Geoffrey, giving the rest of us a chance to rejoin.’
‘And Salerno?’ asked Duke Guy.
‘As long as we can block the catapan and Leo does not move, the men who killed Guaimar will see their own guts before they die.’
‘I thank you,’ he replied, relieved.
‘We will, however,’ Humphrey said, ‘need to be recompensed for our assistance. Guaimar was a wealthy man and Salerno is one of the richest ports in Italy.’
The bargaining that followed, for high sums of gold, might have embarrassed a man of tender feelings. Humphrey de Hauteville was not that man.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Robert, still castle-building in Calabria, heard of what had happened at Salerno long after matters were resolved, and he heard of how the hand of Argyrus had been exposed. The catapan had indeed moved out from Bari as soon as the ship from Salerno brought news of Guaimar’s assassination, and it was suspected he had sent word to Pope Leo asking him to act as well, but as soon as he met Geoffrey he knew that, even if he could beat and pursue him, he could be putting his head into a Norman noose, so he withdrew.
Humphrey, having joined with Richard of Aversa, had descended on Salerno within four days, a speed which had thrown the Amalfians off balance, causing most of them to flee. The assassins thought they had time to consolidate their position in Salerno when they had none. They thought, also, they had time to overcome the garrison of their own home city, now besieged in their bastions in a port in full revolt; that too was in doubt.
The Normans had gathered on the way the news that Gisulf had been taken into the Castello di Arechi, now barred and held by the most stalwart Amalfians, though it was said he was still alive, so Guy of Sorrento was sent in to offer them terms. Spare Gisulf, free him, and they would live, kill him and they would die — as they must for foul murder — and as an added incentive Amalfi would be spared sack and utter ruin.
The offer was refused. If the Amalfians thought that in holding Gisulf they had an unbeatable hand, they again underestimated the Norman mind. Richard of Aversa descended on Amalfi like a whirlwind and relieved the garrisons. The men in the Castello di Arechi were brusquely informed their own families — wives and children — had been taken as hostages, which allowed Guy to negotiate for Gisulf’s release, and as soon as he was freed his uncle bent the knee and did homage to him as the new ruler of Salerno.
‘He should have taken the title himself,’ Humphrey complained, as he saw Guy kneeling. ‘Gisulf is but a boy, and not an impressive one at that.’
‘It was a selfless act,’ Mauger replied.
‘Stupid,’ his elder brother spat. ‘Salerno needs a strong hand, not that of a weakling.’
‘So what do we do?’
They were in front of the Castello di Arechi, still occupied by the Amalfians, with crowds of Salernians not far off, at least out of the range of a crossbow bolt, seemingly cheering their new prince but probably more relieved that they would be allowed to return to making money. Between the crowd and the Castello stood a line of mailed and armed Normans.
Humphrey, biting hard on his lower lip, finally said, ‘What can we do, but the same?’
He led Mauger forward and knelt before the young Gisulf, which was followed by the entire contingent of Normans. The youngster looked confused about how to respond, until his uncle told him to gently raise Humphrey up and thank him, which the boy did.
‘The assassins?’ he asked Guy.
‘Will come out now. I have told them they will be spared.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes, we need peace and reconciliation more than we need more bloodshed.’
‘Then let us see them.’
Guy of Sorrento went to the gates of the Castello di Arechi and called for the men to come out, reiterating that they were safe. Slowly they complied, two dozen of them, blinking at the jeering which came from the citizens gathered at a distance.
‘Your weapons?’ Guy said.
Unsheathing their swords they threw them to the ground and moved forward to stand before Guy and the de Hautevilles, at which point Humphrey growled, ‘You spared them.’
‘I told you,’ Guy replied.
‘Mauger,’ Humphrey called, unsheathing his broadsword, his voice rising as he shouted. ‘We did not!’
Mauger had followed his brother; his sword was out and employed in moments, swinging left and right, smashing bone as well as slashing flesh, and the men who had killed Guaimar were cut to ribbons with a staggering degree of Norman ferocity.
Guy of Sorrento was shouting in protest, Gisulf was wailing in fright, until Humphrey stood before him, the decimated bodies at his back, a bloodstained figure towering over the boy.
‘Don’t weep, lad,’ he said. ‘My brother and I have just saved your life.’
The news of Guaimar’s murder was at first a cause for some rejoicing in Benevento, though Pope Leo felt the need to be muted in his gratitude that the greatest obstacle to the alliance he was creating was gone. Then came the Norman retribution, shocking both in the swift manner it was carried out and worrying to those who had joined the papal forces, not least in the way that Salerno and the Normans had combined. Men began to desert the papal cause, especially when news came from southern Apulia that Argyrus had been obliged to retire on Bari.
Pope Leo was not one to be idle: off he went once more to Germany, to try again to persuade Henry to help him. Not being entirely successful, he had trouble, in the imperial presence, in hiding his anger: there was, to his mind, a dereliction of duty in Henry not accepting that problems in Southern Italy demanded his full attention. However, thanks to a noble relative, he returned with something: a body of seven hundred Swabian infantry, soldiers every bit as professional as the Normans, though he was required to find from papal funds the money to pay and maintain them.
These would form the nucleus of his army, which was made up of levies from all over the north, and with that Swabian core, those who had seen prudence in returning to their homes began to flood back in until Leo had under his command a swelling and formidable force. Humphrey, realising this, sent an offer of parley. It was an indication of Leo’s growing strength and confidence that he dismissed it out of hand.
‘Rider coming,’ called the sentinel atop the first finished tower of Robert’s castle. ‘And he’s Norman.’
Robert, now using what had once been the fat abbot’s private chamber, heard the cry and put aside his quill, where he had been examining the income of his new estates which had come in from his edicts: payment from the use of the corn mill as well as the use of the large monastery ovens for baking; there were others for water and grazing rights, permission for two young lovers to set up house together and myriad other impositions by which a lord maintained himself and his knights.
There were outgoings as well, some in hard-won money, unlike most of his income, for Masses to be said, implements to be purchased from the coast so that those working the land could increase their yields, as well as the purchase of seed and better strains of livestock, but that had been offset by the abundant medicinal herbs which the monks had grown and never exploited: he had been able to trade them profitably. He would only prosper if those below him did so too: he might have argued with old Tancred endlessly, but he had learnt from him as well.
By the time he exited the chamber the rider, on foam-flecked mount and in the de Hauteville colours, was clattering into the courtyard that would, one day, be the keep of his castle, and the message he bore was a command from Humphrey to leave Calabria and come at once to join his brothers: the whole Norman presence, not only in Apulia, but in Italy, was in jeopardy.
‘He’s not talking sense,’ Robert insisted, having got the messenger into his quarters and put something to drink in his hand.
