Then, having seized the extensive and well-cultivated lands the monastery owned, he had parcelled it out to his own Norman mercenaries, knowing how hard they would fight to retain it. A procession of monks had come to Conrad to tell him that hardly any of the original brotherhood was still present, so reduced was the monastery. One of the greatest abbeys in Christendom, a centre of learning to rival Cluny, had been practically destroyed, its buildings torn down, in an assault to rival any ever committed by the Saracens.
Conrad was no fooclass="underline" he knew the Normans in the mass represented a threat to his whole campaign. He thought himself a good commander and he had under him a fine and powerful army, but time and again in this part of the world the Normans had triumphed in situations where they should have been crushed, this entirely due to their disciplined way of fighting. Given that, it made sense to consult the man who knew them best, despite his youth.
‘The key is Rainulf Drengot,’ Guaimar said.
Conrad’s reply was telling. ‘I hear that Pandulf’s own Normans are numerically a match for Rainulf now. Indeed many of Drengot’s own lances deserted him, tempted by monastery land.’
‘Who commands them, sire, that is the important thing. Rainulf is a leader to be feared. Has Pandulf got anyone to match him?’
‘If he has Drengot, he has his leader, and the man is attached to him since he betrayed your father.’
‘What if he could be detached from Pandulf?’
‘For money?’
‘No. I have another prize that might tempt him.’
‘Which is?’
When Guaimar outlined his thinking he could see that Conrad was impressed. He was promising no less than the settlement of endemic dispute, a way for Conrad to return to Germany with the very good prospect that neither he nor his successor again would have to bring a host south.
‘Did you learn such subtlety at your father’s knee, Guaimar?’
‘I learnt much from him, it is true.’
‘Like how to lie to an emperor?’ Conrad was smiling as he said that, but it was not friendly, more enquiry. ‘My spies in Constantinople told me that no request was sent there for help, information that reached me in Rome, and news confirmed by Pope Benedict’s own informants at the Byzantine Court.’
There was no easy way to respond, at least not one which would not mark him out as devious, so he fell back on bluster. ‘Then I am accused of being truthful.’
‘So the Bishop of L’Aquila is the liar?’
‘He is elevated enough a cleric to answer for his own sins, sire.’
‘That is not an answer.’
‘I cannot think of another.’
‘Then think on this, Guaimar. Can I trust you?’
‘I hope you do not doubt it, sire.’
‘I always harbour such doubts. It is the price of the office I occupy. It is a lesson you should hold to if you truly wish to rule Salerno.’
‘I am always eager to learn from such as you, sire,’ Guaimar insisted.
‘You are a Lombard, young man,’ Conrad insisted. ‘Lying is in your blood, so there is little I can teach you, but have a care when you lie to me. Now who is to carry this proposition of yours?’
‘I am willing to do so.’
‘The man may lop off your head.’
‘If he is so inclined, I will have failed. Given that, what do I have to live for?’
‘Don’t go throwing away your life, Guaimar. Not even Salerno is worth that.’
‘Not to you, sire. But it is to me.’
‘I wish to accompany you,’ Berengara insisted, not in the least deflected by her brother’s furious shake of the head. ‘You say it is dangerous, I believe my presence makes it less so.’
‘And if we both perish?’
‘Then it is God’s will and so be it.’
‘Berengara,’ Guaimar pleaded.
‘You took me to Bamberg for the same reason.’
Argue as he might, Guaimar could not shift her, so it was a small party that included her which left Conrad’s camp, and made for a place where they could safely cross the River Volturno.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sentinels at the top of Rainulf Drengot’s tower again gave early warning of the approaching party. Even at some distance they could see this was a different kind of delegation to that which normally called on the encampment: one of the party was a highborn female and, closer to, the sight of the imperial banner held high by one of the armed, six-man escort made apparent the sense of something unusual.
Riding through the rows of round huts, they were scrutinised by every woman in the camp; likewise the mercenaries lined the rail of the training manege to watch them pass. By the time they arrived at the ramp leading to the entrance to the donjon, Rainulf awaited them, his dogs snuffling about his lower legs, in the company of his trio of captains, which now included, since the defection of another senior mercenary to Pandulf, the recently elevated Drogo.
It was obvious to both the youngsters that Rainulf had aged: what had once been a full face, albeit a high-coloured one, was now lined and there was the beginnings of a dewlap of flesh under the chin as well as large bags under the eyes. His hair was now more grey than black and thinner than the young man remembered, while his build seemed less solid. Where previously he had looked like a warrior to be feared he now had the appearance of an ageing man, whose watery eyes were staring, trying to make out who was approaching.
Guaimar was the first to throw back the cowl and reveal himself, which made one of the quartet stiffen, though it had no effect at all on the de Hautevilles. Rainulf gasped at a face he never thought to see again, before composing himself, but that was as nothing to the reaction of the four of them when Berengara dropped her own cloak to rest on the haunches of her horse. She had dressed her hair as well as plucked her eyebrows as if attending a court ceremony and had donned a low-cut gown that showed to full perfection the swell of her breasts. Two of the escorts Conrad had sent with them jumped down to help her off her horse, Guaimar dismounting on his own.
‘Lord Rainulf,’ he said, with a nod more than a bow.
The Norman looked at the bright-yellow imperial banner, with the standing black griffin, the flag of Conrad the Salian, held by one soldier still mounted, and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I do not know how to address you under such a standard.’
‘There was a time you would have been obliged to address me as Duke.’
‘A time long past,’ Rainulf replied. ‘Let your name suffice.’
‘Does that imply a welcome?’
‘No, Guaimar, it does not. I shall, however, greet your sister as the Lady Berengara.’
The use of the names made William look harder at both; Drogo had never taken his eyes off the lady, mainly at what lay under her chin. There were not so many who bore those names, so their identity was obvious, and he had been told chapter and verse about the deposition of their father in favour of Pandulf, as well as just how much Rainulf had profited by his switch of allegiance.
‘I come with a message from Conrad Augustus.’
Guaimar waited until that had the desired effect, waited till Rainulf could compose himself enough to respond, for, try as he might, he could not help reacting to that name.
‘All the way from Bamberg?’
‘No. Conrad is encamped near Castro dei Volsci on the River Sacco, and he has with him the whole might of his imperial power. I am surprised you are not aware of this, for I suspect Prince Pandulf might be by now, given he is not very far off from Capua.’
One of Conrad’s acts had been to close the road to the south after he left Rome, in order that his progress should be kept covert. There was no way he could surprise Capua; they would know when he got close, but the less time they had to prepare the defences the better. In skirting that city Guaimar had been pleased to note than no one in the hinterland seemed aware of the approaching storm, but that could not last.