But with the Emir of Enna absent there was nothing to stop anyone from raiding his possessions on the northern coast and that was, Roger insisted, where they should go. If successful enough, it would achieve what was necessary by forcing al-Hawas to abandon his Catanian campaign.
‘It may not be all we can do to help you,’ Roger added, ‘but it answers your immediate concerns and, for the future, we can carve out an enclave from which my brother can attack your rivals.’
Al-Tinnah was less than pleased, however he had no choice but to accept: his position was obviously too weak to do otherwise, for if it were not, he would not have come to Mileto. Roger suggested that Cape Faro, which was right opposite the fortress and port of Scilla, would be a good place to land adding his concomitant thought: that further along the coast lay the peninsula of Milazzo, a narrow neck of land, easy to protect where it joined with the mainland and also a prime spot to build a castle to act as a base for future Norman operations. The question however remained: given what he could muster in lances, should he go?
‘Lord Roger, I have offered you all that I can. I need a speedy response.’
Sensing the desperation in that request, Roger stood suddenly. ‘Please wait here.’
Striding out of the chamber, his mind was in a whirl: it had been obvious that his brother would turn to Sicily at some time, had he not been given the ducal title, which he would want to make good, and no doubt he would engage Roger to aid him as he had here in Calabria. Yet any campaign on the island would be to enforce Robert’s claims, so once more Roger would be at the mercy of his generosity, and he had already proved that when it came to his younger brother, that quality for which the Guiscard was famous could be in short supply.
Here was a chance to strike out early and to be in a position to demand a due reward for what he achieved: that toehold would be his and the price of its use was one he could dictate. He could not take Sicily on his own: that would require everything in the way of force Robert could bring to bear, but with the aid of Ibn-al-Tinnah he could establish a claim too great to refute, nothing less than a Sicilian fief as the springboard for a full invasion. Frustrated enough when unwed, he now had a wife and children to consider, an estate that demanded he assert himself: he required bread from Robert, not crumbs, and here was an opportunity that might never come again.
‘Serlo, to me.’
That command, bellowed from the door to the great hall, echoing round the walls, had his nephew, only months arrived from Normandy, running to hear what was afoot. A promising youth, he had soon become Roger’s close aide.
‘Uncle?’
‘Messengers are to be sent to Ralph de Boeuf. He is to gather up every knight he can muster, as well as foot soldiers, and make for Scilla — another to Reggio to tell Geoffrey Ridel I need transports sent there for some four hundred men, half mounted. Your next task, once that is done, is to prepare our lances and milities for immediate departure.’
The youngster, dark-haired like his sire, grinned at his uncle. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Sicily, Serlo, where else?’
Geoffrey de Ridel was not only an able commander: being from the port of Honfleur he was at home on water and thus a good choice to act as master mariner. Ships had to be commandeered from Reggio, their lower decks fitted with temporary stalls for the mounts, three for each lance: it might be a short crossing but it could also be a choppy one. As usual, getting horses onto ships was fraught with problems. If there was an animal more suspicious than the equine, Roger had never met one. They hated anything unfamiliar, and a long wooden ramp leading to a moving deck in a less than perfectly protected harbour, really no more than a hook of a jetty, was just that.
Few went willingly, many had to be hooded, others given something in their feed to sedate them, with the very worst hoisted aboard on slings. Ridel had waited until he knew the wind and seas to be right before loading took place: he did not want to be stuck at the quayside overseeing a floating stable, not that such a precaution stopped the animals from kicking out at the wooden stalls and pissing and shitting all over the lower decks as soon as they were installed, with the ship’s owners wailing that they would never again be fit for cargo.
Roger left early, in full daylight, boarding a small sailing vessel that would transport him across the straits at their narrowest point, large enough to carry his closest companions, Serlo plus twenty knights and enough wood, kindling and oil for what they needed, their weapons well hidden and their mail covered by common clothing: boats from both shores were out in the good fishing ground and any sight of armed men might be reported ashore. Their destination was a long sandy shore leading to a flat and barren plain, with mountains to the south dominated by the snow-covered and smoking peak of Etna.
The remainder of the lances, after a Mass said on the quayside, weighed in darkness, with a messenger sent to light a beacon built on the promontory of Scilla. The night chosen was clear, without a moon, but showing enough starlight to satisfy de Ridel, the water was choppy, as it often was in this narrow channel, and flowing quite fast, but a southerly wind kept them from being carried too far down and away from Cape Faro, this while each man struggled below decks to keep his animals calm.
Three stacks of wood had been built at intervals on the open beach and Roger looked towards Scilla, seeking the sign to tell him his men had sailed. When he saw that lit beacon, he ordered his own fires ignited to act as a guide to the ships, which stood off till first light before anchoring close to the shore. Lines were then used from the beach to haul them in till their keels touched sand, their ramps once lowered ending in shallow water, the ship rising to re-float freely as the equine cargo was discharged.
The beach was soon a mass of men and mounts and, given surprise was the key to their endeavour, the column of lances quickly headed inland, making for Milazzo, the first major town on the northern coast, traversing a landscape as fertile as any the Normans had ever seen. The next weeks were, with no force of any note to stop them, the very best they could be, culminating in the taking and sacking of Milazzo, that followed by a raid inland to so ravage the lands around Rometta that the formidable fortress town, denuded of a garrison by the Emir al-Hawas, opened its gates to avoid destruction.
The booty from both towns was massive but it was matched by what they took from the countryside: there were cattle and sheep to steal, amphora of oil and wine to load aboard purloined donkeys, manor houses to raze to the ground and precious objects to appropriate from the Orthodox churches they encountered; so much, indeed, that it was necessary to return to Cape Faro, where the ships were still anchored, so that this abundant plunder could be shipped back to Reggio.
That such a course of action disappointed al-Tinnah was obvious: he knew only continuous pressure would distract an enemy who would soon hear that this Norman incursion had ceased. Roger had his own concerns but they had to be put aside for the sake of keeping happy his men: the Milazzo peninsula, and any notion of beginning to fortify it for the future invasion, would have to wait.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Normans, herding before them sheep and cattle, drawing behind their own laden packhorses plus numerous beasts of burden, once they emerged from the trees that shielded the beach at Cape Faro, were presented with a very different sight to that which they had left a month before. The sea was not blue but grey now, reflecting the clouds under which it lay. The water was no longer choppy but angry, with white-crested waves rushing up the beach, driven by a wind strong enough to direct stinging sand into their faces, this while the ships which they needed to load pulled hard on their anchors as they rose and fell on the swell. They could not load in this.
‘Well,’ Roger called, ‘we shall not want for food and wine. Set up camp.’
The land on which they settled was a narrow strip between the sea and an inland lake, so fresh water, without which they could not have stayed, was plentiful. Trees surrounded that lake and wood-cutting parties immediately went to work, this while the livestock was herded into an area that could be turned into paddocks with long cut branches, others used to make horse lines for the mounts, still more timber employed to fill the pit fires on which the food for the soldiers would be roasted.
Few orders were required for this, either with or without animals: it was common work for an army on campaign, a daily ritual eased by the fact that the weather, if windy, was dry, while they had plentiful supplies of everything they needed, which was not always the case. Travelling with a minimum of baggage, there were no
