that led to another platform being built at the top of the tower and balustraded, accessed by yet another ladder, which the bowmen could use to overlook and aid the assault while still keeping the defenders away from the grappling hooks.
Time and again they went at it, William changing the men engaged on both sides so that everyone knew what to do and what they would face. He even had his heavily mailed and armed lances, himself included, running up and down the ladders to time how long it would be before they got to the top and became effective, an activity that, like most of what had gone before, required copious amounts of watered wine for dry throats, this while Arduin drilled his volunteer milities for the task they had to perform, to attack in force any gate the Normans managed to get open.
As darkness fell, William retired to his tent, there to be looked after by his two wards, who had insisted on taking on the duties. Listo saw to his equipment, cleaning it of the dust and sweat with which it had become stained, while Tirena provided warmed water with which he could remove those same commodities from his body, and fresh, more comfortable clothing. She also supervised the preparation of his food, with an air, much resented, that indicated she did not trust those who did the cooking not to poison him.
Once fed, and attired in loose garments, William made his nightly tour of the outposts, checking that his men, on the part of the lines for which they were responsible, were in place and awake, stopping occasionally to talk, and also to look at the walls of Trani, lit by flaming torches that cast a low glow of light onto the ground below so that no sudden night-time assault would be possible.
Traversing the southern edge of the lines, alongside those marshes, he stopped to watch the dancing fireflies, wondering at how God had made such creatures, but that only led him on to wonder at how that same deity had made humanity in his own image, yet he had set men like him on a path that led to death, mostly for others. Crossing himself, just before he slapped a biting insect, he was also thinking Arduin was right: with the tower probably no more than a day away from completion it was time to offer the citizens terms.
The proposition would be simple: open your gates and give yourselves over to the Lombard army, in which case the city and the people within it will be spared. Refuse and you will face fire and sword, for if you force us to bleed to capture, then you will lose more blood as a consequence, and if required to continue once the gates had been breached no citizen of the town, of any age or sex, would be guaranteed to survive.
That thought made him gloomy, and, sick of the buzzing of flying creatures in his ears, he made his way back to the quarter housing the tented encampment of the leaders of the host, where he came across Arduin and Argyrus. They were in conversation outside the latter’s tent and, being called to join them, William did so.
‘All is ready, William. Tomorrow at first light I will call for the gates to be opened.’
‘Arduin thinks they will refuse, William, how do you see it?’ asked Argyrus.
‘I think if they were going to surrender they would have sent out envoys by now. They can see what we are building and they know that once it is employed, unless they can destroy it immediately, they are doomed. My mind is set on the assault.’
There was a short silence then: regardless of how good the men who would attack, some would die, and since William was going to lead the supporting fighters personally, and would thus face the defenders near to their most potent, he might be one of them.
‘How I wish I was going to be there alongside you,’ said Argyrus, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.
William took that for what it was, wishful thinking: this young man could not fight like a Norman and would probably struggle to match the men of his own race. Utterly untrained, he would just get in the way, in fact he would probably get someone killed trying to keep him alive. But it was a worthy sentiment to express at such a time and it would have been churlish to react with the truth.
‘You lead our men through the gates, Argyrus,’ then he looked at Arduin, to reassure him he saw him as their commander. ‘Alongside our general.’
Argyrus sighed. ‘I doubt I shall sleep. My blood is racing.’
‘I shall,’ William replied, ‘and so will you when you become accustomed to nights like this.’
‘Of which we have had many, have we not, William? And we will have more before our cause triumphs.’
Looking at Arduin, William could see, once more and reflected by the flickering torches, the light of that Lombard dream in his eyes, and he wondered how the man could sustain it after the rebuffs he had suffered at Montecchio. Putting aside his own ambitions and imaging the result after which Arduin hankered, what was there for him if they were ultimately successful? The envoys from the other port cities had openly repudiated him, as well as mouthing meaningless platitudes when it came to Argyrus, while Guaimar was playing such a double game he could hardly look for support there.
Was it that he would be satisfied to see Apulia free of Byzantium? Did he hope that Argyrus would somehow overturn any objections from the other Lombard powers and succeed in uniting the factions, thus gaining his reward as the man who had aided him to power? These were too many thoughts to be harbouring at such a time of day. William had had a hard day’s training, with more to come in the morning and quite possibly real fighting instead of mock combat. He was tired.
‘Time to sleep.’
The oil lamps were low in his tent and there was silence from the other two cots. Having said prayers, then disrobing, William lay down and closed his eyes, but sleep was slow to come as he ran over in his mind what might happen on the morrow, envisaging the attack, almost hearing the clash of swords and the shouting of men engaged in deadly combat, himself included. In doing so he had the thoughts which had plagued him often, of how close he had come in the past to death, seeing the blows that he had deflected which might, had he not been both good and lucky, have got through.
He was just drifting off when his cot dipped to one side and he half-raised himself sharply: a secret knife in such places as Italy was always a possibility and assassinating leaders was a particularly good way to thwart a siege, but that turned to first surprise and then to slight annoyance as the girl Tirena wrapped her arms round his naked upper body.
‘Back to your own cot,’ he whispered, insistently, but that only increased the force of her embrace: she was now clinging to him and he was aware that she too was naked, her pert young breasts pressing into his flesh.
‘You fight tomorrow,’ she hissed, ‘and I fear for you.’
William wanted to scoff but that seemed ridiculous in the face of the thoughts he had just been harbouring, so he sought to deflect her obvious concern by addressing worries she might have. ‘Never fear, Tirena, you and Listo will be cared for.’
Even whispered, her reply was vehement. ‘You can be very stupid!’
That said, her hand shot down to his crotch and took hold of his penis, and even if he had wanted not to react, he was a man and could not help it as she tugged at it with the same urgency she had no doubt once used on a goat’s teat. Drogo might accuse him of behaving like a eunuch, but William de Hauteville was far from that: he had the same desires as his rampant brother but he attributed to himself more self-control.
That was not the case on this night and under the pressure of this girl’s enticement. It seemed only seconds before he was astride her, hearing her gasp with a combination of satisfaction and pain as he entered her, grateful that all thoughts of what might happen at sunrise had been driven from his mind.
The alarm, much shouting and cries of agitation, were slow to penetrate William’s brain, and as he awoke, the surprise of finding someone else in his cot, huddled close to his body and asleep, took a moment to register. But those shouts coming through the canvas allowed no time for delay and he was up and at the tent flap in a flash, in the process waking the girl. Standing naked and looking out, William saw without difficulty what the noise was about: the flames from the burning tower rose high in the sky, illuminating the ground all around, as well as the silhouetted figures running around it.
Some were trying to throw water to douse the conflagration, but given it was blazing from base to top, with cinders rising into the glowing orange and yellow fingers of flame, it would be useless. But he did register that fresh-cut timber, even if it had had several days to lose its sap, should not burn with such ferocity. It could only have gone up in the way it had because of sabotage.
‘Fetch my cloak,’ he commanded, watching as Tirena ran to obey, wondering at the sudden tumescence the sight of her young moving and naked body produced. Once she handed it over, her black eyes wild with fear, he responded softly. ‘Go back to your cot and wait for me.’
The last three words assuaged her fears and made her smile, and as she was only half his height, the kiss
