Argue as he might, Guaimar could not shift her, so it was a small party that included her which left Conrad’s camp, and made for a place where they could safely cross the River Volturno.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sentinels at the top of Rainulf Drengot’s tower again gave early warning of the approaching party. Even at some distance they could see this was a different kind of delegation to that which normally called on the encampment: one of the party was a highborn female and, closer to, the sight of the imperial banner held high by one of the armed, six-man escort made apparent the sense of something unusual.
Riding through the rows of round huts, they were scrutinised by every woman in the camp; likewise the mercenaries lined the rail of the training manege to watch them pass. By the time they arrived at the ramp leading to the entrance to the donjon, Rainulf awaited them, his dogs snuffling about his lower legs, in the company of his trio of captains, which now included, since the defection of another senior mercenary to Pandulf, the recently elevated Drogo.
It was obvious to both the youngsters that Rainulf had aged: what had once been a full face, albeit a high- coloured one, was now lined and there was the beginnings of a dewlap of flesh under the chin as well as large bags under the eyes. His hair was now more grey than black and thinner than the young man remembered, while his build seemed less solid. Where previously he had looked like a warrior to be feared he now had the appearance of an ageing man, whose watery eyes were staring, trying to make out who was approaching.
Guaimar was the first to throw back the cowl and reveal himself, which made one of the quartet stiffen, though it had no effect at all on the de Hautevilles. Rainulf gasped at a face he never thought to see again, before composing himself, but that was as nothing to the reaction of the four of them when Berengara dropped her own cloak to rest on the haunches of her horse. She had dressed her hair as well as plucked her eyebrows as if attending a court ceremony and had donned a low-cut gown that showed to full perfection the swell of her breasts. Two of the escorts Conrad had sent with them jumped down to help her off her horse, Guaimar dismounting on his own.
‘Lord Rainulf,’ he said, with a nod more than a bow.
The Norman looked at the bright-yellow imperial banner, with the standing black griffin, the flag of Conrad the Salian, held by one soldier still mounted, and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I do not know how to address you under such a standard.’
‘There was a time you would have been obliged to address me as Duke.’
‘A time long past,’ Rainulf replied. ‘Let your name suffice.’
‘Does that imply a welcome?’
‘No, Guaimar, it does not. I shall, however, greet your sister as the Lady Berengara.’
The use of the names made William look harder at both; Drogo had never taken his eyes off the lady, mainly at what lay under her chin. There were not so many who bore those names, so their identity was obvious, and he had been told chapter and verse about the deposition of their father in favour of Pandulf, as well as just how much Rainulf had profited by his switch of allegiance.
‘I come with a message from Conrad Augustus.’
Guaimar waited until that had the desired effect, waited till Rainulf could compose himself enough to respond, for, try as he might, he could not help reacting to that name.
‘All the way from Bamberg?’
‘No. Conrad is encamped near Castro dei Volsci on the River Sacco, and he has with him the whole might of his imperial power. I am surprised you are not aware of this, for I suspect Prince Pandulf might be by now, given he is not very far off from Capua.’
One of Conrad’s acts had been to close the road to the south after he left Rome, in order that his progress should be kept covert. There was no way he could surprise Capua; they would know when he got close, but the less time they had to prepare the defences the better. In skirting that city Guaimar had been pleased to note than no one in the hinterland seemed aware of the approaching storm, but that could not last.
‘And the message is?’
Guaimar ran his eyes over the trio of captains, recognising only the one, Turmod, the others being strangers, two very tall and imposing individuals with golden hair and big shoulders, so obviously Normans. At one time he had known all of those who served Rainulf close, indeed he had seen them as friendly adults who always indulged an impetuous youth. How easily they had turned into demons.
‘For your ears only, Rainulf.’
‘I might be disinclined to listen.’
‘I have called you many things in my time, none of them to your credit, but I never thought you a fool.’
‘Have a care, boy, or you might go out of here across your saddle instead of astride it.’
William was only half listening to the exchange, too busy examining the features of both Guaimar and Berengara. The young man was good-looking in a Lombard way, with the same kind of complexion and hair colour as Pandulf, though without any attempt to beguile. He also seemed self-assured, but not so much as his sister, who wore the kind of slight smile that told everyone looking at her that she knew precisely the train of their thoughts — she knew of her own beauty. William speculated that if she had known Drogo’s in detail she would probably have slapped him.
He did wonder what was wrong with Rainulf: these people represented no threat to him, and if they came as an embassy from someone like a Holy Roman Emperor then he should treat them with respect. It then occurred to him that Rainulf found their mere presence uncomfortable, a living and breathing reminder of the way he had betrayed their father.
In the months since his own elevation William had learnt a great deal about the Lord of Aversa, as Rainulf had learnt about him. A bond of trust had been established, not that such a thing led to an exchange of confidences, just to a sense of mutual regard. For instance, William had discovered the mercenary leader was not as thick- skinned as he liked people to think. He drank too much, and in part that might be for shame at some of his deeds, and right now he was looking at the reminder of one of the worst. Added to that, a man knows when he is ageing, knows when his physical prowess is diminishing at a rate which means things once seen as effortless seem to slip away and become a trial almost every day, just as he knows how apparent such a loss is to those around him.
Rainulf ate alone because in drink he became maudlin, and in that state he no doubt felt he would diminish himself in the eyes of the men he had to lead. He slept in his villa so that he would not be seen in a state of total inebriation, given his relations with his wife were stormy enough to drive him to the wine. He wanted a child; she denied him her bed and much as he would like to he dare not put her aside and marry another, for she was Pandulf’s niece. He needed to be seen as still the puissant warrior, to be thought cold-blooded: a man who would not give way to a shrew, would not weep for a death, would not fear his own and would not consider any notion not motivated by profit.
In truth, he was as sentimental as Tancred: for all that tough carapace their father had presented, Tancred loved and was as proud of his boys as he was of his own title and his exploits in the field. What had it cost him to practically beg Duke Robert to take them into his trust? If Rainulf could not be said to love his men he cared for them deeply. He had probably done to the parent of these two what he thought necessary, but William seriously doubted whether he enjoyed the memory of it.
More telling was the fact that Rainulf was now forced to be cautious. Word had come from the south of the proposed Byzantine assault on Sicily, to take advantage of a split between the island’s rulers. The Emir of Palermo had been assassinated, following on from a rebellion led by his brother and a Zirid invasion by an emir called Abdullah from North Africa. The island was in turmoil as the Saracens fought each other, and so ripe for an invasion.
The payment for such service was high, the possibility of substantial booty even higher, especially if the excuse of aiding one emir against another could be turned into a full-scale reoccupation of an island that had increased in value since the Saracens took it from Byzantium. Unquestionably this was the ultimate aim of Constantinople. In short, it was perfect for a band of mercenaries not only at present underused, but also a way to stem, and perhaps reverse, the losses in men Rainulf was experiencing with the land inducements offered by
