‘We also move your levies away from Melfi. The countryside around here cannot support them.’
‘It can.’
‘Not without reducing the locals to starvation.’
‘Let them starve; what we have to do matters more than a few famished Italian peasants.’
And they wonder why, William thought, they are not loved, these Lombards. The other thought was the need to give Arduin a pressing reason to fall in with the suggestion he had just made: he would not be coerced into doing the right thing.
‘The country around here is not suitable for training large bodies. Besides, more and more recruits are coming in from the land to the east. It would be best, and might increase the numbers, if we were to go towards them rather than have them come all the way to us. Let us gather in one place, Normans and Lombards.’
‘You want to stop your brothers?’
There was calculation in that too: the de Hautevilles were sending back to Melfi the contents of the coffers from the towns they were taking, and part of that was going to the man in command — Arduin’s little strongbox was filling up as much as was that of the Normans, a reminder that he was not only in this campaign for a dream.
‘I want to go to where they are operating and destroying crops and livestock. If we are going to feed our host let’s do it with produce from the fields of the Catapanate, not those we possess. Let us make our base at Canosa, not here.’
‘We do not have possession of Canosa.’
‘Faced with our entire force under its walls and no sign of help, I suspect it will capitulate.’
‘And if he attacks us there?’
‘Let him break his strength on its fortifications, let him lose men, then let him have the place.’
‘Surrender?’
‘Draw him on Arduin. If we fully exploit Canosa we will leave him nothing in the way of supplies, and nothing in the way of men either. He will then pursue us to a place of our choosing.’
‘I have been mulling over some other plans.’
‘And so you should,’ William replied, sounding emollient, even if he was unsure he was hearing the truth. ‘All I ask is you think on it.’
Pride meant Arduin would not move immediately; indeed he did not do so until the proposed leader of the Lombard revolt, Count Atenulf, arrived. The brother of Landulf, the Prince of Benevento, he was a rather dense young man of no discernible personality and he was certainly no military leader: asked for an opinion on tactics all he produced was a vacuous look and no suggestions. Arduin showed no disappointment, for he was perfect: properly patrician but utterly stupid and malleable.
‘I have decided that we must move closer to our enemies, and let them know that we intend to do battle with them. I hope you agree, Count Atenulf?’ The pause was long, the eyes opaque, if not actually confused, and it was a while before the youngster nodded. ‘Good. We will move two days from now down the Ofanto towards Barletta. We will also examine the possibility of investing Canosa.’
William got no mention for having suggested this course of action, not that he cared. The vanity of other men when it came to making the right decisions was something with which he could easily live.
The wards that William had taken on looked very different from the day he had brought them to the castle, and in the case of the boy the change was more than just the fact that he was clean and had been properly fed for enough time to put flesh on his ribs. When his sister was not looking he had even smiled at their saviour, unlike her: she had a face like a mastiff sucking a wasp and no words of William’s interpreter, however soft and kindly they sounded before translation, seemed to dent that. Even if she showed signs of some physical charm, albeit as yet undeveloped, her steady, unremitting and hate-filled glare took away any hint of good looks.
They had names too: she was called Tirena and he answered to Listo, and William was sure they understood more of what he was saying now than they had previously, for instruction in Latin had been part of that which had been provided. Instead of being angered by her intransigence, he admired her spirit, and wondered if it was a common trait in these mountainous regions of Italy, hoping that such a thing might be the case.
The reason was straightforward enough: if his longterm aim was to acquire land and possessions here, he would need to understand the nature of the people. That they, both in the mountains and on the plains, hated Lombards, he knew — every Italian native did — just as he knew why. Wherever they had exercised power, they had done so to serve themselves. But they detested Byzantium too: it was distant and cared only for what it could extract in terms of taxes paid in produce and livestock, this gathered by rapacious collectors who bought the right of assessment, then lined their pockets with excessive demands. His brothers, in their forays, had captured and strung up to the nearest tree a couple of these tax farmers, to the delight of the locals who had witnessed their death throes.
Perhaps the people of Apulia would submit to better rule, laws properly applied and the payment of revenues that did not drive them to starvation, and especially a lordship personal and closely present. The other thing William knew was that, to sustain himself and his house, a reliance on Norman lances, on a steady stream of men coming south, was an unsound policy. Just as now, in league with the Lombards, an army needed foot soldiers. They had to be raised here and perhaps, in time, they could be mounted and taught the same kind of discipline that made the Normans so formidable.
As well as the interpreter, the woman who had been given charge of the pair was present too, a homely creature as broad as she was high, with a face and arms to match, the former red and full, as befitted one who worked in the castle kitchens, the latter more akin to a horseman’s thigh than a female jambe. That she had stopped the girl spitting at him was to be lauded, that they were clean too, but her abilities were limited to such cares, while William was wondering how far he could take this.
‘You will need to be lettered and numerate,’ he said, quietly pleased that the confusion those two unknown words caused, when translated, at least removed the glare for a second. ‘I will employ a monk for the purpose.’
That made the girl Tirena spit again: even folk of shepherd stock knew monks, and knew that too often they were ignorant layabouts who used their supposed piety to leech off those who toiled for sustenance.
‘You are nothing but a burden now. I would want you of some use.’ He looked at the boy. ‘And you will work with my soldiers, Listo, learning to clean and maintain harness and weapons. Perhaps, if the reports of your progress are good, you will be taught to ride.’
The look of delight those words produced lasted only as long as it took the boy’s sister to snap at him. Turning to her, William thought it might be better to teach Tirena to be a fighter, given she had all the attributes of an Amazon.
‘You, girl, only the good Lord knows what I will do with you. I would give you needles with which you could learn to sew, but I suspect they would end up in human flesh, and mine own if I gave you a chance.’
The departure from Melfi was attended by great ceremony, something of which William heartily approved, being good for morale, even if the man to whom the levies aimed their cheers as they passed left something to be desired. Even sat on his horse behind Atenulf, at the base of the causeway that led to the castle, he was unimpressed: these levies raising their pikes, swords and axes needed to be inspired; the limp hand Atenulf waved in response made William wonder if he had any red blood in his veins to go with the blue.
Once the last foot soldiers had passed, Count Atenulf set off, in the company of Arduin and William, to make their way to the front of the league-long column, to get out of the cloud of dust these levies kicked up. As he kicked his mount into motion, William took a last look at the ramparts of Melfi, and he was sure, before the head disappeared, that he had caught sight of Tirena peering over and that pleased him.