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resist moving forward to pursue, a fatal tactic, because they did not all do so at the same pace, creating dog-leg gaps. William signalled for the horn to blow again, and watched with pride as Drogo turned his men round in a tight line and rushed them forward, completely overwhelming their opponents and driving them back, inflicting more bruises on that century than had been suffered by any other in the day.
    If he had been looking at the pavilion, he would have seen an irate Rainulf ranting about the deviousness of his senior captain, for he was soldier enough to know it had been he who had initiated the manoeuvre. William would not have cared: as a leader he had just added another string to his tactical ability; everyone in Rainulf’s band had seen it, now all four hundred lances would know what to do in the future.
    The sun was sinking, the light going, the wounded were being helped away, and in the gathering gloom the fires of those roasting oxen glowed, while torches by the hundred were being lit around twin rows of great tables. It was time to eat and drink. 

CHAPTER THREE
     
    ‘I can give you another captain, just as skilful and as brave as William de Hauteville,’ insisted Rainulf.
    ‘You forget,’ Arduin responded, clearly unconvinced, ‘that I have seen the Iron Arm fight, and I have seen him lead men – your men.’
    ‘Iron Arm!’ spat Rainulf, his high-coloured face picking up the light from the numerous torches. ‘Such posturing means nothing, it is but a name. Old as I am I would not fear to take up arms against him.’
    Prince Guaimar and Arduin nodded insincerely in response to the glare with which he fixed them, taking the statement for what it was, an idle boast from a man who could not admit to being the ageing fellow he saw in his piece of polished silver each morning. Berengara, who should not have been partof the discussion at all, was not one to let such an opportunity pass.
    ‘I think you should challenge him, Rainulf, and I will persuade my brother to provide a healthy purse for the victor.’
    The look that got her was one full of detestation, an emotion she returned in good measure. If she hated Normans, then Berengara hated Rainulf Drengot most of all! The day she and her brother had been dragged out of the Castello de Arechi in Salerno was seared in her mind. Rainulf had been there, sneering at his one-time father-in-law for his protestations of betrayal. The events of the day had broken him: the old duke had retired to a monastery, and with his heart and hopes destroyed, it had soon brought about his demise.
    ‘The loser,’ she added maliciously, ‘should have nought but a pauper’s grave, a place for dogs to piss and defecate.’
    ‘I am curious, Rainulf,’ said Guaimar, heading off his angry response, ‘why not William?’
    If it was possible for a man with so purple a countenance to flush, Rainulf did so then, aware, as he was, that the prince was pricking him just like his sister; not in the same outright manner, but discomfiting nonetheless. Guaimar knew very well Rainulf’s objections were brought about by fear of a man who might have too much support amongst the men he led, a man too powerful toopenly challenge. Yet he had his justification well prepared.
    ‘He has had opportunity already, in Sicily. It is time to give such a gift to another.’
    ‘No!’ snapped Arduin.
    ‘Turmod has been in my service longer than any of the de Hautevilles, and that is another factor. If William goes he will take his brothers.’
    ‘I would expect nothing else,’ Guaimar replied.
    Arduin spoke again, his look deadly serious. ‘This is not skirmishing in Campania, which is all this Turmod of yours has ever done. We are talking about fighting the might of the Eastern Empire—’
    Rainulf’s interruption was bellicose. ‘I know that!’
    ‘Just as you know from fighting them yourself they are difficult to overcome.’
    The pair glared at each other. The subject raised was the