‘A hard task,’ Geoffrey Ridel responded, as was his right as Master of the Fleet. ‘Even if the vessels we have can match theirs, Venetians are born to the sea, few of us are.’
‘War is war, Geoffrey, and I would hazard we are better at that than are they.’
‘Best to close with the dromons,’ Bohemund added, ‘and get aboard speedily. On deck we are more than a match for them. I would wager twenty Normans can best two hundred Venetians.’
Looking around the assembled faces as he said this, Bohemund could see that those Norman warriors were less troubled than the sailors; the former were conditioned to fight and would do so wherever they found an enemy. The seafarers held such as the Venetians in high regard, and given the well-trained quality of crews who spent most of their time at sea, that caution was natural. Against that these ships’ masters had been working for months with their crews on battle tactics, the ability to manoeuvre quickly, the art of varying their speed to confound an opponent, seeking to perfect the ploy of bringing more force to bear at the right moment than any adversary could employ in return.
Many of them, Bohemund thought, must have wondered at why they were being so employed in that training, for they would have suspected that when the invasion of the lands of Romania were undertaken, they would be used as they always had been, to enforce a blockade. Perhaps now they saw such preparation as a sign of the genius of the man who led them, an act of foresight from a shrewd general who had anticipated what they now faced on this campaign. Bohemund knew better; they had been so engaged because his father had become fascinated by the art of naval warfare and the long-term possibilities it offered.
He wanted a fighting fleet because in the Western Mediterranean Sea only two other powers possessed one, the Venetians they now faced and the North African Saracens, and while he had seen no immediate purpose to it, given these were, he thought, distant and perhaps future enemies, he also knew that if he did take Constantinople he would likely need to be able to fight at sea to keep it. The fact that he now had something to oppose the Venetians in Durazzo Bay was more luck than prescience, but there was one question and that was simple — was it enough?
It was Geoffrey Ridel who responded to Bohemund’s confident statement about competence and odds. ‘You will have observed how much higher those decks are than ours and the dromons will be the vessels in the vanguard of any battle.’
‘Then we must make a way to overcome them.’
‘You can just jump, Bohemund,’ Reynard of Eu joked, to general amusement. ‘We mere mortals need wings.’
‘Grappling irons and hooked ladders,’ Robert proposed, adding a glare that choked off the mirth. ‘We will distribute the bowmen to keep their sides clear and that will allow our conroys to use their hooks and lances to get on to their decks. I will guess these men are accustomed to fighting pirates, Saracens perhaps, not mailed knights and not Normans.’
‘My Lord, there is a small galley coming down the bay with a truce flag atop its mast.’
‘See!’ the Guiscard cried, as he craned his neck to acknowledge the message from the lookout above his head. ‘They know who we are and that is making them cautious.’
Geoffrey Ridel, without reference to Robert, bellowed orders to clear his deck, which sent those assembled over the side and into their waiting boats, Bohemund alone being asked to remain by his sire. The familia knights, now his own seaborne contingent of warriors, Robert lined up like a guard of honour, adjuring them to look as martial and fierce as they could without they insult his guest. The man they welcomed aboard came with ease across a gangplank strung between both vessels, a tricky manoeuvre given both were rising and falling at different rates on the swell. In doing so he underlined how easy he was on water, a statement that this, the sea, was a Venetian element, not a Norman one.
Dressed in soft leathers, covered with the kind of heavily embroidered silken cloak worn by high Byzantine officials, he also had a great quantity of gold and jewellery about his person: rings, a heavy bracelet on his wrist and around his neck a gold chain studded with precious stones. This envoy had presence; the only thing that diminished him in proximity to these Normans was his height, for he was short, stocky, with thick black hair and a face much marked and wrinkled by long service at sea. Aware that he towered over the fellow, Bohemund by his side even more so, Robert called for chairs to be brought on deck prior to making a greeting. He also whispered to a servant that the man he was promoting as the deposed Emperor Michael Dukas should be kept out of sight; this fellow may have seen the real one.
The fellow knew his manners; in the presence of a duke he doffed his hat and bowed to introduce himself. ‘Maximian Palladias, My Lord, Master of the Fleet of Venice.’
‘You do me much honour by coming in person, Maximian Palladias.’
‘I could do no less to such an illustrious warrior as yourself, My Lord. To send a subordinate to talk with you would be marked as an insult to your person as well as your title.’
Two chairs having been brought on deck as this exchange of diplomatic niceties took place, Duke Robert indicated that they should sit, which they did, and a wave of the ducal arm saw everyone withdraw to give them room to talk in private, Bohemund excepting himself by remaining within earshot which, when the Venetian looked in his direction, got a nod from his sire.
‘I hope you have not come to ask me to withdraw.’
‘Would a man not be foolish to suggest such a thing to the Guiscard?’
Robert nodded at the compliment, without for a second giving it credence. ‘Then what?’
‘The Doge of Venice is a vassal of the Emperor of Byzantium-’
Robert held up a hand, which stopped his visitor speaking. ‘I am curious to know which one that is, Maximian, given it seems to have been a troubled throne, and recently occupied by more than one person.’
That got a corresponding nod from the Venetian. ‘The request to us to prevent you landing in Romania came from Alexius Comnenus, the man who now wears the purple and the crown.’
‘And to him you are loyal?’
Maximian waved a hand that was intended to encompass his fleet, anchored to the north in an arc that covered the entrance to Durazzo harbour. ‘It is a matter of some talk aboard our vessels.’
‘Which means that there are those who see Alexius as a usurper?’
‘My Lord, in any great domain there are factions. As of this moment it is impossible for me to know who, if any of those under my command, holds the ascendancy in terms of allegiance.’
‘And your own?’
‘Lord Robert, I would not be here on this deck if I was not a supporter of any man that can hold the Empire together. I see Alexius Comnenus as being that person by right of both his abilities and his bloodline. He is, after all, the nephew of a previous emperor.’
‘Not Botaneiates or Dukas?’ The response to that was no more than a raised eyebrow; this man was not to be so easily drawn. ‘You must know that I have the Emperor Michael Dukas with me and I would see it as an obligation to consider that he has a right to your loyalty.’
‘The news that you carry Michael Dukas in your train is part of the problem I face.’
‘It has spread?’
‘Such tales do.’
‘It is not a tale, but a fact.’
‘One that I may take leave to dispute, though not all of my captains agree.’
‘So your command is not unified?’
‘It is not in disarray,’ Maximian insisted. ‘But there is as yet a lack of the concord that might bring us to force upon you a battle; one, I would point out to you, you cannot win given our superiority in ships.’
‘I am not accustomed to defeat,’ Robert replied, for the first time in this exchange his voice carrying a hard edge.
‘On land, My Lord.’