Ephraim, in his habitually calm manner, ‘they will not have anyone who styles themselves king.’
‘Is that not what we fought for?’ the prince replied, which led the Jew to wonder if he knew the meaning of the word ‘hypocrisy’. Not that he was troubled by the notion – it was the habit of princes – but if Guaimar thought in those terms, and worse still, spoke like that, he would only alienate those he was trying to persuade. ‘Do they not realise what we all have to gain by being united?’
‘Men see things from their own standpoint, honourable one.’
‘The Normans are behind this,’ Berengara claimed. ‘None of these cockroaches would dare gainsay you if they knew the Normans would back your claim, but did we hear any of them speak?’
‘Do you see a Norman hand in this, Ephraim?’ demanded Guaimar.
‘No. I doubt they care what title you adopt. They care more about what rewards are bestowed on them.’
‘Reward is all they care about,’ Berengara spat.
‘It is they who have fought, Lady Berengara, and it is their skill at arms which has brought such victories…’
‘Don’t forget the Lombards who fought as well.’
Kasa Ephraim merely nodded at her, and addressed his next words to her brother. ‘Only one question matters, honourable one: can Lombards, by themselves, hold Apulia if Byzantium sends a new catapan with an army at his heels to retake it? There is no certainty the Italians will fight to preserve a Lombard state. Who then will ensure security?’
