Only darkness gave Tancred a chance; once daylight came his men would be in plain view and at the mercy of archers who would be rushed to stop them moving forward, so as soon as he heard the movement of the defenders he poked his local to tell him what words he could hear from the opposite side of the wall. Men were moving off to face the main assault and reinforce walls, obviously suspecting they would be under greater pressure. It was getting light, though it was only the first tinge, so there was no time to delay: Tancred either attacked or withdrew and he was too much of a Norman for the latter.
Crawling back, he brought his men towards the wall, carrying ladders, he on one himself, which he set down against the base, his confrere silently running it up hand over hand. That fellow was pushed aside; if anyone was going to be in the forefront of the assault, it was the man who led them, and Tancred scaled the rough-hewn rungs at speed to find that the men who had remained were alert and waiting for him. It takes great courage and skill to fight perched on a ladder, as well as uncommon strength to do battle with someone above your head, but that was what was happening all along the wall as the Normans, who wielded these weapons day after day, used the muscles that produced to engage their less able foes.
Bohemund was likewise fighting, though he had got a few men with him over the wall and on to the parapet through a combination of fire, archery and sheer bloody ability. They were now fighting back to back to hold that place, but the same imperative was upon him as his nephew. He and Tancred could only maintain themselves if some of the defenders they faced were drawn off to hold that breach in the walls and that was where the attack ran into the sand. Borsa’s men of Salerno had scaled the rubble and were heavily engaged, but the gap was high and narrow, which meant only so many could contest the space and that worked more to the advantage of the Amalfians than the attackers.
Not that the fighting ended quickly; it went on until the sun was full up in the sky, until Roger de Hauteville was certain that today was not the day of final success. He whispered to Borsa, who seemed to take an age to pass on his advice to the horns, but eventually they blew the several blasts that in their spacing told all the three attacking parties to withdraw. With the men in the breach that was hard enough; they had to back down loose rubble until they could disengage.
Bohemund needed the crossbowmen to create on either side of him a barrier of deadly bolts that could pierce chain mail, so he could get onto his ladders and back to terra firma. Tancred and his men, who had never made the parapet, had the less than simple task of creating the time to abandon their weapons and, using the sides of the ladder, to slide to safety, recover lances, swords and axes and to run far enough to get out of arrow range before the Amalfian archers arrived, with the only thing protecting their exposed backs their teardrop shields.
Trudging back to their tents there was no despair in the Norman camp; this was a day in which they had not triumphed, but in siege warfare there were many more of them to set against the one day of victory. They had suffered losses and wounds, but so had the defenders, both in numbers and in morale, for while the besiegers sat around their campfires would talk of the success to come, the Amalfians would be considering how close they had come this day to defeat.
Borsa held his place as those who had fought for his standard plodded back to their encampments, as if he was a great warrior accepting the accolades of those over whom he held command. There were many who did salute him with swords to their nose guards, but all knew there was no respect in it; it was a gesture, nothing more. Once everyone was back and the wounded and dead had been recovered by truce, he took himself off to pray, leaving his three relatives, who were themselves God-fearing men, to seek to glean from what had happened an avenue to end the siege.
EPILOGUE
Amalfi never fell, for as news came of the great host forming from all over Europe, intent on sailing to Constantinople, many minds were concentrated. For some it was the prospect of absolution from sins, for amongst Normans, regardless of how many times they confessed their sins, there were those who could recall deeds of a very black nature indeed — transgressions against God, such as the defiling of churches and the torturing of monks, that might stand outside the writ of a priest to pardon. They might burn in hell!
More potent, as Roger had indicated, was the prospect not just of wealth, but of land; a high number of the mercenaries who had come to Italy were younger sons of large families full of sibling brothers — their sires of Normandy bred well — and they had seen the demesnes on which they had been raised go to the elder of the family while they got nothing, hence the need to come south; that was what had brought the de Hautevilles and most, if not all, of their confreres.
The hankering for a landed possession of one’s own was strong in them, yet as they looked around the prospect of gaining any where they now resided was slight — it was in the hands of others. The final strand was plunder, which was becoming harder to find in a terrain ceasing to be the troubled polity of years past; it now had an air, the present upheavals notwithstanding, that denoted a country in the process of settling. Judgements bounced off fantasies, but there was no doubting that in the East there was fabulous wealth to be gained for those lucky enough to be in place to grab it.
Added to that they were warriors, highly trained, and they knew if they were fighting now and had many times previously it was a diminishing role; much more time was spent in the manege than the field. And so grew a groundswell of belief that it was time to move on, to look for pastures rich and new; all that was missing was the spark and the leader. Not the least of the lances who thought that was Tancred, who had the ability to work on Bohemund.
‘What more can you gain in Italy? You have all that you can take and your uncle stands between you and any further advance.’
Tancred asked that time and again; indeed it became a refrain, this while he made no secret that he had ambitions of his own. Heir to Monteroni and Lecce and also a vassal of Taranto, he was in line for a truncated inheritance, and while he admired Bohemund and would always put his lance at his disposal, he knew that for him there would be no great conquests lest they crossed to Illyria, and his suzerain lacked the means to either cross the Adriatic or remain there.
‘Do you recall what Count Roger said? There are conquests to be made in the East, lands to be taken back from the Turks and the Holy Places to liberate, and Pope Urban has promised absolution of sin for those who take a vow to do that on the cross.’
Bohemund was tempted, but before him was a city ever more close to capitulation or sack and it was hard to turn his back on that, for to do so would imply that Amalfi had defeated him. Yet as word came of those who were, as of this very moment, marching towards his own Adriatic ports, as well as the numbers and titles, it was just as difficult not to admit to temptation. Loyalty to Roger held him back, but it was Borsa who provided the proverbial straw, for the Duke of Apulia was never comfortable with his giant of a half-brother around; indeed it was rare for them to speak and even more so that they should dine together.
To sit young Richard of Capua at his right hand was an insult to his uncle, the Great Count; to fawn over the boy drove that home and had Bohemund glaring at him, for the intention was as clear as a pikestaff. If it was only rumour it was one easy to give credence: Borsa, once the city had fallen, was lining up this army he had before Amalfi to turn to retaking Capua, where he would reinstate Richard, albeit as his vassal; the drip of the words of Tancred, sitting nearby, suddenly had more and deeper resonance. Where now could he ply his lance? Only, it seemed, in the service of a man he despised! For once less abstemious than was customary — the thoughts he was having preyed on his mind and resolution — he decided to speak where normally he would have remained silent.