addressed the physician eyeball to eyeball. Now she stood up and towered over him, her blue eyes boring into his, her sweat-soaked face flushed so her cheeks seemed on fire, and such was the effect of the flickering light and her own appearance that the man, no stranger to shocking sights and fearsome wounds, or even angry patients, took two paces back, alarm on his face.
‘Never mind the conscripts; if death is around us we must get my husband and my son to somewhere that is safe.’
The Greek responded with a gesture of open hands, a signal that such thoughts were futile. ‘Who knows where that is, Lady?’
‘Is there any word of the sickness from any other place?’
‘I do not think it has been reported elsewhere.’
The voice boomed out, with no particular person in mind, as Sichelgaita ordered the servants present to first find out, then to organise a litter and enough men to carry it in relays, plus a message to her eldest son, already outside the walls with his father’s familia knights, to make his way to the road leading south, bringing them with him as escort.
‘To move him could be hazardous, Lady.’
‘To keep him here could be worse.’ Then she yelled at those she had ordered to make arrangements, few of whom seemed to have reacted as she wanted them to. ‘In the name of Christ risen, move! ’
‘Prince Richard asks that you accompany me to his castle of Montesárchio, where you will be received with all honour.’
It was notable to Bohemund that his uncle by marriage had sent one of his own race with the message, not a Greek or someone spouting Latin; was there some kind of statement in hearing the communication in Norman French? The fellow, however, did not look like a fighting man; the face was unmarked and smooth, more like that of a priest perhaps, even though he was armed with both lance and broadsword. Unheard of in Italy, he could indeed be a cleric, for the Norman divine saw no disgrace in being fighting men as well as members of the clergy. For such a breed it was in order to smite their foes and then see their souls into the afterlife.
‘And my conroys?’ Bohemund demanded.
‘Will be accommodated as guests too.’
‘How do I know Prince Richard won’t just slit my throat, and theirs, once I am inside the walls?’
The smile was meant to point up the absurdity of such a notion. ‘Nothing would bring down the wrath of your father quicker thanthat his son should be in any way harmed, quite apart from the custom of our race that no guest can suffer indignity, regardless of how much he is seen as an enemy, when he is inside the walls of a castle by invitation.’
‘And what does Prince Richard want to say to me?’
‘I am too humble to even pretend to guess.’
‘You don’t look humble.’
That got a half bow, to acknowledge that his manner was, if anything, haughty.
‘Perhaps if I was to outline the alternative, which is that you will be pursued until captured by a level of force you cannot overcome and taken into my master’s presence in chains, while your conroys might suffer the fate of those who burn and plunder, the ignominy of dying at the end of a rope.’
‘I would not be taken alive.’
The messenger, by the expression that appeared on his face, took that for what it was, an idle boast; few men chose death when life was possible. Bohemund wanted to tell him to return with a flat refusal, added to that a message to underline the difference between a threat and its implementation; they had not caught him and his band yet and it would not be any easier for them in the future as long as he kept moving and the peasants remained happy with free grain, oil and wine. But to do so would fly in the face of his father’s instructions. That accepted, it seemed to him foolish to take his lances with him; even if the laws of hospitality were applied, as soon as they rode out to resume marauding Richard’s possessions, their location would be impossible to keep
‘Never mind the conscripts; if death is around us we must get my husband and my son to somewhere that is safe.’
The Greek responded with a gesture of open hands, a signal that such thoughts were futile. ‘Who knows where that is, Lady?’
‘Is there any word of the sickness from any other place?’
‘I do not think it has been reported elsewhere.’
The voice boomed out, with no particular person in mind, as Sichelgaita ordered the servants present to first find out, then to organise a litter and enough men to carry it in relays, plus a message to her eldest son, already outside the walls with his father’s familia knights, to make his way to the road leading south, bringing them with him as escort.
‘To move him could be hazardous, Lady.’
‘To keep him here could be worse.’ Then she yelled at those she had ordered to make arrangements, few of whom seemed to have reacted as she wanted them to. ‘In the name of Christ risen, move! ’
‘Prince Richard asks that you accompany me to his castle of Montesárchio, where you will be received with all honour.’
It was notable to Bohemund that his uncle by marriage had sent one of his own race with the message, not a Greek or someone spouting Latin; was there some kind of statement in hearing the communication in Norman French? The fellow, however, did not look like a fighting man; the face was unmarked and smooth, more like that of a priest perhaps, even though he was armed with both lance and broadsword. Unheard of in Italy, he could indeed be a cleric, for the Norman divine saw no disgrace in being fighting men as well as members of the clergy. For such a breed it was in order to smite their foes and then see their souls into the afterlife.
‘And my conroys?’ Bohemund demanded.
‘Will be accommodated as guests too.’
‘How do I know Prince Richard won’t just slit my throat, and theirs, once I am inside the walls?’
The smile was meant to point up the absurdity of such a notion. ‘Nothing would bring down the wrath of your father quicker thanthat his son should be in any way harmed, quite apart from the custom of our race that no guest can suffer indignity, regardless of how much he is seen as an enemy, when he is inside the walls of a castle by invitation.’
‘And what does Prince Richard want to say to me?’
‘I am too humble to even pretend to guess.’
‘You don’t look humble.’
That got a half bow, to acknowledge that his manner was, if anything, haughty.
‘Perhaps if I was to outline the alternative, which is that you will be pursued until captured by a level of force you cannot overcome and taken into my master’s presence in chains, while your conroys might suffer the fate of those who burn and plunder, the ignominy of dying at the end of a rope.’
‘I would not be taken alive.’
The messenger, by the expression that appeared on his face, took that for what it was, an idle boast; few men chose death when life was possible. Bohemund wanted to tell him to return with a flat refusal, added to that a message to underline the difference between a threat and its implementation; they had not caught him and his band yet and it would not be any easier for them in the future as long as he kept moving and the peasants remained happy with free grain, oil and wine. But to do so would fly in the face of his father’s instructions. That accepted, it seemed to him foolish to take his lances with him; even if the laws of hospitality were applied, as soon as they rode out to resume marauding Richard’s possessions, their location would be impossible to keep
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