Conquest

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ibn-al-Hawas, on hearing of the fall of the city, fled to the west, taking his army and the Muslims of Messina with him, so the immediate threat was gone. Much as Robert wanted to meet and defeat him the pursuit must wait — the first task was to make his new port city impregnable: for all it was strong it had been taken more than once in the past, and the Guiscard knew that if he was ever to conquer Sicily then this was a foothold he could not afford to lose. Whatever happened out in the field, if he had Messina to retire to and a strong enough garrison to hold it, he was secure.

The men he led were horse-trained warriors but they were also builders and soon they were toiling in the heat on the walls and towers, or supervising the locals in the digging of a great ditch to surround the walls, one that could be breached to let in the sea and create a deep moat, rendering ten times more difficult any future assault. The harbour was easier to secure, being in a deep bay with a narrow access, which in time of trouble could be sealed off by an underwater boom of chain-linked logs. To leave a sufficient garrison to back up these measures was to diminish his strength, yet that was a price he knew he must pay.

Roger oversaw as much of this work as his brother, still wondering at the way he was behaving: nothing was allowed to hint at a split in their relationship, yet he could sense an underlying lack of trust, as if, in acting as he had, even in being successful in taking the city, he had somehow created doubts regarding his judgement; or was it his ambition? At other times he would berate himself for being oversensitive: Robert was mercurial in his moods, always had been, growling or bellowing angrily at one moment, booming with laughter in a twinkling.

Ibn-al-Tinnah soon appeared, singing Norman praises, offering that which he had previously promised, not in the least bit abashed at the way he had so quickly detached himself from Roger after the debacle at Cape Faro. In fact, while polite, al-Tinnah paid him little heed: the Saracen emir had come to see the new power in the land, the only man who could protect him from his enemies — Robert Guiscard.

Watching his brother in conversation with a man he knew he mistrusted was instructive: nothing of that was allowed to surface for, like Messina, Robert needed al-Tinnah. He held the eastern seaboard of Sicily and protected the city from the south and was also a source of essential supplies: weapons, very necessary replacement horses and even, if he could be persuaded, foot soldiers. Was Robert treating his own brother in the same manner, keeping him close but hiding a lack of faith in him?

‘Ibn-al-Hawas you must destroy,’ the Emir averred, in a theatrical and passionate manner, unnecessary histrionics with a calculator like Robert. ‘You will have no peace while he lives.’

‘And you also, Ibn-al-Tinnah.’

‘I acknowledge your wisdom, Duke Robert, but kill him and there is no other power with the means to oppose us. We can take Palermo, which will give you rule of the whole island.’

Much time had already been spent with al-Tinnah, he explaining the complexities of Sicilian politics, a lot of it known but both brothers more than willing to admit to ignorance. The capital of the island and the greatest city was Palermo, a distant object in the west, with many an obstacle in between, and while al-Tinnah painted a picture of great and easy conquests, both de Hautevilles, without communicating, were independently assessing their situation in a more realistic fashion and homing in on one very pertinent fact: the Saracens were numerous and they were not.

Such knowledge did not daunt them: Normans rarely fought a battle in which they were not outnumbered, but the sheer ratio, as well as the difficulties that must be overcome, like the terrain itself, was sobering. There was one point of agreement: despite the distance and what lay in between, Ibn-al-Hawas, now in his fortress of Enna, had to be their first objective: to allow him to come to them was too risky. Al-Tinnah would join them at Rometta, then concentrate on harrying those areas he and Roger had raided months before. His task was to keep the Normans supplied and protect their northern flank.

Down to a thousand lances, with some local support and levies from Calabria just fetched across the straits, they set off from Messina, heading into the first of the endless mountain ranges that defined the island. Rometta, standing on a volcanic plug, which had risen sheer from the surrounding foothills, was a formidable objective that had troubled many an invader in the past. Roger and al-Tinnah had secured it previously, having been welcomed as liberators, but with al-Hawas back in his own lands, Robert anticipated a siege. It came as a pleasant surprise to find the Muslim castellan al-Tinnah had left in command had remained faithful to his overlord, so they were able to enter the citadel without a fight.

Robert immediately ordered a Mass to be said in the Greek church — the population was overwhelmingly of that race — though with his own Latin priests officiating, for it seemed once more that God had blessed his cause. He was now safe in the fortress that protected the passes that led to Messina, rendering his base even more secure. Later he and Roger walked the ramparts over which their brothers William and Drogo had fought twenty years before, seeking to take Rometta as mercenaries of Byzantium. It had been a bloody fight then, they knew, and few had seen the place finally fall without the scars of ferocious combat.

‘Enna will not be easy like this, Robert,’ Roger said. ‘I am told it stands even higher.’

‘Then it would be best we get there quickly, before it becomes an even harder nut to crack.’

‘The Saracen governor?’

That raised a tricky problem. Robert wanted to leave behind a Norman contingent on the grounds he had to protect his line of retreat, when in reality they were a garrison of what he now considered to be a fortress he, not al-Tinnah, held.

‘It will be a test of the emir’s truthfulness, Roger. If he objects we will know he plans to play us false once we have dealt with al-Hawas.’

‘I would not send him north, brother, I would keep him close.’

‘But, Roger, it is not your decision.’

That sharp reminder broke the mood and Roger walked away, muttering that he would get his men ready to depart, while wondering if he should beard his brother and demand of him what doubts he harboured. Part of the problem, he knew, stemmed from his own nature: he was not a natural subordinate but a leader in his own right, while Robert was not one to allow his domination to be challenged in any way. That he did not understand Roger had no desire to issue such a challenge mattered less than what he believed and would not discuss. It would have to be resolved but this was not the time: they had a campaign to finish and one that was going to spill much blood.

Al-Tinnah parted company, leading his forces north. Robert marched west, driving his cavalry hard, pushing on ahead of his foot soldiers, moving out of the fertile Greek-populated valleys and on to the high central Sicilian plateau, aiming for Centuripe, the next fortified place on his route to Enna, the whole journey dominated by the towering presence of Mount Etna, the snow-capped volcano spewing smoke by day and glowing red at night, as if to warn anyone close by that they were but mere mortals in the presence of a greater power.

Up till now the local populations, mainly Greek and Christian, had seen him as a liberator from Saracen hegemony. Once in the high hills, the people were either Muslim or the kind of indigenes who had been here since the time of the Phoenicians, hostile to Saracen and Norman alike. Thus care had to be taken with his lines of communication, further weakening a strength already depleted by what he had left behind at Rometta.

Centuripe, like every other Sicilian township, was set on a high hill and dominated by its citadel, this a fortress on a conical outcrop so steep it was near impossible to assault. The Normans needed the garrison to surrender, but whoever was in command, a vassal of al-Hawas, was wise enough to discern that this walled town was not the main target for these invaders. He refused to even parley, forcing Robert to call off what was in any case a half-hearted attempt to invest it. Yet Centuripe could not be just left on his line of march so he shifted that to the east and took the less formidable town of Paterno, detaching even more of his limited strength to garrison that. Given there was no sign of the great army al-Hawas was reputed to have gathered to oppose him, a further thrust brought him eventually to the plains below Enna, the most fearsome fortress in Sicily.

‘God save us if we don’t win here,’ groaned Serlo de Hauteville, looking up at the fortress, standing high above what was already an elevated plateau. ‘Any Mass said will be a requiem.’

Enna was in a position that could not have been improved upon: nature had already set it apart. The town was clustered along an elevated, impressive table, while at the highest end stood the castle, the only approach along the narrow ridge of the walled town, the other three sides of the escarpment falling away into the valley.

‘His army is not in there,’ Robert barked, ‘and it is they we have to beat.’

Roger spoke to support Serlo. ‘If it is anything like the size of the rumours we have heard it would be wise to choose our ground to fight.’

‘I will not attack them,’ Robert replied, just as angry with him, ‘and before you point it out, we cannot just sit here either, we must get them to attack us. Serlo, this is something you will enjoy: get out there, find them, and prick them until they can stand it no longer.’

‘And me?’ Roger asked.

‘You, brother, have got to help me choose where we are going to bring them to battle.’ Then he pointed up, as if to the sky. ‘And once we have scattered them, how we will besiege that damned fortress.’

It was well away from Robert’s ears that Roger voiced his opinion to Serlo. ‘He is praying for divine intervention when he talks about taking Enna.’

‘The Saracens took it from Byzantium. It is not impossible.’

‘They took it after a two-year siege by sending men crawling up the main sewer through decades of shit and that, you can guarantee, has now been blocked off. They will have strengthened the place since, as would we.’

‘Are you saying we cannot take it, Uncle?’

‘Not with what we have, Serlo. We need a more secure rear and thousands more milities just to seal it off, as well as to mount the kind of repeated assaults that will be needed to wear down the defenders.’

Serlo nodded. ‘What about Robert’s plan to pester the forces outside?’

‘It’s not only sound, it’s essential. All al-Hawas has to do is sit still. It is we who will get weak, not he.’

‘You did not say this when you had the opportunity.’

Roger wondered how to reply to that, then it occurred that Serlo might be young but he was no fool. ‘Do I need to say why?’

That got him a grin. ‘No, Uncle, you do not.’

‘Robert has favoured you as I did. Make good use of it.’

That Serlo did over the following days. Having located the Saracen host he first established where they were strong, around the main command tents, then where they were weak, on the flanks. His probing attacks were just that, sorties designed to annoy and spread panic, to force the enemy to be alert at all times, for if they were not they would find a fast-moving Norman band inside their lines, slashing and cutting at often unprotected flesh.

Stronger cohorts were moved out to stop these raids, weakening the main concentration, so his final incursion was launched there when the leaders were in their tents at their evening meal. Using the swiftest mounts as well as the terrain, Serlo seemed to appear from nowhere, driving through the central camp roadway. If a flashing sword or swinging axe was not used to kill or maim, then it served just as well to cut the guy ropes and bring the canvas down about the leaders’ ears, the dent to their pride doing more to rouse them to action than any number of their followers being killed or maimed.

The horns blew the following morning, the sound faint but clear in the warm air. Robert soon had sentinels riding in from their outposts to tell him that the whole host was on the march, heading straight for his position. In anticipation, the orders had already been given: Roger was on the right flank with a hundred and fifty knights, Serlo on the left with the same number and for once the Guiscard was clear that they should act as they saw fit. He commanded six hundred lances and the eight hundred milities.

‘Serlo puts our enemies at seven thousand in number, with at least fifteen hundred horses. Those, if the Saracens act as they usually do, we will have to face first.’ Seeing the look in many an eye, for Robert had never fought a Saracen army, he added, ‘Today I will follow the advice of my brother William, who did battle with these men many times in his life. Do not be troubled by the numbers, for they are but levies, poorly trained. The horsemen are the elite; kill them and the exposed fellows on foot will break at the first sight of our advance.’

Faint now, they could hear the drumbeats setting the pace of those coming to fight them, a deep timbre that seemed to resound within their hollow bellies, for, not yet shriven, they had not broken their overnight fast. Quickly the priests moved to their allotted places, calling on these bands of warriors to kneel, captains at the front, each with his sword before his eyes as a makeshift cross.

Each man now looked to his own soul and his own sins, seeking forgiveness for much transgression, while the priests moved amongst them, dispensing the body and blood of Christ crucified. Cleansed of sin they could eat a hasty breakfast, then see to the horses on which they would fight, the sturdy destriers, fed early so they would have well digested their oats. Now they were tied with their heads on a short halter that ensured they could not graze.

Having chosen the crest of a hill they saw their enemies debouching over the opposite rise, each eye keen in examination. Robert had deliberately waited so that his deployment would be visible: he wanted the enemy to see how disciplined were his men, desired they should observe the orderly way they formed their lines. In the centre, under his personal command, he drew up his lances in three lines of two hundred men but kept them still, as the sun rose to fully light the valley in which the contest would be decided.

Aware that al-Hawas was not leading his army in person, and close enough to the fortress of Enna to be overlooked, Robert guessed the emir would be watching from the ramparts, no doubt praying to Allah for a victory this day. He would see the mass in the centre and the way the other de Hautevilles had taken up their positions and spread out in a single line to deny his men the chance to outflank the main Norman force, puny in number when he gazed upon his own army, now all visible and covering the ground so it had disappeared from view.

Robert wondered if he might be invited to parley, with the offer that he could withdraw peacefully. When no sign came he was pleased: al-Hawas wanted to see him crushed and, if he had passed on such a command to his captains, it might make them rash. Right now there was no evidence of that: they were stationary, if you discounted the flurries of activity designed to get them into reasonable order.

‘Look at us, Ibn-al-Hawas,’ he said softly to himself, ‘and see what it is you would dearly love to command.’

There was movement in his ranks, but it was slight, as horses were troubled by their neighbours and the men astride them were obliged to use a sharp tug to keep their heads facing to the front. Robert surmised he would have to initiate any action and he did not want his enemies to deploy in peace. He ordered the horns blown and the first line of two hundred lances, under his personal command, moved forward. No directive was needed for the second line to move, which it did when the requisite gap had opened up, a manoeuvre repeated by the third line. The ragged mass of foot soldiers, pikemen in the main, stood their ground, something obvious to those in the fortress, but hidden from those to the front. Had they seen it they might have wondered why.

Trotting forward Robert’s men rapidly closed the gap and, though the odd horseman broke the Saracen ranks while many had trouble keeping their horses still, the enemy line seemed solid. There was no horn for Robert’s next command, merely the dipping of his ducal banner and, as if on some kind of parade, all three of his mounted lines spun round and began to trot away from their foes.

Horses, even well-trained mounts, are excitable; men wound up for battle and a possible death are likewise taut so it took few of the Saracen cavalry to break ranks, either through their own excitement or a disinclination for the remainder to keep their horses under control. Once one horse began to race it was very hard to stop the others from doing likewise, and the more that broke ranks the harder it became for the mass. The ground beneath the Norman hooves began to tremble as, in ragged groups, the Saracens began to charge, each horse and rider seemingly determined to be the first to engage, and within no time at all the whole of the enemy cavalry was in motion.

Robert’s banner dipped again bringing round his lines to once more face their foes. That completed, the blowing horn set the lances into a canter. To the watching eye it must have seemed like the first line would be swept away by the now hurtling enemy. Did al-Hawas see how close these Normans were to each other, understand that, with each knee nearly touching that of his nearest confrere, the Normans presented an unbreakable line of sharp-tipped lances aimed forward and held in arms that had the power to keep them there even when struck?

The two groups clashed, one screaming, the other silent. When the Saracens struck Robert’s line it seemed, given their pace, not only should it break, the edges must be overlapped to surround him. Ripple it certainly did, for the Normans faced a furious attack and it was impossible for the strongest knight to avoid recoiling when either a rider or his horse became impaled on their lance point. Within moments it was sword and axe work as men hacked at each other, the figure of Robert Guiscard prominent and murderous in his action.

The instruction to break was not his to give; that came from Ralph de Boeuf, commanding the second line and as soon as his horns blew, Robert and his men disengaged and moved away to the right and left, fighting to get clear, only just in time. De Boeuf’s men now struck the disordered enemy with their fresh line of lances, riders who were not charging now but milling about in an unruly mass, which cost them dear. Yet soon the engagement became a repeat melee, requiring replication of what had gone before when Robert, having taken command of the third line, ordered de Boeuf to break off his attack.

Roger and Serlo de Hauteville seemed of one brain in the way and the time at which they moved, both coming forward, as disciplined as their confreres, to take the Saracens in flank and drive them towards an ever more crowded centre. As the mass increased, fewer and fewer of the enemy could properly deploy their weapons, leaving those at the perimeter exposed and outnumbered, the greatest aid to their survival being the bodies of men and mounts either dead or writhing beneath the hooves of those fighting.

Whoever commanded the army of al-Hawas, knowing his cavalry were in difficulties, ordered a general advance to aid them, but by the time they came up, the first Norman warriors had broken through to confront them, this compounded by the men led by Serlo and Roger having come round the flanks to the enemy rear. Behind the still-fighting Normans Robert’s milities too had come forward and were either piking their enemies or slashing at the horses’ fetlocks with knives to bring the rider down, those same weapons employed to kill, their task to ensure the mounted Saracens could take no more part in the battle.

Without commands, the conroys facing the enemy foot soldiers had formed a single line and were once more cantering forward to engage across the whole field of battle, their swords and axes, already dripping blood, ready for more work — Roger on one end and Serlo on the other. The sight made the untrained bands hesitate, which was fatal to their endeavour, for the Normans hit them like a tidal wave, rolling them back onto their fellows. Brave men commanded them and tried to effect a rally but to do so was to be identified and singled out for a swift death. As they went down so did any cohesion, and what started as a slight retreat soon turned into a rout.

There was no order in the Norman line now: it was each man riding as fast as his tired horse would carry him, to employ a swinging weapon upon the fleeing necks and backs of the men who had come so confidently to fight them. Behind them came Robert’s levies to ensure that anyone who fell was quickly despatched, so that when they crested the opposite mound the field behind was littered with dead bodies, few of them Normans.

At their centre, covered from head to foot in blood, as was his horse, now with its head lowered and its flanks bellowing to suck in air, stood Robert de Hauteville and he turned to look up at the ramparts of Enna. He could not see Ibn-al-Hawas but he guessed him to be there, just as he knew the Saracen emir would have him in view. Taking his banner from the herald who bore it into battle at his side, he raised and pointed it at the fortress as if to say, ‘These men have died and you will be next.’