Conquest

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A month later the whole Norman army could see that for what it was, idle boasting. Though great honour could warm the breast of every lance he led, they had not been able to prevent the bulk of the defeated army from retiring into the town and castle. Given such a defence, taking the outworks that protected the town would be hard enough, never mind the fortress, and it was as plain as a pikestaff that the attacking army was dangerously overexposed, far from a secure base as well as suffering in the heat of high summer.

There was to their rear no easily defendable stronghold to which they could retire, no source of men to replace the losses they suffered, more from disease than in battle. The land around Enna, standing as it did on a high rocky plateau, was not fertile as it was in valleys and coastal plains, while to top all that, Robert seriously lacked the kind of strength and equipment needed to take one of the most formidable bastions in Sicily.

Attempts to bring Ibn-al-Hawas to a parley by burning his fiefs produced no results either. From his high elevation he could see how many manor houses and watermills the Normans could burn, how much light could be generated by glowing night-time fields of smouldering crops. If many of his subjects, in order to appease the invaders, came to the Duke of Apulia with tribute and offers of allegiance, Robert knew them to be only as strong as his presence; once he had departed they would renege.

Relations with Roger wilted in the debilitating heat: if Robert could not admit they were static to no purpose, Roger could. After much squabbling the younger de Hautevilles were sent to foray beyond the confines of Enna. Roger and Serlo rode out at the head of three hundred lances and raided all the way south to Agrigento, plundering in lands that had not seen conflict for decades. They were thus, on their return, laden with spoils and it did nothing for Robert’s temper to have them distribute enough booty to satisfy his whole army, given such generosity only underlined the uselessness of what he was about.

Added to this was the news from Apulia, sent by Sichelgaita, of the Byzantines he had chased into Bari preparing to sally forth and set his home province alight once more, that accompanied by an urgent request that he return. Stubborn, unwilling to admit to the truth, increasingly short with a brother who hinted it was long past time to go, even the great Guiscard had to admit a check to his ambitions. The leaves had begun to fall, winter was the coming season and if he had been ill-equipped to campaign up till now, here, in high country, his lack of resources would be compounded by increasingly inclement weather.

‘We leave in darkness,’ he told his grim-faced captains, his eyes fixed on Roger for any sign of a gloat, he too wise to show any such emotion. ‘I do not want to hear in my ears the cheers from the walls of men we have beaten in battle.’

Doubly galling was the very simple truth: he could not hold on to what he had taken either in lands or strongholds. This was, Roger’s contingent apart, an army he had brought from Apulia. Too many of his lances, with wives, children and landholdings to consider, hankered for a return. Even if they retired in good order and their enemies were too wary to trouble them, the Normans had to bypass and abandon places they had fought hard to subdue. Close to Enna, the locals were jubilant to see the Normans depart, not so once they left the high inland plateau and entered territory mainly Christian and Greek.

Sure that Ibn-al-Hawas would take advantage of the retreat they were strong in their persuasion, offering land and comforts in exchange for protection to the more itinerant knights, those with nothing in either Calabria or Apulia, a chance to settle and prosper. Robert was not about to abandon Rometta, which protected Messina from the south-west, but he was persuaded the northern coastal route was vulnerable. Thus he gave permission for fifty knights to stay and make their home in a town with a broken-down citadel, standing atop a mound from which they could see well to the west and which gave them sight of the northern shoreline, naming it San Marco in honour of his god. When he and the remainder of his army moved on, it was to the sound of hammers on rock, as those he left behind began to construct a proper Norman castle.

‘We have learnt much, Robert.’

That got Roger a basilisk stare as his brother took a harder grip of the ratted rope he was holding, part of the rigging of the ship taking them back to Reggio. Over the stern they watched Messina diminish, becoming an indistinct line of white buildings on a long green shore. That, at least, was safe, with a strong garrison commanded by Serlo de Hauteville, made up of men who knew that whatever they had in Apulia could not be matched by what they could gain in Sicily. There would be ships plying in the other direction soon, bringing over their families.

‘We have learnt that the Saracens do not know how to fight Normans,’ Robert replied.

‘They may not repeat the mistakes of Enna.’

Nor, Roger was thinking, would his brother repeat the error of trying to subdue an island like Sicily in one campaign.

‘They will, brother, never fear. No one learns lessons after one defeat. Even the Byzantines have still not learnt.’

‘A little time out of the saddle will be welcome.’

Robert responded with a humourless laugh. ‘I will exchange a wearied arse for a troubled brain.’

That acknowledged what he was returning to, not just domestic harmony in his wife and child but the needs of his title: fractious barons, endless jealousy-inspired claims for preferment, the doing down of a neighbour or rival and the problem, yet unsolved, of Bari and the machinations of Argyrus. What he was not about to mention was how to deal with Roger himself, and it showed in Robert’s ire when Roger brought the subject to the fore.

‘You have Calabria,’ Robert growled.

‘I have oversight of your holdings in Calabria, brother. Outside of Mileto and a couple of other fiefs I have nothing, not even a title.’

‘Such a thing is naught but adornment.’

‘Which is why you are so proud to be addressed as a duke.’

‘Have I not earned it?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘You will get your rewards, Roger, never fear.’

‘When?’

That sharp demand got a typical response, barked as Robert moved away from an interrogation he found uncomfortable. ‘When I am good and ready.’

The parting was amiable enough; it could hardly be otherwise with Judith present. Robert admired her as a true Norman wife and a beauty with it, uncomplaining to see her man away at war, a creator of domestic bliss when he returned, as ready to breed as the most fecund mare — there was a new male child called Geoffrey.

The Guiscard would never admit that Judith stirred memories of his own childhood. The first child of Tancred’s second wife, he had been raised with more love than Fressenda mere allotted to those of his half-brothers she had inherited from the deceased Muriella. Also, at Mileto, there were none of those troubles of which he had been so aware aboard ship, that is, if you excluded how to deal with a brother who was every bit as good a soldier and administrator as he, a man who might need to be curbed lest ambition sour his soul.

‘We have yet to discuss a new campaign in Sicily, Robert.’

‘As I have yet to decide what to do. I cannot move lest Apulia is at peace.’

‘Will it ever be that?’

‘If you have a plan that will give me Bari then tell me, brother, for outside a ten-year siege I have none.’

Robert was still smarting from what he saw as a rebuff, a hard thing to take for a warrior accustomed to, when it came to major combats, unbridled success in the field. Roger was aware that what advice he had proffered — not a great deal, but mostly to say they could not take Enna — being proved right in the end, was not a thing of fond memory.

‘Perhaps when I come to Melfi we can talk of it then?’

‘In the spring,’ Robert barked, as he swung his leg over his mount. With a nod he was gone, his familia knights following in his wake, the banner of his dukedom flying stiff in the wind.

‘He is a fine child, Judith,’ Roger said, taking her hand and looking into the crib containing his newly born son. His other hand was in that crib, a finger strongly gripped by the gurgling infant.

‘He is your heir.’

That obliged him to look at Judith, on his face a wry smile. ‘I must speak with Jordan.’

‘He requires that you do.’

‘He has spoken with you?’

‘He has been sullen with me, which is not in his nature.’

‘It may be in his age, Judith. Manhood is not far off, as you can see in the eruptions on his face.’

‘Given the way he lusts after the serving wenches he might make you a grandfather before they disappear.’

‘I never thought to come to this, to be like my own father, dispensing advice.’

‘With Jordan you need to show love.’

‘Surely he knows how much of that I have for him.’

‘No, Roger, he does not.’

Being awkward with a growing son is a rite of passage for all fathers, and it is only when facing it themselves they realise the misery through which they put their own sires. Showing affection to a girl child was easy, only made awkward by signs of womanhood. With a son it was not possible to easily be tactile. To treat Jordan like a man would sound false, to act as if he were still a child would cause anger. Roger took refuge in that parental standby, an enquiry about progress in something the boy cared about.

‘Let me show you,’ Jordan said, ‘for to boast of prowess is immodest.’

That was a pleasing response, from a spot-covered youth, gangly in his frame now, but ready to fill out and become a man of the formidable proportions that were part of his bloodline. They made their way to the paddocks to fetch out his horses, then to the manege where he could demonstrate his prowess with both mounts and weapons. Roger had been proud of many things in his life, sometimes he had checked in himself the sin of excess, but watching his bastard boy perform those manoeuvres he knew so well, and seeing the accomplishment with which he carried them out, his heart swelled.

‘Acceptable, no more,’ he said, holding the head of a sweating destrier. Jordan looked crestfallen to receive no more than those three words; that made Roger laugh, which in turn made Jordan angry. ‘Do not seek praise, my boy, for I have learnt that those who give it too freely are rarely sincere.’

‘I want to come with you next year.’

‘With me?’

‘On campaign.’

‘You are sure there will be one?’

‘There is always a campaign,’ Jordan insisted.

Thinking back to his own youth, when, due to Tancred’s determination to stand aside from the turmoil of Duke William’s succession, there had been no such thing as a campaign, only neighbourly quarrels, it caused Roger to wonder at the life he and his kind now led. There was no pessimistic direction to that thought, he had been raised to be a warrior and was happy in the role. Yet there was just a hint of a hankering for a more peaceful life, one in which he could watch his children grow and see to the husbandry of his fiefs that soon followed by the thought that he would go mad in such an existence.

What to say to Jordan, who was, at thirteen summers, really too young for war? He should say no, say that he must wait, but here was a chance to show him how much regard he had, show him that the arrival of Geoffrey, which would deprive him of any chance of inheritance, did nothing to dent his father’s feelings.

‘I had a mind to suggest it, Jordan; after all, the sooner you set about carving out your own patrimony the better.’

‘For which I had looked to you, Father.’

‘Never fear, Jordan. If you are half the de Hauteville my brothers were you will end up a duke.’

‘Is that what you will be?’

‘Perhaps,’ Roger replied, but he did not elaborate, given the question took him back to his relations with Robert. ‘But I have a charge for you. Geoffrey is your brother, he will need your hand to guide him. Swear to me now that in all things you will be his friend and guardian.’

Christmastide was hardly over when he felt that such a piece of advice would have been welcome to Robert, who was, once more, holding back on the monies promised to meet Roger’s responsibilities in Calabria, added to a demand that he remit even more. It was not one that Roger could accept and, added to previous frustrations, it brought about a sharp response.

He reminded his brother of the services he had rendered, of the promises he had received, as yet unfulfilled, as well as the fact that he was now not some bare-arsed bachelor but a married man, a father with a household to support and a wife who deserved to live in a manner befitting her station. The closing words were a warning of the risk of a final breech, that if Robert did not meet his legitimate claims, he would have no recourse but to resort to a decision by arms; the reply was not long in coming.

‘No mention of all those titles and fiefs I was to be granted, plus a threat that should I fail to comply he will come personally to chastise me.’

‘Why are you smiling?’ asked Ralph de Boeuf.

‘What else would you have me do?’ Roger replied, waving the parchment on which Robert had written his demand. ‘I have no intention of giving in to this.’

‘You think he does not mean it?’

‘No, he will mean it, but it is the why that interests me, given I am the only brother Robert treats in this way. Geoffrey he indulges and Mauger he ignores.’

‘He has no fear of either of them.’

‘What has he got to fear from me?’

Roger was being disingenuous, yet Ralph de Boeuf tapped his forehead anyway. ‘You are at least his equal up here. Was it not the Jew who said he saw William in you? Well, Robert may see that too.’

‘I would never challenge him.’

‘You don’t have to, given he is challenging you! You were right at Enna and he was wrong, something known to every lance he leads. The Guiscard wants you to acknowledge he is your superior in every way, he wants you tugging your forelock like some peasant, and he would truly be happy if you did it in front of his entire army.’

‘That I will never do.’

‘Then you must dispute with him.’

‘Should blood be spilt for a brotherly squabble?’

‘There’s not a man you lead, and I am one of them, who would respect you if you did as Robert wants. So I suggest that word be sent out for every lance we command to gather here.’

‘Will that be enough?’

‘Roger, you have no notion of how much you are loved in Calabria since the famine. There is not a town that will open its gates to the Guiscard without he has to use force, unless you command they do so. You may move around at will and our men will be welcomed and fed. You can attack your brother wherever he is and wound him, even if he has superior force; you do not have to do battle with him but to wear him down. His numbers will be a burden to him, not an asset, for he must forage where you have no need.’

De Boeuf sat back from the table at which they sat. ‘I do not know why I am telling you all this, given you already know it better than me.’

‘Knowing it does not make it palatable,’ Roger replied grimly. ‘He will besiege Mileto, for certain.’

‘Then it is best we are not here when he does so.’

‘Robert will not harm me, or our children,’ Judith insisted. ‘He is not some beast.’

‘I know, but I have no idea how far he might go in his jealousies. If he storms Mileto all of you are at risk, not from Robert but the men he leads, who will be drunk with the passion of combat, as well as too much wine. It is a thing I have seen often and it is not pleasant.’

‘You forget I am a Norman.’

Roger grinned. ‘How could I, Judith?’

‘Then as a Norman I will hold our castle of Mileto.’

‘You’re asking me to desert you?’

‘No. I am saying you should do as you intend, stay outside the walls where you are too great a threat to ignore. Is that not what William did at Melfi?’

‘You are the second person to mention William this day, and the same person gave me similar advice regarding not being trapped here.’

‘Then he is a wise judge.’

Roger laughed. ‘Whatever happened to that sweet girl I knew in Normandy?’

Judith came close, stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. ‘She grew up to become an Amazon. I will send the children to my brother at St Eufemia. Robert will respect a foundation he himself funded, but when he comes outside these walls of ours he will be obliged to parley with me, and when he demands surrender, if you leave me enough lances, I will refuse him.’

Deep in his heart, Roger felt it would be impossible for Robert to harm Judith, for all his irascibility he was not like that and, even if he growled about his bloodline he had respect for his siblings and their offspring.

‘Very well, Judith, you will be the Chatelaine of Mileto, and no doubt troubadours will compose songs of praise to you. I must take Jordan with me — I promised.’

‘He is too young, Roger, and he will seek to prove he is not.’

‘I will look after him, never fear.’

‘Can you win against Robert?’

‘No, but I can make him pay too high a price for what is, after all, nothing but his pride.’

‘When will you leave?’ Judith asked.

‘On the morrow. Robert is no fool, he will suspect I will not give in to his demands so he will already be on the way. I doubt his message was sent before he was ready to depart.’

‘One more night, then?’ she said, an unmistakable timbre in her voice.

Roger grinned as he held her close. ‘No warrior should go into combat unshriven, it is seen as impious.’

‘If you are not impious this night, husband, it is not Robert you will have to answer to, but me!’

Roger, at the head of his personal knights, plus those who had already responded to his call to arms, rode out of Mileto the next morning, with Jordan at his side. Behind him other lances lined the parapets as the gate swung shut, the portcullis came down and the drawbridge over the moat was lifted. This being a fortress designed and built by the man now departing, it would not be easy to take.