Son of Blood (5 page)

Pope Alexander was informed of what had occurred, the problem of the East was discussed and the conclusion of what policy to pursue arrived at. This, apart from the required excommunication, was the paramount need to wait until matters became less opaque. Byzantine was not a commonly used word for nothing; in that particular polity lay a tangled web of alliances and relationships that stood as a mystery to most observers, even those who were relatively well informed by their spies. In Constantinople court intrigue was endemic and had been for centuries, while the succession to the imperial purple was never straightforward – it was too often decided by coup, the secret blade or a doctored potion – and the wearer was often not the real power, for it was many times more necessary to calculate who stood behind the throne as to know who sat upon it.

‘And the other inconvenience?’

‘Progresses well, Your Holiness – the
Guiscard
blames his neighbour
for his recent difficulties. He is, as we speak, gathering his forces to attack Richard of Capua and has even sent to Sicily asking his brother to support him with lances and foot soldiers.’

‘And Capua?’

‘Is, thanks to us, aware of the threat and arming at an equal rate to defend himself. Naturally he has been in communication with us to provide him with support, Apulia being the more powerful.’

The elderly pope gathered his hands before his lips, either in contemplation or prayer – Hildebrand could not discern which. A conflict between the twin seats of Norman power was as tangled with possible outcomes as anything else with which the papacy had to deal. That mutual destruction was the preferred outcome did not have to be stated; both Capua and Apulia were a concern it would be a blessing to be rid of and it had taken much time to manoeuvre both into a position of impending hostilities – the spreading of rumours, the use of Vatican influence, money and its many bishops, abbots and priests to foster and exacerbate an already existing mistrust between the Normans to the point where they were ready to seek a conclusion on the field of battle.

The hoped-for outcome was that both would be diminished and what the papacy had lost, like control of the fief of Benevento outside of the city itself, could be recovered, the banditti wracking their possessions in the Abruzzi should be thrown out of that province, and that both Norman enclaves should be so beholden to Rome that they would be more supplicants than bullies. Less welcome was the notion that one should utterly subdue the other, thus creating a more powerful single entity. Yet if both Norman overlords presented Rome with a problem, the greatest, at present, was Richard of Capua, for the very simple reason that he was the closest and thus the more
dangerous – he could take the city of Rome at will – so it would help if the
Guiscard
clipped his wings.

For every time Richard had aided the papacy – and he had in the past acted as a saviour, not least in securing the position of both Alexander and Hildebrand – there were a similar if not greater number of occasions when he had been the most potent threat at the very gates, while his incursions into borderland papal territories to indulge in outright theft were so numerous as to be a commonplace. Yet if the Duke of Apulia crushed Richard completely, would he not become their neighbour and an even greater threat? The elderly pope had to put aside these silent considerations; Hildebrand was speaking.

‘I have encouraged Gisulf of Salerno to continue to openly support Capua.’

‘He is a feeble prince, Hildebrand; if his deeds matched his boasts it would be him we have to fear, every one of his and our enemies would be as dust.’

Hildebrand could only agree with that; Gisulf of Salerno was a shoddy prince, both a capricious ruler and a useless warrior who, despite his manifest failings, saw himself as a new Caesar. He was wont to conjure up in his imagination great hosts which he would lead to victory – the means did not exist in either the numbers he could actually raise, or in his ability to inspire them. Gisulf was a buffoon, more of a pawn in the chequered board of South Italian politics than a meaningful entity, and it spoke volumes of the lack of physical force the Vatican could bring to bear that it was necessary to seek his aid. Added to Gisulf’s military weakness was his way of lining his pockets by what amounted to near piracy, the ships of Salerno combing the seas to attack trading vessels from the likes of Pisa and Amalfi, both of whom complained bitterly to Rome but to no avail – even if the
papacy despaired of his depredations, Roman trading vessels from the port of Ostia were no safer.

‘Whatever the outcome,’ Hildebrand added, reinforcing the thoughts of the Pope, ‘the contest is going to enfeeble whoever is come closest to victor, and that cannot but be a good thing.’

Bohemund had gathered his band of thirty knights, formed in three conroys of ten each, one of which he led personally, and had left Calore as swiftly as he could muster men, mounts and supplies; he had no trouble recruiting lances, for when it came to plunder, every Norman in the
Guiscard
’s army was keen to take part and many were disappointed to be left behind. The newly captured town was closer to Campania than Trani and there seemed little point in assembling there and having to retrace his steps. He therefore had no knowledge that events in the East had affected his role; with a new emperor in Constantinople and one whose disposition was a mystery, Duke Robert no longer felt comfort on that flank, which was alone enough to make him cautious about acting aggressively in the west.

To invade and conquer Campania he would be required to denude the Adriatic coast, so wisdom dictated that matters be delayed until the situation in Byzantium became clear. The notion of an invasion he could discount – this new emperor would have too many other troubles on his plate – but the loss of a possible marital alliance did mean that the Eastern Empire might, once more, be fully active in fomenting trouble amongst his quarrelsome vassals, and that he must guard against. Yet no message was sent to Bohemund; Robert did nothing to rein in his bastard son, keen as he was to see how he fared as well as offering a test of his loyalty.

Such ignorance of events found Bohemund and his conroys on
a small tributary not far from the eastern bank of the River Ufita, about to cross into the rolling and fertile uplands ruled from Capua. The aim was to destroy the smaller and less defensible outposts and watchtowers that owed fealty to Prince Richard, emptying his granaries, removing the stored ampoules of oil and wine, while letting run wild the spare mounts that were kept in his borderland stud farms, the very means by which he could mount and sustain a campaign in defence of his possessions.

On the first stage of their journey it was natural that when they rested they did so with the Duke of Apulia’s vassals, but as they approached the border that ceased and they camped as if already on campaign. As soon as they crossed the Ufita the alarm would be raised; thirty strange lances and over a hundred horses – for each conroy had a quartet of young squires who would one day be warriors themselves – could not move without provoking a reaction.

‘We must anticipate the local forces will gather to hunt us down. They will try to take us before we do any harm.’

These words had been spoken by Reynard of Eu, who led one of the conroys at Duke Robert’s insistence – if his father had set Bohemund as the leader of these exploits, he was not dull-witted enough to do so without the inclusion of someone of more experience to provide advice; his son was, after all, only just turned seventeen. What Reynard had said could not be gainsaid, for Bohemund knew as well as his father’s familia knight that such behaviour would not be allowed to go on unchallenged, and part of the young leader’s task was to ensure that he took every precaution against being surprised by a superior force of lances.

That was a thought that had troubled Bohemund since the day they set off and where he could he had sought advice from those
who had previously raided these territories, because for all Duke Robert’s precautions, no invasion could be mounted entirely by surprise; Richard of Capua had to be too canny for that, so those border vassals would be on the alert for anything likely to affect both their security and that of their master. Against such a possibility they would, however, have limited strength; such frontier settlements had no great band of knights to protect them. The bulk of the Capuan forces, those Norman lances that would quickly coalesce into a powerful host, lay closer to their major possessions such as Aversa and Capua itself, while those on the extremities would be mainly locally recruited Lombards or Greeks with a small leavening of Normans to stiffen their fighting ability.

‘Then let us make sure they seek us out, Reynard, with the certainty they know where we are.’

‘You mean to bring them to a contest?’

‘If I can do so, yes, but my ultimate aim is to create a period when we can roam freely and at will.’ Before the older man could analyse what he was being told, Bohemund added, ‘So before we so much as torch a farm we must do some careful reconnaissance.’

The maps Bohemund had brought with him were copies of those made by the surveyors of the Roman Empire, and no group had been more assiduous in ensuring the accuracy of what they recorded. Thus, if the nature of the landscape had changed through human activity – the Lombards had taken to themselves the best land, created bigger farms and also extended a settlement as well as built a strong fortress at Grottaminarda – the contours had not, so every hill and valley was recorded, as well as the locations of open country, forest and the streams that fed the river, the latter two features of paramount
value to a marauding band. Thankfully, here in the uplands, those watercourses flowed well even in summer.

The local magnate, the most potent of Richard’s vassals, would reside in Grottaminarda, for it was through there the trade routes ran east and west and the collection of toll revenues was both easy and profitable. It was a location too well sited and formidable to even contemplate attacking, but even if a force from there sallied forth to put a stop to their activities it would not amount to the whole available strength; no sensible commander would denude his main base of fighting men when it was essential it be defended and held. Policy dictated the man in charge send out a small body of fighters, backed up by messengers to the outlying forts and towers, taking a small contingent from each to make up a force of enough size to hunt down intruders and crush them.

Initially only a trio crossed the river: Bohemund and Reynard accompanied by a squire and one packhorse, leaving behind mail and helmets, dressed in the kind of dull woollen garments favoured by non-fighting men and walking as much as riding, never doing the latter with anything above a trot. Bohemund studied his maps and employed a natural eye for terrain that seemed bred into him. They stayed out of sight as much as possible, avoiding the lower ground where the farmers toiled, using the ridges to gain a view of their proposed pillaging grounds, which included the identification of places to raid as well as a good location to offer battle to those who would come to stop them.

A number of the elevated outcrops had a stone watchtower, built on the site of Roman predecessors and so rudimentary they could only be manned by very small parties of armed men, perhaps six or eight, with only half of them mounted, given there was scarce
room to stable horses for more, which left them poorly equipped to defend the land around from banditry. That was not really their task outside petty transgressions; they were in place to overawe a less than contented Greek peasantry and also to ensure that a proper portion of what the farmers grew went to their overlord, and through him to their prince.

These watchtowers radiated out from a quartet of bigger bastions which they were careful to observe from afar, though none with a garrison above perhaps thirty to forty, while half of what they were tasked to protect lay outside the security of the walls: fenced-off pasture for horses and cattle, barns for storing grain and wines, these the very articles Bohemund and his party were intent on destroying. With great care, over three days, marks were annotated on his animal-skin map, working out a plan to both raid and fight; satisfied, the trio rode back into his father’s territory.

T
he following dawn the whole party crossed into the lands of Capua and made for a large farm within long sight of the chosen target, one of the outlying watchtowers. Having turned out the occupants – the tenant and his extended family, who held their land direct from the local magnate and no doubt bore down hard on their peasantry – they rounded up those working in the fields and invited them to loot what goods were stored in the barns. Then they were required to create a pile of hay higher than two men around the buildings, which was soaked with oil and, when laced with tar, set alight, sending, once everything was ablaze, a long pall of black smoke into the air.

Leaving twenty of his men to keep it going, Bohemund, proudly wearing his family surcoat and under his father’s banner, led one conroy to a point at which he could cause the maximum fright to anyone coming from the watchtower to investigate, this a long and
wide clearing, noted on his Roman-era maps, in which they would sight his men with enough time to turn and flee. It was close to a farce the way it played out; two slovenly horsemen in stained leather breastplates, armed only with short swords, rode out of the distant trees to see ahead of them a full conroy of ten Norman lances, who immediately dropped their points and began to trot forward, the sound of their battle horn piercing the air. For all the men from the watchtower were on low-grade mounts, they were animals more speedy than those of the men they faced, destriers bred for sturdiness in battle rather than being fleet of foot, rarely set above a fast canter.

Sure they had a good head start, Bohemund called a halt to let his other lances join him, they alerted by the very horns which had induced panic in the men who had fled, and together they rode, without haste, through the dense woods that surrounded the hill on which stood the target watchtower. The bulk of the force remained hidden while Bohemund took his single conroy on to the open ground before that less than formidable structure, there to dismount, remove their helmets and wait.

A quartet of swarthy, unshaven faces greeted their arrival, peering over the parapet, and sure that relief was on the way – if Bohemund had it right a mounted messenger would have gone to gather reinforcements – they were rudely defiant, with a couple balancing on the rim of the wall to show their bared arses. More importantly, one of the others, on sighting their approach, had immediately set light to a pre-prepared and smoky beacon, set in an iron brazier, that rose high above the parapet, the means by which they would alert their neighbouring towers that an enemy was at the door.

At a slow trot and bareheaded, Bohemund rode round the tower outside the range of a cast lance, as if looking for a point at which to
attack, a foolhardy notion given the numbers on show. Since his lack of years was obvious at such close quarters he was subjected to many an insult regarding the need to be milk-fed and to have his arse wiped, jibes that were extended to his equally young band of warriors by men who knew they had little to fear. Not that he had any intention to initiate an assault on something an army would bypass; properly manned, even such gimcrack structures could take time to subdue, cost serious wounds and even lives in the taking, which could only be done with ladders or by undermining the walls.

The entrance to the main chamber was well above head height and the ramp that led to it had been withdrawn inside. From there a staircase rose to the fighting platform on top of the tower while an internal walkway led down to the stables and storerooms, probably with enough supplies to hold out for more than enough time to be reinforced. As if nonplussed about how to proceed, and to even louder mockery from the parapet, Bohemund withdrew his men into the woods until they too were out of sight, calling to his entire party to gather round him. Up till now he had not outlined his intentions even to Reynard – wise, given he had no idea if what he had calculated up till now would work. But the reaction so far had been what he had wished for; it was time to describe what he hoped would follow.

‘Why light that beacon?’ Bohemund asked, only to answer his own question. ‘There has to be a local plan of defence that is triggered by any attack on any tower and it is my intention to turn that against our foes.’

As their leader explained his proposal to his young compatriots, he did so with the odd look at Reynard of Eu to see how his words were being received in that quarter. The familia knight did not speak, did not rush to say what the titular leader should do. In that he was
following his master’s instruction to give the boy his head unless he proposed something absolutely imprudent and likely to lead to disaster. Many would have accepted such an order and then disobeyed it, but the
Guiscard
had chosen his man well.

‘The other towers have been alerted by that lit beacon and will be at this moment arming themselves to come to the aid of these fellows yelling insults at us, perhaps with half their number, but they will not just charge to the rescue. When the messenger reaches the castle at Grottaminarda, which must be his destination, the fellow who holds that for Capua will detach a small force that will pick up numbers on the way, sure by the time they reach this point they will be strong enough to drive us off.’

‘Not if we give them battle,’ one of the youngsters cried, a fellow called Ligart with flaming red hair who had proved on the way from Calore to have a touchstone temper, which looked about to flare up as Bohemund shook his head.

‘Not here, Ligart – we will take them on the way, which is why so much time was spent scouting for the best site. This watchtower was not chosen at random; to get to it from the west any relief should pass through a deep-sided and heavily wooded valley and that is where they will meet us.’

‘Thinking we number but one conroy?’ Reynard asked, though in such a way that it was obvious he knew the answer; that was why Bohemund had only let that one group of ten lances be seen.

Bohemund just smiled, not wishing to say that if he was going to impress his father, then it was just as important to demonstrate tactical cunning as the ability to fight and win. ‘That is what they will see facing them, one conroy, but in the trees on both sides, hidden from view …’

The rest was left unsaid, for the reason that to speak it was unnecessary, but Reynard thought he spotted a flaw and it was he who raised it. ‘There must be a signal that tells the supporting towers the one we face is no longer threatened.’

‘I agree,’ Bohemund replied, ‘which is why our squires will stay close and let themselves be seen from time to time wearing mail and surcoats. At a distance they will not look younger than the knights those buffoons on the parapet observed earlier. When the sun goes down they keep lit enough fires just inside the trees to indicate we are still present.’

‘They may sneak out to investigate?’ one voice proposed.

‘No, their safety lies in doing nothing and waiting.’

Speaking softly he outlined the results of his reconnaissance, which included a calculation of how long it would take a hard-riding messenger to cover the nine leagues to Grottaminarda, using frequent changes of mounts from the watchtowers he passed, added to the time it would take to get the lances from the castle to where he intended to meet them, assuming that those that would join en route would be waiting at a prearranged rendezvous.

‘It is close to a day’s march and they may well not rush to get here. However, we must be in position before nightfall this very day, for if they come on with haste, at some time on the morrow they will pass through that valley.’

‘Numbers, Bohemund.’

The young man looked at Reynard. ‘How many men would you send to see off a band of ten?’

There was time to light fires and cook some food, to be both eaten and taken as rations; roasting and baking would not be possible again until the coming fight was over. While that was taking
place every man not overseeing the cooking was set to gathering enough dead wood and brushwood, as well as splitting enough logs, to keep those blazing for a day or more. It helped that from the watchtower they would hear the sound of axes thudding into trees, indicating that perhaps timber was being cut for assault ladders. Once the wood stacks were high enough to satisfy Bohemund he led the fighting men and their mounts away from the tower on foot to minimise any noise.

If it was a warm night, it was one in the new encampment, found by the light of moon and stars, that went without a single flame and that continued after sunrise, for even if they could keep the actual fires hidden, the smoke would rise above the trees and excite curiosity as to their source. Much as he tried to keep it from view Bohemund was palpably nervous, which manifested itself in much unnecessary activity, pacing up and down, constantly checking the equipment of those who were well versed in the ability to maintain it, repeatedly asking about the alertness of the sentinels he had set at the head of the valley, until finally Reynard took him by the arm, hauling him well away from the rest of the men, and insisted he settle, given it could be a long time before any fighting took place.

‘You have done all you can to prepare.’

‘Failure is still possible. What if the relief force chooses another route?’

‘Why would they?’

‘A clever leader may smell a trap.’

‘And if he does?’

‘Then it is I who look the fool.’

‘Fighting always carries that risk, Bohemund. If one plan fails you
must conjure up another, and your father would tell you that. God knows he has been forced to often enough.’

Meant to reassure, it just underlined for the younger man the possibility that all his plans would come to nought, which was not aided by a day that dragged by with no sign of an enemy, which meant another night in which all his men could consume was the leftovers of what they had saved from their last cooking. Having called in his lookouts – the relief force would not come on in darkness – he sent them out again in the first grey light, with the feeling that if this day brought no sight of his enemy he must look for an alternative way to proceed. Luckily the sun was barely up before news came of the approaching relief force, added to the opinion they would enter the head of the valley within half a glass of sand at most.

‘Numbers?’

‘Fifty men, all mounted on cavalry horses but with only packhorses as led animals.’

No destriers – moving at speed, then
, Bohemund thought, and relying on numbers to chase him away or take him, unless … ‘Normans or Lombards?’

‘Impossible to tell; they are all clad in the colours of Capua.’

‘They cannot be Normans, Bohemund,’ Reynard insisted, as he observed a degree of hesitation. ‘Richard would not so use them.’

‘If they are, I could have a short existence as a leader of men.’

That response was accompanied by a grin, to let everyone who could hear and see know that whatever the composition of those they were going to face, their leader was determined to fight them. Orders were unnecessary, given every lance knew where to go and what to do, those tasked to cross the valley floor departing as soon as their prayers were completed, again walking so as to leave no trace of their
passing in the thick grass. Reynard, who would attack with his conroy from the left flank, took a hard grasp of Bohemund’s gauntleted hand and wished him success.

‘That depends on our enemies as much as me.’

‘I have ridden into a fight with the
Guiscard
many times. This we are about to do has the stamp of his cunning upon it.’

Bohemund led his men, first through the trees and then, at the far end of the valley, out to take a line across the grassed floor. He was not about to assume whoever opposed him was a fool, and the location for his ambuscade had been chosen not only for the narrowness of the valley but also because of its length, which allowed him to ride forward as though he and his men were progressing to the westwards in search of places to plunder, mounted on their cavalry horses and leading their roped-together destriers and pack animals; it was his task to tempt his foe and break up any cohesion by offering them a tasty morsel they could not fail to consume.

How soon would they come into view? – an important consideration given timing was a guess. He needed to be at least halfway up the valley when sighted and with so few men he could spare no one to act as a sentinel and control his own pace to match theirs. It was therefore not surprising for those of his conroy who looked in his direction to observe his lips moving in silent prayer. In his favour was the strong morning sun at his back, so that he saw his enemy starkly before they could quite make out his party, though that was only worth a sliver of time.

He shouted to halt in a way that carried and, he hoped, conveyed surprise and shock, then immediately waved his hand to order a withdrawal as their superior numbers became plain, hauling his own mount round and kicking hard to make it gallop, his men doing
likewise, dragging on their lead ropes to bring along his other two mounts, an act which naturally and dramatically slowed the turn. The next bit of his plan required that his enemy indulge in a swift pursuit and Bohemund’s over-the-shoulder gaze was an anxious one.

Whoever commanded was not a man to allow a shapeless charge; down the valley floor the Apulians could hear echoing horns, accompanied by shouted orders as the enemy horsemen fanned out into two lines so that their flanks filled the entire space between the treeline on either side, their aim to ride down and envelop this inferior band. Before long those echoing sounds turned to thundering hooves coming on at a pace which would rapidly close the gap, one which Bohemund, still tugging on his lead rope, watched with concentration. For all the pursuit was swift, it was being carried out in an ordered fashion: if the front line of horsemen was not perfect, it was yet a row of lances acting in unison, getting dangerously close, and that had to be broken up.

The shouted command from Bohemund had his men let loose their destriers and packhorses, not that these animals ceased to dash along with the cavalry mounts, for no horse can see another run without they do likewise, that being instinctive in a prey animal. But roped together they could neither maintain the same speed, nor move in a straight line, so within moments a gap had opened and they were veering right and left, while in one case a pair went over with legs kicking and loud, panicked neighing.