The conroys that emerged from the trees let the front runners go by and hit the main concentration of bodies from each flank. Unlike their enemies they were in a perfect formation, moving at exactly the right speed on destriers, the right mounts to impose the maximum impact, while given the way their enemies had clustered into a horde they quite naturally had their lance points facing forwards. The Apulian weapons bore into the mass and drove it inwards, the whole made even more confused as every Capuan fighter sought to get his horse and lance into a position where he might defend himself, often impeding his fellows from saving themselves.
Bohemund’s conroy had spun round and now came into the action as another cohesive force, not with lances but with swinging broadswords and axes, he amongst all of them doing massive execution, for the anxieties of the last days had disappeared and all his passion was in his right arm. Men went down to be followed by horses that fell or were tripped by their confreres and into that mass of flesh went weapon after weapon, jabbing, slicing and hacking, ignoring the futile attempts to either mount a defence or seek clemency; their victims died because a party that could not take prisoners could give none.
It took Bohemund himself to rescue the one fellow he wanted, a Lombard who shook like a leaf, sure he was going to be slaughtered. He was to be spared; once the fighting was over and the last wounded enemy slain, it would be him that would carry back to Grottaminarda the news that a party of banditti had massacred the men sent to relieve the watchtower. In very little time this would be reported to his uncle by marriage, Prince Richard of Capua, not least that the leader of the men who had carried out this stirring deed was a young fellow of unusual height who went by the name of Bohemund.
Though he could not know it, the fellow he had released to carry the news of the massacre had, to forestall any accusation of cowardice on his part, massively exaggerated Bohemund’s numbers, so for a period they were able to plunder at will through the caution of their opponents. Because of that day, the garrison of Grottaminarda shut themselves up in the castle and looked to hold it rather than launch an immediate reprisal, which left the outer bastions, and especially the isolated watchtowers, at Bohemund’s mercy. If he could not take the bigger outposts, he could destroy that which they could not accommodate within their walls, and when they did come out to contest with him, near match them in numbers and put against their efforts puissant fighters. But such freedom could not last and they were soon made aware of more than one party of well-armed and numerous Norman lances criss-crossing the area in pursuit; those he had to stay clear of.
He found the best way to achieve this was to disburse Richard’s possessions, in truth those of his vassals, back to the local population, who ever struggled under the burdens imposed on them by rapacious overlords and the tenanted villeins. Thus he set around his immediate area of operations a cordon of watchful peasants, who, on receipt of his largesse, having immediately hidden his gifts from those who would seek to reclaim them and hang them for possession, hailed him, with an insincerity he took for granted, as a saviour. The promise of more to follow turned them into his eyes and ears.
Even gifted that, he could not apply incessant pressure. Horses cannot be ridden endlessly, especially in hot weather; they require to be fed and watered more than once daily as well as walked for long periods when active, but they also need pasture and a day or two of rest, for to deny them such is to have them break down and become useless. The men who ride them are no different; for all their endless training it did no gifted leader any good to push his fighting men to the point of exhaustion, quite apart from the need for a force, unsupported by the attributes that came with a proper army, to see to their equipment.
If harness and saddles suffered, so did bodies, even young ones, from constant activity. Then there were minor wounds, for few of the places they had attacked and been offered battle had surrendered without a fight and it was a measure of those they came up against — never Normans, but Lombards — that they had come this far without a single fatality. Making camp and resting was a necessity and the best place to set up was by a river, in this case a small stream, for that provided shade on the wooded banks, water for the mounts, the means to wash them down and cool them when the sun was high, as well as a source of the same commodity to those who rode them. It also served as a latrine that did not send the smell of a band of men wafting across the countryside.
It was axiomatic that at such times they were at their most vulnerable and Bohemund was well aware of the risk, ensuring that comfort was mixed with ability to move quickly — men were required to remain in their chain mail — so when news came from his peasant watchers that a strong party of Capuan knights were seeking him out and too close by for comfort, he prepared to make a hurried departure. The mounts were quickly roped, bridled and saddled, the packhorses loaded and cooking fires covered with earth to kill them, with the lances ready to depart when Reynard of Eu spotted the single rider with the sun at his back, who had crested a not too distant rise then stopped, a pennant flapping on his lance, stiff on a southerly breeze.
‘Red and black surcoat,’ the familia knight said, a hand shading his eyes. ‘Richard’s colours, but not on his lance pennant — that is white.’
Bohemund waited for Reynard to say something else but the older man did not oblige.
‘I would guess he desires to parley,’ Bohemund responded, which got nothing more than a nod.
‘If we linger here and talk, that may expose us to those seeking us out.’ That too was received in silence, leaving Bohemund to continue and articulate the obvious conclusion. ‘A white pennant would imply a truce, that while we parley no action will be contemplated?’
‘True,’ Reynard replied, but in such a way that still left the decision to Bohemund, with the obvious qualification that nothing could be guaranteed; offers of parley were not always reliable. The temptation to seek advice was strong and the young man knew if he asked it would be freely given and with no hint of a sneer. Reynard was a good man and a steady one who had, since they crossed in Capuan territory, never so much as by a look seriously questioned any orders he had been given and had often, quietly and out of earshot, brought the more boisterous of the small band, men like Ligart, to a better way of discipline and respect for their confreres. Bohemund also knew that the close party hunting them was to the south and that there were heavily forested uplands to the north into which his band could disappear.
‘If he has come to talk it is to me,’ he said finally, biting his lower lip as he contemplated what to do. ‘That I must do, Reynard, but I am not minded to risk anyone else. I would suggest you take the men north. I will take one of the squires to act as messenger, once I know what this fellow, and his master, are after.’
For the first time since leaving Calore Bohemund saw a definite flicker of doubt in Reynard’s eyes; if Richard of Capua wanted to talk it was a fair guess that it would be an attempt to detach him from service to his father. If it had never been discussed, it had been anticipated as a possibility and Reynard was thinking that if anyone should be alongside the youngster now it was he, for that would kill off any temptation to accede to Capuan blandishments.