‘He has laid hands upon the Abbot of Montecassino, that’s what he has done. He has thrown Theodore, a man whose election I personally approved, into his dungeons.’
By now Conrad was in the room, kicking any object that came within reach of his boot.
‘When I lay hands on him he will wish he had never been conceived. I want you at my council in the morning. The host will be summoned and I will march south and crush that swine like a gnat.’
Then he was gone, still raging, still shouting, his voice fading as the distance increased, leaving them to exchange a look of relief.
‘Well, brother,’ Berengara said, ‘it appears my virtue has been saved.’
‘And by the Wolf himself, of all people.’
The door was flung open again, to be filled, once more, with Conrad’s stocky frame and puce countenance. ‘And by the way, you treacherous young swine, you can forget Byzantium. That Michael you call a callow youth has sent his whole fleet and army to conquer Sicily.’
‘I did not set out to deceive you, sire…’
Conrad cut right across him. ‘Of course you did, and if you had not, I would have had you for a fool.’
The so-called Empire of the West was nothing like that which had existed in ancient times; it was a loose agglomeration of states, the rulers of which elected one of their number to be Holy Roman Emperor. Conrad had his own lands and his own feudal levies, but to bring together an army large enough to subdue Pandulf, and stamp his authority on Campania, required the whole resources of the empire, and that took time to assemble.
Having got what he had come for, Guaimar was now suffering the tortures of Tantalus, so slow did it all seem, yet even he had to acknowledge that to march south with a thousand lances, and to gather more on the way, required an organisation of staggering complexity. The sheer provision of food and shelter for the men, and the amount of fodder and pasturage required for their mounts, beggared belief, and that only increased the further south they travelled and the greater the size of the host became.
Any plans that were laid had to do with that, not battle, and Conrad was in constant dispute with imperial vassals about the measure of their contributions in terms of lances provided, the money payments due after their days of feudal service had expired — as they must on such a campaign — the amount of forage and food their lands should provide as the imperial host crossed their domains, and that had paled when set against the prickly personalities and endemic feuding of powerful lords accustomed to be the masters of the world in which they lived.
The army camped outside Rome, and Conrad took the opportunity to enter the city and overawe both the leading families and the populace. Benedict, with imperial protection, was for once at liberty to travel around the city without fear of physical assault, and given such liberty, and the fact that he was as much in fear of Conrad as grateful, he was able to satisfy the emperor regarding any ecclesiastical appointments that were outstanding throughout his own domains; in short, Conrad got the archbishops he wanted.
Berengara had thoroughly enjoyed the progress, unlike her impatient brother. Still pursued by Conrad, and still denying him that which he sought, she was, as a seeming intimate of the emperor, also being fawned on by Ascletin and every ambitious noble in the imperial entourage. Many showered her with praise; the Pierleoni showered her with gifts, which she took with a smile that hid her deep dislike. When Guaimar sought to chastise her for this, he found himself put down like a disobedient dog; his sister was in full womanhood now, and not to be told what to do by her brother.
Finally, south of Rome, with the papal contribution of paid-for foot soldiers, as well as healthy contributions to the costs of the campaign wrung from the likes of the Pierleoni, military matters began to assert themselves. As they had marched, the news that had come from the south had not been good; they had barely left Germany before Pandulf had attacked Montecassino and stripped it of its most precious possessions: priceless books, plate, church ornaments, as well as a considerable chest of money.
Then, having seized the extensive and well-cultivated lands the monastery owned, he had parcelled it out to his own Norman mercenaries, knowing how hard they would fight to retain it. A procession of monks had come to Conrad to tell him that hardly any of the original brotherhood was still present, so reduced was the monastery. One of the greatest abbeys in Christendom, a centre of learning to rival Cluny, had been practically destroyed, its buildings torn down, in an assault to rival any ever committed by the Saracens.
Conrad was no fool: he knew the Normans in the mass represented a threat to his whole campaign. He thought himself a good commander and he had under him a fine and powerful army, but time and again in this part of the world the Normans had triumphed in situations where they should have been crushed, this entirely due to their disciplined way of fighting. Given that, it made sense to consult the man who knew them best, despite his youth.
‘The key is Rainulf Drengot,’ Guaimar said.
Conrad’s reply was telling. ‘I hear that Pandulf’s own Normans are numerically a match for Rainulf now. Indeed many of Drengot’s own lances deserted him, tempted by monastery land.’
‘Who commands them, sire, that is the important thing. Rainulf is a leader to be feared. Has Pandulf got anyone to match him?’
‘If he has Drengot, he has his leader, and the man is attached to him since he betrayed your father.’
‘What if he could be detached from Pandulf?’
‘For money?’
‘No. I have another prize that might tempt him.’
‘Which is?’
When Guaimar outlined his thinking he could see that Conrad was impressed. He was promising no less than the settlement of endemic dispute, a way for Conrad to return to Germany with the very good prospect that neither he nor his successor again would have to bring a host south.
‘Did you learn such subtlety at your father’s knee, Guaimar?’
‘I learnt much from him, it is true.’
‘Like how to lie to an emperor?’ Conrad was smiling as he said that, but it was not friendly, more enquiry. ‘My spies in Constantinople told me that no request was sent there for help, information that reached me in Rome, and news confirmed by Pope Benedict’s own informants at the Byzantine Court.’
There was no easy way to respond, at least not one which would not mark him out as devious, so he fell back on bluster. ‘Then I am accused of being truthful.’
‘So the Bishop of L’Aquila is the liar?’
‘He is elevated enough a cleric to answer for his own sins, sire.’
‘That is not an answer.’
‘I cannot think of another.’
‘Then think on this, Guaimar. Can I trust you?’
‘I hope you do not doubt it, sire.’
‘I always harbour such doubts. It is the price of the office I occupy. It is a lesson you should hold to if you truly wish to rule Salerno.’
‘I am always eager to learn from such as you, sire,’ Guaimar insisted.
‘You are a Lombard, young man,’ Conrad insisted. ‘Lying is in your blood, so there is little I can teach you, but have a care when you lie to me. Now who is to carry this proposition of yours?’
‘I am willing to do so.’
‘The man may lop off your head.’
‘If he is so inclined, I will have failed. Given that, what do I have to live for?’
‘Don’t go throwing away your life, Guaimar. Not even Salerno is worth that.’
‘Not to you, sire. But it is to me.’
‘I wish to accompany you,’ Berengara insisted, not in the least deflected by her brother’s furious shake of the head. ‘You say it is dangerous, I believe my presence makes it less so.’
‘And if we both perish?’
‘Then it is God’s will and so be it.’
‘Berengara,’ Guaimar pleaded.
‘You took me to Bamberg for the same reason.’
