That reply was less sensitive, yet his visitor was speaking the truth. Roger needed a toehold in Sicily: enough defendable land to establish a presence, a secure base that could be protected by a Norman castle, somewhere to land in numbers and in safety at a time of his own choosing, an enclave that could be reinforced quickly if threatened. The trick was to get onto the island for long enough to make that happen, and he suspected it could only be achieved with the aforesaid Saracen ally. Would that be something welcome to such a person or his cause in the long term?
The chronicles of previous invasions, including those of antiquity, proved that Sicily was a hard island to conquer, which would have been attested to, if they could speak, by Attic Greeks, Phoenicians, the Carthaginians who had contested with Rome and lastly the Byzantines who had retaken Sicily five hundred years before. It had subsequently been lost to Islam. His eldest brothers had partaken of the last attempt at Byzantine recovery, which had faltered on the arrogance of the general in command. But the one fact that had come down through Roger’s own blood relatives was this: Sicily could only be invaded with an indigenous ally like the man now sitting before him.
The emirs were continually at loggerheads and petty rulers existed by the dozen, many in small fiefs, but in truth only a trio of them counted, the great landholders who garnered huge wealth from an extremely fertile island. Ibn-al-Tinnah was Lord of Catania and the province that took its name from the port city. Sicily was like Southern Italy in its disquiet and it shared one other trait: the rulers of the greater provinces were as untrustworthy as their contemporaries across the Straits of Messina.
‘So, Lord Roger,’ al-Tinnah continued, ‘let me propose something more tempting, nothing less than the island of Sicily as a Norman possession. Your brother has been given a ducal title that has no meaning. I am saying it could be made real.’
That such an offer was astounding was an understatement: it was nothing less than fabulous, so much so that it was unlikely to be true.
‘You are now thinking I am lying, that I wish your aid only to repudiate it as soon as my enemy has been driven off.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘So, Lord Roger, would be your agreeing to aid me for no reward, when in truth you would like to cut out a piece of the island for your own purpose.’
Roger, tired of maintaining a rigid expression and given any subterfuge was wasted, burst out laughing. ‘I think you had best tell me what it is you want and what you are prepared to sacrifice. What comes after can be left to the future.’
‘I need Norman lances to defeat al-Hawas and for that I undertake to aid you in securing a foothold on the island. Then, when you are ready for a full campaign, I will join you and help you to take all of Sicily, as long as Duke Robert allows me to remain on my land and keep my possessions as his vassal.’
‘You offer a great deal, perhaps too much.’
‘When a man risks losing not only his land but his head, it would be foolish to offer too little.’
It was not al-Tinnah’s to give — Sicily would have to be taken by force — but that mattered not and Roger listened as the emir outlined his thinking, immediately disabusing the Saracen of the notion that Norman lances could land in Catania and seek battle with al-Hawas: Roger lacked the strength to do other than contain him there. But with the Emir of Enna absent there was nothing to stop anyone from raiding his possessions on the northern coast and that was, Roger insisted, where they should go. If successful enough, it would achieve what was necessary by forcing al-Hawas to abandon his Catanian campaign.
‘It may not be all we can do to help you,’ Roger added, ‘but it answers your immediate concerns and, for the future, we can carve out an enclave from which my brother can attack your rivals.’
Al-Tinnah was less than pleased, however he had no choice but to accept: his position was obviously too weak to do otherwise, for if it were not, he would not have come to Mileto. Roger suggested that Cape Faro, which was right opposite the fortress and port of Scilla, would be a good place to land adding his concomitant thought: that further along the coast lay the peninsula of Milazzo, a narrow neck of land, easy to protect where it joined with the mainland and also a prime spot to build a castle to act as a base for future Norman operations. The question however remained: given what he could muster in lances, should he go?
‘Lord Roger, I have offered you all that I can. I need a speedy response.’
Sensing the desperation in that request, Roger stood suddenly. ‘Please wait here.’
Striding out of the chamber, his mind was in a whirclass="underline" it had been obvious that his brother would turn to Sicily at some time, had he not been given the ducal title, which he would want to make good, and no doubt he would engage Roger to aid him as he had here in Calabria. Yet any campaign on the island would be to enforce Robert’s claims, so once more Roger would be at the mercy of his generosity, and he had already proved that when it came to his younger brother, that quality for which the Guiscard was famous could be in short supply.
Here was a chance to strike out early and to be in a position to demand a due reward for what he achieved: that toehold would be his and the price of its use was one he could dictate. He could not take Sicily on his own: that would require everything in the way of force Robert could bring to bear, but with the aid of Ibn-al-Tinnah he could establish a claim too great to refute, nothing less than a Sicilian fief as the springboard for a full invasion. Frustrated enough when unwed, he now had a wife and children to consider, an estate that demanded he assert himself: he required bread from Robert, not crumbs, and here was an opportunity that might never come again.
‘Serlo, to me.’
That command, bellowed from the door to the great hall, echoing round the walls, had his nephew, only months arrived from Normandy, running to hear what was afoot. A promising youth, he had soon become Roger’s close aide.
‘Uncle?’
‘Messengers are to be sent to Ralph de Boeuf. He is to gather up every knight he can muster, as well as foot soldiers, and make for Scilla — another to Reggio to tell Geoffrey Ridel I need transports sent there for some four hundred men, half mounted. Your next task, once that is done, is to prepare our lances and milities for immediate departure.’
The youngster, dark-haired like his sire, grinned at his uncle. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Sicily, Serlo, where else?’
Geoffrey de Ridel was not only an able commander: being from the port of Honfleur he was at home on water and thus a good choice to act as master mariner. Ships had to be commandeered from Reggio, their lower decks fitted with temporary stalls for the mounts, three for each lance: it might be a short crossing but it could also be a choppy one. As usual, getting horses onto ships was fraught with problems. If there was an animal more suspicious than the equine, Roger had never met one. They hated anything unfamiliar, and a long wooden ramp leading to a moving deck in a less than perfectly protected harbour, really no more than a hook of a jetty, was just that.
Few went willingly, many had to be hooded, others given something in their feed to sedate them, with the very worst hoisted aboard on slings. Ridel had waited until he knew the wind and seas to be right before loading took place: he did not want to be stuck at the quayside overseeing a floating stable, not that such a precaution stopped the animals from kicking out at the wooden stalls and pissing and shitting all over the lower decks as soon as they were installed, with the ship’s owners wailing that they would never again be fit for cargo.
Roger left early, in full daylight, boarding a small sailing vessel that would transport him across the straits at their narrowest point, large enough to carry his closest companions, Serlo plus twenty knights and enough wood, kindling and oil for what they needed, their weapons well hidden and their mail covered by common clothing: boats from both shores were out in the good fishing ground and any sight of armed men might be reported ashore. Their destination was a long sandy shore leading to a flat and barren plain, with mountains to the south dominated by the snow-covered and smoking peak of Etna.