Now the last of these divines had gathered, it was time for the funeral of Alexander to go ahead. Hildebrand was in the act of finalising the arrangements of the procession which would assemble the next day, when he received, from across the mountains, the news from Apulia. The cries of ‘God be praised’ echoed through the Lateran Palace, for Hildebrand was a man much committed to his hatreds. If it had taken action by the Normans of Capua and Apulia to secure Pope Alexander’s position as well as that of his predecessor, plus their aid to defeat the machinations of an imperial antipope, it had come at the cost of confirming those demons in their ducal and princely titles in a ceremony that, when he recalled it, seemed to Hildebrand a form of nightmare.
Such concessions had been brought about by the expedient need to keep the armies of the boy Henry IV north of the Alps; easy when he had been a mere child with his mother as regent, it would be much more troublesome now he was grown to manhood and said to be wilful with it, so perhaps he would have to seek their aid again. If having to rely on the Normans sat ill with Hildebrand, it was not just them; he hated to have to rely on anyone. Surely that could not be the will of the omnipotent God to whom he continually prayed?
As the archdeacon saw it, the Church of Rome had to be the fount of all authority; how could it not be, given where its teachings came from: the very mouth of Jesus, the Son of God, as relayed through his disciples? No temporal power had the right to challenge that and it was his life’s work, as he saw it, to bring to pass that such supremacy should be acknowledged. Emperors, kings, dukes and counts bowed the knee to the Pope, not the other way round, for that flew in the face of scripture.
But if the archdeacon was beset by his passions and his beliefs, he was ever the pragmatist, playing a weak hand with consummate skill as he sought to ward off all the perils that threatened the institution he controlled until the proper acknowledgments could be secured. Keep the Emperor-elect and his desire to interfere in Rome at bay, yet not so barred from influence as to allow the Normans free rein to do as they pleased. As a policy it had worked well sometimes and failed just as many, yet now some form of action must be taken. In the delicate scales of Italian politics, the death of the Guiscard altered the balance and might present an opportunity from which Hildebrand could profit, and a move towards his ultimate goal that acknowledged papal supremacy be initiated.
A message was sent to the religious home of the Benedictines in Rome, to summon into his presence his most trusted advisor — the divine who ran the great monastery of Monte Cassino, for if there was one man who would help him to decide what this portended it was Abbot Desiderius. His monastery bordered the lands controlled by the Normans of Campania and he knew the ways of the Apulians well; indeed none had been more troubled over decades by their depredations than that institution. Desiderius had dealt with them to keep Monte Cassino secure and his diplomacy had from time to time brokered an occasional amity — or was it a mere marriage of convenience? — between the Normans and Rome.
‘News to gladden the heart, Desiderius — the Guiscard is dead.’
The abbot had not even got through the double doors of the chancellor’s luxurious work chamber; tall, angular and simply dressed in his habit of undyed white, with his desiccated features that bespoke a life of much denial, he immediately crossed himself, then gathered his hands and said a short, silent prayer. Hildebrand was about to scoff but stopped himself, for he was in the presence of one of the few people who could make him feel inadequate in his love of God. Then there was his bloodline.
Desiderius had been born into a cadet branch of the princely family that had ruled Benevento prior to their being ousted by Humphrey de Hauteville, yet he had renounced all that brought in wealth and comfort for his faith and the simple life of a Benedictine monk. If both men were Lombards, they could be marked more by their differences than their similarities: Hildebrand was ill-tempered, dogmatic in his faith and intolerant of any perceived transgressions of the creed. Physically short and stocky, swarthy of face and with untidy black hair, he wore his canonical garments badly, managing, even in magnificent vestments, to look every inch the peasant many claimed him to be. The Abbot of Monte Cassino eschewed display, yet with his silver-grey locks, kindly, well-proportioned features and forgiving nature, looked and behaved like the aristocrat he was.
‘We must pray for the soul of every one of Our Saviour’s flock, Hildebrand, regardless of how much they have sinned.’
‘The Guiscard won’t cease to do that even in death,’ Hildebrand snorted. ‘He’ll probably storm St Peter’s very gates, prodding with his lance and demanding heaven submit; that is, if he ever gets to paradise.’
‘He has endowed many places of worship.’
‘And destroyed ten times more and he is an excommunicate. He deserves to burn in hell.’
‘My friend, if I pray for his soul, I shall do so for you with as much sincerity when your time comes.’
That stopped whatever Hildebrand was about to say; the notion that he would need as many entreaties as a devil like the Guiscard to enter heaven was a sobering one and enough to silence even his normally uncontrollable temperament.
‘You know these heathens better than I, Desiderius. I need your advice on how to proceed.’
That made even the calm abbot look askance; Hildebrand was as likely to ignore him as endorse any opinion he put forward, but it was true he knew the Normans well and had dealt with them on numerous occasions, all the way back to Rainulf Drengot and William Bras de Fer. His aim had been to protect his monastery, which lay sandwiched between Rome and Campania, and in that he had been more than successful. Destroyed many times, not least by marauding Saracens, and rebuilt only to be diminished by Lombard-inspired Norman incursions, Desiderius had managed to secure it their protection, and that brought with it both peace and prosperity till the only rival it now had in Christendom, in terms of riches and prestige, was the mighty French Abbey of Cluny.
Naturally, with the news of Duke Robert’s death came a report of the assembly called by Sichelgaita, its purpose as well as the conclusion. Desiderius was well acquainted with, indeed he had appointed, the personal confessor of the putative heir.
‘This Roger they call Borsa is a pious young man I am told.’
‘Which,’ Hildebrand snapped, ‘will do him no good at all if he cannot rule in Apulia.’
‘The boy’s mother is a formidable woman. If what we hear of this swearing of vows is true, I would surmise that while he may hold the title, it will be she who controls the reins until the boy reaches maturity.’
‘What will Capua do when he hears this news?’
‘Nothing, unless he had support from the Apulian barons, and they have just been soundly routed. Richard lacks the strength to invade without that, and even then he would come up against the Count of Sicily now he has sworn allegiance to a legal inheritance. You know less of him but he is as good a general as ever was the Guiscard.’
‘If he is so puissant a warrior why did he not take the title himself?’
‘I surmise he is an honourable man.’ That got a loud snort from Hildebrand; the concept of honour in a Norman was not one he could easily accept. ‘If Roger Borsa has a difficulty it is with his half-brother, Bohemund, who is, I am told, a formidable young man.’