Chapter Four: In Which A Marshall Converses With A Deposed Prince
“Hate is a powerful thing”, his uncle the Duke had told Serlo. “Kingdoms have been brought down by no more than one man’s hate. A ruler must know how to harness hate, his own and that of other men. And I shall harness this infidel’s hate to undo Ibn Abbad.”
And that’s exactly what Duke Robert had done, mused Serlo. His nightly Muhammadan visitor had not led him into a trap, but to a clandestine meeting with an Arab from Siracusa by the name of Ahmad. This young warrior had been grievously insulted and belittled by his lord, and Ahmad was just the type who could not allow to let any slight go unavenged. He was commander of a tower garrison, and he offered to let the Normans in by a postern gate his tower guarded. And Ahmad hadn’t even asked for anything in return. He obviously thought himself a noble man who would never sell out his city for base motives – all he did was making sure that Ibn Abbad got what he considered a just punishment.
And thus one man’s hate had delivered Siracusa into Norman hands. A few days later, on the appointed night, Count Roger had led a score of hand-picked Norman knights to the tiny postern gate and had it found open, as promised by Ahmad. The Normans had discovered that the entire tower garrison was fast asleep, apart from a few men on guard duty. Most of the Muhammadans were hacked and stabbed to death while still on their pallets, then Count Roger and his men had emerged from the tower into the city and raced to the nearby gate. The surprised guards of the gate had been overcome after only a short struggle and the Normans had taken possession of the gate, immediately throwing it open to admit their comrades.
And that had been it. By the first light of morning, the alleys of Siracusa had been swarming with Norman warriors. The shocked Muhammadans had failed to set up an unbroken line of defence across the city, and realizing that his cause was lost, Ibn Abbad had grabbed what treasure he could and headed straight for the harbour to board a ship to take him to Africa. He never made it. The Arab lord of Siracusa was slain by some unknown hand, and much of the treasure got dispersed among the men of the Norman host.
Another man who was that day slain by an unknown hand was Ahmad, though Serlo suspected strongly that Duke Robert was behind this. ‘Never suffer a traitor to live’, his uncle was fond of saying. Well, it didn’t make a difference to Serlo wether the Guiscard had ordered the murder or not. The world certainly wasn’t any worse for one less Judas, the Marshall thought.
A few of the great lords of the Norman host had hoped that Duke Robert would give Siracusa to them, but after being involved with planning the entire campaign right from the start, Serlo would have been surprised if his uncle had not kept a prize this prescious for himself – which of course he had done. But the booty of Siracusa had been rich, and the Duke had rewarded his retainers generously. Serlo had received a few pieces of costly Arab furniture, a set of hammered silver chalices, a number of richly embroidered courtly robes in the Muhammadan style, a large pouch of pepper, two bales of silk, and, most prescious to him, a spirited Arab courser. He was now as rich as some lesser counts back in Normandy. None too bad for the son of a poor Norman knight who had been driven from his impoverished manor in a feud, Serlo congratulated himself.
Two years had passed since these events, and apart from some bloodshed in the neighbourhood feuds that were ever-present with the irritable Norman lords, they had been peaceful years for Apulia, giving it the much needed respite after the years of intense warfare. Serlo had returned to his Apulian home, the small fief of Montemilone with its fortified donjon, and had largely remained there to enjoy the spoils of his success and to tend the land. Only twice had he left for any length of time, both times to spend a month or two with his uncle, accompanying him on his ceaseless circuit of his realm. The Apulian soil was good, and with Serlo for once at home to oversee his tenants in person, the harvests had been good, too. Serlo’s livestock was healthy, his stores were brimming with grain and cheese and olives to see him comfortably through the approaching mild Italian winter, and in his cellars the wine was fermenting.
The demesne of Robert Guiscard (yellow) and the holdings of his vasslas (orange) in the fall of 1071:
But a fellow Norman passing Montemilone on his way back from Siracusa, where the Ducal court was currently staying, brought disconcerting news. The Duke was worried. In North Africa, the still youthful Muhammadan King of the Zirids had passed away this summer in his decadent palace in Tunis. Being he last of his dynasty, he had willed his kingdom to his distant relative and neighbour al Nasir ibn Hammad, the fierce and warlike King of the Hammadids. Even now, al Nasir was moving to take possession of his inheritance. This unification of the the two kingdoms was creating a new major Muslim power in North Africa, reaching from the distant west all the the way to Tunis – and on to the small island Sheikdom of Malta, just off the coast of Sicily. The Guiscard deemed it very possible that al Nasir might use Malta as a stepping stone to the rich lands of Sicily, using the reconquest for Islam of the recent Norman acquisitions on the island as a welcome pretence to extend his already considerable power.
The new power in the south
* * *
Never before had Serlo seen his uncle’s court so abuzz with activity like these days. Over the midwinter, the few really cold days the south of Italy ever saw, Robert de Hauteville had taken up residence in the County of Lecce, in Brindisi on the Adriatic Sea, and he had invited all great lords of his realm to celebrate Christmas and New Year with him. But even more so than ordinary gatherings of the barons of the realm, this was not to be an occasion of mere socializing, Serlo had been informed by his uncle. The Duke of Apulia wanted to set his vassals at ease with feasts and hunting, and he wanted to capitalize on their religious feelings around the birth of the Saviour. True to his reputation, the Guiscard did even take advantage of this high religious holiday to get his barons into the anti-Muhammadan mood he needed.
For the Duke wanted to solicit his great vassals’ support for yet another campaign against Sicily. Every day of the festivities, Roger de Hauteville, the staunchest proponet of the conquest of Sicily and maybe the plan’s ultimate originator, had dropped remarks about the wealth of Sicily and told anecdotes about the island’s fabulous riches, firing up the Norman lords’ inborn greed. Now, on the very last afternoon of the year 1071, Duke Robert had called his barons to a council. Count Roger, Herman da Intimiano, and Serlo himself had been briefed by the Guiscard to voice loud support for his proposals. To further emphasize any religious feelings the Norman lords might have, the council was to be held in the chapel of Brindisi Castle.
Serlo was somewhat early – in fact, he was the first of the Norman lords appear. When he entered the chapel, only one other person was present, a youth on the brink of manhood. Serlo immediately recognized the square-jawed, sullen-looking boy, for he was another of his many cousins, no other than Bohemond de Hauteville, bastard son to Duke Robert. Calling the youth a bastard was somewhat unfair, though, as Serlo knew, for his cousin was much rather unlucky than a proper bastard. Bohemond had been born a prince and had upon his advent been hailed as his father’s heir apparent. Had his fortunes been different, young Bohemond would now be a lord of the realm. But when Richard di Aversa had started to make advances to Count Gisulf di Salerno, the Guiscard had felt that he had to beat his brother-in-law to this important ally. Some documents had been ‘discovered’ showing that Bohemond’s mother Alberada di Buonalbergo was closer kin to her husband Duke Robert than allowed by canonical law, and a sympathetic Pope had annulled the marriage. Robert de Hauteville had thus been freed to marry Count Gisulf’s sister Sigelgaita and forge the alliance he coveted, but Bohemond had been made a bastard, born in a wedlock that had been declared to legally never even have existed. Though Bohemond was kept out of sight most of the time, largely to the wish of his stepmother Duchess Sigelgaita, who wanted to secure her own children’s position, Serlo had at several occasions spoken with Bohemond and didn’t believe a word about the alleged too close relation of his parents and his inbreeding. Bohemond was of the quiet type and kept much to himself, but behind his guarded and sometimes spiteful eyes slumbered a keen intellect.
The two cousins greeted each other, Serlo heartily, and Bohemond in a somewhat reserved way.
“Are you praying, cousin?”, asked Serlo, his voice echoing up and down the empty nave of the small chapel.
Bohemond shook his head: “No. Waiting for the council.”
“For the council?”, exclaimed Serlo. “I am surprised. And glad, too, that your father has asked you to attend. You are certainly old enough to witness the proceedings.”
The deposed prince clenched his strong jaw and shot Serlo an acidic glance: “He has not. But he will bring Roger. Now that Roger has turned ten, the hag has talked father into taking him along, so that he might learn how to rule. But I am four years the whelp’s senior and …”
Bohemond fell silent as another cousin Hauteville entered the chapel and crossed himself, Robert de Hauteville, Count of Benevento. The young Beneventine Count, in age about halfway between Bohemond and Serlo, was known to combine the warlike spirit of the Hautevilles with a profound piety. This made Serlo almost certain the he would endorse a campaign against the Muslims of Sicily, but it meant also that he regarded the bastard Bohemond with particular derision. Acknowledging the former prince with no more than an offhand snort, he started to converse with Serlo.
One after the other, the Norman lords arrived for the council, foremost among them Count Roger of Reggio and Messina, followed by Abelard of Taranto and Robert of Benevento, and a score of minor Norman barons, hard-bitten veterans who had won their fiefs not by inheritance, but by virtue of their swords. Only one man with a long line of lords as ancestors was among the gathered men, the Duke’s brother-in-law, Count Gisulf of Salerno, who had been an honoured guest of the festivities and had also been invited to lend his wisdom to this day’s council. When all were finally present, the lanky figure of Herman da Intimiano entered, heralding the arrival of the Duke.
The Guiscard entered side by side with his son Roger, heir to both his father and his childless uncle Count Gisulf. For this double fortune, the Normans of Apulia called young Roger ‘Borsa’ – ‘the Purse’. Though Bohemond kept to the back of the assembly, his father couldn’t fail to notice him immediately among the but two dozen men. If the lord of Apulia was surprised at his bastard’s presence, he did not show it. Nodding to the gathered barons, he prodded young Roger between the shoulder blades to keep him going down the nave and turned casually to his bastard son.
“You will leave”, he said simply, the words not a command, but the declaration of a fact. And even though the Duke had topped fifty and his reddish blond hair was shot with grey, his arm was still strong and his hand hard, and few doubted that he wouldn't hesitate an instant to use them. Sparing himself the indignity of further public humiliation, Bohemond gave a curt bow and left the chapel with a stiff stride, his set face hard and unreadable as a stone. He had wagered to gain himself a bit of public recognition, and he had lost, Serlo thought. Still, it was amusing to see son and father side by side for once – though still displaying traces of the chubbiness of youth, with his broad shoulders and determined look Bohemond was the spitting image of his father. Even if he had wanted, Duke Robert would never have been able to deny his bastard son.
The council went much as planned. Duke Robert and his one surviving brother Count Roger painted vivid pictures of the wealth of Sicily and of the danger to Italy and all of Christendom should al Nasir, the newly arisen power in North Africa, deign to appropriate himself of the island’s resources.
“And do so he will”, the Guiscard declared with loud voice. “He will either be called in as an ally by one of the Muhammadan lords of Sicily, or he will come on his own accord, to capitalize on the weakness of the divided Sicilian Muslims. I say let not him capitalize on this disunity, let us profit from it! Let us cross over into Sicily now, immediately, as long as al Nasir is busy consolidating the realm he has inherited and quelling any opposition to his rule! Let us take Sicily and its riches now, as long as al Nasir is still unable to interfere with us! What say you, my friends?”
True to their briefing, Serlo and Count Roger and Herman da Intimiano did immediately shout their approval, but there was little opposition anyway. Most of the Norman lords were all for this plan right away, and the slight reluctance of some was easily overcome. Come the new year, the Apulians would once again carry the sword into Sicily.