Yet now, only days later, if he issued a command, he had to wait for it to be obeyed, and when the men he led were collected in numbers such an order led to a ripple of unpleasant muttering, not silenced by their captains, a sure indication of a serious loss of authority, and he knew in his heart that what he was witnessing was impossible to repair.
There was little point in seeing it as unfair: yes, it was he who had started the revolt, but it was also he who had sought that titular leader around whom the Lombards could unite, never doubting in his own mind that it could not be himself. Both had betrayed the cause he espoused, and it took no great imagination to discern that he was being held responsible, being examined, in covert looks, in a way that saw him in the same light, even now that victory was at hand.
Alone in the villa he had taken, overlooking the harbour of Trani, idly throwing dice onto a table, which held a meal unconsumed since the night before, he was forced to examine, as the first hint of grey tinged the eastern sky, his options. News had come that Prince Guaimar had departed Salerno and was on his way to Melfi, where he had called a great council of all who mattered in Apulia. Sure he was entitled to much reward, Arduin had serious doubts as to whether he would get his just deserts, and he would certainly never receive that of which he had entertained in many dreamlike fantasies: real power in the province he had helped to conquer.
The realisation, which he had always known but now saw with great clarity, did nothing to reassure him. Without the Normans he was nothing, especially if he would struggle to command his own volunteer levies, many of whom, in any case, were drifting away. The atmosphere in his military lines, in the rows of Lombard tents which surrounded Trani, as he had walked through them that day, had been rank with dissent and suspicion.
For the tenth time he unfolded the note which had been pressed into his hand as he made his way through the bustling town on his return, an act carried out with such speed and in such a crowd that all he had seen of the deliverer was the disappearing back of the cowl on his head. The words he read only underlined the thoughts on which he had been ruminating, as he wondered if the people who had sent this to him had also fomented that suspicion he had felt in the looks aimed at his back, from the same eyes that would not engage with his own.
It was impossible to put out of his mind the meeting Guaimar had held at Montecchio, to forget how the delegates who had come from the port cities and inland towns had made it plain that they had no real regard for him; that they saw him as no more than an instrument of Norman ambition and would certainly not now wish to see him elevated to a position of any authority. Was he that, a dupe? Was such a role all he could claim? Had he been a tool not only of Norman aspirations but also those of Guaimar, who had done nothing to raise him in the eyes of the Apulian Lombards?
And what would happen if that were true? If he could not command his own levies — and he certainly would never command the likes of William de Hauteville or the Normans he led, if he was not trusted by Guaimar or his fellow Lombards — for what was he working, what ambition of his own was going to be fulfilled? The other objects on the table were his personal possessions: a bundle of clothing, including a heavy purse of gold, the contents of his now empty strongbox, the rewards he had garnered from his campaigning. Clothes he did not need, his new masters would see to that.
With a heavy heart, Arduin of Fassano stood up, picked up the leather purse and exited the villa through the terrace and gardens that led down to the harbour. The note lay still on the table, and that would tell all who wanted to know where he had gone, though he did wonder if they would reason out why. The boat he had been told to expect was waiting for him, and as soon as he climbed aboard the sail was lifted aloft on the mast and he headed out to sea, ready to accept from Byzantium the same kind of offer which had suborned Argyrus.
The news was not slow in coming to William, for the villa he occupied was only a stone’s throw from that of Arduin, and while his brothers were loud in their condemnation he was less so. Firstly, he felt unwell and lacked the energy to fulminate. But there was another reason: he alone had some inkling of what had prompted the Lombard’s flight. The question which occupied him was not that it had happened but what to do about it.
‘Find the trumpeter,’ he commanded, ‘and call an assembly. The men must be told.’
Hurriedly obeyed, the whole host, Norman and Lombard, was gathered by the time he exited the city gate, and he knew by the buzz of talk that news of Arduin’s betrayal had spread. There was no platform from which to address them so he clambered with some difficulty onto the embers of that siege tower, from where he could be seen by all, wondering, as he began to speak, if his voice would carry.
‘I do not have the silver tongue of Arduin-’ He had to stop then, the name made them react with boos, cries of shame and whistles and he had to wait some time till it died down. ‘But I do have one virtue: there is no chance that I will ever take Byzantine gold.’
‘That would depend on how much they were offering,’ he heard Humphrey, who was just below him, say.
‘I come here not to address the men I lead but to talk to you all. You have been thrice betrayed.’ More braying greeted that, and another pause was necessary, besides which he needed to take a firm grip on a protruding bit of burnt timber to steady himself. ‘So the time has come to find a leader who will never desert you.’
Drogo, as usual, was quicker to pick up what was needed than the others, and he stepped out and pulled out his sword, raising it in the air as he cried, ‘I follow William de Hauteville, my brother. Who will join with me?’
That the Normans reacted positively to that was only to be expected, and their yells, as well as their swords or lances, rent the air. What was less expected was the reaction of the men Arduin had recruited, and it was an indication of how far their leaders had fallen in their eyes that they, too, loudly acclaimed William as their leader, and in amongst the shouting he could hear there were voices vowing to follow no other.
‘There you are, Gill,’ Drogo shouted into his ear. ‘You have an army. All you need now is an enemy.’
‘Never fear, Drogo,’ William replied, his fist raised to accept the continuing acclamation. ‘There are many out there, and not just from the east.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The meeting Guaimar called at the castle of Melfi had nothing in common with that which he had held before at Montecchio in the previous year: that had been a muted affair. Now he was in Apulia in all his pomp, bringing along with him not only his court, but his wife and children, as well as his sister, an imposing caravanserai, and the summons for all the powerful people of the province to attend on him was just that: not couched as a request, but as an instruction they would disobey at their peril.
Rainulf, still troubled by the rebellion around Montecassino, had been summoned too, but the one person not asked to attend was the Prince of Benevento, who was brusquely informed that should he or his brother show themselves they risked both life and limb from their fellow Lombards, still incensed by the way the captured catapan, Basil Boioannes, had been sold back to Byzantium. Cunningly, Guaimar went out of his way to plant in men’s minds that he was responsible, too, for the defection of Arduin and Argyrus.
So they came again, the leading citizens of the towns and cities of Apulia, some travelling through lands still suffering the devastation visited upon it by George Maniakes, which stood as a reminder that caution was a policy best kept in reserve, and if they travelled knowing that Guaimar was intent on asserting some kind of authority, they also did so with the certainty of the need for their own independence.