Jack Ludlow: Warriors

No Italian ever won a legal case against a Lombard in courts where those sitting in judgement were either of that race or Lombard appointees; no citizen of any of their lands could be sure that, having paid what taxes their overlord demanded, there would not be a sudden claim for more, with outright seizure a permanent possibility. Even Guaimar would be tainted with that tribal habit, not yet perhaps, but sometime in the future when he felt his coffers to be too low.

So, when they conscripted Italians to fight in their campaigns, often Lombard versus Lombard, they had under their command reluctant men forced to war for something which would provide them little gain, if any at all, excepting death. No wonder they had never managed to form that kingdom these lords of fertile lands all dreamt of; no wonder they needed Normans to fight their wars.

Rainulf was quick to see the ramifications of what had just been said: Guaimar would involve him when he took a hand himself. There would be ample rewards with no prospect of loss and he would, by right, reassume command of his own men and put William de Hauteville back in his place. For the first time that morning he smiled.

To move a force of three hundred cavalry, more than forty leagues, over different types of terrain, was a huge undertaking. Each lance required three horses: a destrier and a packhorse carrying his personal possessions, both led, plus the mount he rode, and that took no account of the spare animals needed for a force expecting to fight, which, given the delicate nature of the beasts, always led to more equine casualties than human. Naturally there were also losses through normal activity: age, sickness and laming.

To a Norman knight these mounts were paramount possessions, the means by which he got to the point of combat; usually — though they often fought on foot — the instrument, along with raw courage, his sword and lance, of victory, as well as, should things go badly, his means of flight. Every one of the men under William’s command had been raised, as had the de Hauteville brothers, in close proximity to horses; they knew their sires and mares, had often attended the foaling of the mounts they rode, had trained them from yearlings, treating them with a combination of strict discipline, affection and careful attention to their well-being.

But they were not sentimental regardless of the attention they lavished; each horse had a purpose. The lesser breeds as beasts of burden, the travelling mount required to be fleet as well as full of stamina, the destrier to be unflinching in the face of the enemies the rider would fight — men with pikes, axes, lances and swords, who, yelling in their thousands, could create enough of a din to act upon the nerves of a prey animal, for in the wild state that was what a horse was, thus being highly strung and so nervous they reacted to any unusual sound or sight. That they could be made fearless was remarkable.

Even in Italy, where Roman roads still existed, there were many areas — and the approach to Melfi from both east and west was one — where the only reliable transport for an army on the march had to be hoofed: not carts but packhorses, mules and donkeys. When they got to the town and castle that lay beneath the towering height of Monte Vulture, and to the fighting which lay beyond, William and the men he led, as well as their animals, would be required to live off the surrounding land.

For now, fodder could be gathered from the various fortresses and petty barons on the way, each one required to be a storehouse for Guaimar, their liege lord, but the main requirement was water, which meant that the route was dictated by the river system, at least until they got into the mountains where there were deep and abundant lakes. Men had to be fed and cared for as well, and the Norman host had with them enough camp followers to cook and see to their needs, as well as an armourer, a farrier, a saddle and harness maker, and a priest to say mass every day.

They travelled early morning and late afternoon, when the sun had lost some of its fire, resting up in the midday heat in places located by the advance party, sent ahead under Mauger. He was tasked to find not only ample water but shade and pasture, and the journey was not rushed — at five leagues a day — to keep fresh the horses. It took eight days, time for Arduin to both travel to Benevento to talk to the reigning prince and to make it back to rendezvous with William, with a view of Monte Vulture, but out of sight of the town and castle of Melfi.

The news Arduin brought to that encampment was by its nature mixed. The Prince of Benevento had refused to agree that the son of Melus, even given the power of his father’s name, should act as the standard-bearer for the revolt. Instead, no doubt fired by greed, he had put forward his own younger brother, Count Atenulf, with the proviso that, should matters go against the insurgency, he might be obliged to disown him in order to appease Byzantine wrath. William’s comment, made not to Arduin but to his brothers, was, ‘Typically Lombard!’

The next morning Arduin and William rode ahead with fifty knights, knowing their approach would set off the alarm — in this part of the world every commune looked out for signs of approaching danger, which fifty mounted men wearing Norman mail and helmets certainly represented — and it came as no surprise to find the mass of the townsfolk had decamped from their dwellings to the castle and slammed shut the gates.

Neither was it a surprise to see Kasa Ephraim in the Castello di Arechi; as the Collector of the Port, the Jew was a powerful official in the government of Salerno, holding an office of high and consistent profit to both Prince Guaimar and himself. A look over the Castello battlements would show why: the bay was full of vessels arriving and departing, the harbour berths packed with trading ships from both the Levant and the territories to the north, eager to take back to their home ports the produce of fertile Campania, every one obliged to pay customs dues for the goods fetched in and transported out.

Ephraim was the man who had helped the young heir and his sister to escape the clutches of Pandulf, murderous enough to have them both killed, by smuggling them away to sea, then ultimately to Rome and the Imperial Court at Bamberg. He had also used his contacts in Rome to provide funds with which to appear at the court of the Holy Roman Empire in some style. The Jew had claimed that valuable office as his reward for the service, and any fears Guaimar might have had about the way he would conduct himself had long been laid to rest.

An examination of the tally books proved that in the time of his tenure in the collector’s office Ephraim had increased the revenues of the port substantially, monies which allowed his young master to be a liberal benefactor to his lesser nobles, the church and the poor; for the rest of the population, he satisfied their needs with pomp and display at the numerous religious festivals, both in the Latin rite as well as the Orthodox, which punctuated the Salerno year.

‘I give you good day, honourable one.’

This Ephraim said as he entered Guaimar’s private apartments. Under his arm he had his tally books so that the prince could see the extent of the month’s revenues which, in gold and silver coin, were at that very moment being handed over by Ephraim’s servants to the prince’s official treasurer, whose domain lay deep in the vaults of the Castello. These would be placed in the brass-bound state coffers, which lay behind two very heavily barred and constantly guarded doors.

Guaimar having dismissed his servants, no one saw, apart from the two principals, the single bulging leather purse the Jew gave to his master for his private use, the monies he extracted as bribes from those who smuggled goods in and out of that same port. Kasa Ephraim had explained, long before the young man came into his inheritance, that smuggling could not be stopped in a port like Salerno, with its long, deep bay and shallow sandy beaches; therefore it must be controlled.