Jack Ludlow: Warriors

Faintly, through the doorway that led to a long sloping ramp — one that would be pulled up and in when danger threatened — came the sounds of the morning’s exercise. The men might have been drinking heavily the night before, not to mention fighting each other with their fists, but that did not obviate the need for daily practice. It was this constant training, as much as the quality of the men he commanded, which had made Rainulf Drengot so formidable a presence in Campania.

The day William and Drogo arrived — and the same had happened to their brothers — they had been obliged to enter that training manege and prove their ability with sword, lance and fighting mount. Rainulf had a very simple attitude: they were in a foreign land and paid to fight and he wanted no one in his band who was not accomplished at that.

When there was no actual combat they trained hard for their task, so that when they did ride out for whatever purpose they were warriors at their peak, men whom no one locally could hope to stand against. Thus their reputation, which included their inclination to cruelty, went before them, often defeating opposition without the need for them to draw their swords.

Arduin had the floor; he had been given enough gold by Michael Doukeianos to pay for fifty knights to garrison Melfi for a twelvemonth, and that was enough to purchase supplies for three hundred lances to get to the fortress and take it over. If he had hoped that Guaimar would dip into his princely revenues to fund anything, that too was a disappointment, but he was no doubt sustained by the rewards he would acquire for success. What those would be were a matter of some interest to William, but that was what they would have to remain: there was no way he could ask, and even if he got an answer, no way of knowing if he was being told the truth.

‘Initially,’ Arduin insisted, ‘we can live off the land, for it is fertile. For the future, the revenues that Byzantium now enjoys will come to us, and that can be used to reward success.’

‘Is there any possibility the inhabitants of Melfi will close the gates against us?’ asked William. ‘They have no reason to love Normans.’

‘They do not hold the castle.’

‘Right at this moment no one holds the castle. You have no garrison, which means the townsfolk have nothing to stop them taking it over.’

‘I am the topoterites appointed by the catapan. They will not, and cannot, deny entry to me, and if I choose to lead you in…’

The fact that Arduin did not finish that sentence was proof enough to William that he had raised a real possibility, and one that would fatally compromise the whole endeavour. Melfi had to be their base as well as their refuge, and having avoided it more than once as he and Rainulf’s men raided into Apulia he knew how strong it was. Even with untrained townsfolk it could be held for an age if they had enough food, certainly long enough to alert Byzantium to what was happening.

‘Might I suggest that you only approach the town with the fifty lances; in short, the garrison the people can be persuaded to accept. Once they are inside the fortress, the Melfians can object as much as they like to another two hundred and fifty more joining them, it will be of little use.’

‘That smacks of you being fearful,’ Rainulf growled.

‘I am that,’ William replied. ‘I have found it helps to be so in a campaign. Michael Doukeianos will hear soon enough of our arrival and the purpose for which we are there. He will have no choice but to bring everything he can muster to evict us. Arduin needs time to gather local levies so that we can meet him with an army, and we have to find crossbowmen from somewhere since we will not have time to train them.’

‘Let him besiege you,’ Rainulf suggested. ‘Let him waste his strength before your walls.’

William looked at Arduin, who nodded, bidding him continue. ‘What message will that send out to Apulia, Rainulf? That we are afraid to meet him in the field? The best way to rally support across the province and beyond is to give Doukeianos battle, at a time and place of our choosing, and beat him.’

‘We must,’ Arduin added, ‘attack and take some of the nearby towns to encourage him. The quicker he seeks to defeat us the better because of his lack of strength.’

Rainulf was shaking his head, possibly from the memory of the previous defeat, but more likely because he was inclined to disagree with whatever was proposed on principle. There was no doubt he saw what was happening as a diminution of his standing: orders and actions were being proposed for his men and he was not the one deciding on the tactics to be employed. William could see that Guaimar was paying him close attention, watching his every reaction, knowing that each rebuff was a test of his authority.

‘The time will come, Rainulf,’ he said, in an encouraging tone, ‘when Arduin and William have laid the ground for our open support. Every one of us will gain eventually.’

That was so blatant a piece of hypocrisy that William had to fight not to react, and he was not helped by the look on Arduin’s face, which could only be described as contemptuous, hardly surprising given the cynicism of what Guaimar had just said. Clearly the prince realised he had made an error, had spoken too truthfully about what he hoped for the future, for he added quickly and earnestly.

‘Byzantium evicted from our borders can only do us good.’

‘So you still wish me to approach the Prince of Benevento about Argyrus becoming titular leader of the revolt?’

The positive reply was a stammer: Arduin had brought out into the open something meant to be kept close. It was pleasing to see Guaimar discomfited; since his return from Sicily William had not, until this day, seen the younger man put a foot wrong in the way he had played him and Rainulf off against each other, and he was obviously, given the mention of Benevento, planning to play the same game with his Lombard neighbour.

Benevento was a papal fief, answerable to Rome, not an imperial one whose suzerain was the Western Emperor in Germany, thus Guaimar could justifiably insist to Constantinople that they were acting alone: he had no involvement in any Apulian uprising and the ultimate responsibility lay with the Holy See.

If Byzantium managed that which it had done in the past, and massively reinforced the Catapanate, and either defeated Arduin or forced him to withdraw, then no blame — even if there were good grounds to suspect it — could be attached to the Prince of Salerno, and while whoever was sent from the east to chastise Apulia took out their ire on Benevento, he would have ample time to negotiate for a settlement of any perceived grievances with the victorious catapan. The Normans could be explained away as they always were, as greedy mercenaries not under his direct control.

Should the revolt succeed, Guaimar would, no doubt, claim to have been the magnate to instigate it, and he would thus be able to put himself forward as a future ruler of that dreamt-for Lombard Kingdom. Any other nobleman prepared to contest that claim would know that, through Rainulf, he controlled the Norman host, a force impossible to stand against, and that would apply to the Adriatic trading ports as well. The Prince of Salerno might get himself raised to the purple, and Rainulf Drengot would be rewarded with more land and titles to ensure his support.

As a piece of chicanery it was a perfect example of the politics William had come to expect in Southern Italy, one of the reasons no Lombard overlord had ever succeeded in leading a successful rebellion; they were too busy manoeuvring to see the wood for the trees. The second reason was one they were even less able to discern: the way they bore down on their subjects, with arbitrary methods of rule, especially in the area of taxation and law.