Jack Ludlow: Warriors

The cries of alarm and one scream, he heard as he pulled himself upright and hurried for the exit. Behind him, unseen, those six assassins had stopped before the Prince of Salerno, who seeing their blades and being himself unarmed knew what he was about to face. He pushed his sister and her child behind him, and with a voice carrying as much command as he had ever been able to muster, demanded to know who came upon him in such a fashion.

‘Amalfi has come for you, Prince Guaimar, to seek redress for the blood of its people.’

‘Strike and your city will burn, I swear,’ Guaimar spat back. ‘Not a stone will remain standing, not a life will be spared.’

‘Then, Prince Guaimar,’ the leader replied with a grim smile, ‘we have nothing to lose.’

The assassins rushed towards him and hit out with their blades, surrounding the prince and stabbing with fury. The last words he said before he fell to the ground, with blood spurting from dozens of wounds and his garments already bright red, were ‘Spare my sister and her child.’

That was not to be: the task was to kill off the House of Salerno; Berengara and her daughter, widow and child of William de Hauteville, died within moments of Guaimar and from those same knives.

Kasa Ephraim knew the Castello well, having served both the prince and his father. He made his way to the family apartments, where he spoke, in a voice he could not believe was as even as it sounded, of the danger they faced. Like every castle of the age in which they lived it had a private as well as a public entrance, and not just for fear of murder: all princes liked to be able to come and go unseen. If the Jew did not know where it was he suspected it existed, and he told Guaimar’s wife and children, most particularly his fourteen-year-old son, Gisulf, to get out of the Castello at once.

‘Take nothing, for you have no time.’

‘The prince?’

Though he hoped he was wrong, the Jew guessed he was right. ‘Will be dead by now. Go.’

No one demurred when he followed; he, too, felt that only by leaving could he survive. In the harbour, one fast sailing ship was hoisting sail, not from panic or fear, but to carry the news of the death of Guaimar round the toe and boot of Italy to tell Argyrus of the success of his plan.

The news of the murders came to the Norman host, gathered between Melfi and Benevento, through Guaimar’s cousin, Guy, Duke of Sorrento, who had escaped the city and ridden hard to deliver it.

‘The road to Aversa was blocked and there were Amalfians at every post house to stop any messenger changing mounts.’

‘But not on the road to Melfi?’ demanded Humphrey, his beetle brow creased.

‘No.’

‘That does not make sense,’ said Mauger.

‘Perhaps it does,’ Humphrey replied, his suspicious nature working overtime, as were his prominent teeth, chewing his lower lip. ‘I smell another hand in this.’

‘Argyrus!’ growled Geoffrey.

There was a silent exchange of looks then: one thing did not need to be stated, given they all knew of Pope Leo’s scheming. With the Pontiff trying to contrive an alliance to defeat them, and an army gathering north of the city of Benevento, an important fief like Salerno, who had proved to be their only dependable ally, could not be allowed to fall into the hands of someone who was an enemy. If Argyrus was involved that meant Byzantium, the worst possible opponent, given he might control the city and a hinterland that, in league with Rome, would see them surrounded.

‘William’s child was murdered as well?’ asked Mauger, sadly, more sentimental than his brothers. Guy of Sorrento nodded. ‘Then we have a blood reason to intervene.’

‘If we move on Salerno,’ Humphrey nodded, though he looked less grieving than Mauger, ‘he will move on our Apulian possessions while we are gone.’

‘The Pope?’

‘He is still assembling. Leo cannot threaten us yet.’

‘So we stay,’ Mauger asked, ‘or move south to block Argyrus?’

Since the loss of both William and Drogo, Humphrey had grown in both confidence and authority: he was very much in command now.

‘Leo is at present no threat. Geoffrey will lead half our forces to confront Argyrus. If we are wrong and he does not move from Bari then no harm will be done. If he does, and you cannot beat him, you can delay him Geoffrey, giving the rest of us a chance to rejoin.’

‘And Salerno?’ asked Duke Guy.

‘As long as we can block the catapan and Leo does not move, the men who killed Guaimar will see their own guts before they die.’

‘I thank you,’ he replied, relieved.

‘We will, however,’ Humphrey said, ‘need to be recompensed for our assistance. Guaimar was a wealthy man and Salerno is one of the richest ports in Italy.’

The bargaining that followed, for high sums of gold, might have embarrassed a man of tender feelings. Humphrey de Hauteville was not that man.

Robert, still castle-building in Calabria, heard of what had happened at Salerno long after matters were resolved, and he heard of how the hand of Argyrus had been exposed. The catapan had indeed moved out from Bari as soon as the ship from Salerno brought news of Guaimar’s assassination, and it was suspected he had sent word to Pope Leo asking him to act as well, but as soon as he met Geoffrey he knew that, even if he could beat and pursue him, he could be putting his head into a Norman noose, so he withdrew.

Humphrey, having joined with Richard of Aversa, had descended on Salerno within four days, a speed which had thrown the Amalfians off balance, causing most of them to flee. The assassins thought they had time to consolidate their position in Salerno when they had none. They thought, also, they had time to overcome the garrison of their own home city, now besieged in their bastions in a port in full revolt; that too was in doubt.

The Normans had gathered on the way the news that Gisulf had been taken into the Castello di Arechi, now barred and held by the most stalwart Amalfians, though it was said he was still alive, so Guy of Sorrento was sent in to offer them terms. Spare Gisulf, free him, and they would live, kill him and they would die — as they must for foul murder — and as an added incentive Amalfi would be spared sack and utter ruin.

The offer was refused. If the Amalfians thought that in holding Gisulf they had an unbeatable hand, they again underestimated the Norman mind. Richard of Aversa descended on Amalfi like a whirlwind and relieved the garrisons. The men in the Castello di Arechi were brusquely informed their own families — wives and children — had been taken as hostages, which allowed Guy to negotiate for Gisulf’s release, and as soon as he was freed his uncle bent the knee and did homage to him as the new ruler of Salerno.

‘He should have taken the title himself,’ Humphrey complained, as he saw Guy kneeling. ‘Gisulf is but a boy, and not an impressive one at that.’

‘It was a selfless act,’ Mauger replied.

‘Stupid,’ his elder brother spat. ‘Salerno needs a strong hand, not that of a weakling.’

‘So what do we do?’

They were in front of the Castello di Arechi, still occupied by the Amalfians, with crowds of Salernians not far off, at least out of the range of a crossbow bolt, seemingly cheering their new prince but probably more relieved that they would be allowed to return to making money. Between the crowd and the Castello stood a line of mailed and armed Normans.

Humphrey, biting hard on his lower lip, finally said, ‘What can we do, but the same?’

He led Mauger forward and knelt before the young Gisulf, which was followed by the entire contingent of Normans. The youngster looked confused about how to respond, until his uncle told him to gently raise Humphrey up and thank him, which the boy did.