‘Now Gisulf knows I am here and a threat,’ Mauger cried, waving his sword.
These words were, Roger surmised, meant for his ears, Mauger seeking to make the best of what had to be seen as a tactical error. He was in command, he had brought them to this place on a raid that had over-extended the time away from safety, without taking the precautions necessary to ensure that any force sent to interdict them could not get between them and their base, this despite gentle reminders from his younger brother that to come such a distance, without leaving small parties behind to warn of a threat to their rear, was unwise.
‘I think we are going to have to fight them,’ Roger said.
‘Of course we must fight them,’ his brother replied, while he searched the surrounding landscape for a way to avoid that very thing.
Whoever had chosen the spot had done well. Between them and the sea, distant and hidden by high hills, lay a river in full spate, too ferocious to cross, even on horseback. Inland was thick forest running up steep hills leaving only two options, to move forward and fight or seek to retire and find a way round. That would require them to first of all abandon that which they had pillaged. Even accepting that as a necessity, and it would be hard, the most pressing problem was the condition of their horses.
They had been active for forty days, rarely with enough rest to keep them at peak. A horse ridden continuously, sometimes pushed harder than was wise, soon lost fitness. They were far from being blown, but in an attempted flight they would have to push them to the limit with no certainty that they could avoid battle. If they could not, they would be forced to fight at an even greater disadvantage than that they faced now. Despite such concerns it was clear Mauger preferred that course.
‘They lack the will, these Lombards, for the kind of pursuit we will force upon them. They will tire before we will.’
‘They had the will, brother, to seek us out and get behind us and we have no idea if this is all that we face. There could be more to our rear.’
‘Gisulf could never raise more than this?’
‘That would depend,’ Roger replied grimly, remembering the words spoken in Gisulf’s council chamber, ‘on how much he is prepared to spend.’
A small group detached themselves from their enemies and rode forward, clearly intent on talking, leaving Mauger to ruminate on what Roger had implied: soldiers could be bought and the notion just voiced affected his brother, who had not yet considered a possibility that should have come to him at once. The last thing that would serve the men he led was indecision, and right now Roger realised, which was worrying, that Mauger was unclear as to what to do. He was good company, generous with the proceeds of that which they had jointly plundered. Roger’s men were as content as he with the state of their purse and, as part of the garrison of the castle, they had also enjoyed the privileges that gave them in the town, not least with the women they had taken as concubines.
Roger had also fallen into a kind of happy stupor: he was well fed, had a local girl of tender years to keep warm his bed, who had just produced for him a lusty son called Jordan, as well as a group of uncomplaining personal followers and a decent amount of gold in a locked coffer. But it was not what he had come to Italy for, to be no more than a brigand: his ambition was to emulate the best of his siblings.
Odd that he should be suddenly back in that arbour with Judith of Evreux, thinking of the words he had left unsaid, of his desire to make so much of himself that no man, or no duke, could deny him her hand in marriage. What would she think to see him now? These thoughts ran through his mind in the time it took the party to get close enough to speak, and he pulled his mount back a few paces to let them know he was not the man to address.
‘You speak Greek?’
The voice from under the metal helmet was brusque, with Roger straining to see if he could recognise the speaker, perhaps one of those courtiers who had attended on Gisulf, but all he had to go on was the unfriendly eyes.
‘I speak better Latin,’ Mauger replied.
‘Then in Latin I demand you surrender yourself.’
‘You come to confer with only one message?’
‘I do not come to confer. I require you to dismount, move away from your horses and put your weapons in a heap where they are plain to see. Then you will be bound in chains and taken by us to Salerno.’
‘On foot?’ asked Roger.
‘Yes, Roger de Hauteville.’
‘You know me?’
‘Enough to name you, as I also know that I am addressing the usurper of Scalea.’
‘Usurper!’ Mauger thundered.
His brother knew what that meant: he had taken Scalea from a Lombard, a one-time inferior lord to Gisulf, so if he capitulated on this field he would be surrendering the fief as well. Yet Mauger did not respond: wondering what his brother was waiting for, Roger spoke, almost out of a sense of impatience.
‘High words for someone who has yet to see us as his to command,’ Roger said. ‘Remember we are Normans.’
‘You are thieving scum who will make redress to my master when your brother of Apulia pays to get you out of a dungeon.’
‘And the men we lead?’
‘We have oars in galleys and chains to bind them, or perhaps we will sell them to the Saracens to dig salt.’
Roger laughed: he did not feel like it, in fact he was deeply concerned, but it would never do to show this Lombard the truth. ‘Go back to your men and be prepared to see their blood stain the ground over which you have ridden.’
‘The blood will be yours.’
‘Tell them,’ Roger said, carrying on as if the Lombard had not spoken, ‘that if they do not stand aside every one of them will die, there will be no quarter. Then see if they still want to fight us.’
The Lombard looked at Mauger. ‘Is that your answer?’
The pause was too long: he should have responded immediately, for not to do so was to yield ascendancy. Roger wanted to shout but he dare not.
‘It is,’ Mauger said eventually.
‘So be it.’
The Lombard spun his horse and, with his escort, rode back to join his men. Looking at his back, Roger thought him a fooclass="underline" you do not threaten warriors with a life as a galley slave if you want them to put up their weapons. Most men would rather face death than that.
‘What do you think, Roger, fight or run?’
‘Fight, brother, there is no choice. We either do so now or when we are weaker. Will you permit me to speak to our men?’
‘Of course.’
Not a thing I would grant to another, Roger thought, as he spun his mount and rode to where the men sat. As a raiding party they were on their ordinary riding horses; the destriers, which they would have liked for such a confrontation, were happily at pasture outside Scalea. But these horses were well trained, every Norman mount was. They might not be as stalwart in battle as the sturdy battle-chargers but they would perform well with what he had in mind. It was with some disquiet that he realised he was thinking as the man in command, even more disturbing was that Mauger had already gifted him that role.
He had an idea, based on the certain knowledge that the men they faced did not have the discipline of those he was about to address; it was a risk, but then so was all war. Standing in his stirrups he told them clearly what he wanted, based on the very obvious fact that they would have to initiate any action. The plan accepted that for their enemy, standing on the defensive, given they were between the Normans and home, was the right thing to do. They had to be tempted out of their certainties.
Everything unnecessary had to be abandoned before they could proceed: it was not just cattle and laden donkeys; each knight had saddlebags containing that which had been stolen and was portable. Roger had them empty those onto the ground, reluctantly at first, until he told them they would end up in the salt mines of Sicily if they did not. Never afraid to raid an Orthodox church, one of which existed in every settlement, the discarded items included plate, chalices and, to the shame of the despoiler, an odd crucifix. The whole, along with donkeys tethered and hobbled, was left in a high heap where his enemies, once the Normans were no longer blocking the sight, could see it.