Mercenaries (8 page)

A destination was another decision to be made and that involved much questioning of those who had returned from Italy and others who had any knowledge or connections there. In this, Geoffrey of Montbray, with his clerical associations, was most useful. The Church of Rome had a way of disseminating information denied to mere laymen: priests and monks travelled to and from Rome, and
papal envoys traversed the whole of the known Christian world carrying the messages and strictures of the various popes.

There were Norman forces in every part of Southern Italy, but the most successful seemed to be a knight from Alençon called Rainulf Drengot. He was no longer just a mercenary, but had acquired land as well, a heady prospect to the two young men intent on travelling, for they were not immune to the idea that they could gain glory as well as money in that fabled land said to have streets paved with gold.

Besides, Drengot would be the leader of the first Norman band they would encounter so it made sense to try there first. If he had no need of their services they could continue on to the Byzantine fiefdom of Apulia. At worst, their swords could be put to the defence of Calabria from the raids of the Sicilian Saracens. It never occurred to them that they would not find employment: Norman ability was too highly prized!

It was late autumn, bordering on winter, before all was in place. The morning they were due to depart William went to look out, for the last time, over the land that was still his to inherit, his mind whirling with thoughts. His brother was wiser and had declined to join him, insisting no good would come from standing in the freezing cold when there was a blazing fire in the hall.

The manor house, which was home to them both,
stood at the top of the highest hill for leagues around, and from there Tancred could look over his demesne with a clearer eye at this time of year than most others. The abundant trees had lost most of their leaves and the higher branches were still white from the morning frost that clung to them. Trails of smoke rose from the homes of the tenants and serfs, who at this time of year were more concerned with gathering wood for their fire than farming.

The rolling landscape trended away in all directions, west to the coast, further south of that to the see of Coutances. Eastward lay the more settled and richer part of Normandy, the towns of Caen and Rouen, with their markets and multitudes, places William had visited but where he was never truly comfortable. To the north the de Hauteville land bordered on the extensive de Montfort domains, and in his mind’s eye, for it was too far off to be visible, he could see the high, round, stone donjon of the kind which his father so envied.

It took only a glance to his left to see that which he wished to replace, the earthen mound atop which was a wooden tower and palisade. From there you could see more of the land; it was designed not for that but for the observation of approaching danger and defence from troublesome neighbours and others, like the piratical raiders of the offshore islands, ever bent on mischief.

Not wishing to go indoors, he plodded through the
mud and climbed the slippery wooden treads to the heavy tower gate and, entering the circular edifice, went still further to stand on the stoop that overlooked the spiked tree trunks of the palisade. He had been standing there a while, he knew not how long, when the deep voice surprised him.

‘I brought you your cloak.’

Engrossed, he had not heard Tancred approach, and realising how cold he had become he gratefully accepted the heavy deer hide garment he had brought.

‘The prospect of the journey troubles you?’

‘Leaving this place troubles me. I have known little else.’

‘You know I pray you will return.’

For a man not given to emotion, unless drunk, that was as close as Tancred was ever going to get to saying how much he loved his eldest son. And William knew what hopes he had harboured: of a day when a de Hauteville, he most of all, would be the man chosen to ride at the right hand of a Duke of Normandy, the man their liege lord trusted to command his familia knights.

‘Duke Robert must be well on his way to Jerusalem,’ William said.

‘I fear he has much for which to ask forgiveness,’ Tancred replied.

That had, in discussion, led to the conclusion that the rumoured murder of his brother must have some truth in it. Robert, a man not known for excessive
piety, going all the way to Jerusalem, hinted at such a grave sin.

‘Can God forgive a transgression of that magnitude?’

‘Your cousin of Montbray would tell you He can.’

‘And you, Father?’

‘All I know is this. It would break my heart and my beliefs if it happened with any of my sons.’

‘And when Duke Robert returns?’

‘Pray God he marries and breeds an heir, for if that boy William succeeds him, even if he is grown to manhood, it will not go without challenge.’

‘From us.’

‘No. I could no more take up arms against the wishes of my liege lord than do so against my own sons. I respected his father too much and I gave my word when in his service to be loyal to them always. But others will.’

‘You will be asked, as I would if I were here. Our connection to the ruling house is too well known.’

Below, they could see the family servants leading out the already laden packhorses, which gave Tancred a good excuse not to answer. He pulled from inside his jerkin a small folded piece of cloth and pressed it on his son. There was no need to explain what it was – the blue and white colours identified it as the de Hauteville lance pennant.

‘I hope and pray one day you will go into battle
under this, our family standard. Now, let us go down. The time has come for you to be on your way.’

It took a seeming age to get everything ready, to check the horses, even if servants had already done so, to ensure that nothing had been left to chance or worse, left behind, for they must, if they did get to Italy, be equipped with everything they needed. Naturally the whole family was on the stone-flagged pathway that bordered the front of the manor house to say farewell, and each embraced the pair, saying words that were whispered hopes. Tancred was naturally last, but he did not embrace his sons, instead he called forward Geoffrey de Montbray, before commanding them to take out their swords and kneel. They knew, without being told, how to use the hilts of those weapons.

‘Swear before this priest, your cousin, on the Holy Cross, that never will you raise a weapon, nor bring harm in any other way, against your own blood.’ Both, heads bowed, murmured the response, before kissing the joint between hilt and pommel. ‘Now stand, and take my hand like the men you are.’

That they did, clasping Tancred’s arm to the elbow. There was no kissing, no embrace, as that completed, they sheathed their swords and mounted their horses. ‘Now go, and God be with you. And above all, my sons, remember you are de Hautevilles and make me proud.’

Geoffrey de Montbray was still praying, head
bowed, when they were out of sight. Everyone else bar the head of the house was either joking or choking but trying to hide their emotions and baby Roger, having picked up the mood, wailed like the infant he was.

Tancred had gone indoors before he lost sight of them and his whole family knew he wanted nothing more than to be alone, for they, like he, doubted he would live to ever see their faces again.

CHAPTER SIX

Guaimar of Salerno was deluded to think he could get away quickly, or undetected; in organising his escape the Jew would not be rushed and weeks turned into months of frustrating delay, which put in peril the whole affair. His patrimony was like every city, a place of rumour, gossip and downright betrayal if some citizen suspected there might be a reward for information.

Though the late duke had been respected, and there was always appreciation for a handsome young heir fallen on hard times, there was also in many hearts a residual dislike of the whole Lombard race – with their north European background – who had lorded it over the local populations of the land they had conquered and resided in for five hundred years, without ever assimilating. Their masters required
them to pay taxes and to fight when they disputed with their enemies, other Lombard nobles, or even the mighty empires whose world they straddled. Minor offices they could hold, but never were they allowed real power, and just in case they should rebel, which they did often, the Lombards had their hated Norman mercenaries to keep them in place.

What shocked Guaimar was not that some Italians were prepared to betray him – he had grown up in Salerno – but he learnt that the gossip of impending flight was emanating from Kasa Ephraim. The Jew had insisted no more visits be made to his house, but he did send round written instructions with a different body every time on how matters should proceed. Sealing a letter in reply, the young man demanded he explain his betrayal.

The response was blunt, informing him that he was being naïve. He could barely move without news of his activities coming to the attention of the Normans occupying the Castello de Arechi and through them the Wolf. He was well known all over Salerno and he had neighbours, as well as those who observed him in the streets he used frequently.

Osmond de Vertin was not so well supplied with men that he had enough to place permanent guards on his doorway or that of anyone else suspected of fermenting trouble, but he had his informants and, by their very nature, these would be people unknown
to Guaimar, and just as importantly, neither he nor Ephraim knew how numerous they were.

He and his sister must be prepared to walk out of the door of the humble gatehouse they now occupied with not a single possession. Any preparations they made would be observed, indeed, he did not know if they could trust even the servants they employed – like Berengara’s maid and his own attendant valet – those who supplied their food, the people who cleaned their house or the priest that confessed their sins, and he would, by following the instructions he had to burn every note from the Jew, cause some suspicions to be raised.

…
You may hear it said, it could be whispered to
you by someone loyal to your house, that your intended
flight is known about, that the horses and supplies
being gathered at your father’s old monastery are
no secret. They are not to me, since I have arranged
for them in your name and likewise sent ahead to
various places on the route to the Apennines to arrange
accommodation. Thus, it is to be hoped that the
Normans will be guarding the routes out of the city
to the east, while you are choosing the northern path
skirting Capua
…

He had to admire Ephraim then; even in a letter to him he would not break the true method intended. The Jew was not even prepared to trust his messenger!

Matters are in hand for the night of the new moon in
January, when there will be little light. A man you have
never before seen will come to you to lead you, and he
will ask you to follow the Star of David. Do as he says
.

In the days before their flight, various souls came to the villa and each one took away with them a bundle. No words were exchanged, just a note saying to trust this fellow, which left Guaimar with no choice; he had no idea where their possessions, packed by his own hand without even telling their personal servants, were being taken, or how Ephraim would get them aboard a boat. There were his clothes, but more importantly there were the dresses his sister would need, those carefully stored in chests for the day she returned to become once more a lady of the court. These she would certainly need; there was little point in turning up in Bamberg with her in rags when she needed to make an impression.

‘Brother.’ Guaimar, who had been looking out onto the street trying to work out who might be informing on them, turned in surprise to see Berengara standing with a velvet bag in her hand. ‘I have brought you my jewels.’

‘Your jewels?’

‘Those few I managed to smuggle from the Castello when we were thrown out.’

Looking at her, he saw in those great almond eyes the distress the mention of the name of their old home still caused.

‘What would I want with your jewels?’

‘You are, I think, going away.’

Guaimar had told her nothing, his reasoning being that she might be alarmed at the risk, but then it occurred to him that he had been as close mouthed as the Jew. Had he kept his plans to himself from fear that she might inadvertently disclose them? He walked over to where she stood and kissed her on the forehead.

‘Do you think I would go away without telling you?’

‘I would say that you might have to.’

‘And leave you to face the wrath of Pandulf?’

Her face puckered up with determination. ‘If I must face that then let it be. Our father must be avenged.’

‘My word, sister,’ said Guaimar, chucking her chin, ‘you are valiant.’

The voice became a hiss, and the eyes actually blazed in a way Guaimar had not seen since they used to scrap as children. ‘Do not seek to belittle me!’

‘I don’t,’ he replied, surprised and well aware that, even if it was unintended, that was exactly what he had done.

‘Then take these jewels and sell them. There is a Jew near the marketplace called Ephraim who will give you money in exchange.’

‘How do you know of a Jew by the marketplace?’

‘Bricee told me.’

‘And why did your maid tell you that?’

‘The town is full of rumours that you intend to flee to Byzantium to seek assistance to get rid of Pandulf.’

‘Is it?’

‘So Bricee said!’ she insisted. ‘She also said the only way you will get clear is with a bribe. Everyone knows if you want the services of a Norman you buy it.’ She pressed the bag towards his hands. ‘Do so with these.’

About to tell her she was wrong, Guaimar stopped himself, but in doing so he wondered at what he had become. Ever since he had spoken with Kasa Ephraim he had been forced to examine the past both of himself and his house. If his father had business with the Jew that gave him funds, what were they for? Secret pleasures, possibly, but more likely his dealings provided money with which he could bribe people. To find out what? Local dissent, information of plots being hatched, even the placing of spies in the households of his perceived enemies and, even more troubling, those he called friends. What would Berengara say to find out the father she thought a saint was almost certainly very far from that?

He loved his sister in a way that was not possible of expression, and he also felt a duty to protect her that went with his position as her elder sibling, but he must hold to caution, as surely his father would have done. Could he trust her not to let something slip to Bricee, a woman who had been with the family for decades and had served Berengara as almost a
surrogate parent when her own mother died? He could not even tell her she was coming with him, so he held out his hand and took the jewels.

‘Thank you.’

‘It is no more than my duty,’ Berengara replied, with a determination that made her look younger, not older, than she was. For a long time, Guaimar had not seen that face; it was one he remembered well, of the sister who never hesitated to stick out her tongue at him just after it appeared.

‘If you need directions to the Jew,’ she added, ‘Bricee will give them to you.’

Again he questioned what he was turning into, for he knew, as a subterfuge, he would indeed ask her maid that question.

The last note from Kasa Ephraim came two days before the new moon, and told him that all was in place, while he was off to Capua to present himself to Prince Pandulf, with the hope of becoming the Wolf’s man of veiled and discreet business. He did not say that, when the absence of Guaimar and Berengara became known, there could be no safer place to be than in the man’s actual lair. The last two figures on the note were an eight and a bell, to tell him at what time to expect his messenger to call.

Osmond de Vertin, on the night of the new moon, as soon as it was dark, sneaked a troop of his men out of
a side gate of the Castello de Arechi. He was in high spirits, for he not only knew that Guaimar was going to seek to get away, but he knew, from a variety of informants, precisely the route he intended to take. He could have stopped him at his own front door, but he decided not only to let him get to the monastery and the ready pack animals assembled there, but to be on his way.

The Norman wanted to take him when there was no doubt about his intentions, on the road leading to the main pass through the mountains to the east, and with all the possessions he had so carefully accumulated. There would be no return to Salerno for the snotty little swine. Osmond would take him straight on to Capua, to be handed over to Prince Pandulf and his torturers, so that the names of all who had assisted in this undertaking could be dragged out of him.

As he rode ahead of his men under a starlit sky, he wondered what reward Pandulf would think appropriate for his success. He knew in his mind that, if asked to name what he desired, he had a ready answer. Guaimar would die, either under torture or in a deep dungeon in years to come. His sister, however, would still be alive. She was young, beautiful already, and would ripen superbly under the hand of a lusty husband. That would, to the Norman captain who had once carried her as a child, be a fitting reward.

The man who came at the appointed time said only the password and nothing else. Guaimar had told his sister only minutes before that they were leaving, and when she spoke of packing something suitable he told her she would find the chests that held her better clothes empty, and why. The look she gave him then was one to make Guaimar uncomfortable, which made him realise that Berengara had grown in more than just a physical sense: she was developing a deductive brain as well; she knew he had deceived her.

They exited in their cloaks, hoods up, to streets that were dark and deserted – people lived by the sun and mostly slept when it was no longer light. Their guide walked just enough paces ahead to be visible but, as Guaimar knew, also far enough to disappear if they were intercepted by the Norman garrison. A tallow wad showed in the odd window, but mostly they made their way, moving downhill to the port, through a silent city.

Was it quieter than usual? There seemed to be no revellers out at all, and Guaimar knew that was unusual. Had he not been a party to many a noisy drinking bout with his friends in the taverns that lined the edge of the port when still the ducal heir? He found he was sweating, and he knew it was brought on by fear. Odd, when he took Berengara’s hand to reassure her, it, unlike his own, was dry.

Having reached the edge of the quay, their guide
stopped and indicated they should go down in a decked boat bobbing on the very slight swell that came through the harbour entrance. There was no one on deck to greet them; indeed the boat seemed deserted. The last thing their guide did was to press a very small purse into Guaimar’s hand.

‘To use when you get ashore in Romania.’ Then he was gone.

Lord in Heaven, Guaimar thought, even this fellow does not know where we are going. It then occurred to him, given the cunning of the Jew, that perhaps he did not know either. There was little headroom under the deck and no sign of anyone to sail the boat, which induced in the young man a feeling of impending betrayal. Was all this an elaborate ploy; would they sit there till daylight only to find the quayside lined with Normans when the sun came up?

Time passed with neither he nor his sister having any idea of how long they sat in the dark, but it was hours, time in which Berengara prayed in a soft voice. Then there was shouting, faint but clear, the noise of many voices. The sound of bare feet on the deck above their heads, as well as the way the vessel dipped and moved, made Guaimar’s heart contract with terror, but then he heard the faint creak of ropes, along with whispered instructions and he understood the crew were aboard, having waited a long time to make sure that he and his sister had not been followed; that way, if they were
discovered and exposed, they could claim ignorance.

A lantern was lit, which cast a sliver of light into the space where they were huddled, and immediately after the whole boat began to rock and creak as it left the shore. All the two young escapees could do was imagine every possible scenario. A crack made them jump until Guaimar whispered he thought it was a sail taking the wind. The fishing fleet must be on its way out, and each would have a lantern at the stern. At the end of the mole there was a permanent Norman guard, but this happened every morning except Sunday. Were they too bored to look very hard?