An order was relayed to the ship of Reynard of Eu, who would take over command if what Bohemund was about to attempt failed and, satisfied that all was understood, the command was given to Lamissio’s oarsmen to bend their backs and head for shore, their course made easier by the twin pinpricks of light that marked the harbour entrance to Valona, one of which they trended left and away from. Looking back, Bohemund could see the phosphorescent spill of the trailing galleys as they came on at a lesser and he hoped controlled speed.
Having been a sailor man and boy, there was scarcely a port on the inland sea that Lamissio had not visited at some time or other; he knew them from the outer mole to the most deeply embedded tavern-cum-whorehouse and everything in between. He had been to Valona more times than he could count and he knew to the width of his own hand where the barrier that blocked off the harbour at night was fixed. Would they have armed men on that mole? There was no way of being sure but the possibility had to be accepted. The Duke of Apulia’s intentions, a great fleet refitted for aggression and a huge army waiting to embark across a narrow stretch of sea, could not be hidden and the coastal towns of Illyria must be on alert.
Valona had been selected because it had an anchorage large enough to provide the Guiscard with a base for his fleet and it would not require too wise a head for the Byzantine governor to be aware of this, just as he would know that if his town walls were sound and would require a fully enforced siege to break, his Achilles heel was the harbour mole. Lamissio outlined the way they acted to protect that: apart from bowmen and pots of catapulted fire, sharp iron-tipped stakes were set into the stonework which protruded out far enough to snare any vessel at a distance from which they could not do harm.
It was the thought of his Viking heritage that had brought a solution to Bohemund and because of that, lying on a long plank protruding from the bows, he was the sharpest pair of eyes in the ship. The galley, propelled by a half-reefed dark-red sail, was approaching at a snail’s pace, the oars used more to slow progress than propel, what the man in the bows could see passed back in whispers.
‘My Lord, your surcoat will catch the starlight.’
Looking down, Bohemund realised that Lamissio was right; half of his family colour was a stark white and having already unstrapped his sword belt — the weapon for the coming task was an axe — it was flapping too, thus more likely to catch the eye. He whipped the garment off and rolled it so only the blue was showing, then tied it round his waist, eager to wear it into the coming contest. Just then a low call came back that they were approaching the first of the wooden barbs, its sharp point visible only because the metal tip reflected a small amount of the light. The call to his knights, who had been crouching in the bulwarks, was just as soft, though there was, he thought, an excess of carrying noise from knocked weapons as they stood to prepare.
Bohemund reasoned, and knew he would pay a high price if he was mistaken, that any guard detachment would not be stationed overnight out on the mole and neither would they be wide awake; they would have a shelter somewhere close to the quay and sleep in their mail and with their weapons beside them. That would mean a lookout, possibly only one on each side of the harbour entrance, and they would have been staring out at a silvery seascape for a long time, tiring to the eyes and inclined to induce slumber. He had used the lanterns to stay well away from the mouth, and the sailing master had also kept them out of the stronger streak of light provided by a sliver of moon now high in the sky. Could they get ashore unseen?
‘Back the oars,’ Lamissio called, bringing on a splash, thankfully covered by the sea slapping against the base of the mole. There was a thud as contact was made and so sharp were those metal ends that the galley shuddered to a halt as it embedded itself in the timbers. Bohemund had to admire the man in charge of sailing the vessel, for without being told Lamissio had got ready a grappling iron which was cast the short distance to another barb where one of the prongs got enough purchase to pull in the stern, and Bohemund gave quiet orders to proceed when contact was made with the side of the ship.
To say that those he led had doubts was an understatement; not all of them so readily harked back to a Viking inheritance and one of his lances had made a very valid point when he suggested the barbs might be greased. The sailing master solved that by bringing up from below sacks of ballast, which contained grainy sand and, before the first Norman foot hit the protruding wooden poles, a pair of ship’s boys went first, barefooted, nimble and who could both swim, spilling sand ahead of them on which they got their own purchase.
Now sure they could keep their feet, Bohemund led his knights in file along the same wide tree trunks — gingerly, for they were less sure of foot than the youngsters. If it was not an example of the old Viking game of walking the oars, it was close enough for the man in command and he was tall enough, when he got to the end, to hoist himself onto the wall that lined the mole, as well as strong enough once he was on it to reach down and help up his confreres. Within what seemed like a blink Bohemund had twenty fully armed knights ready to do battle.
That was not the aim; the target was the log and chain barrier and that was close by the nearest harbour-mouth lantern. Two men were there as guards and lookouts, though they failed in both respects, for they had seen nothing and were so surprised at the sudden appearance of an enemy that they could not even get their swords out in time. Both were clubbed to the ground while Bohemund used his axe to cut, with six powerful and noisy blows, the thick cable that secured the barrier.
There was no need for silence now. Bohemund shouted for the covered stern lantern of his galley to be shown, that being the signal to those following that the harbour mouth was open and they were safe to point their prows at those twin lights and sail between them. A clever brain would have doused one — what was coming must have been obvious — but that too was lacking. All that could be heard were panicked shouts, but that was fading as the Normans made their way towards the point where the mole joined the quay.
Fighting men, roused from their slumbers, faced them, but they were Greeks who had never come up against Normans and very likely not of the highest calibre anyway. As soon as the front rank of three were despatched, a pair being cut at so hard they ended up in the water, the rest fled, this while behind them Bohemund’s galleys were entering the harbour, making a hellish racket as instructed to strike terror into what defence could be quickly mustered. Chasing the mole defenders, the party of land-bound knights found themselves on the quay without an enemy, this as the first hint of light began to tinge the sky above the harbourside buildings.
Half the shouting now was from the inhabitants hurriedly fleeing their houses, shouting that the Saracens had come, a cry that did more to aid Bohemund than any sword or axe. The infidels who worshipped Mohammed had come many times over the centuries and they did not just come to plunder; they came to rape both women and men, to roast their captives over open fires and to destroy every Christian church they came across — the Saracens, in this part of the world, were the dread in the dreams of adults and children alike.
What soldiers the governor of Valona possessed made for the citadel, surrounded by fleeing locals. Meeting up with Reynard on the now dimly lit quay, Bohemund cautioned his men not to engage but to merely chase them into that defence. The citadel he did not need — that could wait, especially if those who might contest with him were locked up inside. It was the waters of the anchorage he wanted, as well as the long, low shoreline and the town. A fast-rowing galley was sent back to Brindisi to tell the Guiscard that he had a base for both his fleet and his army.