Count Radulf, who overlooked Taranto three days later, was obliged to accept that he had failed; there was no point in pursuing his quarry to the walls, he lacked the means to even contemplate a raid, never mind a siege, and besides, having pushed his force hard in an attempt to catch up, his horses were in danger of being blown, while his lances were worn out. The thought of sending a messenger to challenge Bohemund he dismissed, for the giant would likely suggest single combat; having seen him in action on the field of battle that was not a contest in which he had any desire to engage.
Despite what he had said to Tancred, Bohemund reposed little faith in those he caused to be conscripted, for he had too little time to train them. What he needed most were fresh cavalry mounts and packhorses — the destriers had not been ridden or carried any load since Capua — as well as a body of milities who looked threatening without actually being of much use in battle. His strategy was speed, for there was no chance of his defeating Borsa if his half-brother brought the whole might of his dominions to bear.
So, once he had raided the castle armoury and denuded his domain of suitable horses — the locals could have those mounts he had brought from Capua — he set off for Gallipoli, the southernmost port on the Ionian Sea, which had little heart for a fight and fell to him as soon as he demanded that the citizenry do so; they did not even flee to the fortified island. Next he crossed the Salento Peninsula to Otranto, which, being the major port on the Adriatic heel of Italy, was of strategic value, it being the only haven south of Brindisi into which Borsa could land an army.
It was there Bohemund found out how feeble was his relation: Borsa had done nothing to reinforce it, or to put in command of its large fortress a man he could both trust and who would never, for the sake of his pride, surrender — a mistake his father would never have made. Certainly they resisted, but Otranto was taken by a coup de main when Bohemund led a party of his knights against a weak part of the walls. Having passed through Monteroni and Lecce on the way from Gallipoli he had not only visited his sister but had raised a fresh supply of both lances and milities, and those, mixed with the conscripts he had been training on the march, added up to a force he thought he could trust in battle, provided the odds were not too great. More encouraging was what success brought: more lances came from the Apulian ranks to swell his force of mounted warriors.
‘Where are they?’ Reynard asked, looking all around him as if there were foes hidden in the ground.
‘Never fear, friend, we must meet a real enemy soon.’
At the head of what was now five hundred knights and a thousand foot soldiers, as well as the carpenters, woodcutters, cooks and camp followers of a proper army, Bohemund marched north, heading for Brindisi, and with him he had the means to contemplate a siege. Yet he knew, as did Reynard and everyone else he had designated as a lieutenant, that they would surely never get there without they met a host determined to prevent them from even reaching the outer walls of such an important goal.
On a flat and seemingly endless coastal plain it was impossible to see any more than the horizon would allow; there were few to no hills and Ademar was of the opinion, given that this was a part of Apulia he knew well, that the only way they would see any force that lay ahead of them was by the light of their night-time campfires. For that purpose Bohemund sent ahead a number of squires, Tancred amongst them, who, innocent-looking, could act as his eyes and ears. In his desire to impress, Tancred spread his reconnaissance further than intended and by luck found that Count Radulf was concentring a mounted force at a small town called Squinzano to hit Bohemund as he marched.
‘Who told you to look in that direction?’ his father demanded.
Like all boys of his years, Tancred had a scowl that was too often present, but was now deeper given he felt he had good cause to feel aggrieved. ‘No one, Father, but it seemed to me that a couple of my confreres riding north were sufficient and that for all of us to head in one direction was a waste.’
‘How many lances?’ Bohemund asked.
‘Eighty conroys under Count Radulf.’
‘That seems precise, and anyway, how do you know it is him?’
‘I went into Squinzano to ask and to count.’
‘Tancred, you are a fool,’ Ademar growled. ‘What would have happened to you if you had been caught?’
‘I have de Hauteville blood, Father,’ Tancred replied, with utter assurance. ‘I would have been spared and ransomed.’
‘Or drawn and quartered,’ Reynard opined. ‘And no bad thing unless we want to increase the birth rate.’
‘Did you observe their readiness?’
‘They were sharpening their swords with the smith’s wheel, Uncle, so it may be they are ready to move.’
‘He will know how we march,’ Ademar said, ‘lances to the fore, so he means to let us proceed and come up on our rear and surprise us, attack our milities with we having to get through them to do battle.’
‘And on the wrong kind of mount,’ added Reynard. ‘Against near twice our number.’
Those thoughts got a nod as well as an appreciation of what it portended: there was no way in such a situation his lances would be anything but disorganised, whereas Radulf would be prepared and that would hand him a great advantage, to be doubled or even trebled by the fact that his men would be on destriers and Bohemund’s on their riding horses. Only now Radulf’s aim was obvious and the trick was to play him false for, given the numbers, it was risky to turn to face him.
‘Then it is as well we surprise him,’ Bohemund declared.
It was not a road on which they were travelling; there was a sort of wide track made by traders and their donkeys, but that was insufficient for the number of men seeking to march along it and they had thus spread out over a wide area, one which Bohemund expanded, for in doing so they sent up a great cloud of obscuring dust. He had to hope that Radulf was unaware that his aim had been discovered, yet as in all war situations many things had to be left to develop. But he had one advantage and that was the terrain, especially a flank protected by the almost endless sandy beach, on the shore of the shallow water, occasionally interspersed with rocky promontories.
Once more the squires were employed to be his eyes, this time at the rear of the marching host, set there to warn of the enemy approach and, being mounted on swift ponies, able to tell their commander when he must react. Given the low state of training of his foot soldiers Bohemund stiffened them with extra commanders and gave them a simple instruction to carry out when the horns blew. Had he been at the rear of the host Bohemund would have laughed to see what Tancred had contrived: he had got all his confreres to sit facing backwards on their mounts, wearing cowls in which they had cut eyeholes, so that from afar it looked as if they were facing the right way — forward. There was thus no need to look over their shoulders, an act anyone observing them might have seen as odd and caused them to be more cautious.
Count Radulf saw the cloud of dust long before Tancred and his like saw his men, and such was the dun-coloured clothing of the lookouts they did not show up against it. Thus, having slipped in behind Bohemund, he brought his speed up to a steady canter, though not pushing too hard to keep fit his mounts. It was the dust that set up which caused the alert and the first of Tancred’s squires was sent to both inform the men commanding the milities and then ride on to warn Bohemund.