‘Then pay us some of the gold you found in the vaults.’
‘That belongs to the emperor, not to me, not to you.’
‘Then I am forced to ask what you expect us to do,’ William snapped. ‘Some of my men died to take this place…’
‘Very few.’
That set Drogo off. ‘You are generous with Norman blood.’
‘I am generous with the blood of anyone my emperor employs. You are well paid, remember, and you got to plunder Abdullah’s baggage.’
‘General Maniakes,’ William insisted. ‘You must make a gesture to my men and the Varangians too.’
‘Must, must!’ Maniakes yelled coming close to tower over William, his spittle flying. ‘Who in hell’s name do you think you are addressing? No one tells me must.’
‘Pay them some gold, keep them loyal.’
‘No.’
Was it victory that had made him like this, William wondered, or the way the mob had kissed his feet and praised him as an angel sent from heaven to rescue them from the Infidel? It made no odds, Maniakes had changed, his head was swollen and instead of seeking advice he was denying the men who had won his prize what they were due.
‘Then, I regret to tell you, general, that neither I or my men will continue to serve Byzantium.’
‘There are other places,’ Maniakes replied.
‘Which you also may decide we cannot plunder. The Syracusans who so laud you fought you first. They stood on the wall while I engaged in single combat with Rashid and cheered him on to kill me. They were offered terms and refused, slamming their gates in your face, so they deserve everything which comes to a city that refuses terms from a conqueror. These are the laws of warfare and you choose to flout them for a few flower petals strewn in your path.’
George Maniakes just shrugged and went back to his chair, sitting down and staring on the papers before him. ‘This discussion is closed. Tomorrow we will begin the march back to Rometta, then on to Palermo. Perhaps there you can fill your boots.’
‘No!’ That made the general look up sharply at William, his broad, flat nose twitching angrily and his flat forehead creased. ‘We will not march to Rometta, but to Messina and take ship for Italy. I am obliged to remind you of your obligation to see us shipped back to the mainland and provisioned till we reach Salerno.’
Drogo was looking hard at his brother; was he bluffing?
‘And I,’ said Harald Hardrada, ‘will take my men back to Constantinople.’
That made the giant’s head jerk. ‘You serve the emperor!’
‘At the behest of the Prince of Kiev Rus. It is to him I owe my loyalty.’
The four men looked at each other in angry silence for half a minute, a long time in which no one even blinked. Finally Maniakes spoke, bowing his head to the work on his desk. ‘So be it. Now that I have Syracuse, and the forces I can muster locally, I doubt I need either of you.’
William suspected George Maniakes was bluffing, and he also suspected the general thought he and Hardrada were doing the same, but neither got to find out; the way he had nearly throttled Admiral Stephen and the words he had used regarding the imperial house came back to bite him. A message arrived relieving him of command and ordering him to return to Constantinople. That news caught up with the Normans between Syracuse and Messina, and added to it was the name of the new commander, a eunuch none of them had ever heard of, though it was soon established his appointment came through court intrigue, not military skill; it seemed he had never fought a battle.
Naturally, as their leader, William put it to the men, but the air in Sicily had begun to stink of impending failure. Only the personal magnetism of George Maniakes had held tight a disparate army and that had been destroyed by his refusal to treat Syracuse as a conquered city. Few of the Apulian and Calabrian levies had fought with great will, neither had the Bulgars, and if they lacked a strong general would fight with even less, while Sicilian troops now being conscripted into the imperial army had not saved the Saracens.
They would achieve nothing without mercenaries and they would not fight for paltry rewards. It was time to return to that place from which they had come.
It was a weary force that rode into Rainulf Drengot’s encampment a month later, to be greeted by women who had aged at the same pace as their bastards, some of whom, Drogo’s included, had formed liaisons with the knights who had stayed behind, which promised much trouble. But there was recompense: they were greeted by three of their brothers, Humphrey, Geoffrey and Mauger. Matters had become more settled in the Contentin: a revolt by local barons had been crushed, so they were, at last, able to come south.
They brought news of home, of Tancred who had steered clear of that upheaval, fit and well, but still verbally embroiled with his more powerful neighbours in various disputes; of their cousin of Montbray, who had used his clever brain to become a power at the ducal court, which protected the family from interference more effectively than their father’s squabbles. Other brothers had grown to manhood and fired with the tales of William and Drogo’s exploits were also planning to join them.
And, of course, they had to report to their leader; meeting Rainulf Drengot was like meeting a stranger. He was sober, and none of the personal warmth he had shown William in the past was present. That which was present boded ill: an infant son on whom Rainulf clearly doted, and one he was quite open in crowing over as his heir; he even named the child as the future Count Richard of Aversa. If he noticed the stony face with which William responded to this it did not show, and it made no difference that his pleas to the Pope to annul his previous marriage had fallen on deaf ears.
‘He’s going to cheat you, Gill,’ said Drogo, when they were alone again. ‘He named you at Capua, and we were all there as witness. Challenge Rainulf, force him to keep to his word.’
‘If I challenge him, I must force the men to decide between us and not all of them will follow us, you know that. We could end up fighting each other.’
‘Are we to bow the knee to another bastard, as we would have had to do in Normandy?’
‘I need to think.’
‘There are five of us now,’ Drogo insisted, ‘and maybe more to come if our brothers speak true. When you are thinking, think on that.’
‘Leave me in peace, Drogo,’ William growled, ‘go and take your resentments out on your woman.’
‘What will you do?’
‘The only thing I can right now. I will go and see Prince Guaimar.’
EPILOGUE
Guaimar had grown in stature, though he physically looked much the same — too young for his title, but he was now a man, and one at ease in his own station, which had not been the case previously. His sister was even more self-possessed, if that was possible, and certainly was now a fully mature woman of great beauty, though she still had about her an air of malice. Perhaps both impressions were underscored by the place in which William de Hauteville was given audience, the forbidding Castello de Arechi, which might be the princely home, but was a citadel that had an air of something disquieting in its ancient stones.
The Prince wanted to talk about Pandulf, imprisoned in Constantinople; of Montecassino, in peace and prosperity under a new abbot, Theodore having gone to meet his maker; this while he resolutely deflected any conversation of that which his visitor had come to discuss. Indeed, when William alluded to it directly, the Prince of Salerno abruptly changed the subject, demanding to be given chapter and verse of what had happened in Sicily.
‘You will be pleased to hear,’ Guaimar said, when he had finished, ‘that George Maniakes has also paid a heavy price for his folly. As soon as his ship docked he was bound in chains and thrown into the deepest dungeon. Perhaps he is neighbour to the Wolf.’
