‘Of course, no one would follow that fellow. I have heard he is a fool.’
‘A prince who is a vassal of the Pope.’
‘So?’
‘Apulia, in its religion, is mostly Greek. The people who live there, even those who are Lombards, after hundreds of years of Byzantine rule, look to the Patriarch in Constantinople for spiritual guidance. A Prince of Benevento, a vassal of Rome and a worshipper in the Latin rite, may not be to their taste.’
Guaimar nodded: what Ephraim was saying made good sense; even if it appeared the revolt was succeeding, nothing was yet settled.
‘I would also suggest that city states like Bari and Brindisi, even if the Lombard sections of the population are now in the ascendancy of opinion, have enjoyed so much privilege under Constantinople that they will be reluctant to bow the knee to anyone. In pledging to the revolt they may have acted out of prudence, not conviction. Their actions henceforth will be regulated by fear, and I doubt any Lombard prince can command enough force to compel deference.’
‘They would not see Amalfi as an example?’
‘They are much more formidable than Amalfi.’
‘So whoever wanted to rule in Apulia, unless they have an emperor to sustain them, would still need the Normans.’
Ephraim nodded, pleased that Guaimar obviously accepted the same constraint applied to him, without it having to be openly stated.
‘They are warriors you control through Rainulf Drengot.’
Guaimar smiled again, but it was more wolfish than his previous good humour. He would not admit to Ephraim he had been worried, unnecessarily so.
‘Let me travel to Melfi. After such a victory there will be much business to be transacted with those people, more than I can entrust to another. You should not venture out of Campania, but stop before the border.’
Guaimar’s eyes narrowed suddenly: those Normans would tell this Jew who handled their money things they would not impart to anyone else. Would he pass it on? ‘As long as you act for me.’
‘Honourable one, who else would I act for?’ The Jew then nodded to the bulging leather pouch on the table. ‘Quite apart from personal affection, there is the question of my own interest.’
‘Arise, Count Rainulf.’
Guaimar said those words in a soft and friendly voice, hinting that for his vassal to kneel to him was unnecessary. The man in question knew better: if he had not wanted a public display of fealty Guaimar would have received him in private instead of his audience chamber, and not subjected his old bones to the dipping. Seeing him struggle to rise again, one of his attendant knights stepped forward to aid him, only to be brushed away. He was not so aged he needed lifting!
Watching this, Guaimar could see that the years were continuing to take their toll of this one-time puissant Norman — or perhaps he had not yet recovered from his effort at the recent siege. Odd that his ears seemed so much bigger, and those on either side of a face now losing the ability to hold firm the flesh. The cheekbones were very pronounced now, in a countenance that had once been so puffy as to nearly conceal the eyes. Yet there was no denying his success: not only did he have Aversa and his rewards from Amalfi, but he had long ago replaced the Wolf of the Abruzzi as a bane to the great monastery of Montecassino.
Where the late unlamented Pandulf had ravaged monastery lands and beggared the monks, Rainulf was more measured in his actions, forcing the abbot to cede land, so that Rainulf’s most loyal followers gained much of their income not from his purse, but at the expense of the monastery coffers. Even that failed to ease the threat of Norman brigandage — only distant warfare did that — just as it did nothing for the transferred tenants.
Rainulf’s Normans had fought at Amalfi, but as soon as that was over, those not part of the garrison had gone back to raiding their neighbours. This Rainulf saw as none of his concern; he had to keep content men bred to war and in search of wealth, and with no war still to fight, and in consequence no plunder, this was his way of providing for them and stopping the discontented from sliding off to join William de Hauteville.
The Abbot of Montecassino had appealed to Guaimar to intervene, as he had to both Rome and the Prince of Benevento, but those were pleas made to deaf ears: if Rainulf’s unruly Normans were not occupied ravaging the abbot’s lands, they might well find temptation elsewhere. Let them stay out of Lombard territory. Letters had been despatched to the emperor in Bamberg, but he, newly elected and of tender years, was a man with much more pressing concerns in Germany; Italy could wait.
Guaimar was remembering how much he had once feared this man. But no more: he was sound in his inheritance now and he had command of Rainulf Drengot in his own domains, which gave him deep satisfaction. The Count of Aversa needed his prince as much as Guaimar needed him, perhaps more, given his continuing difficulties with Rome, a matter not helped by the continuing dispute about who, in fact, out of the competing contenders, was truly Pope.
‘I am obliged to ask after your family.’
Not my woman, or my son by name; my family, thought Drengot. I’m damned if I will mention to you the woman who shares my bed.
‘The boy is hale, sire, and growing.’
‘And how do matters progress in your annulment?’
If the courtiers attending in the chamber did not laugh outright, there was certainly more than a hint of suppressed mirth: Rainulf knew of the jokes that they told each other about him and the woman he wanted to marry, so much younger than he. Why could not that bitch of a wife of his expire? He was a man who had torched nunneries in his life and he longed to do that now, with one of the inmates still trapped inside. But it would not serve: he was no longer a mere knight with a lance, a sword and nothing in his purse — he was too elevated, too prominent a figure. Excommunication, which would surely follow, would not aid his cause.
‘I have asked Pope Benedict to tell me what would be needed to facilitate matters, but he seems very reluctant to name me a price.’
‘Benedict is having trouble holding on to his office, Rainulf. There are those in Rome who challenge his right to his title. Perhaps you should consult with them too.’
Suddenly Drengot’s voice became weedy and pleading, he knew he was being guyed. ‘There can only be one true pontiff, surely, but is it not a shameful thing, sire, that such a man holding such a holy office seeks a bribe to do that which is right?’
One of those attending, so ancient now he had earned the right to be seated, was the bent-backed Archbishop of Salerno, who frowned mightily to hear the Pontiff he and Salerno supported, the man who actually held both St Peter’s and the papal castle of St Angelo, so traduced. Taking advantage of his years and his mitre, he barked out a response.
‘The case must be examined, Count Rainulf. You say the marriage was not consummated and can thus be annulled, the woman you married denies it. Are you suggesting the Holy See pay to investigate the true facts?’
‘I say the Holy See should take the word of an imperial count before that of-’
Guaimar interrupted sharply, it being a chance to beard his vassal on safe ground. ‘The sister of an imperial prince, for if Pandulf has been deposed, he once held that estate?’
‘Prince no longer, sire,’ Rainulf spat. ‘His fief is a Byzantine dungeon and he is lucky not to have had his eyes put out.’
Said with such obvious bitterness, Guaimar was tempted to remind Rainulf Drengot of how he had once loyally served the man they called the Wolf of the Abruzzi. But it would not do, his responsibility to his rank and office demanded that he put such a notion aside, for that would be a jibe too far. Truly, being a prince took some of the joy out of life.
‘Come, Rainulf, and let us retire to my private chamber, to discuss matters in Apulia.’
Unbeknown to Robert de Hauteville, his arrival in the hill city of Benevento coincided with the day Count Atenulf had set aside to show off his prisoner, a matter delayed and arranged so that the population could demonstrate their feelings for this hated Byzantine catapan. He had found a place to lay his head, and to stable his horses, in a religious house half a league away and, alerted to the proposed celebrations, he made for the walled city on foot. The gates were guarded, but such was the crowd coming in from the surrounding habitations that
