Son of Blood

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Durazzo stood at the northern end of a long bay, tucked into a fold of land that protected its harbour from the frequent storms that made their way down from the Alps, while a mole had been built out into the Adriatic to guard against most other eventualities. The greatest asset was the good and spacious holding ground outside, an anchorage that could accommodate hundreds of vessels, making it, as the end of the Via Egentia, the central point of the major land trade route to the East. Naturally, such an important city had well-built walls and towers, as well as a strong fortress, but if the port had a fault it was that the same long bay was lined with shallow sand, and that allowed an enemy to land in force well away from the ability of any local forces to prevent it.

That, along with a tight blockade, had been the Guiscard’s intention but the presence of the Venetian fleet and those dromons rendered that impossible. If he did land his army, that would leave his undermanned ships at their mercy, and once they were destroyed, his forces would be stranded; in order to keep up their siege strength and then advance into the interior they needed to be supplied from Italy. Without that line of communication his mounted knights, the best fighters on foot as well as on horse, would spend most of their time protecting foraging parties and they, should the investment of Durazzo be of long duration, would be required to search further and further afield for the means to feed the host, increasingly weakening the numbers he could pit against city walls.

Robert assembled the ships’ masters as well as the men who commanded the soldiers borne on each vessel, to crowd out the deck of the ducal galley to discuss with them the forthcoming difficulties. They centred on the much larger vessels of the enemy fleet, not only because of their dimensions but also because of the higher number of fighting men they could carry, though he was not in doubt that the men under his command would fight regardless of such problems.

‘We must overcome the dromons, then disperse the rest of the Venetian galleys before we even think of setting foot on shore.’

‘A hard task,’ Geoffrey Ridel responded, as was his right as Master of the Fleet. ‘Even if the vessels we have can match theirs, Venetians are born to the sea, few of us are.’

‘War is war, Geoffrey, and I would hazard we are better at that than are they.’

‘Best to close with the dromons,’ Bohemund added, ‘and get aboard speedily. On deck we are more than a match for them. I would wager twenty Normans can best two hundred Venetians.’

Looking around the assembled faces as he said this, Bohemund could see that those Norman warriors were less troubled than the sailors; the former were conditioned to fight and would do so wherever they found an enemy. The seafarers held such as the Venetians in high regard, and given the well-trained quality of crews who spent most of their time at sea, that caution was natural. Against that these ships’ masters had been working for months with their crews on battle tactics, the ability to manoeuvre quickly, the art of varying their speed to confound an opponent, seeking to perfect the ploy of bringing more force to bear at the right moment than any adversary could employ in return.

Many of them, Bohemund thought, must have wondered at why they were being so employed in that training, for they would have suspected that when the invasion of the lands of Romania were undertaken, they would be used as they always had been, to enforce a blockade. Perhaps now they saw such preparation as a sign of the genius of the man who led them, an act of foresight from a shrewd general who had anticipated what they now faced on this campaign. Bohemund knew better; they had been so engaged because his father had become fascinated by the art of naval warfare and the long-term possibilities it offered.

He wanted a fighting fleet because in the Western Mediterranean Sea only two other powers possessed one, the Venetians they now faced and the North African Saracens, and while he had seen no immediate purpose to it, given these were, he thought, distant and perhaps future enemies, he also knew that if he did take Constantinople he would likely need to be able to fight at sea to keep it. The fact that he now had something to oppose the Venetians in Durazzo Bay was more luck than prescience, but there was one question and that was simple — was it enough?

It was Geoffrey Ridel who responded to Bohemund’s confident statement about competence and odds. ‘You will have observed how much higher those decks are than ours and the dromons will be the vessels in the vanguard of any battle.’

‘Then we must make a way to overcome them.’

‘You can just jump, Bohemund,’ Reynard of Eu joked, to general amusement. ‘We mere mortals need wings.’

‘Grappling irons and hooked ladders,’ Robert proposed, adding a glare that choked off the mirth. ‘We will distribute the bowmen to keep their sides clear and that will allow our conroys to use their hooks and lances to get on to their decks. I will guess these men are accustomed to fighting pirates, Saracens perhaps, not mailed knights and not Normans.’

‘My Lord, there is a small galley coming down the bay with a truce flag atop its mast.’

‘See!’ the Guiscard cried, as he craned his neck to acknowledge the message from the lookout above his head. ‘They know who we are and that is making them cautious.’

Geoffrey Ridel, without reference to Robert, bellowed orders to clear his deck, which sent those assembled over the side and into their waiting boats, Bohemund alone being asked to remain by his sire. The familia knights, now his own seaborne contingent of warriors, Robert lined up like a guard of honour, adjuring them to look as martial and fierce as they could without they insult his guest. The man they welcomed aboard came with ease across a gangplank strung between both vessels, a tricky manoeuvre given both were rising and falling at different rates on the swell. In doing so he underlined how easy he was on water, a statement that this, the sea, was a Venetian element, not a Norman one.

Dressed in soft leathers, covered with the kind of heavily embroidered silken cloak worn by high Byzantine officials, he also had a great quantity of gold and jewellery about his person: rings, a heavy bracelet on his wrist and around his neck a gold chain studded with precious stones. This envoy had presence; the only thing that diminished him in proximity to these Normans was his height, for he was short, stocky, with thick black hair and a face much marked and wrinkled by long service at sea. Aware that he towered over the fellow, Bohemund by his side even more so, Robert called for chairs to be brought on deck prior to making a greeting. He also whispered to a servant that the man he was promoting as the deposed Emperor Michael Dukas should be kept out of sight; this fellow may have seen the real one.

The fellow knew his manners; in the presence of a duke he doffed his hat and bowed to introduce himself. ‘Maximian Palladias, My Lord, Master of the Fleet of Venice.’

‘You do me much honour by coming in person, Maximian Palladias.’

‘I could do no less to such an illustrious warrior as yourself, My Lord. To send a subordinate to talk with you would be marked as an insult to your person as well as your title.’

Two chairs having been brought on deck as this exchange of diplomatic niceties took place, Duke Robert indicated that they should sit, which they did, and a wave of the ducal arm saw everyone withdraw to give them room to talk in private, Bohemund excepting himself by remaining within earshot which, when the Venetian looked in his direction, got a nod from his sire.

‘I hope you have not come to ask me to withdraw.’

‘Would a man not be foolish to suggest such a thing to the Guiscard?’

Robert nodded at the compliment, without for a second giving it credence. ‘Then what?’

‘The Doge of Venice is a vassal of the Emperor of Byzantium-’

Robert held up a hand, which stopped his visitor speaking. ‘I am curious to know which one that is, Maximian, given it seems to have been a troubled throne, and recently occupied by more than one person.’

That got a corresponding nod from the Venetian. ‘The request to us to prevent you landing in Romania came from Alexius Comnenus, the man who now wears the purple and the crown.’

‘And to him you are loyal?’

Maximian waved a hand that was intended to encompass his fleet, anchored to the north in an arc that covered the entrance to Durazzo harbour. ‘It is a matter of some talk aboard our vessels.’

‘Which means that there are those who see Alexius as a usurper?’

‘My Lord, in any great domain there are factions. As of this moment it is impossible for me to know who, if any of those under my command, holds the ascendancy in terms of allegiance.’

‘And your own?’

‘Lord Robert, I would not be here on this deck if I was not a supporter of any man that can hold the Empire together. I see Alexius Comnenus as being that person by right of both his abilities and his bloodline. He is, after all, the nephew of a previous emperor.’

‘Not Botaneiates or Dukas?’ The response to that was no more than a raised eyebrow; this man was not to be so easily drawn. ‘You must know that I have the Emperor Michael Dukas with me and I would see it as an obligation to consider that he has a right to your loyalty.’

‘The news that you carry Michael Dukas in your train is part of the problem I face.’

‘It has spread?’

‘Such tales do.’

‘It is not a tale, but a fact.’

‘One that I may take leave to dispute, though not all of my captains agree.’

‘So your command is not unified?’

‘It is not in disarray,’ Maximian insisted. ‘But there is as yet a lack of the concord that might bring us to force upon you a battle; one, I would point out to you, you cannot win given our superiority in ships.’

‘I am not accustomed to defeat,’ Robert replied, for the first time in this exchange his voice carrying a hard edge.

‘On land, My Lord.’

‘It is not unknown for a land-based general to adapt to the ocean with success. I look to Ancient Rome and its consuls for such inspiration.’

‘And,’ Maximian responded, with a level of courtesy that was unctuously exaggerated, ‘who would be more likely to be that person than your renowned self?’

‘Maximian Palladias, I respect the fact that you have come in person to see me, which tells me you have a proposal to make.’

‘I do, Duke Robert. It may be that elements in my fleet will not agree to do battle on behalf of Alexius Comnenus, which would seriously weaken my fighting strength.’

‘You’re inviting me to attack you as soon as you are back on your own deck and that truce flag is no longer valid.’

‘Be assured, Duke Robert, that if you do so the outcome will not be in doubt, for there is not a ship’s master or soldier aboard my vessels who will not defend their honour, and not just seek to preserve that, but to put to the sword and the bottom of the sea anyone seeking to besmirch it.’

‘So?’

‘It may be that a battle will not take place, that I will be unable to obey the Doge’s instructions. In that case there will be no contest between us. What I am proposing is that we maintain our present positions, no anchors to be raised while the period of grace is in place.’

‘And if you withdraw I will be free to land my army?’

‘That is so. I suggest that I be granted a day and a night to seek to resolve my dilemma, and if it goes as I wish, I will send to tell you that we will prepare for battle, at which point I would, for the sake of saving lives and souls, advise you to withdraw, which you will be able to do unmolested.’

It was the Guiscard’s turn to use his eyebrows to make a point, that being he might choose to stay and fight, this acknowledged by Maximian with a wry smile as Robert enquired, ‘And if it goes the other way?’

‘Then, as I have already intimated, I will have no choice but to weigh anchor and take the fleet back to Venice.’

Robert dropped his chin to his chest, to give the impression of deep consideration, a silence that lasted for enough time to make Maximian shift in his chair. That was followed by a stare from the Guiscard that was deliberately designed to be hard to hold, though the Venetian was not to be compelled to drop his eyes or blink.

‘A day and a night, Maximian Palladias, but not a grain of sand more than that. Should your dilemma be unresolved when the time is up, be assured that we will attack you and, perhaps for the sake of your own souls, you should avoid the contest. I will have Durazzo and more besides.’

‘I have your word?’

‘You do.’

Maximian stood and bowed, then without another word he made his way onto that swaying plank and back to his own galley. Robert watched him go and did not speak till he was out of any chance of overhearing his words.

‘The fool has played into our hands, Bohemund.’

‘How so?’

Robert hooted. ‘He has given us time to prepare, to get those grappling irons out of our supply ships and to send a party ashore to cut timber for ladders and ready them for use. With the vessels he has he should have borne down on us as soon as he saw our masts.’

‘They will be watching us, and even at such a distance they may see what we are about.’

‘Let them, Bohemund, for they would expect no less.’ Then he turned to Geoffrey Ridel. ‘Call everyone back on board, they need to know what is proposed and what we need to do.’

In the subsequent discussion of tactics it was plain that those using grappling irons could not at the same time be fighters wearing mail; to haul up your own body weight was hard enough without both weapons and armour. Besides, hooked irons were normally used to haul down walls damaged by ballista by being attached by ropes to teams of oxen; it was rare that they were used to get a man onto a high defended wall for the very sound reason that a single slice with a sword would send him crashing back to earth. Ridel was of the opinion that the same problem applied on board ship and that such a means of approach should be used sparingly and more to lock the enemy alongside than to get men onto an opposing deck. Duke Robert was inclined to let what men saw before their eyes decide what use they should be put to, battle ever being confused.

Ashore, well-defended parties were cutting and lashing together timbers for short ladders, the blacksmiths using their forges to fashion metal hooks, the length of both the perceived difference in height between a normal galley deck and that of the higher Venetian vessels. Robert also had his woodcutters making double-thick screens to absorb arrows fired at long range, which the enemy was bound to employ, for they wanted to get onto the Apulian deck as much as their opponents. To Robert and his son, the answer to victory lay in putting Norman knights against men who had never faced the best close-combat fighters in Christendom.

All the next day, in bright sunshine, the best eyes aboard the Apulian fleet were fixed on the distant Venetians, not that such observations provided much in the way of what was happening; there was activity certainly, but what it portended was a mystery, for the distance was too great to discern any detail. All the Apulians could do was prepare for their own needs and wonder if indeed they would be called upon to fight at all, for that exchange between the Venetian and Robert was now common knowledge.

When men talked, those who had seen Maximian come aboard had much to discuss, for they had not missed the wealth he wore about his person and that led to speculation about what might be available to plunder inside those enemy ships. As the major maritime trading nation in the Adriatic and beyond, the Venetians, from their Doge down, were known to be affluent — how could they not be when they traded in valuable silks and spices of the kind that cost a ducal ransom?

Carried ashore, that kind of talk had spread in Norman French, Latin, Greek and Saracen, so throughout Duke Robert’s fleet any lingering doubts about the wisdom of taking on the northern seafarers was diminished by the prospect of the abundant plunder to be had, an amount that grew with each exchange until every man was thirsting for a fight that they were sure would make them rich. With the truce in place, they went to sleep with that as the driver of their dreams.

The ringing of bells brought them from their slumbers and onto the deck, there to find those who had been set as sentinels pointing to the lights of those heavy Venetian dromons, now no longer distant pinpricks but flaring lanterns bearing down on them, their glow lighting the great lanteen sails. The Apulian ships’ masters had to be quick to react, for there was no time to haul their galleys over their anchors and pluck them from the seabed. The cables had to be cut by sharp axes while the rowers were sent scurrying to their oars, this while the men on the transport ships ran to their ratlines and ropes to set some canvas and likewise get themselves under way; in what was coming upon them no one was safe.

Robert de Hauteville, in company with Bohemund and every other Norman in the fleet, was struggling to get into his mail so as to be fit to do battle, that carried out with an eye on those great sails, which seemed, on a northerly breeze, to be approaching at a speed which would scarce grant them enough time, only to see them disappear as they were furled, ready for the coming battle. In any other fighting force there would have been panic; indeed there was amongst some of his Lombard and Greek levies. Not with the Normans, for all the speed with which they were preparing it was done with the requisite amount of care, each man seeing to his confrere’s equipment, like his leather mail straps to ensure they were as tight and secure as they needed to be for the coming fight.

There was no time to think about how their duke had been deceived, no time to wonder at the chicanery necessary to break a formal truce, which for all his reputation for cunning the Guiscard had never done. The Normans, Saracens and, once they had been forced into position, his Apulian milities, lined their decks as the galley timbers beneath their feet began to groan with movement, the voice of the oar master loud and the thud of his hammer on the speed block slowly increasing.

‘It’s near first light,’ Robert cried out, pointing with his sword at the first tinge of grey in the eastern sky. ‘Geoffrey, try to get us with the sun behind us as it rises.’

On land, the Normans had a system of commands issued by horn, the number of blasts and their length determining which manoeuvre the conroys were required to perform. This had been adapted for sea by Geoffrey Ridel but it was not the perfect tool and nor was the element in which they were going to have to fight an easy one in which it could be employed; galleys were not destriers, turned by at thigh and a sharp tug on a single rein. Despite the best efforts of rowers and helmsmen they were slow to get up speed and even less adept at steering out of danger. Thus, when the first of the Venetian dromons got amongst the Apulian fleet they were able to take advantage of a great deal of confusion, putting several of Robert’s galleys in danger.

‘Look aloft, Father,’ Bohemund yelled from his deck, which was close enough to the ducal galley for his voice to carry.

Robert de Hauteville followed his son’s pointed gauntlet and it was there he saw why Maximian Palladias had asked for his truce. The Venetians had got to Durazzo just before the Apulians and they must have put to sea in haste, which indicated they had anchored off Durazzo before they were ready for a fight; Maximian was seaman enough to know what he faced and what tactics would be used against his vessels. He had needed time to prepare, time to get in place a weapon that would render all the notions the Guiscard had of how to get aboard the Venetian decks redundant.

The truce had been a ploy to grant him a huge advantage, for lashed to the high masts of the large enemy three-decked galleys were boats full of archers. The Venetians would have the ability to pin on his decks the men they feared, the Norman warriors, who would be so occupied protecting themselves from the deadly rain of arrows from above that any notion of taking the offensive would be nullified.

‘Keep your shield above your head, Bohemund,’ Robert yelled, ‘for that is where danger lies.’

‘The rest of the fleet?’

‘Each vessel must look to its own, but we must lead them by example. Geoffrey, use that rudder and those oars to get me in amongst these swine.’