Conquest

CHAPTER FIVE

The first sign that this was to be an unusual day came with the pre-dawn, and the sight of Richard and Fressenda dressed for a ceremony in fine silks and damasks. He wore no mail, only a fine surcoat of red and black, his family colours, over courtier’s clothes. Fressenda was clad in silver-trimmed white, topped by a rich red cloak edged with ermine. When they mounted it was not on their normal travelling horses, but on a pair of fine white palfreys, dressed with ornate harness, the saddles worked with elaborate silver decoration gleaming on gold-trimmed saddlecloths, the hooves oiled and polished, both tails and manes plaited.

Roger was obliged by his sister’s command to don his own best blue and white surcoat; he could not compete with Richard, but at least he could attempt to look more of a participant, given Fressenda also insisted he ride right behind her and ahead of some of her husband’s senior captains, men who had served him for many years, seriously put out to be so surpassed by a person they considered a nobody despite his name.

By the time the party set off, the buildings above them had picked up the rising sun, looking pink and majestic, yet when they came close it was possible to see what looked magnificent at a distance bore the ravages of much destruction, albeit there was much reconstruction going on and the number of Benedictine monks who lined the approaches to the monastery entrance indicated that whatever it had suffered in the past, it was well on the way back to prosperity.

Of all the stories that had come back to Normandy there was one that pertained to this place and it was bloody. A party of Norman knights stopped to pray in the abbey church, leaving outside, as piety demanded, their swords, this at a time when men of their stripe had been ravaging the lands of Monte Cassino. Seeing them vulnerable, the monks and the monastery servants had shut the great doors and locked them inside, ringing the bells to summon from the fields the equally put-upon peasants. Finally allowed out, those knights faced a mob with nothing but knives and died under the blows from their own weapons, an act which triggered a major revolt that took a year to put down.

Yet it was peaceful now: the abbot was there to greet Richard and Roger, who rarely allowed the monkish tribe much credit, had to acknowledge he looked as spiritual as such a person should. His skin had that translucent quality that hints at self-denial and his frame, under simple garments, looked spare, which was telling, given his blood was noble: Abbot Desiderius was a scion of the one-time ruling Lombard house of Benevento. It was Roger’s family, specifically Humphrey, who had deposed them.

‘My Lord and Lady,’ Desiderius cried, coming to stand by Richard’s palfrey. ‘It is my great honour to welcome you to our simple establishment.’

That word ‘simple’ jarred: never mind the dimensions of the buildings, the monastery held lands enough to make jealous many a prince, the place had been decorated as if for Easter, with floral chains winding round the wooden scaffolding and the pathway to the abbey church strewn with petals, all clearly designed to impress, that underlined by the raised chair on which Richard was invited to sit. A bowl of warm, scented water was brought forth and the abbot knelt before his guest, removing his soft leather boots so that he could, in an act of humility, wash his noble visitor’s feet.

That symbolic act completed and Richard re-shod, Desiderius led the way into the church, followed by both monks and the retinue of Norman knights, there to say Mass, accompanied by chanted plainsong. The interior, too, was decorated, with special stalls set up for their principal guests to pray. Behind them Roger took part with solemn attendance to the ceremony: this was the house of his god, the deity to which he would have to answer for his actions in life when the time came, as it surely would, for death.

They emerged near to noon, for it was a long Mass, to find the courtyard in which they had been received now laid with tables, the numerous servants of the monastery present to feed the famished incumbents and their guests, for they had fasted prior to the Mass. Sat close to the abbot, who ate sparsely, surrounded by men who did not, Roger was finally introduced to Desiderius and it was plain his name registered, for, practised as this divine must be at masking his feelings, his eyebrows were raised appreciably.

From then on he strained to hear what it was Richard of Aversa and Desiderius discussed, catching only snatches: ‘Rome must be made to see where its interests lie,’ this from the abbot; and Richard intimating more than once that ‘Monte Cassino has much to gain if the wise and correct dispensations are made.’ Not that Roger could hear what the interests were any more than the dispensations: heads got too close and voices dropped too low to be overheard.

Eventually the abbot rose to speak and reiterate his gratitude that such a noble prince should come to their humble dwelling; it was telling he titled him ‘prince’, which was responded to with much murmuring and head shaking given it was a purloined title. Richard followed from that, and once he had mouthed the necessary platitudes in praise of God and this house of piety, he came to the true purpose of his presence.

‘This blessed endowment, the home of St Benedict, has seen much in the way of hardship. Many times it has been despoiled by the greed of the laity. I, Richard of Capua…’ He paused to let that appellation register — not Aversa but Capua — and Roger noticed Desiderius nodding. ‘…am now the protector of this most holy site. No one will lay a foot upon the soil of this great foundation, uninvited, that does not face my wrath. I pledge that I, and the men I lead, will place their lances, their swords and their lives as a shield to you who have dedicated your lives to God.’

There was a moment while this was digested: was this self-styled prince really saying that the Normans he led, hitherto amongst the worst offenders when it came to ravaging monastery property, were not only to cease to be brigands but, under Richard, to act to protect them against others?

‘This I vow!’ Richard shouted.

That was answered with immediate acclamation from the throats of over a hundred monks, and with bemused silence from his own followers. Roger could only guess what bargain had been struck, albeit he was sure there was one. When the feasting broke up he took the chance to wander the monastery buildings. He was in the scriptorium, watching the monks work on the illuminated manuscripts for which the abbey was famous, when another approached, and did so in such silence he was momentarily startled when the fellow spoke.

‘Sire-’

‘Not yet that,’ Roger interrupted, ‘you give a respect I do not warrant.’

The monk looked peeved, as if the man before him was indulging in unnecessary sophistry. ‘The Abbot Desiderius desires to speak with you before you depart.’

‘Then why send a messenger? Here I am and he can speak with me as and when he wishes.’

‘He would like to speak with you in private. He asks that when his principal guests depart, you remain behind.’

They met in a candlelit chamber, bare of furniture, more a monkish cell than the room of a senior cleric, one of the most important in the Christian hierarchy, for Desiderius, in terms of influence, could outrank a cardinal, given his predecessors had helped to make and unmake popes. Yet Roger was struck by the lack of arrogance in this man: it was rare in the presence of a high cleric to feel any sense of simplicity.

‘My son, I am grateful to you. Please be seated.’ Once Roger had obliged he found himself fixed by a steady gaze from a pair of grey eyes, the long-fingered hands of the abbot clasped to form a pinnacle before his lips. ‘There are certain facts I think it would be of moment to pass on to your brother, the Count of Apulia.’

Roger did not speak: to do so would have been superfluous.

‘I think you can advise him that the recent alliance between the papacy and Byzantium, which led to the unfortunate calamity at Civitate, is unlikely to be renewed in the foreseeable future.’

‘I would have thought it dead anyway, if what I have been told is true. Brindisi has fallen and only Bari remains, Byzantium is near to being crushed.’

Desiderius’ hands went to his lap and he smiled, a thin affair. ‘Then you would be wrong and perhaps disappointed, for there are still siren voices pushing that the alliance be renewed on both sides.’

‘My fellow Normans have beaten such a combination once and we can do so again.’

‘Such confidence and you not yet blooded.’ Roger held his tongue, not sure if he was being guyed. ‘It has been the attitude of the Holy See to find the presence of you Normans something they cannot abide, and it must be said you have done nothing to endear yourself to Rome. It is scarce possible for pilgrims to travel in many parts of Benevento without being robbed and left without so much as their garments. The Pope is not alone in seeing you as a pestilence that must be eradicated.’

It was natural for Roger to seek the meaning behind those words: that was in his nature and he was pleased at the slight look of impatience in the abbot’s eye when he did not immediately respond or protest. Eventually he knew he must speak but the pause had removed some of the older man’s air of superiority.

‘And you, do you share this view?’

‘We will come to that in a moment, though I would have good cause to. Scarce a day has gone by in the last thirty years that some part of Monte Cassino has not been raided by your confreres. Cattle and sheep stolen, wheat fields trampled, vines cut down, olive trees that saw Roman legionaries pass by destroyed for naught but mischief. For myself, if my family has been dispossessed of its holdings and titles in Benevento then the root cause is the race of which you are a part — indeed, not just the race, but the family.’

‘And one ennobled by a reigning pope.’

‘After he lost a battle,’ Desiderius replied, his tone somewhat sharper; that pleased Roger, he had thrown him a little. ‘Pope Leo may have ennobled your brothers but I doubt he took pleasure in the act: he was, after all, little more than a prisoner for two whole years.’

‘If Pope Leo was coerced as you imply, he merely made legitimate in the eyes of Christendom a title my brother already held by conquest.’

‘A man cannot just take to himself a title.’

‘Like the Prince of Capua?’

Now the abbot looked down at his own hands for a moment: clearly he saw the need to compose himself, for matters were not proceeding entirely as he wished. When he looked up again it was with a softer countenance.

‘My son, I am not trying to deceive you, much as you may think it in my interests to do so. Perhaps if I speak plain and tell you that I have come to see what others have not, that the notion of pushing you Normans out of Italy is no longer in the interests of this monastery or the Church of which it is part.’

‘I may be new to Italy but I think that a task of some magnitude.’

‘It could be done, my son, if Byzantium combined with the Western Emperor as well as the Pope. Powerful as you have become, you Normans could not withstand such a combination.’

‘Is such an alliance possible?’

‘Possible, yes, likely, no, but is it desirable? To many it would be.’

‘But not to you?’

‘My concern is not for me.’ Desiderius waved a bony hand. ‘Not even for Monte Cassino.’

‘What bargain did you strike with my brother-in-law today?’

‘You are sure there was one?’ Now it was Roger’s turn to smile, which got him, in response, a slow nod. ‘This monastery stands on the border between Campania and the Papal States. It is large and rich in holdings, even if it is humble in intention, thus a temptation to anyone with greed in their heart. In itself, to keep that safe would be worth much, but when Richard says he will protect this place he is also saying he will protect that border, something that has never been given as a pledge before. For that, in return, I have promised that I will seek to get the Pope to confirm him as the true and rightful Prince of Capua.’

‘Even ignorant as I am, I know Capua is an imperial fief. I cannot see the present emperor, even if he is a child, being too cheered by such a confirmation which denies him his prerogatives.’

Having said that, Roger was slightly thrown by the way Desiderius did not respond. The abbot just looked at him keenly and, in doing so, he forced Roger to think hard and seek a conclusion.

‘You wish me to speak to my brother?’ That got a nod and nailed an obvious conclusion. ‘The Normans combined could protect the Pope against interference by any emperor, man or boy.’

‘Even to the way in which we anoint the Vicar of Christ.’

Roger was genuinely surprised. ‘You wish to exclude the emperor from papal elections?’

‘Enough for now, my son, these are thoughts to pass on to your brother of Apulia, and given he is known to have a sharp mind, I am sure he will see what needs to be seen.’

‘Why no papal alliance with Byzantium?’

The answer did not come immediately, which left Roger to wonder how much he was not being told: the man with whom he was conversing was as clever, and perhaps as cunning, as his brother Robert.

‘An embassy was sent to Constantinople to discuss certain matters of difference with the Greek Church, celibacy for the priesthood, the place of the Holy Trinity in doctrine and the supremacy of Rome in all matters ecclesiastical. Intended to unite both branches of the faith it has achieved the opposite. The Emperor Constantine might badly want an alliance against you Normans to try and regain the Catapanate but to do that the Eastern Church must bow the knee to Rome in all things. He will not get one for fear of his patriarch and the anger of the people who see their faith threatened. It is not something many eyes see, but I do. I fear that we may be on the edge of an abyss in relations with the Greek Church.’

‘Is Rome at fault?’

‘My son, in any dispute, both parties are usually at fault.’ The abbot stood up to underline the interview was over. ‘But when the dust settles someone has triumphed and the blame always lies with the loser. When to travel on south?’

‘At first light tomorrow, there is nothing for me here.’

Desiderius made the sign of the cross and blessed his journey.

While Roger made his way south in the company of his brother-in-law, to part company at Capua, the Abbot Desiderius travelled north to Rome to meet with the Pope, who both trusted him and valued his counsel, but more importantly to seek out Hildebrand, ranked as no more than a deacon but the man who ran the affairs of the Church and thus its most powerful voice. He would seek to persuade both that what he had done to protect Monte Cassino was both wise and necessary and that the papacy should adopt the same attitude.

Hildebrand was a churchman with one major aim: to free the process of papal elections from the power of the Holy Roman Emperor as well as the leading aristocratic families of Rome and the scum they controlled. He believed only those anointed as priests and who had risen to high office should choose the man to lead the Christian faithful. Hildebrand was not alone in this: there were many cardinals, bishops and abbots who wished for the same, but the difference between the desire for something and the achieving of the aim was never more stark. The empire had the military power to impose its will and the convocations of the Church did not: the rich Roman aristocrats could pay to put riotous mobs on the streets, which made the city ungovernable. Popes had been more often a prisoner of the Roman mob than ever they had been of the de Hautevilles.

Victor II was not a strong man and, being German, had sought and received imperial approval in his election: he might have wished it otherwise, but he was not one to raise his head above the parapet of the Castel St Angelo or risk his Lateran Palace to fight for it. Being a vacillator he depended on certain advisors to make up his mind, the problem being he was inclined to adopt the view of the last one to which he spoke. Cardinal Ascletin Pierleoni was rich and a powerful voice in the Curia; he was also a man who had harboured for many years a desire for the highest office, only to be thwarted time and again. This he blamed on his Jewish background — his family had converted to Christianity — never once realising that it was the intense dislike his fellows had for him which had barred his passage to the papacy.

Faced with the dilemma presented by Desiderius, Victor had called in both Hildebrand and Ascletin, and was thus presented with diametrically opposing views of how matters should proceed, which was the last thing inclined to settle the mind of a man who was a weathervane. Even if Victor wielded great power and could command such men to bow to his will, he lacked the fibre necessary to impose that authority.

‘Give me a hundred lances and I will clear these Norman barbarians out of Italy.’

Ascletin, vain in both appearance and manner, matched those words with a sweeping gesture, as if he were indeed smiting his foes. It was an assertion he had made before, just as he had, many times, cursed the very name of the Normans, never mind their proximity.

‘What a pity, Cardinal Ascletin,’ Hildebrand replied, ‘that you were not at Civitate with Pope Leo and I, to make good on such a boast.’

That these two did not like each other was a given: Ascletin was the scion of a wealthy family and, if he spread enough in bribes one day he might well be pontiff. Hildebrand had started poor and risen in the Church by sheer ability, albeit he had been an aide to Pope Leo; he was clever and far-seeing where Ascletin was narrow-minded and soured by his own ambition. Hildebrand was saved from being tarred with that brush by his own conviction that he was unfit for the highest office.

‘Such a boast flies in the face of what is before us,’ Desiderius insisted. ‘The time when we could easily remove the Normans is long past.’

‘If the right combination of force is brought to bear-’

‘It never will be, Cardinal Ascletin,’ said the Pope, asserting himself for once. ‘And do we want to forever depend on an emperor to sort out our inconveniences?’

‘Better that than the Normans, Your Holiness. They are more than an inconvenience, they are a plague.’

Hildebrand scoffed. ‘They have done no more than others before them. Did not the Ostrogoths conquer Italy and the Lombards in their turn? We must obey Bamberg, for the risk of an imperial army is great, yet we cannot muster a force to defeat anyone, Normans included.’

‘Then let the emperor do his duty,’ Ascletin insisted.

‘Why should he? The empire suffers no ravages from these barbarians, it is us who stands between them who suffer.’

‘The Normans do our work,’ said Desiderius. ‘Every church in every place they conquer is obliged to say Mass by the tenets of Rome, not Constantinople.’

‘For which we are much abused,’ Victor responded, looking gloomy.

That had been another bone of contention with the patriarch, the way the Normans insisted on such a thing as communion being taken with unleavened bread. It seemed such a small matter here in Rome: in Constantinople it had assumed such great significance it had helped to wreck the embassy sent to seek agreement on matters of more vital import.

‘It is not up to Rome to apologise to the Greek Church,’ Ascletin barked. ‘You, Holy Father, are supreme in matters of doctrine.’

The Pope nodded, though not with much conviction.

Desiderius spoke again. ‘I gave my word I would press that Richard of Aversa be elevated to the Principality of Capua. Let us offer the de Hautevilles something similar, the bargain being that they become the protectors of the Holy See and the agents of the Latin Church in an area where the congregations are Greek.’

‘A great step fraught with danger.’

‘Progress, Your Holiness, demands risk.’

‘Well, I for one,’ Ascletin barked, ‘will never agree to such a course.’

‘Then find us protection elsewhere,’ Hildebrand replied.

‘Capua?’ Desiderius demanded.

Victor had to respond: only he could make such a decision. ‘Let him style himself prince, and let us see if the emperor responds.’

‘Which,’ Hildebrand persisted, ‘is the last thing we want.’

‘Perhaps,’ Desiderius suggested, ‘an embassy to explain our difficulties and the need to compromise.’

‘Who would we send?’

Pope Victor was quick to clutch at that straw, while at the same time ruling himself out. Desiderius, in his turn, reasoned that when the only lifeline was a dead stalk of wheat, it made sense to grasp it.

‘Only Hildebrand and Ascletin have the stature,’ he said, well aware of the direction in which it would lead.

‘They will never listen to me,’ Hildebrand replied, in confirmation. ‘His council see me as a sworn enemy of his inherited prerogatives.’

‘Then it must be I,’ boomed Ascletin, with all the pomposity of which he was more than capable. ‘And I shall not fear to remind him that he too answers to God!’

‘So be it,’ concluded a relieved Pope Victor. The problem was far from solved, but it had been put off, which much suited him.