That was not a luxury he could allow himself: looking out over the surrounding landscape, barren and deserted except for the dots of grazing sheep and goats, he searched for a suitable field of battle, the best place to confront Doukeianos, wondering if he would be granted the right to choose it. Given his force was cavalry that should be the case: horsemen could manoeuvre with much more ease than milities, however well trained they were. But this catapan had outfoxed him once and he was too wise to think all the choices would remain his, a point he made to his younger brother.
‘All I can say for sure is that we got ahead of them.’
‘Can we stop them?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘That I do not know until I see their numbers.’
‘And if they are too numerous?’
‘We fall back on Melfi and prepare for a siege. At least we know we can outrun them.’
‘Not Venosa or Lavello?’
William smiled, aware his brother was asking these things out of ignorance; yet he had experienced battle, having, like William, ridden alongside their father under the banner of Duke Robert. But then so had Drogo, and though he was a mighty fighter he deferred to William when it came to tactics; Humphrey and Mauger would likely do the same. All four were formidable in battle; even if it had only been in mock combat he had contested with them and knew their prowess. That they could not best him meant less than the fact that they could beat most of the men he led.
Yet they were limited when it came to command; excellent at following instructions — also, certainly in Drogo’s case, good at close battlefield control — but none of them could plan what he had in his mind, which was a great deal more than just stopping this approaching catapan and his army. Sometimes William tired of responsibility, and often, at home in the Contentin, he had wearied of his status as elder brother, but that was useless: if it was a burden it was one that could not be put down, and in truth, he would not want to.
‘No. If we sought to retire on those, I think this Michael Doukeianos would just bypass us. Melfi is the prize.’
‘He will not capture it. The castle is too strong.’
‘He does not need to take it, Geoffrey, he needs to deny us the use of it, and the ability to sally forth at will. He also needs to let the Lombards Arduin is busy recruiting know that they do not have Melfi as a safe refuge. Doukeianos has little in the way of strength and a long time to wait before any reinforcements can arrive, and even if he had those he cannot hold Apulia if the entire population rises against him. Doubt of outcome in this is his greatest asset. News that he is besieging Melfi will make many minds cautious, will serve to divide those keen to rebel, and that will do. Byzantium rules by the fear of what its armies might do, not what they can actually accomplish.’
‘Better to fight him, then?’
‘I will if I can, but that will depend on many things, and not just the size of the force he brings against us.’
‘Such as?’
‘The quality. You can tell much about an enemy host by the way it deploys. If it is smooth and disciplined then they are likely to be steady under assault; if it is ragged and muddled they will not stand against our lances, and once broken they will not stop but flee the field. The ground too will have a bearing. Following that heavy rain we rode through, it would not be wise for us to fight in a valley until the ground dries out and ceases to be soft.’
Geoffrey acknowledged that: mud would slow the horses, impede any attack and make manoeuvre challenging.
‘And since Doukeianos knows this as well as anyone he will seek to draw us into such ground.’
‘How do you intend to deal with that?’
‘By talking, brother.’ Seeing Geoffrey’s questioning look, he added, ‘For I think the catapan, before he seeks battle, will try to do what Byzantium does best, and buy us off.’
The cry from a sentinel had them both looking south, to a long ragged line of horsemen approaching. Within a glass of sand William was greeting three more of his brothers, but most importantly, for they were weary and damp, he would now be, once they had rested, at maximum strength.
CHAPTER TEN
The forward piquet saw them first, just as the sun was setting, and alerted William so he could ride forward and observe, in the gathering gloom, a distant army marching in several columns over a broad front, men to the fore, a sizeable herd of donkeys, mules and probably camp followers to the rear, the only mounted men seeming to be those in positions of command, which cheered him: he would face no cavalry force. It was impossible to tell from this distance the state of their morale, but they could not be less than weary given the ground they had been obliged to cover in the last few days and the fact that they had just had to ford a river, which however narrow a watercourse it was, would make them wet; they were in for an uncomfortable night.
In reality, they should not still be coming on at this time of day: most armies would have camped on the far riverbank and crossed in the morning. Looking up William saw that the sky was clear and the moon, rising slowly, was three-quarters full, which, given the mass of stars to aid it, would bathe the landscape in sufficient light to see. Surely the catapan was not going to march on in the hours of darkness? If he had that in mind, it was time to disabuse him.
‘Back to the main body,’ he said to a man at his side. ‘Tell them to get those fires lit and blazing, all of them, right along the skyline. Let them see their way is blocked and in force.’
Signalling to the rest of the forward party, he had them ride up until they were lined along the crest, in time for their silhouette to catch the last dying light of the now invisible sun, but distance and gloom meant William had no idea if they had been observed. To their rear the first of the fires began to glow, bright orange flames and sparks rising into the increasingly dark sky from a hill higher than that on which they sat.
There they stayed until all that was left was the moon and stars, when slowly, William turned his horse’s head and led his men back to the main body. There, dividing them into three, he set one battaile on foot, out ahead of those fires to protect the camp, with the flanking sentinels told to keep their eyes peeled to ensure the Byzantines made no attempt to slip round their flanks. The rest were obliged to sleep in hauberks, with arms and helmets close by, given he had no intention of being surprised. The horses, now rested, were saddled; everything that could be done had been done, so an exhausted Norman commander could himself lie down and close his eyes.
‘Rider approaching.’
The dawn had come up with no sign of movement, yet William knew that the catapan had halted on the other side of the opposite hill and made camp, where smoke from the mass of cooking fires drifted lazily into the morning sky, and that could only be because he knew he had failed in his initial aim. The question remained, however, as to what he would do next, and the sight of the lone horseman approaching was, in part, likely to provide some kind of answer.
‘No armour,’ said Drogo, ‘but handsome silks.’
That was plain to all the de Hautevilles, lined up alongside William, helmets on, swords out and stuck in the ground before them, shields on their arm, the purpose to look as warlike as possible. It was certainly in contrast to this gaudily clad messenger, a slim fellow of medium height in splendid blue garments of varying hues, with long black hair, and eyes over a slightly hooked nose, a feature which he looked down with disdain as he reined in his mount and spoke.
‘I seek the leader of your band,’ he said in Greek.
‘Do you speak Latin?’ asked William. When the envoy nodded, it was requested he speak in that language: the two older de Hautevilles had some Greek, but the recent arrivals had none. The request was repeated.
‘He should dismount,’ growled Humphrey, his face plainly angry even if little of it was visible. ‘It shows a lack of respect to address us from the back of his horse.’