There had been scant gratitude for his efforts; Drengot had come to resent the de Hautevilles, now five in number and much admired, seeing them as a threat to his position, which had led him to conspire at their downfall with Guaimar of Salerno, Sichelgaita’s father. William had cunningly outfoxed both to become an even greater rival to Rainulf’s power and, in time, not only his equal but superior in the land he held and the forces he could muster. After Drengot’s death his possessions and title had passed to his nephew Richard and for every time Capua and Apulia had cooperated there had been a dozen more times where they had been close to enemies, without either party able or willing to put the rivalry to the ultimate test.
‘It has ever been our habit, we Normans, to combine when threatened, as we did at Civitate, though there has never been much love lost between us, even if Richard is my brother-in-law. Never forget he’s a Drengot. I suspect in styling himself as prince, he sees us as somehow inferior to him, for he is stuffed with arrogant pride.’
That last opinion came out with a growl, causing Bohemund to pose the obvious question. ‘Do you fear him?’
‘Only in concert with another of our enemies,’ Robert replied. ‘We have ever held to our uneasy peace, but now I sense matters have shifted, for this revolt I have just crushed could not have been sustained without outside support and for once I do not see the interference of Constantinople.’
‘Ademar was sure Gisulf had a hand in the uprising.’
‘And Ademar was not mistaken,’ Robert spat.
If there was one name to bring on deep irritation in the ducal breast it was that of the Guiscard’s other brother-in-law, the Prince of Salerno. Where Sichelgaita was steady and a helpmeet, her brother was a mischievous fly-by-night who hated him. Gisulf was an insect he could not quite swat, much as he would like to, for Salerno lay too close to the lands controlled by Richard of Capua and he would have to accede to any attempt to put the prince of that city in his place. If his wife did not hate her brother she knew him to be a dolt with an overinflated sense of his own worth, and she always sided with her husband when his follies were exposed.
‘Gisulf lacks the means to create such mayhem, while all the information I can glean points to Capua.’
‘Did the rebels admit this?’
‘No, but priests and monks travel, and when they do, they talk with each other and with those they serve. Many of them serve me, or depend on me to endow their monasteries and churches, and if they cannot say with certainty that Capua is the villain, they have heard many hints to that effect.’
‘So all you have is rumour?’
‘It is enough,’ Bohemund’s father barked.
‘Is it wrong of me to think proof would be better?’
‘How do you find it? Richard would not become involved himself; he would keep it at arm’s length, allowing stupid Gisulf to think it was he who was generating trouble, but consider this. If Capuan lands border mine they also border the papal possessions and Rome would very much desire that one seat of Norman power should seek to trouble the other, so in alliance with them he is a danger. There are many things to threaten what we hold, Bohemund, as I have just outlined, but at this moment I see my sister’s husband, in combination with Pope Alexander and his slimy helpmeet Hildebrand, as the most pressing. What would be your response if I said that I intend that such a situation should cease to trouble my thinking?’
‘Which means the power of Capua must be broken?’
‘And that would require every lance I could muster, including my brother Roger.’
There was no doubting the meaning of that statement or the invitation it contained. ‘It would be my honour to put my lance into your service once more.’
There was a touch of youthful bombast to that, which had the Guiscard suppressing a smile. ‘Tomorrow I return to Trani to prepare an expedition against our overmighty and double-dealing neighbour. The task I have for you now is to ride to the borderland where my possessions meet those of Capua.’
‘Under whose lead?’
‘You shall have the command, Bohemund.’
‘Not Ademar?’
‘He advises me you are ready to act without him being present.’ Seeing the shoulders square, Robert added, ‘Choose your own lances, not more than thirty, and I would suggest men close to your own age, who are known to be eager for plunder and much inclined to disobey their elders. Feel free to raid Richard’s farms, to burn his crops and interfere with his trade and do not hide that it is you who is the perpetrator. I will let it be known that I have forbidden such acts, but I will also let it be known that you will pay no heed to my commands. I want Richard worrying about you and blind to what is happening further east, to my preparations.’
Robert paused to allow his son to contemplate the action he would carry out, before adding, ‘And if he seeks to recruit you to fight against me, which Richard will do, make as if to accept, but do so with no haste.’
‘Will he believe that I would betray you?’
‘Why not, Bohemund?’ his father barked for a second time, turning to return to his chamber. ‘You have cause enough, do you not?’
‘It is not disapproving to be told that you should be careful what you wish for, husband.’
Sichelgaita of Salerno had strong hands and fingers, well able to ease the pains that assailed her warrior spouse. The bathing pool Robert was relaxing in had been in Trani since Roman times, and if many of his fellow Normans saw such immersion in cool water as risky and likely to soften a man, the Guiscard did not; he was wont to remind his followers that the consuls of Ancient Rome had conquered nearly the whole of the known world and bathed daily. A fear of water might serve in the cold and wet climes of Normandy, where it could bring on the ague, but here in Italy it was to be welcomed, especially now that it was edging towards high summer, when the midday heat made the body run sweat even when still and the beating sun could be enough to strike down a man wearing chain mail.
These were the weeks in which no one campaigned, for it was possible to lose a whole army to the kind of sickness that could assail them when the temperatures made the very earth seem to shimmer and the metal parts of a shield too hot to touch. Added to that the river courses dried up, which was no good for a mounted army and thousands of horses that required up to two sesters of water per day’s march, and that took no account of oxen and donkeys; wells, the only other source, could be poisoned and frequently were by a retreating enemy.
The campaign, when it was launched, would take place once the weather started to cool and the rains filled the lowland rivers, so his conscript Lombards and Greeks could go about their daily occupations until the time came to assemble and be drilled before marching. Training, which for a Norman never ceased, took place in the cool of the morning, and that applied to a duke as much as it applied to the newest lance come south to seek advancement. Robert de Hauteville had been in the sand-covered manege, practising with the men on whom he relied in battle, both mounted and on foot, employing padded lances and hard wooden swords that, when they got through, left heavy bruises, now being soothed and kneaded by his wife. Opponents often asked why the Normans were so successful; such endless preparation was the answer — when it came to an actual battle they were at their peak.
He winced as his wife pressed hard on a long, bluish welt, given to him by one of his knights who had, and this was rare, got through his guard on more than one occasion to strike home. For once, that morning, he had not dominated the manege and even now he felt an unusual degree of lassitude, almost a desire to close his eyes and sleep, not made any less enticing by the way he was being nagged. Sichelgaita, of course, had enquired as to his health — she had noted his weariness — and had her concerns brusquely brushed aside, but he was not feeling himself and his response was tired to a woman whose opinions he usually inclined to treat with great respect.