‘Were you sent to me, Reynard?’
‘No. I came because it is not fitting that you should hear of such a thing as if it were marketplace gossip.’
‘Tell me, what will happen now?’
‘Sichelgaita will do what she did with the army on Corfu and call upon every one of your father’s vassals to renew their oath to Borsa.’
‘And will they?’
‘Most of them, yes, for he has the means to reward them.’
‘You mean his mother does.’
‘It amounts to the same thing, Bohemund, and there is not one of them who will not be pondering of their own personal advantage in the new dispensation. Think! It will not just be in the grant of land or titles. Duke Robert left a bulging treasury as well, which will be used to ensure that Borsa is supported.’
‘Whereas I have nothing.’
‘You have your name and there are men for whom that will carry weight.’
‘I am forced to ask if you are one of them?’
‘Why do you think I came to you?’
‘And do you have advice for me, Reynard?’
‘You need lances and I can think of only one place that will provide them.’
‘You recall what I said about Capua the first time we rode together?’
‘When you are a beggar, Bohemund, it ill begets you to examine the alms you are given to see if the coins have been clipped.’
‘I will go to Venosa first, to see my father interred. Besides, I want to look Borsa in the eye.’
The de Hauteville family church of Santissima Trinita had been started by Drogo de Hauteville and not finished by Humphrey or Robert, so it was far from a grand edifice, nothing like the latter’s great cathedral of Salerno, but it had a resonance for the family name and that was enough. It was not the Guiscard’s body they interred in the vault; a storm at sea had swept his coffin off the deck and the water had so corrupted the corpse when it was recovered that the heart and entrails had been removed and brought in a casket to Venosa.
As the priests intoned the words of burial and requiem, not every head could remain bowed, for there was an undercurrent: what would happen now that the man who had created the triple dukedom and held it together was gone, and with him the overwhelming personality that many reckoned irreplaceable? Sichelgaita eyed Bohemund as a cat examines a bird just out of reach of its leap; Borsa would look away when his half-brother’s eye caught his but there was no missing the sentiment of trepidation mixed with loathing.
Guy, for all his supposed careless nature, was the most honest in the directness of his stare and what it meant; left to him, Bohemund could expect nothing but a pauper’s grave — there would be no de Hauteville vault for him — and it would not be long in coming. Half-sister Emma returned that feeling to all three of them in full measure, which lent an icy mood to the whole occasion.
Robert’s senior vassals, who had sailed with him to Corfu, were there, including those he had seen as his most reliable lieutenants, and it was to these that his bastard son gave most of his attention; his half-siblings and their mother were known quantities but these men mattered, for if they pledged loyalty to Borsa it was not from love and even less for the de Hauteville name. When questioned, Reynard had related that the way Borsa had been hailed by the army had lacked conviction, especially amongst the Normans, many of whom had at some time in the past either participated or led revolts against one of the brothers.
Now their suzerain, if he bore a name to which they bowed the knee reluctantly, also had, to them, a taint and that was his despised Lombard blood, added to which he was not the leader either in war or personality his sire had been. These were men who needed a strong hand to control them and even with that they took every chance presented to them to slip out of its grip. It was a sound guess that many would stay loyal only as long as it suited them and that Borsa would find that, as time went by and resentments festered, it was not only his half-brother who would cause him difficulties.
Could he hold the triple dukedom together? The missing factor was Roger de Hauteville, now called the Great Count of Sicily, who might not even yet know, as his brother was buried, that he was dead. Messages had been sent to Sicily to summon him from the siege of Syracuse — if not to Venosa, to the capital Salerno, where Borsa would be installed as his father’s rightful successor.
Those same vassals, who had been present at Santissima Trinita, this time with Count Roger, attended that ceremony, held in the great hall of the Castello di Arechi. He had brought with him all those who could be spared from Sicily, men who held their fief directly from the Duke of Apulia, but Bohemund stayed away, for here every vassal would be required to swear allegiance and that was not something he was prepared to contemplate. His powerful uncle noted the absence — it could hardly be missed by a man who knew what it portended and was not slow to touch on the subject when he met with Borsa and Sichelgaita in private.
‘Did your sire ever tell you, Borsa, about our adventures in Calabria?’ Roger enquired, once the polite formalities had been observed. ‘If I had not come to his rescue, he might have been food for the dogs.’
‘I told him,’ Sichelgaita replied, though it did not, judging by her expression, provoke a happy memory. Her brother-in-law knew she had been amused at the time; it was what the recollection signified that troubled her.
As always the Guiscard had made a promise, then regretted it as too generous, which meant Robert and his younger brother had fallen out. Roger might have ended up in a dungeon but for a stroke of luck; good soldier as he was, he could not field the number of lances needed to beat Robert. Foolishly, while pursuing him, Robert had, on his own and unarmed, entered a Calabrian town called Gerace, only to be captured and confined by the inhabitants. Roger had rescued him — in truth the good folk of Gerace had not known what to do with such a powerful prisoner — which if nothing else brought peace between them. But not harmony; the next month had been spent arguing about who was owed what revenues.
‘You see, even I rebelled, nephew,’ he said, when the outline of the tale had been rehashed.
‘That is in the past, Uncle, but I am sure you will be faithful to his memory now.’
‘I doubt Bohemund will be.’
‘We have the means to deal with him,’ Sichelgaita snapped. ‘Right now my husband’s subjects are lining up to pledge allegiance.’
‘So you are sure that every vassal who swears allegiance to Borsa will hold to his word? If that is so he will surely outshine my late brother.’
This was the crux and all three knew it; there were men who would make a pledge to him this day, then ride off immediately to join his half-brother, while others would go back to their demesnes only to plot rebellion. The new Duke looked at his mother, as if seeking advice, but Roger knew they must have discussed the matter without him being present.
‘Naturally, Uncle, we would look to you for support if they did not.’
‘And you shall have it, nephew,’ Roger replied.
That was delivered after a long and pointed pause, with a smile that lacked warmth, which left both nephew and his sister-in-law in no doubt that there would be a price for his aid. That being true, in turn it led to a great deal of fencing that lasted for hours — not the swiping and sweeping of broadsword blades, it was more delicate than that, but just as deadly in intent — until Roger felt he had extracted his price. As well as the shared revenues of Calabria, Roger got transferred to him some of the fiefs his brother had held as his own in the north of Sicily, though not Messina and Palermo.