Furor Normannicus

[Lord Valentine]

Interesting! Robert Guiscard forged and ruled his kingdom with an iron hand. Let's see whether it survives him!

~Lord Valentine~

[General_BT]

Wow... just finished the last two updates.

1) Sicily might be Norman in name, but its politics certainly would have been devious even to the Byzantines. Who murdered Duke Roger? Something tells me it wasn't Bohemond, but Robert of Benevento was involved. I wager he wanted the great lords to rebel against Bohemond... he won't get to see his wish come true though.

2) The old lion finally dies. I wonder what kind of moniker history will assign to Robert Guiscard? If the kingdom survives, perhaps Robert the Great? And will Bohemond live up to his father's legacy?

3) You did a skillful job in the hunting scene letting us all wonder who exactly was going to get the axe... I was worried for the Guiscard, then Bohemond, then Roger Borsa. Good work!

[The_Guiscard]

Epilogue: Robert Guiscard

Robert de Hauteville had been born in 1020 and died in 1080. In the early 1040s, he arrived in Italy a penniless vagabond, for several years eking out a precarious existence as robber before being finally granted a minor lordship by his brother Count Drogo. After the death of Drogo’s succesor Humphrey in 1058, Robert Guiscard usurped the rule from his nephew Abelard and assumed the title of Duke, the first Hauteville to do so. With the energetic aid of his brother Roger, he completely ousted the Byzantines from Italy, overthrew the last local native lords and conquered all of Sicily. Pledging Pope Alexander II. his support in the church’s quarrel with King Heinrich IV. of Germany, he negotiated the kingship for himself and was at Christmas 1073 crowned King of Naples by the pope himself. After this achievement, he turned his attention to the Italian holdings of Germany, which was increasingly torn by civil war.

By eventually shifting the succession back to his oldest son Bohemond, considered by many a bastard and universally disliked because of his despotic leanings and visciousness, he antagonized his vassals, and by refusing to investigate the murder of his brother Roger, he aggravated the situation. During the latter years of Robert de Hauteville’s reign, his realm did therefore teter on the edge of civil war, paralyzing it to an extent that it was unable to capitalize on the crisis of the German Empire. Towards the Guiscard’s end, relations were slowly returning to normal, and even though he was at the time of his death universally resented, the Normans would eventually think of him and his reign with fondness and reverence.

Robert de Hauteville was survived by four children, two sons and two daughters. The older son Bohemond succeeded him to the kingship, the younger son Roger, called ‘Borsa’, held the Duchy of Campania. The older daughter Mathilde was married to Renaud de Joigny, driven off claimant to the French County of Sens, and the younger daughter Emma was married to Iacopo Grimaldi, second most powerful man of the Republic of Pisa.

Territorial gains during the reign of Robert Guiscard de Hauteville

[Enewald]

What about the other sons of Tancred?

And how did he inherit the lombards of Benevento?

[Lord Valentine]

You just got to love the 11th century where vicious immoral thugs and killers could still become the founders of empires and be revered for centuries to come.

Bohemond for sure has quite an image to live up to.

~Lord Valentine~

[napoleonrolff]

Originally Posted by The_Guiscard

Part One: Robert de Hauteville

Prologue: In Which A Marshall Meets His Liege

Pulling his woolen travelling cloak tighter around him, Serlo de Hautville spurred his roan into a gallop. It was the day after Epiphany, the coldest time of the year, and even in the mild Apulian winter, there was little need to expose himself to the elements any longer than necessary, especially not with the gales from the Adriatic Sea picking up and driving sleet into his face. Trani, the destination of his journey, was near, and after a day of hard riding, Serlo was looking forward to the hospitality of Duke Robert’s motte and bailey. This, and curious as to the reason of his sudden summons at this time of the year.

Serlo de Hauteville, Marshall to Robert de Hauteville:

Half an hour later, Serlo had arrived just as dusk was turning to night. Handing the reins of his sweaty courser to a stablehand, he headed directly for the massive keep, the only stone structure of the castle, and Duke Robert’s favourite residence. This very instance, a knight dressd in courtly finery emerged from the stubby donjon and came down the wooden stairs to welcome the guest. The gaunt and somewhat stooping man was Herman da Intimiano, now the Duke’s Steward, but until recently his Marshall. Only last summer had he asked his liege for some lighter duty than the office of Marshall, something more in line with his advancing age. Duke Robert had granted his faithful servant this wish, much to the benefit of Serlo, who had been created the new Marshall of Apulia.

The two Norman noblemen greeted each other with a short embrace, then Herman asked Serlo inside, out of the gale and the sleet driven on it: “Duke Robert will be pleased to see you; he is already eagerly awaiting you.”
“What is it, then?”, asked Serlo as he climbed the rickety exterior stairs to the main floor of the keep. “Are we going to war?”
“Yes, but I don’t know much more, either. The Duke has been keeping his own counsel.”

The two men entered the great hall of the keep. Even in summer, it would have been a dim place, but now the few narrow windows were shuttered and stuffed with straw as isolation against the cold, thereby keeping out not only the draught, but also any light. In the unsteady flickering light of the hearth and a few sooty torches, Serlo couldn’t quite make out the costly Byzantine and Arab rugs decorating the walls, but he couldn’t fail to immediately notice the massive figure of the Duke. Herman da Intimiano was tall, but his master was half a head taller still, and were the aging steward was all corded sinews and wiry strength, the lord of Apulia had the massive build of a Viking reaver, broad in the shoulders and deep in the chest. Even though he was more than twice Serlo’s age and already past his prime, the young Norman knight estimated that he would stand next to no chance to prevail against the Duke in any kind of fight. His uncle was every inch a warrior, but woe to anybody who would judge him a mere brute and bully – even more dangerous than the Duke’s powerful physique was his sharp mind, which had already become proverbial among the Italian Normans. Guiscard, they called him – “Cunning One”.

Robert de Hauteville, called Guiscard, Duke of Apulia and Calabria:

Serlo greeted his uncle, first formally with a bow, then more familiar with a curt embrace. He started exchanging pleasantries with his liege, but the Guiscard was obviously in a very businesslike mood. Cutting his nephew short, he bellowed for everybody to leave the hall. Servants and retainers hurried from the room, and within moments only Duke Robert, Herman da Intimiano and Serlo himself remained apart from a few dogs lying around on the rushes-strewn stone floor. The three knights settled down around a brazier and Duke Robert tarted to explain: “You both know that the Count of Capua and I have long been on best terms. He is my brother-in-law, after all, and we have often fought alongside each other. But recently, Richard di Aversa has become something of a nuisance. We Normans are still strangers here, and to rule Italy, we desperately need every man who comes south from back home. Every Norman who arrives is prescious to us. But for some time now, Count Richard has attracted unduly numbers of Normans. When our countrymen arrive from back north, the first Norman lordship they enter is Richard’s, and many stay with him, not bothering to travel on.”

At this, Serlo chuckled mentally to himself. For all his prowess in battle and cunning, his uncle wasn’t a man to easily win others’ hearts. Duke Robert had a somewhat mean, almost cruel streak, and could have murderous fits of violent rage when he lost his temper, whereas Count Richard was widely famed for his easy and amiable nature. Even in far-off Normandy, Serlo had heard admiring talk of the noble lord Richard, and if it hadn’t been for his close relation with Duke Robert, he himself would probably much rather have joined Richard’s court instead.

“But anyway”, the loud voice of his uncle roused Serlo from his musings, “nobody can serve two masters, and Italy isn’t big enough for two Norman lords. At Christmas, I promised Richard that I would do him great honours if he but took an oath of fealty to me, and granted him a full six weeks to think my offer over. His answer came immediately.”

At this, Duke Robert gestured to an unassuming a woman who had silenly entered the hall. Serlo knew her to be Alberanda di Valenti, formerly a lady in waiting to the Duchess, but for some years now in the service of the Duke instead. Alberanda was said to be of a disposition as sour as unripe apples and that she would never find a husband, no matter what her dowry, but the Guiscard had recognized her biting comments as a sign of a sharp intellect. Coupled with rare literacy, this had led Duke Robert to use her services at first for all his written correspondence, but soon he had also come to value her political insights.

“This was the Count’s answer, arrived here the day before yesterday”, said Alberanda without further ado and started to read from a piece of parchment: “Beloved brother-in-law! I am very astonished at your request. Just like yours, my title has been granted me by his Holiness Pope Nicholas. Even if it were fitting that one should swear fealty to somebody who was created his equal, it would still hardly be fitting for me to swear fealty to you, whose title is so much younger than mine. You will remember that I already held a lordship when all you possessed was but a single castle. In view of this …”

“And so on”, interrupted the Guiscard. “I’m sure you get the drift. Richard denies my just request. Well, if he will not be Count from my grace, he won’t be Count at all.”

And thus the Norman lords began to plan war against their fellow Norman, Richard di Aversa, Count of Capua.

Which family tree program have you used? I'm ancious to know it!

[The_Guiscard]

General_BT: Once again thanks for the praise, as I have already said I was a bit afraid that I have overdone the insinuations of danger in the hunting scenes.

And as to the Normans being “Byzantine” – well, I think that throughout history, those in power or yearning for it resorted to a lot of undehanded dealings, they didn’t have to be Greek to do so. But it is interesting to see how deep your own AAR has sunken into your core – you don’t take anything at face value but suspect veils behind veils and plots behind plots. I don’t think that I have given any tangible hints at Robert of Benevento being responsible, this suspicion is a product of your own “Byzantine” thinking. But is it merely a figment, and nothing more? I’m not telling. Only that much: I have written a few pieces of circumstantial evidence hinting at the culprit into the very hunting scenes you have just lauded so kindly. Careful reading in a perceptive mindset should surface a pointer to the responsible party.

Enewald: Benevento was stolen from the pope in 1050 by Drogo de Hauteville, passed on by him to Humphrey de Hauteville, and by the latter to Robert de Hauteville, who gave it as a fief to his younger brother Guillaume. All of this happened already before the beginning of CK, and you find the details in my very first post. Count Guillaume died early, in 1069, and passed Benevento on to his son Robert, who came to be so vehemently opposed to Bohemond. This Robert died young, too, and passed Benevento on to his son Mauger, who in early 1080 is no older than 11 years.

The sons of Tancrede featuring in CK are all dead by 1080. Currently, there are four lines of the house of Hauteville:
The line of Humphrey de Hauteville, consisting of the Count of Taranto, Abelard, and his descendants. As of 1080, this is the most numerous line, as Abelard does currently have four living sons. There are those who think that Abelard is the rightful king of Norman Italy, as Robert Guiscard did plainly rob him of his inheritance in usurping the ducal title.
The line of Serlo de Hauteville, father to our Serlo, Count of Capua. As Serlo of Capua has no brothers and is presently still without descendants, this line consists of just himself.
The line of Robert Guiscard de Hauteville, currently consisting of Bohemond and Roger Borsa.
The line of Guillaume de Hauteville. Guilaume’s only son Robert of Benevento died in 1079, reducing this line to Robert’s two minor sons Mauger, Count of Benevento, and Godfrey.

The line of Roger de Hauteville, Duke of Calabria, became extinct with his murder, as Roger had only three daughters, who are all married to foreign parts and play no more part in this AAR. A rather sad end for the man who in reality succeeded Robert Guiscard and became the direct forefather of the later Noman kings.

To sum up: As of 1080, we have four adult male Hautevilles, Count Abelard of Taranto, Count Serlo of Capua, King Bohemond, and Duke Roger Borsa of Campania, from oldest to youngest. There are six male Hauteville children, one of whom, Mauger, holds a fief, namely the County of Benevento.

Lord Valentine: Exactly! To my mind, the real early Normans in Italy were little more than robbers, extortionists, thiefs, thugs, murderers and oathbreakers. The real Robert Guiscard literally started out as a highwayman, and in 1080 tried to invade Greece and win Constantinople and with it the imperial purple. That’s what I call guts.

napoleonrolff: No family tree progam, sorry, I did it the long and hard way, by hand in Photoshop.

[Enewald]

Looks like the line could die very swiftly.

[phargle]

Interesting, interesting. The hunt scene played out well. While your instincts regarding its heavy-handedness are probably correct, it was still intriguing and exciting to read - I knew you were setting up each person to be a likely victim, but it was still fun. Robert's stumble and fall in the aftermath of that murder was also fun, but had a bit of an afterthought feeling to it. That's no doubt due to fidelity to the game events themselves. I am curious how that murderer Bohemond will fare as king. And yes, it would have been ironic if he had been gored to death, all things considered.

[The_Guiscard]

Part Two: Bohemond de Hauteville

He was so tall in stature that he overtopped the tallest by nearly one cubit, narrow in the waist and loins, with broad shoulders and a deep chest and powerful arms. And in the whole build of the body he was neither too slender nor overweighted with flesh, but perfectly proportioned and, one might say, built in conformity with the canon of classic sculptors. (…) His skin all over his body was very white, and in his face the white was tempered with red. His hair was yellowish, but did not hang down to his waist like that of the other barbarians; for the man was not inordinately vain of his hair, but had it cut short to the ears. Whether his beard was reddish, or any other colour I cannot say, for the razor had passed over it very closely and left a surface smoother than chalk. (…) His blue eyes indicated both a high spirit and dignity. (…) A certain charm hung about this man but was partly marred by a general air of the horrible. (…) He was so made in mind and body that both courage and passion reared their crests within him and both inclined to war. His wit was manifold and crafty and able to find a way of escape in every emergency. In conversation he was well informed, and the answers he gave were quite irrefutable.

Description of Bohemond de Hauteville, from Anna Komnena’s Alexiad

Foreword: In Which A Chancellor Rehearses A Coronation

Zuhayra lifted the front seams of her voluminous hooded jallaba so as not tread on them and stumble and climbed the wooden exterior staircase leading up to the elevated main floor of the keep of Reggio Castle. The February sun stood low in the clear morning sky and cast long shadows, but here, at the very southern tip of Italy, it gave off pleasant warmth even that early in the year. It seemed that Allah would be smiling on the impending coronation of King Bohemond de Hauteville.

Zuhayra was an Arab woman of high birth, not because she was a cousin of Ayyub ibn Ziri, the late Sheik of Palermo, but because she was of the house of Sharif, a direct descendant of Hasan ibn Ali, who by his mother Fatima had been a grandson of the Prophet himself. The blood of Muhammad, the chosen messenger of Allah, coursed through her veins, and she had passed it on to her sons and daughters, for Zuhayra was already the mother of four children.

On the wooden landing at the top of the stairs Zuhayra turned to her companion and looked at him over the rim of her veil. Renaud de Joigny, for that was his name, was a young Frankish knight of no more than twenty years, but still already Marshall of the realm – a position granted him by the late King Robert, who had been the Frank’s father-in-law. The Guiscard had probabaly had had high hopes for his oldest daughter Mathilde when he had married her to the son and heir of the Count of Sens in France, but whatever these hopes may have been, they had been frustrated by the Count getting himself overthrown and killed in one of the endless blood feuds of the barbarious Christians. Outcast and robbed of what would have been his inheritance, young Renaud had turned to the only place he felt he could flee to, the court of his father-in-law King Robert. The old King had received him well enough and had made him Marshall, an office recently vacated by Bohemond himself.

It was said that young Renaud was a fine warrior, but while she was courteous to him, Zuhayra disliked him intensely, a sentiment Renaud returned, as Zuhayra was well aware. The knight from distant France clung to his false faith almost to the point of bigotry and having to suffer the presence of a Muslim was hard on him. Even though she questioned the sanity of his deeply secular worldview, Zuhayra was glad that Bohemond de Hauteville didn’t share any of these Christian sentiments – she wouldn’t have been able to serve him if he did.

Zuhayra gestured to the wooden floor and explained to Renaud: “When all are gathered in the hall, the King, you, and the archbishop will meet here and form up in a procession. You will go in first, carrying the King’s sword aloft before you. The archbishop will be next, and the King will bring up the rear. Understood?”

Marshall Renaud nodded, and Zuhayra led him into the keep. Overseen by the chamberlain, servants were busy decorating the great hall for this evening’s oath-taking ceremony. The most costly rugs manufactured by Zuhayra’s people had been brought over from Sicily and were presently being hung on the walls and numerous tapers were prepared to light the hall as bright as day. Evading the servants scrubbing the flagstone floor, Zuhayra led Renaud to the far end of the hall and up the low wooden platform erected there, all the while continuing with her briefing: “You will pass straight through the gathered vassals and lead the archbishop and the King onto the platform, where the King will take his seat. And remember to walk slowly and stately, and look straight ahead, neither to the left nor right. Up on the platform, walk to the left of the King’s seat and position yourself there – the archbishop will stand on the other side of the seat. Throughout the ceremony, keep the King’s sword aloft in front of you, in plain view for all.”

Zuhayra waited until Renaud had voiced his understanding, then she continued: “Once the King is settled, call for silence, if necessary – but they will probably fall silent of their own accord. If they grow restless at any time during the oath-taking; it is your duty to once again call for silence. Supposing that they are attentive, the archbishop will say a prayer, and after that you are going to call forth one vassal after the other. Begin with Duke Roger Borsa, who as the King’s brother is of next highest rank after him, and proceed with Count Abelard, then with Count Serlo, and then with young Count Mauger. Have them climb the platform, the archbishop will then do the rest and administer their oaths of fealty to the King. After these four great lords have sworn, call up all the minor barons, and after them the simple knights – I shall be standing near you at the foot of the platform and tell you silently whomever you have to call up next. You yourself will swear last, and the archbishop will then close the proceedings with another prayer.”

Zuhayra would have preferred not to be present during the oath-taking, as many of the Normans would object to the atttendance of a Muslim woman, but with Renaud, like most of the barbarians, unable to read and much less write even his own name, he would be unable to peruse the list of vassals she had meticuloulsy drawn up for the occasion, and matters of precendence were much too delicate to have Marshall Renaud call up the vassals in random order. At least she would not have to attend the coronation on the following morning. The Normans would consider her presence an outrage, and she herself was not prepared to enter a temple of the infidels, let alone participate in one of their religious ceremonies. In addition, Dja’far, her own husband, would be present, and Zuhayra couldn’t bear looking at him for shame of being his wife. After the Norman conquest of Agrigento, Dja’far had been allowed to keep a tiny portion of his former lands, but when Bohemond had been made Duke of Sicily and it had become apparent that he would be King one day, her husband had pounced at the chance of regaining his fortune. This dog among men had foresworn Allah and accepted the false Christian faith, all in the hope of worming himself into the good graces of his new liege, the future King. If these would still have been Muslim lands, Dja’far would have been immediately executed, as the sharia decreed for the horrenduous crime of apostasy, of willingly and knowingly turning one’s back on the one and true God – but alas, they were not anymore, and traitorous dogs like her husband could now mock the true Faith with impunity. Still, to Zuhayra, her husband was dead, and she hadn’t dropped her veil to him or done as much as speak a word with him since his apostasy.

It was in a way ironic how little this foul deed had availed her husband. He was in the new King’s good graces, sure enough, but it was her who had been honoured by Bohemond. A year ago, while visiting her husband’s lands, he had conversed with her, and he must have seen something in her. In any case, he had asked her if she would aid him in administrating the Duchy of Sicily. Zuhayra had at first been reluctant to serve a Christian, but she had found Bohemond a so thoroughly – and worryingly – worldy man that her second thoughts about his religion were soon outweighed by her concerns for what good she might be able to do her Muslim brothers in a position of authority and had accepted, in part also to get away from her hateful husband. Since that day, she had constantly been in the retinue of Bohemond and she hadn’t slept a single night under the same roof than her husband. And now, with the death of King Robert, she had suddenly found herself appointed to the chancellary of the entire kingdom, much to the chagrin of many Normans.

But the concerns of other men were nothing to King Bohemond, Zuhayra thought with a sidelong glance at Renaud. Only yesterday, Bohemond had confided in her, Renaud had had the temerity to ask, almost demand, a fief of his own, as he probably thought Bohemond not yet firmly in the saddle of the kingdom and thus reluctant to antagonize more knights by denying requests. Renaud had confronted his brother-in-law and demanded no less than a county of his own, ‘or at the very least a castle and barony’, as Bohemond had related with some mirth. But if Renaud had thought the new King weak, or especially partial to his relatives, he had been mistaken. Bohemond had been harsh, but clear – he valued Renaud as a marshall, he had said, and he regretted that he had with this request just discharged himself from this office. Renaud, suddenly facing an existence without any means whatsoever, had stuttered and wrestled to somehow take back his demands, but Bohemond had laughed his words off as jest and told his brother-in-law that he would gladly reward him for his services with a fine manor. Renaud had been quick to thank Bohemond profusely, and hadn’t dared to speak of lordships anymore.

“My father, great king that he was”, the giant of a man that was Bohemond de Hauteville had explained to Zuhayra, “has treated these men kindly, like a first among equals, and it went to their heads. They have forgotten their proper place. They are but servants, and I am their master. And I shall make them remember it.”

King Bohemond de Hauteville

[Lord Valentine]

Another wonderful update!
And so the new reign begins. I wonder whether the coronation rituals will go smoothly or some dissatisfied nobles might take the first possible opportunity to undermine Bohemonds authority.

~Lord Valentine~

[Enewald]

Haha, stupid barbarians.

Yes, Bohemond was very tall.
A good thing around mediterranean, but one can be easily indentified during a battle by the enemy.
A man who could have become the Emperor of Greeks.

[phargle]

A strange shift in tone - maybe because it has hot Muslim chicks and not enough Serlo! Bohemond does seem determined to be a good ruler, and it's interesting to see the behind-the-scenes stuff involved. I also continue to admire your fidelity to game events.

[The_Guiscard]

Lord Valentine: Glad you liked it. A bit low on action, but the stage had to be set for the second part of the AAR. Pace and drama will soon pick up – I hope.

Enewald: Yes, Bohemond must have been a giant of a man. His actual Christian name would have been Mark, but Robert Guiscard did soon call him only Bohemond, after a legendary giant of this name.

phargle: You really do like Serlo, don’t you? Must be the mail panties.

But rest asured, Serlo will be back. I just felt that with him being a count and thus most of the time away from court, another viewpoint was needed, one that would allow us a more intimate glimpse at the inner workings of the court. The chancellor seemed a good choice, especially as she is a female Arab Muslim politician where Serlo is a male Norman Christian warrior. Any change in tone between these two very different viewpoints is intended. Using it for the first time at the outset of a new reign and the second part of the AAR seemed appropriate and was intended to mark the transistion from one rule to the next all the clearer.

Fidelity to the gameplay is one of my guiding principles. I allow myself to gloss over realm events which would be little more than random footnotes, but I try to include every event that might be considered formative for the characters of the AAR, like Marshall Renaud being rebuffed by Bohemond.

Zuhayra herself is an instance of this fidelity. She cropped up together with her husband in bohemond’s court when he ascended to the throne, and her husband, who started out as a Muslim, did almost immediately convert to Christendom. This husband will go on to become a count of the realm, but even after he will depart the court for his fief, Zuhayra will stay behind and remain chancellor – and a Muslim. I decided that all these puzzle parts would fit together well in the way I have represented them, with Zuhayra despising her husband for his apostasy. If she chose to effectively leave him for it – normally unheard of for Muslim women – he would as an apostate be powerless to do anything about it. He must have married her by Muslim law, but as an apostate he has no more rights by Muslim law; in fact, he would be dead by it. This explains beautifully why a female Arab Muslim remains in court when her Arab Catholic husband leaves the court to govern his fief.

Btw, I am glad that you understood me on Bohemond, and I am even gladder that you spoke up to voice some constructive critique of the hunting scenes. It is appreciated very much – all the more as you voiced it with lots of consideration for my very tender sentiments.

[The_Guiscard]

Chapter One: In Which A Count Entertains A Guest

The warm breeze carried a faint putrid smell from the cellars dug into the hillside above Serlo. It was early October, and in the damp darkness of the wine-cellars the grapes from Capua’s vineyars had begun to ferment, and the air was heavy with the promise of wine in the birth. It was an odour of decay and of moist earth, with a certain sharpness and a faint sweetness to it, and Serlo breathed it in deeply. Vineyards had been the main income of the tiny impoverished manor of of his father, and the smell reminded him of his boyhood like little else did.

But these carefree days were long past, and today Serlo was sitting his caparisoned palfrey in a most official function. The Count of Capua had turned out with a whole train of retainers to meet his King. Since his coronation back in February, Bohemond had been far from idle. He had travelled his realm ceaselessly, visiting every single one of his vassals, from the highest to the lowest, listening to their worries and complaints, adjucating disputes, and using his royal authority wherever it had been necessary. Presently, this very autumn day, he was about to visit Capua, but word had long preceded him that the new King seemed to be making a fine job of his rule. Norman Italy was finally making its peace with Bohemond de Hauteville’s kingship.

A sole rider appeared on the road where it traversed the crest of the hill ahead, cantering towards Count Serlo and his entourage. It was the scout sent out by Serlo, and he reported that the party of the King was drawing near. It wasn’t long now, and the first horsemen of King Bohemond’s retinue reached the top of the hill and were descending the road towards where Serlo was waiting. The Count watched with some apprehension as rider after rider came into view, hoping that the King’s party wouldn’t be too large. It was his duty as a vassal to host his liege and all of his retinue for as long as he chose to stay, and a long visit by a big party could utterly ruin a vassal. Lieges were in fact known to use this duty of their vassals to pare away excessive wealth of any follower who threatened to get more prosperous and more independent than the liege liked.

But Serlo needn’t have worried, for it was not long until the King himself came into view, sitting astride a magnificent black stallion which for all his size still looked curiously small underneath the monarch’s huge frame. The Count of Capu motioned his own entourage to dismount, while he himself remained for now in the saddle. Only once the van of Bohemond’s cavalcade stopped and drew aside from the road to let their lord pass them by, Serlo did himself dismount and walked to receive his liege. Bohemond himself had meanwhile left his own waiting retainers behind, and the two Hauteville cousins met midway between their parties. Bohemond brought his stallion to a halt, and Serlo bowed deeply: “My lord King, you honour Capua with your visit. Be most welcome.”

“Dear cousin, it is very good of you to receive us so kindly. I am very grateful for your hospitality.”

Having thanked the King for his gracious reply, Serlo took the reins of his liege’s stallion and led the horse back to his own party, for a few dozen paces serving as Bohemond’s groom, an age-old symbolic custom demonstrating the rank of lord and follower. Once among the Capuan party, which greeted the King by sinking to one knee, Serlo handed the reins back to Bohemond and remounted his own horse. All the way back to Montesarchio, the cousins were riding side by side, engaged in pleasant conversation.

* * *

Serlo flinched inwardly as the paw of the brown bear ripped open the dog's side and cast him with smashed ribs to the already amply bloodstained flagstones. It was already the fifth of his good and strong mastiffs the bear had finished off. A servant dragged the dying, wimpering dog out of the reach of the bear, whose freedom of movement was sharply impeded by a stout iron chain of less than one foot length, shackled to an iron ring set into the stone floor of the great hall of Montesarchio Castle. The handler presently set another hound on the bear, so that the beast was again beset by a pair, and even though it was already bleeding from many viscious bites and had lost lots of blood, Serlo asked himself how many more of his fine beasts the shaggy creature would slay before finally going down itself.

While he did not mind them, Serlo had seen enough real combats and bloodshed, and done his share of them himself, that he was not especially partial to contrived spectacles like this bear-baiting, but he had a high guest, and courtesy demaned that he entertain his liege. The trouble was that Bohemond himself had almost immediately lost interest in the proceedings, soon after he had seen to it that his two daughters, only three and four years old, did watch the baiting. ‘They may be girls’, he had told his objecting wife, ‘but that doesn’t mean that they have to be brought up to be sissies.’ The older one, Matilda, had been crying all through the spectacle, but her sister Yolanda was watching silently from round dark eyes that did not turn away from the bear and did not bely wether she was fascinated or shocked and appalled.

Serlo himself, presiding the high table from his carved chair in between King Bohemond to his right and ravishing Queen Sancha, with whom he shared trencher and goblet, to his left, was only dimly aware of the death struggle directly in front of the table, as Bohemond was talking intently with him. It was the third evening of the King’s stay at Montesarchio. Up until now Bohemond had dealt with problems and grievances of either Serlo or his vassals, but just now he had begun talking of concerns of his own. As soon as everbody’s attention had been on the bear-baiting, Bohemond had lowered his head to Serlo and started to ask him about his relation with his neighbours. Serlo had known the King as a youth, and had been his teacher in matters of warfare, and he had immediately realized that his liege’s questions had not been all innocent and that he had something in mind, and so the Count had soon said: “My lord King, I might be of better service to you if you just asked me directly what you want to know.”

The King had shot Serlo a penetrating look and had answered in way that had jolted the Count to the core: “Am I that transparent? Well, dear cousin, then I shall be candid. How good a warrior is Count Iacopo Orsini of Orvieto? How big is his host? And what’s the state of the Pope’s own forces?”

Serlo had ben plainly shocked. The County of Orvieto was his northern neighbour, and its master held his authority from no other than the Pope himself. Bohemond planned no less than a direct, unprovoked attack on the papacy, and he had readily admitted that certain documents had turned up giving him a tenouus claim on the County of Orvieto, a claim that he had every intention of pressing. The tale about the documents turning up had led Serlo to suspect that this damned Muslim bitch of chancellor was behind it, and that she was trying to set the Normans upon the very head of Christendom, no less than the hounds were being set upon the bear. From what he had heard, she was a shrewd judge of character, and she may well have realized that Bohemond was not the kind of man to yield any claim, even if it meant taking up arms against the Holy Father. But Serlo did equally realize that Bohemond would not take kindly to any allusion that he may have been duped, and so he merely said: “My lord King, surely you do not mean to attack the Holy Father. That would be a grave sin, and it would upset many among the barons.”

Bohemond gave a sly smile: “Who says we are going to attack the Pope? I will attack Count Orsini, and that surely is no sin. Pope Gregory has interdicted him, and as far as I know, the ban has not be lifted. The more devout barons will even view an attack on him as doing God’s will.”

Serlo had to admit that this was right. After Pope Alexander, who had crowned the Guiscard, had died, Count Orsini had had a falling out with his successor, Pope Gregory VII. Gregory had sat on the throne of Saint Peter for just three years, dying in the summer of the previous year, and he had not found the opportunity to divest Count Orsini of Orvieto. The new Pope, Victor III., seemed to be on increasingly good terms with the Orsinis, but powerful coteries in Rome had prevented the lift of the ban – at least until now. There might even be a chance that these coteries would prevent Pope Victor from sending any aid to a beset Orvieto.

Serlo cleared his throat: “Ah, I see, my liege. But the claim – is it solid? I mean, does it justify an attack on Orvieto?”

Bohemond swivelled around abruptly in his high-backed chair and gave Serlo a very cool stare which seemed strangely at odds with the pleasant manners he had displayed in those past days: “Let me be plain, Serlo. I don’t give a damn wether the claim is solid. I need a conquest to prove myself worthy of my late father’s confidence, and Orvieto is easy pickings. Orsini is a condemned heretic without friends – nobody will shed a tear for him. The Pope might object to me taking his lands, but he is isolated and without allies. If he knows what’s good for him, he will keep his mouth shut – if not, I will shut it for him.”

Serlo nodded slowly and taxed his brain for a reasonable objection: “Yes, but why antagonize the Pope at all? Why not look somewhere else? Mathilda of Canossa’s wayward vassal Simone Montefeltro, the Count of Urbino, has recetly added Ravenna to his domain, and he acknowledges no master anymore. Why not go for him and avoid a clash with any great lord?”

“I have thought about it. But the lands you and I conquered from Mathilda do already stretch far into the north. If we add Urbino to the realm, we will create a second, northern counterweight to the southern holdings of the kingdom, joined only by the very narrow and very vulnerable waist that is Spoleto. And I see our future more in the south anyway, so there is little point in expanding to the north right now. This could merely serve to draw us into the endless struggles of the Germans.”

This reminder of the disaster that had struck King Peter of Germany gave Serlo a new idea. The previous winter, the boy-king had been treacherously deserted by even his own mother Berta, who had held a prominent place in the regency council in addition to being Duchess of Dauphine. After his mother had deserted him and gone over to Matilda of Canossa, King Peter had been all but finished. More than half his vassals who hadn’t already been in open revolt had declared for Matilda, and with their consent the Duchess of Toscana had in March been crowned Queen of Germany at Aachen. What remained Peter apart from his ancestral lands of Franken was now no more than most of Bohemia and Burgundy, and the Italian communes of Genoa and Bologna.

Germany divided. Matilda’s lands (olive), Peter’s lands (red), and wayward vassals

“But that’s exactly where we could capitalize”, objected Serlo. “The Germans are more divided than ever, and Mathilda does not yet sit her throne firmly. We could …”

Serlo halted, as Bohemond was giving him an icy stare. Stressing every single word of the first sentence, the King said: “I have told you my will. Now please be so good as to enlighten me about the military capabilities of Orvieto.”

With that, Bohemond swung his exceedingly tall frame away from Serlo, facing the hall once again. Only now, following his liege’s gaze, did Serlo realize that the bear had finally been killed and that its carcass was being dragged from the hall.

[Fulcrumvale]

*Subscribes*

[Count Lake]

Sorry for my absence in the past few weeks, but I just got through with the updates. I think that I will really enjoy seeing where Bohemond goes with his ambitions.

Thanks again for this great aar Guiscard!

[Enewald]

Oij, evil Matilda!

Go, liberate the orvietans!

[Lord Valentine]

I must say I like Bohemond. Aggressive, yet shrewd and powerful. If he is not cut down by a disgruntled baron he will become a great king.

Excellent update once again Guiscard!

[phargle]

I'm enough of a dog-lover that the bear scene horrified me. I am glad Serlo is still an independent thinker, and remain curious to see how he helps Bohemond prosecute this war.