The morning was not cool, but it was mildly warm and pleasant as Bohemund, having struggled with his breakfast, emerged, dressed in the hunting clothes with which he had been provided — no doubt with great difficulty and the aid of a seamstress — after a less than peaceful night in which every possible avenue between truth and lies had been explored over and over again. He was greeted by a cousin who looked as though he had not slept well either, with neither willing to refer to the fact. Instead, both were quick to mount and in the company of a ten-strong party of Jordan’s own familia knights they rode out of Montesarchio, heading into the sun and thus east at a steady canter, which was curious to Bohemund, given it was taking him closer to home.
Was it a standard, a signal or a prearrangement that had those knightly companions of Jordan’s drop back out of earshot? There was no way to tell, but they did as almost immediately the heir to Capua began to speak about the new Pope and what troubles that might bring to both his father and Apulia, not forgetting to add that Pope Gregory had a strong desire, one he had often voiced as Hildebrand, that men such as Jordan and Bohemund could better serve their God by taking ship to Byzantium and fighting the Turks.
‘There is too much that detains me here, Jordan — and you, I suspect — to even consider such a crusade. Our new pontiff is buoyed by the success of my Uncle Roger in Sicily-’
‘And what had happened in Spain?’ Jordan interrupted. ‘They too are fighting and succeeding under a papal banner.’
‘He thinks the throwing back of Moors and Saracens as well as their religion is easy, or should I say he sees it as the undoubted will of God, but what we hear of the Turks does not lead me to think they will easily succumb.’
‘I think you right, Bohemund, and fear it would take more than we Normans to even attempt such a thing. If the might of Byzantium was destroyed at Manzikert, what force would it take to ensure we did not fall to the same fate?’
‘What was that fool babbling on about last night, cousin?’
The abrupt change of subject and its effect went through Jordan’s hands and body, making his horse jibe slightly, as Bohemund continued, ‘I am not fool enough to be ignorant of why I have been brought to meet your father, but so far I have only hints from my aunt. It would be better if I had plain speaking and since I think you know the prince’s mind it would be as well from you as any other.’
Jordan did not respond immediately, with Bohemund remaining silent too, aware that if he spoke it would only allow his cousin to hedge his answer. When he did talk, and after the shock of what he said had subsided, Bohemund was amazed at his candour.
‘We have been told that your father, the Duke, is dead at Bari of a fever, but we have no idea if it is rumour or truth. The fool spoke too soon.’
Bohemund sought to keep any trace of desolation out of his voice. ‘You did not think to tell me of this rumour?’
‘We thought of it and my father decided against it until it was confirmed.’ Jordan hauled on his reins and faced Bohemund, who had automatically done likewise, the men behind them stopping too in order to keep their distance. ‘I do not think I need to tell you why.’
‘No.’
‘You cannot begin to conceive of the times your name has come up in our talking these last weeks.’
Lost in contemplation of the news he had been given, and wondering how much it was fact, it took Bohemund some time to respond. ‘I hope it was every hour of every day.’
‘Every action was discussed from hanging you to throwing you into a dungeon and leaving you there till you rot.’ There was a temptation to remind Jordan that they had failed to corner him and his men, but that was superfluous; best to let him speak. ‘It was my notion to bring you in as a guest, in which I was aided by my mother.’
‘And to what purpose was the invitation extended?’
‘To offer you full Capuan support when you seek to take your rightful inheritance.’
‘You’re sure it is mine?’
‘I think my mother answered that.’
‘Did your father agree?’
‘No, he thought we should balance out our aid to keep Apulia in turmoil, and when the time is ripe, to invade. He does not think, as I do, that such a thing is a malignancy, which is inclined to spread, not peter out. If your father could not contain his vassals, it is hardly likely we would do better and what trouble would that stir up in our own bailiwick?’
‘Yet you just encouraged those very vassals to rebel and supported them.’
‘We did not.’
‘That was not the belief held by my father.’
‘It would benefit him, or whoever now rules, to look a little deeper.’
‘Are you saying you do not hanker after Apulia?’
‘Only by invitation.’
‘Which I would never issue.’
‘Neither will your half-brother or any other de Hauteville. Apulia can only be taken by force, something my brother-in-law, Gisulf, writes to encourage me to undertake often, under his brilliant leadership, of course. First I doubt it possible, and very much impossible if your father still lives, uncertain even if he does not, and it would be a long, drawn-out affair in which we would bleed as much as those we fight. While we are busy fighting and killing each other, which we Normans have never before done here in Italy, what will our sworn enemies do?’
He had no need to mention popes or emperors east or west; they had been trying and failing to divide the Normans for decades — they would gather like vultures to consume the remnants.
‘The only question which remains is, what will you do now?’
‘I must find out if the rumour regarding my father is true.’ The questioning look in his cousin’s eye demanded a response. ‘And if it is, I will be quickly back in Capua and not to plunder.’
Jordan used his knees to edge his horse close enough for the two to take each other’s hand in a strong clasp. No words were added; they did not need to be.
‘Go as you must, Bohemund,’ Jordan said once their hands had been disengaged. Then he smiled. ‘Odd that I hope the rumour is false — our world will be a sorrier place without the Guiscard.’
‘I share that hope, which might surprise you.’
‘No, it would be dishonourable that you should desire otherwise. If you ride straight into the sun you will come upon the men you led.’ Before Bohemund could ask how he knew that, Jordan added with a grin, ‘They were taken late in the very same day you were invited to Montesarchio, cousin. Without you to lead them they were easy meat.’
‘Harmed?’
Jordan threw his head back and laughed, so loud that it had the birds flying in alarm from the surrounding trees. ‘Not a hair, for who knows, you may need them.’
CHAPTER TEN
Having rescued his captured lances — they too had been in ignorance of the rumours — the party set off immediately for the borderlands with Apulia, their destination the ducal capital of Melfi, where Bohemund would find out the truth about the Guiscard. But there were other reasons to go there: that castle was one of the few places in his father’s domains from which, in his possession, he could not be easily dislodged, while it was also the centre of the administration of the whole domain and in its vaults were the staggering revenues accumulated by Robert’s tax gatherers, including those remitted from Calabria and the Norman parts of Sicily.
Naturally, on the way there was time to ask how his men had been so easily rounded up. The truth was sobering, for it transpired that Prince Richard — or was it Jordan? — had so covered the ground with their own conroys that escape became impossible. Reynard had jinked from one direction to another, taken refuge in a forest, which avoided capture on four or five occasions, only to find that whatever way he subsequently rode, there before him was an enemy, always Normans, more powerful in numbers, that could not be swept aside. In the end, in trying to break out of the encirclement, he had led the Apulian lances into a well-laid trap in which there were only two alternatives: to surrender or die.