Plunder (4)
In the moment of absolute desperation, Geoffrey appeared as if by miracle. His arrival threw Duke Gerard of Lorraine's forces into disarray, forcing them to retreat.
With the duke's army withdrawing, Humphrey and I owed our lives to Geoffrey.
"You two acted like you had nine lives," Geoffrey said, clicking his tongue upon hearing the tale. Had he not arrived, our heads would have been skewered on enemy spears and dangled like playthings.
"We're fortunate you showed up just in time, brother. Truly, thank you," Humphrey said with heartfelt gratitude.
Geoffrey shrugged it off with a pat on Humphrey's shoulder. "When family's in danger, of course I'd come. Glad I could help."
Then his gaze fixed on me, as if studying something utterly alien.
"Who are you?"
"Your brother..."
"No. My brother didn't have a wolf's soul. But you..."
Geoffrey leaned in close, staring into my eyes and murmuring softly, "You have a gaze I've never seen before."
"..."
Has he figured out I'm not really Robert? My heart raced at the thought. If this continued...
"Brother, enough. This guy's not just saved my life—he saved the warriors' too. He's our benefactor."
Humphrey stepped in as the mood grew tense.
"Robert's changed a bit lately, sure, but it's not some weird shift. It's growth."
"Growth?"
"Yes."
Geoffrey pondered Humphrey's words, his expression troubled for a moment. Then he looked at me again.
"The Robert I knew strutted around like he was the smartest man alive, pulling petty tricks."
In other words, a total punk.
"He'd beg for recognition but shrink back when crisis hit, fleeing responsibility."
The words struck like daggers—not just at Robert, but at me.
"But from what Humphrey says, not this time."
Geoffrey rose calmly and tossed something at me. A carved ornament made from a wolf's tooth.
I caught it, staring up at him in confusion, unsure of its meaning.
"A warrior's token. From now on, I'll respect you as one."
Humphrey let out a long sigh of relief and approached me. "You've been recognized as a warrior, Robert. Congratulations."
Still baffled, I gazed blankly at Geoffrey. He explained with a reassuring wave.
"Don't worry. I didn't get it either when our eldest brother first acknowledged me."
He extended his hand. I took it and stood. As if he'd been waiting, Geoffrey continued.
"The raid failed. But our journey's far from over."
The Vikings nodded in agreement. A failed raid at Catholic hands wouldn't break them. As long as they drew breath, opportunities abounded.
"First, I have a question for you."
"What..."
"Humphrey says you predicted Duke Gerard of Lorraine would retreat. True?"
The duke's feud with the Catholic forces—that gamble had paid off, so I nodded.
"Yes, brother."
"A prediction, eh? Then you can answer mine."
Tension built as I wondered what he'd ask. His question caught me off guard.
"As I understand, southern Italy belongs to the Eastern Roman Empire. So why are Catholic forces meddling here? Explain."
His pointed query startled me inwardly. From the Papal States' view, Vikings plundering Byzantine lands was like watching a fire across the river. Roman Catholics and Orthodox might share the faith, but they were rivals. If Orthodox territory got raided, it weakened Eastern Roman influence on the peninsula—music to Catholic ears. Yet the pope sending troops directly? It didn't add up. And Duke Gerard of Lorraine not coordinating with them was odd too.
To explain it all required one key premise.
"The Catholics blocking our raid this time wasn't the Church's will."
"What do you mean?"
"From Rome's perspective, they'd station troops in Rome to counter if Vikings reached that far—nothing more."
There was a slim chance of humanitarian mercy to save locals. But if so, the duke wouldn't have come alone.
"It was likely Duke Gerard of Lorraine's unilateral decision."
Geoffrey and Humphrey watched me, eyes expectant.
"We can probably negotiate with the Roman bishop."
"In the name of the Lord."
"Amen," came the unified response.
Mass ended, and the congregation filed out of the basilica. His face beamed benevolence, but his eyes were sharper than any blade.
Only one man could celebrate Mass in Rome: the Roman bishop, the pope—Nicholas II.
To confirm his orders had been followed, he summoned the cardinal.
"What's the Empire's current state?"
The cardinal replied promptly. "Heinrich III's death has shocked them all. Chaos reigns."
Emperor Heinrich III of the Holy Roman Empire. In his brief ten-year reign, he'd left an indelible mark—subduing Hungary and Bohemia, deposing three antipopes by imperial fiat, installing a puppet pope, and bringing the Church under his thumb.
The Papal States had suffered under him, their power crushed, divine rights mocked. So dire that Roman nobles elevated the Bishop of Velletri to Pope Benedict X without proper process.
Sensing the rot, Hildebrand—a Holy Roman noble—backed Gerard of Burgundy, Bishop of Florence, who became Nicholas II and ousted Benedict X.
Yet the Papal States remained unstable; Benedict's faction lingered. Nicholas II sought a radical fix.
"We must swiftly reform the election decree while the young emperor's realm is in turmoil."
The papal election law. Popes were then chosen by vote of clergy, Roman nobles, and secular lords—leaving emperors free to pick favorites.
Backed by reformist clergy, Nicholas II aimed to change that.
"Church power belongs solely to the clergy."
His reforms boiled down to three points. First, only cardinals vote for pope. Second, other clergy need cardinal endorsement. Third, the emperor merely ratifies the cardinals' choice.
Through this, Nicholas II sought an independent papacy, free from Holy Roman and Eastern Roman sway.
"To realize Father's plan, we must improve ties with the Normans active on the Italian peninsula."
The pope nodded at the cardinal's advice—Stefano, no doubt.
Normans—Viking kin—roamed Italy as raiders and mercenaries, their reach spanning the Empire. Nobles now eyed them warily as their influence grew.
"With their support, we could match the emperor militarily, even in opposition."
Peerless as mercenaries, even prized by Byzantium, Normans would prove invaluable in war against the emperor.
"Maintaining good Norman relations is key. We can only pray Duke Gerard of Lorraine doesn't act rashly."
The duke often clashed with Normans, so Nicholas II had avoided appointing him commander. Yet as kinsman to Margrave Godfrey of Lorraine—who'd swayed the conclave—and a personal friend from Florence days, excluding him was impossible. Thus, he'd stationed him near Rome, gradually subordinating his command to papal forces.
May the duke cause no trouble. The pope prayed fervently to the Heavenly Father.
Did his prayer go unheard? A soldier rushed in, face ashen.
"A disaster, Holy Father. Duke... Duke Gerard of Lorraine..."
"What has the duke done?"
At the cardinal's urging, the soldier glanced at the pope, who gestured to speak.
"He defied Your Holiness's orders, left his post, and engaged Normans invading Reggio Calabria."
The cardinal scowled; the pope crossed himself, suppressing fury.
"If it's just rabble, we can contain it. Who's leading the Normans?"
"That's... Humphrey of the Hauteville family."
Humphrey Hauteville—a name carrying weight among Normans. The pope's face darkened; all was lost.
"This ruins our budding goodwill with the Normans. Summon the duke at once."
"Force him to claim it was accidental? That'll draw every Italian faithful's ire here."
The cardinal fell silent at the pope's point. Mobilizing papal troops against Norman raids was theater—to show protection of the flock. Without it, accusations of neglect would fly. A mere show.
But the duke had wrecked it. Norman support now slipped away—dooming election reforms.
"Our last chance to escape secular yoke..."
The cardinal murmured; the pope clasped hands, beseeching Heaven for a way out.
Did prayer work? The basilica doors burst open; a herald dashed in.
"R-Robert of the Hauteville family has arrived as a diplomatic envoy."