Warriors c-2

by Jack Ludlow

  Their new titular leader, Argyrus, being untrained in military matters, was wise enough not to interfere in any discussion of tactics, though he always attended and listened carefully to what was being discussed. He took to riding around the lines with an escort of men he had gathered, so he could be seen, using his prestige to encourage and cajole. He also rode out to bolster the efforts of the timber-cutting parties; the kind of wood necessary to build a massive siege tower was not readily available close to Trani and had to be cut and dragged from the forested hills inland, an arduous task given there was no flowing watercourse on which to float the logs; movement was accomplished by a combination of men and mules.

  Cavalry they might be, but there was no ease for the Normans in this: when not on their mounts foraging for supplies, they were stripped to the waist, helping to drag timber, or sawing and trimming tree trunks with the Lombard milities, using their strength where that was required — once the bigger logs were at the construction site — to haul on rough, hastily rigged cranes in order to get aloft the weighty main-frame timbers, these resting on the wheeled flatbed base and greased axles which would be used to move it forward to the walls once a path was cleared of rocks and any depression filled in.

  As the carpenters sawed and trimmed, supplies of rope and canvas were brought down from Barletta, as well as grappling hooks fashioned by blacksmiths, the ropes entwined into ships’ cables of a thickness that would allow the tower to be pulled, the canvas used to produce long fire screens which, wetted prior to the assault, would hang around the tower so that flaming arrows could not set the whole thing alight. Once the frame was complete, the carpenters could cut wood and smooth it for the higher platforms and barricades, and trim rough dowels to hold them in place.

  Flat timber was used to fashion ramps with arrow slots for the crossbowmen. These would be dropped onto the top of the walls once the tower was hard against them, the first task being to grapple the whole structure so it could not be dislodged. The small number of fighters first to attack, the most formidable Normans, would then make sure it stayed there, holding off the inevitable counter-attacks, while others rushed up the interconnecting ladders in support, before moving over those same ramps in such numbers as to overwhelm the defenders.

  ‘We will be able to offer terms within the week,’ said Arduin, looking at the tower taking shape, an object that could easily be seen from the walls. ‘They must know that once this is employed, unless it is destroyed, they cannot hold out.’ When construction reached a point where the physical attributes of his men were no longer required,

  When construction reached a point where the physical attributes of his men were no longer required, William instituted training in the kind of combat they would face. On foot, it was based on the basic unit of Norman warfare, the ten-man conroy — if their leader knew anything, it was that men did not fight for a cause or even for plunder: they fought for each other. The Norman system meant that not only did these warriors ride thigh to thigh in battle, they camped together round their own fire, ate together and slept in near-touching distance. A warrior would not sacrifice his life even for a glimpse of heavenly paradise, but he would give it freely if one of his confreres was seen to be in mortal danger.

  Robert had been placed under the command of a captain called Hugo de Boeuf, an old fighter and experienced leader who had seen and survived much combat in both Campania and Sicily, as well as being a man William trusted to keep in check his brother’s bumptious nature. It was evident that Robert fitted in quickly because, when it came to mirth, he and his companions were the ones who seemed to laugh most, however hard and unpleasant was the task allotted to them.

  Given that included tree-felling, woodcutting and hauling on crane ropes, Robert was to be seen, like his fellows, stripped to the waist. William had to admit himself impressed by the girth of his shoulders and the obvious strength of his muscular arms. He lifted and carried things other men dragged, singing ribald songs that his fellows took up, thus easing their labours.

  Now he wanted Robert training to be first onto those walls, and that, too, would no doubt be impressive if you discounted his oft-mentioned assertion that he knew more about fighting than any of his brothers. William had the carpenters construct, out of sight of the walls, a mock-up of a tower platform, raised off the ground, complete with a ramp, as well as a wooden palisade set along the ground to represent the parapet, the idea to stage as near as possible what would actually happen once the tower was pressed and held against those walls, using as defenders better, more experienced fighters than those the attackers should actually face.

  While that was being constructed, normal training was resumed, and it was in such activity that William found himself up against Robert, employing the kind of wooden swords they used in the manege at Aversa in everyday training. Rarely ever beaten on horse or on foot — and only then by a piece of startling guile — William Iron Arm found he had a real battle on his hands, and he could see from the flinty look in the eyes on either side of Robert’s nose guard, as well as the weight of the thuds on his shield, the determination to beat him into submission.

  When it came to using the mocked-up platform, one thing was quick to emerge: the very simple fact that if the calculation for the tower height were correct, they would, on the first point of engagement, be attacking from a higher level than the defence. William, leading those defenders, had the great pleasure, during the first attempt, of sweeping his mock sword under the point of Robert’s shield, so taking away his feet, causing him to collapse in a heap, to be finished off with a stout and painful stab at the chest, a fate suffered by most of the men led by Hugo de Boeuf.

  The chastened attackers, who would probably have had their feet sliced through in a real battle, gathered to discuss how to overcome this, with Robert first to speak, posing a question to his conroy leader. ‘This is false. As we approach, the crossbowmen will keep down the heads of the defence, will they not?’

  A bent-over Hugo nodded, as he rubbed a sore shin where it had been clobbered hard by a defender, before agreeing. ‘And so those on the walls will be thinned and the ones who take station right before the ramp will be forced to duck, and thus be under it as it drops and out of the fight-’

  ‘So we fight to right and left,’ Robert continued, interrupting Hugo and ignoring the look that implied such behaviour was not right, that Hugo was the leader and these were conclusions he should state: with this de Hauteville he was wasting his time. ‘We should come down crouched behind our shields and use weight to just push back the defence. We can’t really do battle with them until we are on the parapet.’

  ‘The crossbows-’

  Robert cut across him again. ‘Must keep the defenders away from the grappling hooks.’

  ‘Will you hold your tongue,’ Hugo yelled, in a voice loud enough to carry to William. ‘I command here.’

  While Robert, who could see William glaring at him, mumbled something about only trying to help, it was obvious from his bodily reaction that he was less than pleased to be so publicly admonished. Yet no one could doubt he had the right of it, and that he had nailed both the problem and the solution in less time than Hugo, this proved by the partial success of their next effort, one marred only by the time it took to execute the manoeuvre, which added to the time it would take to achieve their ultimate aim: to get to and open a gate.

  It was no good to insist that in fellow Normans they were up against men of greater height, strength and fighting ability than those they would be likely to face, the whole idea being to identify problems in advance, and that led to another platform being built at the top of the tower and balustraded, accessed by yet another ladder, which the bowmen could use to overlook and aid the assault while still keeping the defenders away from the grappling hooks.

  Time and again they went at it, William changing the men engaged on both sides so that everyone knew what to do and what they would face. He even had his heavily mailed and armed lances, himself
included, running up and down the ladders to time how long it would be before they got to the top and became effective, an activity that, like most of what had gone before, required copious amounts of watered wine for dry throats, this while Arduin drilled his volunteer milities for the task they had to perform, to attack in force any gate the Normans managed to get open.

  As darkness fell, William retired to his tent, there to be looked after by his two wards, who had insisted on taking on the duties. Listo saw to his equipment, cleaning it of the dust and sweat with which it had become stained, while Tirena provided warmed water with which he could remove those same commodities from his body, and fresh, more comfortable clothing. She also supervised the preparation of his food, with an air, much resented, that indicated she did not trust those who did the cooking not to poison him.

  Once fed, and attired in loose garments, William made his nightly tour of the outposts, checking that his men, on the part of the lines for which they were responsible, were in place and awake, stopping occasionally to talk, and also to look at the walls of Trani, lit by flaming torches that cast a low glow of light onto the ground below so that no sudden night-time assault would be possible.

  Traversing the southern edge of the lines, alongside those marshes, he stopped to watch the dancing fireflies, wondering at how God had made such creatures, but that only led him on to wonder at how that same deity had made humanity in his own image, yet he had set men like him on a path that led to death, mostly for others. Crossing himself, just before he slapped a biting insect, he was also thinking Arduin was right: with the tower probably no more than a day away from completion it was time to offer the citizens terms.

  The proposition would be simple: open your gates and give yourselves over to the Lombard army, in which case the city and the people within it will be spared. Refuse and you will face fire and sword, for if you force us to bleed to capture, then you will lose more blood as a consequence, and if required to continue once the gates had been breached no citizen of the town, of any age or sex, would be guaranteed to survive.

  That thought made him gloomy, and, sick of the buzzing of flying creatures in his ears, he made his way back to the quarter housing the tented encampment of the leaders of the host, where he came across Arduin and Argyrus. They were in conversation outside the latter’s tent and, being called to join them, William did so.

  ‘All is ready, William. Tomorrow at first light I will call for the gates to be opened.’

  ‘Arduin thinks they will refuse, William, how do you see it?’ asked Argyrus.

  ‘I think if they were going to surrender they would have sent out envoys by now. They can see what we are building and they know that once it is employed, unless they can destroy it immediately, they are doomed. My mind is set on the assault.’

  There was a short silence then: regardless of how good the men who would attack, some would die, and since William was going to lead the supporting fighters personally, and would thus face the defenders near to their most potent, he might be one of them.

  ‘How I wish I was going to be there alongside you,’ said Argyrus, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.

  William took that for what it was, wishful thinking: this young man could not fight like a Norman and would probably struggle to match the men of his own race. Utterly untrained, he would just get in the way, in fact he would probably get someone killed trying to keep him alive. But it was a worthy sentiment to express at such a time and it would have been churlish to react with the truth.

  ‘You lead our men through the gates, Argyrus,’ then he looked at Arduin, to reassure him he saw him as their commander. ‘Alongside our general.’

  Argyrus sighed. ‘I doubt I shall sleep. My blood is racing.’

  ‘I shall,’ William replied, ‘and so will you when you become accustomed to nights like this.’

  ‘Of which we have had many, have we not, William? And we will have more before our cause triumphs.’

  Looking at Arduin, William could see, once more and reflected by the flickering torches, the light of that Lombard dream in his eyes, and he wondered how the man could sustain it after the rebuffs he had suffered at Montecchio. Putting aside his own ambitions and imaging the result after which Arduin hankered, what was there for him if they were ultimately successful? The envoys from the other port cities had openly repudiated him, as well as mouthing meaningless platitudes when it came to Argyrus, while Guaimar was playing such a double game he could hardly look for support there.

  Was it that he would be satisfied to see Apulia free of Byzantium? Did he hope that Argyrus would somehow overturn any objections from the other Lombard powers and succeed in uniting the factions, thus gaining his reward as the man who had aided him to power? These were too many thoughts to be harbouring at such a time of day. William had had a hard day’s training, with more to come in the morning and quite possibly real fighting instead of mock combat. He was tired.

  ‘Time to sleep.’

  The oil lamps were low in his tent and there was silence from the other two cots. Having said prayers, then disrobing, William lay down and closed his eyes, but sleep was slow to come as he ran over in his mind what might happen on the morrow, envisaging the attack, almost hearing the clash of swords and the shouting of men engaged in deadly combat, himself included. In doing so he had the thoughts which had plagued him often, of how close he had come in the past to death, seeing the blows that he had deflected which might, had he not been both good and lucky, have got through.

  He was just drifting off when his cot dipped to one side and he half-raised himself sharply: a secret knife in such places as Italy was always a possibility and assassinating leaders was a particularly good way to thwart a siege, but that turned to first surprise and then to slight annoyance as the girl Tirena wrapped her arms round his naked upper body.

  ‘Back to your own cot,’ he whispered, insistently, but that only increased the force of her embrace: she was now clinging to him and he was aware that she too was naked, her pert young breasts pressing into his flesh.

  ‘You fight tomorrow,’ she hissed, ‘and I fear for you.’

  William wanted to scoff but that seemed ridiculous in the face of the thoughts he had just been harbouring, so he sought to deflect her obvious concern by addressing worries she might have. ‘Never fear, Tirena, you and Listo will be cared for.’

  Even whispered, her reply was vehement. ‘You can be very stupid!’

  That said, her hand shot down to his crotch and took hold of his penis, and even if he had wanted not to react, he was a man and could not help it as she tugged at it with the same urgency she had no doubt once used on a goat’s teat. Drogo might accuse him of behaving like a eunuch, but William de Hauteville was far from that: he had the same desires as his rampant brother but he attributed to himself more self-control.

  That was not the case on this night and under the pressure of this girl’s enticement. It seemed only seconds before he was astride her, hearing her gasp with a combination of satisfaction and pain as he entered her, grateful that all thoughts of what might happen at sunrise had been driven from his mind.

  The alarm, much shouting and cries of agitation, were slow to penetrate William’s brain, and as he awoke, the surprise of finding someone else in his cot, huddled close to his body and asleep, took a moment to register. But those shouts coming through the canvas allowed no time for delay and he was up and at the tent flap in a flash, in the process waking the girl. Standing naked and looking out, William saw without difficulty what the noise was about: the flames from the burning tower rose high in the sky, illuminating the ground all around, as well as the silhouetted figures running around it.

  Some were trying to throw water to douse the conflagration, but given it was blazing from base to top, with cinders rising into the glowing orange and yellow fingers of flame, it would be useless. But he did register that fresh-cut timber, even if it had had several days to lose its sap, should not burn with such ferocity. It c
ould only have gone up in the way it had because of sabotage.

  ‘Fetch my cloak,’ he commanded, watching as Tirena ran to obey, wondering at the sudden tumescence the sight of her young moving and naked body produced. Once she handed it over, her black eyes wild with fear, he responded softly. ‘Go back to your cot and wait for me.’

  The last three words assuaged her fears and made her smile, and as she was only half his height, the kiss she planted on him was closer to his chest than his face. He was gone before he realised what she had done, only aware of that mark of affection when the slight night breeze touched on the moisture her act had left behind.

  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.’