could get no aid from his beleaguered brother.
If Roger had trouble, Robert had more. In his absence a revolt had been raised by three of his own nephews. Abelard, son of Humphrey, set aside from his father’s inheritance, might have just cause to rebel; the two brothers, Geoffrey and Robert, sons of his half-sister Beatrix, did so from frustration at being treated disdainfully by their uncle. The real progenitor was Joscelin, Lord of Molfetta, a knight whom the Guiscard had raised to prominence by his own hand. Fed with Byzantine gold, Joscelin had led the younger men astray and, given they were de Hautevilles, many had been attracted to their banner for the revolt to be easily contained; in truth, it was so serious the Duke of Apulia realised, as soon as he landed back in Calabria, he risked being overthrown.
His presence stiffened the resolve of the waverers and he had some success in checking his nephews, but once more Byzantium was ready to interfere, sending to Apulia a force of Varangians, a kind of imperial Praetorian Guard of Viking stock. They came out of Bari as the shock troops of the forces led by a new Catapan called Bisanzio, pushing Robert back — he was fighting on several fronts against his nephews — taking back Brindisi and Taranto, the situation so bad the Guiscard was close to swallowing his pride and calling on both Roger and his brother Mauger to come to his aid.
For all his successes with the fearsome axemen of Kiev Rus as his vanguard, Bisanzio could not gain a convincing victory any more than Robert de Hauteville, nor could Joscelin of Molfetta force a conclusion, so the campaign fell into stalemate, leaving those who had stayed to serve with Robert wondering if they would have been better off going home: the Bastard of Falaise had won a great battle on the south coast of England, had killed King Harold Godwinson and was now in London and claiming the crown.
But time had worked for the sons of Tancred before and it did so now: in a battle between the Saracens, a decision was finally achieved with the defeat and death of Ibn-al-Hawas by the Zirid forces of Prince Ayub. The sultan’s son then claimed overlordship of all Sicily, and with no one strong enough to contest him, he was acclaimed Emir of Agrigento, Enna and, most importantly, of Palermo: Sicily now had one ruler, Roger had a single enemy to fight and one who was eager to do battle with the Normans and kick them out for good.
In Apulia Robert benefited from a combination of factors: first the death of the Emperor Constantine Ducas left his widow Eudoxia in power, but the growing threat of the Seljuk Turks — pushing up the Tigris and Euphrates from Baghdad — meant the empire needed not only a man on the throne but a fighting soldier, one able to halt the inexorable Turkish advance which was beginning to threaten Constantinople itself. Eudoxia quickly wed a Cappadocian general called Romanus Diogenes and the new emperor’s priorities were firmly fixed on the east: Apulia could go hang; not only did he withdraw the Varangians, he stripped Bari of a goodly portion of its garrison.
Without support, Robert Guiscard’s enemies were subdued one by one. Joscelin fled to Durazzo, Abelard threw himself on his uncle’s mercy, while the youngest son of Beatrix was quick to follow. Brindisi and Taranto were abandoned by Byzantium; holding Bari was much more vital. The last to hold out, and he did so for months, was nephew Geoffrey, for he had a stout and difficult-to-take fortress. It required Robert to be cunning: he bribed one of Geoffrey’s captains with the promise of a fief of his own on condition he opened the gates of the castle. This he did and the place was taken: the revolt was crushed.
Free at last to leave Apulia, Robert rode to Mileto to meet with Roger, taking with him his natural son, Bohemund. It was amusing to watch Jordan and Bohemund eyeing each other — both well-built young men now and, with all the de Hauteville height and muscle, like two alley cats suspiciously strutting round each other. There was sadness, too, for it was clear Roger’s son Geoffrey was afflicted with leprosy. Prayers were the only hope of a cure and much gold had been expended for Masses to be said in the Calabrian monasteries, with pleas sent to Rome as well, for no child so diseased could hope to succeed to his father’s titles. And, naturally, they talked of their various difficulties, not least Robert’s in Apulia.
‘The reason your barons are always rising against you is a lack of real war. Bring them to Sicily and let them take out their dissatisfaction on the Saracens.’
Robert was not persuaded, he had his sights set on Bari, now with a much-reduced garrison, albeit he still lacked a plan to take the place, and as Roger pressed him he became more and more irascible. It seemed as if his temper matched the greying of his hair, with him becoming less malleable with age. That his own relatives should take up arms against him had been wounding, and if Roger could see they might have just cause for discontent, his brother could not. There was no point in asking him why he treated his own blood relatives with less generosity than he showed his other followers. At least he had been avuncular enough to spare their lives, merely stripping them of part of their fiefs.
‘I should have hung them from a tree, the ingrates,’ Robert growled.
‘And have father turn in his grave?’
‘Sometimes I think he is watching me, Roger, wagging that damned finger of his.’
‘Is that why you spared your nephews, Robert, because of our father?’
‘They are naught but foolish boys. It was Joscelin I really wanted, but that bastard was too much of a coward to face me.’
‘You would have hanged him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then he was no fool to flee.’
‘He’s in Durazzo now, plotting something, I guarantee.’
‘Another Argyrus, perhaps?’
Robert nodded with some sadness: it was as if he missed the now departed Argyrus. ‘When one schemer dies another rises to take his place, but by damn I am glad he is not still in Bari.’
‘Can you take it?’
‘I have to try, Roger. Apulia is more united now than ever.’
Roger could not resist a jibe. ‘Like Calabria.’
‘Must you ever bring that up?’
‘Bari,’ Roger replied; there was no point in bearding his brother, reminding him that it was he who had pacified Calabria. Also it was less troublesome a province.
‘Byzantium is locked in battle with the Turks, the garrison of Bari reduced and I do not see it being reinforced. Romanus Diogenes does not have the soldiers to fight in the east and the west at the same time.’
‘Remember Byzantine gold, Robert. They have the means to buy more.’
‘Then they’d best spend it quick, for I will be outside their walls in a month.’
‘While I go back to Sicily.’
‘Roger,’ the Guiscard said, leaning forward. ‘I am still your liege lord, am I not?’
Knowing what was coming did not mean Roger could not respond. ‘Yes.’
‘If I call upon you to come to my aid at Bari I expect you to do so, whatever is happening in Sicily.’
‘I will come, brother, but if your need is so great, I would expect you to call on Mauger first.’
‘I’ll be damned if I will.’
‘Think of our Tancred’s wagging finger, Robert. How is it you can forgive your nephews yet leave your own brother out in the cold?’
‘He would not come.’
‘He will if you ask him.’
‘He will if I promise him reward.’
‘Then do so, and rest assured, if he is there, I will come when called and for nothing but the glory of seeing you ride through Bari, the same way you rode through Reggio.’
Back on Sicilian soil, Roger knew his Saracen enemy was growing stronger as he imposed his island-wide authority, yet as he imparted to anyone who would listen, they had nothing to fear from an enemy they had beaten more than once.
‘What does it matter if they have a change of leader? They are not warriors as we are warriors. This Emir Ayub, is he a better leader now than he was at Cerami? Let them gather, and when they do we shall march to meet them.’
But Ayub was cautious: he marched forward and withdrew, trying to lure a too-clever enemy into a trap, while Roger was patient. The time would come and he had what he needed: when he did commit to battle it would be on a ground of his choosing.
