The question that had troubled him was Roussel’s suggestion, the early commitment of his Varangians; such a fearsome unit would normally be held back until Alexis saw a point in the battle where to insert them was to break the enemy resistance, for they had the ability to smash through any defence, added to the power to destroy everything around it once it was rendered disorganised. Against that, he was facing Robert de Hauteville and that required him to be bold and enterprising, given he was such a canny opponent.
‘And you would wish still to mask this Bohemund, Roussel?’
‘I would wish to pit Norman lances against the same. There can be no catching me unawares when I know every horn call of command and you are right to see my task as to hold them, not defeat them, to keep them away from the main arena where the day will be decided — that is until I receive support from Durazzo, by which time I may be able to be a decisive element in the contest.’
An experienced warrior as well as a commander, Alexius knew that the first act of any battle brought on a fluidity that could not be planned for in advance and that applied to his enemies as much as it did to him. The last thing the Duke of Apulia would expect would be his Varangians to be committed to an initial attack, and being aware of their worth, such a tactic might throw him off balance. Added to that, once they had dealt with the Lombards they would hopefully face the flank of the Norman centre and be eager to attack it, their natural valour underpinned by a deep Saxon loathing of their opponents.
‘Even this giant of yours, if he knows of them, will fear my axemen. When they have finished with the Lombards let us hope they will run to kill the same kind of men who made them exiles.’
Watching as the Byzantine army marched into position, Robert de Hauteville knew he was going to get the battle he desired, but just as Alexius Comnenus had knowledge of the hazards involved in battle, so did he. Thus offshore and behind him sat his fleet of broad-bottomed transport ships, while the waters in between were full of their boats. The requirement to tempt Alexius meant accepting a position with certain disadvantages but that did not mean throwing caution to the winds, so a line of retreat was essential. With a keen eye, added to what he had already gleaned from his cavalry screen, he knew that in numbers they were evenly matched. He also accepted that he was facing a general who could match him in skill, for he had questioned anyone who knew anything of Alexius’s previous campaigns and what he had heard was impressive.
In essence the Apulian position was defensive, which left the initiative to his enemies; the Guiscard commanded an army just as heterogeneous as that he faced, albeit better trained. He wanted them to come on to him, working on the assumption that having been hurriedly raised they would lack the kind of cohesion necessary to launch and press home an assault, which would open up opportunities. A good general may be surprised and often is, but the art of command is not to allow that to induce alarm, so when Robert saw the Varangians moving along the rear of the Byzantine army, from their place in the centre around the imperial standard, to their left where they would face the Lombards, he reckoned it a feint to get him to move his lances to assist Sichelgaita and that would be followed by an attack through his weakened centre.
He was disabused of that when they filtered through the contingent that had occupied the left wing and began to come forward at a fast, disciplined jog that did nothing to rupture their tight formation. Opposite Robert the drums began to beat out an aggressive tattoo and the trumpets began to blow, with much movement of men, which only served to reinforce his view that the Varangians would stop rather than engage Sichelgaita and her Lombards and that he was about to be attacked by the forces now manoeuvring before his own position.
‘Count Radulf,’ he said quietly, as the Varangians broke into a run, screaming like banshees and, even at a distance, frightening with their horned helmets and huge gleaming axes. ‘Go to Bohemund and tell him what is happening here, so that he may know his lances might be required. I will send word if they are and he must come with haste whatever he faces on his front.’
From the angle at which he was observing matters unfold Robert had a good view of the way the Varangians hit the line of Lombard milities, their great two-handed axes swinging to first smash the bucklers held up by the defenders, followed by great swipes aimed to sweep aside or decapitate their lances. Their weapons were then raised high to shatter into heads or shoulders left unprotected, this made more dangerous by the fact of the Lombards being generally small; they looked like dwarves when set against those they were fighting, for the Saxons had the height of Normans and the men of Rus had the dimensions, as well as the appearance, of their Viking forbears.
Much time had been spent training his Lombard subjects; likewise the Greeks and the foot soldiers had been taught to stand against Norman conroys seeking to break their line, while the mounted Lombards had been taught the skills of Norman warfare in order to support their fellows. Nothing could prepare a warrior of any race, however brave, for what they were required to do battle with now. Robert recalled that even his brothers had feared to meet these men in close battle and he was being shown why.
First the line of Lombard foot soldiers was in difficulty; then the cavalry rode into action, only to find that people they expected to break from a well-delivered attack with a rigid line of long lances not only stood their ground but advanced to engage. Then the horsemen too began to suffer and it was not the rider, it was his destrier, who could no more stand against a swinging axe than any human; they too went down with great gashes or legs broken or amputated, forcing them back. As he watched, the whole battaile both mounted and on foot began to buckle as too many fell. Looking to his front he saw that for all the activity of marching to and fro, it was no more than that; he had been deceived.
‘Reynard, go to Bohemund and tell him I desire that he take his conroys, as well as his milities, across my rear to support my wife, but he is to seek to mask the manoeuvre. I will secure my flank with the Saracens, who will extend across his front, which will allow his rearguard to follow him.’
‘My Lord, the Lombards have broken.’
The turn to look was slow and studied — never let those you lead see you are concerned — even if what he observed was the unpleasant truth of what he was being told, only worse than the bland word ‘broken’. The Lombards were being routed, fleeing for the shoreline and the boats, a mass of men and mounts in total disorder, leaving a gap between themselves and the Varangians. In their midst he could see Sichelgaita on her huge horse, sword flashing above her head as she used the flat of it to slam into her people. She was shouting, that he could see, but what she was saying he could not hear.
‘Cowards! Ingrates! Would you let a Norman see that you are no match for them, you curs?’
The following expletives were full of spittle, for she was in truth incandescent with rage; being married to a Norman did nothing to lessen her Lombard pride and she pushed her horse towards the line of surf, riding through the routed mass to get ahead of them. Once there she swung face on, and even at a distance her husband saw her as a magnificent sight, standing in her stirrups, sword raised like some Biblical prophet, haranguing her people and miraculously beginning to rally them. In a very short time she got them into some kind of order and then began to bring them back into the battle.