The force he split into two unequal parts, the first and largest to attack as an unbroken line to mask the smaller body behind, which he hoped his opponent would see as a reserve waiting to exploit any success. Mauger led the initial attack, Roger with the lesser group, a tight knot of lances and, in the main, his own men, bringing up the rear. That the Salernian line would hold he took as an absolute: the man in command must have enough confidence in those he led to so deploy them: if he did not he was a fool, and Roger had no intention of treating him as such.
Cantering forward, Mauger met a wall of lances as he and his warriors engaged, which led to much fruitless jabbing on both sides, with the occasional thrown lance causing a man to fall. Had Roger been leading the defending force he would have been well pleased: the men of Scalea appeared to be blunting themselves on his line, but he hoped the fellow would not observe that the reserve force had moved to the right, to the point at which the defenders’ line met the riverbank.
A horn blew and the most telling aspects of Norman ability, their close battlefield control, showed itself. The whole of Mauger’s attacking force ceased combat and moved speedily to their left, exposing the riverbank before engaging again. Roger’s lances, with hooves in the very water’s edge, hit the gap they created at some speed, not charging, but at a fast and controlled canter, taking by surprise men who had raised their own weapons only to find they suddenly had enemies right in amongst them.
As soon as they showed a sign of weakening, not breaking but yielding ground, the horn blew a different set of notes, and Mauger’s force disengaged for a second time and fell back slightly, preparatory to a move to their right. Roger, now in the thick of battle, his lance already deeply embedded in an opponent, was slashing with his sword at any neck that presented itself, part of a tight wedge of men forcing their way through the enemy crust, with the tumbling river on one side sending up a ferocious spray.
Relieved of pressure on the main front, the enemy right did what came naturally: they moved forward to keep contact with the retreating Normans, when what their commander required them to do was to reinforce his now struggling left. His horns were blowing but to no effect, or to be more truthful he was watching his left begin to fall back while his right wing was moving forward, creating what Roger had sought to achieve, a swinging door, his sole aim to create a large enough avenue through which they could get on the safer side of their enemies: if he was going to run, and they would have to, it was best to have a clear route to home and safety.
Even then it was risky: if the Salernians kept their discipline and contact, the Normans would end up fighting, outnumbered, with a river at their back, never a happy prospect. But that heap of booty, the clutch of heavily laden donkeys and the pile of treasure was now visible and tempting. Once a few had detached themselves to get hold of the plunder, the rest were damned if they were going to lose out on the spoils. Still fighting, praying his ploy was working, Roger knew only that he had the first sight of clear ground to his front: his conroys had broken through. Behind him the whole Norman contingent was now at his back, while the cohesion of their enemy was falling apart as greed took over from obligation.
Once he had space to manoeuvre, Roger attacked the now exposed enemy flank, fighting to keep them on the defensive, the men coming through to his rear not running, but in a display of discipline and comradely cohesion, extending the assaults across the floor of the battle area. The blown signal to disengage was given by Mauger, in a better position than his brother to see it was time to depart, not that it was clean. They had to fight as well as retire, that made possible by the diminishing number of their enemies who were intent on killing instead of acquiring booty.
The next five days were hellish: the enemy commander got his men back into formation to pursue, which led to a succession of rearguard foot-bound fights, stalemates necessary to get both men and mounts some respite, furious and bloody engagements in which Mauger and Roger lost as many men as they had on the field of proper battle. Finally they reached the defendable defiles that led to Scalea and, seeing what his losses would be if he dared continue, their opponent, whose troops and horses had also suffered much, called off the pursuit and retired.
CHAPTER TEN
‘Gisulf must have had help from Robert. The prick of Salerno would never have dared move otherwise.’
Mauger had been making the same point for the whole of the summer, every time he had a bit too much to drink, so Roger’s response was a weary nod. They had not stopped raiding: Gisulf could not keep a force in the field, but it had been more constrained and a lot less profitable, indeed just enough to keep the men they led content. If Mauger was bitter he was not unhappy, but it was not enough for his younger brother: in truth Roger was bored as much as frustrated, something which he took out on his opponents when they trained in the sand-covered manege Mauger had set up for the purpose.
These were, if anything, the key to the Normans’ success, a notion imported from their homeland. For the mass of their opponents fighting was a case of being levied to do so, only their leaders trained with any application for war. Every Norman lance did so: if they were not engaged in battle they were practising their skills daily, either on foot, with mock wooden swords, or on horseback with padded sword and tipped lance, individually or in their conroy. This basic unit of ten would then train with their confreres in larger formations so that everyone responded to the same commands in the same way right up to and including a ducal host.
To watch them in those enclosures was to understand why other armies feared them, especially on horseback. Normans never indulged in a frenzied charge, instead, mounted on their short, heavily muscled destriers, they went into battle at a fast canter and in an unbroken line. Other cavalry could not be constrained — a horse will run flat out if given a chance, especially in the presence of others. The trick was not to get a horse to run but to teach it when to run, at what pace and to keep in line with its fellows; in this the Normans were exemplary. Single combat they also practised: their horse-borne advance was designed to break an enemy line so that their enemies could be cut down or forced to flee.
Mock battle was not pain free: when they fought each other there were bruises to tend and many a cut to be stitched. Men occasionally lost their lives, more from finding themselves under horse hooves than any action of their fellows, yet this was where Roger was getting out of hand. Certainly the most potent fighter, the tallest, broadest, strongest and most skilful, it would have behoved him to hold back; dissatisfaction with his present way of living honed his aggression.
When a message came from the Guiscard asking him to meet with him in Calabria, with a promise he would be repaid every gold solidus he was owed, he was more than ready to break the monotony, while those he trained with, the men who suffered from his anger — rarely his own lances — were happy at the prospect he might depart. It was Mauger who was most disgruntled.
‘He will cheat you again.’
‘He needs our aid, there is a rebellion in Calabria and he dare not turn his back on Apulia with Argyrus up to his tricks. Nor will he trust just anyone to take it back. Robert is strong for blood; he will not give command to any of his captains to do what must be done so he must call on his family. Come with me, make your peace and we can both prosper.’