‘Some seven hundred, I would say, only a third of that mounted. They doused their fires before dark to stay hidden but I saw no sign they were preparing to move.’
Roger, looking out at the still-angry sea, was troubled that such a force, greater in numbers than his own, had appeared and he had no idea from where. They had also got so close that they could attack at will, but why had they not done so? Had they tracked him from Rometta? Had they come from the south, sent by al-Hawas? Were they an advance guard or the whole threat? Whatever the answer was made no difference, they were clearly enemies and they had to be dealt with.
‘Serlo, gather half of the lances and get ready to leave before first light.’
In the glow from the fire around which he and his captains stood it was possible to see a stiffening among them: this was nothing but family partiality — was not this nephew too young and inexperienced to be preferred over the more tried and tested? Roger ignored it: there was not a man present who would not have favoured one of his own if the circumstances allowed — it was the Norman way, and one from which he had benefited from the moment he had arrived in Italy. Serlo was a de Hauteville; here was a chance for him to win his spurs.
‘No stars, so you will have to use the wind to guide you till the sun begins to rise. I want you to the west of this threat and prepared for battle. Find some high ground and look out for the rest of us, for we will break camp to move against them at grey dawn. Attack as soon as you see our pennants and seek to get behind them. With luck they will be surprised and panic.’
Suspecting his own camp to be under scrutiny, the preparations for the morrow had to be made with subtlety: Serlo had his party form up under the trees, conroy by conroy, weapons and harness hidden out of sight, with no trace of haste, before the horses were led to where they could be saddled out of view. Finally the whole force marched away from the camp on foot, the horses led to lessen the noise of their hooves.
The rest of Roger’s lances quietly made their preparations, checking weapons and ensuring that all that was needed was close to where it was required for a quick departure. This showed another part of that endless Norman training, the ability to harness their mounts, arm themselves and move out at speed, a set of actions which, when executed, clearly impressed Ibn-al-Tinnah, a fellow somewhat subdued since his own appreciation of the situation had been shown to be false. The foot soldiers, camped apart from the mounted men, were the last to be alerted, not being trusted to avoid showing their activities as they scuttled around the campfires.
Serlo was in position by the time Roger broke camp and he had the enemy in view, so was thus able to see the hurried way in which they readied to confront the approaching threat. Again a tree was employed to give height to a lookout, eyes peeled for the first fluttering pennant. The increasing light allowed Serlo to assess the ground before him, the entrance to the valley in which the enemy camp was situated. He had his instructions, but he also was well aware of the trust placed in him: he was expected to act as he saw fit. Thus, he led his men out to where they would be in plain view prior to the time agreed, gratified to see what had been hasty but ordered preparation for battle turn into alarm.
Nor did he delay in his attack, trusting those under his command to form up on the move, so what the enemy first saw as a ragged assemblage of horsemen coming towards them at a fast canter soon turned into a regular formation, the points of their lowered lances dull under the still-scudding clouds. The blowing of the horn, the way that line turned south, told whoever was in command that this attack was aiming for the rear of his position. He had been busy forming up his soldiers to face the oncoming assault coming from Cape Faro.
Nothing collapses more quickly in confusion than discipline, and the troubles of the enemy general were confounded by the need to take the crest of the northern hill before it was barred to him by Roger’s cavalry, while at the same time seeking to direct enough of his men to cover the flank exposed by Serlo; in the end he achieved neither, and before he had properly deployed he was under attack from the front, with an echelon of disciplined horsemen threatening his rear.
Roger’s lances, having heard Serlo’s horn, sped to the hill crest, arriving just before their opponents, not to halt but to use the slope to increase the effect of contact, their lance points slicing into the opposing cavalry and stopping dead their uphill advance. Lances embedded, their swords were out and employed, the Normans using the gaps created by the shock of their initial charge to get amongst their opponents, great blades flashing down on weak human flesh in a battle arena where the greater height and weight of their Viking heritage, added to their professional ability, counted — doubly so since most of those who opposed them lacked much in the way of fighting skill.
Serlo was driving his lances into the softer flank and rear, if anything killing more than Roger’s men. His uncle, surrounded by his personal knights, was made visible both by his size and the damage he was meting out to anyone who came within range of his weapon, on this occasion an axe, which spurred his nephew on to prove himself equal. That nearly led to his undoing as he found himself surrounded and fighting for his life, lacking a personal following dedicated to keeping alive his person.
How Roger saw his plight while himself hacking with his axe and, at the same time deflecting blows with his shield, Serlo did not know. All he did discern, through the sweat dripping into his eyes, was Roger’s near presence at the head of a phalanx of knights, cutting their way through to him. Wounds he had already suffered, but mortal danger threatened: even a deflected pike can deliver a telling blow and he was aware of one coming, aimed to take him under his sword arm, while he was locked in combat, with a mounted enemy blow. He could do nothing to deflect it.
The arm holding that pike seemed to split in two, before the weapon and the hand and forearm holding it fell to the ground, and there beside him was his Uncle Roger, magnificent in his yelling frenzy, slashing at everything within the range of the axe. The men who had forced their way through with him surrounded Serlo in such a tight circle he was left with no one to fight and, breathing heavily, aware of his injuries if not the pain which would come later, he realised that the enemy soldiers were trying to seek mercy, and mostly failing. Roger’s foot soldiers, his levies from Calabria, were amongst them now and they had suffered much from the Saracens of Sicily, making murderous revenge inevitable.
When the killing ended there were barely enough of the enemy alive to tell Roger de Hauteville they had come from Messina, further questioning revealing they constituted the entire garrison. They had planned to wait until he was loading his booty, when the Normans would be dismounted and disorganised, to attack him and drive him and his men to drown in the sea. Having failed in that, they unwittingly dangled before Roger’s eyes a prize he could barely have dreamt of, one greater by far than any enclave on the Milazzo peninsula.
‘Count the bodies in this field, Emir al-Tinnah. That means Messina is now undefended.’
‘We do not have the numbers for a siege, Lord Roger.’
‘We may not need one. The population is mainly Greek. Without Saracens to man their walls and threaten to cut their gizzards the citizens may open their gates to fellow Christians. A mere demonstration of force might be enough to gift us entry.’
The emir was on the horns of a dilemma: what Roger was saying was true, but he needed these Normans ravaging the lands of his enemy. If Roger de Hauteville occupied Messina he would stay there and ensure it was made too formidable for even the strongest Saracen force to retake it: anything else would go by the board, this while Roger was trying to imagine the face of his brother when told that his sibling had possession of the second greatest city on the island.