38. Ides

  Emperor Romanos was preparing an expedition in the east, when he finally got the news of the great battle that happened west.

  “Guiscard was beaten?” Romanos said in shock, “the scourge of Italy beaten by a Pagan Republic?”

  “Yes sir, that is correct.”

  “And they’ve offered a trade deal?” Romanos said, staring deeply into the messengers eyes, perhaps trying to discern if this was some elaborate ruse.

  “Yes sir, lots of merchants have made the journey to Bari to buy their goods, there are no tolls?”

  “No tolls?” The Emperor said, a bit confused.

  “Yes that fact alone seems to have improved their economy, the so called Western Roman Republic has no tolls in Bari, although they have market taxes elsewhere.”

  “I heard John Komnenos made a report like that, I didn’t believe it,”

  “Well it is his report, or that of his spies anyway,” the adjutant said.

  “So they beat the Normans how did they do it?”

  “They had bolt shooters, glaives and maces, and pikes apparently,”

  “That’s preposterous, surely such a commander could turn around and seize Bari!” Romanos said animated beyond anything.

  “Well Bari is fortified with catapults and ballistae,” the messenger informed the Emperor.

  “Of course the siege,” Romanos said, “that doesn’t make sense, how did they shrug off the siege?”

  “Devilish sorcery,” the man said.

  “Bolt shooters? That’s unworkable.”

  15th of March Trani. Gocelin received his reinforcements, watching as 1000 bolt shooters and technicians came to assist him in his siege.

  “What is this?” Gocelin said.

  “Adaneus sends his regards,” a sailor said.

  “Right,” Gocelin said, he is more generous than I give him credit for. I thought he might be upset I’m adventuring independently, what a Republic.

  He grinned with a wide smile, he had 2000 bolt shooters, an 11,000 army that was now sitting right in front of the walls. Papal cavalry led by zealous commandants occasionally shouted insults, but the bolt shooters shot a few of them and they quickly scurried back into the walls.

  “We could try bombard the walls,” Gocelin thought, “the issue becomes what is that going to achieve, and I don’t want to run low on ammunition while I’m doing so.”

  Thorphinius kept his silence, looking for any weakness, and then he looked at Gocelin and tapped his shoulder.

  “What?” Gocelin said.

  “I have an idea, but it would require night time to work,” Thorphinius said.

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  “Risky?”

  “Probably,” Thorphinius said.

  The day turned to night, and the mace-men guarded 2000 bolt shooters while the other troops shuffled backwards and into the boats. Under the cover of the darkness, the army waited for the army to board the ships before they began shouting obnoxiously.

  “Trani will fall!” They began chanting.

  Some of the bolt shooters on the shore began to strafe the city, hitting confused guardsmen who came to inspect what was going on.

  “Damn you filthy Pagans!” A Norman soldier said.

  The tricks worked and the Normans at some point thought the besiegers were just trying to get their attention to shoot at them, avoiding the walls, the next part was achieved by the man himself, with 4000 glaive-men Gocelin sailed his fleet without torches and in a relatively dark night, sailed straight for the harbour of Trani. A watchtower had lights on, but the attention of the Normans was on their walls. The vessels crawled into the bay, ready to dock at the quay. There were some Normans waiting, with some fire from the towers, but Gocelin disembarked and his men likewise stormed the harbour. The bolt shooters on the ships began shooting at tower defenders, neutralising some of the threats as Gocelin took control of the harbour and moved into the city. Papal cavalry attempted to charge them, but Gocelin’s men swatted them, cutting them and stabbing them; all the while Thorphinius kept bombarding the walls and shouting, redirecting attention. The Norman state of alarm was obvious.

  “Attackers at the docks!” Men shouted more than panicked, “for fucks sake they're attacking the docks!”

  Torches lit up, and fighting began across the streets, Gocelin headed for the gatehouse, fighting his way through the streets, striking one of Pietro’s men before, busting through a door. It was a staircase, and Gocelin resolved himself as he nodded his head and ran up the stairs. He knew the risk, but he also knew his men were depending on him. He reached the top, and the defenders were surprised and bewildered, cutting one man down, and the others attempting to hit him, one of his men cut the man in half, before kicking another down. The gatehouse was secured, and the portcullis opened, and his men down below unhooked the gate-house allowing his mace-men to effortlessly charge in. The fighting in the city was bloody and messy, due to the dark, and the lack of proper formations, the fighting dragged on, papal cavalry caught unsuspecting glaive-men and enemy levies likewise appeared from doorways or dark corners. Despite this, the city’s standards were lowered and the flag of the Republic was lowered.

  “We captured the city!” Gocelin and Thorphinius shouted, with loud acclimations shortly after.

  It would be two hours of gruelling fighting to the governor.

  Count Pietro would have his own residence besieged. The glaive-men and mace-men crashed through but the Pietro was elusive, over the course of time they spent getting there he had escaped. What had transpired was Gocelin had lost 1000 men. He had annihilated 2500 and unwittingly won the fortress before the Norman’s could reinforce. The local residents were in shock, bells in the church ringing constantly to warn of danger with some nuns crying as they saw the Pagan standards in the light.

  “The Devils are here…” one nun whispered.

  The morning of the 16th Trani was now a Western Roman Republic possession, albeit at a cost that Gocelin was not entirely happy with, but he had won the day or perhaps night, and the fear of facing the Normans on a siege with diminishing resources had vanished. He had taken some 35,000 solidi from the siege, he now had 49,000 solidi, replenishing his coin reserves, but cognisant of the fact he occupied a city that was surrounded by Christian states, still a portion of the fleet went to Bari to report the victory, while Gocelin consolidated.

  By afternoon, Zethos looked at the unrelenting garrison of Matera, arriving to a town that refused his entry.

  “Are we doing another night attack?” Aspar asked.

  “Perhaps we can get them to surrender,” Zethos said quietly to his lieutenants, “Garrison of Matera. I am Zethos of Western Rome, you have barred your gates to us, know that we are lenient governors. Our taxes are lower than yours! The Republic holds no grudges, I want you to know we will respect your city!”

  “Get lost you Pagan infidel!” A man immediately shouted back.

  Despite a demonstration the garrison refused to surrender, cursing him and shouting damnations at Zethos. Zethos sat there, impatiently waiting for the town to surrender.

  “What a fucking grind this is going to be,” he muttered.

  As day turned to night he built a camp looking at the town. The cave town built on the caves, cast into the rock was a picturesque view, Zethos annoyed at the obstinance of the residents. Before he went to slumber, he noticed some cavalry attempting to raid his camp, besieging the besiegers before a few bolt shooters shot at them, and repulsed them.

  “How many?” Zethos shouted.

  It was perhaps 30 dead, their horses running around, one horse lay dead having been hit in the trunk.

  “Surrender!” Lucanus shouted at the garrison, “your reinforcements have been killed.”

  There was no reply, but instead an eerie silence.