Chapter 63: Where Did All These People Come From? (Please Keep Reading and Vote)

"Hey, look! That’s Amerlan."
"How did he end up beaten like that?"

Within the great camp of Altaina, the Norman guards greeted Amerlan as he approached, but only then did they notice his bruised and swollen face.

Despite being battered like a pig, Amerlan still kept his wits about him. Beside him, his companion Eber looked as though he’d stuck his head into heaven, only to have the gates slam shut, his mind utterly confused.

"Move aside, everyone!" Amerlan, gritting his teeth against the pain, pushed through the crowd, handed Eber over to their companions, and finally made his way to the tent of Count Richard of Capua.

He staggered in, finding Richard in the tent, adjusting his trousers.

"Amerlan?" Richard called tentatively, and the young woman on the bed pulled the blanket tightly around her, exposing a pale arm marked with scars.

"My lord, we encountered the enemy," Amerlan said, collapsing to the ground. "Eber, my squire, and I went out to scout, and we met a small enemy force. They said they wanted to speak with you."

Hearing this, Richard immediately seized the girl from the bed. He cared little that she was unclothed and shoved her out. As the curtain dropped, the count sat down and had a servant pour Amerlan a cup of wine.

Amerlan gulped it down.

Only after he drank did Richard ask, "Did you get a good look at them? Was it William of Montreuil, or Duke Geoffrey of Lorraine?"

"Neither," Amerlan shook his head. "It was... it was... a Lombard."

"A Lombard?" For the Normans, everyone from Italy was a Lombard.

This puzzled Richard. In his mind, Italians were weak; why would the Papacy send an Italian?

"Any other distinguishing features?" Suspicious, Richard’s hand moved to his waist, resting on his dagger, his gaze sharpening instantly. If Amerlan was lying, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill the liar.

"He was a bishop—tall, broad... and he spoke French. He said he wanted to talk with you in Tusculum. That's all I know."

Amerlan still seemed dazed, his words hurried, as if he hadn’t yet recovered from the beating.

"He was certainly a bishop; he wore clerical robes. There were many knights around him, and a child, likely the Count of Tusculum."

Count of Tusculum?

Listening, Richard found it hard to believe, but perhaps because it was so absurd, he didn’t act violently. He wanted to see what else Amerlan would say.

"The bishop said we have no grievances, no need for fighting. We can resolve this by negotiation."

"Hmph, and what do you think?"

Richard’s sneer said it all, and Amerlan understood. Reasoning was the clergy’s favorite pastime, not that of Norman knights. The Norman knight’s truth was his fist. Whoever had the strongest fist claimed the greatest wealth. William the Conqueror had already proved that. The southern Normans were no different.

"If they want to talk, then let’s talk. These Lombards are nothing to fear, just a bunch of cowards," Richard said, his attitude unchanged.

He held the local Italian nobility in contempt, but his cunning made him curious about his adversary.

"Amerlan, give the bishop my message. Tell him we’ll be at the gates of Tusculum in three days, waiting for him."

Send himself again?

Amerlan was about to protest, but faced with Richard’s unmistakable, irrefutable glare, he accepted.

...

Three days later.

Between Tusculum and Colonna lies a wide, gentle plateau. Like a watchtower, it commands the roads and offers a clear view of the surroundings. There was no possibility for ambush here.

The castles of Colonna and Tusculum stood like twin gates, blocking the plains behind. Even if Richard wanted to charge through, his army would have to be willing to face Leo here.

Leo sat astride his horse, stroking the mane of Grapes, surveying the terrain.

"Are those the enemy?" Gregory pointed at the dark lines on the distant horizon, squinting as if it would help him see further.

Just as Leo expected, Richard did not come empty-handed; he brought his army.

"Is that Richard’s army?" Maria asked anxiously. "If they suddenly attack, can we hold them off?"

Leo shook his head, "With this terrain, any attack would be suicide."

He turned to look behind him. Nearly all his soldiers were drawn up, with the core being the militia from Pisa and the Lombard heavy infantry—mercenaries for the moment. After the war, Leo would have to petition the Papacy for their wages.

On the wings were young knights from Tuscany, whose skill was lacking but whose courage was commendable.

At the front line, he had drafted local farmers from around Tusculum as a show of force.

They were mere decoration. If battle broke out, these men would simply run. Leo knew better than to count on them.

Even so, with so many troops packed into this narrow space, even if Richard wanted to launch an assault, he’d have little hope of breaking Leo’s lines.

"They’re coming."

Ricardo, at Leo’s side, clutched his notebook, his palms sweating.

"Duke of Gaeta, Count of Aversa, Count of Capua, overlord of Salerno and Naples, lord of Amalfi..."

"Where did he get so many titles?" Leo turned, frowning, not quite understanding Ricardo’s litany.

"They’re all Richard’s," Ricardo swallowed. "He started as lord of Aversa Castle. The rest he stole from other lords. God, how can such a dreadful usurper exist?"

Ricardo sensed something was off. Richard's actions had the Papacy’s tacit approval. Before 1066, he was a staunch supporter of the reformist Papacy; the conflict erupted only when Richard sought more land.

"It doesn’t matter."

Leo shook his head. He felt nothing for men like Richard—or perhaps, he and Richard were cut from the same cloth. Their disregard for rules was the only thing they shared.

"Look at their army. What do you see?" Leo pointed the Capuan troops out for Gregory.

Gregory paused, then said, "It looks chaotic."

Indeed, it was. Among the Capuan forces, noble banners flew, but many knights looked haggard and unkempt, nothing like the image of discipline one might expect. Yet this was the reality of an army.

Leo saw their tight formations and the Norman knights ever ready to charge.

Norman knights, famed for their shock tactics, could end a battle with a single charge if they spotted a weakness. These men, now ragtag, would in a decade threaten even Constantinople.

"You have much to learn," Leo said. "Don’t just look at appearances; see their core, such as the soldiers’ morale."

Gregory listened, nodding, apparently hesitating. He still didn’t understand how Leo could discern so much from the same situation—whether from the two Normans before, or now the Capuan army. Had God given him special insight?

"They’re here."

Leo watched as the opposing army halted, tugged his reins.

A dozen cavalry, bearing the banners of Capua, Aversa, and Gaeta, broke from their formation and rode toward Leo.

Corrado, behind Leo, waved his hand.

Soon, Leo’s own knights gathered, and at his command, they broke from the main force to an open space.

The distance between the two sides closed, and Leo’s view of Count Richard of Capua grew clearer and clearer.