One knight fired with the desire to go to Italy was Richard Drengot, a nephew of Rainulf, and such was his attraction as both a person and a leader, and so well found was he in monies commuted back from Aversa, that when he rode off from the family lands around Alencon, he did so at the head of forty knights, all well mounted and equipped. In his progress south he suffered none of the travails of those who had gone ahead individually. Richard Drengot travelled in the style that suited his attachment to his uncle’s wealth, the only experience he shared with the likes of Robert de Hauteville that of passing through a Rome of stillwarring popes.
He and his band were not far south of there when an even more potent force arrived from the north, a whirlwind that would shake the Eternal City to its foundations: the new arrival was no other than the Emperor of the West, Henry III, heir to Conrad Augustus and a man committed to putting an end to the stench of papal politics. Trained since childhood to exercise power — he had been King of Germany since the age of eleven — Henry, a conscientious and overtly pious ruler, knew he would never have integrity in his domains without an end to the machinations of the Roman aristocracy and their endless warring over who held the office of pope.
Although a cause of endless dispute, every Emperor of the West held that the papacy was an office in their gift: no man could rise to be pontiff who did not have their approval. Opposed to that were not just those Roman aristocrats but also a majority of cardinals, bishops and abbots of the great Christian monasteries. Even in his own German domains siren voices were raised against what was seen as imperial presumption, but it had been a right exercised by Charlemagne and no successor of his was inclined to surrender it.
Riding in Henry’s entourage was one of the holiest men in Western Christendom, Suidger, Bishop of Bamberg, and the aim of this imperial mission was made plain at once: a synod was convened in St Peter’s at which all of the three competing popes whose rivalry had so rocked Rome were dethroned, and Suidger was proclaimed as Pope Clement II, his task, to bring back to order the Church of Christ, to put an end to simony and the selling of indulgences, and to perform the ceremony of marriage for Henry and his imperial bride.
So honest was this Suidger that, even with imperial approval, he insisted his elevation be confirmed by a convocation of the leading churchmen, so, for the first time in decades, one upright and properly holy man held the office of pontiff without dispute, yet it was an office with temporal as well as spiritual responsibilities: the Papal States were extensive in both land and wealth and they bordered on Campania and Apulia, so naturally lay matters were also raised at the imperial synod, not least the turmoil in the south.
The removal of Byzantium from Italy was to be welcomed: it had been a desire for centuries, though one every emperor had struggled to achieve. The Eastern Empire was formidable, and even if it was rocked by constant succession strife, even if in the last four hundred years it had lost all of Arabia, most of Persia and the entire North African coast to Islam, it always seemed able to regenerate itself closer to its spiritual homelands. Now it seemed, at last, it was on the rack of near expulsion.
Yet no imperial ruler could be content with vassals appointing themselves to lands and titles, so the great cavalcade, with the Pope in attendance, made preparations to proceed to Capua where another synod would be convened to deal with these temporal problems. Guaimar would be summoned, along with Rainulf Drengot, the de Hautevilles and the Prince of Benevento, now in a state of open conflict with Salerno, to attend upon their ultimate liege lord, Henry III, Emperor of the West.
‘Argyrus got more than gold, William,’ reported a dustcovered Drogo, freshly returned from an expedition to the south and now drinking successive goblets of wine to get that grime out of his throat. ‘The Emperor Constantine has appointed him Catapan of Apulia and he has taken possession of Bari.’
William sighed. ‘A city that assured us of their support not two months past. Lombards are bad enough, brother, but a combination of them and Greeks is worse. I pity the Italians, though I have no reason to think them more scrupulous.’
‘You would be wise to think so. Look what they did at Montecassino.’
‘The men they slew got their just deserts at Montecassino, brother. You will get no less if you steal the sustenance out of people’s mouths. But let us concentrate on the enemies before us.’
‘Argyrus is safe as long as he stays within the walls of Bari.’
‘Which he will not,’ William replied, with a weary expression. ‘He must come out and seek to retake the Catapanate.’
‘He cannot do that, Gill, unless Constantinople gives him a powerful army and no other city has declared for him. Nothing has altered.’
‘Sadly, no.’
‘You did not think it to be over so soon?’ Drogo asked.
‘No, but I confess to being fatigued with war.’
Drogo grinned. ‘I admit you look peaked. Is that not too much activity in the bedchamber, Gill, keeping two women content?’
‘Such exertions never harmed you.’
‘I think you have told me often, brother, we are very different.’
Said with humour, Drogo could not fail to notice that William was indeed looking drained, and if it was not by endless warfare and intrigue, it could just as easily be brought on by his assumption of too much responsibility. The fever he had suffered from previously had abated, but the marks of it were upon him. Nor did he allow himself respite: he took everything on his shoulders and he had a set of brothers and subordinates happy to let him carry the burden. The jest about the bedchamber could not hide the fact that he had other concerns.
Like his brothers, the title of count, by which William was known, had been granted to him by the acclamation, to be reluctantly confirmed by Guaimar in his capacity as the self-styled duke of the province, in itself a suspect creation. It was one that was open to challenge as to its legitimacy, for only the power of his sword and the ability of the men he led made it real. Not wishing to be beholden to any other power, the only way to make it more than that was by the continuous application of force of arms, so in time it came to be accepted by all.
Added to that, William needed to produce an heir, a child who would cement his position in the same way little Hermann had done for Rainulf, in fact he could go one better, for a child of his present union might have a future claim on Salerno and Capua. He never mentioned it, but he had, like any man who had risen as high as he, dynastic ambitions for his bloodline.
Never spoken of, William de Hauteville still felt the slur of being refused recognition as a blood relative of the House of Normandy. He longed one day that an heir of his would treat with a Norman duke as an equal. The way to wipe out that old affront was not only to gain his own title but to pass that and more on to a legitimate heir who would, in turn, have sons of his own.
Despite his efforts, and they were resolute because they needed to be, Berengara showed no sign of becoming with child. It was no secret that nothing had happened to abate her hatred for Normans, and if that had at one time been concentrated on Rainulf, it had moved from him to William. Her strength of feeling was as strong as ever, and that applied to her determination. Every conjugal act was a battle bordering on force and she had to be kept away from any public gathering so that her insults would not be aired in a way that diminished her husband.