Roger responded with a wry smile. ‘I don’t suspect, brother, I know.’
‘As an answer that is not very bright given what I have and you do not.’
‘It is the only answer you will believe.’
‘I am not persuaded your plan is sound.’
‘Then, with power, you have lost your insight.’
‘To think I named my son after you,’ Robert replied, his face flushed with anger. ‘When was the last time I boxed your ears?’
‘The last time I was too small to fight back.’
Robert stood up and so did Roger, still the smaller of the two, though not by much and, for a moment, it looked as if a blow would be struck, without any certainty as to who would be the first or the winner, for there would certainly be more to follow. Suddenly Robert burst out laughing again, encouraging his brother to reiterate his arguments.
‘Let me show you the bay I have in mind. When you see what I am talking about I am sure you will agree. If you do not, well it is your army to command.’
‘Ships?’
‘Arranged already,’ Roger replied, adding quickly, ‘subject to your approval.’
‘To sail from where?’
‘St Maria del Faro, halfway between Reggio and Scilla, and if we go in the numbers I suggest it is big enough for the quantity of vessels we will need.’
Robert walked forward, looking once more at the island over the narrow waters. ‘You have been here for a long time, so I am going to bow to your greater knowledge. But pick a good saint’s day, Sprat, I want as much of God’s grace on my side as I can get.’
Roger de Hauteville, after a Mass said on the quayside, weighed in darkness aboard just a dozen ships, leading an advance guard of two hundred and fifty lances. There was no moon in this part of May, but with a clear sky they had ample starlight by which to steer, and this on calm waters. The crossing was swift and trouble free, so that he had no difficulty in landing his men off his lead ship before first light, their immediate task to take and hold the approaches. As soon as that was achieved, he disembarked the rest of his command and sent the ships back. Serlo was sent inland to scout ahead and returned to say he had sighted a huge baggage train heading for Messina.
Should Roger investigate? The landing ground must be held secure for what would follow and his arrangement was to await his brother’s contingent at the very least, and probably the whole Norman host. The baggage train lacked armed protection, but there might be forces close by to protect it, strong enough to threaten their landing place. If there were, he needed to know what level of threat they might portend and how far off they lay.
In truth and in his heart Roger knew he was looking for an excuse to act on his own and the Fates had gifted him one: common sense dictated he intercept a baggage train, which was probably resupplying al-Hawas. He left thirty men to hold the ravine, knowing, if need be, he could retire through them in haste, then set off inland with the remainder of his lances. Serlo’s slow-moving mule-and-camel train, all of a league in length, was easily caught. A party was sent to cut off their progress and another to the rear to stop them running for home.
‘Save the beasts,’ Roger commanded.
‘And the drovers?’
‘We cannot risk news of our presence to be spread around the countryside.’
There was no need to underline the meaning of that: they attacked and, in a short and bloody engagement, slaughtered every man leading a mule or a camel, then spent a longer time rounding up their charges, they having fled. Fortunately a laden beast will not run far, and once they were gathered and examined Roger was surprised by the amount of booty they had just taken: not only food, but several panniers carrying gold, all transported back to the beach, which took the remainder of the day, by which time the next contingent of lances had come in.
Buoyed by easy success and leaving on the beach his booty, Roger set off again at first light, this time at the head of five hundred knights, riding through the rolling hills that led to Messina, surprised at the speed with which they were allowed to proceed, slowed from a canter only when they were required to walk their mounts up the steeper sides of the valleys through which they travelled. Finally at the top of a wooded hill, Messina lay before them, still formidable; yet peering at the parapets they could see no soldiers, not even a skeleton guard, and there was no sign of any of the forces al-Hawas would have mustered camped outside.
‘Where in the name of God are they?’ Serlo asked, as, screened by trees to keep out of sight, he, Roger and Ralph de Boeuf, for the second time in three months, surveyed the pale walls of the city, looking deceptively soft and pink in the sunlight. ‘We have not seen so much as a piquet on the way here.’
‘Perhaps the earth has swallowed al-Hawas up,’ Ralph said, ‘he being an infidel.’
It looked as if he might be right: the fields between where they sat and the city, ripe with wheat rippling in the soft sea breeze, were almost devoid of any human life and certainly bare of any military presence. The gates were open and a small trickle of traffic entered and exited through them with no hint of any kind of alarm. It was so pastoral, obviously not one of those inhabitants knew the Normans were even close by.
Roger replied softly. ‘Much as I think God is ever on our side, I do not believe in miracles.’
‘Then what?’ Ralph asked.
Roger thought a long time before answering. ‘Al-Hawas is expecting us to land at Cape Faro or the northern shoreline. Maybe he has placed every available man there to stop us, knowing he will be forewarned when our fleet sets sail.’
He then pointed out the waters of the straits, the Italian mainland visible as a hazy blue line, devoid of shipping if you excluded fishing boats. ‘There is not a galley in sight, which means he is not even patrolling the waters off the harbour.’
‘Then he has made an error,’ Serlo hooted. ‘Once Robert’s ashore we will have him.’
‘It is not unknown,’ Roger replied, with some feeling, ‘for military leaders to make mistakes, and I for one will not make any rash judgements.’
Roger had been chastened by his previous failure and he was not alone. Yet, Ralph de Boeuf, the man who had served with him for years, was positive. ‘You have a chance here to wipe out a stain and one that will not last. Robert will already have sailed.’
Roger answered in a grim tone. ‘I have had my pride broken once on those walls, Ralph. Besides, as soon as we are sighted, messengers will be sent north to alert al-Hawas.’
‘Roger, you cannot allow one reverse to blind you to such an opportunity.’
‘Uncle,’ Serlo protested, ‘we must at least try.’
Looking over his shoulder, Roger observed what he had with him: five hundred lances, at present resting in the cool of the woods, standing by their mounts to deny them grazing in case they were needed to make a speedy retreat. This force exceeded that with which he had tried to take Messina before, and there were still fifteen hundred more men to come. What gave him pause was that, in his mind’s eye, he could see the image of the bodies he had so recently left below those parapets.
Badly as he wanted to redeem his reputation, it was not that which decided him to proceed. Even if he did nothing he could not avoid the news being carried to the city that there were enemies outside the city walls; he had been lucky up till now to outrun any of those who must have spotted his lances. But when messengers rushed north, it would likely throw al-Hawas into a panic and one in which he might compound his already faulty dispositions. Unsure of what he faced the Saracen might hesitate and give time for the whole Norman force to invest or bypass Messina. Whatever course was taken the city would be isolated and cut off from immediate support. In time it would fall and he would be vindicated, his vow fulfilled.
‘Serlo, get our men ready. Ralph, ride back to the landing beach. When Robert sets foot ashore tell him he is not to delay but to come on with every man he can get astride a horse.’