Warriors

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Trani had defensive walls that were indeed formidable, running right to and beyond the seashore, high and crenellated, with stout gates. The location of the town that supported the twin wooden jetties of the port, laying on a flat plain, meant that to invest the place was practicable as long as the besieger was prepared to be patient and had vessels able to enforce a blockade and stop supplies of food and reinforcements. Arduin had no ships, but he had absolute confidence that no more troops would arrive to aid the defence: the only ones close by were otherwise engaged.

Maniakes had finally decided he had enough strength for a siege, and had chosen to subdue Bari: thus he was too occupied, though there was no news that he had been reinforced. So if Constantinople would not support him there, they would not do so to protect a less important Byzantine outpost. The defence of Trani would be left to the citizenry, and they could be overcome if the right tactics were employed, which meant avoiding the gates, with their overhanging brattices designed to drop boiling oil and heavy rocks upon anyone attacking. Instead he would seek to mount an assault by siege tower at a point along the curtain wall.

The land to the north was low-lying marsh, too full of bog to support anything weighty. It was yielding even now, in early spring, useless for large numbers of soldiers on foot and thus even more so for cavalry. While those marshes acted as a protection for that portion of the defence, they also presented a barrier to the occupiers. They would struggle to sally out to a poorly manned frontage with any hope of achieving sudden surprise — soft marsh would slow them as well, giving a chance to react: by the time they reached firm ground, the mounted Normans, able to swiftly deploy and now close to a thousand in number, would be waiting for them.

And it was soon obvious that those marshlands were best avoided: troops bivouacked near there showed early signs of sickness, and that was not something the besiegers could afford. Every military leader knew that more sieges were beaten off by illness than stout defence, so while that part of the lines had to be covered, the troops, Lombard infantry, were rotated away from the place, to less miasmic climes, on a regular basis.

Inland the terrain was earth-covered rock and, being near level, perfect ground on which to construct the siege tower that would, if properly employed, soar above the walls of the port city. Those who would man the parapet might have a leavening of professional soldiers — an experienced captain from Byzantium was in the town, as well as a personal envoy from the new Emperor Constantine, there to stiffen the attitude of the defence — but even with such aid, the besiegers could count on a lack of discipline as well as a want of cohesion. Their only hope of relief lay in the abandonment of the siege of Bari: if George Maniakes came barrelling north with all the men he could command, he would have to be met in the field.

Their new titular leader, Argyrus, being untrained in military matters, was wise enough not to interfere in any discussion of tactics, though he always attended and listened carefully to what was being discussed. He took to riding around the lines with an escort of men he had gathered, so he could be seen, using his prestige to encourage and cajole. He also rode out to bolster the efforts of the timber-cutting parties; the kind of wood necessary to build a massive siege tower was not readily available close to Trani and had to be cut and dragged from the forested hills inland, an arduous task given there was no flowing watercourse on which to float the logs; movement was accomplished by a combination of men and mules.

Cavalry they might be, but there was no ease for the Normans in this: when not on their mounts foraging for supplies, they were stripped to the waist, helping to drag timber, or sawing and trimming tree trunks with the Lombard milities, using their strength where that was required — once the bigger logs were at the construction site — to haul on rough, hastily rigged cranes in order to get aloft the weighty main-frame timbers, these resting on the wheeled flatbed base and greased axles which would be used to move it forward to the walls once a path was cleared of rocks and any depression filled in.

As the carpenters sawed and trimmed, supplies of rope and canvas were brought down from Barletta, as well as grappling hooks fashioned by blacksmiths, the ropes entwined into ships’ cables of a thickness that would allow the tower to be pulled, the canvas used to produce long fire screens which, wetted prior to the assault, would hang around the tower so that flaming arrows could not set the whole thing alight. Once the frame was complete, the carpenters could cut wood and smooth it for the higher platforms and barricades, and trim rough dowels to hold them in place.

Flat timber was used to fashion ramps with arrow slots for the crossbowmen. These would be dropped onto the top of the walls once the tower was hard against them, the first task being to grapple the whole structure so it could not be dislodged. The small number of fighters first to attack, the most formidable Normans, would then make sure it stayed there, holding off the inevitable counter-attacks, while others rushed up the interconnecting ladders in support, before moving over those same ramps in such numbers as to overwhelm the defenders.

‘We will be able to offer terms within the week,’ said Arduin, looking at the tower taking shape, an object that could easily be seen from the walls. ‘They must know that once this is employed, unless it is destroyed, they cannot hold out.’ When construction reached a point where the physical attributes of his men were no longer required,

When construction reached a point where the physical attributes of his men were no longer required, William instituted training in the kind of combat they would face. On foot, it was based on the basic unit of Norman warfare, the ten-man conroy — if their leader knew anything, it was that men did not fight for a cause or even for plunder: they fought for each other. The Norman system meant that not only did these warriors ride thigh to thigh in battle, they camped together round their own fire, ate together and slept in near-touching distance. A warrior would not sacrifice his life even for a glimpse of heavenly paradise, but he would give it freely if one of his confreres was seen to be in mortal danger.

Robert had been placed under the command of a captain called Hugo de Boeuf, an old fighter and experienced leader who had seen and survived much combat in both Campania and Sicily, as well as being a man William trusted to keep in check his brother’s bumptious nature. It was evident that Robert fitted in quickly because, when it came to mirth, he and his companions were the ones who seemed to laugh most, however hard and unpleasant was the task allotted to them.

Given that included tree-felling, woodcutting and hauling on crane ropes, Robert was to be seen, like his fellows, stripped to the waist. William had to admit himself impressed by the girth of his shoulders and the obvious strength of his muscular arms. He lifted and carried things other men dragged, singing ribald songs that his fellows took up, thus easing their labours.

Now he wanted Robert training to be first onto those walls, and that, too, would no doubt be impressive if you discounted his oft-mentioned assertion that he knew more about fighting than any of his brothers. William had the carpenters construct, out of sight of the walls, a mock-up of a tower platform, raised off the ground, complete with a ramp, as well as a wooden palisade set along the ground to represent the parapet, the idea to stage as near as possible what would actually happen once the tower was pressed and held against those walls, using as defenders better, more experienced fighters than those the attackers should actually face.

While that was being constructed, normal training was resumed, and it was in such activity that William found himself up against Robert, employing the kind of wooden swords they used in the manege at Aversa in everyday training. Rarely ever beaten on horse or on foot — and only then by a piece of startling guile — William Iron Arm found he had a real battle on his hands, and he could see from the flinty look in the eyes on either side of Robert’s nose guard, as well as the weight of the thuds on his shield, the determination to beat him into submission.

When it came to using the mocked-up platform, one thing was quick to emerge: the very simple fact that if the calculation for the tower height were correct, they would, on the first point of engagement, be attacking from a higher level than the defence. William, leading those defenders, had the great pleasure, during the first attempt, of sweeping his mock sword under the point of Robert’s shield, so taking away his feet, causing him to collapse in a heap, to be finished off with a stout and painful stab at the chest, a fate suffered by most of the men led by Hugo de Boeuf.

The chastened attackers, who would probably have had their feet sliced through in a real battle, gathered to discuss how to overcome this, with Robert first to speak, posing a question to his conroy leader. ‘This is false. As we approach, the crossbowmen will keep down the heads of the defence, will they not?’

A bent-over Hugo nodded, as he rubbed a sore shin where it had been clobbered hard by a defender, before agreeing. ‘And so those on the walls will be thinned and the ones who take station right before the ramp will be forced to duck, and thus be under it as it drops and out of the fight-’

‘So we fight to right and left,’ Robert continued, interrupting Hugo and ignoring the look that implied such behaviour was not right, that Hugo was the leader and these were conclusions he should state: with this de Hauteville he was wasting his time. ‘We should come down crouched behind our shields and use weight to just push back the defence. We can’t really do battle with them until we are on the parapet.’

‘The crossbows-’

Robert cut across him again. ‘Must keep the defenders away from the grappling hooks.’

‘Will you hold your tongue,’ Hugo yelled, in a voice loud enough to carry to William. ‘I command here.’

While Robert, who could see William glaring at him, mumbled something about only trying to help, it was obvious from his bodily reaction that he was less than pleased to be so publicly admonished. Yet no one could doubt he had the right of it, and that he had nailed both the problem and the solution in less time than Hugo, this proved by the partial success of their next effort, one marred only by the time it took to execute the manoeuvre, which added to the time it would take to achieve their ultimate aim: to get to and open a gate.

It was no good to insist that in fellow Normans they were up against men of greater height, strength and fighting ability than those they would be likely to face, the whole idea being to identify problems in advance, and that led to another platform being built at the top of the tower and balustraded, accessed by yet another ladder, which the bowmen could use to overlook and aid the assault while still keeping the defenders away from the grappling hooks.

Time and again they went at it, William changing the men engaged on both sides so that everyone knew what to do and what they would face. He even had his heavily mailed and armed lances, himself included, running up and down the ladders to time how long it would be before they got to the top and became effective, an activity that, like most of what had gone before, required copious amounts of watered wine for dry throats, this while Arduin drilled his volunteer milities for the task they had to perform, to attack in force any gate the Normans managed to get open.

As darkness fell, William retired to his tent, there to be looked after by his two wards, who had insisted on taking on the duties. Listo saw to his equipment, cleaning it of the dust and sweat with which it had become stained, while Tirena provided warmed water with which he could remove those same commodities from his body, and fresh, more comfortable clothing. She also supervised the preparation of his food, with an air, much resented, that indicated she did not trust those who did the cooking not to poison him.

Once fed, and attired in loose garments, William made his nightly tour of the outposts, checking that his men, on the part of the lines for which they were responsible, were in place and awake, stopping occasionally to talk, and also to look at the walls of Trani, lit by flaming torches that cast a low glow of light onto the ground below so that no sudden night-time assault would be possible.

Traversing the southern edge of the lines, alongside those marshes, he stopped to watch the dancing fireflies, wondering at how God had made such creatures, but that only led him on to wonder at how that same deity had made humanity in his own image, yet he had set men like him on a path that led to death, mostly for others. Crossing himself, just before he slapped a biting insect, he was also thinking Arduin was right: with the tower probably no more than a day away from completion it was time to offer the citizens terms.

The proposition would be simple: open your gates and give yourselves over to the Lombard army, in which case the city and the people within it will be spared. Refuse and you will face fire and sword, for if you force us to bleed to capture, then you will lose more blood as a consequence, and if required to continue once the gates had been breached no citizen of the town, of any age or sex, would be guaranteed to survive.

That thought made him gloomy, and, sick of the buzzing of flying creatures in his ears, he made his way back to the quarter housing the tented encampment of the leaders of the host, where he came across Arduin and Argyrus. They were in conversation outside the latter’s tent and, being called to join them, William did so.

‘All is ready, William. Tomorrow at first light I will call for the gates to be opened.’

‘Arduin thinks they will refuse, William, how do you see it?’ asked Argyrus.

‘I think if they were going to surrender they would have sent out envoys by now. They can see what we are building and they know that once it is employed, unless they can destroy it immediately, they are doomed. My mind is set on the assault.’

There was a short silence then: regardless of how good the men who would attack, some would die, and since William was going to lead the supporting fighters personally, and would thus face the defenders near to their most potent, he might be one of them.

‘How I wish I was going to be there alongside you,’ said Argyrus, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.

William took that for what it was, wishful thinking: this young man could not fight like a Norman and would probably struggle to match the men of his own race. Utterly untrained, he would just get in the way, in fact he would probably get someone killed trying to keep him alive. But it was a worthy sentiment to express at such a time and it would have been churlish to react with the truth.

‘You lead our men through the gates, Argyrus,’ then he looked at Arduin, to reassure him he saw him as their commander. ‘Alongside our general.’

Argyrus sighed. ‘I doubt I shall sleep. My blood is racing.’

‘I shall,’ William replied, ‘and so will you when you become accustomed to nights like this.’

‘Of which we have had many, have we not, William? And we will have more before our cause triumphs.’

Looking at Arduin, William could see, once more and reflected by the flickering torches, the light of that Lombard dream in his eyes, and he wondered how the man could sustain it after the rebuffs he had suffered at Montecchio. Putting aside his own ambitions and imaging the result after which Arduin hankered, what was there for him if they were ultimately successful? The envoys from the other port cities had openly repudiated him, as well as mouthing meaningless platitudes when it came to Argyrus, while Guaimar was playing such a double game he could hardly look for support there.

Was it that he would be satisfied to see Apulia free of Byzantium? Did he hope that Argyrus would somehow overturn any objections from the other Lombard powers and succeed in uniting the factions, thus gaining his reward as the man who had aided him to power? These were too many thoughts to be harbouring at such a time of day. William had had a hard day’s training, with more to come in the morning and quite possibly real fighting instead of mock combat. He was tired.

‘Time to sleep.’

The oil lamps were low in his tent and there was silence from the other two cots. Having said prayers, then disrobing, William lay down and closed his eyes, but sleep was slow to come as he ran over in his mind what might happen on the morrow, envisaging the attack, almost hearing the clash of swords and the shouting of men engaged in deadly combat, himself included. In doing so he had the thoughts which had plagued him often, of how close he had come in the past to death, seeing the blows that he had deflected which might, had he not been both good and lucky, have got through.

He was just drifting off when his cot dipped to one side and he half-raised himself sharply: a secret knife in such places as Italy was always a possibility and assassinating leaders was a particularly good way to thwart a siege, but that turned to first surprise and then to slight annoyance as the girl Tirena wrapped her arms round his naked upper body.

‘Back to your own cot,’ he whispered, insistently, but that only increased the force of her embrace: she was now clinging to him and he was aware that she too was naked, her pert young breasts pressing into his flesh.

‘You fight tomorrow,’ she hissed, ‘and I fear for you.’

William wanted to scoff but that seemed ridiculous in the face of the thoughts he had just been harbouring, so he sought to deflect her obvious concern by addressing worries she might have. ‘Never fear, Tirena, you and Listo will be cared for.’

Even whispered, her reply was vehement. ‘You can be very stupid!’

That said, her hand shot down to his crotch and took hold of his penis, and even if he had wanted not to react, he was a man and could not help it as she tugged at it with the same urgency she had no doubt once used on a goat’s teat. Drogo might accuse him of behaving like a eunuch, but William de Hauteville was far from that: he had the same desires as his rampant brother but he attributed to himself more self-control.

That was not the case on this night and under the pressure of this girl’s enticement. It seemed only seconds before he was astride her, hearing her gasp with a combination of satisfaction and pain as he entered her, grateful that all thoughts of what might happen at sunrise had been driven from his mind.

The alarm, much shouting and cries of agitation, were slow to penetrate William’s brain, and as he awoke, the surprise of finding someone else in his cot, huddled close to his body and asleep, took a moment to register. But those shouts coming through the canvas allowed no time for delay and he was up and at the tent flap in a flash, in the process waking the girl. Standing naked and looking out, William saw without difficulty what the noise was about: the flames from the burning tower rose high in the sky, illuminating the ground all around, as well as the silhouetted figures running around it.

Some were trying to throw water to douse the conflagration, but given it was blazing from base to top, with cinders rising into the glowing orange and yellow fingers of flame, it would be useless. But he did register that fresh-cut timber, even if it had had several days to lose its sap, should not burn with such ferocity. It could only have gone up in the way it had because of sabotage.

‘Fetch my cloak,’ he commanded, watching as Tirena ran to obey, wondering at the sudden tumescence the sight of her young moving and naked body produced. Once she handed it over, her black eyes wild with fear, he responded softly. ‘Go back to your cot and wait for me.’

The last three words assuaged her fears and made her smile, and as she was only half his height, the kiss she planted on him was closer to his chest than his face. He was gone before he realised what she had done, only aware of that mark of affection when the slight night breeze touched on the moisture her act had left behind.

The whole camp was awake now, all gathered around this unwanted bonfire, looking up with a mixture of anger and wonder as the labours of weeks was consumed.

‘Stand back,’ he yelled, ‘all of you.’

That was a command slow to be obeyed, even if it was much repeated, but the crowd had retired before the weight of the structure, acting on the destroyed lower parts, began to buckle and slowly fall. There was a strange grace to that, so slowly did it happen, that shattered by the crash of contact as parts broke off sending sparks flying in all directions. By the time it was down, Arduin was standing next to William.

‘It was set alight after being drenched,’ he said,’ I can smell the pitch.’

William was looking at the faces all around, lit by the orange glow, including his brothers. ‘Who was guarding it?’

‘A party of my men were set to watch it,’ Arduin replied, shaking his head. ‘Ten in number. Those not speared I saw with their throats slashed.’

‘Where’s Argyrus?’

Arduin looked around, as had William, scanning the faces, easily able to identify those he knew. ‘I pray to God it is not he.’

‘Then why can we not see him, or any of his escort?’

‘Perhaps he still sleeps.’

That got the Lombard a look, one he had to acknowledge despite how bitter it made him feel: no one could sleep through the noise of a whole camp rudely brought awake and the light from such a blaze.

William and Arduin saw Argyrus at first light. They were standing by the still-smouldering embers of the tower with the acrid taste of smoke in their throats. He was looking over the walls of Trani, while all around him the jeers of the defenders rose and fell in mockery. There was no need to wonder at what had caused his betrayal: it would be Byzantine gold, as it had been in the case of Atenulf selling his prisoner. Angry as he was, William could at least see what had prompted the young man’s treachery.

Since his father’s death he had been a prisoner of Byzantium, and who knew what his feelings were truly like towards them? Released, he had become the pawn of others more powerful than he, sustained by the hope that things would at sometime turn to his advantage. He had been used by Landulf of Benevento and surely he had been told of the council called by Guaimar, where he had been extolled by his fellow Lombards as a potential leader with obvious insincerity: whatever they saw him as, it was not as a future ruler. If Argyrus had any sense, he must have seen, too, in the Prince of Salerno’s manoeuvring, a future source of disappointment, so he had decided no doubt to take what was on offer now, in place of the uncertain rewards of the future.

Arduin was near to tears: for him this was no mere setback, it was like a physical blow. Who now would lead the revolt and provide a banner around which the ordinary Lombards, those who sought only freedom, could rally? He had been looking into their faces since the first grey light tinged the morning sky, and had seen in their expressions, as the word spread of this treachery, coming hard on the heels of what Count Atenulf had done, how badly it had affected them. The question was unavoidable: would they still fight?

‘Do we rebuild?’ William asked. He, at least, had no doubt what his men would do: they were professionals when it came to fighting. ‘It is for you to decide.’

‘I need to gauge the spirit of those who have volunteered.’

‘Their spirits will be lifted by your determination, Arduin.’

‘I will gather, then, after they have prayed and eaten, but I have to tell you, William, at this moment I cannot think what words I will use to inspire them.’

As the day wore on, with a listless besieging host clearing up the charred mess of that burnt tower, Arduin kept putting off that which he knew he needed to do. For all he had a silver tongue, he felt it would need to be diamond encrusted to overcome the disillusionment which was apparent in every face with whom he exchanged a glance. Equally troubling, and a problem that had him sulking like Achilles in his tent, was what to do next if the siege was not to be pressed, for if these men he led, Normans not included, would have been reluctant to go so far south as to fight George Maniakes before, they would be even more so now.

He looked up angrily as the tent flap was hauled back, prepared to snap that he wanted to be left in peace. But they were not words he could use to William de Hauteville.

‘You had best come, Arduin. Trani has opened a gate and is sending out envoys carrying olive branches.’

He saw them as soon as he emerged and moved to the edge of the camp, with William on his heels, the olive branches of peace being waved above their heads, and when they spoke, to tell him why they were now ready to hand over their port city, he had to stop himself from laughing out loud. George Maniakes had rebelled against Constantinople, lifted the siege of Bari, had his troops declare him emperor, and had set off in a fleet of ships for the lands of Romania, intent on toppling Constantine.

‘Argyrus?’ he demanded.

He had fled by sea, and once they had entered the city, and were on the jetty that made up half the harbour of Trani, they could still see the sails of his ship beating up into an unfavourable wind as he sought to escape their vengeance.

Over the following week, Arduin began to sense that the betrayal of Argyrus was impacting on him, and that was compounded by what had occurred with the idiotic Count Atenulf: it was in looks and conversations hurriedly abandoned whenever he appeared, and it was from his fellow Lombards that he felt the most distaste — the ordinary Norman lances, as they always had, paid him little attention. He had had his men in the palm of his hand until that siege tower was destroyed, able to rouse them to great deeds with his rhetoric. They had been fired to take Trani and spill their blood in doing so.

Yet now, only days later, if he issued a command, he had to wait for it to be obeyed, and when the men he led were collected in numbers such an order led to a ripple of unpleasant muttering, not silenced by their captains, a sure indication of a serious loss of authority, and he knew in his heart that what he was witnessing was impossible to repair.

There was little point in seeing it as unfair: yes, it was he who had started the revolt, but it was also he who had sought that titular leader around whom the Lombards could unite, never doubting in his own mind that it could not be himself. Both had betrayed the cause he espoused, and it took no great imagination to discern that he was being held responsible, being examined, in covert looks, in a way that saw him in the same light, even now that victory was at hand.

Alone in the villa he had taken, overlooking the harbour of Trani, idly throwing dice onto a table, which held a meal unconsumed since the night before, he was forced to examine, as the first hint of grey tinged the eastern sky, his options. News had come that Prince Guaimar had departed Salerno and was on his way to Melfi, where he had called a great council of all who mattered in Apulia. Sure he was entitled to much reward, Arduin had serious doubts as to whether he would get his just deserts, and he would certainly never receive that of which he had entertained in many dreamlike fantasies: real power in the province he had helped to conquer.

The realisation, which he had always known but now saw with great clarity, did nothing to reassure him. Without the Normans he was nothing, especially if he would struggle to command his own volunteer levies, many of whom, in any case, were drifting away. The atmosphere in his military lines, in the rows of Lombard tents which surrounded Trani, as he had walked through them that day, had been rank with dissent and suspicion.

For the tenth time he unfolded the note which had been pressed into his hand as he made his way through the bustling town on his return, an act carried out with such speed and in such a crowd that all he had seen of the deliverer was the disappearing back of the cowl on his head. The words he read only underlined the thoughts on which he had been ruminating, as he wondered if the people who had sent this to him had also fomented that suspicion he had felt in the looks aimed at his back, from the same eyes that would not engage with his own.

It was impossible to put out of his mind the meeting Guaimar had held at Montecchio, to forget how the delegates who had come from the port cities and inland towns had made it plain that they had no real regard for him; that they saw him as no more than an instrument of Norman ambition and would certainly not now wish to see him elevated to a position of any authority. Was he that, a dupe? Was such a role all he could claim? Had he been a tool not only of Norman aspirations but also those of Guaimar, who had done nothing to raise him in the eyes of the Apulian Lombards?

And what would happen if that were true? If he could not command his own levies — and he certainly would never command the likes of William de Hauteville or the Normans he led, if he was not trusted by Guaimar or his fellow Lombards — for what was he working, what ambition of his own was going to be fulfilled? The other objects on the table were his personal possessions: a bundle of clothing, including a heavy purse of gold, the contents of his now empty strongbox, the rewards he had garnered from his campaigning. Clothes he did not need, his new masters would see to that.

With a heavy heart, Arduin of Fassano stood up, picked up the leather purse and exited the villa through the terrace and gardens that led down to the harbour. The note lay still on the table, and that would tell all who wanted to know where he had gone, though he did wonder if they would reason out why. The boat he had been told to expect was waiting for him, and as soon as he climbed aboard the sail was lifted aloft on the mast and he headed out to sea, ready to accept from Byzantium the same kind of offer which had suborned Argyrus.

The news was not slow in coming to William, for the villa he occupied was only a stone’s throw from that of Arduin, and while his brothers were loud in their condemnation he was less so. Firstly, he felt unwell and lacked the energy to fulminate. But there was another reason: he alone had some inkling of what had prompted the Lombard’s flight. The question which occupied him was not that it had happened but what to do about it.

‘Find the trumpeter,’ he commanded, ‘and call an assembly. The men must be told.’

Hurriedly obeyed, the whole host, Norman and Lombard, was gathered by the time he exited the city gate, and he knew by the buzz of talk that news of Arduin’s betrayal had spread. There was no platform from which to address them so he clambered with some difficulty onto the embers of that siege tower, from where he could be seen by all, wondering, as he began to speak, if his voice would carry.

‘I do not have the silver tongue of Arduin-’ He had to stop then, the name made them react with boos, cries of shame and whistles and he had to wait some time till it died down. ‘But I do have one virtue: there is no chance that I will ever take Byzantine gold.’

‘That would depend on how much they were offering,’ he heard Humphrey, who was just below him, say.

‘I come here not to address the men I lead but to talk to you all. You have been thrice betrayed.’ More braying greeted that, and another pause was necessary, besides which he needed to take a firm grip on a protruding bit of burnt timber to steady himself. ‘So the time has come to find a leader who will never desert you.’

Drogo, as usual, was quicker to pick up what was needed than the others, and he stepped out and pulled out his sword, raising it in the air as he cried, ‘I follow William de Hauteville, my brother. Who will join with me?’

That the Normans reacted positively to that was only to be expected, and their yells, as well as their swords or lances, rent the air. What was less expected was the reaction of the men Arduin had recruited, and it was an indication of how far their leaders had fallen in their eyes that they, too, loudly acclaimed William as their leader, and in amongst the shouting he could hear there were voices vowing to follow no other.

‘There you are, Gill,’ Drogo shouted into his ear. ‘You have an army. All you need now is an enemy.’

‘Never fear, Drogo,’ William replied, his fist raised to accept the continuing acclamation. ‘There are many out there, and not just from the east.’