by Jack Ludlow
‘I can think of no reason to lie.’
‘I, on the other hand, can think of a dozen.’
‘And who are you?’
‘Ralph de Boeuf, Castellan of Melfi in the service of the Duke of Apulia.’
‘My older brother.’
‘So you say.’
The reply was sharp. ‘If you wish to dispute, I will need time to don my mail.’
Ralph de Boeuf burst out laughing. ‘Damn me, you’re a de Hauteville all right, always up for a fight. In truth I did not doubt it but it amuses me to see you are the same as the Guiscard. Follow me.’
With that he spun his mount and headed for Melfi. Behind him, Roger fetched out his lance and attached to it his pennant of blue and white chequer. He wanted that above his head, wanted those in the castle to have no doubt who was approaching.
* * *
Coming close, having ridden through what was a bustling and growing town, Roger was as impressed by Melfi as anyone who had seen the castle before him. Built by the Byzantines to guard their border, it had been designed to deter as much as to protect, the enemy at the time being Lombards backed by a previous and more bellicose Western Emperor. The great corner towers were hexagonal, the curtain wall between them standing over a steep escarpment hard to climb and impossible to use for ballista, thus the place could not be battered into submission at a point away from the main gate.
The causeway that led up to the fortress was steep and that led to an esplanade, at its end a narrow bridge over a deep ditch, which would canalise any attacker into an area of death. On the other side of the bridge was a sturdy portcullis topped by another curtain wall. If the assault could get past, and it could only do so from a battering assault, then they entered the true killing ground between the front and main castle walls. It had never been taken except by trickery and that had only happened once.
Roger and his lances clattered across that bridge and entered a keep full of fighting men at practice, wielding wooden swords as they worked on the various manoeuvres of parry, cut and thrust, employing their shields as a weapon of both defence and attack. On the steps of the great hall stood two of his brothers, men that Roger had not seen for many years.
The first thing he noticed, as he dismounted, was that they were scarred veterans now, not the fresh-faced youths he recalled from the day they departed Hauteville-le-Guichard. Geoffrey he had not seen for a decade past, while his last sight of big, blustering Robert was after the murder committed by Serlo; being present when the knife went in he had likewise been required to flee, not in his case to avoid hanging, but to avoid being shut up in one of Duke William’s dungeons.
‘Well,’ Robert boomed, neither his voice nor his manner entirely approving. ‘The sprat of the family has finally come to join us.’
The great hall was full, the table at which the family sat set on a low dais crosswise, with the rest of the tables running down the sides full of Robert’s lances, now joined by those of Roger’s, and all the way down to his servants below the salt. The noise, echoing off the unadorned walls, was deafening, making the need to talk loudly essential just to be heard. Naturally their conversation at table was of home, though it was plain that if there was a residual hankering for Normandy it did not extend to a return.
‘My bones would not take the cold and damp now,’ Geoffrey insisted. ‘Damn me, they can scarce take service mounted.’
‘Would that be a whore or a horse?’ Robert demanded, with a braying laugh.
‘With the whores you use it would be hard to tell what you were boarding. Half of them would struggle to get into a horse’s girth.’
Roger felt a slight discomfort at this ribaldry: he found it difficult to listen to such banter from a brother who he had last sat down to dine with as not much more than a mewling child. Odd that he had felt the same with Fressenda and his brother-in-law, making him wonder if he was, in fact, a prude. Whatever, he decided a change of subject was called for.
‘I had audience with Duke William before I left.’
‘How is the Bastard?’
‘Secure now and thinking of a war with the Franks.’ He noticed the faces of his brothers, both of them, close up: the way William’s father had treated the family was neither forgiven nor forgotten, even if they had prospered because of his refusals, and news of any comfort in his life was unwelcome. Quickly he changed the subject yet again. ‘But tell me about Brindisi.’
No battle is ever fought only once – it is replayed many times. The table, along with the residue of the meal, provided sufficient material to re-fight the engagement, bones stripped bare of meat to show the walls and harbour, bread to denote the disposition of Robert’s forces, his manner enough to underline the frustration of a long siege.
‘It came down to subterfuge in the end, brother, or we might be sitting there still, while the foul airs decimated our strength.’ Robert described his ploy of riding away to draw out Argyrus, well aware as he did so that there were beacons being lit to mark his progress, for he could see them as plainly as his enemy. ‘But he forgot the sea, Sprat, and so I had him.’
‘How did you navigate all those vessels down the coast?’
It was Geoffrey who replied. ‘He had riders on the shore carrying torches, Roger, and he gave each ship’s master a catapult.’
Seeing his little brother confused, Robert burst out laughing. ‘You cannot see it, can you?’ Much as it hurt to confess he did not, Roger had to nod. ‘The riders had measured lines which they were instructed to keep as taut as possible.’ Robert held up two spread fingers. ‘Keep those two flames on the points of the catapults and you have a fair idea how far you are off from the shore.’
‘Clever,’ Roger acknowledged.
‘Not clever,’ Robert boomed. ‘Brilliant.’
‘And Brindisi?’
‘The plunder was enormous! God Almighty, these ports are rich and the inhabitants saw quickly which way the wind blew. I doubt the men I led would have had much more fun, bloodshed apart, if we had sacked the place as it deserved. There’ll be a raft of Norman bastards come the women’s term time.’
‘But is it secure?’
Robert shrugged. ‘What’s to tell? Except the man I left to captain the place is sitting here stuffing his face with goose. If the Byzantines take it back I’ll flay him alive.’
‘I came to see to my Loritello estates.’
‘I think you came for some cool mountain air,’ Robert jested, before turning back to Roger. ‘Brindisi is in the past, brother. What we need to talk about is the future.’
‘Mine?’ Roger asked.
‘Of course, you don’t think I want you sitting around here on your arse like Geoffrey, do you, eating my food and drinking my wine?’
‘What would be left, husband, after you had eaten?’
‘God in heaven, no man should be checked by his wife!’
Robert growled as he responded to the Lady Alberada, but it was plainly mock anger, not the real thing. They were relatively comfortable in each other’s company, not always common in marriage, and it seemed the salacious nature of their previous brotherly talk had no effect on her.
‘Now that my mouse has spoken—’
‘She is far from a mouse,’ Roger jested, ‘if she is prepared to gainsay you.’
‘Look at the size of her man.’
Alberada was tiny and slim, dark-haired and olive-complexioned, in marked contrast to her huge, florid and golden-haired husband, and it had been an inadvertent thought on introduction to imagine them coupling and the difficulties therein. She looked as though Robert would conjugally crush her.
‘Should have heard her when she spawned my daughter, screaming fit to bring down Jericho.’
‘She’s a big child.’
‘She’s her father’s girl,’ Robert boomed, ‘even if she has your black hair. But enough of that; when we talk of your future it is to Alberada’s part of the world we must go.’
‘I heard you wanted to take Bari
, then go to Romania and sack Constantinople.’
‘In time, Roger, in time, but Calabria first. Bari is the strongest fortress in Apulia and will need a great effort. Besides, I cannot cross the Adriatic until my back is safe.’
‘Which it won’t be even if you subdue Calabria,’ Geoffrey insisted.
It was Alberada who responded to Roger’s enquiring look. ‘Saracens.’
‘I’ve beaten them before,’ Robert insisted, ‘and I can do so again.’ Then he looked hard at Roger. ‘You want something in Italy, little brother, well there’s a place there for you.’
‘As what?’
Robert’s face closed up slightly. ‘That we will talk about later. Now, tell me what that papal rogue said to you.’
‘Perhaps it would be better we talk in private, brother. What the Pope said is less important than the conversation I had with the Abbot of Monte Cassino.’
It was pleasant to see his elder brother slightly thrown by that.
‘Do you trust him?’ Robert asked.
Alone now, in a quiet chamber, Robert was speaking softly to avoid waking his child, sleeping close by with her wet nurse.
‘It is you who have to worry about trust, Robert, I am a mere messenger, but I have had time to think and what Desiderius says makes sound sense, with the caveat that, if an alliance of all three powers could be raised against you and Richard of Aversa, you must lose.’
‘Think on this, Sprat, think of the time it would take to agree such a combination and what the outcome would be. The imperial throne is occupied by a child, but even grown, will a Western Emperor do battle to give Langobardia back to Byzantium? Will Rome raise an army from the duchies of Tuscany and Spoleto to see the churches of Apulia and Calabria once more locked into Greek worship?’
‘I think you do not see how much we Normans are hated.’
‘Fear not, I know that. No one who takes land and wealth off another is loved, and as for their affection or approval I can do without it. What I am saying is this: even if they could agree to suppress us, their coalition would not hold in the heat of success and would fall apart long before that as the differing aims surfaced. Also, it would demand that Byzantium do the one thing they have failed to do since the first defeat of the last Lombard revolt: send to south Italy an army strong enough not only to help to put us down but to fight the Pope and the Western Empire, in case they tried to hold what they had helped to gain.’
‘I suspect you have just summed up the thoughts of the Abbot Desiderius.’
‘The other thoughts he might have,’ Robert said, ‘are these: popes die and so do emperors, and when they do, a policy dies with them. But more important, more likely to give pause, is this. We have not been seriously beaten by anyone for thirty years: the odd small encounter lost, yes, but a major battle, no. We are not so easy to overcome.’
‘So you see there might be some merit in what he is suggesting.’
‘So far he has suggested nothing, all he has done is air a notion that has no contact with the ground. The Abbot of Monte Cassino is a powerful prelate, but he is not so commanding that he can bring this about on his own. Such a change of policy will need to be accepted by the majority in the Curia, and from what I know of that House of Babel it would be easier to get the Bastard of Falaise to kiss my arse.’
‘I sense such a thing would give you pleasure,’ Roger replied, smiling.
‘He insulted my name and my father. I know old Tancred and I did not always agree—’
‘You’re wrong, Robert, you never agreed.’
Robert grinned. ‘Enough of this, for it is in a distant future. Right now my mind is on Calabria.’
‘Tell me.’
‘It is wild country, a tough race of people, who gave even Ancient Rome trouble. The first time I went there – William’s doing to get me out from under his feet – I ended up nearly eating my stirrup leathers, we were so strapped, but I found a spot to build a castle, before I was required to return. After Civitate I had trouble with Humphrey too, the miserable bugger—’
‘Upsetting brothers comes easily to you.’
‘Take heed of it,’ was the sharp reply. ‘I had some success, Roger, but, with Humphrey dying and a succession to see to, I had to leave before I could settle matters in the right way.’
‘You gained a wife.’
If Robert saw that as a gain it did not register. ‘It’s not fertile like Campania or Apulia but it could be better and the trade they do in silks and damasks is of high value.’
‘Which is why the Saracens raid so often.’
‘When they see we can defeat and destroy them wherever they land they will cease to raid and go elsewhere, there are rich pickings on the western coast.’
‘The best way to subdue them, surely, is to take Sicily.’
‘You do not want for ambition, brother, but I would not say much for your sense.’
‘Are they hard to beat?’
‘In Sicily, yes, to them it is home. Byzantium failed to take back the island in brother William’s time.’
‘And how do you contain them in Calabria?’
‘They come only to raid and everyone looks out for their ships. Once the towns have closed their gates they must lay siege, and even if the coastal settlements are not strong, they are robust enough to hold them off until a mounted force can ride to relieve them, especially if they have a leavening of Normans to man their walls. If they move inland they are even more at risk if there are powerful forces that can be gathered to oppose them.’
‘That was your policy?’
Robert nodded. ‘I showed them it was possible, not that they loved me for it, and I intend to do so again, this time properly. They have a choice: give to me the dues owed to a lord, or see everything they own stolen by the Saracens, and that includes their women and children.’
‘And you want me to come with you?’
‘I left Geoffrey in Brindisi and I would leave you in Calabria. Together we can properly subdue the whole province, one that Byzantium has never cared much about in any case.’
‘For?’
‘The future holds many possibilities, you know that.’
‘I meant for me.’
Robert responded with a humourless smile. ‘Not to please me, then?’
‘No.’
‘A title?’
‘Not enough.’
‘What!’ Robert yelled, so loud the next sound was that of a wailing baby girl.
‘Half the revenues of Calabria if we succeed.’
‘Blood is not that thick.’
‘Then I go back to Campania. Richard of Aversa will give me employment.’
‘Old Tancred would turn in his grave if I denied his favourite child.’
‘You care what our father would think? You never stopped arguing with him.’
‘Oddly enough, Sprat, I would. Half it is, but you will have to do some hard fighting to get it.’
‘Tomorrow, out on that practice ground, I will show you how I can fight.’
‘No, Roger, that can wait. Tomorrow we travel to Venosa, to the tomb of your brothers William, Drogo and Humphrey, to pray for their souls.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Roger de Hauteville was given the task of subduing the interior of Calabria while the Guiscard secured the western coast, where lay the larger settlements and towns, but that went by the board as news came from Apulia of a revolt by some of the Norman barons, supported by disgruntled Lombard nobles who had seen their power destroyed, naturally encouraged by the scheming of Argyrus, now ensconced in Bari. Robert broke his camp and raced back to his most important fiefs with the bulk of his army, leaving Roger to continue to seek to subdue the country with a limited force of cavalry.
It was a tough task: the fighting was hard, the landscape a ribbon of high mountains cut by deep valleys, with low and fertile coastal strips to east and west, warfare that took much out of man and beast – mobile, small-scale engagements with, always, another fief to conquer s
omewhere on the horizon. The land was at odds with that which provided prosperity, the rough interior parts of Calabria famous for fine cloths, silks and damasks. Started by the Byzantines several centuries previously it had grown into a valuable trade, which made the way the region had been ignored hard to fathom: they had taxed Calabria but, seeing it at the very edge of their imperial possessions, had usually failed to keep it safe from incursions.
In this, Byzantium had followed the old Roman Empire, Calabria Interior being seen as a wild and inhospitable place. Rome settled and civilised the coast but left the locals to their mountains and their feuds. There were few proper castles and no large towns in the interior; instead the Normans were required to subdue numerous hilltop dwellings, which relied on height or scanty walls as protection. Most lords therein were too proud to acquiesce, requiring subjugation and that came down, if they refused entreaties to surrender to the power of the Count of Apulia, to letting them see destroyed, in the valleys below and on which they depended for food, what crops they had planted and what livestock they could not accommodate. That the peasants suffered from this could not be allowed to interfere with the necessity: there were too many objectives and neither enough time, nor force, to adopt any other tactic than slash and burn.
Primary damage tended to be done as soon as their column was sighted, not difficult in such mountainous country: the lord of the demesne would clear anything close to his walls that would provide either shelter or a point from which to mount an attack, usually the huddled dwellings of the poor, casting to the elements those who could not be accommodated within the defences. Thus the first encounter on approaching a fief was usually with disgruntled peasants, forced to seek shelter where they could, and sure they were about to be slaughtered by these mounted barbarians. Given their lack of love for their masters, and finding themselves spared, they often provided Roger with a valuable source of information.
He would be told of the numbers and quality of what men he faced, the level of food stocks and, in some measure, how determined the defenders were to resist. A parley would follow, where Roger would try to persuade the incumbent that he would enjoy a safer and more prosperous future under a powerful magnate like Robert, who could be trusted to keep the Saracens at bay and stop neighbour from warring with neighbour. All he was required to do was to swear fealty and undertake to pay a portion of his revenues – in kind, for coin was scarce – to his new overlord instead of Byzantium; in return he could work his lands and people in peace. For people who trusted no one, often not even their own blood relatives, it was hardly surprising the response was usually a blunt refusal.
