26.The Calm

  The 18th of February. Late in the evening. Almost the 19th Zethos arrived at the destination just shy of Casalnuovo, his army disembarked, and the other bolt shooters 1500 bolt shooters with 4500 technicians with only 2000 infantry to protect them, men with glaives and men with maces, marched to the city under the cover of darkness, moonlight shining their path as they approached the city in the early hours of morning. Norman cavalry did not spot them until they were already being let into the city. Zethos a scrappy Kentarches with scars all over his body snarled at the Norman commanding the garrison.

  “I have come to aid this city, I am Zethos of the Kratos Wrath force,” he said, formally clutching his glaive with a bit of disdain.

  “Well met Zethos,” Gocelin said, “together we drive that bastard away.”

  The morning of the 19th saw another 2000 Papal troops join the army. 19,000 men, thankfully they were infantry, but Zethos and Gocelin both looked at the grim sight of reinforcements.

  “I have 1500 bolt shooters,” Zethos said, “I can take the field when you can.”

  “I can only add 100 bolt shooters to that number,” Gocelin said, “but yes, we will take the field.”

  Gocelin had formalised the recruitment to 800 spear who would assist in the battle. In total he had 7200 troops, 1000 of which crossbows, the rest some combination of spears. Zethos had a much heavier composition of forces, 1500 bolt shooters (plus the 100 bolt shooters Gocelin had on hand) and 2000 elite infantry. In total 13200.

  “I have an absurd amount of ammunition,” Zethos said, “I was prepared today.”

  “They have 6000 cavalry, and 13,000 infantry,” Thorphinius said, “our only hope is the bolt shooters.”

  “Tomorrow,” Zethos said, “let my men rest.”

  “As you wish,” Gocelin said, “I understand the idea, be fresh for tomorrow, for tomorrow we show Guiscard the true meaning of the Western Roman Republic,” Gocelin said.

  “Quite my Norman friend,” Zethos said, looking him dead in the eyes.

  They clasped hands in a brotherly way. After the fraternising food was brought for the men, but it was hardly a feast, men steeling themselves for the slaughter that was to begin the next day.

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  “I can’t believe we have to fight that,” one man said.

  “Gocelin has led us to victory so far.”

  “We fought garrisons of 400, this is different.”

  “Maybe, but we’ll win.”

  Adaneus in the meanwhile sold 1570 litrai of cloves, 3135 litrai of indigo, cardamon and cinnamon to a vast array of merchants who crowded his harbours. 57,000 solidi in total, 137,000 solidi now in the treasury with soldiers having to make the merchants orderly.

  “I am a merchant, but I have an offer of peace and friendship from the Eastern Romans,” the man said with a flourish.

  Could be a ruse.

  Arabs and Venetians simply enjoyed the trade relations they had, a tax free port had attracted merchants from all over to buy the goods and fill the coffers of the state. Demetra was heard huffing as she fulfilled her marital duties, the maids in their house giggling. Maids doubling up as her spies, collecting information in the city and doing counter intelligence against Norman spies who were ‘merchants,’ their methods were dubious, leaning forward to show their chests and ruffling through these ‘merchants’ belongings to determine if they were genuine or not. Butros drafted more official documents, deciding that Adaneus would be the minister of Finance and Trade, Kwame would be the religious minister, Butros chief advisor and Demetra Chief of Intelligence. He penned a letter to Demetra to let her know of his recommendation, only for a maid to corner him in a room and say:

  “We read your letter, and it is most wise,” the woman said, “there’s a red-haired woman in an inn, and she wants a bit more than advice.”

  She winked, making Butros gape. Kwame had already been talking to the priests, who nodded at his words.

  “Dualist arguments will undermine the foundations of the Christians, for they believe a good god made the devil,” Kwame said, “granted your average peasant probably doesn’t even know what it is, but if you ever have to win an argument with a Catholic, or perhaps if you have a combative saracen arguing with you.”

  “Sure,” one of them said, “is it true you were a slave?”

  “Yes,” Kwame said, “who told you that,”

  “One of the citizens said you were drunk once and might have said it.”

  “That sounds like something I could do,” Kwame muttered.

  The other priests laughed, and he likewise glinted in a smile.

  “Slavery is an abomination,” Kwame said, “and Adaneus promised to not ever replicate it, he’s not even for feudalism. That is why I am here.”

  The trainee priests all looked at him with awe, some scribbling things down.

  “Surely the peasants will love to hear that,” one of them said, “more than dualism or anything else.”

  “Yes I’m sure they will,” Kwame smiled brightly.

  In Bari the 19th was spent enjoying the fabulous wealth that was pouring in, and producing bolt shooter after bolt shooter, catapult and ballistae. Butros thought about it, but he was the one overseeing production in the manufactories, making sure they operated smoothly, and that there was no stealing of produced weapons.

  Perhaps Gocelin or Zethos will be the army ministers if they are loyal enough. Perhaps.

  A bolt shooter snapped at a target, a Norman cavalryman knocked off his horse, with the guards shouting a commotion. Kwame and Butros looking at the scouts observing the city from afar.

  “Bastards,” Kwame muttered, “I wonder how Gocelin is doing?”