I pointed out that the Emir’s request would come better from a knight and that they would be able to emphasize to Count Roger that we had been well treated and that the Emir was an honourable man.
After some discussion, it was agreed that Edwin would travel to Mazara with our men and that Sweyn and Adela would stay with me.
Adela had now begun her training with Sweyn and Ibn Hamed’s knights. They had both become firm friends with the Emir’s men and it was fascinating to watch them develop their skills in the various Saracen practice routines. One particular skill they started to master – an expertise unknown in the armies of Europe – was the use of the recurved eastern bow, a powerful, accurate weapon at close quarters and small enough to be used on horseback.
Sweyn ultimately became so proficient with the bow at a gallop that he could outscore all the Saracen knights. Adela did not yet have the strength on her left side to steady the bow, but she began to impress everyone with the speed of her footwork and her dexterity with a sword in duels. She adapted well to the curved sabre of the Saracens and soon exchanged her straight European blade for the slashing Arab scimitar. Even with her left hand in a sling to protect her shoulder, and hampered by the weakness in her left leg, she was still able to practise duelling with the Emir’s best swordsmen.
Hassan Taleb, the Emir’s finest warrior, took Sweyn and Adela under his wing and helped them hone their skills.
It was a particular delight to see him tutor Adela in the art of the sword: advance and retreat, thrust and parry, strike and deflect. Their movements flowed with a poise that belied their purpose – they looked more like the elegant moves of a graceful dance than the crude paces of a ruthless slaying. She was only ever outdone in a routine against far stronger men, or against the finest swordsmen – and then only after putting up a ferocious defence.
It was obvious that Hassan had designs on Adela. Clearly a man used to getting what he wanted, he was big and powerful, charming and chivalrous. He flirted with her, fussed over her and fed her ego. Sweyn became less and less happy with the overt attention.
A clash seemed imminent, so I decided to raise the subject with him.
‘Will you speak to Adela about Hassan?’
‘I already have, my Lord. She knows it is a problem, but doesn’t know how to deal with it. Adela told me that she had confided in you about us… and about her situation.’
‘Do you mind that?’
‘No, she needs someone to speak to besides me. She sees me as her younger brother and you as her elder brother.’
‘That makes me your elder brother also.’
‘I know, sire. So, may I also share something with you?’
‘Yes, you may… as long as you stop calling me “sire” while doing so.’
‘Adela has told me that she finds Hassan attractive, but only in outline. When her thoughts go beyond the superficial, she sees only Ogier the Breton, the monster from Bourne, and all the memories from those terrible days come flooding back. It is a curse that denies her so much.’
‘I fear it is a burden she will carry all her life.’
‘I want to help her.’
‘We all want to help her.’
‘But I am her husband.’
‘In name only.’
‘Yes… but the truth is, I yearn for her. I lie next to her night after night and all I want to do is comfort her, make love to her and make her memories go away.’
I suddenly realized that in the midst of all my anguish about Adela’s predicament I had ignored Sweyn and his inner thoughts and anxieties. Quite apart from his own childhood traumas, he was now telling me that he had nightly suffered the purgatory of lying next to a woman who was, in the eyes of the outside world, his wife but who treated him like a brother in a marriage of convenience when, all along, he desired her with a hunger.
‘It is an impossible situation for both of you. Can you not find comfort with someone else? Adela would understand and give you her blessing.’
‘She would, and she encourages me all the time. But I have two problems. How do I find someone in this nomadic life we lead? And, more importantly, no other woman comes close to Adela in my mind. All I want is her.’
‘Have you told her this?’
‘No, I cannot. If she knew, it would ruin everything. She would either feel sorry for me and let me take her out of pity, or she would leave me in order to prevent the agony continuing. I couldn’t bear either.’
‘I am so sorry. How can I help?’
‘You cannot. It is my cross to bear.’
Sweyn walked away despondently, leaving me to reflect on two lives which, like so many others, had been devastated by the savagery of the Norman Conquest of our homeland.
The inevitable confrontation with Hassan Taleb took place a few days later. Adela had been practising her swordplay with him when she slipped and fell to the ground, hurting her damaged shoulder in the process. He had helped to her feet, but lingered too long and too suggestively with his arm around her. She had pulled away angrily and marched from the practice ground, muttering to herself and shaking her head.
Sweyn arrived moments later. Adela refused to say what had happened, but Sweyn realized immediately who had caused her distress.
His sword was drawn within two paces as he attacked the Saracen with lightning speed. Hassan Taleb was an outstanding swordsman and parried all Sweyn’s blows with great dexterity, but Sweyn was relentless, driven by a burning fury.
I remembered what he had said to me when we first met – that anger in battle is a powerful ally.
Hassan began to look concerned, realizing that he was facing a man who not only had the fortitude to kill him, but also the ability.
Sweyn began to get the upper hand and Hassan Taleb started to tire. He took a gash to his forearm, and only his heavily mailed hauberk prevented Sweyn’s blade from inflicting a deep wound to his chest. Even so, blood began to seep into his cotton tunic.
I tried to put an end to it and shouted at Sweyn to stop, but to no avail.
He was deaf to all pleading. Only when Adela reappeared and walked in between them did they relent. She started to push Sweyn away, repeating over and over again that the incident was a misunderstanding and unimportant.
I rushed to help her.
By now the Emir had appeared, beside himself with anger. When he heard what had happened, he ordered that Hassan Taleb be restrained to await a trail by his fellow knights. However, before any of his men could detain him, Hassan lunged at Sweyn with his sabre. Alert to the attack, Sweyn pushed us away, ducked under the Saracen’s wild swing and plunged his seax into Hassan’s neck. The blade entered his throat on the left and exited next to his spine on the right. Both men were motionless for a second and the onlookers frozen in shock before Sweyn put his left hand on the Saracen’s shoulder and wrenched out his weapon. Blood spurted everywhere and splashed to the ground.
Death came almost instantly for the Saracen but, before it did, he was able to lift his hands to his throat in a futile attempt to stem the cascade and momentarily stare at Sweyn with wide-eyed incredulity. He then toppled to the ground and was dead within moments.
It was an astonishingly quick reaction from Sweyn, the adroitness and accuracy of which had made all who saw it gasp.
After ordering the removal of the body, the Emir spoke to him.
‘I apologize for the behaviour of a man I thought was my most noble knight. He has brought shame to me and my community. You have done me a great service by killing him; he deserved to die.’
‘My Lord, he was but one man. You and your people have been more than generous and courteous.’
‘I am still in your debt, young knight. How may I repay you?’
‘Sire, the debt is easily paid. Allow Adela and me to join your order of knights so that we may follow the Mos Militum, as they do.’
‘It is a small price to pay. We would be honoured to have you. I have not heard of a woman ever being made a knight before,
in either Islam or Christianity, but as I answer to no one here, I will permit it, if my knights will agree.’
I did not want to embarrass Sweyn or upset the Emir, but I was tempted to intervene. I felt certain that membership of a Saracen order of knights would create problems if and when we ever made contact with Count Roger.
The next day, with much fanfare and flourish in front of the entire community, Adela and Sweyn were dubbed as knights by Ibn Hamed.
They swore to uphold the principles of the Mos Militum.
Honour
Truthfulness
Courage
Martial prowess
Pride in the face of superiors
Humility in the face of inferiors
Protection of the weak: women, children and the old
A few of the Emir’s knights had been opposed to Adela becoming one of their number, but most had agreed readily. Adela and Sweyn both knelt in front of the Emir as he gave them short, curved jewel-encrusted Arabian daggers. He then placed his hand on their heads in turn and blessed them.
Several sheep and goats were slaughtered, and tables were heaped high with fowl and game. Deep baskets of bread, fruit and vegetables were prepared for a grand feast of celebration, the only disappointing part being the lack of alcohol – an indulgence strictly forbidden by Islam.
There were drums and horns to accompany the knights as they performed the precise choreography of their ritual warriors’ dance. The women wailed encouragement as the children copied the adults, and the entire community shared in the joy of the occasion.
Adela and Sweyn sat with broad smiles on their faces, as did I. We were all charmed by the warmth of our Muslim hosts.
Edwin returned a few days later, not just with an answer from Count Roger, but with the Count in person. In a remarkable gesture of goodwill, and with considerable fortitude, Count Roger of Sicily rode into Ibn Hamed’s camp with only Edwin and our two men for company.
His appearance – he was tall and fair and elegantly dressed, with fine weapons and armour – suggested he was a man of high status. When he announced himself to the Emir, there was a stunned silence.
‘My noble Lord, Ibn Hamed, Emir of Calatafimi, I am Roger, Count of Sicily. I have come to offer myself as a hostage in place of Edgar, Prince of England.’
The Emir was dumbfounded, as was I. If Roger had prepared a devious trap, I could not see how it could be sprung. Ibn Hamed stood and walked up to the Count to offer his hand. I stepped up and did the same and introduced myself.
I could sense that Ibn Hamed was at a loss to know how to react, but eventually he replied.
‘Courtesy demands that I welcome you to my camp, but I must confess to you, I am taken aback by your presence here. You are either a very brave man, or a very foolish one.’
The Count, a man who must have been in his mid-fifties but who looked fit and lean, spoke calmly and with great self-confidence.
‘I hope I am not foolhardy, and it does not require an act of bravery to seek the ear of an honourable man like you.’
‘If I were to cut you down here and now, it would not be without considerable justification, given that you have killed many of my people and destroyed our homes, leaving us to skulk in the woods like frightened animals.’
‘That was war, Ibn Hamed, but now we have peace. My family came here many years ago with a mission to remove southern Italy from the influence of the Emperor of Constantinople and the Grand Caliph of Cairo. We have achieved that ambition; now we want peace.’
‘Peace on your terms.’
‘Yes, of course. But my terms are very different from my brother’s. He has returned to Apulia and rules there with an iron fist. My rule in Sicily is with a much more gentle touch.’
‘But this will be the touch of a Christian, with no tolerance for men of my faith.’
‘Not so. I have learned a good deal about the ways of Islam over the years – how Christians are allowed to worship openly in the Muslim world, and how you tolerate people of many colours and creeds. This is how it will be in Sicily.’
‘Those are fine words, but your past deeds still leave me and my people burning with anger.’
‘I understand. That is why I came here alone, to convince you of my sincerity. Except for a few enclaves in the south, all the Muslim and Greek people of Sicily have accepted my lordship. All our faiths are protected – Christians both Roman and Orthodox, Jews and Muslims – we trade together, our communities mix together and everyone pays the same taxes.’
‘That all sounds very laudable, but at the moment we have only our faith. We have nothing to trade with, possess no silver to pay taxes and are barely able to feed ourselves.’
‘I offer you two choices. I will give you and your people safe passage to one of the emirates in the south, as you requested, or you can return to Calatafimi and I will restore your lands and titles and help you rebuild everything that has been destroyed.’
‘And in return?’
‘My freedom and that of Prince Edgar and his English knights. In due course, when you are able, I will levy you for knightly service and taxes like any other lord. I will relish the service of your knights, as I know them to be fine warriors and honourable men.’
I stood, open-mouthed in amazement at what I had just heard. Roger of Sicily was everything that had been said about him and more.
‘Think about my offer, talk to your people. I will return to my escort in the valley and come back tomorrow for your answer.’
‘Very well, you will have my answer tomorrow.’
The Emir immediately called his senior knights, household and imams together to discuss the Count’s offer.
Before they gathered, he asked me for my opinion.
‘There is no doubting his sincerity. Edwin led him to your camp only because he chose to come alone. That is the act of a man of great resolve. Roger’s reputation for decency and tolerance is well known, and what we saw in Palermo confirms everything he said. The place is alive with the bustle of commerce and its people are a rich medley of colours, creeds and tongues.’
‘That is how it was under Muslim rule.’
‘Then you will be relieved to know that nothing has changed.’
That evening, the four of us had dinner alone, but within earshot of the long and heated debate in the Emir’s tent.
I took the opportunity to talk to Sweyn and Adela about their decision to join the Emir’s order of knights.
‘Before the Count’s remarkable appearance, I had doubted the wisdom of your decision to join the order of knights. I thought it might cause us problems with our Norman hosts. Now, I don’t suppose it matters. In fact, it may stand us in good stead. Edwin, perhaps you and I should join too?’
‘Why not? They have good discipline and fine principles –’
‘As does Count Roger.’ Adela did not offer praise too readily, especially of Normans. ‘That was one of the most audacious things I have ever witnessed. Hereward was right about him, he is remarkable. When he returns tomorrow, I want to meet him.’
‘So do I.’ Sweyn was also fulsome in his praise. ‘Any man who can do what Count Roger did here today is worthy of anyone’s respect. It’s a shame there aren’t more Normans like him.’
The debate lasted late into the night, but eventually those of the Emir’s retinue who wanted to submit to Count Roger and return to their homes in Calatafimi held sway.
Some of the younger knights refused to accept the decision, and Ibn Hamed gave them permission to leave to join their Muslim brothers in the hilltop fortress at Enna.
When Count Roger arrived, far earlier than expected, his demeanour was considerably less calm than it had been the previous day.
‘Ibn Hamed, Emir of Calatafimi, you and your people are welcome in this new Sicily, a land where all can live in peace and share in a new prosperity. When I return to Palermo, I will send masons, carpenters and blacksmiths to help you rebuild Calatafimi. But now you must forgive me, for I must make haste
. I have just received news that a large Byzantine fleet is anchored off the coast at Mazara and that several themes have already disembarked.’
‘Go, Count Roger, you must organize your forces.’
Count Roger’s news was alarming, but it offered us an ideal opportunity to make a mark with the Norman lord of Sicily. I did not hesitate in seizing it.
‘My Lord, Emir, with your permission, we would like to join Count Roger in meeting the Byzantines.’
‘Of course. We will join him also. We have no love of Byzantines either, and if we are to accept the Count as our sovereign Lord here in Sicily then we must fight at his side.’
Count Roger was grateful for the support.
‘Thank you. When this is done, you will all be my guests in Palermo, where you can meet the other lords and emirs of my new Sicily. And now, my Lord Emir, I must hurry.’
As Roger rode off at a gallop, I turned to Ibn Hamed.
‘It will have cost Count Roger several hours to return here this morning. He could have sent one of his knights to get your answer, but he must have wanted to show you how sincere he is.’
‘I know, and I think we have made the right decision. I like the sound of this new Sicily. But we must hurry – Byzantine themes can be formidable, and the Count is going to need our help.’
The Emir gave instructions to his stewards to break camp, and for the community to return to Calatafimi to begin its new life. Within the hour, he was leading us down to the valley and the road to Mazara.
His men were a mixed bunch. The elite Faris were freemen and led small squadrons of Mamluks, who had begun life as slaves but had trained as professional soldiers. Most were Arabs, with their ancestral roots in Egypt, but there were also small numbers of Berbers, Kurds, Turks and Christian Armenians among their ranks.
The Turks and Kurds came from families with military traditions going back many generations, while the Armenians, highly adept cavalrymen, chose to live in a Muslim community because their belief that Christ had only divine form, not a parallel human form, made them heretics to both Roman and Orthodox Christians.
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