Guiscard twitched his eyebrows fiercely and stared straight at his son, as though to compel belief.
“Did he now?” said Bohemond with a smile. “Very lucky for him, wasn’t it? Of course if you back this chap he can’t be an impostor. You must have seen him in all his glory while you were arranging the marriage treaty.”
“You know as well as I do that I’ve never been to Constantinople. The betrothal was arranged through envoys. But it’s not for me, or for you, to decide whether Michael is genuine. The Pope has recognized him. He will come with us on our invasion of Romania, with the special blessing of the Holy Father. When he has regained his throne he will restore the Greek church to its rightful subjection to the See of Rome.”
“If that’s his programme even the partisans of Ducas won’t help us. If there’s one thing the Greeks won’t stand it’s subjection to the Pope. He may be the best Emperor they ever had, but if he’s a papalist they won’t follow him. Seriously, since it isn’t your responsibility, do you think this man is the Emperor Michael? The Pope can’t go wrong in a matter of faith or morals, but he might be mistaken on a question of identity.”
“How the devil should I know? He’s a Greek. My clerks tell me he has the manner of a Greek nobleman, which isn’t as easily copied as all that. Every Italian recognizes his claim, while in Romania they laugh at him. I suppose it’s just possible the real Michael escaped, though his guards must have been remarkably careless or disloyal. Anyway, what does it matter? He can’t harm us and he may help. I shall take him along, to make speeches to the locals after we land.”
“Will he be allowed to give orders to the troops?”
“Of course not, though that doesn’t prove anything. Suppose he were the real Emperor, with a birth-mark of an imperial diadem on each cheek of his arse, I still wouldn’t allow him to command Norman knights. No Greek is worthy to command a Norman. But there is one thing you must remember. The reigning Emperor, this Nicephorus, hasn’t any troops at all.”
“There are garrisons in those seaports to the east of us.”
“Oh, garrisons, infantry garrisons. They recruit them from the local farmers. The people they used for real fighting were regular horse, heavy cavalry covered in mail. The Turks killed them all at Manzikert and they can’t collect any more.”
“Nicephorus must have some soldiers, or he couldn’t win even a civil war.”
“He has mercenaries—Patzinaks, Magyars, Turks, Germans, even a few Franks. They don’t trust one another, and their employer doesn’t trust them. We don’t want to rouse all the Greeks against us, so we shall go gently to begin with. Capture a few walled towns and see how they like Norman rule. If it works out we might advance slowly to Constantinople, and take over the half of Romania that lies in Europe. The Turks already have the other half, the Asiatic provinces, what they call Anatolia.”
“The Emperor, now, this Nicephorus? I suppose he is a famous general?” inquired Bohemond.
“A famous general, of course. That’s why the Greeks followed him against their true lord, and his. A trained general, like all these Greeks who read books to learn how to fight. But he was trained to command regular Greek cavalry, very fine men except that they don’t want to be killed. He’ll take it for granted that his men can live on the country without causing a famine, that they will be there whenever he wants them, that they will camp where he says. On the field he will expect them to wheel left or right at a single blast from the trumpet, and to stand fast until he commands them to charge. You can’t do that kind of thing with strange mercenaries. He won’t know how to control them. Now this is how we begin. . ."
They discussed men and supplies. The opening of the campaign would be the trickiest part. Norman rule in Apulia was precarious, and if they were checked at the outset they would face rebellion at home. They must begin with an easy but striking success, and Guiscard himself wished to remain in Italy until he could reinforce a victorious army. Therefore Bohemond would lead the invasion. He must snap up some poorly defended port, say Valona, before he settled down to besiege a great fortress, Durazzo or Corfu. His father would join him once a base had been secured.
Transporting an army by sea was known to be dangerous and difficult But of recent years, since Duke William had taken his knights and all their horses to England, people were no longer frightened of it. Bohemond pointed out that he knew nothing of fighting at sea, and his father admitted he was in the same position.
“But it can’t be difficult,” he said cheerfully. “Look at the sailors you meet in Bari. They voyage to Romania and come back alive. You have to fight dismounted; but then you dismount to defend a wall. Think of your ship as a castle to be held, and trust your shipmaster to move it to the right place. Anyway, I don’t think the Greeks have a navy in the Adriatic.”
In May 1081 Bohemond, commander of the Apulian forces in Romania, welcomed his father to the siege of Corfu. Everything had gone well. The little ports of Valona and Butrinto had surrendered after a trifling resistance. The local peasants were resigned to feeding the invaders. The troops were lodged in a well-built camp before the walls of Corfu town.
His father had brought enough men, he saw with satisfaction. The whole channel between Corfu and the mainland was alive with clumsy round cargo ships, and with the slim speedy dromonds which protected them. This was an army, prepared for conquest; not a fly-by-night band of raiders.
He stood on the shore to welcome his father. There were a good many passengers in the boat. He could make out his stepmother in the place of honour at the stern, with his father on one side of her and on the other a Greek nobleman who must be this alleged Emperor Michael. If the claimant to the Purple ranked third among the leaders he would not try to displace Bohemond from his command, which was all to the good.
You had to put up with Sigelgaita on campaign. She had influence among the Lombards, so in Italy she was useful; perhaps father thought he would find more Lombards here in Romania, though he ought to know better. Danger never frightened Sigelgaita, and she endured hardship without complaint. The trouble was that in a crisis her noble blood rose to the occasion; you never knew when she might flourish a sword and incite the last reserve to charge, just when it was important that they should remain in reserve. Perhaps one day she might be used as a banner, something the men would follow when common sense told them to run away. But father would never let her be sacrificed, even in a worthy cause. He admired her, and indeed she was admirable. What a pity that he also doted on the wretched half-Lombard brats she had given him. Luckily those children seemed to have been left at home.
Bohemond bent his knee to greet his father and stepmother, and after a moment’s hesitation kneeled again to the dubious Emperor Michael. The pavilions were ready, and a hot meal steaming on the fire. It was all passing off very well.
The Greek was handsome, and wore very fine armour. His manner was oddly deferential in an Emperor, and he quickly motioned Bohemond to rise. It seemed that he did not speak Italian, though obviously he understood it; his eyes darted among the chattering Hautevilles.
“Hello, Mother. Where’s Roger?” asked Bohemond. “Surely he is old enough to lend a hand in the conquest of Romania?”
“Roger the Purse has stayed behind to govern Apulia,” said his father. “He is of full age, and the documents he seals must be valid. I don’t know whether he will make a good governor, but at least he will keep track of the money in my treasury.”
“It was your father’s idea,” Sigelgaita said quickly. “I wanted him to come with the army. But of course a young man who knows Lombard ways will be popular with the Lombard barons.”
Bohemond gave a perfunctory smile in acknowledgement of his father’s joke. Roger the Purse had become an established nickname, because the boy was always fiddling with the coins in his wallet. Bohemond knew this for the nervous trick of a lad who felt he did not quite achieve the ferocious standards of other Hautevilles. But Guiscard chose to regard it as a sign of avarice
, and dragged in the nickname every time he mentioned his second son.
It was rather more serious that young Roger had been left behind to govern Apulia. It was true that he knew the country well, and was related through his mother to most of the leading barons; but Bohemond was the eldest son. Still, what could young Roger do, if Guiscard suddenly fell down dead and it came to civil war? Hold Apulia against Bohemond, the best knight in Italy and the favourite of the troops? The idea was absurd.
“Don’t apologize, Mother,” he said soothingly. “I am sure Roger will govern Apulia as well as he would fight Greeks.”
Let her think that one out.
“The Emperor wishes to know what you think of the prospects of the siege?” said a young Greek clerk. Bohemond did not believe him. The Emperor Michael, if he was the Emperor Michael, did not seem interested in the military activity which surrounded him. But this was a question he could answer as an expert, and he gave it careful consideration.
“It’s a very strong place,” he said, regarding the walls with his head on one side. “If they really try to hold it we won’t get in for a year or two. But they don’t fight so desperately as all that. My guess is that the garrison don’t care very much whether their town is ruled by Greeks or Normans, and that the governor has despaired of relief. He’s probably a noble from the city, with a wife and family in Constantinople where the Emperor can be revenged on them. He must put up a show, to prove his loyalty, but at bottom he is resigned to defeat. In a month or six weeks, I should say, they will open their gates if we promise not to plunder.”
All listened in silence. Bohemond’s opinion on the prospects of a siege were treated with respect.
“The true Emperor is here,” observed the Greek, “though in the city the tyrant Nicephorus ravages unchecked. So that from fear the commander of Corfu must pretend to serve him loyally.”
There was no need for a reply to this necessary formality.
As soon as Guiscard was alone with his son he reverted to the resistance of Corfu. “We haven’t all the time in the world, you know. Next week I shall try an assault. In Constantinople there has been a change of command. Nicephorus is out, replaced by a young fellow called Alexius Comnenus. A fine soldier, so they tell me. He will come here to meet us in the field. They don’t know that in Corfu, and I haven’t told our Michael though I expect he knows. In the other fortresses they will hear of it, and they will hold out in hopes of this army of relief. The Emperor intends to lead it in person. It puts a new complexion on the war.”
“Comnenus—yes, that’s a famous house. Alexius—I’ve never heard of him. You say he is a young man?”
“And therefore more dangerous than an elderly general who was trained in an army which no longer exists. He didn’t come to the fore until after Manzikert had been lost. He can manage mercenaries, and odds and ends of troops picked up from here and there. He makes do with them. He fights by ambuscade and sudden surprise. They say he is willing to risk his own neck. Understands Frankish warfare. Brave. Devout after their Greek fashion. Descended from previous Emperors. The Greeks will follow him with devotion. It makes it much more difficult.”
“But in Corfu they don’t know that—yet,” said Bohemond. “We must hurry. That assault of yours goes in tomorrow, not at the end of the week.”
On the last day of May Corfu yielded on terms, after an honourable but not desperate defence.
It took the Apulians a fortnight to move camp from the island of Corfu to the mainland before Durazzo, their next objective. Durazzo was ready for them.
The new Emperor had acted swiftly. There was no time to bring troops from Constantinople, and anyway there were no troops in the city. But he had sent a famous general, George Palaeologus, to take command of Durazzo; and his envoys were riding through Christendom, laden with bags of gold, to gather mercenaries. Alexius was said to be immensely popular with the Greeks, who had quite forgotten the dim glories of the House of Ducas; so that there was no point in keeping the Emperor Michael in the Apulian camp. He did not care for military life, which seemed odd in such a distinguished general. He went back to Rome, where the Pope liked him. Guiscard did not feel himself weakened by his departure.
There could be no short cuts to the capture of Durazzo, strongly walled and strongly garrisoned. A bowshot from the defences the Apulians set up a line of hurdles covered with canvas. Behind these hurdles cross-bowmen waited with their weapons wound and loaded, ready to shoot any defender who showed himself. Farther back were catapults to hurl stones at the walls; but it would be a very long time before they made an impression on the ancient masonry.
The defenders were more worried by cross-bows than by catapults. The cross-bow was a new weapon, hitherto unknown in Romania. The instrument was made of so many little pieces of horn and wood and gut that it was hard to maintain in working order, especially in bad weather; men trained to its use were high-class mercenaries, who demanded good wages. But it was most effective, shooting straight with a low trajectory and carrying farther than an ordinary bow. Guiscard did not grudge the money needed to hire good cross-bows.
For two months no progress was made. But any serious siege would last much longer than two months, and the Apulians were not disappointed. Few Greeks dared to show themselves on the wall, and if ever the catapults made a breach it would be hard to repair under a rain of well-directed arrows.
Then ships sailed down from the north, neither Greek nor Italian in rig but a mixture of the two; since they were crammed with men and high out of the water they must have come for war rather than for trade. They made for the harbour of Durazzo; but when the Apulian fleet barred the way they altered course and came to anchor in a shallow bay a mile up the coast. A rowingboat put out, flying a great banner; it made for the headquarters of the Apulians by the entrance to the harbour.
“You’re an Italian, Sigelgaita. Do you know these people? They can’t be Sclavonians; they look too civilized for that. I don’t think they are the German Emperor’s men. Those usually display some kind of eagle, and this boat wears a flag with a great lion on it. But it’s only one boat, so it comes in peace.” Guiscard was puzzled.
“They come prepared for war, but they aren’t quite certain which side to fight on,” Bohemond put in. “Pirates probably, who want to watch the fighting before they help plunder the losers. We can’t allow that. I’ll deal with them.”
The man who stepped out of the boat, waving a leafy branch, called in good Latin; he must be a Frank, since no Greek ever knew that language. Bohemond took off his sword and went forward to speak to him.
“We are the navy of St. Mark, from Venice which lies in the sea. We have come to free the town of Durazzo, as our Emperor has commanded us. But we are Italians and we don’t wish to fight other Italians. Send one of your leaders to talk with our admiral and we may be able to come to some arrangement. Meanwhile will you agree that there shall be no fighting between us today or tomorrow?”
Bohemond climbed into the boat. At parleys he often represented his father, who was too quick-tempered to be good at negotiation face to face; though at long range he could deceive an enemy as well as any man. Some hours later he returned in the same boat, and walked stiffly to headquarters.
“I took the responsibility of refusing their terms,” he said wearily. “I knew they would not be good enough for you, so the war begins at sunrise the day after tomorrow. They don’t offer enough. It’s like this. The new Emperor of the Greeks, Alexius, has hired them to fight for him. That’s fair, for in a sense they are his subjects. They don’t pay him tribute, or obey his laws. But they pray for him in their churches and claim his protection against the German Emperor. Well, they took his money and set out to drive us away. Now they see our strength. So they will split the money with us if we go away quietly. But we shall get more from the sack of Durazzo. Besides, it doesn’t do for us to get the reputation of being easy to buy off. We are conquerors, not pirates.”
“Normans—northmen. Ho
w long since your ancestors were pirates?” asked Sigelgaita. “But in this case you did right. We don’t know how much Alexius gave the Venetians, and we certainly can’t trust them to give us a fair half of it.”
“H’m, it means fighting at sea, which I have never done before,” muttered Guiscard. “But you are right, Bohemond. We can’t back down so late in the day, though if they had offered the money before we left Italy I might have been tempted. We’ll go on board our ships tonight, and practise what we must do when the battle comes. Then we sail against the Venetians, ready to fight as soon as they start.”
That evening most of the warriors in the Apulian army were embarked on the ships; which then proceeded, slowly and clumsily, to the mouth of the bay which sheltered the Venetians. Guiscard, Sigelgaita and Bohemond were on the same vessel, the largest and stoutest of their carracks. It was a three-masted sailing ship with very thick sides, almost as broad as it was long and very awkward to move. But its castles were the tallest in the fleet, so that it was the obvious citadel to hold the chief commanders. Guiscard took over the forecastle, with Bohemond on the aftercastle and Sigelgaita roaming at large in the waist. The master explained that the stern was the post of honour and the usual station of the admiral; but Guiscard replied that he was in the habit of leading his men from in front.
All night they tossed at anchor in extreme discomfort. A ship anchored short in a seaway pitches abominably. By the morning no Apulian felt very warlike. About midday, with the wind fresh and gusty from the east, the Venetians hoisted anchor and bore down towards Durazzo.
“That’s cheating,” shouted Guiscard in anger. “We gave them a truce when they asked for it. Until sunset we are at peace. By tomorrow we would have got over our seasickness, that’s why I got the men on board yesterday. Why did they ask for a truce and then break it? The dirty dogs. We shall keep them out of Durazzo. Display the banners and sound the trumpets.”
Count Bohemond Page 3