Warriors (25 page)

There was a risk in him stepping forward, right up to the front line, for all their fury had not abated, but Robert sheathed his sword and dropped his voice to disperse any sense of threat, asking in a level voice for whoever led this rabble to show themselves. That led to much shuffling: vocal and brave before, those who had been the most vociferous now did not want to be identified, but their even more fearful compatriots pushed them to the fore. Speaking even more softly, and having to repeat himself so they could comprehend his accent, Robert invited them in Greek to follow him, so that they could see for themselves the monks were unharmed.

Still reluctant to follow, he had to take one by the arm, a quite sturdy and stocky fellow of half his own height, to lead him through the gate. Trying not to
tremble, for he thought he might be about to die, the peasant followed reluctantly and Robert took him across the paved compound of the monastery, past the kneeling but unharmed monks, to the first of the storerooms, standing back to let him enter.

He was guessing that whatever produce the peasants of the valleys delivered to their monkish masters they never saw it in its full measure, and judging by the look of wonder on the fellow’s face he was right. Calling forward the man who spoke better Greek, he had him explain that the peasants outside could come in twos and threes to be given some of this largesse.

‘Tell him we are here to stay, but we will not harm their monks, but protect them. We will also protect the valleys that lead to Fagnano as well as all the land around, so that no Saracen dare ever again trouble the province.’

Robert doubted the word province would make much sense, but the word Saracen did, for without a force to deter them they had come here enough times to make their name a potent and fearful one. But it was what he said next that really hit home.

‘The abbot and monks of this monastery will, in future, work alongside you to seed, plough and grow, and in doing so they will render better service to God than they do now. That will be needed, for the able-bodied men hereabouts must help us quarry stone to build a fortress into which you may flee and be secure
should anyone come to despoil your lands. Now go back through the gate and tell that to the others.’

Just about to do as he was bid, Robert spoke again, and these words were chilling. ‘But know this, we can make war on you as easily as we can make war on those who would ravage your lands. You will show us the kind of respect you show these monks, or those lances and swords you see will be used against you.’

In twos and threes the peasants came through the gate, many looking fearful still, and most reluctant to take from the monks they revered or feared that which they had grown to keep them portly. There was no mystery to their caution: simple folk with simple needs, their dreams tended to be fixed on the next life, not this one, and the men from whom they were taking this food had convinced them they had the path to salvation, a message much repeated in the services held in the nearby church which they were obliged to enter through a separate outer door.

Though God-fearing, Robert was of a mind to think otherwise: that if God needed slugs like these to carry his message – and he had met too many well-fed monks in his life not to think of them as such – then he was not the Saviour of Holy Scripture.

‘I think it would be good to have a Mass said for our souls,’ said Gartmod.

Robert burst out laughing, his booming mirth bouncing off the surrounding walls. ‘I think the
roasting of some of that beef and pork which is yet on the hoof would do more for our souls than prayer. We have fasted long enough, brother.’

The soubriquet given to Robert, who was busy laying out plans for his castle walls, following on from taking over the monastery, became common amongst the Normans, and was repeated often enough to make those monks who accepted the new dispensation curious. They tended to be young as well as inquisitive, less resentful and, in truth, still retained some of the devoutness that had brought them to Fagnano in the first place. Eventually one of them plucked up the courage to ask Gartmod, who had shown himself to be a pious fellow and less likely to take offence.

‘Guiscard?’

‘It is a word I do not know,’ the monk said.

‘Neither would you, for it is Norman French.’

‘But what does it mean?’

‘It means cunning, which our leader most certainly is.’

When Robert heard it he wondered if he might not be known by a more suitable soubriquet, like that of his eldest half-brother, William.
Bras de Fer
sounded better than Guiscard, which could also mean weasel-like. Yet he knew no man would dare to use it in that sense and let him know they were doing so. In time he became comfortable with it, even to the point where some of his lances dropped his given name completely.

The multiple assassinations ordered by Argyrus had checked the Normans, but it had not stopped or removed them, underlined by the fact that Pope Leo was in constant receipt of complaints that his territory of Benevento was still being ravaged by roving bands of mailed warriors. Added to that, the grip of the Normans on the principality, despite assurances that they were not encroaching, was increasing. Appeals to the Emperor Henry to come south once more, this time with the whole might of the empire behind him, had produced nothing, leaving the Pontiff at a loss to know what to do – doubly frustrating given his background.

When the envoy arrived from Argyrus asking for permission to come to him, it took no great leap of imagination to conjure up a very good idea, in
advance, of what he wanted to talk about. Argyrus had to travel incognito, secretly by ship from Bari to a point further up the Adriatic coast, before journeying inland, with Leo coming east to meet him at a secluded monastery high in the Apennines. They met alone, without attendants and devoid of the trappings of their responsibilities, Leo ostensibly on pilgrimage, Argyrus just an unknown traveller, the latter opening the discussions with a blunt statement of the truth.

‘The Normans are as much a plague to the Church of Rome as they are to Byzantium.’

Considering those words, with fingers arched before his mouth, Pope Leo was also sizing up this Lombard. He saw before him a solid-looking young man of fine countenance, with a direct gaze and a lack of the kind of excessive gestures or eager explanation which denoted insincerity.

‘Does the Emperor Constantine know of this meeting?’

‘No, Your Holiness, the court of the man I represent is not a place for confidences any more than Rome.’

‘Are the Normans not Christians?’

Argyrus knew the Pope was avoiding the point and, he surmised, seeking to find out, before he committed himself, the nature of the person with whom he was dealing.

‘Of a kind, though I sometimes wonder if there is a God, given that what they often do deserves that
they be struck down by a bolt from Heaven.’

Leo replied, wearing a thin smile on his pale lips. ‘There is most certainly a God, my son, and should they seek his intercession he will forgive them.’

‘Do you?’

‘For their sins?’

‘For their actions in your fief of Benevento.’

Those arched hands parted to show open palms, and the freckled face took on a querying look. ‘Christ bore a cross to his Calvary, is it not fitting that the heir to St Peter should have the same kind of burden?’

‘So you are saying that you will turn the other cheek.’

‘When I first came to Italy it was as a soldier in the service of the Emperor Conrad – a bishop, yes, but a warrior who would not have recoiled at taking the life of anyone who opposed the imperial host. If I saw before me now a single head that I could remove, and by doing so eradicate a problem, I would be a soldier once more.’

‘That has been attempted.’

If he had hoped to shock Leo by a near open admission of secret murder, Argyrus failed: he was greeted by no reaction at all, so he was left to pose another question. ‘And if you had an army?’

‘Would you be offering me one?’

It was now the Lombard’s turn to smile. ‘Part of one, yes, for if I had the force necessary to defeat the
Normans I would not have come to you here, would I?’

‘No. But you must know I do not have an army of my own to bolster yours.’

‘The day may come when you need one.’

‘And you think that day is near?’

‘What, Your Holiness, do you think the Normans will do once they have swallowed all of Benevento?’ That being greeted with more silence, Argyrus continued. ‘I think you must see that is what is going to happen, which will bring them to the borders of your own Papal States.’

Leo leant forward, nodding. ‘This I know.’

‘I cannot see what will satisfy them, can you?’

‘And you are suggesting?’

‘Force is the only thing they understand, and their removal from Italy is the only thing that will bring peace. Get the Western Emperor to join with the forces of his imperial cousin and together we will have an army too strong for the Normans to oppose.’

‘I am not sure Henry would wish to see Byzantium fully in control of Apulia once more.’

‘He would rather have a de Hauteville?’

‘No man relishes the choice of the lesser of two evils when he does not know which is the worse.’

‘We had peace before, we can have peace again,’ Argyrus insisted. ‘And I do not think it should be just the combination we have mentioned. You have massive authority through your office. Let us gather
together all those who have suffered from Norman brutality, including Salerno.’

‘Guaimar?’

‘He has suffered more than most and he can hardly be said to be master in his own domains when he has Norman vassals like Richard of Aversa who do as they please. If he joins with us, others will follow, but no request from me to him would get so much as a hearing, but from you…’

‘You wish to remove the Normans from Italy?’ Leo asked.

‘Yes, but we must defeat them in battle first, then offer them that as a way out.’

‘And if they refuse?’

‘Then they must die, every one of them, down to the last boy-child. It is the only way.’

‘Would God forgive us for that?’

‘Would God forgive us for doing nothing, Your Holiness?’

‘I must go to Bamberg,’ Leo said, after a lengthy pause. ‘I must seek help from the emperor in person, but I will write to Salerno.’

When Guaimar received Pope Leo’s request to join in a grand coalition against the Normans he knew it was not a matter he could discuss with his council: the mere mention of it in public and it would be known in Aversa before a day had passed. In any other matter requiring
discretion he might have sent for Kasa Ephraim, but he knew the Jew had extensive dealings with the Normans, so he could not be sure that any advice given would not be tainted by that connection. It was an indication, and an uncomfortable one, of how isolated he could become in such matters that the only person he had whom he could trust as a sounding board was his sister Berengara, and he was most discomfited, on broaching the matter, to be greeted by derisive laughter.

‘How long have I sought this,’ she said, ‘and how many times have you ignored me?’

‘I hesitated to even ask you. You have a half-Norman child.’

‘I have a girl-child who has tainted blood, but I will raise her to hate the Normans as much as I do. Did not her own relatives disown her?’

‘I have often wondered if it was you who had Drogo murdered.’

‘How I wish I had, and I would give my all to the man who did.’

‘So you had no hand in that?’

Berengara produced an enigmatic smile, one her brother had seen before and he knew was designed to bait him: he would never know if Berengara was guilty or not, for he would never hear either an admission or an outright denial from her lips.

‘Why did you laugh when I asked you if I should accede to Pope Leo’s request?’

‘How many times have you told me, brother, that a prince can not always do that which he wishes?’

‘Many times, for it is no less than the truth.’

‘So how do you think it makes me feel to tell you that if you agree to join Leo in his struggle against the Normans you would be a fool.’

‘Why?’

‘You know why, Guaimar. Look at a map. Richard of Aversa is between us and Rome and the de Hautevilles are on our border with Apulia.’

‘Argyrus could keep them occupied.’

‘If I hate the Normans, brother, I distrust Byzantium more. He would be happy to see Salerno humbled and then come to our aid when the city was in ruins.’

‘The depth of your thinking on this surprises me, Berengara.’

‘Why? Because I am a woman?’

Guaimar denied that, but they both knew it to be a lie.

‘So you think I should stand aside?’

‘I think you should return a polite response to the Pope saying that your honour does not permit you to attack one of your own vassals.’

Now it was Guaimar’s turn to laugh. ‘You expect the Pope to believe that?’

‘Who cares what he believes, brother? Much as you seek to blind yourself to it, I am my father’s daughter. He had Salerno taken from him by Rainulf
and Pandulf and I often wonder if you recall how close we came to joining him in that simple tomb in which we buried him. Let Leo and Argyrus beat the Normans, and when they do we will rejoice, but I will not see Salerno destroyed first, which she will surely be, and long before either of those two can do anything to save us.’

Argyrus had entertained mixed hopes for Guaimar: he knew for the Prince of Salerno to join with him and Pope Leo would require a degree of daring. No one depended on Norman lances more than he and, while he was capable of raising armed levies of his own, as he had done in order to take Amalfi, the backbone of any force he had ever put in the field came from Aversa. What did surprise him was the way Guaimar decided to let his refusal be known: what should have been a secret, both the request and his negative response, were now known throughout Italy, severely denting any hopes of engaging the help of the other Lombard magnates.

Somehow that had to be reversed; all problems, to a mind like that of Argyrus, had a solution, while added to that was his ability to think ahead, so in order to hedge against a Salernian snub, and with other possibilities in mind, he had sent a trusted envoy to Amalfi, which might prove to be an Achilles heel, to assess matters.

That the adherents of the deposed duke hated Guaimar went without saying – they had seen power stripped from them – just as most of the citizenry disliked being ruled by another. But, from distant Bari, it was impossible to know if such hatred could be put to good purpose. The reports that came back, of seething discontent, were welcome.

Naturally, when it came to seaborne trade, Guaimar had favoured his own merchants over the needs of Amalfi, so that the once prosperous port saw the commerce off which it had lived leaching inexorably to Salerno. Being a Lombard allowed Argyrus to understand his tribe in a way that the Byzantine Greeks had never quite managed; was it not that very quality which had persuaded the Emperor Constantine to appoint him as catapan?

The leading citizens of Amalfi, be they dispossessed aristocrats or impoverished traders, were Lombards, and though they might mouth other sentiments, and pray mightily for Christian salvation, money, and the power that went with it, was their true divinity. Their other weakness was a lack of tribal loyalty, again something they would mouth, but a feeling which came a poor second to personal advantage.

Nestled in a precipitous coastal valley, connected to the interior by a pass through the surrounding mountains, and, within it, buildings piled on precarious slopes one on top of the other, it was a place built for
intrigue. But the garrison and governor Guaimar had installed, supported by Normans, held the round tower that dominated the port – the easiest point of ingress and egress – feeling safe in the knowledge that control of trade from that near impregnable citadel gave them the key to an untroubled occupation.

They also held the two land gates to the city that fed a narrow coastal road: let the Amalfians grumble, and no doubt conspire, in their cliff-hugging dwellings. They lacked the means to strike out at those who lorded it over them. No adult male was allowed to bear arms, on pain of incarceration; any numerous gathering would be brutally dispersed so that conspiracy was confined to small numbers who dared not coalesce. Fear and an iron fist ruled Amalfi but the contact between oppressor and oppressed was non-existent: the former stayed in their bastions, the latter avoided them completely.

That was the message sent back to Argyrus: discontent was one thing, the ability to act quite another. The envoy had, of course, misunderstood his master’s purpose. The catapan, who would, if he had been required to, have held Bari in much the same fashion as Guaimar held Amalfi, had never thought that a revolt inside the port was feasible. What he wanted to know was the willingness of the leading citizens to act against Salerno, if he could give them a method of doing so.

Perusing the list his envoy had brought back, he chose for his purpose the well-born over the trader, for the latter would always weigh the righting of a grievance against the cost. Dispossessed nobles were more given to emotion: raised in luxury from birth, they were men who would have grown up seeing power as a birthright, and the removal of it as a personal slight. It came as no surprise to discover that many of such had landed estates outside the actual port, well inland over the mountains, with numerous tenants and peasants to work their soil.

Calling his envoy, he instructed him in what he had to do: to take a ship back to Amalfi, one which would sit in the harbour, its load of weaponry hidden in the holds, and prepare the city to rise up against their oppressors. He was then to find those well-born malcontents and get them out of the place. Once on their estates, they would be met by numerous and armed fellow Lombards who would aid them, as long as they equipped their own people to fight as well, the promise held out of the casting-off of the Salernian yoke. That they would be unaware of the hand of Byzantium in their task was all to the good.