The recipient of those laurel leaves would have been less pleased, or in his case utterly confused, had he been further south at a meeting convened by Guaimar at the near-ruined castle of Montecchio, just inside his own territories. Nor was the Prince of Salerno entirely happy. He had to listen to the envoys from the great port cities treat him as if he was of no account, not that they favoured anyone above him. They repudiated the leadership of a fool like Atenulf and they were not prepared to take orders from an upstart like Arduin of Fassano. As for the Normans, they were nothing but brigands.
Arduin, in the face of such contempt, was furious, while Rainulf Drengot looked as though he had been slapped, which given his past exploits, was absurd. A party of Normans from the fortress of Troia, as massive and as hard to capture as Melfi, had finally come south too, and they had reacted noisily to accusations of brigandage. They had also made it plain they had no interest in furthering the ambitions of anyone but themselves. Long in the service of Byzantium, if that power was removed, they cared only about who would take up the burden of paying them; William de Hauteville did not allow himself any expression at all.
‘If you put aside cohesion,’ Guaimar insisted, still trying to work through his proxies, ‘you will find yourself back under the thumb of Constantinople.’
‘We have walls to resist Byzantium,’ the envoy from Brindisi insisted. In the case of his own city he was right, and his next words underlined the disparity of interest amongst these mainly Lombard envoys. ‘Let Arduin and his Normans control the countryside. As long as they hold that, no siege of our port can succeed.’
That set up a clamour, as each representative bellowed about the needs of his own community, proving that the one thing that did not exist was unity of purpose.
‘What do you think, Gill?’ said Drogo, using, as he habitually did, the French diminutive of William’s name. The de Hauteville brothers were standing far enough away to talk quietly, observing proceedings. ‘Guaimar looks as though he has bitten one of those lemon fruits we found so abundant in Sicily.’
‘They are greedy, Drogo. They want to run their own affairs and pay taxes to no master, with us, or the Lombards led by Arduin, fighting a Byzantium army in the open to keep them free to trade.’
‘Surely they would pay for that service.’
‘They might,’ cut in Humphrey, his brow as usual looking furrowed, ‘but it would be a fee collected after service not before, I’ll wager.’
‘You mean they would not pay for our lances?’ asked Mauger.
William replied, ‘They would only pay if they felt secure. They would feel secure only if Byzantium was booted out of Apulia for good. Who then would they have to fear?’
‘Me!’ young Mauger replied, vehemently.
Humphrey had a laugh that always sounded derisory, never humorous, and that came out now, his upper teeth jabbing into the skin below his mouth. ‘That is a thought which will scare them rigid.’
William called upon both brothers to hush: that exchange had been too loud and earned a sideways glance from Guaimar, now speaking again.
‘You are glad to be free of Constantinople, are you not?’
The envoys exchanged glances, none of them friendly to him or to each other. They had come from Brindisi, Monopoli, Giovinazzo and Barletta, and while most were Lombards, there were Greeks and Italians too, while back in the cities from which they came were more of all three races to whom they were answerable. It was telling that no representative had come from Trani, a majority Greek port still loyal to Constantinople. The entire party who had travelled all the way from Taranto was actually Greek, but they shared with the others a desire to cast off the same oppressive yoke and the impositions that went with it.
The looks nailed another one of those problems for that tiresome Lombard dream: not one of these mixed-race city states really looked with favour on the idea of a South Italian kingdom, and that applied to the many Lombard citizens, even run by one of their own kind. To such worthies, all wealthy traders in their bailiwicks, that was only replacing one tax-raising power with another.
It was a Lombard from Bari who answered. ‘That we are, and to a man we share the dream of the late Melus and we look with favour on his son Argyrus.’
‘Liar,’ hissed Geoffrey de Hauteville, which got him a nudge from William.
Not that his older brother disagreed: he had come to see the name of Melus as a talisman that could be trotted out without much attachment to sincerity, and the idea that the late leader’s son could oversee a revolt was just as disingenuous. Argyrus, as had already been proved, did not have the stature to compete with the likes of Guaimar or the Prince of Benevento, and if such powerful Lombards as they would not bow the knee to him, then these city states had a ready-made excuse to do likewise.
William’s eye was drawn to Kasa Ephraim, who stood well back, taking no part in the discussions, but with a half smile on his face. He, too, understood perfectly the nuances of the negotiations and the fact they were going nowhere. He had not had a chance to speak with the Jew since he arrived, but he knew he would. Ephraim had not come with Guaimar, but separately, two days after the prince, and he had yet to sit down with the Normans, William included, and contract his business.
But he was a wise old owl, a man who could see which way the wind would blow and plant his crops to avoid damage, to protect, in his case, his wealth. William was looking forward to talking with him, and seeking his views on what he was now witnessing, as the wrangling continued without any solution in sight.
‘I urge you to talk more amongst yourselves,’ Guaimar concluded, ‘and will gather again on the morrow.’
As the port envoys filed out of the great hall, Guaimar signalled to Rainulf, Arduin and William to join him in an antechamber. He was already on his way to that smaller room, his face dark with anger, before the others moved.
‘They must be made to bend the knee,’ he spat, as the door was closed behind William.
‘To whom?’ William asked.
Guaimar nearly spoke the truth and said ‘To me’, but he stopped himself, still wishing to uphold the fiction that he had no ambitions to be the man who ruled, falling back on the usual mantra. ‘To the revolt.’
‘Only force will persuade them,’ William said, then added, ‘the ability to breach their defences, and those, with stout walls in good repair, we lack.’
Being true did not make it palatable: the ports were rich enough to keep their defences in proper repair. It would require a fleet to block the harbour, need siege engines or trained men to sap under the walls and undermine them, as well as enough force to take advantage of any breach created by their efforts. Guaimar’s sour reaction gave Rainulf Drengot a chance to favour William with a look that implied he was fearful, which got the older man that de Hauteville smile which so infuriated those on the receiving end.
‘Arduin,’ Guaimar demanded, as though he would have the answer.
He had one, but it was not to the taste of the Prince of Salerno. ‘If you were to take the field, sire, and—’
‘What would Landulf of Benevento have to say to that?’ Guaimar interrupted.
He really meant Byzantium, who still had troops in Sicily, only a few days sailing from Salerno, and a massive fleet, should it be sent from Constantinople, to transport them to the bay on which his city stood. Benevento was, in terms of places to plunder on the coast, safe: the wealth of the principality was all in the interior. It was still too soon to openly declare himself.
‘Besides,’ Guaimar added, ‘I have still not fully subdued Amalfi.’
That was received with polite disbelief, but if others were troubled, William was quietly content. Dissension amongst the Lombards suited him and when the meeting broke up he emerged in good humour. Days went by in fruitless discussion, time in which William and his brothers could leave them to their quarrels and escort Kasa Ephraim the short distance to Melfi, there to discuss both how to send funds back to Hauteville-la-Guichard and secure a safe place for that which they intended to keep.
‘You do not trust the fortress of Melfi?’ Ephraim asked, amused, looking around the formidable walls.
‘We don’t trust the people we share it with,’ spluttered Humphrey, braying with laughter.
‘These two tried to kill me,’ William said, quite taken by the reddening of Listo’s cheeks, the reminder embarrassing him. Both now spoke good Latin: the boy’s sister Tirena understood as well, but was, as usual, less contrite, though she no longer looked at William with studied loathing.
‘And you spared them?’ asked Ephraim.
‘We had only just taken over the castle and the locals were fearful. It seemed a good way to show we were not here to plunder them.’
The Jew nodded. ‘You show more wisdom, William, than some of your fellows, who only know how to burn and lay waste. What do you have in mind for them?’
‘Listo here wants to be a soldier.’ That had the boy stretching, and though still small he had put on quite a few inches. ‘For Tirena, perhaps she will become wife to one of my lances.’
William hid a smile to see that look return. He had caught her more than once watching him from some place she thought hidden, that first day from atop the ramparts. She had also taken to carefully dressing her hair and seeking out fetching clothes, which given she too had grown and filled out, had revealed a comeliness that had not been apparent under her previous filth and demeanour. Drogo had to be warned off with the threat of a lance up his arse if he laid a hand on her.
‘It is interesting, my friend, is it not, that when the people of Melfi look to the castle, they see one of their number not only fed but cosseted?’
‘These two are hill people, goatherds, but you are right. It makes for a peaceful life.’
‘I am told your men are instructed to respect them too, on pain of dire punishment.’
‘We live amongst them, they grow our food; to despoil them is stupid, and one peasant with a sharp knife, loose in the paddocks or stud on a dark night, could do more damage than a regiment of Varangians.’
‘It would be especially foolish to plunder them if you have ambitions to rule over them.’
‘Like Prince Guaimar, you mean?’
The silence that followed that question, from a man who was not normally short of words, was telling. William could see Tirena was intrigued too, reminding him of what he had noted more than once: she had a sharp native intelligence, on this occasion able to discern an atmosphere which was not quite as it should be.
‘Listo, see to my friend’s goblet.’
‘I wonder,’ Kasa Ephraim said, without looking at William, instead examining his fingernails, ‘if you and I should talk about things until now left unspoken.’
‘The choice is yours.’
William was looking at the Jew with a curious expression: Ephraim was not one to break a confidence for him, nor did he think he would do it for Guaimar of Salerno, but he was clearly ruminating on something profound, fingering his refilled goblet in a way that implied calculation.
‘What, William, do you think are the chances of a Lombard kingdom in South Italy?’
‘I have the same thoughts on that as you.’
Ephraim smiled as though William had uncovered some secret, and he did not pretend surprise or ask a stupid question like how this Norman could know what was in his mind.
‘And even if it could be achieved, it could not sustain itself,’ William added. ‘The Lombards are not good at rule and they are especially not good at acting together. Petty jealousy would tear it apart.’
‘Not even if Guaimar was to declare himself?’
‘Your prince wants the spoils without the blood, which may serve in Amalfi, but is no way to command loyalty in this part of the world. Besides, he was appointed, or should I say restored, to his fief by the Western Emperor, Conrad. How do you think Constantinople would see his attempt to elevate himself from prince to king?’
‘They would see it as imperial encroachment.’
‘More to the point, my friend, the present Emperor of the West would see it as committing him to the defence of Apulia, and I think an imperial edict would come from Germany telling Guaimar to withdraw his candidacy lest he provoke a greater conflict.’
Ephraim nodded: the two remnants of the old Roman patrimony lived in a mutual regard based on never driving the other to feel threatened. Thus, for years, Byzantium had stayed out of Campania, while Bamberg had avoided encroaching on Apulia.
‘Did you know, William, I have a wife and children?’
‘No, but it does not surprise me.’
‘I often think what I will leave them, apart from what I own.’
‘What do you wish to leave them?’
‘That which any son of Abraham wishes to bequeath to his offspring, a secure place in which to live. That is my sole concern, and one I pursue relentlessly. I am minded to go wherever that can be promised.’
William felt the slow smile of understanding crease his face, and oddly, because he was looking at Tirena, she, mistaking it, gave a hint of a smile in return. But he was not really looking at her, he was thinking that Kasa Ephraim had just offered him his support. A bargain had been struck, and it had been done so by a very clever man, because it had been made without a word being said, or a promise made, by either party.
That frame of mind was ruptured by Mauger rushing in, his voice breathless. ‘Count Atenulf has sold Boioannes back to Byzantium.’
‘What?’
‘And he has kept the gold to himself.’
‘He is truly a Lombard,’ said Kasa Ephraim.
‘But that is not the most surprising thing, brother. Wait till you see who is the messenger.’
The figure that filled the doorway made William wonder if he was looking into a piece of polished silver with magical qualities, for it was like looking at a younger version of himself. His hair had some grey now; that of his brother was still pure gold.
‘Do you not know me, William? I was once your squire and watched you fight the brother of the King of the Franks.’
‘Robert?’
The nod was slow, then the deep-blue eyes turned to look at, first Kasa Ephraim, then at Listo and finally at Tirena, who was wide-eyed at this apparition, so like the man who now held her as ward. The voice was as deep and the air of being in command of all around him prevalent too, a self-confidence that was devoid of the taint of arrogance.
‘I have come to make my way, William.’
Unbeknown to Robert, William’s thinking was still taken with the chicanery of Atenulf. Also, selling Boioannes was an act that could not have been carried out without the connivance of his elder brother. Thus he was frowning, and Robert, who had seen that expression too often on the face of his father, reacted to it.
‘Do I warrant a proper welcome,’ he growled, ‘or am I to be treated like an intruder by a man too grand to acknowledge his own flesh and blood?’
William was not accustomed to being addressed so and the frown turned to a glare, the voice taking on an equally angry tone. ‘You say you have come to make your way. Well, when I have seen you fight I might consent to let you stay, but, mark this, you will sit well behind the rest of your brothers and they will prosper before you do, for they have done service.’
‘I should have stopped in Troia, as I was asked to do.’
‘If you wish to return there, do so with my blessing.’
‘William…’ Mauger protested.
Robert did not let that intercession interfere with his anger at a greeting so at variance with his expectations. He had travelled too many leagues to get here and sacrificed too much. ‘What makes you think I require your blessing?’
‘You will starve without it.’
‘I think,’ said Kasa Ephraim, ‘that I had best depart.’
‘If you wish, friend,’ William replied, with a glare that now included Mauger. ‘And you can take these two with you, for I have people whose interest I care about to attend to.’
Turning away from the doorway, William nearly burst out laughing. Tirena was favouring his half-brother Robert with the kind of fierce glare she once reserved for him.
‘Murder?’ said Mauger, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘He was drunk and so was the man he killed. The duke was about to take us into service, but that went by the board as soon as Serlo stuck in the knife.’
‘What about Father?’ demanded Geoffrey.
‘I assume he came home, but I was gone by then.’
‘You left him at Moulineaux?’
‘I did what he commanded me to do,’ growled Robert. ‘I saw Serlo onto a boat in the bay at Granville and came south. I wonder now if it was wise.’
‘You caught William at a bad time,’ Drogo insisted. ‘Perhaps an apology…’
‘If he wishes to give me one I will take it!’
Drogo shook his head: that was not what he meant but there seemed little point in saying so, though he did think this younger sibling of his had an arrogant manner.
‘Do we know if Serlo got to England?’ asked Mauger.
‘How would I? His fate is in the hands of God, and if he has drowned, what of it? He would certainly have seen the end of a rope if he had been taken.’
‘He’s your brother.’
‘He’s my half-brother, just like William, so before you chastise me for a lack of concern, take him to task, or are you all too afraid?’
If there had been any sympathy for Robert de Hauteville then, it evaporated. If he had not been blood, there might have been murder in Melfi.