the mercy of anyone on the inner wall and they would need a great effusion of blood to overcome the defence. Those walls and towers were made from the hard stone of the mountains in which the castle was sat — rock so hard the walls could not be undermined — and they were well buttressed to withstand assault by ballista, while being tall enough to make firing anything over the top near impossible, the whole edifice high on a hill that dominated the town below, as well as the valleys that led to the east and west.
Overlooked by the even higher peak of Monte Vulture, that too was part of its defence: no substantial force could hope to approach from any direction without being seen a whole day’s march distant. Inside, the fortress was spacious, with well-constructed buildings that could house hundreds of knights, sufficient stabling for their mounts, and vaults below and lofts above that could store enough supplies to sustain them for an eternity, while the keep was large enough in which to train to fight so that no warrior could become rusty by confinement.
Built by the Byzantines on the site of an old Roman watchtower, it had a water supply that could not be stopped, several deep wells that sat inside the very rock on which the castle stood, and on three sides lay steep escarpments which reduced the options for any attacker to a frontal assault up the causeway to the crossing, at the end of which stood huge oak gates, studded with metal. On either side of the outer castle entrance stood a pair of towers, barbicans that made the area before the drawbridge a deadly place for any man at the mercy of besieged crossbowmen.
Arduin was already inside, back in the place he had come to occupy when first appointed, and he was on the steps that led to the great hall when his first Normans entered through the castle gate. In his mind he could see what was to come, himself at the head of a formidable army, taking from Byzantium towns, cities and especially the great ports which sustained them with their fabulous revenues.
There was another vision: he might need a figurehead to give him the legitimacy needed to persuade others to revolt, but he would be no more than that. Men had risen before from seemingly humble origins to a noble estate, why not he? His arrangement with Prince Guaimar was for an equal division of the spoils, but that might be something he could circumvent with success. In part, the happy face with which he grasped the arm of William de Hauteville and the first contingent of knights was fed by such thoughts.
‘A messenger, William, to bring in the rest.’
‘Already sent, Arduin,’ the Norman leader replied. ‘I would also ask a message be sent north to the Normans of Troia, suggesting they desert Byzantium and join us.’
‘Do you think they will be tempted?’
‘No, they have prospered too much from serving the Eastern Empire, but not to ask might make them more of an enemy than we now need and I would want them neutral. It never does to wound Norman pride.’
Arduin flashed a look at William de Hauteville then, wondering at the level of his pride, indeed the pride of the whole clan; all twelve of them.
CHAPTER FIVE
The great castle of Moulineaux stood stark and pale grey, high on the hillside, set against the deep-green and corn-gold fields of the Normandy landscape, dappled by sunlight and high white clouds, with a rolling slope, part cultivated fields, part woodland, reaching down to the silver ribbon of the winding River Seine, the whole now dotted with tented encampments. Beyond the fluttering pennants of the great lords who occupied these pavilions there were boats and barges plying their way upriver, some to Rouen, others which would continue on to Paris and perhaps all the navigable way to fertile Burgundy, for the Seine was a major artery of trade with the interior, a source of great wealth to whosoever controlled the river as it exited to the sea.
To the elderly man who emerged from the deep woods on the high ridgeline, the sight before him spoke of different things: it reminded him of his heritage and the tales he had heard at his grandfather’s knee. Once that same river had been the means by which his Viking forbears had terrorised this part of the world, as they had done so many others, sailing their longboats up to and beyond the island on which Paris stood, and besieging the city until paid enough treasure to depart.
The land around this part of the Frankish Kingdom, from the coast to the core, had been rich, fruitful, full of churches, monasteries, castles and walled towns the men from the north had plundered at will; it was rich now, but it was also the land settled by those same raiders for two centuries and thus not for despoliation. There was a part of Tancred de Hauteville that had always hankered after the notion of living in older times, even if the age he lived in now was troubled enough for any man.
The rest of his party, all members of his family, fanned out alongside him. Tancred and his sons were not only on higher ground, but being mounted as well, they were at near eye level with the round, crenellated towers of mighty Moulineaux, which stood at each corner of the curtain walls that connected them. They were close enough to see the separation between the mortar and the stone blocks, as well as the dark slash of the deep ditch before the ramparts, though not enough to see into the great square keep they protected.
Within ballista range the forest had been cleared to deny cover to any approaching enemy intent on battering the walls, but Tancred, who, despite his advanced years still prided himself on his skill, as well as his experience as a fighting man, was adamant the castle was not built in the right place.
‘Mind it, some clever clogs will build a contraption that can fire a stone ball further than we now know, and they will gain distance from this high ground. Those walls could be breached and even the keep could be open to a shower of deadly rocks big enough to kill. Duke Robert should have put it up where we are sitting now so it could not be overlooked, and I told the young fool that when he was building the place.’
‘Which is no doubt why he sought your advice in all matters since that day.’
‘Mind your cheek, boy!’
Robert de Hauteville, named as a child after the very duke just mentioned, showed no reaction to this stricture from his father, nor did he even deign to look as though he noticed the glare which accompanied it. The rest of the family did not react: that was just Robert and his papa, forever in disagreement as they had been on the whole journey and for years prior to that. If anything, they were slightly embarrassed, given that riding to attend a ceremony of great importance — one to which every loyal subject of the Duke of Normandy was ordered to be present — their party was in company with many others travelling on the same errand.
One such group, a dozen knights, rode slightly ahead of them on the narrow highway that ran along the ridge top, with yet more close behind, all summoned to attend upon their liege lord. King Henry of the Franks, was coming downriver from Paris in all his majesty, his purpose to confer knighthood on his vassal, William, the adolescent Duke of Normandy, this on the occasion of his fifteenth birthday.
‘Roger,’ Tancred barked to his youngest and favourite child. ‘Do me the honour of not growing up to be like this one, who, by his manner, is bound to be a changeling.’
Such a statement was nonsense, of course: you only had to see Robert and Tancred together to know that the old fellow, for all his hair was white, his frame somewhat shrunk, with a face lined and craggy, was the sire of this sturdy, tetchy giant. Indeed that was where the constant rubbing up against each other came from: they were too alike.
From a mere ten-year-old, the response was loud and firm. ‘I will match his height and valour, Father, if not his conduct.’
‘Don’t be too keen on the loftiness, lad. There comes a point where it clearly affects the brain.’
‘Then I must have more sense than anyone else in the family,’ insisted Serlo, who, though a year older than Robert and no dwarf, was nowhere near the size of his half-brother; few men were.
‘Are you going to block the path, or move your fat arses on their way?’
The irate voice came from the party immediately behind them, half a dozen mounted men still in amongst the trees, and the reaction was telling. Tancred half-turned to request patience, his face showing no rancour, but in the time he had done that Robert had his sword out from its scabbard, and was hauling on his reins to turn his horse, bellowing as he pushed it through his brothers, as well as the packhorses on which rested the family possessions, back into the woods, demanding to know who dared speak so.
Being family, and with Robert urging his mount to the rear, Serlo did likewise and the remaining two de Hautevilles old enough to bear arms, Aubrey and Humbert, had their weapons out too; even Roger was quick to brandish his knife. The men behind were sharp to the defence, so that in seconds the two groups were ready to do
