Jack Ludlow: Warriors

‘The assassins?’ he asked Guy.

‘Will come out now. I have told them they will be spared.’

‘Did you?’

‘Yes, we need peace and reconciliation more than we need more bloodshed.’

‘Then let us see them.’

Guy of Sorrento went to the gates of the Castello di Arechi and called for the men to come out, reiterating that they were safe. Slowly they complied, two dozen of them, blinking at the jeering which came from the citizens gathered at a distance.

‘Your weapons?’ Guy said.

Unsheathing their swords they threw them to the ground and moved forward to stand before Guy and the de Hautevilles, at which point Humphrey growled, ‘You spared them.’

‘I told you,’ Guy replied.

‘Mauger,’ Humphrey called, unsheathing his broadsword, his voice rising as he shouted. ‘We did not!’

Mauger had followed his brother; his sword was out and employed in moments, swinging left and right, smashing bone as well as slashing flesh, and the men who had killed Guaimar were cut to ribbons with a staggering degree of Norman ferocity.

Guy of Sorrento was shouting in protest, Gisulf was wailing in fright, until Humphrey stood before him, the decimated bodies at his back, a bloodstained figure towering over the boy.

‘Don’t weep, lad,’ he said. ‘My brother and I have just saved your life.’

The news of Guaimar’s murder was at first a cause for some rejoicing in Benevento, though Pope Leo felt the need to be muted in his gratitude that the greatest obstacle to the alliance he was creating was gone. Then came the Norman retribution, shocking both in the swift manner it was carried out and worrying to those who had joined the papal forces, not least in the way that Salerno and the Normans had combined. Men began to desert the papal cause, especially when news came from southern Apulia that Argyrus had been obliged to retire on Bari.

Pope Leo was not one to be idle: off he went once more to Germany, to try again to persuade Henry to help him. Not being entirely successful, he had trouble, in the imperial presence, in hiding his anger: there was, to his mind, a dereliction of duty in Henry not accepting that problems in Southern Italy demanded his full attention. However, thanks to a noble relative, he returned with something: a body of seven hundred Swabian infantry, soldiers every bit as professional as the Normans, though he was required to find from papal funds the money to pay and maintain them.

These would form the nucleus of his army, which was made up of levies from all over the north, and with that Swabian core, those who had seen prudence in returning to their homes began to flood back in until Leo had under his command a swelling and formidable force. Humphrey, realising this, sent an offer of parley. It was an indication of Leo’s growing strength and confidence that he dismissed it out of hand.

‘Rider coming,’ called the sentinel atop the first finished tower of Robert’s castle. ‘And he’s Norman.’

Robert, now using what had once been the fat abbot’s private chamber, heard the cry and put aside his quill, where he had been examining the income of his new estates which had come in from his edicts: payment from the use of the corn mill as well as the use of the large monastery ovens for baking; there were others for water and grazing rights, permission for two young lovers to set up house together and myriad other impositions by which a lord maintained himself and his knights.

There were outgoings as well, some in hard-won money, unlike most of his income, for Masses to be said, implements to be purchased from the coast so that those working the land could increase their yields, as well as the purchase of seed and better strains of livestock, but that had been offset by the abundant medicinal herbs which the monks had grown and never exploited: he had been able to trade them profitably. He would only prosper if those below him did so too: he might have argued with old Tancred endlessly, but he had learnt from him as well.

By the time he exited the chamber the rider, on foam-flecked mount and in the de Hauteville colours, was clattering into the courtyard that would, one day, be the keep of his castle, and the message he bore was a command from Humphrey to leave Calabria and come at once to join his brothers: the whole Norman presence, not only in Apulia, but in Italy, was in jeopardy.

‘He’s not talking sense,’ Robert insisted, having got the messenger into his quarters and put something to drink in his hand.

‘He is, Robert. The whole of Italy has combined to put an army in the field — Argyrus, Pope Leo, the Duke of Spoleto — and there are even contingents from the valley of the Po.’

‘With not a decent soldier amongst them.’

That’s when he was told about the Swabians.

Mounted and fully ready to travel, leading three horses, Robert leant down to give his parting instructions to Gartmod. Humphrey might have said every lance, but he was not going to completely abandon what he had so far built, on the very good grounds that he might never get it back again: he would leave here three conroys to make sure the monks did not seek to steal back their possessions.

‘I know I can trust you to treat the peasants well, Gartmod, but do not get too soft with the monks.’

‘I will not whip them.’

‘I never have either.’

‘You threatened to, Guiscard.’

‘And they believed me, which was all that was required. But keep safe what we have built until I can return and finish it.’

‘God speed, Robert,’ Gartmod said, slapping the flank of his mount, ‘and may God preserve you.’

‘He does not want to see me yet, my friend,’ Robert called, adding a booming laugh as he rode out of the gates with his men behind him. ‘He fears to lose possession of Heaven.’

‘Raising foot soldiers has been difficult,’ Mauger said. ‘The Italians and Lombards are backing the Pope, but we managed to get some Slavs from across the Adriatic.’

‘How many?’ asked Robert.

‘Four hundred.’

‘That should scare them,’ Robert replied with deep irony. ‘According to Humphrey, Pope Leo has over five thousand.’

‘If he combines with Argyrus…’

There was no need for Mauger to finish that: the two armies would crush them and it was the primary task of Humphrey, who as Count of Apulia was the leader, to ensure that could not happen. Right now, aided by Richard of Aversa and his lances, he was manoeuvring to drive Argyrus away from a junction with the papal force.

‘And Leo?’

‘Two to three days’ march, we think.’

‘It would be best to be sure, Mauger, we cannot afford to be wrong.’

Knowing he was older, Mauger was tempted to tell Robert not to teach his grandmother to suck eggs. But he also had to acknowledge that this younger brother of his had grown in stature: not in height, he had too much of that already, but there was a steadiness about him which he had lacked before going to Calabria.

From being bumptious, and while not losing his love of a good belly laugh, he had become more serious-minded, and Mauger had watched him as he intermingled his lances with those holding the fortress of Troia, so that they could operate efficiently as one, and he was forced to admit that when it came to commanding men this brother had the measure of him. Mauger was not feeble, but neither was he vain, and he told Humphrey when he rejoined that if he had any sense he would give Robert a serious role in the coming battle.

‘Over you?’

‘If need be. It is important we win, not who gets the glory.’

Geoffrey had been left with a force to mask Argyrus, to convince him he still faced a Norman army that he must take a detour to manoeuvre around.

‘Then you fight with me. We march tomorrow to block the road to Siponto, the route by which Leo can join with Argyrus.’