Warriors (18 page)

That thought made him gloomy, and, sick of the buzzing of flying creatures in his ears, he made his way back to the quarter housing the tented encampment of the leaders of the host, where he came across Arduin and Argyrus. They were in conversation outside the latter’s tent and, being called to join them, William did so.

‘All is ready, William. Tomorrow at first light I will call for the gates to be opened.’

‘Arduin thinks they will refuse, William, how do you see it?’ asked Argyrus.

‘I think if they were going to surrender they would have sent out envoys by now. They can see what we are building and they know that once it is employed, unless they can destroy it immediately, they are doomed. My mind is set on the assault.’

There was a short silence then: regardless of how good the men who would attack, some would die, and since William was going to lead the supporting fighters personally, and would thus face the defenders near to their most potent, he might be one of them.

‘How I wish I was going to be there alongside you,’
said Argyrus, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.

William took that for what it was, wishful thinking: this young man could not fight like a Norman and would probably struggle to match the men of his own race. Utterly untrained, he would just get in the way, in fact he would probably get someone killed trying to keep him alive. But it was a worthy sentiment to express at such a time and it would have been churlish to react with the truth.

‘You lead our men through the gates, Argyrus,’ then he looked at Arduin, to reassure him he saw him as their commander. ‘Alongside our general.’

Argyrus sighed. ‘I doubt I shall sleep. My blood is racing.’

‘I shall,’ William replied, ‘and so will you when you become accustomed to nights like this.’

‘Of which we have had many, have we not, William? And we will have more before our cause triumphs.’

Looking at Arduin, William could see, once more and reflected by the flickering torches, the light of that Lombard dream in his eyes, and he wondered how the man could sustain it after the rebuffs he had suffered at Montecchio. Putting aside his own ambitions and imaging the result after which Arduin hankered, what was there for him if they were ultimately successful? The envoys from the other port cities had openly repudiated him, as well as mouthing meaningless platitudes when it came to Argyrus, while Guaimar
was playing such a double game he could hardly look for support there.

Was it that he would be satisfied to see Apulia free of Byzantium? Did he hope that Argyrus would somehow overturn any objections from the other Lombard powers and succeed in uniting the factions, thus gaining his reward as the man who had aided him to power? These were too many thoughts to be harbouring at such a time of day. William had had a hard day’s training, with more to come in the morning and quite possibly real fighting instead of mock combat. He was tired.

‘Time to sleep.’

The oil lamps were low in his tent and there was silence from the other two cots. Having said prayers, then disrobing, William lay down and closed his eyes, but sleep was slow to come as he ran over in his mind what might happen on the morrow, envisaging the attack, almost hearing the clash of swords and the shouting of men engaged in deadly combat, himself included. In doing so he had the thoughts which had plagued him often, of how close he had come in the past to death, seeing the blows that he had deflected which might, had he not been both good and lucky, have got through.

He was just drifting off when his cot dipped to one side and he half-raised himself sharply: a secret knife in such places as Italy was always a possibility and
assassinating leaders was a particularly good way to thwart a siege, but that turned to first surprise and then to slight annoyance as the girl Tirena wrapped her arms round his naked upper body.

‘Back to your own cot,’ he whispered, insistently, but that only increased the force of her embrace: she was now clinging to him and he was aware that she too was naked, her pert young breasts pressing into his flesh.

‘You fight tomorrow,’ she hissed, ‘and I fear for you.’

William wanted to scoff but that seemed ridiculous in the face of the thoughts he had just been harbouring, so he sought to deflect her obvious concern by addressing worries she might have. ‘Never fear, Tirena, you and Listo will be cared for.’

Even whispered, her reply was vehement. ‘You can be very stupid!’

That said, her hand shot down to his crotch and took hold of his penis, and even if he had wanted not to react, he was a man and could not help it as she tugged at it with the same urgency she had no doubt once used on a goat’s teat. Drogo might accuse him of behaving like a eunuch, but William de Hauteville was far from that: he had the same desires as his rampant brother but he attributed to himself more self-control.

That was not the case on this night and under the pressure of this girl’s enticement. It seemed only
seconds before he was astride her, hearing her gasp with a combination of satisfaction and pain as he entered her, grateful that all thoughts of what might happen at sunrise had been driven from his mind.

The alarm, much shouting and cries of agitation, were slow to penetrate William’s brain, and as he awoke, the surprise of finding someone else in his cot, huddled close to his body and asleep, took a moment to register. But those shouts coming through the canvas allowed no time for delay and he was up and at the tent flap in a flash, in the process waking the girl. Standing naked and looking out, William saw without difficulty what the noise was about: the flames from the burning tower rose high in the sky, illuminating the ground all around, as well as the silhouetted figures running around it.

Some were trying to throw water to douse the conflagration, but given it was blazing from base to top, with cinders rising into the glowing orange and yellow fingers of flame, it would be useless. But he did register that fresh-cut timber, even if it had had several days to lose its sap, should not burn with such ferocity. It could only have gone up in the way it had because of sabotage.

‘Fetch my cloak,’ he commanded, watching as Tirena ran to obey, wondering at the sudden tumescence the sight of her young moving and naked body produced.
Once she handed it over, her black eyes wild with fear, he responded softly. ‘Go back to your cot and wait for me.’

The last three words assuaged her fears and made her smile, and as she was only half his height, the kiss she planted on him was closer to his chest than his face. He was gone before he realised what she had done, only aware of that mark of affection when the slight night breeze touched on the moisture her act had left behind.

The whole camp was awake now, all gathered around this unwanted bonfire, looking up with a mixture of anger and wonder as the labours of weeks was consumed.

‘Stand back,’ he yelled, ‘all of you.’

That was a command slow to be obeyed, even if it was much repeated, but the crowd had retired before the weight of the structure, acting on the destroyed lower parts, began to buckle and slowly fall. There was a strange grace to that, so slowly did it happen, that shattered by the crash of contact as parts broke off sending sparks flying in all directions. By the time it was down, Arduin was standing next to William.

‘It was set alight after being drenched,’ he said,’ I can smell the pitch.’

William was looking at the faces all around, lit by the orange glow, including his brothers. ‘Who was guarding it?’

‘A party of my men were set to watch it,’ Arduin replied, shaking his head. ‘Ten in number. Those not speared I saw with their throats slashed.’

‘Where’s Argyrus?’

Arduin looked around, as had William, scanning the faces, easily able to identify those he knew. ‘I pray to God it is not he.’

‘Then why can we not see him, or any of his escort?’

‘Perhaps he still sleeps.’

That got the Lombard a look, one he had to acknowledge despite how bitter it made him feel: no one could sleep through the noise of a whole camp rudely brought awake and the light from such a blaze.

William and Arduin saw Argyrus at first light. They were standing by the still-smouldering embers of the tower with the acrid taste of smoke in their throats. He was looking over the walls of Trani, while all around him the jeers of the defenders rose and fell in mockery. There was no need to wonder at what had caused his betrayal: it would be Byzantine gold, as it had been in the case of Atenulf selling his prisoner. Angry as he was, William could at least see what had prompted the young man’s treachery.

Since his father’s death he had been a prisoner of Byzantium, and who knew what his feelings were truly like towards them? Released, he had become
the pawn of others more powerful than he, sustained by the hope that things would at sometime turn to his advantage. He had been used by Landulf of Benevento and surely he had been told of the council called by Guaimar, where he had been extolled by his fellow Lombards as a potential leader with obvious insincerity: whatever they saw him as, it was not as a future ruler. If Argyrus had any sense, he must have seen, too, in the Prince of Salerno’s manoeuvring, a future source of disappointment, so he had decided no doubt to take what was on offer now, in place of the uncertain rewards of the future.

Arduin was near to tears: for him this was no mere setback, it was like a physical blow. Who now would lead the revolt and provide a banner around which the ordinary Lombards, those who sought only freedom, could rally? He had been looking into their faces since the first grey light tinged the morning sky, and had seen in their expressions, as the word spread of this treachery, coming hard on the heels of what Count Atenulf had done, how badly it had affected them. The question was unavoidable: would they still fight?

‘Do we rebuild?’ William asked. He, at least, had no doubt what his men would do: they were professionals when it came to fighting. ‘It is for you to decide.’

‘I need to gauge the spirit of those who have volunteered.’

‘Their spirits will be lifted by your determination, Arduin.’

‘I will gather, then, after they have prayed and eaten, but I have to tell you, William, at this moment I cannot think what words I will use to inspire them.’

As the day wore on, with a listless besieging host clearing up the charred mess of that burnt tower, Arduin kept putting off that which he knew he needed to do. For all he had a silver tongue, he felt it would need to be diamond encrusted to overcome the disillusionment which was apparent in every face with whom he exchanged a glance. Equally troubling, and a problem that had him sulking like Achilles in his tent, was what to do next if the siege was not to be pressed, for if these men he led, Normans not included, would have been reluctant to go so far south as to fight George Maniakes before, they would be even more so now.

He looked up angrily as the tent flap was hauled back, prepared to snap that he wanted to be left in peace. But they were not words he could use to William de Hauteville.

‘You had best come, Arduin. Trani has opened a gate and is sending out envoys carrying olive branches.’

He saw them as soon as he emerged and moved to the edge of the camp, with William on his heels, the olive branches of peace being waved above their heads, and when they spoke, to tell him why they
were now ready to hand over their port city, he had to stop himself from laughing out loud. George Maniakes had rebelled against Constantinople, lifted the siege of Bari, had his troops declare him emperor, and had set off in a fleet of ships for the lands of Romania, intent on toppling Constantine.

‘Argyrus?’ he demanded.

He had fled by sea, and once they had entered the city, and were on the jetty that made up half the harbour of Trani, they could still see the sails of his ship beating up into an unfavourable wind as he sought to escape their vengeance.

Over the following week, Arduin began to sense that the betrayal of Argyrus was impacting on him, and that was compounded by what had occurred with the idiotic Count Atenulf: it was in looks and conversations hurriedly abandoned whenever he appeared, and it was from his fellow Lombards that he felt the most distaste – the ordinary Norman lances, as they always had, paid him little attention. He had had his men in the palm of his hand until that siege tower was destroyed, able to rouse them to great deeds with his rhetoric. They had been fired to take Trani and spill their blood in doing so.

Yet now, only days later, if he issued a command, he had to wait for it to be obeyed, and when the men he led were collected in numbers such an order led
to a ripple of unpleasant muttering, not silenced by their captains, a sure indication of a serious loss of authority, and he knew in his heart that what he was witnessing was impossible to repair.

There was little point in seeing it as unfair: yes, it was he who had started the revolt, but it was also he who had sought that titular leader around whom the Lombards could unite, never doubting in his own mind that it could not be himself. Both had betrayed the cause he espoused, and it took no great imagination to discern that he was being held responsible, being examined, in covert looks, in a way that saw him in the same light, even now that victory was at hand.

Alone in the villa he had taken, overlooking the harbour of Trani, idly throwing dice onto a table, which held a meal unconsumed since the night before, he was forced to examine, as the first hint of grey tinged the eastern sky, his options. News had come that Prince Guaimar had departed Salerno and was on his way to Melfi, where he had called a great council of all who mattered in Apulia. Sure he was entitled to much reward, Arduin had serious doubts as to whether he would get his just deserts, and he would certainly never receive that of which he had entertained in many dreamlike fantasies: real power in the province he had helped to conquer.

The realisation, which he had always known but now saw with great clarity, did nothing to reassure
him. Without the Normans he was nothing, especially if he would struggle to command his own volunteer levies, many of whom, in any case, were drifting away. The atmosphere in his military lines, in the rows of Lombard tents which surrounded Trani, as he had walked through them that day, had been rank with dissent and suspicion.