‘Yet it was not an alliance, more a promise of future amity,’ Robert insisted, as he took up his tale in a way that ignored the interruption, maintaining he was not concerned.
Byzantium now had too much on its plate, both internally and externally, to reinvade Italy, but they still had agents willing to spread around money to foster trouble, often with his vassals but especially amongst the Lombards, in order to keep a past and possibly future enemy off balance. Of that latter race the Guiscard was scathing; at one time the Lombards had been fierce conquerors of the land he now held. Over the five hundred years since they had crossed the Alps they had become not only flabby but racked by suspicion, mistrust and endless betrayal.
Never able to agree on a leader, the Lombards of Southern Italy had first been conquered and turned into imperial vassals by the Byzantine Greeks, then held in servitude while evincing a burning desire to recover what they had lost. They had fomented incessant uprisings under the banner of the western city states such as Salerno, Naples and Capua, only to find, when they looked like they might find success, their supposed leaders being bought off by enemy gold or betraying each other out of a determination to take over the direction of the revolt. After decades of crushing defeats they had sought help, paying the Normans to come south and win their battles, yet their disunity, in contrast to the cohesion and fighting skill of those they had engaged as mercenaries, meant that they now paid those revenues to Norman overlords who were more assiduous in collection than had been their Byzantine predecessors.
The other threat was a distant one, in Bamberg, the seat of the Holy Roman Emperor, where the heir to Charlemagne held his court. He could command a host large enough and of such abilities in combat as to make even the Normans cautious, but between Apulia and the Western Empire lay Rome, not only physically but also as a place that occupied almost the whole of imperial attention. The seat of incalculable wealth, the papacy had at its disposal vast spiritual power, but that did not go uncontested and such disagreements came to the fore in the election of the Pope. The Western emperors insisted that any candidate for investiture must have their approval; the more bellicose members of the Curia maintained it was a matter for them alone and none of anyone else’s business, particularly a layman, however grand his title.
That was not a position agreed to by either the population or the senatorial families of Rome, ever ready to bribe the mob to support one of their blood to the highest ecclesiastical office, for the very good reason that it was the fount of prosperity, as well as the giver of wealthy benefices to the elected man’s relatives. The result was too often a split, with two popes in contention, one either the Emperor’s choice in conjunction with the Roman aristocrats, or the candidate from the Curia supported by those same elements who peopled the Roman Senate; they shifted their backing to wherever they saw personal or family advantage.
The so-called investiture crisis had been bubbling for almost as long as the Normans had been in Italy and showed no signs of abating. The ecclesiastical fight was led now by Archdeacon Hildebrand, a low-born but cunning Lombard who had risen from mere monk to become advisor to a succession of pontiffs. Strong in the cause of papal independence, he stood four-square against imperial interference in a battle the Guiscard had often thought those Hildebrand served might have let die down for the sake of peace. But the major difficulty was that men came to that office in their advanced years and were therefore inclined to expire instead of enjoying the long reign that might have solved the problem by extended negotiation.
If the Curia elected one pope, the Holy Roman Emperor would bring on the election of a rival, his preferred candidate, so it was ever a troubled responsibility full of splits and strife; Hildebrand’s pope was likely to spend as much time under siege in the Castel St Angelo as enjoying the comforts of the Lateran Palace, either hiding from the wrath of the Emperor or the easily aroused Roman mob, while trying to deny the claims of the imperial antipope. With the last two pontiffs it had been Norman military pressure, given in return for the confirmation of their titles, that had allowed them to serve out their terms.
‘It is that which keeps them from combining, Bohemund. I have no need to remind you, that if we wrested the lands we hold from Byzantium, the titles were granted to us from the papacy.’ A discernible nod was all that was required in response. ‘And you will also be well aware they were not originally granted out of generosity but unwillingly extracted from Pope Leo after Civitate.’
There was no need to relay to Bohemund anything about that battle, which for the forces of the papacy ranked with Manzikert. The Normans of Italy, from both Capua and Apulia, under the leadership of Humphrey de Hauteville, had been ranged against and massively outnumbered by a combination of a Byzantine army and a papacy that for once had imperial contingents from Bamberg, as well as the rulers of Northern Italy south of the Brenner Pass, all combined to finally put paid to Norman depredations in Southern Italy.
Civitate is where the combined forces sought to force a decision, but the Normans got themselves between the arms of the enemy and kept them apart, which allowed them to fight against less daunting odds, though even then they had many fewer men than their opponents. But they had that one tactical gift their enemies lacked: cohesion, and the Norman victory was overwhelming — a powerful force of Swabians provided by the Emperor died to a man — and the subsequent rout resulted in the capture of Pope Leo. He was obliged, he later maintained coerced, into granting the Norman leaders legal rights to both the lands and titles they had taken by main force, this while the Byzantines melted away. The Battle of Civitate had secured the Norman place in Italy and formed the cornerstone of what Robert now held.
‘And for all we laud it, let me tell you we must have had God on our side. If we had lost that battle every Norman in Italy would have been lucky to see their homeland again. More likely our bodies would have been hung from every available tree, as the Romans were wont to treat those they defeated. Every pope since Leo, instead of confirming us as they have, would take what we gained there back and see us damned if they had an army.’
‘But they do not.’
‘Which is not to assume they never will. If Leo, God rest his soul, once gathered a host to seek to dislodge us, another may do so again and that goat Hildebrand hates us as much as he hates Bamberg. I repeat, it is only dissension that keeps our enemies weak to both the east and the north.’ There was a moment when Robert seemed to brood, as though disinclined to be open about the trend of his thoughts. ‘What do you know of Richard of Capua?’
The abruptness of that enquiry startled Bohemund somewhat; it was like being back in the Monteroni schoolroom in which he had been taught Latin and Greek by the monk Ademar had employed, a fellow of short temper and an abiding love of physical chastisement when answers were slow in coming and spittle-filled fury when his charge refused to answer. Even with that memory uppermost there was no choice but to respond.
‘He is all-powerful in Campania, is wed to your sister and was allied with our family at Civitate. It was with his uncle, Rainulf Drengot, that our family first took mercenary service.’
Robert nodded but did not immediately respond; it was as if he was pondering on that history. William and Drogo de Hauteville, newly arrived from Normandy, had first been engaged as lances by Richard of Capua’s uncle, then styled Lord of Aversa, though as was common with Normans at the time it was a title taken, not granted by any higher power. William had risen through sheer prowess to become Rainulf’s right-hand man; indeed it was he who had secured for him recognition of his Aversa gonfalon, in the process bringing about the fall of the Lombard Prince of Capua.