It was not greed that prompted this but the feeling that since such domains were only kept secure by his efforts, the money they earned should be paid into his coffers, not those of Apulia. Borsa sought to talk down the demands and so did Sichelgaita, but they were in no position to argue; the new Duke was negotiating with the one person who could by a gesture, as he had at the gathering in Bari, unseat him.
‘Where is Bohemund now?’ Roger asked, once the negotiations were over.
‘In Capua,’ Sichelgaita replied, ‘raising lances.’
Prince Jordan had always felt keenly the fact that he was a weaker magnate than Duke Robert, just as he harboured resentments that went back beyond his father’s time to that of Rainulf Drengot, who had sworn till his dying day that the de Hauteville brothers had betrayed a sacred vow made to him as their suzerain. The last time they had made peace he had not been cheering; Jordan had been almost obliged by Abbot Desiderius to crawl in order to divert the Guiscard to Illyria. Now, with his nemesis gone and a fight about to begin for the title, he was presented with a chance to increase the power of Capua at no risk to his own domains. Apulia, in a family war for who held the right to inherit, was never going to have the means to invade his territories.
But the outcome was uncertain and while he was pleased to supply Bohemund with the men he needed to fight his cause, the last thing he wanted on his borders was a Duke of Apulia as powerful as the Guiscard and gifted with a matching military prowess. The dream was of a neighbour so diminished, a weakened Borsa or a Bohemund so needy, that he would bow the knee to Capua, leaving Jordan as the senior Norman leader in the south of Italy, acknowledged as such by the Pope, confirmed in his titles by the Holy Roman Emperor and seen as the more powerful prince by the subjects of the triple dukedom.
A kingly crown was not too much to wish for, though much time and a great deal of political manoeuvring would be needed to gain such a prize. All very tempting, but he knew that care had to be exercised and certain pieces would have to be removed from the board; the last thing Jordan desired was that he should so threaten Apulia that Count Roger, who could unite all three dukedoms as one, would see it as necessary to intervene with such force as to provoke a war to the death. But he, like Robert, could not live for ever and his son eldest was unfit to govern, being an imbecile, while Simon was an infant.
‘My lances must be free to plunder, Bohemund, you know that.’
‘I will direct them to those places where they may do so freely, for I have let it be known that those who decline to come and fight with me, even those who stand aside, will be as my enemies. It is therefore fitting, Jordan, that they should suffer.’
Standing outside a Capuan manege, Jordan and Bohemund were watching the knights he would lead go through their exercises. There had been some scoffing at using a lance couched instead of loose until he had shown them how easy it was to unseat an opponent by the greater power it produced, so now they were competent at it. This would be a war; not one of massed armies but one of lance against lance, which also meant on many occasions it would be Norman against Norman. If they had tended to avoid doing each other harm in the past, such a restriction could no longer hold; there was for Bohemund too much at stake, for he had few illusions about what would happen to him if he fell into the hands of Borsa and his family — the least he could expect would be to have his eyes put out.
It being common knowledge throughout Apulia and Calabria he intended to contest for the title, that brought to his side a number of his father’s old familia knights, men who were the companions-in-arms of Reynard of Eu and who were accustomed to serve a warrior, not a woman or someone they regarded as not much above a counter of beans. Then there were the endemic malcontents, men who had caused his father so much grief, lances that joined any rebellion which presented them with the opportunity to advance themselves, or to plunder the property of the more respectable.
Others of a more personal value travelled to Capua to offer their swords, such as Ademar of Monteroni, who did so out of family loyalty and brought with him not only two conroys of his own followers but his son Tancred, now approaching twelve summers old and beginning to look more the man than the boy. Still to fill out, he had nevertheless the air of a true de Hauteville about him, the red-gold hair, the height and that look in the eye that hinted at a nature both serious and mischievous; though not as tall or as florid as the Guiscard, he did remind his uncle of his late father and Tancred was quick to request the promise previously made be fulfilled.
‘You know your duties?’ Bohemund asked.
‘I do, My Lord. To keep your horses groomed, your harness polished and your weapons sharp.’
‘I need food in my belly, boy, and the rust kept from my mail.’
‘Your stockings darned and the moth holes in your clothing repaired.’
‘You can sew, Tancred?’
‘No, My Lord, but I know how to find a woman who can.’
Bohemund grinned. ‘Make sure that is all you ask of a woman, the use of her needle.’
Those who witnessed that remark made little attempt to disguise their curiosity; it was well known that their leader was more than abstemious in that area and for many, less saintly in their own lives, it was a cause for speculation. Well past the age at which he should be married, Bohemund showed no inclination to do so and did not deign to explain why that should be so. Yet he gave no inclination of any other proclivities that might diminish him in the eyes of his men, so that concern was put to one side, because he was above all what he needed to be, a superb warrior.
‘You will already have formulated a plan?’ asked Ademar, when they had a chance to talk.
‘I have, and with you I will share it, but I do not want it talked of openly, especially with Jordan and his Capuans. I have been open with Reynard but no one else who has come from Apulia.’
‘The distrust is so acute?’
‘As of this moment, Ademar, I do not know who to have faith in and who to suspect. Jordan has been playing a double game for so long he may be unable to stop himself, and any of his knights I confide in will pass on to him anything I say.’
‘His support will not be wholehearted.’
‘True, but only time and my success will winkle out his true intentions. As for the Apulians who have come to me, well, even you must suspect that some of them have been despatched here by Sichelgaita.’
‘So they all must be deceived regarding your intentions.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then don’t tell me anything lest I talk in my sleep.’
Bohemund gave Ademar a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘The only person sharing your chamber is your son and if I cannot trust Tancred you had best take him back to Lecce. The obvious point of entry into my late father’s domains is to retrace the route by which we came here on my first raid, yes?’
Ademar nodded, though his eyes carried the truth. ‘But you do not intend to go that way?’
‘I intend that everyone should think we are going that way until we have left Capua and are far enough away to implement what I truly intend to do. I want Borsa’s lances to be deceived too, so they are in no position to impede our progress.’
‘Where is Reynard?’
That induced a wide smile, for it was clear that Ademar, probably no mean conspirator himself, had discerned that the absence of a man Bohemund must have come to rely on was significant.
‘The route of march I intend to pursue is a long one.’
‘And he has gone ahead to secure the necessary supplies.’
‘He has gone to identify where those supplies may be taken and used. Unlike Borsa I do not have the means to pay for them.’