CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘Damn the Pope!’ The messenger from Rome, a priest, was shocked at such blasphemy and it showed on his face, but the force with which the Duke of Apulia expounded his curse made him take a step backwards too. ‘First he encourages me to invade Illyria, then he gets cold feet and demands of me that I desist.’
‘He does not ask for that, My Lord,’ the priest replied, in the kind of stammering tone that indicated he was in terror of the reaction. ‘He fears that with you and your entire host absent from Italy, there is nothing to prevent King Henry from descending on Rome to force an election — that it is only the threat of your intervention that prevents such a calamity. He feels a substantial body of your lances on the edge of papal territory will act as a deterrent.’
‘Benevento, you mean?’ Robert asked, enjoying the discomfort it caused; that was a territory three popes had been trying to throw de Hautevilles out of for years. ‘I thought Pope Gregory had excommunicated him again?’
‘He has, My Lord, but it has not had the same effect as hitherto.’
‘Then he’s learnt something, perhaps from me.’
‘A contingent of lances?’ the priest asked, with the air of a man desperate to get back on to the subject of his journey.
‘That won’t stop Henry if he is serious.’
‘That is not what His Holiness believes. He is of the opinion that such a thing will induce caution, for Bamberg knows that to harm one of your race is to raise anger in them all.’
With Jordan ruling Capua, Robert wondered if that was now something of a myth, but it was one he would still propagate. Yet it left him on the horns of a dilemma, for he suspected that in Illyria he would need every fighting man he could muster. Against that he was in vassalage duty-bound to come to the aid of his suzerain if the Pope required it, and at the risk of falling out with Rome at a time when it would be unwise to do so.
‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘Return to the Lateran and inform Pope Gregory that I will do my duty by him.’
‘Did you mean that, husband?’ Sichelgaita asked when the priest had departed.
‘I will give him a small detachment only and by the time he finds out I have only half fulfilled my duty I might have beaten whatever force Byzantium sends against me.’ Seeing the look his son was giving him, one of deep disapproval, Robert snapped at him. ‘When you come to rule my domains, Borsa, you will find that the truth is a movable commodity, especially when dealing with a man like Gregory.’
‘I cannot but see it as a grave sin to lie to a pope.’
‘You see sin everywhere.’
‘For which I thank the Lord.’
Robert poked his own chest as his chamberlain entered. ‘This is the lord you have to thank!’ Then he turned and barked at the man, ‘What do you want?’
‘My Lord, a galley has just arrived from Valona, which is in the hands of the advance party.’
‘What!’
About to say Bohemund had taken it, the chamberlain hesitated; the presence of Sichelgaita made that unwise. ‘The force you sent has control of the anchorage and the town. Reynard of Eu is waiting to report to you on how it was taken.’
‘Let him enter!’ Robert whooped.
Then he looked at his wife and son as if to challenge them to say something. Sichelgaita, without a word, swept out of the chamber with Borsa at her heels, she having silently indicated that he must follow. His wife had no desire to hear how his bastard had taken in the blink of an eye a port that had not been expected to fall for at least a month and quite possibly not without his own presence as well as that of his army. Once he had heard the tale of Bohemund’s exploits he was quick to command that both the Master of the Host and the Fleet be sent for; Robert needed to get both his vessels and his men over the water quickly to take advantage of this.
‘Will you come too, My Lord?’ his familia knight asked, for he had heard a rumour that, for the sake of the Pope, his leader might be delayed.
‘Reynard,’ the Duke responded. ‘How can I wait?’
Bohemund had not waited either; his confidence was so high he felt he could conquer anything and anywhere merely by showing intent, so he sailed down to Corfu with a small portion of his force. Possession of the island was a necessary precursor to any invasion of Illyria, this to protect the southern flank from an incursion by what remained of the Byzantine navy, once powerful, now, due to neglect, a shadow of its former self. Yet any naval force, even a small and badly equipped one, could distract from the main purpose, and should they appear in Corfu they would have an anchorage too close for comfort to the rear of the Apulian operations, able to emerge at will from the narrows of the channel between the island and mainland to raid the Guiscard’s supply lines.
The initial target was the Castle of Kassiopi, one of the three Byzantine fortresses on Corfu, which covered the northern exit from the narrows. Bohemund knew the total island garrison to be tiny and poorly equipped — this information supplied to his father by Greek traders — which would mean insufficient men at Kassiopi to even hold all of its walls. The Guiscard’s plan envisaged securing the island by bringing his whole fleet to its shores as if that was where they meant to land, an armada against which the Byzantines could offer no meaningful resistance; faced with overwhelming numbers no blame would attach to the governor if he surrendered, but to take it without that would be a feat to equal or even surpass Valona. Bohemund wanted to gift his sire Corfu as a prize before he even set sail from Brindisi.
Without those numbers, the notion of taking any of the fortresses was based on bluff, it being more a case of asking them to surrender rather than threatening any action other than burning boats and parts of the towns over which they presided. Much bluster was employed to persuade the garrison of Kassiopi to open the gates; the Greeks just laughed at his threats, being behind stout walls, now crammed with the population of the town, who had fled to join them as soon as the Norman galleys were sighted. Somewhat disheartened, Bohemund was forced to withdraw and anchor his ships off Butrinto, across the Corfu Channel on the mainland, there to wait for the Duke and his armada.
It took days to get the army in its entirety into and through Brindisi, down to the quays and onto the ships, which included every trading vessel Geoffrey Ridel, his Master of the Fleet, could commandeer, and they were sent to the outer anchorage as soon as they had sorted out the mayhem and got men loaded. The less than perfectly trained milities were bad enough, the Saracen levies Roger had sent from Sicily much better, but that was as nothing to the bugbear that attended every Norman army making a sea crossing.
There would be horses in Illyria; Bohemund would have sent out parties from Valona to acquire as many as he could, but that would be nothing like the number the Apulian host would require. Roger first, then Robert and he in company, had experienced the problem in crossing to Sicily, an operation in which they had learnt a great deal from their Byzantine opponents, who were much more practised in the art of moving a mounted host. Also, despite his aversion to the Duke of Normandy, Norman solidarity, added to a close-to-pleading request, had obliged him to advise William regarding the transport of his horses over to England using the same methods and specially adapted vessels as were being applied now.
‘And what did I get for it?’ he would demand when the subject came up, which it did when his knights wanted to amuse themselves by goading him. ‘Nothing, not even a brass groat, and this while he was handing out land to all and sundry, even his damned squires. If he had not had his destriers at Senlac, he would not have the crown of England and he would not have got them there without we told him how!’