‘He is, Robert. The whole of Italy has combined to put an army in the field — Argyrus, Pope Leo, the Duke of Spoleto — and there are even contingents from the valley of the Po.’
‘With not a decent soldier amongst them.’
That’s when he was told about the Swabians.
Mounted and fully ready to travel, leading three horses, Robert leant down to give his parting instructions to Gartmod. Humphrey might have said every lance, but he was not going to completely abandon what he had so far built, on the very good grounds that he might never get it back again: he would leave here three conroys to make sure the monks did not seek to steal back their possessions.
‘I know I can trust you to treat the peasants well, Gartmod, but do not get too soft with the monks.’
‘I will not whip them.’
‘I never have either.’
‘You threatened to, Guiscard.’
‘And they believed me, which was all that was required. But keep safe what we have built until I can return and finish it.’
‘God speed, Robert,’ Gartmod said, slapping the flank of his mount, ‘and may God preserve you.’
‘He does not want to see me yet, my friend,’ Robert called, adding a booming laugh as he rode out of the gates with his men behind him. ‘He fears to lose possession of Heaven.’
‘Raising foot soldiers has been difficult,’ Mauger said. ‘The Italians and Lombards are backing the Pope, but we managed to get some Slavs from across the Adriatic.’
‘How many?’ asked Robert.
‘Four hundred.’
‘That should scare them,’ Robert replied with deep irony. ‘According to Humphrey, Pope Leo has over five thousand.’
‘If he combines with Argyrus…’
There was no need for Mauger to finish that: the two armies would crush them and it was the primary task of Humphrey, who as Count of Apulia was the leader, to ensure that could not happen. Right now, aided by Richard of Aversa and his lances, he was manoeuvring to drive Argyrus away from a junction with the papal force.
‘And Leo?’
‘Two to three days’ march, we think.’
‘It would be best to be sure, Mauger, we cannot afford to be wrong.’
Knowing he was older, Mauger was tempted to tell Robert not to teach his grandmother to suck eggs. But he also had to acknowledge that this younger brother of his had grown in stature: not in height, he had too much of that already, but there was a steadiness about him which he had lacked before going to Calabria.
From being bumptious, and while not losing his love of a good belly laugh, he had become more serious- minded, and Mauger had watched him as he intermingled his lances with those holding the fortress of Troia, so that they could operate efficiently as one, and he was forced to admit that when it came to commanding men this brother had the measure of him. Mauger was not feeble, but neither was he vain, and he told Humphrey when he rejoined that if he had any sense he would give Robert a serious role in the coming battle.
‘Over you?’
‘If need be. It is important we win, not who gets the glory.’
Geoffrey had been left with a force to mask Argyrus, to convince him he still faced a Norman army that he must take a detour to manoeuvre around.
‘Then you fight with me. We march tomorrow to block the road to Siponto, the route by which Leo can join with Argyrus.’
‘Do we have a plan, Humphrey?’
‘We do…to talk.’
The papal army was a slow-moving beast and Humphrey had all of his forces in place before them in two days. They were encamped before the town of Civitate, their backs to the River Fortore, in number certainly double the Normans, if not more. Some indication of the coalition Pope Leo had put together could be seen from the rank of their leading enemies: Rudolf, son of Landulf and the titular Prince of Benevento, the Duke of Gaeta and the Counts of Aquino and Teano, even the Archbishop and many of the citizens of Amalfi, together with men from Apulia, Molise, Campania, Abruzzo and Latium.
The brothers de Hauteville, with Richard Drengot in company, rode forward to parley, hoping to meet with Pope Leo, a man to whom they could appeal as good sons of the church. He was not foolish enough to put himself in a position of denying them succour and had stayed in the Episcopal Palace in Civitate, but it was noticeable, as they closed with their opposite numbers, the commanders of the papal forces, that Leo’s standard as pontiff, the vexillum sancti petri, was there with them. Such a meeting demanded courtesy: there was much hatred present, but it had to be hidden.
It soon became obvious that the men to whom they were talking, polite as they were, had no interest in anything other than battle or surrender; Humphrey tried, Richard of Aversa tried, and they both sought together a way out of the impasse, using ever more convoluted arguments which fell on stony ground. Finally Robert spoke up, suggesting that as the day was getting on they should both retire to consider matters, to perhaps continue on the morrow, a notion which annoyed his oldest brother, but one which he made plain made sense as soon as they parted company.
‘We can’t blather on, Robert, or we will have a Byzantine army at our back and this lot in front of us.’
‘I know that, Humphrey. Why do you think our enemies agreed to keep talking?’
‘So I fail to see the point…’
‘The point is, brother, we should attack them at dawn.’
‘Break the parley?’
‘Brother, we did not actually agree to talk on the morrow. Did you not hear me say, perhaps? They will be getting ready to talk, to delay again, we will be ready to fight.’
‘I have heard of your new name, Robert,’ said Richard Drengot.
‘What?’ Humphrey demanded.
‘In Calabria, it seems, they call him the Guiscard.’
‘They can call me any name they like,’ Robert insisted. ‘If we let our opponents set the terms of the battle they will do so to suit their purpose, which is to wait for Argyrus. If we want a chance to win we must suit ours.’
‘Is it honourable?’
‘Honour, Humphrey, goes to the victor.’
They were lined up and ready to do battle before the sun tipped the eastern sky, but their enemies were not in disorder: they, too, had disposed their forces for a fight. Humphrey had split his army into three divisions: he held the centre, before a small hill that part-masked the enemy centre, and left, which judging by their visible standards comprised of Italians, with the Swabians on the papal left. Richard of Aversa was on the Norman right, all cavalry, while Robert commanded the mixed horse and infantry on the left wing.
The formation the papal army had adopted, strung out in a thin line, was that required to attack, sensible given their numerical superiority. Robert had insisted the Norman host could not wait for such an eventuality — their power lay in assault — they must initiate the contest, and after much discussion, given that had been agreed, Richard of Aversa moved forward on the right to hit the Italian line.
It was true they had probably never faced Norman lances advancing on them steadily and in an unbroken line; it was also true that their military skills would not have been of the highest, but they should have held until at least the assault made contact. They did not: the Italian levies broke before the Norman horsemen could even cast a lance at their running backs, and with a great yell Richard ordered the pursuit, which took his men, slashing and killing as they went, all the way to the Fortore River, into which they drove what Italians remained to drown or swim.
Behind them, matters had developed against Humphrey, assaulted by the Swabians who had attacked him
