‘Odo, go ahead. Ask the elders of Gerace to meet me outside the town under my personal safe conduct.’
‘Shall I tell them anything?’
‘Yes, tell them I am far from pleased. No, tell them you could not face any more of my fury.’
Robert, confined to a small chamber, was chafing at the bit, wondering what the hell was going on: surely these peasants could not be foolish enough to keep him confined? Not that he was in discomfort: he had been well fed, had slept on a decent bed and looked hard at anyone who entered, they being terrified before doing so and more so when they departed. If he had been told that his was a name they used to frighten their children, he would have been pleased.
‘Terrified’ was the word that would have equally applied to those on the way to meet with Roger, given Odo had not been gentle in his delivery. Much as they respected the younger brother, there was not one among them inclined to repose unbridled faith in a barbarian Norman, a race given to much passion, and bloody-minded with it, even if some lived amongst them. Greeks regarded such people as ruffians, with none of the subtle philosophy of their betters: they acted like spoilt brats instead of mature adults.
Roger’s hard look when they came before him did nothing to soften their anxieties and that deepened when he tongue-lashed them for holding his brother captive, though they were pleased that none of the Guiscard’s own lances appeared to be present. ‘Did you send to me to tell me, as it was your duty to do? No, one of your number with more sense, he being a Norman, was the one who saw what must be done.’
‘We were troubled as to what course to take, Lord Roger.’
‘Your course was simple,’ he yelled. ‘Your duty was to hand the Duke of Apulia over to me.’
‘Which we will happily do now,’ cried one elder, relieved to be shot of a burden with which he did not want to have to deal.
‘Then take me to him now.’
Roger deliberately set a firm pace, obliging these elders to move faster than their natural gait, so they were breathless and stumbling by the time they made the main square before the now open church. No evidence of the previous bloody murder was apparent — that had been washed clean — but a messenger of more puff had rushed ahead so that Robert was on one side of the square when Roger entered from the other, followed by Jordan and Ralph de Boeuf. The youngster glared at Robert; Ralph could not help but smile.
‘Well, Robert, I see you have made a fool of yourself.’
‘It gives me pleasure to greet a brother who has outshone me in that. I need hardly mention your first incursion into Sicily.’
‘Then it is a family trait as I told you at Enna.’
All around them stood the citizens of Gerace, wondering what was going to happen. Would the Lord Roger take this opportunity to slay his brother and if he did, how would that rebound on their town? That it made sense did not make it welcome: they were in dispute and even in such a backwater it was known what the younger of the brothers would stand to inherit — the whole of the Guiscard’s holdings.
‘What a family we are, brother.’
‘There is not a soul in Christendom who does not rate us remarkable for what we have gained, given what we had, which was nothing when we started out from the Contentin.’
‘And here I have you in my power, not something to which I’m accustomed. What would Tancred say I should do?’
‘I think Tancred would remind you of a vow I took and you did not.’
‘And what would you do if the positions were reversed?’
Robert actually laughed. ‘Why, Sprat, I’d box your ears.’
With the exception of Ralph de Boeuf, who was sure he knew what was coming, not a jaw was not dropped by what happened next. Without another word the two de Hautevilles moved towards each other and, gleefully, they threw their arms around each other in an embrace later described as like that between Benjamin and Joseph of biblical fame.
‘Don’t call me Sprat,’ Roger said.
‘What in God’s name am I to call you if not that?’
Robert had pushed his brother back to arm’s length before Roger replied, still in high humour. ‘I can think of one or two titles that might suit.’
Robert responded with the kind of laugh that shook rafters. ‘Come to think of it, Sprat, so can I.’
‘No harm to come to Gerace?’
‘None, Roger, they have not harmed anything bar my conceit.’
‘Which would not suffer from the odd wound.’ The pause was short before Roger asked, ‘And me?’
‘Everything you are owed, I give you my word.’
‘There is a church there,’ Roger said, jerking his head. ‘Would it trouble you to know I would be happier to hear you swear that before God?’
‘Lead on.’
Arm in arm, the pair walked towards the church, disappearing into its cool interior where, kneeling Robert de Hauteville swore to respect every promise he had ever made his brother.
‘And now, Robert, I invite you back to my castle of Mileto, where we will have a feast of celebration and talk of future matters, not least how we are going to divide the revenues of Calabria, so that when the Devil visits your bedchamber, you are not tempted to renege.’
Sichelgaita was back in her tent when the horns blew to signal the return of her husband. As soon as she was outside it was obvious that Roger was with him and, given he was riding by his side, no captive. Close to the castle Roger peeled off with his knights and rode to the rapidly opening gates, there to be welcomed by a beaming Judith. Given the numbers to be entertained, the feast had to be held in the open and since it took time to prepare, Judith had the chance to send for musicians and singers from her half-brother’s Abbey of St Eufemia.
That time also allowed her to talk to Roger about Sichelgaita’s unspoken anxieties, and if she was troubled by his silence in response, at least she had a good idea of what prompted it. Naturally Robert and his wife had forsaken their tents and moved into Mileto, so the uncle had an opportunity to gaze into the crib of his nephew. Anyone watching would have worried at the way he failed to smile, indeed what they saw was a frown, for Roger de Hauteville was thinking that, should this dilemma ever be faced, he could not do that which he knew he was about to be asked.
Most of the time was spent with Robert, haggling over how to divide the revenues of the province, no easy matter since each fief had a different value and trading them off to find a balance was a nightmare. Finally they compromised by dividing every one equally: each would hold half the land and each would collect and keep half the revenues. Neither thought it anything other than a dog’s breakfast, but it answered what was quite obvious: their continuing and deep mutual suspicion.
More harmonious were their discussions of what to do about the future, with Roger persuading a not-too-hard-to-sway Robert that Sicily should be a priority and that their next campaign was one which must be properly plotted to not only invade but hold whatever they conquered.
‘And then,’ Robert said, ‘there is Bari.’
‘I will not begin to advise you on that, brother, my priority is Sicily.’
‘There is something I must ask of you, Roger, Sichelgaita insists on it.’
Knowing what was coming, Roger’s reply was guarded. ‘And you do not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your son?’
‘You guessed.’
‘That would not be difficult.’
‘I must tell you that in marrying Sichelgaita I have gained a great deal.’ Seeing Roger begin to smile, he snapped, ‘No jests about her size, please! I would also say that her having given birth to what is seen as a Lombard prince has eased my life.’
‘I cannot give you or Sichelgaita a guarantee, Robert, you know that.’