Conquest

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Guiscard was outside the walls of Bari when he heard of Roger’s Sicilian debacle, completing a ferocious but successful year-long campaign to recover Apulia, fighting against a Byzantine army that had not only retaken several important coastal cities but had also besieged Melfi, mostly due to the fact that if Argyrus had held the titular command, he had been wise enough to defer to the professional general sent from Constantinople to aid him.

Having relieved his own castle he had taken back the cities one by one, his army swelling as he gained success after success, yet he was only back where he had started, holding most of Apulia but unable to finally eradicate the forces of the Eastern Empire as he had in Calabria; he might have to do the same thing all over again, if not this year, then at some time in the not-too-distant future. Argyrus was still busy plotting, and such was his skill that no one could ever guess from where the next threat would come.

Yet there had been a subtle shift during this campaign: what had helped save the Guiscard’s position, especially in the relief of Melfi, was the way many of the Lombards had rallied in numbers to his cause, though he was unsure why. Was it because they thought him less of an evil than Byzantium, or was it that he had not only married a Lombard princess, but that she had borne him a son and heir?

Probably more important was that Sichelgaita was at his side as often as her condition would allow, as commanding a presence as he with her golden hair and telling stature. Just as significant was their relationship, obviously a contented one. Robert had found in Sichelgaita a soulmate who was as capable of being as coarse as he — nothing amused her more than a bedcover-lifting fart — while she had a laugh to shake the stone walls of a castle; Jericho would have fallen to her with one good jest: refreshing after the delicacy of Alberada.

Even with Lombards to aid him, Bari, into which the enemy army had retired, still held out and the region would never be at peace while the city remained in Greek hands. Yet Robert could see no way to take it, standing, as it did, on a long, narrow promontory sticking out into the Adriatic, with massive sea walls difficult to attack, which left only one place open to a land assault: the easily defended wall and great gate that cut off the peninsula from the mainland. To attack that was to seek success at its strongest point, not only in the height and formidable nature of the walls, but also in the sheer number of men that would be committed to holding it.

‘Starvation is out of the question, brother,’ Robert said, ‘even if you block up the water gates the city walls extend to the seaward side and they can be supplied from there, so that’s a problem best put aside.’

These ruminations were being imparted to a still-chastened Roger, who had endured much ribbing for his Sicilian fiasco. With Apulia subdued, in possession of an intact and successful army, and with many months remaining of the campaigning season, Robert had left enough of his foot soldiers behind to mask Bari and keep Argyrus quiet, then marched his lances straight to Reggio, insisting that, given the aid of Ibn-al-Tinnah, conditions were still favourable for an assault on the island, this time a proper invasion.

‘Do you trust him?’ Robert suddenly demanded, moving from his gloom regarding Bari, back to Sicily — hardly surprising given the two brothers were standing on a hill overlooking the Straits of Messina and the long shoreline opposite, backed by mountains, the snow-capped peak of a smoking Mount Etna clear as a backdrop.

‘I think he will betray us as soon as he feels he hasnothing to fear from Ibn-al-Hawas. He showed no indication to stay with our cause after Cape Faro, did he? He scurried back to Catania.’

‘He is safe there now; it is we who have to worry about al-Hawas.’

That emir had abandoned his Catania campaign as soon as he heard of the arrival of Robert’s army, being no fool. Such a powerful Norman host posed a grave threat to the likes of Messina, and if a port and city of that size fell to them, then even his city of Enna, far distant in the interior mountain fastness, would not be safe, while in the lands Roger had already ravaged he would struggle to hold on at all. Al-Hawas had gathered up ships to patrol the shoreline around Cape Faro all the way to the Milazzo peninsula, where he expected them to land. Roger, for one, was full of caution.

‘For now al-Tinnah is on our side,’ Robert insisted, overriding his brother’s concerns. ‘That might not continue, and all history tells us that to invade Sicily without an ally is doomed, so we must make use of him and damn the difficulties.’

‘Nothing would please me more than to go back,’ Roger growled, still smarting from the rebuff of Messina, ‘but not to Cape Faro. An opposed landing there could be as bloody as our forced retreat, and we can hardly sail an entire army of two thousand lances over the Straits without being observed.’

‘So you have an alternative?’

‘Let us go in waves, say of a tenth of number, from one of the small ports, and choose a more constrained landing place where we will not be expected. There is a tiny bay I came across just a couple of leagues south of Messina-’

‘Came across?’

‘I have sailed the Sicily coast these last weeks in order to get to know it properly. After what happened…’ Roger did not finish that sentence: he did not have to. ‘It’s big enough to land a couple of hundred knights at a time. The crossing is some four leagues by my reckoning.’

‘Defendable?’

‘Backed by high hills with only one narrow ravine leading inland. Twenty knights could hold it and it has an underground stream running down one side to provide fresh water. It’s perfect.’

‘Do we want to be that close to Messina, brother? That is where al-Hawas is strongest. Further south is al-Tinnah’s land where we can come ashore without interference.’

‘And go where, Robert? Clamber up Etna to warm our feet at the crater? If we are to invade and stay we need to find and defeat our enemies quickly, as well as a place that can support a fortress we can reinforce at will.’

‘Like Milazzo?’

Roger flushed to be reminded he had abandoned a perfectly good location for that very thing for what appeared to be nothing but avarice. To return to Milazzo by land, with al-Hawas and every man he could muster standing between them and it, would be difficult and risky, even more so by sea.

‘Catania is a port,’ Robert insisted.

‘And one we can use as long as al-Tinnah is our ally. But it obliges us to make a long march north to fight. Next you will be telling me that’s something you wish to avoid. You should trust me on this, brother.’

‘You think yourself cleverer than me, Roger?’

Roger responded with a wry smile. ‘I don’t suspect, brother, I know.’

‘As an answer that is not very bright given what I have and you do not.’

‘It is the only answer you will believe.’

‘I am not persuaded your plan is sound.’

‘Then, with power, you have lost your insight.’

‘To think I named my son after you,’ Robert replied, his face flushed with anger. ‘When was the last time I boxed your ears?’

‘The last time I was too small to fight back.’

Robert stood up and so did Roger, still the smaller of the two, though not by much and, for a moment, it looked as if a blow would be struck, without any certainty as to who would be the first or the winner, for there would certainly be more to follow. Suddenly Robert burst out laughing again, encouraging his brother to reiterate his arguments.

‘Let me show you the bay I have in mind. When you see what I am talking about I am sure you will agree. If you do not, well it is your army to command.’

‘Ships?’

‘Arranged already,’ Roger replied, adding quickly, ‘subject to your approval.’

‘To sail from where?’

‘St Maria del Faro, halfway between Reggio and Scilla, and if we go in the numbers I suggest it is big enough for the quantity of vessels we will need.’

Robert walked forward, looking once more at the island over the narrow waters. ‘You have been here for a long time, so I am going to bow to your greater knowledge. But pick a good saint’s day, Sprat, I want as much of God’s grace on my side as I can get.’

Roger de Hauteville, after a Mass said on the quayside, weighed in darkness aboard just a dozen ships, leading an advance guard of two hundred and fifty lances. There was no moon in this part of May, but with a clear sky they had ample starlight by which to steer, and this on calm waters. The crossing was swift and trouble free, so that he had no difficulty in landing his men off his lead ship before first light, their immediate task to take and hold the approaches. As soon as that was achieved, he disembarked the rest of his command and sent the ships back. Serlo was sent inland to scout ahead and returned to say he had sighted a huge baggage train heading for Messina.

Should Roger investigate? The landing ground must be held secure for what would follow and his arrangement was to await his brother’s contingent at the very least, and probably the whole Norman host. The baggage train lacked armed protection, but there might be forces close by to protect it, strong enough to threaten their landing place. If there were, he needed to know what level of threat they might portend and how far off they lay.

In truth and in his heart Roger knew he was looking for an excuse to act on his own and the Fates had gifted him one: common sense dictated he intercept a baggage train, which was probably resupplying al-Hawas. He left thirty men to hold the ravine, knowing, if need be, he could retire through them in haste, then set off inland with the remainder of his lances. Serlo’s slow-moving mule-and-camel train, all of a league in length, was easily caught. A party was sent to cut off their progress and another to the rear to stop them running for home.

‘Save the beasts,’ Roger commanded.

‘And the drovers?’

‘We cannot risk news of our presence to be spread around the countryside.’

There was no need to underline the meaning of that: they attacked and, in a short and bloody engagement, slaughtered every man leading a mule or a camel, then spent a longer time rounding up their charges, they having fled. Fortunately a laden beast will not run far, and once they were gathered and examined Roger was surprised by the amount of booty they had just taken: not only food, but several panniers carrying gold, all transported back to the beach, which took the remainder of the day, by which time the next contingent of lances had come in.

Buoyed by easy success and leaving on the beach his booty, Roger set off again at first light, this time at the head of five hundred knights, riding through the rolling hills that led to Messina, surprised at the speed with which they were allowed to proceed, slowed from a canter only when they were required to walk their mounts up the steeper sides of the valleys through which they travelled. Finally at the top of a wooded hill, Messina lay before them, still formidable; yet peering at the parapets they could see no soldiers, not even a skeleton guard, and there was no sign of any of the forces al-Hawas would have mustered camped outside.

‘Where in the name of God are they?’ Serlo asked, as, screened by trees to keep out of sight, he, Roger and Ralph de Boeuf, for the second time in three months, surveyed the pale walls of the city, looking deceptively soft and pink in the sunlight. ‘We have not seen so much as a piquet on the way here.’

‘Perhaps the earth has swallowed al-Hawas up,’ Ralph said, ‘he being an infidel.’

It looked as if he might be right: the fields between where they sat and the city, ripe with wheat rippling in the soft sea breeze, were almost devoid of any human life and certainly bare of any military presence. The gates were open and a small trickle of traffic entered and exited through them with no hint of any kind of alarm. It was so pastoral, obviously not one of those inhabitants knew the Normans were even close by.

Roger replied softly. ‘Much as I think God is ever on our side, I do not believe in miracles.’

‘Then what?’ Ralph asked.

Roger thought a long time before answering. ‘Al-Hawas is expecting us to land at Cape Faro or the northern shoreline. Maybe he has placed every available man there to stop us, knowing he will be forewarned when our fleet sets sail.’

He then pointed out the waters of the straits, the Italian mainland visible as a hazy blue line, devoid of shipping if you excluded fishing boats. ‘There is not a galley in sight, which means he is not even patrolling the waters off the harbour.’

‘Then he has made an error,’ Serlo hooted. ‘Once Robert’s ashore we will have him.’

‘It is not unknown,’ Roger replied, with some feeling, ‘for military leaders to make mistakes, and I for one will not make any rash judgements.’

Roger had been chastened by his previous failure and he was not alone. Yet, Ralph de Boeuf, the man who had served with him for years, was positive. ‘You have a chance here to wipe out a stain and one that will not last. Robert will already have sailed.’

Roger answered in a grim tone. ‘I have had my pride broken once on those walls, Ralph. Besides, as soon as we are sighted, messengers will be sent north to alert al-Hawas.’

‘Roger, you cannot allow one reverse to blind you to such an opportunity.’

‘Uncle,’ Serlo protested, ‘we must at least try.’

Looking over his shoulder, Roger observed what he had with him: five hundred lances, at present resting in the cool of the woods, standing by their mounts to deny them grazing in case they were needed to make a speedy retreat. This force exceeded that with which he had tried to take Messina before, and there were still fifteen hundred more men to come. What gave him pause was that, in his mind’s eye, he could see the image of the bodies he had so recently left below those parapets.

Badly as he wanted to redeem his reputation, it was not that which decided him to proceed. Even if he did nothing he could not avoid the news being carried to the city that there were enemies outside the city walls; he had been lucky up till now to outrun any of those who must have spotted his lances. But when messengers rushed north, it would likely throw al-Hawas into a panic and one in which he might compound his already faulty dispositions. Unsure of what he faced the Saracen might hesitate and give time for the whole Norman force to invest or bypass Messina. Whatever course was taken the city would be isolated and cut off from immediate support. In time it would fall and he would be vindicated, his vow fulfilled.

‘Serlo, get our men ready. Ralph, ride back to the landing beach. When Robert sets foot ashore tell him he is not to delay but to come on with every man he can get astride a horse.’

Seeing the disappointment in de Boeuf’s face, Roger added, ‘It has to be someone of enough standing so he will believe what he is being told is true.’

‘Which does not provide much comfort.’

Roger’s lances exited the trees as one continuous line, spread across the wheat fields through which they rode, trampling the corn that ran to the shoreline. At their rear, Roger had his men bring forward their other mounts to the forest edge so that they would be visible, hoping that, from a distance, it would appear as an even greater number waiting to attack. There was no rush to his advance: it was carried out at a walk and he himself made no effort to move forward separately as if seeking to parley. If there were any fighting men in Messina, he wanted them to flee for the safety of their Saracen army before the gates were slammed shut. Thus would the place be more vulnerable later.

‘They must know,’ he explained to his nephew, ‘Robert’s whole army is about to descend on Sicily and they will be acquainted with his reputation. Like al-Hawas they will be surprised to see us here, approaching from the south. News travels, and much as it pains me to admit it, I am using my brother’s reputation as a weapon. I want them to think he is close by, to think he will be around their walls before the people they depend on to keep us out can get back to their aid, so they risk being locked in to face a soldier who has taken more walled towns than anyone in Christendom.’

Roger called upon his horns to blast a command, and his long line of lances broke into a trot.

By the time Ralph de Boeuf got back to the landing bay the light was fading, Robert had arrived and was ashore, bellowing loud orders. Though he was pleased by the news of no substantial forces lying between him and Messina, he was less so by Roger’s unexpected absence, and utterly disinclined to warm to his brother’s notion of an immediate siege with an enemy army still in the field. Basic good sense said the right tactic was to first defeat al-Hawas.

‘If Roger sees any sign of al-Hawas,’ de Boeuf insisted, ‘he will send word to tell us. Messina looks totally undefended.’

‘I seem to recall it was totally undefended the last time you saw it and look what happened then. Now, help me get my lances ashore so we can get them marching to where they need to be, facing the enemy’s main force.’

‘You will have to bypass Messina anyway.’

‘Where,’ Robert growled, ‘I had better be joined by a brother who was supposed to await my arrival before undertaking anything.’

Disembarkation took most of the day and they could not march at night, so it was dawn on the third morning before they set off, Robert hoping that if al-Hawas had made his dispositions as Roger outlined he could not move any quicker. He led his army through fields of growing wheat mixed with vineyards, and lemon and orange groves. No one working in the cool of the morning lingered at the sight of these strangely clad horsemen who rode by in what seemed like an endless stream.

As Robert rode through the same line of trees that had hidden his brother previously, the shore on which Messina stood came into sight, but there was no sign of Roger, no tethered horses and a view of the plain showed only where the crops had been crushed by his advance hooves; in the shimmering heat of the middle of the day it looked as if he too had been swallowed up.

‘Damn Roger, where is he?’

‘He must have bypassed the town to seek out al-Hawas,’ Ralph de Boeuf said.

The reply was an angry shout. ‘He should have waited!’

Those who surrounded the Guiscard, his senior captains, de Boeuf included, watched him in silence as he surveyed the deserted landscape before him, leading up to those pinkish walls and, even from here, the dark blob of the now firmly closed gates. For all his barking about Roger, Robert knew him to be a good soldier and he would not just dismiss any of his suggestions: to do so out of pique was foolish.

His companions guessed Robert would be working out where to place his siege lines, wondering about supplies of wood, water and forage, also how to thwart his enemies who must surely be on their way south to meet him, added to the problem of how to do battle with al-Hawas while instituting a siege, in no way forgetting the alternative, which was to seek out the Saracens and defeat them first. Such ruminations were a commonplace for a leader like the Guiscard, who knew as well as anyone that even carefully laid plans rarely survived the first point of combat.

‘Keep the army in the shade until the sun has softened a touch,’ Robert commanded, finally, his next words nailing his decision. ‘While I go forward and offer Messina terms.’

Reposing scant confidence in what he was about to do and not yet having made up his mind about his next course of action, Robert de Hauteville called for his standard-bearer, his herald and his personal knights. He then rode forward with panache, magnificently mounted, clad in his blue and white surcoat, under a banner bearing the devices of his titles, his head crowned with a helmet that had long since ceased to be plain metal, but now was gold-decorated so that he could be seen to be what he was, a rich and powerful duke, come to claim that with which the Pope had enfeoffed him.

The walls seemed deserted, it was as if no one had stayed behind in the place, ridiculous given this was one of the most populous settlements on the island. Nodding to his herald, the man rode forward and began to shout up at the point above the gate.

‘The most noble Robert, by the grace of God, Duke of Apulia, Calabria and Sicily, does hereby call upon the citizens of Messina to open their gates to their rightful suzerain, on pain of dire penalties should this claim be denied. The laws of war are plain: surrender and open your gates and all will be spared in peace and prosperity. Fail to do so and you will face the wrath of your liege lord and none, down to the meanest creature, will be spared a bloody death.’

No reply came, no one spoke, which had the herald looking back at his master, wondering what to do. A long silence was finally broken by a creaking sound, as slowly one of the great oak gates, studded with metal, swung open and Roger walked out.

‘Do forgive me, brother,’ he said, ‘but I was at my place of easement.’

The laughter broke out slowly but rose quickly to roars of amusement as Roger’s lances stood up from where they had been hiding behind the parapet, to look down on a far-from-smiling Guiscard.

‘You made me go through that farrago because you were having a shit!’ he cried.

‘I was going to invite you into my city of Messina, Robert,’ Roger gloated, ‘but if you are going to adopt that tone maybe I will force you to take it after all.’ When his brother looked set to explode, Roger added softly, ‘Let me have my joke, Robert; after all, you have Messina without a drop of blood being spilt. I have assembled the elders before the cathedral. They are waiting to meet, greet and do homage to their new suzerain.’

‘They did not even try to resist. Al-Hawas stripped the city of every able-bodied man and I suspect they thought him already defeated, so, with a Norman army at their gates, their position was hopeless. I rode up, demanded entry, and the Greeks opened the gates to prostrate themselves before me, while the Muslims fled. I let my men loot what they abandoned.’

Following on from his triumphant entry, and the ceremonial acceptance of his title, both brothers repaired to a palace that had accommodated governors from as far back as Ancient Rome. Looking over one of the best harbours in the Mediterranean, port to a city that could not be taken without the aid of a powerful blockading fleet, Robert was full to bursting with exhilaration: he had come to beat an enemy army, to clear the coast so that he might be able to build a defensible castle and this changed everything. The only problem he had was his determination not to show either pleasure or gratitude.

‘You know what this means, Robert?’

‘Oh yes, brother, we are here to stay now. There is not a force on the island sufficient to push us out of Messina when I have done with fortifying it.’

Roger waited for the words, ‘Thanks to you.’ He waited in vain.