There was not much to Montesarchio, either in the way of extensive fortifications or the town itself, yet it had all those attributes that marked it out as a Norman outpost, not least a large training manege by which he stopped, with a battered false shield wall occupying one whole end, stout wooden stakes marked by the deep cuts from wielded broadswords, posts set in a zigzag pattern that required good horsemanship through which to manoeuvre at a decent pace, much of the guiding having to be done by the pressure of thighs and knees alone, for the hands would be occupied with weapons. There were straw-stuffed sacks set on swinging uprights to test a man’s skill with the lance. It was empty now, being raked to remove all trace of what had taken place in the cool, early hours of the morning.
‘You will join us on the morrow, I hope,’ said one of the knights who kept popping up to converse with him. ‘We will all wish to observe your obvious prowess.’
‘Is it so apparent?’
‘How could it not be when you have so recently run rings round we poor Capuans? We were given to wonder if the name Bohemund was another appellation for a chimera.’
The gap between flattery and falsehood is wafer thin; that sounded more like the latter to Bohemund, making him consider a less than encouraging thought. Had he been allowed to raid at will, had they let him plunder in order to aid the seduction to which he was bound to be subjected? If he hoped not, still he felt it best to at least consider it possible, given it is better to dent your pride than burnish it.
Walking on, he cast a professional eye over the quality of the extensive stud, many areas full of mares and foals — they kept well away from their sires — until he found the paddock with his own mount, who was grazing so contentedly that it ignored his calls. Still it had been well groomed and looked sleek, crest and tail well combed and the hooves shiny with oil. He would have liked to find his saddle and harness but that was not possible, given he was still under observation, and the thought occurred that if he needed to make a break he might have to do so riding bareback.
Lest they work out his thinking he moved away, examining the castle and its defences from every angle, until he came full circle to a point where the small town of Montesarchio abutted the bottom of the causeway that led to the main gate. He made to enter the first of the narrow streets, only to find his way blocked by a pair of fellows who by their gentle gestures — a hand on their sword hilts added to a minimal shake — made it plain that such a course was not open to him. Tempted to brush them aside and go his own way, he was stopped by the sound of the running footsteps of a servant; the message had been sent that the princess, now the sun was past its zenith, was eager to receive him.
Not doubting that her husband was keen that she should test the waters of potential disloyalty, Bohemund turned and made his way back up the steep causeway, realising as he entered the cool stone interior that, still fully dressed in his mail, he was sweating from even those less than exacting perambulations. Even if the sun had dipped, it was still baking, which made him long for one of those naked dips in a cool river which he had enjoyed in the company of his conroys when they were sure no danger was at hand — the last occasion had been many days past. No doubt for the same reasons of temperature, Fressenda, attended by a pair of ladies in waiting, sat in near darkness, the small east-facing room she occupied heavily shuttered to keep out the sunlight.
‘Please sit, nephew, and tell me all about yourself.’
‘What is to tell that you do not already know?’
‘Much, I suspect, for if we are family we are not of the close kind. I have not seen you since you were a bouncing child and an appealing one at that, with your curls. You were of a size even then and restless, never still. Now, on the cusp of manhood you have your passions in check, but I wonder if there is anything of that boisterous babe still present?’
‘I have not lost my love of mischief.’
That, an obvious allusion to his recent actions, made her laugh, and it had about it something of the Guiscard, though without the booming level of noise. Bohemund was frustrated by the gloom; he wanted to see her face, not just hear her voice. It is easy to dissemble when your features are hidden, much harder to be evasive when every word is accompanied by a facial expression, and, he thought, since she shared features and certain gestures with his sister Emma, Fressenda might give away more to him than she knew.
‘Your father sent you to our lands?’
‘No, I am here against his wishes.’
‘His wishes, Bohemund? Are you defying him?’
‘Word was sent that I was to desist and I was reminded that the Duke is your brother.’
‘My much-beloved brother,’ Fressenda replied, and it was not necessary to see her face to note the tone of irony. ‘If you wish to defy him, would it not be best to plunder in his lands, not ours?’
‘As a knight and a leader of men I must make my way, though I cannot ride alone and I must in all conscience have a care for those who attach themselves to my banner, all of whom are knights in his service. What chance of advancement if all my father knows of them is what they stole from him?’
‘So you think that even in defying him, you personally will not be subjected to any retribution? It sounds more like an enterprise blessed than forbidden.’ That was a suggestion best not replied to. ‘When did you see your father last?’
‘At the castle of Corato; he returned to Trani, I rode west.’
‘And was he in good health?’
‘“Robust” would better describe him.’ Fressenda did not respond to that, and since she did not speak and he did not know what to say, a long silence followed, before his aunt added, forcefully, ‘I am glad to hear it, but perhaps you are less inclined to feel happy that he is, as you term it, “robust”.’
As an invitation to damn him it was obvious and given he had no intention of doing so, it led to another extended silence.
‘You do not respond, Bohemund. Can you forget that he made a bastard of you?’
‘No.’
‘You, your mother and sister cast aside just so Robert could wed a Lombard and add to his riches?’
‘That was not the reason given. He claimed to fear eternal damnation.’
‘It does not occur to you that instead of asking the Pope for a dispensation of annulment, which was accompanied by several talents of gold to oil the wheels, that same bribe could have been put to the purpose of overcoming the consanguinity of his marriage to your mother? Why did he not choose that? It was driven by ambition, not fear, and if he can put aside the mother of his two children who will he not betray to gain his ends?’
His aunt’s voice was irked, but was she really angry or just trying to manipulate his emotions? Without he could clearly see her eyes he could not tell.
‘Do you hate him, Bohemund?’
‘To do so would be a sin.’
‘You are so deeply religious?’
‘As I am sure are you.’
That held her in check for a moment; people with power tended to pay lip service to the Ten Commandments, relying on occasional and public acts of piety to ensure salvation, this while loudly exhorting those over whom they hold sway to trust everything to God. There were exceptions, his half-brother Borsa by repute being one, but nothing he had seen of his aunt, admittedly not much, made him suspect she was overly devout.
‘Do you sin when you think of Sichelgaita and Borsa?’
‘I rarely allow either of them to intrude upon my thoughts.’