Kitabı oku: «The Sky Of Nadira»
Giovanni Mongiovì
THE SKY OF NADIRA
Regnum
On the cover: Luana’s eyes (with courtesy);
A norman shield, Athens, Museum of war.
giovannimongiovi.com
Copyright © 2019 - Giovanni Mongiovì
Copyright © 2020 - Arianna Raimondi (translator)
I don't need to write something indescribable,
that try without success the description of the immensely perfect,
the awareness I am raising is already poetry,
the highest and pure, written by intangible hands,
conceived by an excellent mind,
inspired by a huge heart;
my love, we ended up in the art of God:
"that one being loves another with ever more indissoluble love".
That I love you more every day ...
To Valentina and Tommaso ... lustru dê me òcchii ...
Summary
Introduction 6
PART I – THE STRANGER TIED TO THE POLE 7
Chapter 1 8
Chapter 2 12
Chapter 3 18
Chapter 4 20
Chapter 5 22
Chapter 6 26
Chapter 7 33
Chapter 8 35
Chapter 9 40
Chapter 10 45
Chapter 11 48
Chapter 12 52
Chapter 13 58
Chapter 14 62
PART II – THE WAR OF THE QĀ’IDS 67
Chapter 15 68
Chapter 16 72
Chapter 17 76
Chapter 18 79
Chapter 19 82
Chapter 20 86
Chapter 21 89
PART III – THE TRUCE OF MUḤARRAM 91
Chapter 22 92
Chapter 23 98
Chapter 24 102
Chapter 25 107
Chapter 26 111
Chapter 27 116
Chapter 28 118
PART IV – THE RETURN OF CONRAD 121
Chapter 29 122
Chapter 30 125
Chapter 31 128
Chapter 32 133
Chapter 33 138
Chapter 34 141
Chapter 35 146
PART V - THE PLOTS OF POWER 150
Chapter 36 151
Chapter 37 154
Chapter 38 157
Chapter 39 161
Chapter 40 167
Chapter 41 172
Chapter 42 179
PART VI – THE CURSE OF PENTHESILEA 183
Chapter 43 184
Chapter 44 188
Chapter 45 194
Chapter 46 199
Chapter 47 204
Chapter 48 209
Chapter 49 213
PART VII - THE CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM 218
Chapter 50 219
Chapter 51 224
Chapter 52 228
Chapter 53 235
Regnum - The coral hunter 243
Others wotks of the autor 244
Biography 245
Introduction
No matter how many rivers flow into the sea, they will never have the name of the waters where they throw themselves for the simply motive that the sea cannot be a reason for a river. In the same way, the beginning cannot replace the definition of the end, nor can it exceed its importance. Look at the source of a river, at the high cliffs from which it flows, taste its waters, and give it a name based on this. It is not the action that makes a man, it is not the hand that perform the action, the reason for everything is the heart. The essence of original sin was not to pick the fruit, but all that moved that gesture. The greed can hide everywhere: in the succulent meat, in the redness of wine, in the shapes of a girl... or at least it is so that justifies himself who surrenders. The truth is that it hides exclusively in the eyes and hearts of those who feel that consuming fire, that devouring flame that is lust.
Among the illustrious of these people descendants of ancient Greek, a story was told. It was a story that survived the baptism of Christianity and the sword of Islam. Penthesilea, a powerful Amazon, was called to fight in defence of the Trojans. She was a beautiful woman and, as often happens in Greek myths, the goddesses envied her. For this reason, Aphrodite wanted to punish her with the most terrible sentence: every man who had seen her, would have felt such an unstoppable desire to have her, and for certain he would have tried to rape her. Penthesilea hid under her armour for as long as she could, except that, during a battle, Achilles killed her and stripped her of her weapons. Only then was it evident that Penthesilea's curse overcame the same death: in fact, Achilles could not resist it ...
Beyond the myth, can something so extraordinarily irresistible and cursed really exist to stir the wishes of those who watch it? A beauty of such power to let the malice of hearts emerge, but also ambivalent, as it can bring out the noble virtues in the soul of the deserving.
The following story is the first of many others about men and women, about blood that binds each of them to their own past and the future. It is the story of this land, its peoples, its wars, its vices and its dormant qualities. However, what follows is the first, and being such is therefore the original ...
PART I – THE STRANGER TIED TO THE POLE
Chapter 1
Winter 1060 (452 from the Hegira) Rabaḍ di Qasr Yanna
There for that valley where the wheels1 never stop their motion ... there where the mountain of Qasr Yanna rests its roots ... there on that flat land where the Rabaḍ2 is ...
The valley at the foot of ancient Enna was lost towards the east; the Arab intervention in the centuries had made her more fertile than she would otherwise have been. Looking west, QasrbYanna3, in the centre of Sicily, stood high on the mountain. Looking east, down from the plateau, you could get lost with your eyes in dozens of hills, woods, meadows, pastures and streams ... but also in the high water wheels, able to lift the water from the valley ... and in the canals, dug to transport it to the vegetable gardens. The village did not have many houses, perhaps thirty, and only a small mosque, as if to testify to the little importance of the place.
It was just after midday, and two men were dragging another young man of about thirty years in his armpits through the ground destined for the cultivation of pumpkins from flasks. While they were dragging him, he pointed his naked feet to the ground and he stumbled upon capture, he kicked so much that it seemed that he wanted to make the furrows that the plow generally does. He kept his eyes down, and to those who watched the scene he only showed his head and his short hair. It was winter and now his ankles sank in the cold mud formed with the morning rain.
The young man wore shorts and a torn tunic. Those others wore distinctly different clothes: wide and colourful. One of them had a kind of turban and both wore long beards and hair.
When they arrived with the wretched prisoner through the streets of Rabaḍ, everyone gathered curiously. Everyone knew each other in the village, and everyone knew the inhabitants of the last house at the end of the street before the vegetable gardens, the house of Christians, the only ones in Rabaḍ.
They worked hard throughout the area to make the land always fertile; the whole area was agricultural and families lived in villages all scattered among the hills. There was no nobleman and there was no warrior, but only peasants who worked on their own and on behalf of the collector of the Qā'id4 of Qasr Yanna.
The house of the young man was exactly the opposite of the house of Christians, at the highest point. A large courtyard, partly fenced, opened in front of the large house, and it is here that the three arrived after having walked the labyrinthine streets and courtyards typical of the Arab-based centres. Just at the point where the market was mounted, and in the exact centre of this place, they tied this unfortunate young man. They tied him to his hands and these to a pole. Then they pulled the rope upwards, locking it to a natural bifurcation of the wood of the rod located on the head of the condemned man, so that he could not sit or bend.
Now a man entered the scene in Qā'id, a kind of man too young for the role he held, a man whose name was Umar. He was a handsome man: of Berber origin, he was barely olive-skinned, had a beautiful pair of deep black eyes, and a straight and well-proportioned nose. The beard hid his age and made him look more like his father, Fuad, also a collector of the Qā'id, who has been missing for almost two years.
Coming out of the tax office, located on the side of the house, Umar pulled the prisoner's head by the blond-copper hair and forced him to look him in the eye. For as the latter was livid, those two must have been satisfied to beat him.
They were face to face, and nothing divided those proud black eyes from staring at those even more proud but green eyes of the prisoner.
«Therefore, you thought you could insult me and get away with it ...» said Umar. The other one didn't answer; not because he did not understand Arabic, but because any word would have been a useless word.
«Don’t waste your time with him» said the debt collector «It's not worth it»
Then he nodded to one of the two who had brought him back to him, and then, having torn his tunic completely, lashed him with a wet rope.
The villagers were all there, yet no one had the courage to set foot over the fence of the courtyard. The groans aborted in that man's throat no longer made an impression of the blood redness that was forming on his back.
Each commented with the neighbour that such a thing had never happened to Rabaḍ. His family members hid in the crowd instead, having the common sense and modesty not to speak. The only absentees were those from the house of the debt collector: the mother, the wife and the sister, who preferred not to get involved in the affairs of the head of the family.
Then, when the appointee of that torture finished his service and they left the young man to himself tied to the pole, the crowd returned to their duties. They left him there, at the mercy of the cold of the evening and the chill of the night.
Only at about midnight, someone did have enough mercy and the permission to bring him a blanket. Umar's men let him do it, realizing that spending the night in winter in the freezing air of the mountains of Qasr Yanna, would have been too much for anyone.
Many saw that young man tremble and jump to keep moving for most of the night. Then, in the morning, when they mounted the market all around the courtyard, they saw him fall asleep hanging by his wrists; it looked like a saddlebag tied to a tree trunk. Someone even believed him dead, and even wanted to ascertain it by slapping him.
It was again afternoon, the condemned had not eaten and drank for a whole day. A herd of bald goats stood in the courtyard, bleating and biting blades of grass. That song of grazing animals made the man tied to the pillory wake up. He thought that he was about to break his knees and to detach his wrists ... Then, at a certain point, feeling a sort of presence, he opened his eyes; in fact, someone had been watching him for some time. Three steps away a girl was staring at him with wide eyes. She had such beautiful eyes with wonderful cut, that not so many people could have. But the condemned and all the others of Rabaḍ knew those blue eyes of a turquoise so intense as to be lost in them and never find yourself again; a strange colour that faded towards the outside of the iris in a dark blue like the depths of the sea. Eyes capable of causing confusion of minds and damnation of hearts.
The girl wore a beautiful green dress with yellow and blue finishes of a typical shape of the people of North Africa and held a flap of the veil close to her face in order to hide the features of her face. The physical appearance with an exotic character, so different from that of the natives of the island, formed the basis for the immeasurable work of his eyes, which stood out atypically. A rebel curl escaped the constriction of the red veil revealing the brown shade of the hair.
When the prisoner saw her, he returned to lower his gaze, and then, returning to look at her a little later, he recited slowly:
«“Do you know, oh my Lord, sky of Nadira, the boundaries of her eyes?”»
She looked at him lost and asked: «How do you know these words? »
«Ever since Qā'id visited these places, the verses of this poem have spread throughout the village and beyond. »
Staring at her with troubled eyes, he begs at her:
«Untie me, Nadira, my Lady, please! »
But she seemed impassive, lost in that request that she was unable to accept.
«I don't know the boundaries of your eyes, Nadira ... but I can explain the origins if you wish ... Give me at least a bit of water at least...»
At this request, Nadira returned to the house without turning around and without giving weight to him; the tinkling of the anklets echoed throughout the courtyard as she ran towards the entrance, all cold because of the clothing too light and unsuitable to be outside.
The water never reached the condemned man, but as soon as Nadira set foot inside the house and saw her brother Umar, counting money at a table, she asked: «What did the Christian do to deserve this treatment for him?»
Now she didn’t cover no longer her face and it was clear how her full lips and her perfect nose harmoniously surrounded her eyes.
«Who? »
«The man tied to the pole out there. »
«His family refused to pay the jizya5. » replied Umar. Then went back counting the money at his usual table, believing that he had liquidated her with a single sentence.
«It will freeze! He's been tied to that pole for two days! »
«Since when do you care about the fate of the infidels? »
«This morning I saw your children playing around that man. You had to see how the little girl looked at him! »
«I'll untie him, don't worry ... but another night in the cool won't hurt him. »
«Come on, Umar, tonight it will freeze more than yesterday. »
«They'll bring him another blanket. Didn't you see that I didn't stop his sister from helping him? »
« “Umar the magnanimous”! What do you think of this name??» said her sarcastic.
He snorted and with an angry gesture he hit a stack of silver dirhams6 earned between taxes and trade. « But should I be insulted by those people? » he asked, raising his voice slightly.
« You said they refused to pay; what if they couldn't? That family is the poorest in the whole Rabaḍ. I remember how our father often gave up on a tax or tribute in order not to oppress the poor people. »
« The dhimmi’7s had always paid, even with our father. »
« Even better! If the protégés have always paid, what will it be once? »
« That Corrado, that red man, when his father presented himself without having the tax for the protection of the unbelieving believers in God, he came forward and, looking at me defiantly, said to me:
“We have been working for your family for twenty years ... When we will have the jizya, we will give it to you. Otherwise be satisfied with the simple fact that we work for you..”
Then he left for his gardens as if nothing had happened. How was I supposed to treat him? »
« This after that you hit his father on the cheek! » Jala, their mother, intervened, because, having heard the tones from the other room, had worried that the discussion between brother and sister would degenerate.
Nadira looked like Jala, except for her unusual blue eyes and skin of a lighter shade. In addition, Nadira was taller than Jala, who loved to say with pride that her daughter was like a palm, due to her stature and long-limbed physique.
Then Umar got to his feet and, feeling accused, replied:
« You cannot understand these matters, mother! How can you determine if anyone can't or don’t want to pay? The punishment serves to make the liars give up...»
« This has always been a united community, far from intrigues, from jealousies between different races and religions ... and even from wars. The house of Christians at the end of the street, the only one in Rabaḍ, has always been treated with dignity. Your father knew what was right about it. Maybe you will be right ... but not at the Rabad of Qasr Yanna's; here we have always helped each other. People yesterday looked amazed at how you treated that poor boy. Ours is a job that is already hated ... and they should respect you, instead of being afraid of you...»
«The Qā'id will ask his' āmil8 for an account if the crates are empty. Sorry, but hitting an infidel, it is not a crime. We have allowed them to sit in the presence of a brother, we have allowed them to saddle the mule, we have allowed their women to use the bathrooms together our women ... elsewhere this does not happen, and they may even complain for it. »
«But that Christian you slapped grasped the sword when Jirjis Maniakis' soldiers assaulted the village, although the dhimmi are exempt from war and cannot carry weapons. »
«Then, let me say that I believe this reality is wrong and it will be my duty to restore the order of things. They too submit to Islam as many of the Christians who lived in these lands did, if they do not want to be treated differently. »
This time answered Nadira: «Since when do you think these things? Since you became Qā'id's brother-in-law? »
«And you, little girl, when did you learn to answer your walī9, protector and guarantor? Since has the Qā'id set your eyes on you and been betrothed to him? What if I told him that you talked to a Christian tied to a pole? »
«My lord Ali would have had pity for that man. »
«Well, say to him to come and to blame me... as long as he doesn’t detach your tongue because you give such confidences to strangers. »
Nadira then left disappointed and angry, running to take refuge in her room. As the girl passed, the hangman servant thinned quickly. So, throwing himself on his bed, embracing the numerous cushions that covered it, she started to cry.
«Nadira, my girl. » Jala called her. She raised her head, now with the voluminous large curls uncovered, and began to listen
«Nadira, my child, it can be cruel to realize that you will belong to someone you don't know enough; and you're only nineteen ... maybe are enough, but you're inexperienced in everything! »
«Could he really take my tongue off? »
«Don’t mind what does your brother say. But one thing is clear: never and never again do I want to see you talk to that man! »
«I didn't speak to him! It was him who asked me about the water. »
«And what else did he tell you?»
«Nothing!»
«Great, because he is a dangerous man of the worst kind, Nadira. And your brother is right in wanting to punish him. "« A little while ago you said otherwise…»
«I told Umar how his father would have behaved ... Now I’m telling you what I think. Now go and see if your sister-in-law needs help; it is for this reason that you're not yet the wife of the Qā'id ... to assist her in her pregnancy. »
Thus, passed the hours of the second day of that winter of 1060 – the year 452 according to the Hegira10 – in which Corrado the Christian had been tied and humiliated like a stubborn beast.
Chapter 2
Autumn 1060 (452 from the Hegira), Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna
It was still early October, precisely a couple of months before Umar took revenge for the insolence of the son of the Christians by tying him to the pole in the courtyard, and that Nadira argued with her brother.
Under the sun of early afternoon, Khalid, a twelve-year-old young man so close to Umar, a shepherd boy to whom the Qā'id debt collector entrusted his personal flocks, came quickly to the village. Soon he arrived in front of Umar's house, running so fast that it seemed like a gust of wind in November. Then, so breathless that he had to stand on his knees and on his stick, he shouted:
«Umar! »
It didn't take long for some of the servants to come out, due to the schedule they were busy in the house. Once warned, the landlord went out into the entrance, completely dishevelled, as he evidently slept lulled by the lukewarm torpor of early autumn.
«What do you want? Why are you yelling at this hour? I was slipping next to my children ... and now you have woken us all up! »
«Umar forgive me! The goats…» and stopped to catch his breath.
«What happened to my goats? Did someone steal them? » asked the other full of apprehension
«No, I put them in the lock. »
«So, they are unattended. »
«I wish I could have sent a fartasa11 goat, however you would not have understood its bleating.»
Khalid laughed; it was clear that he was making fun of his master.
Umar took him by the ear and pushed him to the ground with a tread on his ass.
«Tell me something important or else I'll put you in the lock!»
The boy getting up said: « The Qā'id, Lord ... the Qā'id comes to Rabaḍ and asks for you. »
«Is Ali ibn12 al-Ḥawwās coming to my house? » asked Umar in amazement, adjusting his hair with one hand as if the lord of Gergent13 and Qasr Yanna were already in front of him.
« He is accompanied by his faithful and told me to inform you that he is coming with good intentions. »
Umar sharpened the view and noticed the caravan going down the winding curves of the mountain of Qasr Yanna.
«Go back to your goats! » he commanded the young man before running inside.
The confusion broke out in that house, and everyone participated to make everything worthy of the visit of the Qā'id. Even in the whole village the uproar broke out: the women rushed to the entrance of the Rabaḍ and some of the men, having been warned, returned from the nearest gardens.
Michele and Apollonia, Corrado's brother and sister, observed the scene with curiosity. They would pay homage to the Qā'id like everyone else; no matter who commanded them, he was still their lord. On the other hand, if it had not been for the rags that Michele wore and for his shaved hair, signs imposed for his being Christian, no one would have identified them as unbelievers of the word of the Prophet. There was no difference between Apollonia and the Saracen14 women of the village, except for the more continental features of her face.
Rabaḍ had been colonized exclusively by Berbers since the early days. However, elsewhere, more European looking Muslims - because of different origins or because they were converted natives - swarmed and the somatic difference with Christians was non-existent. Furthermore, for two hundred years, the Berber, Arab and indigenous lineages had been mixing regularly, tending to conform to one people with more homogeneous characteristics. Therefore, in all this the Rabaḍ was an exception.
There was only one term for identifying the inhabitants of the island ... not Arabs, not Berbers, not indigenous, nor anything else, but Sicilians. Maybe they were Saracen Sicilians and Greek Sicilians, or Christians - just as there were Jewish Sicilians - but still all to be defined Sicilians. The new arrivals were excluded from the concept of Sicilians, those who had passed from Africa to Sicily at the time of the invasion of the zirid dynasty and until Abd-Allah had returned to the other side of the Mediterranean. This people, devout to Islam like the others of Berber ethnicity, were called African, precisely because they came from the region that the Arab world called Ifrīqiya15. The last Africans had arrived just a couple of years earlier, escaped from the devastation that raged in the land of their origin.
Bring the population of Sicilians and Africans together, although all believers in Allah, was a much more complicated undertaking - and in the past the issue had also led to civil unrest - than being able to integrate Christians and Judean16 into the Islamic society.
The sharia17 legislation imposed on the latter, in fact, was clear, and little or nothing could be interpreted; they were the dhimmi, the vassals, forced to pay the jizya, the taxes, but nevertheless having the right to exist in their faith. The Africans instead were the real antagonists, those with whom the Sicilian Saracens had to contend for the primacy of rulers.
Al Rabaḍ, however, where nobody had never seen Africans before, the real problem of the day seemed to be making a good impression in front of the Qā'id ibn al-Ḥawwās, the Emir of Qasr Yanna, who inexplicably came to visit to one of his debt collectors.
«If Corrado were here! » said Apollonia as soon as she saw the caravan enter the entrance of the village.
Apollonia was a woman in her early twenties, beautiful with wavy and brown hair and hazel eyes. The white complexion of her skin made her appear even more attractive, as the Arabs girls with European characteristics were the most attractive. If it hadn't been for her religion, they would certainly have wooed her. And if it hadn't been for the smallness of Rabaḍ and her family atmosphere, for sure someone would have induced her to convert with the promise of obtaining an advantageous marriage.
Michele was younger than Corrado and looked a lot like his father. The boy seemed born to work and, although he was not very tall, he was robust and tireless. He also lacked a couple of teeth, having broken them when, at the age of ten, he tried to pull a large nail off a beam.
«At this hour Corrado will have already heard the news and will be coming from the garden with our father. » answered Michele.
«What kind of man will the Qā'id be? » Apollonia asked, more to herself than to her brother.
Michele looked at her puzzled, then, taken from jealousy, he replied Michele looked at her puzzled, then, taken from jealousy, he replied
«Maybe you should stay home like many Islamic women do. »
«I don't know anyone here in Rabaḍ who keeps his sister locked up»
«Umar's sister hasn't been around for a while, and if she does, she is with her face covered. »
«It means that there is a brother more jealous than you. And then Nadira's eyes are enough to attract men. »
Apollonia's last words were the pivot of many things that would happen from that moment forward ...
The Qā'id advanced through the streets among the general riot of the crowd. Ali ibn Ni'ma, more commonly known as ibn al-Ḥawwās, was much loved by people. Its name meant "the Demagogue", the one who attracts the favours of the people. And on the other hand, his own rise could not have taken place without the support of the people and their charismatic gifts; a slave of Berber lineage who had freed himself in the state of freedman and had finally become Qā'id of the entire central Sicily.
Ibn al-Ḥawwās came forward riding a beautiful reddish horse harnessed with yellow and green harness. Apollonia's thoughts were disappointed when she realized that the lord of Qasr Yanna was not as young and handsome as she had imagined, but of middle age, greying and slightly overweight. However, it cannot be said that his appearance was unpleasant; for sure many of those girls who praised him in his passing would do everything to receive his attention.
In addition to the twenty-armed men who escorted the Qā'id, there was a woman in black dress that attracted attention. This, accompanied by a couple of handmaids, rode the steed in amazon-style, immediately following its lord. Also, there was a well-dressed guy, for luxury second only to ibn al-Ḥawwās.
Umar found himself at the entrance, paid his respects and invited his master to enter his "unworthy home"; how he called his home. And Ali, the Qā'id, was quick to introduce people to his entourage as soon as they got off the horse.
«My sister Maimuna and Bashir, my Vizier18. »
Then Umar made a signal with his hand to indicate to his relatives, who observe from the door, to approach.
«My mother, Jala ... my wife Ghadda and my children Rashid and Fatima; and this is my sister, Nadira. »
Each of those women nodded with folded hands in front of the Qā'id and the latter replied:
«I will send gifts to reward the beauty of this house. » said the lord stopping more than one glance on Nadira's eyes.
The most beautiful carpets and the finest cushions had been prepared in four and four on the floor of the largest room, so that the men would sit there to converse with each other. In the kitchen, the tannūr19 was even rekindled to bake buns, while young people ran to the nearest source to bring fresh and running water to the guests. They all sat around the centre of the room, while the housewives invited Maimuna to join them on the other side, on the back, under a sort of canopy delimited by a hedge formed by roses.
A row of servants began to bring food, fruit and honey sweets, bread, freshly picked dates, pomegranate juice. At this point, the Vizier, smoothing his beard with a strange pointed shape, began with his reflections and technical questions on the management of the village:
«The place is pleasant, and people are devoted to his Qā'id. Does the credit go to you?»
«It goes to every inhabitant of Rabaḍ and to the pleasant yoke reserved for them by our beloved Qā'id. »
«What are the numbers of the giund20 conscription? »
«Forty-one men, already armed. »
«Are the dhimmi subject to you? »
«There is only one family of Christians ... among the gentlest farmers. »
«One? Elsewhere, in Mazara's iqlīm21, Christians are grouped into communities, although often modest..»
«Marauders ... have you suffered attacks?» Ali ibn al-Ḥawwās asked at this point.
«We haven't suffered attacks since my father was at the command. The latest occurred when Jirjis Maniakis was raging on the east coast twenty years ago. Why do you ask me, my Lord? »
«The subjects of Mohammed ibn al-Thumna, my brother-in-law, are not as gentle as the inhabitants of this village ... and Rabaḍ is a fragile outpost at the foot of Qasr Yanna, where I live. »
«Shall we prepare for something, my Qā'id?»
«I'm just telling you to organize the guard and a prompt signalling fire to sound the alarm to our sentries. »
Under the canopy, outdoors, Jala entertained her illustrious guest with the same treatment as her brother. Sitting on stools they talked about frivolity and banality.
«When's the birth? » asked Maimuna to Ghadda, watching her abdomen.
«In three months ... Inshallah22! »
«And you ... Nadira ... it's really unusual to find you still in your mother's house. Is the smallness of this village the reason why you don't count suitors? »
«To tell you the truth, my Lady, there have been many suitors ... but Umar thought they were not worthy. »
«Of your beauty? Your brother is right. »
« I have nothing more than you. »
Then Maimuna uncovered her wrists by turning the sleeves; scars appeared, just tightened and still full of redness.
« You don't have these that I have ... »
Nadira and the others looked at her perplexed, immediately thought that the Qā'id's sister had cut her veins. But Maimuna explained:
« Don’t think that I am a sinner; it was someone else who made me cut my wrists. »
« Who, my Lady?» asked Nadira with the tears in her eyes, who on that day wore a small palm-shaped painting on her chin, a meticulous work done with henna.23
«My husband, Mohammed ibn al-Thumna, Qā'id of Catania and Syracuse.»
«Why, my Lady? What did you do to him? » Nadira asked again, leaning forward and grabbing her hands.
«Is there anything that justify that a wife being treated like this? »
Nadira then let go, feeling the response almost like a rebuke.
«I belonged to ibn Meklāti, former lord of Catania, with whom I was married, but Mohammed took his life and stole the city and his wife. And as if the infamy of being married to the killer of my first husband was not enough, Mohammed wanted to give me this gift by having my wrists cut in order to bleed me. Besides, you know how my brother became a slave to Qā'id with his hands ... and for this reason Mohammed only reminded me of my plebeian state. »
«Do you still belong to the Qā'id of Catania, my Lady?» Asked Ghadda.
«He asked for forgiveness when he disposed of the hangover of the wine of the night before… because Mohammed is part of those who drink and give themselves to excesses and then they feel sorry and regret the next day. However, I asked to be able to go to my brother and he granted it to me ... but if it were not for the young servant who wanted to save me, I would not be here today to talk with you, dear sisters. »
«Aren't you afraid to go back to him»
«I will not return; I won’t see my children again ... but I will not return! »
«You are brave! » exclaimed Ghadda.
«I'm not brave, I'm just Qasr Yanna's Qāid sister. If I had been one of the women in this village, I would certainly have returned as a good wife. »
«And your brother won't send you back? » Jala therefore intervened, amazed that Maimuna hoped that her brother could support her in that behaviour in her opinion indecent.
«No, Ali sworn it to me. »
There was a moment of silence, as if the air was full of concern for the story of the woman.
«Nadira, my dear, your brother is right not to give yourself to anyone. Have you seen my wrists? Have you seen what happen if you meet the wrong man? And then you deserve much ... much more than what could happen to you staying with Rabaḍ. Ordinary men wouldn't deserve you, daughter. »
«Who could be interested in a girl of the people? »
«Even an illustrious Qā'id! » Maimuna said with unusual rapidity, as if she had been waiting to give that answer since the beginning of the story.
Nadira laughed modestly, then said:
«There are not many important Qāid in Sicily, except your husband, your brother and…»
She had not yet finished speaking and was struck by a strange awareness: Maimuna was there for her and on behalf of her brother. She was seized with anxiety, apprehension and such a tension that she could no longer speak.
«Nadira, dear, what does upset you? » Maimuna asked, stroking her cheek.
Jala, on the contrary, having understood the antiphon even before her daughter, was out of her mind.
«Nadira, Maimuna's compliments seem to bother you. » scolded the mother.
«Why are you here? » asked instead the girl seriously, swallowing.
«To find out if what is said about Nadira of Rabaḍ is true. Do you mind? »
«No!» replied the young woman, making a nervous smile.
It had been agreed between Maimuna and his brother that, if the judgment on the girl had been positive, the latter would have had to serve the men in the other room, and especially the Qā'id directly from her hands.
«Do you think Qasr Yanna's Qā'id comes to Rabaḍ for no reason? Nadira, Ali would be immensely happy if you personally served him some food. »
Not a little reluctant within himself, not because she disagreed with the proposal but because of the seriousness of the gesture, Nadira covered her face, took from the hands of a servant some sweets made of mustard mixed with honey and mustard and brought them to the room where the men they discussed.
The Qā'id stopped the speech as soon as he saw Nadira advancing towards him; was the signal, the girl had passed the exam of Maimuna.
Umar was perplexed; however, he immediately understood the reason inherent in his lord's visit.
When Nadira knelt before the Qā'id and pushed the hand with the food towards his mouth, the other gently blocked her wrist, and she even feared she had done something wrong. Then he fixed her intently in the wide eyes and began to recite:
«Do you know those sources of living, pure and sapphire-coloured water?
Where it is possible to mirror oneself, to see one's soul.
Where herons and maidens quench their thirst, and their hair is uncovered.
Do you know, oh my Great, the boundaries of your kingdom?
Do you know that sea of shocking wonder?
So deep and rich in flaky fin fish.
So turquoise and cyan and blue, where nets gather.
Do you know, oh favourite of the Supreme, the borders of Sicily?
Do you know that sky of incomparable beauty and innocence?
From which rains in the season of early figs and melons.
Thanks to which hibiscus, orange blossom and roses are refreshed.
Do you know, oh my Lord, the sky of Nadira , the boundaries of her eyes? »
Two tears fell quickly over Nadira's face, which went to hide behind the veil of the niqab24. She could not explain how it was possible that the fame of her eyes had crossed the boundary of Rabaḍ and even had reached the ears of the Qā'id.
«Have you ever heard these words, my dear? » Asked Ali, although he already knew that the answer was negative.
«No, my Lord. But the Nadira to whom you dedicated these words must be lucky. »
The Qā'id smiled, being positively impressed by the girl's modesty.
« This summer I granted an audience to a traveling poet who was looking for a court, such a Mus'ab, and he delighted me for two months with his poetic skills. One day he praised me for a flower of such beauty that I ended up begging him to tell me who she was. That flower had a name: Nadira; she lived in Rabaḍ and was the sister of'āmil. The verses I have recited, my dear, I have only learned them by heart ... the prize for genius goes only to the poet Mus'ab, but the prize for the beauty of these words goes to you. However, if I had seen your eyes before hearing these words, perhaps I would have punished Mus’ab for his presumption in wanting to describe the indescribable. Allah has made you unparalleled and inexplicable, my dear! I waited a month, the entire duration of Ramadan25, before I knew "The sky of Nadira, the border of his eyes", although now I realize that that border does not exist.»
Then Ali looked at Umar and said to him:
« Brother, I ask you for Nadira's hand, at whatever price you impose on me.»
Umar didn’t say a word, and Nadira left the room, realizing that the issue had to be addressed by the men.
Umar in his heart immediately agreed, and he would have granted Nadira even without a price, since he would become the Qā'id's brother-in-law, however he hid his emotions and his assent that the other raised the stakes. Ali assured that he wanted to make Nadira one of his wives and that he would not have treat her as a concubine because of his popular origin. Moreover, he also promised gifts and benefits for the whole family. At that moment Umar looked at Rashid, his only eight-year-old son, and couldn't help thinking about how their life would change for the better thanks to his sister's blue eyes.
Meanwhile Nadira had run to take refuge in the place where she went as a child, under the foliage of a large mulberry tree located on the property of the house. She didn’t understand why something so important was happening to her. She was sure that she wasn’t up to it, as she believed she had done nothing to deserve the attention of the Qā'id and a proposal of this magnitude. She was crying and trembling ... then she leaned her back against the trunk and, with her eyes closed, she remembered the cause of those events.
Chapter 3
Summer 1060 (year 452 from Hegira) Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna
It was Friday, and in the sun of the afternoon, Nadira was going to the well in the south of Rabaḍ with the intention of drawing a bucket of water with Fatima, the granddaughter, with her. The latter, dressed in red, wore a choker decorated with colourful geometric patterns and many ornaments hanging on the forehead and attached to the headdress, just as the Berbers use to decorate the maidens. There were also other women who went to the well, and they laughed and joked carelessly despite the heat of the hottest hour.
At the end of their works, the other women all grabbed their bucket and set off on the journey home. Only Nadira and Fatima remained there.
«I've heard that this well is miraculous. » a male voice began.
Nadira, startled, let go of the rope, dropping the bucket into the bottom of the well.
That guy, a young man who wore a strange yellow kefiah26 rolled up on his head, came forward waving his hands and begging her to forgive him to have scared her.
«I didn't see you, sir.» answered Nadira, covering her face and pulling little Fatima towards her.
«I was saying that this well is miraculous… and now that I'm closer to you I am even more convinced. »
And smiling he continued:
«Because if you're not an angel, explain me what kind of creature of Heaven I have in front of me.»
«Only the sister of the village chief, a man very close to the Qā'id. » Nadira explained his references to dissuade him from any bad intentions.
«You don't have to fear anything from me. »
Therefore, nodding a bow with his hands gathered behind his back, he presented himself:
«Mus'ab, poet and doctor. »
«Let me talk to my brother and I will give you the hospitality you deserve, Mus'ab. »
«You are kind, but all I need I think I have already found it. »
«Do you need water? My brother won't disagree with giving you a bucket. » Nadira asked innocently, imagining that she was referring to the well.
However, the other one smiled and explained:
«I have travelled a lot despite my young age: from Baghdad to Grenada. I have seen many times turquoise eyes and emerald eyes, worthy of the seventy-two virgins promised by Allah to the martyrs. In Andalus I found girls of visual agitation with eyes similar to yours ... and in the mountains of Kabilia I came across women with almost identical characteristics. However, never ... never ... I found such an intense blue embedded in a face like yours. Your aspect betrays the mixture to which you belong, for sure Berber, as I evoke from the clothes of the little girl ... And also, among the Sicilian natives Maybe your father is an indigenous? Or maybe your mother? From whom did you inherit this fortune? »
«You are wrong ... for sure you have been too long away from this earth and you easily fall into deception. There are no Berbers, indigenous or Arabs in these parts, but only Sicilians observing the word of the Prophet. Yeah, among my grandparents and among their mothers there were indigenous women converted to the dictates of the Koran, as happened in any other family of believers on this island. But this is normal considering that most men passed through Sicily in the early days, and only later did families who escaped the persecutions of the caliphs and emirs of Ifrīqiya pass there. Nevertheless, talking about my eyes, why would anyone investigate an inscrutable gift of Allah? »
At that moment the muezzin27 called the faithful to the noon prayer. Nadira turned to the Rabaḍ and its minaret, then hurried to re-enter.
«My mother is waiting for this water for too long. »
«Just tell me your name. »
«Nadira.»
«Nadira, I will write about your eyes! » exclaimed the stranger.
Nadira returned to her home pulling Fatima by the hand, and gained the certainty that Mus'ab would present himself in the presence of Umar to ask for his hand. However, the days passed by and that certainty disappeared, until at the beginning of October the much more important effect that that meeting had caused in the development of his destiny was clear.
Chapter 4
Winter 1060 (452 from the Hegira), Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna
Corrado's face lit up with the colour of the sunset, getting red like the shades of his hair. Nadira had been back in the house for hours, refusing the help he had asked for; from that moment no one had shown up.
Then, just at sunset, Corrado started to shout deliriously:
« Umar, come out! Come out and face me! »
But a voice behind him, coming from the courtyard entrance, begged him:
« Please stop it! »
He replied:
« Nadira, coward ... is this your pity?»
That voice behind him then identified himself approaching the pole. A man from the debt collector in charge of the guard also approached him, but he made him threatening and intent on making him pay the insult to his mistress.
« No Please! He is feverish ... he doesn't know what he says. He even believes that I am the future bride of the Qā'id. »
Despite Apollonia's pleadings, the guard threatened:
« Another word and I'm taking his head off!»
Apollonia cried, while a few steps stared at him worried.
« I am your sister. Look at me, Corrado, look at me! »
Ma lui ruotava la testa convulsamente e continuava a mugugnare un suono indefinito.
Apollonia dunque gli si gettò addosso in un un abbraccio compassionevole. Corrado era l’uomo più alto del Rabaḍ e lei una delle ragazze più minute, perciò la testa della sorella si perdeva nel suo petto, lasciato scoperto dalla tunica strappata e dalla coperta sulle spalle.
«Come on… come on! It won’t last long»
«Sister…» he answered in a very low voice
« You finally recognize me!»
« How long have you been here?»
«I've been here for a long time. I stayed here all the time, my brother. I would have stayed even after I brought you this blanket last night, but our mother forced me to come back. »
« And where are they? »
« Our parents are afraid of the Qā'id man, and they also prevent Michele from coming here. »
« And you, sister?»
« I am nothing, the consistency of a drop of dew ... who cares about me?»
Corrado closed his eyes and had a sort of spasm in his face, then said to her:
« Go home. Don't you feel how strong the sun is at this hour?»
Meanwhile, the guard had approached again to prevent the girl from helping him.
« Stay away from him!»
Apollonia broke away from that embrace and replied:
« But don't you see he's delirious? Wasn't the lesson enough?»
« Go and talk to Umar ... if it were up to me I would have already freed him and I would have gone back to my house to stay warm..»
Apollonia then ran to the entrance of the owners' house. So when Umar was warned and came to the door, she threw himself at his feet and pleaded:
« Please, My Lord, I will do anything ... but let my brother free!!»
« I promised him three days, I can't withdraw the word.»
« He won't survive this night; he already has high fever! Please, my Lord, tie me to that stake, but let him go or he will die.»
« He will die if it has been written that he will die, otherwise he will live if it has been written so ... Throw another blanket on him if you want. And don't humiliate yourself this way for those who don't deserve it. »
So he commanded someone nearby to deliver food to the prostrate girl at his feet and then send her away. Apollonia got to her feet and answered angry, so much so that she made herself heard for the whole house:
« I don't want your food, I already have someone who feeds me! »
So the door was slammed in her face without being given the opportunity to challenge that decision. Now her legs gave way and she slipped on the door, crying louder than before.
When the muezzin then called the faithful for the sunset ṣalāt28, she, observing that the guard was preparing to bow to Mecca and facing the condemned man, took advantage of it to violate the prohibition that he could not approach.
« Corrado, my breath and life ... Corrado! »
However, he emanated a kind of bellow, softly and with closed eyes.
Apollonia then took her face in her hands and said to him:
« Remember who you are, Corrado, remember who your father is.»
«Alfeo… from Rabaḍ.» he replied in a weak voice.
« Corrado, brother, remember who your father is..» Apollonia repeated desperately, dissatisfied with the answer.
«Alfeo… our father.» he reiterated, always keeping his eyes closed.
« I do not mean who loved you like a son, instead remember who generated you. Those stories that you told me in the evening in front of the fire, those that your father handed down to you ... your real father. Remember when you told me about the moors of the north, made of ice and snow, and how the people of your race are used to the most extreme cold. Remember that, Corrado, and maybe your northern man's blood will warm you up to make you survive. »
« The Norman company …»
« Exactly, Corrado, the Norman company ... keep remembering!»
« My father, Rabel ... Rabel de Rougeville.»
« Yes, Corrado, it was during the summer of twenty years ago the last time you saw him; you told me a lot of times..»
« I saw the walls of Syracuse …» he finally muttered, before losing consciousness in a deep feverish sleep.
Chapter 5
Early summer 1040 (431 from Hegira), in front of the walls of Syracuse
Sicily was the "gateway to the east", the city that had been the most glorious of all the central Mediterranean before the advent of Rome, the home of tyrants and the great Archimedes, a pearl pulled out of the seabed by divine dolphins: this was Syracuse! In fact, the city of Arezzo was too prestigious a target to be ignored, a stage that the general of the Eastern Empire, George Maniakes, could not overlook in his mission.
The complete Reconquista of Sicily in favour of Constantinople was not an easy thing, and therefore, if you wanted to succeed, you had to take Syracuse to the Saracens, so that this became a solid bridgehead for the arrival of reinforcements from the east. The city on the other hand was well-stocked, fed by internal water sources and defended by tenacious soldiers, who had retreated beyond the walls after the initial clashes. The call of the muezzins on the minarets reminded the besiegers that conquering it would be a long and exhausting undertaking.
George Maniakes was a rude and despotic man, and especially with his troops and officers under his command he often proved violent ... a perfect warrior to be honest. Even his appearance testified to his brute character: He couldn’t see from one eye, he was taller than average, and his features were rough, unpleasant. Everything about him inspired fear, both among his own and among the unfortunate Saracen militias that had clashed against each other. Its value was undisputed even before the Emperor of the East entrusted him with the mission of snatching Sicily from the Arabs, but now that from Messina to the gates of Syracuse the crosses reappeared, his fame became absolute. On the other hand, you needed a strong character and an indisputable authority if you wanted to succeed in a bigger undertaking of the same war against Islam, that is to be able to control the varied army he commanded. There were many bloodlines gathered in the pay of George Maniakes: men from Constantinople and his possessions, Apulian, Calabrian, Armenian, Macedonian, Paulian29 ... but also mercenaries, the counted30 who brandished the spear in the wake of the Lombard Arduino ... the guard varies, Nordic who had crossed the Slavic steppes to serve the Emperor of the East and led by Harald Hardrada ... and the Normans of the lower Seine River, among the most skilled warriors.
One of this latter - not yet a soldier - stood watching the sea around the fifth hour of the afternoon, looking beyond the ruins of the ancient city on the mainland. In fact, the city had once been much larger, also extending over a considerable part of the coast overlooking the island of Ortigia, where the nucleus of the famous Syracuse stands. For two hundred years, however, after the devastating Saracen assault, it consisted of only the island part and a small part of the peninsula, which had already ended up under the control of Maniakes. To what remained of Syracuse the men turned their thoughts and weapons to succeed in that siege that had lasted for months, beyond that narrow and small canal that divided the city.
Conrad was nine years old, and, unfortunately, he knew the war soon, so that he would temper himself to the fate that would accompany him throughout his life; by nature, in fact, every Norman male could not be anything other than a warrior. But Conrad was also a dreamer ... Perhaps because his father thought it right to save him again at the baptism of arms, he knew how to dream without having to deal with the atrocities of men, and without having to deal with the massacre. Conrad’s green eyes, were pure, so much so that you could reflect yourself in them and see the reflection of hope, or that idea of home and family that had been half denied him with the untimely death of his mother, a noblewoman of free descent.
Rabel de Rougeville had brought his son, and the nurse of these, on his descent to Italy when the boy was only one year old. Attracted to Salerno by the lavish fees that were paid to the Norman noble cadets and enticed by the news of his compatriots who had preceded him, Rabel then decided to join his comrades in arms and to serve the best bidder. There was no shortage of wars in those lands… lands bloody from the endless conflicts between Constantinople and the last Lombard principalities. Not to mention the continuous raids of Arab marauders on the Calabrian coast. And so, when George Maniakes had set up the army for the invasion of Sicily, Rabel and his comrades had responded to the appeal. Messina had fallen immediately, but the subsequent battles had been bloody and devastating, both for the population and for both armies, with large losses within the Norman contingent. In two years of war, the Maniakes had managed to go only to the walls of Syracuse, barely controlling the Ionian coast. The people of Demona's iqlīm, the north-eastern tip of the island with a Christian majority, had supported the invasion, however the rest of Sicily was in all respects a Saracen fiefdom and conquering it would have been a long and difficult work.
Rabel de Rougeville had brought his son and his nurse on his descent to Italy. The boy was only one year old. Attracted to Salerno by the lavish fees that were paid to the Norman noble cadets and enticed by the news of his compatriots who had preceded him, Rabel then decided to join his comrades in arms and to serve the best bidder. There was no shortage of wars in those lands… lands bloody from the endless conflicts between Constantinople and the last Lombard principalities. Not to mention the continuous raids of Arab marauders on the Calabrian coast. And so, when George Maniakes had set up the army for the invasion of Sicily, Rabel and his comrades had responded to the appeal. Messina had fallen immediately, but the subsequent battles had been bloody, devastating, both for the population and for both armies, with large losses within the Norman contingent. In two years of war, Maniakes had managed to go only to the walls of Syracuse, barely controlling the Ionian coast. The people of Demona's iqlīm, the north-eastern tip of the island with a Christian majority, had supported the invasion, however, the rest of Sicily was a Saracen manor and conquering it would have been a long and difficult work.
Losing his gaze beyond the small port and the city, Conrad spread his arms trying to do the impossible: embracing the sea and the horizon. His father had been looking over his shoulder for minutes now, and when, approaching him, he rubbed his long blond-auburn hair, Conrad turned with a start, almost frightened that his father could reproach him for the banal gesture he was making.
«Do you want to grab the sea, son?» Rabel asked, dressed in a simple white but armed tunic.
«It's the most beautiful thing in the world!»
«I'm afraid your pockets are too tight to hold it all …»
«God can contain it though!»
«Maybe that's just what the Earth is ... His pockets ... and we're all in them»
«Roul says God chose us out of all the people because our blood is the best.»
Rabel smiled and also looked at the sea.
«Every nation, as well as every people, believes they are better than another. Look at this land ... the Mohammedans believe they have the favour of God, the Emperor of Constantinople believes to be His vicar and the same believes the Pope ... and tries to go through the Giudecca of one of these cities and ask from whom let God be. Conrad, my son, try to become a better person yourself, regardless of your blood.
I have seen Mohammedans fight with more honour than ours ... I am sure that God respects their glory regardless of the master they serve. Ever since we landed on this earth I have opened my eyes to many things..»
«What about Roul? »
«Roul is my best friend, but we fight for different worth. »
«You say you don't fight for compensation? »
«I was born a soldier and my father raised me to become one. Since our lineage left the cold lands of Jylland31 we have never wielded anything other than a sword. This is our job, and the pay for the battle is our wages. However, my dear Conrad, compensation can fill your pockets and can fill your heart; it's up to you to decide where to put it. »
«You say compensation can be dangerous? »
«Everything can be dangerous if it leads us to a vice and a selfish purpose. Power, money and women ... beware of all this! »
«But you loved my mother…» said Conrad confused and doubtful.
«There is nothing wrong with power when your subordinates become your children; nothing wrong with money when it feeds your mouth and those of those you command; and for nothing in the world nothing wrong with the warmth of the woman you love. But I, my son, have loved only one woman and no one else has been able to take her place. You look a lot like her ... your eyes, your hair, your complexion ... and your name, Conrad, inherited from her lineage ... They introduced me to a pretty girl already two weeks after her death, yet I didn't want anyone to take her place and that you were led one day to call someone else "mother"; I would not have endured it. If you needed a fake mother, there was a wet nurse already..»
«What should I fear then? »
«The desire that drives to cruelty. When the desire to have something surpasses honour and every rule of human piety..»
«And what about the women? Should I fear them?» Conrad asked puzzled, because of the curiosity typical of his age interested in that mysterious being that is the woman, hitherto known only in the bosom of the nurse.
«Women ... nothing prevents you from loving them, but look at yourself from the eyes of a woman who doesn't belong to you!!»
«Rabel!» someone called from the ruins just outside the camp called.
«Roul, is it already time?»
Roul Hard Punch was the comrade in arms from which Rabel had never separated. They had left together for Italy and had always protected themselves in battle. Roul was an energumen of almost two meters, with a powerful voice and not very refined manners. A thicker than normal beard marked his face and his hair was darker than average, with a long braid going down the right side of his head. His abnormal almost Mediterranean colour betrayed his blue eyes, Nordic features and extraordinary stature. He was not a good man, everyone knew it, but he was also an excellent soldier, one of the best in the use of the fighting axe. He was totally different from Rabel, and he has nothing to do with his noble soul, but perhaps it was the merciful character of Rabel that was the glue of that friendship. Rabel tolerated Roul's excesses because they had grown up together and because Roul knew how to cover his shoulders well in battle.
«Not yet; they talk about tomorrow morning. But the wine has arrived and everyone is waiting for Brother Rabel to celebrate.»
“Frate Rabel”, that's how the entire Norman company, ever since three hundred had crossed the Strait, called the nobleman de Rougeville. Now the wine had arrived and they were asking for everyone.
Although Arab travelers most devoted to social life boasted Sicilian wine, it was a rare thing to find. In fact, given that the Muslims forbade the cultivation of vines on the territories they control, only modest quantities of grapes were seen on these lands. Already at the arrival of Maniakes, in 1038, the Christians had soon replanted the vines to reactivate mass production, but not enough clusters had arisen and large quantities of drink had to be imported if one wanted to toast to good luck.
« And it also brings Conrad; it's time to have fun like men can! »
Rabel stared at his son and shook his head, indicating his annoyance at the other's invitation.
«Willaume e Dreu?»
«The de Hauteville32 brothers have been sitting at the tavern seat for an hour..»
Willhelm de Hauteville, Willaume in their language, would have been nicknamed Iron Arm, as it is said that he killed a Saracen champion who had made a great massacre of Greeks and Nordics during an earlier phase of the siege of Syracuse, with only one hand and brandishing the spear. But it was obvious, despite the legend was already hovering among the troops, that history was false. However, the name of his house acquired more and more prestige among the men of the Norman contingent already under his command.
«It would be wiser to gather in prayer and contemplation. Above all, the help of the good God will be needed. Abd-Allah has gathered the whole forces of Sicily, and others have come from Africa. He believes he will be able to lift the siege of this city, and will do everything he can to drive us back to where we came from. We must repel the counterattack before the Emir comes to crush us against these walls, but this time I fear that the courage of the bravest will not be enough to drag the whole army.»
«If you drank more and prayed less, you would be more optimistic! »
Aware of not being able to convince his friend, Rabel turned to his son, serious that more could not have been done.
«Have you heard? The departure is tomorrow at dawn. You know what to do.»
Then he followed Roul along the way to the tavern.
Conrad knew exactly what he had to do, and it was what he had been doing for two years now: preparing his father's luggage, arranging his armour, giving the last sharp cut to the sword and preparing the banner with the family crest on it, a Danish axe overhung by a green oak leaf inserted in a shield with a red field ... banner that Conrad himself would have supported all the way to the place of the battle, marching on horseback next to his father.
Those speeches about women and wine made a strange and unprecedented glimpse in Conrad - the mystery of the forbidden always tempts kids - so that, as soon as the two knights left the place of the ruined buildings, he also went to the tavern that was actually a meeting place accommodated for such use by a Christian peasant who hoped to speculate on the needs of the troops.
It was barely the fifth hour, as mentioned, and the sun was still beating hard on Conrad's head. He passed between the tents crowded with soldiers of all sorts, with groups to the right and all missing in conversation in their idiom ... and among the preaching priests, standing and in an elevated position, who made the big voice after decades of prayers said to softly. Blessing every soldier who passed under their stools, they also sanctified the boy when he was close to them.
Then Conrad entered the tavern and it was then that he found himself face to face with the sinister vice that dominates adults. Goblets full of wine, dice players at each table and a handful of prostitutes, those who improvised for money and those forced because now the girls of the people had to give themselves to the conquerors. Conrad ran away, fearing that among those men he would run into his father's sight.
Chapter 6
Winter 1060 (452 from Hegira), Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna
Umar closed the door impatiently. The requests of the poor Christian girl, who also had humiliated herself to the point of kissing his feet, were therefore definitively stopped.
«I don't have time for who bother me! If she comes back, kick her out!» he ordered the servant woman who had opened before.
The desperate sobs of Apollonia's crying on the other side of the door were ignored even more easily than the verbal requests of earlier.
Nadira had been in a dark corner of the entrance room, intent on observing the scene that was taking place on the doorstep, but now that the door had been closed, cutting the voice and hopes of the poor girl from outside, she approached his brother and said angry:
« Wasn't the shame with which you already covered yourself enough? »
At that point Umar, extremely annoyed by the judgment of his sister, threatened:
«Be careful, Nadira ... be careful of what you say, or I’ll send you to your Qā'id on a stretcher!»
«I will go away happy from "my Qā'id", to never see you again!»
«Why didn't you leave when he came to ask for your hand? It seems to me that he wanted to take you to his palace the next day. » Umar replied, pointing upwards towards Qasr Yanna, seat of ibn al-Ḥawwās palace.
«Because I asked to wait for your wife to give birth, so I could see your third child. »
«As if Ghadda needed a girl with a mounted head to help her pregnancy…»
«You didn't even take a hair from our father...» replied Nadira, who then, getting a little closer, pointed her finger at him and continued:
«You are an ungrateful ... with me as with those poor peasants who serve this house from which they were born. If you weren't, you wouldn't have ignored the wretched woman who still cries behind our door. »
The call of the muezzin then rose high throughout Rabaḍ; the last ray of sunshine had disappeared behind the mountain of Qasr Yanna.
«She is a wretch, you said well, and always will be ... Explain to me why you must take this thing to heart. »
«Because if you had been tied to that pole, I would have thrown myself at the foot of your tormentor with even less dignity than the Christian girl. »
Detto questo Nadira scoppiò in lacrime, ma pure continuò, mentre Umar si trovava spiazzato da quell’inaspettata dichiarazione di devozione nei suoi confronti.
«… you ask me why I asked the Qā'id to wait for me for three months? That’s why I waited, because I care about you ...» she said through tears.
However, Umar became serious and gathered in himself all the strength he had to prove himself hard.
« You and your tears, Nadira. You won't be able to pity me! »
« I wonder how sorry you are that we will see each other only if Allah wants from now on. »
«I hope that Allah will receive my request to keep you away.»
Nadira started to cry louder and, beating him on the chest, she shouted:
« You are nothing, Umar ... nothing ... and maybe if you are finally something, it will only be thanks to me!»
Umar, who could not bear those words that hurt his pride like blades, slapped her and said:
«Don't you hear that it's time for the sunset delalāt? Go to clean yourself before the night comes.»
«And you go and wash your soul!»
They hurriedly left each other for their rooms, angry and angry with each other.
When Umar finished his prayer he remained thoughtful and sat on his bed, mulling over that slap in anger.
«What happened a little while ago on the door? I heard you fighting during the adhān33..» Ghadda asked to Umar, sitting next to him while holding his big belly.
«My sister is making me angry! Ever since the Qā'id asked for her hand, she criticizes my actions all the time. »
«And you, Umar, do nothing but provoke it… Since I live under this roof I had never seen anyone tied to the pole of the courtyard. Could it be that since the Qā'id asked for Nadira's hand you have been keen to reiterate who is in charge of this house and the whole village? Everyone talks about your sister, much more than what have they ever done about you. But after all, my beloved, you two are the same ... stubborn and always ready to impose their word on the other. What's more, you've both changed since that day ... she got her head up, but you lost your father's way. I also miss the Umar I knew. »
«Would you like to insinuate that I'm jealous of Nadira? That I fear losing the role of most important person in this house? »
«Not only of the house, but of the whole Rabaḍ.»
«Me?! Jealous of Nadira? What a nonsense!» Umar concluded, laughing nervously in an attempt to hide his discomfort because he knew that his wife was all right.
«Master, the sentry on the terrace asks to speak to you. » interrupted a servant from behind the door of the room.
Umar then got up and thanked the luck, since it was freeing him from that uncomfortable speech.
Ghadda then held him by the arm and said to him:
«Did I disrespect you?»
But he approached her and, softening the expression, kissed her on the forehead.
Covering his head and shoulders with a large camel hair scarf, Umar left the house. He was about to go where the stairs to the terrace left when he saw that the guard in charge of checking the condemned man was hitting the Christian girl. She had been landed on the ground, and now, with his head uncovered, she was parrying his face and shouting, while the other one hit her just like the day before had been hit Corrado. The poor Corrado, now, was in a unconscious state.
Umar stopped and, remembering his wife's words, ordered to the guard:
«Idris, forget about that poor wretch!» as if he wanted to prove to himself that he was not jealous of anyone.
« I have told her three times not to approach the boy ... And a little while ago she took advantage of the sunset ṣalāt to do it again!»
«Okay ... but don't hit her! Rather send her home..»
At this point Apollonia got up a bit, still remaining bent on her legs and sitting on her heels.
«Let me stay in the courtyard at least. I'll be there, quite by the wall..» she begged him full of tears.
«Do what you want!» Umar dismissed her, impatient to still have her in his way.
Umar dismissed it, impatient to still have her in his way.
«Three men on horseback come this way..»
«At this time? It will be wayfarers who have gone the wrong way. They could have spent the night in Qasr Yanna though ... Why go on a journey in the dark and in this cold?»
«The sky is clear tonight, I'm afraid the frost will fall.»
Umar thought for a moment about the prisoner, but then he again turned his attention to those approaching strangers.
«Umar, judging by what seems draped to me, at least one of those knights must be someone important. »
«You did well to warn me, Mezyan. If it is someone important, it is right that he knows my hospitality. »
Umar went down to the courtyard and then, looking at Corrado, asked the guard:
«Idris, after the adhān of the night wait a couple of hours and then let him go. »
The other in response bowed his head, nodding.
After the last meteorological considerations, Umar would have liked to free Corrado already immediately, but he believed that he dared to see a demonstration of storytelling power brought before those strangers felt benefited by his reputation.
The debt collector of Qā’id waited them on the entrance and saw the arriving while the last flashes of light disappeared to the west.
As the sentry on the terrace had seen well, one of the three dressed finely; for sure he was a nobleman. Umar immediately realized that the lineage of the three was not Berber, but perhaps Arab. On the other hand, apart from the appearance, little or nothing distinguished a man of Berber origin from one of Arab descent. Maybe they were different for the use of the Berber language as an idiom spoken in the family alongside Arabic and the remains of an ancient and foreign culture Islamic world imported by the Arabs.
The one that appeared to be a nobleman wore a cloak with a white hood, all finely damasked. Umar had never seen nobody like him. One of the three got off the horse, and said:
«We are looking for Umar ibn Fuad's house. »
«I am Umar. What can I do for you? »
«Do you know who is in front of you, Umar? » he asked referring to the guy they accompanied.
«You will tell me in the heat of the brazier. »
Then he said to his man in the courtyard
«Idris, fix these mounts! »
Umar then invited them to sit inside. He had no idea who was in front of him, but he did not want to give the impression that his hospitality was based on the generality of the guest. Realizing that in any case he was in the presence of a man of a respectable lineage, he thought it well to welcome him into his own home even before that he would have introduced himself.
In the usual well-furnished room with rugs and cushions, and now with a brazier lit on the middle of the room, Umar did the honours of the house by giving the best of what he had. He thought he could trust them, since together with the cloaks and bags they also handed the swords to the servants without anyone suggested it to them.
Now, in the light of the fire and the lights, Umar could observe them better. The man who seemed to be a nobleman was about forty years old, with a well-groomed appearance, a thin face and nose; he also had the air of someone who knows his worth and his importance for the world. He also spoke slowly, often closing his eyes with a knowing face. The other two were dressed in almost the same way, with long black tunics and white trousers, but one of the two wore a large gold medallion around his neck.
They were one in front of the other in silence. Long minutes passed before anyone started to talk. Then Umar wanted to break the ice to understand if he could catch some business:
«You're rich! Are you a pearl merchant? »
And that, smiling, replied:
«My agents have significantly increased my earnings this year through the pearls trade. »
«I would have said that you who were a Qā'id, if it were not that a Qā'id would travel with the escort and with the court. »
«Salim, brother ... my name is Salim. »
«Ok, Salim ... what business has led you to my house? »
Umar wanted to ask why they hadn't stayed at Qasr Yanna for the night instead of going back to the sunset for a few miles, however, he feared that his question could be misinterpreted, almost as if he were asking them why they had not stayed at home.
«That man you had tied to that pole ... is on sale? Because I seemed to see an exceptional physique. »
«You're a slave trader then! »
«I am a man who seeks precious pearls from mankind, brother. »
Umar's mind was immediately touched by the thought of selling Corrado to that man. Then he reflected that the Christians of Rabaḍ were not slaves, even if they served his house, and he could not be master of their life. Then he replied:
«I fear that none of these pearls exist at Rabaḍ. Here everyone cultivates his own land and prays within his own walls ... except for the four servants who govern this house.»
«Yet I know you are hiding a pearl of rare beauty under this roof, and that it is not one of your four servants. »
Umar became serious and, having understood that he was referring to Nadira, replied:
«The pearl you are referring to is not for sale, nor has it ever been. »
«Yet I know that Qasr Yanna's Qā'id was quick to buy it, brother. »
«Then, you'll understand what kind of man protects her ...»
«I am not afraid of anyone ... much less of the Qā'id, and this is because I have no intention of harming anyone. Nonetheless, I have heard of two sapphire gemstones, of a girl with paradisiacal features, of a dream that breaks the chest. The Qā'id can have anything he wants ... and he always gets the best. However, I am a pearl merchant - as you said - and I recognize that other Qā'id and gentlemen would pay a fortune for these pearls. The fame of Nadira's eyes, if this is her real name, has spread throughout central Sicily, but I don't ask you anything ... just to see them. Now that ibn al-Ḥawwās has made such a precious gift the others will certainly want to imitate it and it will be my merit to find such rarity among the girls of the Island and overseas. »
«What do you want therefore? »
«Just to see that blue of which anyone talk. »
Then he closed his eyes and recited with a half mocking smile:
«“Nadira's sky, the boundaries of her eyes”»
Umar turned his hands nervously. The request generated suspicion, even if after all it was not so difficult to satisfy, since there was no violation of modesty or morality. The landlord was thoughtful, divided between jealousy for his sister and fear of disappointing a man more important than he. The other, on the other hand, had understood from the beginning - or perhaps had been told - what Umar's weakness was. With another man with clear merchant skills he would have offered money, however Umar did not consider wealth as he would consider a miser; pride was the real key to making him vulnerable.
«Umar, my brother, now that you are Qā'id's brother-in-law, you will certainly have already thought about how to make your state evident and how to be respected as such…»
Umar looked at him puzzled, after all he thought about it since Ali ibn al-Ḥawwās had visited Rabaḍ.
«My cloak, have you ever seen one like it? » Salim asked, realizing that Umar had stared at him in amazement.
«I guess it's from far away. »
The other laughed, also involving his men in that gesture.
«This says a lot of you, brother. Have you ever set foot outside Rabaḍ?»
«I constantly attend the market of Qasr Yanna. There are many people there: many faithful, but also Christian peasants who work the land within the city walls and even Jewish artisans from Qal’at an-Nisā'34. You can find everything: from the sulphur of the mines to the salt from the deposits, from the sugar extracted from the cane to the rice from the rice fields. And the city gardens and its sources ... it's worth going there.»
«But Qasr Yanna is only half an hour from this village! »
«Maybe uphill, brother! » replied Salim teasing Umar «My dear Umar, the fabric of my cloak comes from the Balarm35 factories. Have you ever been to Balarm? »
Salim successfully exploited the art of haggling; however, he was not selling material goods to Umar, he was selling something that the Qā'id’s debt collector already possessed: the pride.
As a merchant gives birth to his customer the need to have the object he intends to sell him, so Salim was humiliating Umar, making him understand the need to become another person, one who would show his kinship with the Qā'id, who proudly flaunted his new state. Making him weigh on the fact that he had never been to Balarm made him small ... as small as any rural villager, although he was a Qā'id’s official. Now Salim would offer him the solution by prying up on his pride, that pride that he had skilfully dismantled and that needed new life.
«The cloak is yours, brother! You really need a dress that won't go unnoticed. »
«It's something too precious for you to deprive yourself of. »
«Are you joking, Umar? I have hundreds of such fabrics ... that my seamstresses will know how to pack properly. On the other hand, what do I ask you if not the simple look of a girl's eyes ... Think Umar, it is the only thing you have, and that is worth showing ... and you keep it under lock and key…»
Then Umar motioned to the servant who was standing by the door and holding a large jug full of water.
«Let Nadira come. »
The maid therefore left the room.
The four remained silent for long minutes, waiting for the girl who had generated such curiosity in the stranger to appear. Nervously Umar drew a piece of bread from the plate placed in the centre of the room and dipped it in honey, then he brought it to his mouth.
Nadira, who had been in her room all the time since the last outburst with her brother, then arrived in the room. She was still wearing the beautiful green suit with the yellow and blue finishes of the afternoon and, as usual, in the presence of foreign men, she covered his face.
Jala and Ghadda, perplexed and curious, appeared behind the door.
«Is she the girl who captured the heart of ibn al-Ḥawwās» Asked Salim to Umar
«In person… She is my sister Nadira.»
Salim got to his feet, while the other two following him looked at each other, lost in that atmosphere that had suddenly become bewitching.
Nadira stopped in the middle of the room and looked at Umar trying to understand what that guest wanted from her and which role did she have in all this.
«Come on girl, come here near me!» Salim said to her, mimicking the invitation with his hand. Umar nodded and she, recognizing that she could trust him, took two steps forward.
Now Salim's eyes were lost in those of the girl, but he looked at her with such intensity that she had to look down feeling uncomfortable, as if that act could pose a real threat.
After a few seconds Umar intervened:
«It won't be enough all night to satiate your sight. » And then, turning to Nadira: «That may be enough, sister. »
But Salim intervened: «No, dear girl, wait a moment! Umar, would I go crazy if I didn't ask you something»
«Tell me! »
«I don't see black slaves in this house, yet every self-respecting man has at least one. You will come with me to my city, you will bring with you all the men you want, as many as you deem necessary, then I will fill everyone's arms, and I will cover the back of every horse or dromedary that you will have with you of everything that will seem beautiful to your eyes ... and I will also give you a black slave. I am a very wealthy and noble man of blood; don't give up, brother! They will say great things about you, and they will certainly name you a mosque. »
Umar's ears, when he heard that excessive offer, whistled and his head became light, like it was empty, lost in the confusion of what Salim was offering to him. However, Umar thought it well to stop any negotiations in the bud, imagining what the nature of the counterpart could be.
«I will not disrespect my Qā'id by making someone else make me rich. »
Nadira then left the room definitively, even though she stayed with the other women in a place where she would have heard without being seen.
Salim sat down again, humiliated by that refusal. So, smoothing his beard, he said slowly:
«One day, when my son was still a child, I saw him play with some golden robā'i36; he used them as if they were small wooden blocks, making them stacks and dropping them. The servant shouted after him like a madwoman, intent on having them deposed. Finally, I went up to him, pulled some coloured glass coins from my pockets and offered them to him in exchange for the gold ones. The boy readily accepted the exchange. Here, you, my dear Umar, are like that child, you give up a offer rich of gold just to be satisfied with simple coloured glass. »
«People buy bread with colored glass! » Umar exclaimed, annoyed by the turn of words used to offend him.
«But you won't want to remain a man from stained glass forever ... You have something in your house that worth more than gold ... and believe me if I tell you, your Qā'id is not respecting you at all! »
«My sister already belongs to Ali ibn al-Ḥawwās! » Umar raised his tone, standing up and pointing his finger at Salim.
«The" Demagogue ", the one who bewitches his people with simple words ... He has a talent, it is sure ... and I could not do better. But do you understand, brother, that ibn al-Ḥawwās is able to offer only words? Only coloured glass coins! »
«He will pay Nadira's price when he will get her. »
«I offer you more and without even asking you to have her. Honestly, carnal love satisfies me less than gold and the pleasure of spending it. »
Umar found himself displaced; possible that that did not mean what he thought from the beginning of the second proposal?
«Spend it like, in this case?» he therefore asked.
«Don't you think that Nadira's beauty stops in his eyes? And your Qā'id must have understood this too, otherwise he would have just looked. What your sister hides under the veil must certainly be worthy of her eyes, I'm sure. I'm just asking you to let her dancing for me tonight in this room. »
Umar felt a fire rise in his ears. That challenged his jealousy as if his role as protector of the girl was worth nothing.
«Jamal, give the medallion gift you wear around my friend's neck!» commanded Salim to one of his companions, still believing he could convince Umar.
He got up and put the large medallion around his master's neck.
Umar then took it to analyse it: it was a very expensive object, well carved, well engraved and very heavy.
«So everyone will notice you, brother! » Salim commented, smiling.
However, Umar took off the heirloom and dropped it on the bread plate.
«We never played or danced in this house!» he concluded peremptorily.
«Jamal has a mizud37 in his luggage and can play it well. »
Beyond the door, Nadira was appalled by those requests and already imagined, as Jala and Ghadda imagined, that Umar would soon go into hiding.
«Jamal will then be happy to play in the presence of your concubines. » replied the latter.
«I have travelled a lot ... I have met many people ... and even the qā'id have never refused me anything! » Salim became serious.
Umar therefore imitated the other, rising.
«You believe you can buy everything, but the honour cannot be bought or sold off! I am the guarantor of all the women in this house and I do not allow anyone to think that they can treat my sister like a prostitute!!»
And the other one, now grinning: «If the Qā'id hadn't heard of Nadira, sooner or later you would have sold it off to the first bidder ... maybe even who would have treated it as such. Trust the word of someone who knows the world. »
«And you trust me that I know myself. You desecrated my hospitality, so I can't tolerate your presence in this house yet. »
And looking at the usual servant who held the jug, he continued: «Have these men deliver their belongings and horses. »
Umar stared at them all the time when, humiliated beyond belief, they collected their things and left the house. However, Salim's smile never disappeared from his face; nervously he seemed to want to hide the embarrassment. Then, when he came to the door, he said:
«Listen to my warning, Umar: you promised Nadira to the Qā'id, and right before the Qā'id and in front of his guests she will dance without any shame before long!» and he left, disappearing in the dark of the night with the other two.
«Who was the man you made yourself as an enemy? » Jala asked almost anxiously.
«He was the one I don't want to become! » said Umar, retreating to his room and inviting the others to do the same.
Chapter 7
Winter 1060 (year 452 from the Hegira), Rabaḍ di Qasr Yanna
When Idris finished prostrating for the sunset ṣalāt he could realize that Apollonia, in contravention of the ban, embraced his brother. Without the girl noticing anything, he pulled her by the veil, uncovering her hair, and then, taking hold of her loose hair, dragged her backwards on the ground, while she was struggling with her legs. Idris had had enough of that presence that made an already unpleasant task annoying, and therefore, intending to give her a lesson once and for all decisive, he decided that he would have punished her using the rope in the way he had done the day before with Corrado. He started hitting her where she happened, mainly targeting the face. Meanwhile Apollonia tried to cover herself with her arms while screaming.
Near there, Corrado trembled, narrowed his eyes and returned to tighten them tightly in the throes of feverish pain. Suddenly he saw the image of an adult completely, tied to the pole of a flagpole. However, the man did not shout at the blows inflicted by his torturer, but proudly endured with clenched fists.
«Roul, what are they doing to that man? » Corrado asked no one in particular.
The scene that was taking place before his gaze had awakened a childhood trauma. Nonetheless, if Corrado had been fully conscious, he would certainly have attempted to eradicate the pole to which he was tied to make him pay for the one who was raging on his sister.
Coincidentally, Umar thought about making him stop, just when he was about to climb the terrace.
Apollonia, therefore, having been allowed to stay good in a corner, curled up with her back to the wall and shed tears between her knees.
When Umar set the time for the release of the prisoner, Apollonia wept louder, feeling relief for something that seemed to have no end.
Later, Idris took the steeds of the three guests by the reins and led them to the stables adjacent to the house.
«Don't make me regret stopping when Umar asked me a little while ago. » warned the guard, staring at Apollonia.
The girl could not risk violating the prohibition once again, and this not for fear of being beaten again, but fearing that she would be forced to go home.
«Brother, brother! I'm here, I'm not leaving. » Then she came a little closer, dragging himself on the ground with his legs and hands; she was still at least four paces away.
«Corrado, my breath and my life, you just have to hold on a little longer. Brother, answer me, let me understand that there is still a heartbeat in your chest. »
Then she came half a step forward and said: «I know very well that your jealousy for me is that of a brother for a sister ... but the same cannot be said of my devotion to you...»
Although the other's mind was clouded and his understanding of things almost non-existent, Apollonia struggled to say what she had kept in her heart for years, that feeling that had repeatedly shamed her before the icon of the Virgin.
«Don't judge me as a faithful sister, because for Michele maybe I wouldn't have stayed here with so much sacrifice ... Don't judge these actions at all, Corrado, because what you would discover could make you escape from me ... and for me this would be worse than seeing you die. »
When Idris returned to the courtyard, she stopped herself with her confession, because if Idris or someone else have heard her, they would have marginalized her.
Being complete darkness, the muezzin echoed the adhān of the night. Idris then sat on the wall, far enough away not to hear the girl, but close enough to intervene if she had approached as before.
«A couple of hours and I'll take you home.» Apollonia said smiling.
However, she returned serious when she realized she no longer felt her toes and when she imagined an even worse effect that cold could have had on her brother. She began to tremble from the temperature and tried to warm his hands by blowing his fists.
«Girl, go home! Can't you see that you tremble?» Idris encouraged her, seeing her in that state.
«I'm not leaving ... it will all be over soon..» Replied Corrado thinking that Idris was talking to him.
Her brown eyes looked upwards, to her brother's face, while the tears froze just below the eyelids, not having the right inclination to scroll down.
«How much would it benefit you now that you had a little faith in God? » Apollonia asked to herself turning to Corrado, knowing his apathy towards religious matters
«I know, my brother, that you refuse to believe that there is a God capable of allowing all the bad things that has happened to you. I know that Christ and all the saints already disappointed you once, when your prayers were not accepted while you hoped for your father's return.»
«Rabel de Rougeville.» muttered Corrado.
Apollonia suddenly fell silent; his brother was still conscious. That he had heard her declaration of love that she just before said…
«Corrado, brother, well you are alive!»
«Rabel de Rougeville!» he repeated in a higher tone and in one breath, almost crying and almost screaming.
«Remember the saint who protects your father, appeal to him!» Apollonia invited him, to keep him awake and busy.
«Saint Andrew…»
«‘Agìou Andréas38 .» Apollonia repeated in Greek, or in the language of the Christian liturgy in Sicily.
Apollonia talked with her in a sort of vulgar Latin, and she did the same with the Christians of Qasr Yanna and with many indigenous people converted to Islam. When it was time to pray, however, she used the old Greek. On the other hand, in Rabaḍ, being a restricted place inhabited mainly by circumcised persons, Apollonia and her family expressed themselves in Arabic; that of Sicily now peculiar to the language of the Prophet. Sometimes they even used a few Berber words that they had learned by hearing about the women of this race at the well and the men in the fields.
Apollonia closed her eyes and with folded hands began to recite her prayers, invoking the Virgin Mary, mother of God, in favor of Corrado. Obviously, she prayed in a low voice, being forbidden for a non-follower of Islam to make his prayers heard in the ears of a believer ... and Idris was even too close. «Mariám Theotókos, ‘e Parthéno39s» she began.
Corrado could hear the voice of Apollonia just as he heard the voice of his memories, awakened by that image of the Madonna and the saints to which his sister appealed.
Chapter 8
Early summer 1040 (431 from the Hegira), valleys east of Tragina
The flags waved indomitable in the wind; an uncertain wind that day, perhaps not even God knew which way to stand ... just as, in the opinion of unbelieving posterity, God was confused about to whom he should give his support during the battle. On the one hand, to the cry of "Allahu Akbar"40, the Saracens of Sicily and Africa - arrived in support of the first - ready to drive the invader away. On the other side, praising "Christ wins", the men in the pay of Constantinople, for whom the invaders were those others.
Invited by their commander, sheltered between the Jebel41 and the Caronie, Abd-Allah's men prostrated themselves towards Mecca and involuntarily towards the enemy army. The others were also gathered in prayer, however, not in a single harmonious prayer, but some in Latin and some in Greek.
The camp had been set up about twenty miles east of the mountain on which the town of Tragina42 is perched, and here, among the tents, Conrad had observed his father leaving with the whole army just a few hours earlier.
Except for the presence of a modest village of merchants and peasants, it was an area far from inhabited centres, full of woods on one side, on the slopes of the highest mountains, and grassy hills suitable for grazing on the other. A river flowed right at the lowest point of the valley, and a trickle of this persisted despite the summer, ensuring the water supply to the soldiers.
Now Conrad was staring at the point at the end of the street where he had last seen his father. In the morning, he had helped him to wear the heavy chain mail on his long white tunic, which had a red cross on his chest. It was already hot in the first hours after dawn, so he had kept the helmet away from the sun, so that it would be cooler when his father would put it. As a last gesture, before getting on his horse, Rabel had wrinkled his son's hair and in exchange Conrad had passed him the banner and the helmet. Then a look and away to get confused in the human tide of soldiers advancing towards the clearing just off the field; here George Maniakes had harangued his troops. Conrad had therefore climbed onto the stool just vacated by a blessing friar and had tried to identify Rabel among the men gathered there at the back. Then he saw Roul head and shoulders soar above the others and imagined that his father was nearby.
Everyone knew that this was going to be the most important battle in the entire Sicilian countryside, however Rabel had tried to hide his tension for all the hours he had been with his son that day.
«Are there many others? » Conrad had asked.
«The lookouts mostly speak of infantry. We have a horse! »
«I could watch the scene this time ... »
«Conrad, son, I will have repeated it to you a hundred times: you stay here with the women, the servants and the monks ... » said Rabel, who also continued:
«But if things go badly, at the first signs, run to the hills and hide. »
«Is there this possibility? Tancred and Roul say things are going to be the way it has been so far ... We will win and take home generous rewards. »
«And they are right ... there is nothing to worry about. Ours is a difficult profession, it is true, but we know what we are doing. Besides, woe to bring despair among the soldiers! »
So Rabel had heartened his son.
It was already noon and the camp was full of apprehension for that unnerving wait. From time to time someone would come back from the field to come to report the progress of the battle. Some of the girls in the bondage were crying, certainly fond of some soldier with whom a fight had been born. Then a field priest approached Conrad, who was still sitting on the stool under the sun, and said to him:
«Son, your father won't be back early if you stay here staring at the end of the road. »
Conrad looked at him from the bottom up.
«Take a piece of bread! » he always completed that.
Then, the boy grabbed it and bit it.
«If you need something to keep your mind and stomach busy, come with me. »
He took him to a hill bare of vegetation and with golden hues as it burned by the sun. The top was uncovered, there was no ground there, so that a large rock of grey slate emerged jagged. The frond of an olive tree, the only present, rooted on the side of the rock formation, was occupied by a small flock of goats and by an old shepherd who showed in his face that he had more wrinkles than years. The priest turned around and slipped through an opening in the rock. Conrad was amazed to see that the interior of the cavern was spacious enough to allow the presence of at least twenty men and was completely painted in bright colours, with images of biblical stories and lives of saints being displayed all around the walls; the style was typically that of the sacred paintings of the East. A small kneeler at the bottom and a cross on the wall indicated the place where he prostrated himself.
«Holy Father, you are a stranger, who left with the army; how do you know this place? »
«The friars of the Greek rite have gathered there to pray for centuries. They told me that in person. However, now pray to the Lord and Our Lady, for your father to return safely. » concluded the religious before leaving him alone.
So it was, and Conrad found himself alone, kneeling, with his eyes closed, clutching the crucifix to his chest, praying for God to bring his father back.
When he returned to the camp it was already evening. He ran as soon as he noticed that some men on horseback had returned from the battle. Then he accelerated when he realized that one of them was the big Roul; the blood on his Danish axe and chain mail was still fresh.
«Conrad, where were you? » the warrior asked as soon as Conrad was upon them.
«A priest led me to the cliffs.» the other explained, trying to hide the true reason that lead him away for the fear that his intimacy would be mocked.
He noticed that it was all strange ... if his father had returned safely, he would have been in the front row among those men. Suddenly Roul's face looked sad to him, as if his fury had been mortified by a nefarious event. Only now did he rationalize what was hidden behind that human blanket of soldiers from the north of which Roul was the front row.
«Where's my father?» he asked, although he was already imagining the answer.
«We won, son.» Tancred said, another of Rabel's closest friend. He came forward, perhaps in an attempt to counterbalance the boy's displeasure; he still wielded his long pike and wore a red cloak.
«Yes, those who remained have put them on the run.» another intervened.
«It was a great victory!» someone in the group exclaimed.
«Even the wind has been favourable to us today ... but the most lethal wind has brought us once again from the Norman company.» added Tancred.
However, Conrad, just as the latter spoke, broke a gap between men.
Rabel was lying on the ground. His throat was marked by a large blood stain, presumably there where the fatal blow had been struck; a blow that must have been carried out with incredible power since it had passed through the chain mail. The blonde hair was uncovered, as apparently someone had freed him of his helmet and hood.
Conrad stood staring at him, without having the courage to come closer. His mind never conceived that all this could really happen.
At this point Roul put a hand on his shoulder and said:
«The army pursued ... others of us lie fallen on the field and wait for us to go and collect them ... but we ... we, my dear Conrad, could not give up on the looting or start thinking about the other dead when the son of one of us looks forward to his father. »
«You wouldn't have brought it to me with this urgency if his breath had already been absent on the battlefield.» Conrad said, while the first two tears streaked his cheekbones.
Roul then bent down and tried to cheer him up.
«No, Conrad, your father really fell in battle! »
He lied not to blame him, but Conrad wasn't stupid enough to believe it. Rabel had exhaled his final breath there at the camp in the hope of seeing his boyfriend's face for the last time; the blood-soaked patch on his neck indicated that they had tried to prolong his agony while waiting for Conrad to return.
«It's up to you to close his eyes. » Roul pushed him away.
Face to face with those blue eyes, Conrad could not hold back his despair. Meanwhile the women, the friars, the reserve that defended the camp and the servants had formed a circle around the scene. Conrad felt like a sort of disappointment in his father's eyes, but obviously it was only the voice of his head that suggested it, his guilt for not having been there.
«Oh Father! » he screamed before throwing himself to his chest.
«There is nothing to look at! » Roul shouted louder still, addressing the crowd.
«Damn the Greeks!" he then ruled in a low voice.
With this sentence Roul highlighted all his contempt for the locals, obviously the Christians, considered "Greek" because of the Eastern rite religion. However, that exclamation of intolerance also included George Maniakes and the regular troops following him, given the general's bad relations with the men of the auxiliary contingents.
People thinned out in fear of Roul's reaction. Conrad instead ran away, intent on finding the priest who had dissuaded him from his faithful expectation.
Roul followed the boy, while he sought the religious among the tents as a damned.
«Son, stop! Tell me who are you looking for? »
«That priest who convinced me to climb the cliffs. »
«Who is it? »
«He spoke our language. »
Then he thought of looking for him directly in the rock church, then ran to climb the hill. At the top of the mountain he heard the bleating of the goats but did not see the shepherd ... then he went inside. Since the twilight was about to disappear, the bright colours that had struck him at noon had vanished and a sort of penumbra was barely perceptible inside the cave. Roul, however, followed him with a torch and when he set foot in the cave everything came to light. Conrad at that moment stood throwing punches of earth against the painting of Christ and against that of the Madonna, having nothing else to offend with those stone walls. He was crying and now the anger against the priest's well-meaning gesture had given way to anger towards God and those unheard prayers.
Roul was a brute man, certainly profane in manners, but when he saw Conrad's sacrilege, either out of real fear, out of superstition, he stopped him from behind by lifting him with one arm.
«No, Conrad, they have nothing to do with it. »
«They didn't listen to me!" the boy shouted with all his breath, but the closed environment broke his voice deafly.
«Did you thought that they could do miracles? »
«That priest told me! »
At that point, he let him down and forced him to look him in the eye.
«Listen to me, son ... your father made me swear that I would take care of you, and my honour forbids me to miss the promise made to a dying friend. Until I bring you to Rougeville with your relatives ... so he made me swear. »
«I don't know my relatives. » Conrad replied, sobbing and crying, now with his eyes closed as the light from the torch burned them and blushed them.
«I don't care, I won't miss this oath in which my honour and your father's blood are involved just because you have something to say.»
«What else did he tell you?»
«That you had to be strong, son. So now go down to the camp and have the courage to face him. The men of our lineage are used to being indomitable warriors scornful of death. And if you're angry it's a good thing ... you'll have more fervour in battle. But don't blame the saints ... blame the living! »
«That's why I was looking for that priest. »
«Leave the priest alone ... It's those who killed your father that you must hate, it is to those beasts that you must find your revenge. »
«Who? »
«We have been in this land for two years and you ask me “who are they”? Have you not seen the eyes of those people of Africa? Have you not seen how their gaze mediates wickedness towards you? Even the people of Akḥal, who are our allies, look at us with hatred. They killed, raped the women of the people who were before them, and forced them to bow to their God. They soiled the blood of these people making it despicable when they impregnated these girls. They, those Mohammedan barbarians, they killed your father! »
«You said you were only fighting for compensation, and that you are not interested in the reasons for this war. »
«Son, if you don't hate your enemy you can't survive in battle. »
«Does that mean my father didn't hate them enough?»
«Your father had the soul of a king ... it would have been right for him to command and not go down to battle. But you, young Conrad,
you will need this hatred; you will need to think about his sacrifice. You will become an excellent warrior, I am sure. However, for tonight don't think about revenge, just think of honouring your father. Will you come to the camp to close his eyes? »
Conrad wiped his face with one hand and replied:
«I'll come. »
So Roul, looking around, commented:
«We will bury your father in here, under the watchful eyes of the Lord and all these saints. I don't see better places around here. »
«The friars of the Greek rite come here to pray. »
«It means that they will be happy to watch over this martyr of Christianity. »
They went down to the camp, and then, once they closed the eyes of poor Rabel and prepared the body, they went up in solemn procession to the cave church. They laid the body under the cross of the kneeler, then the religious, women and noble soldiers prayed huddling around the boy all night.
The next day at dawn the priest Conrad had hated, who discovered his name was Jacob, officiated the funeral, then buried Rabel in a pit dug inside the cave and in the middle of a fence made of slate slabs. They covered the corpse with the shield that belonged to it, the long one ending with a tip down typical of the Norman people, and threw earth as a final seal.
Conrad stayed there for a whole day, even after the funeral. He slept curled up at the kneeler, ate nothing and cried several times. Outside that cave, life awaited him, a life without his father, and he was sure that he would never be able to do it alone. On the other hand, Rabel was there, buried under his feet, and he would have faithfully awaited him; this time without being distracted by anyone. He couldn’t breathe every time he thought his father had died without saying him one last word to his son. He stared at the saints on the rock face and, contrary to what Roul had told him, he couldn't help hating them too.
Chapter 9
Winter 1060 (452 from Hegira), Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna and surroundings
Umar invited all the women in the house to retire to their rooms. He gently pushed Ghadda by the shoulders, forcing her to go to her room, and gave a caress on Jala's face.
Only Nadira was still standing at the entrance, eager for explanations.
«Umar, tell me who that man was. »
«Just a wealthy passing merchant who wanted to provoke me. »
«Doesn't it seem strange to you that he travelled just at this hour, and that he didn't spend the night up to Qasr Yanna? »
«Obviously, to see “the sky of Nadira" you can't wait for the sunrise. » Umar replied sarcastically, still full of ill-concealed jealousy.
«You would do well to inform the Qā'id ... at dawn! I seemed to feel some dissent towards my lord Ali. »
Umar looked at her sufficiently and said:
«Are you going to get into Rabaḍ's security issues now? The adhān of the night has passed ...now go to your room, sister! »
Nadira at that point, while the other walked away annoyed, found herself staring at the baked clay of the tiles.
Slowly every brazier, every light and every candle in the house was extinguished, ending that long day.
Corrado, was still tied to the pole, had long since stopped showing signs of knowledge, and Apollonia, curled up between her knees, had dozed off; in fact, she had slept even less than her brother.
Idris, further on, was lost looking at the starry sky, waiting for the moment when he could free the prisoner and go home.
A sort of bang roared through the courtyard; the crackling of what looked like a fire followed the first noise. Apollonia opened her eyes and saw an unusual glow coming from near the stables. Idris then began to scream, wiggling like a madman to draw the attention of others. Meanwhile Mezyan descended at breakneck speed on the stairs of the terrace, announcing to his companion below:
«The stables have caught fire! »
«Call Umar! »
«Call the others! »
Mezyan started knocking like a madman on the door, while Idris ran away to call the men who were sentinels at the entrance of the village; it was precisely the Qā'id, in fact, who advised Umar to have the guard mounted in the strategic points of Rabaḍ.
Apollonia got to her feet and, in the silence before the storm, in the meantime that Mezyan was knocking on the door, looked around. Dark shadows like the demons of Averno moved around the house and on the streets of the village. She sharpened her sight to realize if they were the inhabitants of Rabaḍ who had come to the emergency, however she concluded that the villagers would not have been so silent and cautious as they approached. Then, she hugged Corrado, and he, feeling the touch on his skin, opened his eyes.
Umar went out onto the courtyard at that moment, in time to witness the second rumble, caused by the sudden flare of a flammable substance. Flames rose even faster from the roof of the grain warehouse. Meanwhile, people were starting to come out of their homes.
Mezyan and another ten men were already shuttling between the nearest well and the stables. Now some screams began to be heard, while elsewhere, even some houses, other flames were rising; the whole Rabaḍ caught fire. The unequivocal noise of scrap metal also made clear what was happening: they stormed the village.
Apollonia grabbed Corrado by the hips and gathered all her strength to hoist him, so that the rope on his wrists jumped beyond the bifurcation at which it had been stuck. He shouted for the intense effort, then ended up on the ground dragged by the weight of his brother. He therefore freed him from the bonds and helped him to sit by making his back rest on the pole. Then she put an arm around his neck and tried to lift it ... however, being unable to walk, he fell to dead weight. Corrado screamed, feeling intense pain in his arms and knees. Apollonia therefore felt helpless; she would have liked to load it on her shoulders, but she, small and fragile, could not do anything. Finally, he grabbed his face in his hands and, looking at him full of tears, promised him:
«I won't leave you here.»
«Go and hide yourself!» Corrado answered, panting.
«I'm going to call Michele; he will take you home! »
Apollonia ran away, running as fast as her shoes allowed her and getting lost in the streets of Rabaḍ.
Corrado, left alone and seated with his back to the pole, looked to his left, towards Umar's house. A multitude of men at that moment crossed the courtyard, and the sound of scrap metal, coming shortly before from the village blocks, seemed to disappear. Corrado thought about what his sister was risking walking on the street during that assault ... so he was horrified at the thought that she would not return.
Umar, who in those moments stood by the stable, confused, helpless and above all unarmed, returned to the courtyard having understood the nature of the threat. However, a sudden blow to his head knocked him out causing him to collapse on the ground. Now the screams of the women of the house, perhaps of the servants, perhaps of the owners, rose loudly, and in a short time even from the home of Umar, black smoke began to rise. Corrado looked around terrified, then realized that there was no men in the streets of Rabad.
When the attackers came out of the house, two of them pulled Nadira by the arms. Corrado, hearing the screams, understood her identity even before seeing it.
Then, in the darkness illuminated by the bonfires, the unknown enemies came right up to the prisoner, who, resting his neck on the pole, was panting, having a high fever and a lot of fear. Corrado then imagined that they would now kill him, as they did with Umar and many others in the village.
«Hey you, unfaithful, stand up!» commanded one of those men, removing from his face the strip of turban that hid him.
Nadira's eyes widened: that guy was the wealthy merchant who had visited her house just before.
«I can't, kill me sitting!» Corrado asked resignedly.
Instead, the man squeezed Nadira by the neck and forced her to kneel before Corrado.
«Do you know this girl?»
He looked at her carefully; he had her not even three palms away from his face. He knew very well who she was, Nadira's eyes could not be confused, however he hadn't seen her full face and her hair uncovered since she, still a little girl, ran for streets of Rabaḍ. Moreover, Corrado had never seen the sister of the Qā'id’s man in that state: dressed only in night’s clothes and crying.
Corrado nodded his head. So that guy who introduced himself as Salim said to him:
«Go to your Qā'id, and tell him that if he wants to see his latest jewel he must give me back my wife! »
Nadira immediately understood the true identity of the rich merchant ... it was Mohammed ibn al-Thumna, the Qā'id of Catania and Syracuse, ascended to the most powerful emir of the whole of Sicily when years before, without any more central power, the Qā'id had collided with each other. She feared what that man could do to her: she imagined her sawed wrists just as he had made them saw at Maimuna.
Mohammed ibn al-Thumna grabbed Nadira by the neck again, causing her to rise, and handed her over to his men. Finally, he forced Corrado to raise his head by placing the cut of his scimitar under his chin.
«If you want revenge with those who reduced you like this, come and look for me when you get better ... you and your uncircumcised friends. »
At this Mohammed ibn al-Thumna left the courtyard and then Rabaḍ, aware that the fires in the village had already alarmed the sentries of Qasr Yanna, and that his brother-in-law would soon be able to intervene.
Meanwhile Nadira had been tied with a long rope and on the other end of it they pulled her down the road that descended from the plateau, just like you would do with a mule. Salim and his followers moved, illuminating the path with a few torches, and Nadira's bare feet wounded between the stones and brambles. When they came to the ford of the stream that ran under the Rabaḍ, precisely under one of the great norias, Mohammed ordered the girl to be dissolved and, putting on her a fine female dress, invited her to cover herself as befits women. Then, looking at the numerous men following him, he said:
«If anyone dares to disrespect the girl, he will have to deal with me ... she is still the promise of a Qā'id, and it must be treated as such!»
At that point they all jumped on horseback and vanished eastward. Nadira had to cling to Jamal's hips, the man with the large medallion.
Mostly black horses all went in the same direction. There were fifty more who assembled them, all dressed in a black burnus43 and with trousers of the same colour. They had dark faces and spoke the most common language among many African Moors. Nadira knew that idiom: it was in this way that she often expressed herself in the family, but she had never heard it speak so fluently and with that typical accent.
The knights gently spurred their steeds and these, at a slow pace, advanced under the moon forming a long procession.
«Lord, who are these men? And where are you taking me? » Nadira asked the Qā'id's right arm, as soon as she had calmed her sobs.
«They are the African cutthroats of ibn al-Menkūt. They betrayed their Qā’id to serve a cheaper one. But their lord now is a friend of my master and has given him a gift from his mercenaries to make use of them these days. » Jamal replied.
«And these foreigners will cut my throat too?» asked the girl with the typical innocence of those who do not know the world and tremble in the face of all that is new.
Jamal smiled and replied:
«Don't worry, you’ll serve my lord alive.»
It wasn't long before they stopped near a village on the border between the lands controlled by ibn al-Ḥawwās and those dominated by ibn al-Thumna. Other ugly faces were already stationed in the village, a group of houses very similar in appearance to Qasr Yanna's Rabaḍ. These others, cutthroats of the same fate as those who had ravaged Rabaḍ, paid homage to Mohammed, prostrating himself when he dismounted.
«Give the girl to the women of the village and, when she will get well, send her back to me.» ordered Mohammed ibn al-Thumna to Jamal, and Jamal replied with a slight bow.
Nadira was led in a modest house, and here sad-faced women took care of her by washing her feet, combing her hair and feeding her. Nadira asked who they were and one of the women replied that three days earlier the cutthroats of ibn al-Menkūt had captured the village, killing all men and raping every woman as an initiation rite to their new state of slavery.
Finally, Nadira was led by the Qā’id, who stayed in a sumptuous tent hoisted to the side of the mosque.
The arrival of the girl was announced by the sound of the numerous bracelets, anklets and rattles that had been placed on her. The eyes had also been tinted with kajal44, but when he appeared in front of Mohammed this already faded on contact with tears and streaked black cheekbones up to his chin.
«Come here Nadira, come closer! My tent is warmer and more comfortable. Winter nights can be too long when you can't sleep. » Mohammed invited her, sitting cross-legged on cushions.
Nadira entered in the luxurious tent and, approaching the brazier fire, and said:
«I know who you are.»
«Of course. It is for this reason that I'm not surprised that my brother-in-law has fallen in love with you ... It would have been strange if he had chosen a stupid woman as his wife!»
«You can't meddle me with your family affairs.»
«You mean in our family affairs ... sister-in-law! Do you know what your Qā'id did to me? »
«Your wife fears you ... after the evil you caused her.»
«Isn't the life and death of my home and my subjects in my hand?»
«Everyone's life is in Allah's hand, not yours.»
«But Allah has his designs, and these cannot be changed. If what happened with Maimuna hasn't it also been His will? »
«So even the fact that I don't want to go back to you is His will ... accept it and let me go. »
Mohammed laughed and explained:
«Different fates of men are born in the world: there are those who suffer their own destiny and there are those who use fate to change the times, seasons and peoples. I was born a nobleman, and in my Syracuse, I knew how to grow up and then take half of Sicily. I do a service to Allah and His inscrutable destiny, being in the world to change the times, seasons and peoples. There is no evil ... there is no good, but only the will of Allah. »
Nadira then fell on her knees and with her face on the ground she implored him:
«Please, my Lord, my mother cried when you tore me from her arms, and the house was invaded by smoke ... Let me go and make sure of her health, and then I will come back to you. »
«If you see your mother again, it will depend only on Ali, your Qā'id.»
Nadira therefore looked up, still remaining on her knees.
«Don't make me stay; the men you surround yourself with are treacherous and criminal ... they have done much harm to the people who live in this village. »
«They won't hurt you, don't be afraid. The fate of an illustrious bride cannot be compared to that of ordinary villains given for the amusement of soldiers. »
«But you enslave even our sisters, and these soldiers of yours have slaughtered all men! »
«Not all ... I let the Christian peasants stay. Surrounding yourself with infidels pays a lot, as they lavishly fill my pockets with taxation of jizya. The eastern iqlīm, full of uncircumcised and Jews, are a gold mine for the pockets of those in charge. »
«And you pay this army of mercenaries with jizya money? » Nadira asked with the same irreverence she showed with Umar. Now in fact she understood that the supplications could not find acceptance in the rocky heart of Mohammed.
He stared at her attentively and seriously, then replied:
«If it were not for the purpose for which I preserved you, if it were not for your eyes and your beauty, my dear Nadira, I would have them saw your wrists too… and even worse I would have you cut that intrusive tongue. You are my prisoner, remember that! There is no person in this world whose life can be broken as much as yours ... a cotton thread burned by the fire that flakes at the touch of my hand. » Mohammed said and mimed, rubbing his forefinger and thumb between them.
«You will always present yourselves to the best of your features, for the pleasure of my eyes. I will not allow you to cry if you spoil your face. I will not allow you to fast if you so thin your forms. Whether or not you wear Jilbāb45 in my presence will be only by my will. But don't worry, I will protect your honour, against anyone, included me, so that Ali doesn't despise you and refuse you because you are no longer a virgin. Your Qā'id is a beggar, a slave who has made his way with the flattery and the promises but would know how to give up his villain if she could not give him what he hopes to take the first night. You and your virginity are still worth too much in return for my wife. But if Ali proves obtuse, then I will unleash him against the forces of hell, devastate his lands, massacre his subjects, I will take women away from his cities to make them slaves and above all I will make you what I like. The attack on your village has been painless for many people, since it is rapid and with the sole purpose of kidnapping the sapphire-eyed girl, but if Ali won't listen to me, then many will suffer and will have to bow to their new Qā'id ... if they will want to continue living. »
«Ibn al-Ḥawwās will be able to redeem me from your hands, I am sure. And my brother…»
«Your brother is dead! I saw it myself. He got what he deserved, that foot-licker! » Mohammed interrupted her.
Nadira threw herself on the pillows and started to cry harder.
«Oh Umar ... Umar! » she called desperate, full of pain and displeasure for having quarrelled for a whole day without ever being able to tell him how much she loved him.
«Your brother was a good man. I am sure that in Heaven he will have the treatment reserved for martyrs. Now, stop crying, Nadira. » he cynically heartened Nadira, but she continued.
«Do not Cry! » then he repeated screaming, revealing that all he cared about was that she stopped whining. «I can't stand this whining in my presence. »
«You said that you’ll take care of me and you invite me to your tent; but how do you expect me to be quiet at hearing these words? You even ask me not to cry ... »
«I don't want your serenity; I want you feign to be fine in front of me. The next time I call you, you will smile. It's an order! Now go. You will stay with the women, but Jamal will keep an eye on you»
Nadira was brought back by the women who had previously made her up, and these began to hate her because she represented the reason for that war and their misfortune, although she was imprisoned like them within those four walls.
Chapter 10
Autumn 1060 (year 452 from the Hegira), Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna
When Ali ibn al-Ḥawwās left Rabaḍ to return to Qasr Yanna, Nadira did not want any gifts for herself, despite the Qā'id promising her the moon. Only at the end, after a thousand insistences, Nadira accepted a gift, and requested a copy of the text of the poet Mus'ab be given to her, since it belonged to her more than to the others. Bashir, the Vizier, then hurriedly wrote those words on a sheet of fine paper from Balarm's factories.
Nadira was not very familiar with writing and had to appeal to the imam46 of Rabaḍ, who, after three days of reading and rereading the poem, had to chase the girl impatiently. In the meantime, she had learned all those verses by heart, and consequently also the servants were quick to memorize many of those words that the mistress now recited in their presence. "Do you know, oh my Lord, the sky of Nadira, the boundaries of her eyes?", This was the verse that was most frequently remembered.
As could be imagined, the news of the coming marriage between Nadira and the Qā'id spread with unusual speed outside Umar's home. An enthusiasm so great was unleashed among the people of Rabaḍ that the girl struggled notwithstanding the embarrassment of attending the bows and submission of people with whom she had even grown up together. And in the end, the news of the "the sky of Nadira" and the girl's marriage to the Qā'id also came within the walls where the Christians of Rabaḍ lived.
One day, Alfeo, the head of the family, a poor man who was twenty years older than he had, called all his children back to the table. It was lunchtime and that day also Apollonia and Caterina her mother had followed the men in the garden, to help the men and to eat all together without having to wait in the evening. Alfeo and Michele had just finished watering the broccoli garden, and therefore, closing the bulkheads of the saqija47 that passed through the ground, they set aside the hoe to go eat. Michele whistled to Corrado, who had been in the shaduf48 since morning, intent on hoisting the water from the gabiya49 to supply the small canals and vegetable gardens.
Caterina boiled goat's milk in the saucepan and Apollonia threw wood in the fire when Alfeo, recalling everyone, asked that they sit at the table under the roof of the country meeting. Numerous, and often not far from each other, were the farms scattered throughout the districts of the island, as well as the simple seats for the peasants, since the Saracens had incentivized small property and intensive cultivation from the beginning.
Alfeo, once Corrado Michele and Apollonia were in front of him, he started thinking about what the future of his three children would be. He had learned the news of Nadira just one day, but he had heard his boys talk about it before, and he knew that Apollonia felt admiration for the blue-eyed girl.
«Umar's sister was promised to the Qā'id as a wife.» he began, giving the news that everyone already knew.
«Father, they talk about it everywhere! » Corrado answered.
«The sky of Nadira, the boundaries of her eyes. » Apollonia added, while rubbing her hands to remove the dirt from the coal that had attacked and without knowing that her face was even more blackened.
«Daughter, it would take a Qā'id for you too. »
«Father, what do you say? » Apollonia asked puzzled, embarrassed and confused.
«A Christian qāid of course. » the Alfeo concept continued.
«There is no Christian qāid. » replied Caterina, who had given so much of her appearance and character to her daughter, but who now bore badly the signs of age and poverty.
«Not a qā'id, of course, but I still want to find a good party for Apollonia. »
«Father, I am fine like this! » the girl explained, looking for a moment at Corrado.
The fear of having to separate from the family, and therefore from her brother, had tormented her for years, however, now that such fear was revealed in her father's will, she felt unable to defend herself. On the other hand, her only weapon would have been to declare her sentiment to Corrado ... an event that terrified her even more than the first fear.
«Don't say nonsense! Nobody is doing well “like this” at your age. Corrado and Michele will find a husband for you... what's on the market, of course ... not a qāid ... but the best of what you find. I have only one daughter and I want to make the most of the situation. »
«But father, how do you think you can afford it? Didn’t you notice the clothes we wear? » Michele pointed out polemically, getting up and showing the tears and tatters on his tunic.
«Apollonia is a beautiful woman and has nothing to envy to Umar's sister. If it weren't for the rags we can afford, she would have found a Qā’id too. » Alfeo said, raising his angry voice.
«You speak with a father's heart, but all I want for me is really within these four walls. » Apollonia explained, stroking her father's hand and causing him to calm down. Then she tried not to look at Corrado, fearing that he would reveal what and to whom his last sentence referred.
But it seemed that nobody heard her because Corrado said: «Okay, father, tell us if you have someone in mind and Michele and I will fix it. »
Hearing those words from Corrado's mouth broke the heart of Apollonia. For years she had hoped that her brother would have felt something for her that would go beyond the family affection acquired in twenty years of living together. She had hoped that he would understand it without her declaring it to him. She had built the fairy tale and now the whole castle collapsed. Her gaze was lost in the void, staring at an indefinite point outside the door.
«I have not found anyone among Qasr Yanna's Christians who could improve our condition by marrying Apollonia. »
«Alessandro! I personally saw him flirting with her. » Michele proposed.
«He's a womanizer. » Corrado clarified.
«And what do we care? » Michele replied.
«It matters because vices cost money. »
«You said well, Corrado. And then, he tried to cheat me already three times in the market. No, none of Qasr Yanna. I want you to go to Demona's iqlīm after Christoúgenna50, when the land is not worked, where people still know Greek and the most of them are Christians. Go over there and find a husband for your sister ... and then think about yourself. »
Corrado and Michele looked at each other, then a moment later they laughed heartily at the thought of having to look for a wife.
«Corrado, you have been there; what can you tell me about the girls? » Michele asked enthusiastically.
«I was only nine. »
«But you will remember the women ... »
«I remember the inhabitants of Rametta51 ... fair skin and hazel eyes! »
«That's enough! » scolded Alfeo, who also said:
«How many times have I told you not to talk about those years? Corrado is as if he had been born in this house! »
Then the two boys exchanged an understanding look under the table: to Michele's gesture indicating his chest, Corrado replied gesturing with full hands to let it be understood that the breasts of the girls of Demona's iqlīm were abundant. Apollonia noticed it; it was too much! She ran out without explanation and in tears. She therefore went to hide behind the vegetable gardens on a sumac plantation. That day, she did not eat and when Corrado looking for her passed near her, she crouched carefully so as not to be discovered.
Chapter 11
Winter 1060 (452 from the Hegira), Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna
Before losing consciousness again, Corrado had time to see the icon of the Madonna, the one inserted in a niche on the facade of the house, which was a mandatory sign for Christians. Michele had carried him on the shoulder while Apollonia had anticipated them by making his way through the great confusion of people in panic and intent on putting out the fires that broke out just before. Umar's house was devoured by flames while dozens of men went back and forth to the grain warehouse with the intention of saving as many seeds as possible; among them was also Alfeo.
Caterina was crying at the door while her two natural children brought the other one at home, immolated and almost dead to defend the honour of the family that had welcomed him.
Michele laid Corrado on the bed and ran to support his father and fellow villagers against the warehouse flames.
Apollonia wore the lantern but stopped at the door when she realized that her mother had stripped Corrado of her clothes soaked in sweat and the dew of the night, to cover him with dry blankets. She did not remember ever seeing him naked, so she blushed and feared to enter in the room. Then, in the darkest hours of the night, she found herself alone again to watch over him, as she had done in the previous two days. Now with a wet patch she rubbed his forehead to bring down a fever.
When Corrado opened his eyes, the first flashes that anticipate the dawn were already penetrating the window and the dawn adhān rang throughout Rabaḍ, a sign that spirituality must always have the upper hand over misfortunes. The fever had gone down and Corrado was beginning to regain control of his muscles. The dark bruises on his wrists reminded him of the cause of his infirmity and the hatred for the one who had caused him that humiliation ... just him, nobleman of proud indomitable lineage.
Corrado had quelled his warrior soul in twenty years of family daily life. That reality made of affection, of a home, of loving parents, of a trusted brother and of a beloved sister, had repaid the discomfort of being far from those who knew, lost in the midst of people that as a boy they had taught him to despise. In those years, the humiliation of being subjected to the debt collector of Qā'id, in Fuad before and in Umar after, had been rewarded by the love of Caterina, the mother she had never had.
Corrado now found himself with Apollonia's sleeping head resting on his chest. Although he had been intermittently unconscious, he knew well how much that girl had done for him. He therefore ran a hand through her hair and stroked her cheek and ear.
Apollonia opened her eyes. He didn’t notice that her was awake, and so he continued to caress her. This was all she could expect from that closeness: pretending to sleep to enjoy the other's caresses. He smiled imagining that those hands were motivated by other feelings, but those crumbs were all he could have.
«I am thirsty. » Corrado said thinking aloud.
At this point Apollonia could no longer pretend to sleep and got up on the stool she was sitting on.
«I'm going to get you some water. » she replied too quickly, generating suspicion in his brother that he was not actually sleeping.
«No, let our mother take it. You stay here. »
Therefore, Corrado's gaze stopped on Apollonia's face: a large bruise still reddened started from the corner of her mouth and went up to half of the cheek.
«What happened to you here? » he asked, touching her face.
Apollonia withdrew and replied:
«Don't you remember anything? »
Apollonia hoped that Corrado would not remember that detail at all ... that he had not realized that Idris had struck her, so that the blood would not go to his head and he wanted to ask for an account.
«Who did this to you? » Corrado asked again, leaning on the back of the bed.
Apollonia came out torn. On the one hand she wanted to protect Corrado from his own temperament, on the other she didn’t want to lie to him.
«After what happened tonight, who cares who did it? »
Corrado was suddenly catapulted into awareness of the events he had witnessed the night before; now everything was coming back to him.
«They kidnapped Nadira! » he said it all in one breath, as if he were reaching that truth at that moment.
«I know, Corrado ... I know ... That poor girl! Brother, beauty is a curse from God, and man is man! Jala has seen it all, they ripped it off her arms. All we do is talk about it all over the village and Michele told me everything, even what I didn't know.»
«Umar ... that Umar dog! I saw him dead with my own eyes. »
«Umar is alive ... and his family too. They fled in time before the house collapsed on itself. But twelve villagers, Corrado ... twelve villagers ... died to defend Rabaḍ! »
Corrado was worried about the twelve inhabitants of the village, but then anger towards Umar prevailed.
«That damned Umar would have better to die! »
«Then I better not tell you who was dragging him away from the flames while he was passed out and his mother was looking for him like a desperate in the smoke. »
«It was you? » he asked furiously, pointing a finger at her.
«No, I haven't been able to drag you either. It was Michele when he came to take you home. »
«Michele!» Corrado shouted, wanting to ask his brother for an account.
«Be calm, please! People are all very tired, and mourning has fallen in our family too. I saw our father come home in tears. We lost a year's harvest and many of those twelve were also his friends. »
«Michele!» Corrado called again.
«It will end badly if you fight between each other ... Don't do another injustice to our father. Please, Corrado! » she pleaded, taking his hands.
«What wrong would I have done to him?»
At this point Alfeo and Michele, having heard Corrado's call, set foot in the room.
Apollonia then let go of her brother's hands and immediately stood up, as if those others could interpret that gesture of affection with malice, as if they knew about her feelings.
«No one had ever noticed us, Corrado, and now thanks to you we have become a stench for all the Mohammedans of Rabaḍ, and especially for the house of Umar.» Alfeo explained with his face completely blackened by smoke.
«Is that why Michele rescued our enemy before he rescued me? To make up for the wrong I did to that man's dung? » Corrado said furiously.
«It is just so ... We pray to God that with Michele's gesture everything will return as it was before. »
«Before I took up your defence, father? »
«I didn't ask you for anything. »
«But that man humiliated you! »
«They command us; what's wrong? »
«Is that why you didn't deign to come while I was there? »
«Umar must understand that we have nothing to do with your gesture. »
Corrado's anger left room for disappointment.
Apollonia then noticed the low face of her brother and tried to cheer him up:
«Come on ... after all our father is right. What did you claim to do by insulting the Qā'id man? »
But Corrado, instead of listening to her, pointed out:
«My father, my real father, would have been proud of me, and would have been proud even if I had been tied to that pole. Instead you scold me! »
Now the tones were seriously overheated. Alfeo was seriously indignant at those words, while Michele was silent because he knew he had betrayed the trust of the person he most admired.
Caterina came to the door when her husband stepped forward and blurted out:
«Where is your real father today? He preferred to get killed and to leave you alone! For what, Corrado, for honor? Did he not to be humiliated? I am sure that for people like your father these would have been more than enough reasons to get killed, abandoning their son to his fate. However, these are not the real reasons why your real father didn't raise you ... your father got killed for money! »
Corrado got up from this, but, realizing that he was naked, he covered himself with the blanket he was wearing; Meanwhile Apollonia had promptly turned away.
«He was a soldier! » Corrado justified.
«And I'm a farmer ... with a master to serve! »
Corrado took another step towards Alfeo and replied:
«For this reason, you have been licking the feet of pagans for two hundred years. I begin to think that you like the taste of the powder between your teeth. Therefore, my people are holding the other side of the Strait while you are getting slapped for an unpaid tax. Roul always said, "Damn the Greeks! »
Having said that, he went further and left the house.
He felt like a worm, especially for the last sentence. The man with whom he argued was the one who had welcomed and raised him like the other children and he now showed himself ungrateful, diminishing him in comparison with the father who had left him at the age of nine. On the other hand, what did he expect from that family who had made submission to their master their reason for living.? Corrado's heart was indomitable by birth, it is true, but also completely incompatible with the gentle nature of Alfeo. At one point, while he was sitting under the fig tree at the back of the house, still rolled up in the blanket, he came to the conclusion that the unsuitable one was him, and that because of his character he would only cause problems to those people that he loved most than anything else. It was cold and he was not completely healed, but it was at that moment that the decision to leave matured. His heart beat hard inside his chest and his breathing deepened. Now the last few decades have disappeared; Corrado felt his twenty-nine years as if they were nine, as if time had never passed at Rabaḍ.
Apollonia came out crying, while he was immersed in those thoughts.
«You haven't recovered yet ... please come in. » she prayed to him.
Corrado, however, smiled pleased at the decision he had made just a few minutes earlier.
«I'm glad Michele saved Umar's life. » he replied, leaving her completely perplexed.
«And what does it have to do now? »
«It has to do with it because the time has come for me to behave as it is in use among my people. I will ask Umar for what he did to me and make Idris pay for what he did to you. Don't believe I didn't see him tonight! »
«So you're going to get yourself killed! »
«It doesn't matter, since this is not living ... it's crawling! »
«It doesn't go so badly ... Before Umar hit our father they had never done anything to us. »
«If Umar has suddenly changed then I am too. »
«What if they take it out on us? »
«Our father and Michele will be able to exculpate themselves by disavowing me, as they have done these days. »
Apollonia prayed him throwing herself between his legs and embracing him.
«I won't let you, at the cost of telling our father everything. »
«You won't do it, sister, not you who never betrayed me. »
Apollonia looked up and stared at him ... To which he stroked her cheekbone with a finger.
«Revenge is one of the ruins of man. You told me about how the war of twenty years ago was not successful for Christians because of the revenge. »
«Arduino the Lombard ... but it was not for his revenge that the Christian armies returned beyond the sea; it was because his general wanted to humiliate him publicly ... just like Umar did with me. »
Chapter 12
Early summer 1040 (431 from Hegira), valleys east of Tragina
Several days passed, perhaps a week or more, when Conrad did not stop attending the rock church. He slept there, ate there, prayed and slowly began to exchange a few words with those who went there, especially with those few friars of the Greek rite who knew the language of oil, but also with some of the servants and soldiers. Conrad spent so many hours there that in the few moments he put his nose out, his eyes ached from the intense sunlight. He learned who each of the characters painted on the wall was, the name of all the saints and became attached to the image of Saint Andrew, praying with his mouth open and making the Trinitarian symbol with his hand; just that holy apostle overlooked the burial of his father.
Roul and the others had been wandering through the countryside for days, and now, returning from the pursuit, they came home to the camp with the bulk of the army. It was the early hours of the afternoon when Conrad heard the big mess coming from below and swore that for sure among the tents it was celebrated.
It wasn't long before his custodian came up.
«Son, come out! »
Conrad then went out, but remained in front of the entrance.
«The whole army is returning. »
«You will celebrate for victory ... I bring pain for my father. »
«Many of the soldiers lost a relative in the battle, a brother and even a father ... A few days ago, they also buried their dead, and not in a nice mausoleum like this, but in the middle of the field. Now, however, it is right to enjoy our sacrifices ... they died for this too. »
«I don't want to leave my father. » Conrad advanced.
«What if some infidels desecrate this place? » reinforced his thesis.
«The good Lord will punish him, but they can't kill your father twice. Today we will celebrate together, and then, compensation in my pocket, we will return to Syracuse to support those of us who have remained, in order to complete the siege. There has been a lot of spoils in these days ... God only knows how many villages have been preyed on in pursuit and on the way back! Everyone will have their part and it will be your father's part. »
«I didn't make it. »
«What have you gained from everything your father has done for you? Boy, I'm starting to get tired of your whims! Today I could hardly believe you had been up here for more than a week. But I'm not your father, and if I can't honour the promise I made to him, then it is all the better that you take your head off with two fingers rather than having yourself in the way! »
«What do you want from me? » Conrad asked, raising his voice.
«Convince yourself that your father is dead and stop whining. And that you know that I was a friend of Rabel, not yours, so I won't scruple myself to hang on the banner if you don't do what I say. »
«Take part of my father's booty and leave me alone. »
When after this sentence Conrad turned to go and hide in the cave, Roul grabbed him by the neck and hoisted him over two meters high. The warrior's hand embraced almost the entire neck of the boy, so he squeezed it to such an extent that the younger boy's eyes seemed to pop out.
«They call me Hard Punch and should I be insulted by you, you filthy brat? I have no problem to shatter you on these rocks! » he shouted that he looked like the Devil.
So he sprawled it loose, letting go.
«If anyone were to see how you try to trample me, my reputation would be jeopardized. I killed men for a lot less! Thank your father and my honour if I don't throttle you today. Now get up and come to the camp! »
Conrad was injured, more than in the body in the soul, and avoided looking the other in the eyes, while still curled up on the dry grass. Not even his father had ever disciplined him in this way.
At one point he saw Roul's gigantic hand approach his face; therefore, he narrowed his eyes imagining the realization of that threat.
«Get up and come with me. I will show you how your father lived, I will introduce you to his friends, I will make you drink what he drank and I will let you go with the women he preferred. » Roul invited him in an unusual gentle tone, holding out his hand.
Conrad grabbed her and stood up, then wiped away the tears that wet her freckles and forced an expression of harshness.
«I like you like that! » he complimented the giant man before turning his back on him and starting to get off the alert.
«Raoul! » instead he called Conrad.
«What else is there? » the adult between the two said impatiently.
«I want you to take me with you to the next battle. »
Roul laughed, he was pleased that his means brought results, but he laughed heartily.
«Brat, what would you want? »
«I want you to teach me to live as my father lived ... well, take me to fight too. My father teaches me the sword I walk by. I can do it! »
«You will give me a demonstration as soon as possible. As for the war ... well, son, first you have to prepare your heart ... you have to learn to hate! »
«I already know how to hate! Put an unfaithful here before me and you will see how I tear it to shreds. »
«It is not enough; you are not strong enough. »
«Give me your axe and cut this olive tree in three strokes. »
Roul laughed even louder and replied:
«You wouldn't even know how to lift my axe! You will go with me to battle, but not now. The regular army of Constantinople is made up of men who are at least eighteen years old. We are not low-level like them but let me show you at least a few hairs before coming. »
«Next year? » Conrad asked innocently.
«Next year ... it's fine. » Roul agreed to take it off.
«I will avenge my father! »
This time Roul did not reply, rather he put one hand on the other's shoulder and started going down again.
The camp was a swarm of people; before then it hadn't seemed so big to Conrad. The air was that of the party and all around the soldiers laughed and joked, this time without showing the diffidence that existed between different bloodlines. A guy at the side of the road near the big tents had a crate full of strange metal objects with spikes on several sides. Roul took one, showed it to Conrad and explained to him:
«Do you see this thing, boy? This is how Abd-Allah intended to defeat us, scattering the ground with hundreds of them like this. However, our horses are shod with wide plates and the goads have done nothing for us. Start learning about war. »
Wagons laden with the booty stuff continued to arrive escorted by regular soldiers and gathered at the large clearing in front of the command tent, that of George Maniakes; obviously the wagons and oxen were also part of the spoils. On some of these wagons there were also men and women taken prisoner in the raids: they were the unfortunate Moor civilians who had not been able to hide. Many of those women would have been part of the celebrations as an initial act of servitude, before being sent to the mainland as booty to be delivered to the families of the new masters. The women would have been part of the courts in the noble palaces and the men would have become serfs, or, both men and women, they would have ended up in the hands of the Jewish slave traders, who would have scattered them in markets all over the Mediterranean. In fact, Christians were theoretically forbidden to trade directly enslaved human beings, but the truth was that the trafficking of prisoners was good for everyone, Christians and non-Christians alike.
A delegation of the inhabitants of Rametta arrived with loads of supplies for the troops. Rametta, perched in a formidable position on the Caronies, had fallen into Saracen hands only in 965, the last of all the cities of Sicily, and was considered the bulwark of Sicilian Christianity and of the heroism shown for the defence of the faith. George Maniakes had taken it back shortly after his passage over the Strait, engaging in a bloody battle in which the Norman warriors had paid the greatest contribution of blood. Now its inhabitants supported the Christian reconquest in any way they could, by sending men and provisions. The citizens of Rinacium52 did the same - name of the city in official records - a few miles west of there, being the inhabited centre of a certain consistency closer to the camp.
After a short time, Tancred showed up, who brought a wine bottle.
«Some have already drained three! » he said, offering his colleague the object to which he referred.
«Here, take a sip! » invited Roul, passing the wine to Conrad.
The boy grabbed the skin and swallowed a bite, then strangled in the face and swallowed it down with difficulty. The other two laughed heartily seeing the difficulty of Rabel's son to behave as an adult.
«I think there's still time for women! » Roul exclaimed, pointing out the fact that if Conrad still had difficulties with wine, let alone women.
«What do you expect? He's only nine. » Tancred pointed out.
«At nine I went with my first slut! » answered Roul, even if it seemed absurd.
That was the last sentence Conrad listened to clearly. At the second sip of wine he began no to see well and not to distinguish the various voices from the enormous quantity of hazy shouting in dozens of different languages.
«Hard punch, I think we lost your godson ... » commented Geuffroi, a noble Norman friend of theirs.
«He is the son of Rabel, not mine ... The son of Hard Punch would know how to drink the fire of this mountain. » Roul bragged, speculating on an heir he never had and pointing to the Jebel.
«Women, nuts and wine ... outside the guard's tent, have a great time! » another intervened, arriving all excited and out of breath.
They went to the place concerned, except that, once they reached the clearing of the command tent, they had to desist from any purpose. Conrad was still rejoiced and followed his father's old friends without understanding anything. Dozens and dozens of people, soldiers of all kinds, religious and even some women not yet completely recomposed where they had let themselves be discovered, were all around the centre of the square, intent on watching something. Silence reigned and apprehension was typical of when something terrible is about to happen. Even the men of the Vanguard guard, those who should have had a good time, were careful to fix the centre of the scene. Roul therefore made his way by moving the individuals in front of him; Tancred, Geuffroi and Conrad took advantage of this to advance.
Four men emerged from George Maniakes's tent, four soldiers from Constantinople53, recognizable by their armour and Mediterranean appearance.
All around the scene that was about to materialize, other Romei54 soldiers ... Calabrian, Macedonian and Apulian, lined up to protect, fearing someone's reaction in the crowd.
At this point, Tancred spoke to a comrade in arms nearby, who had probably witnessed the scene from the beginning.
«Dude, what the hell is going on here? »
And that, in a low voice and putting a hand on the mouth:
«Maniakes55 and Arduin ... there seems to have been a discussion between them. »
«For what? »
«They spoke in Greek, I didn't understand everything ... but ... »
«But what? »
«Apparently the quarrel broke out for a horse. »
The wagons with the spoils had been partially emptied and trusted men sorted the stuff according to the typology to which it belonged. Indeed, a beautiful Arabian thoroughbred, pitch black and with a very shiny coat, was parked in front of the carts. At this point the four soldiers of Constantinople soon pulled the beast towards the place from which they had come out. Some Longobards56 also came forward, but the spades of the soldiers to protect made them desist from intervening.
George Maniakes came out then, with his hands on his hips and all furious. The latter with his good eye began to glare at each present. Then he screamed in his language, but everyone understood:
«Anyone else going to challenge Strategos57? »
This question introduced what was about to materialize.
The four who had brought in the horse were now pulling out of force, worse than they would be with an animal, Arduino, head of the Lombard contingent. They grabbed these by the beard, so that he would submit to Maniakes's next will, and tied him to the flagpole placed at the corner of the command tent, the one with the flag hoisted with the double-headed eagle of Constantinople. Finally, George Maniakes tore a lash of ropes from the hands of one of his servants nearby and, after having made the unfortunate Arduino's back and bottom naked, he hit him personally. Obviously the other one did not make a sound, hard and stubborn as he was.
Commanding other people has never been easy, there is the risk of making one happy and another unhappy, however George Maniakes did not make anyone happy, except for the people who saw him as the liberator of Christianity. The rest, they all hated him.
What had happened before the eyes of the entire army was something incredible: a a chief of the auxiliary troops, had been humiliated like a slave. Maniakes counted on the largest piece of the army, the regular one entrusted to his direct command, so it was easy for him to assert his claims. Arduino instead controlled
infantrymen, spearmen and knights armed with shields and spears recruited by force in Puglia; it is clear that, except for some faithful Longobard nobleman, nobody would have defended him.
The crux of the matter then had an absurdity:
In short, Arduino had refused to hand over that beautiful Arabian thoroughbred horse to his general, the Strategos, and a discussion had arisen in which neither of them had wanted to give in. At the umpteenth refusal of Arduino, Maniakes had decided that giving him an exemplary lesson would have softened his indiscipline.
However, force does not always resolve disputes, on the contrary, often the consequences deriving from its use and abuse are more unpleasant than the cause for which it was decided to implement it. Not even Maniakes could imagine what this gesture triggered, who, to tell the truth, driven by a bad character, often acted on impulse and regardless of the results of his actions. Moreover, while the army gave importance to the victory on the field and intended to have a good time, he considered Abd-Allah's successful escape a failure. All the fault of the fleet that had allowed the Saracen Emir to embark beyond the mountains and reach the capital Balarm. The commander of the navy, who was supposed to provide support to Maniakes's troops, was Stephan the Calafato, however the latter's military ability could not be compared in any way to the general's ability. Stephan commanded the fleet only because he was the emperor's brother-in-law, and because of this consideration that did not consider the merit, George Maniakes could not stand it.
«This is how the ones who challenge Geórgios Maniákis die! » the general concluded, looking at the bystanders in their entirety and extending their arm with their lashes towards them.
The crowd then began to thin out, but it was clear that the party had ended there, in the vision of Arduino's bloody back. The Lombard was therefore collected by his loyalists and brought back to his tent. It wouldn't end there, and everyone knew it ...
Roul and his comrades in arms sadly retreated to the camp section where they had settled; even the wine and the women lost their ascendancy for that evening.
Once withdrawn aside, and it was already sunset, Roul, leaning on the pole to which his horse was tied, began:
«What we saw today is absurd!»
«I say we should have intervened.» Tancred advanced.
«We answer to Guaimar of Salerno, not Arduin.» answered Roul.
«Arduin also replies to Guaimar. The same gentleman hired us. »
«Then let his lord restore his honour! Isn't Guaimar also a Lombard? » Geuffroi pointed out, in agreement with Roul.
«It is not a question of blood or brotherhood, it is a question that no nobleman, furthermore of good lineage, is worthy of undergoing that treatment. Wouldn't we have intervened if Willaume de Hauteville had been in Arduin's place? »
«Willaume would have torn his heart with a bite! » exclaimed Roul.
«But Willaume is careful not to contradict that damned rabid Macedonian dog!» someone said ... but it was not clear who had spoken.
The fact that the three soldiers made a gesture of reverence speaks volumes about who the guy came.
«Willaume, we only spoke because the breath is part of the compensation. » Tancred justified himself with a thread of irony, the very one who questioned the non-intervention by everyone.
«Tancred Long Hair, one day you will explain to me why they call you that.» replied Willaume, or William of Hauteville.
«Long Hair was my grandfather ... I just inherited the name.»
Then he looked at the largest of all and immediately after Conrad next to him.
«Roul Punch Hard, what you do for this boy is honourable. »
«Willaume, something stronger than blood binds me to my brother Rabel.»
«This shows that there is a heart behind that axe»
Then he caught his breath and said:
«Anyway, I want you to know that I come from the various guard tents ... and Harald didn't like it. »
«I don't think anyone liked it. You can't humiliate a captain like that! » Tancred reiterated.
«I am sure that if I had been in Arduin's place you would not have stood by. »
«You can say it loud, Willaume! » Geuffroi argued.
«But it would have been suicide! Pure Arduin knew it today. »
«It will be suicide for Arduin even if it occurs tomorrow ... or the day after tomorrow ... or in a month.» strengthened another newly arrived.
It was Drogone, for all Dreu, William's younger brother. In the twilight of the sunset, since it turned its back on the twilight, they recognized it immediately because of the symbol of the Norman noble family of the lower course of the Seine sewn on the tunic; at least fifty followed him and it began to seem the prelude to a revolt.
«Yeah, Arduin counts aren't even good as fertilizer for the field once they're dead. » William answered.
«But for sure Guaimar won't be watching when the news reaches Salerno. I am sure that what will decide for Arduin will also decide for us. And then Maniakes will not have to deal only with Arduin and his few loyalists, but also with the feared Norman contingent ... and God only knows how much we are feared! » explained Drogone.
«And the guard varies? Which side of Emperor Michael’s personal spaulders will they be on? » Geuffroi asked.
«Harald Hardrada and his men are not very different from us and from the reasons that drive us to war. And I don't say it just because we share the same birthplace in the northern wastes, I say it because I heard them talking. God punish me if I'm wrong! If Harald feels his compensation threatened, Maniakes will have to deal with them too. » William said.
«What should we do then? » Geuffroi asked confused.
«Nothing for the moment. Maniakes will already be aware of this improvised assembly of ours - his informants are everywhere among the army, and among ours - and he will certainly be evaluating the worst-case scenario, namely the boycott of this war by all auxiliary contingents. We wait carefully for what happens. Let's wait to see Arduin's reaction. However, we cannot risk being taken aback by that Greek fox ... therefore, brothers, do not take off your armour and always remain united among yourselves. Forget about the wine for this night, and only those who stagger more sober than drunk attack against it. Don't find out about your clothes for going to women. Sleep in shifts and stay up to date with my provisions. » Willhelm expounded his directives, but as he spoke to them it seemed almost a piece of advice given among friends.
Then he went on and said:
«This night will be a long night, but we will not violate the rules of engagement until we are assured of the same respect on the other side. Some of us in Rome have already fought them in the past ... they know what I'm talking about when I say that nothing should be taken for granted, in peace as in war. Everyone to his tent, brothers, but don't sleep deeply! »
The improvised assembly, as defined by Willhelm, broke up after his words. It would have been a long night, one of those that brings decisions, one of those sleepless ones for warriors always ready for everyone. Each grabbed his war weapon and placed it next to his pillow, in addition to the usual dagger hidden in his clothes.
In all this, Conrad seemed to be the most worried, and not because a weapon did not yet possess it, and not even because at his young age everything seems bigger and scarier, rather because he was afraid of having to leave without being able to say goodbye for the last time to his father.
Chapter 13
Winter 1060 (452 from the HHegira), inside the walls of Qasr Yanna
Only a day and night had passed since Mohammed ibn al-Thumna had ravaged Rabaḍ and kidnapped Nadira. Ali ibn al-Ḥawwās' messengers had come down from the mountain to verify the nature of those fires sighted during the dark night, but they had been of no use; nor would the ten Qā'id men who left immediately after the search for Nadira and her kidnappers.
Buried those poor twelve killed by the sword of the cutthroats of the Qā'id of Catania, especially men on lookout and guard, the whole population began to pack their bags in the grip of general psychosis. A long procession of men, women and children, but also of beasts and carts pulled by hand or with mules, went up to the walls of Qasr Yanna, where they could have found the protection that Rabaḍ had lacked. Once they reached beyond the walls, they began to settle where they could best: whoever had a relative asked him for asylum at home, whoever had nobody settled on the edge of the houses, building makeshift shelters. Pure Alfeo followed the mass and preferred to leave the hoe to find refuge in Qasr Yanna.
Corrado, debilitated and not fully recovered, faced the aftermath of fever. Now, persuaded by Apollonia, he had shelved his desire for revenge to prioritize everything there was to do for the new arrangement. Alfeo and his sons, like skilled Bedouins, set up tents next to the vegetable gardens cultivated within the walls and opposite one of the famous gardens of Qasr Yanna. It was here that Corrado received a visit in the afternoon.
Umar came forward all over and over, and when he approached the tent of the Christians of Rabaḍ he demolished part of it to access it without worrying about asking for permission.
«Corrado, come out! » scream.
The other was intent on lighting the fire, while the family surrounded him waiting to finally warm his frozen hands.
Corrado looked up, looked at him and calmly replied:
«I’ll come out when I end to light on the fire. »
«Come out ... now! » Umar again ordered, this time holding his head where he had been hit two days earlier.
«Wait for me at the gardens. »
Umar therefore left furiously.
«What does he want from us now? » Caterina asked all in anxiety.
«That's when I told you that with your gesture you destroyed our serenity. » said Alfeo.
«Evidently the fact that Michele saved his life was not enough for such a beast! » Corrado answered.
«Moderate your voice and show yourself submissive! » Alfeo said.
However, Corrado grabbed the knife with which his mother was peeling a bitter orange from the lower valleys, slipped it into the belt of his trousers and came out, freeing himself from Apollonia, who worriedly held him by the arm.
«Stay here! » he ordered the whole family before going out.
Umar was waiting for her standing near an almond tree, while behind, about ten paces away, the rest of her family stood.
«Wasn't it enough that my brother saved your life? What else do you want from me?»
«Michele has paid for your past wrongs, but his gesture cannot repay your today. »
«And what did those two days of letting me die hanging on a pole pay off? »
«That only served to make you understand where unfaithful pigs like you should be!»
Corrado had the instinct to put his hand on his belt, but as soon as he felt the handle under his fingers he gave up.
«Tell me why you looked for me. »
«Some Salim's men took my sister away. »
«Everyone knows it, Umar. Think ... just you who are so jealous of Nadira, you made her blow from under your nose ... just you who allowed him to let only his eyes see ... That jumped into your mind when you welcomed that criminal into the house? Did you think you were going to show Nadira with a stranger without having consequences? Even I would hide my sister from the eyes of a stranger. Put the prey in front of the wolf's mouth and then you complain that this if you take away? Umar ... Umar ... big and stupid Umar! »
Umar pulled out the scimitar he was hanging on his belt and was there to respond to the provocation.
«Do it, Umar ... do it! And then you will ask the foxes who wandered around Rabaḍ the other night what that man said to me. Because I'm sure that's why you're looking for me today. »
Umar sheathed his weapon and replied:
«Since you already know, why didn't you come and tell me yesterday? »
«I thought your Qā'id had already told you what you want to know. Or I must believe that he didn't even receive you ... »
«I have spoken to the Qā'id and will do everything to bring Nadira home. He will pay the ransom and then chase the men who dared to face him! »
«Did he say that to you? Did he talk to you about ransom? » Corrado asked puzzled.
«What I discussed with the Qā'id is none of your business. Just tell me what that damned Salim told you. »
«I don't owe anything to you ... you know. »
«You owe me your life, since if you still breathe it is thanks to my pity. »
«To tell you what I know I want something in return. »
Umar, impatient, put his hand back to the scimitar, however Corrado grabbed the handle together with the first, preventing him from intervening. Umar then brought his other hand to Corrado's throat and tried to throttle him, except to let go when he noticed the knife pressing on his abdomen.
«I'd kill you, Umar ... but I don't want to bring ruin to my father's house. »
Jala, who had watched the whole scene, ran forward.
«No, Umar, not like that!"
Corrado hid the knife again and Umar took two steps back, aware that we had missed very little.
«Let me speak to the Christian alone. » Jala asked.
«Are you crazy? »
«Please, Umar. Corrado will not refuse to listen to a mother's word. »
«He's armed! »
But Corrado intervened:
«And do you think it can hurt your mother? Had I been called Umar, or by the name of one of your henchmen, perhaps I could even have hit a woman; Apollonia still bears bruises! »
«Umar, please go near your wife. »
Then the debt collector of the Qā'id left and, albeit with disappointment, left his mother alone.
«Boy, I'm sorry for your sister ... I know very well that a coward thought it well to beat her up. Umar has nothing to do with it though ... it wasn't him. And then, you can still see your sister's bruises ... we had had a girl beaten to take care of! »
«I'm sorry for your daughter. »
«People are beginning to say that the dead people here in Rabad are the consequence of Nadira's eyes, and that the oddity of those unusual eyes bore fruit the other night; that Sheitan58 has tied to the eyes of Nadira the craving that leads to hell! Now they all look at us with distrust. »
«What are you worried about? We have always lived in the mistrust of people. »
«Corrado, please! I saw you with my own eyes as that stranger spoke to you before disappearing into the night. »
Corrado would not have refused that truth to a desperate mother, however, aware that his family had always been socially penalized, he thought it well to ask for something in return.
«Where did you settle down? »
«The Qā'id allowed us to settle in a small furnished house. Why do you ask me that?»
«For what I will tell you: I want my family to find accommodation in a house like yours. The night will be cold, and we don't have enough wood and blankets to warm us up. »
«What you ask me is impossible. What does belong to us within these walls that let us to give someone such a thing? »
«For sure where the Qā'id has welcomed you, you will have enough space. »
«The law of the Prophet forbids sharing the same roof with the dhimmi for more than three days. »
«Let’s do it for three days then ... then you will ask al Qā'id, your future son-in-law, to find another place to stay. »
«Would the stables fit? » Jala asked, however intending whether such an arrangement would be appropriate for Christians.
«If your law says nothing about sharing the same roof with mules, stables are fine too. »
Jala was speechless and became aware that Corrado's arrogance had no limits.
«Do you want to humiliate us? Why? Isn't what you did to me enough? »
The woman now had tears in her eyes.
Corrado was struck by a strange shame in seeing those tears and hearing those words. He turned, staring away, away from Jala's face.
«I didn't do anything to you. » he answered, still looking away, towards a group of children intent on playing chasing a hen.
«I know that you were there ... and you also know that I saw you. We crossed our eyes; don't lie to me about this! Ever since I saw you at Rabaḍ, a year after that first time, I yearned for you to die. If I had told what had happened, I am sure that my wishes would have been fulfilled; but what would become of Nadira and her serenity? And then you were Umar's age and thinking of evil about a ten-year-old boy made me feel ashamed before Allah more than the shame of meeting your face on the street. I hated you with all my soul, Corrado! And I can't help but hate you today ... You represent my shame!»
«It is Nadira's eyes that you are referring to, and I am sure that suspicion about that strange color has come to everyone at Rabaḍ. »
«But your blood represents the nature of that shame ... I never cared about suspicions»
Now Corrado found the courage to look at her face, realizing that she was crying and trembling.
«Jala, my Lady, listen to me! Your shame is as if I had brought it in these long years. Maybe being separated from my people, getting lost in these mountains, is the penalty I pay for this evil. »
«Tell me what I want to know, son, and let's not talk about it anymore ... But don't ask me about blackmail and absurd requests, since I just have to ask you on my knees and I'm sure Umar wouldn't like it. I will do what I can to help your family, but don't ask me as a ransom for the words you hold prisoner. »
«Right now, I see before my eyes the good part of Nadira, the pure and innocent part of every evil. Well, I tell you everything, but I ask you to trust me, because what I'm about to tell you may seem absurd. »
«You certainly know what happened to my daughter! » she exclaimed, grabbing Corrado's arm on impulse.
«The Qā'id lied to you: no one will ask for ransom for Nadira. »
«Why would they kidnap her then? They know it is the promise of Ali ibn al-Ḥawwās and they think they are well earning it. »
«He knows very well who and why he kidnapped her ... and he also knows how to free her. »
«And why would he lie to us? »
«Because it will never satisfy the other's request; he can't because it would mean betraying his own blood. »
Jala began to sob and shook Corrado by the shoulders.
«Please; what did they tell you? »
«Whoever kidnapped her, who you insist on calling Salim, is none other than Mohammed ibn al-Thumna, Qā'id of Catania and Syracuse, and will release Nadira only if ibn al-Ḥawwās will give him back his wife. I was left alive to bring back the word to the Qā'id, yet he knows everything well, and he knows it because ibn al-Thumna came down from Qasr Yanna that evening, where his brother-in-law had disregarded his requests regarding making him his wife. »
Jala knew the matter very well, Maimuna herself had told him about it. By witnessing the woman's determination not to return to her husband, even with the risk of never seeing her children again, Jala raised a high cry of despair.
Corrado had exhausted the purpose of that conversation, so he went back to his tent. Meanwhile, the typical fog that often envelops the mountain of Qasr Yanna was falling, hiding the tears of the present and the unspeakable memories of the past.
Chapter 14
Late summer 1040 (431 from the Hegira), lands of central Sicily
A flock cannot be kept together if the shepherd beats his sheep ... what is hit ends up being dispersed. And so, while Willhelm de Hauteville summoned the leaders of his men to discuss what to do, George Maniakes took part in outrages beyond the acceptable against his subordinates. His military genius was undisputed, but his human side left something to be desired. And on the other hand, man always comes out, even when myth and fame tend to cover reality with their aura of heroism and legend. Maniakes was acclaimed by the Christian people because he was waiting for him as a liberator and by the soldier because he feared him, but the truth is that he was a little good. And so, after having incarnated Arduino the Lombard, Maniakes had taken the longest step of the leg and had attacked Stephan the Calafato, also accusing him of treason. However, Maniakes could do little against the incompetent admiral, brother-in-law of the Emperor and apparently supported by Empress Zoe, the one who really commanded the Eastern Empire.
Arduino had been wise in his choices, peacefully releasing himself from his obligations towards Maniakes, albeit with the aim of making him pay later; Normans and Varangians, as we could imagine, had followed him.
Stephan, on the other hand, strong in his important support, had denounced the fact and accused Maniakes of wanting to take the whole of Sicily for himself. The Strategos had been arrested and translated to Constantinople, but not before having stolen the relics of Sant'Agata and having sent them as booty to the city he served, in an attempt to prove that Stephan's accusations were false and that no wealth could be gained. take the place of his loyalty to the emperor. A joke that the people of Catania would never have forgiven in Constantinople.
From that moment the land operations had passed right into Stephan's hands and from this it can be understood why the campaign against the Moors of Sicily had started to fail irreparably. First and foremost, Stephan had decided to wage battle against the traitor contingents of the auxiliary troops, since he presumptuously believed he succeeded in what Maniakes had also avoided ... and in the clash he had found death there.
With the regular army of the Roman provinces of southern Italy still in Sicily, disoriented and defeated, Longobards and Normans had then decided to counterattack the Empire in Calabria and Puglia, taking the new enemy in counter-time.
It was in those days, before finally crossing the Strait, that William's men, to steal as much as possible to make personal loot, wanted to prey far and wide the villages of Sicily. They split into bands of twenty and thirty, so each went to where he believed he could conquer treasures with relative ease, making no distinction between Muslims and Christians when the bite was worth it.
Tancred proposed attacking the barren Saracen villages located just east of Qasr Yanna. With Abd-Allah's army decimated, with the surprise effect and with the intent to strike lightning and then flee east, so much so that they lacked the heavy armor, Roul, Tancred, Geuffroi, the young Conrad and another thirty warriors headed for the navel of Sicily.
Conrad had never stopped urging Roul to teach war, obtaining from them the hard training that only a skilled Norman warrior could give. But what Roul had struck most was the boy's heart, inflaming him with hatred for the enemy. Conrad now wanted more than ever to avenge his father and was willing to do it with whoever was in front of him. In the previous weeks, he had applied for a license from his teacher every time he found himself facing a Saracen, however Roul had continually repeated that anger should be preserved only for the battle and that it was stupid not to know how to keep the discipline in civilian clothes.
Now they were lying on the ridge of an earthy hill peering over. It was afternoon and the low sun was beginning to annoy the eyes. A village was located right on the slopes of the Qasr Yanna mountain. A stream descended to the side of the plateau on which it was built, and some water wheels hoisted the water to bring it to the channels of the upper lands. Dozens of vegetable plots surrounded the village in every direction. The land reserved for wheat began to move away, thousands of hectares that were lost on the horizon. The soldiers of the Norman company now had the cereal fields behind them and the vegetable gardens in front.
«With the sun straight in our faces, they'll take a moment to notice us as soon as we get off the hill.» Tancred pointed out.
«Look up there!» Roul invited, pointing to Qasr Yanna on top of the mountain.
«It won't take long for the sun to disappear behind the mountain ridge. We attack when the view becomes difficult for their sentries. » business suit.
«I doubt that handful of peasants have sentries.» said his Geuffroi.
«Because they have nothing to defend ...» added another.
«No, friend, because they feel safe. They will keep gold in their church ... in that mosque down there. » explained Roul.
«At sunset the men from the countryside will return ... we must hit them first!» proposed Tancred.
«You won't be afraid of pitchforks ...» Roul joked.
«I will cover your shoulders.» Conrad began speaking to the ear of the largest and largest.
Roul laughed and everyone else did the same.
«Brat, you stay here watching the beasts!»
Conrad stared back at the horses at the foot of the hill.
«I've been asking you for permission to avenge my father for weeks.»
«When your chance comes, there will be no need for my assent. Maybe someone will try to steal the horses and you will have to defend them.»
«All alone?»
Roul laughed with more impetus than before.
«Do you do it to stay here and watch the horses and would you like to prey on a village?»
Conrad came out bitter with himself and humiliated by the laughter of his foster.
«Brothers, the sun eclipses; to arms!»
They began to go down the slope that overlooked the village, silently and quickly. Conrad soon found himself alone, in the silence of the moments that anticipate the sunset. Unpredictably, after a few minutes, the song of the muezzin rose high across the valley. Roul and his companions stopped instantly, hiding near a rock formation; they left immediately afterwards with the intention of hitting those people during prayer, when the inhabitants would bow their heads and the men returning from the countryside would stop along the way back. They therefore resumed their journey when the muezzin was not yet finished.
Conrad followed Roul's shoulders with his gaze, the one who was most visible, and he was eating his nails convulsively, taken by the impatience due to that unnerving wait.
A howl echoed through the hills to the east; a wolf sang to the moon which slowly appeared in the sky. Conrad did not think twice, threw himself at breakneck speed for the descent, towards the valley and the plateau in front. He kept his sword drawn with his hands raised in front of him, since if he had kept it in the sheath, the point would have touched the ground.
Even before reaching the village entrance, he heard the first screams of women; he knew he would find his father's friends by following their provenance. Once in the narrow streets of that village, the general escape of dozens of terrified women who sought refuge inside the house plunged into the escape. He saw Geuffroi kick through a door and pull out a toothless old man. He started running aimlessly again, confident that he would meet Roul. He came across some corpses of men, certainly peasants who stood between the attackers and their women. Conrad was there to support that battle, but despite meeting several fleeing Saracens, he did not have the courage to face them. He was convinced that he would do it only after finding Roul.
From a window the screams of a girl hung over everything else; he was terrified by those screams. Near the mosque he saw some tearful girls, with their hair uncovered and bared elsewhere. Tancred next door had earrings, bracelets, anklets and necklaces delivered. Conrad had already seen women in that state, loaded like beasts on wagons heading for the markets, and so, when he realized that they tied their wrists, he imagined that Tancred and his cronies were going to take them away prisoners. Meanwhile, smoke began to rise from the roof of the mosque, while a man inside the courtyard was cold-throated and thrown prone in the source of the ablutions.
Finally, the narrow streets opened into a large open space, delimited by a small wall at the entrance and by a large house that occupied the scenery at the bottom. The house had been plundered and a soldier came out carrying a sort of bundle on his shoulder, which rang with metallic stuff at every step. Another carried a large amount of modest fabrics and clothes on his arms. Each then threw his contribution into a cart that stopped at the entrance.
Finally, Conrad saw Roul walk around the back of the house.
«Roul! » he called aloud.
However Hard Punch had already disappeared from his view.
When he turned the corner, Conrad realized that the stable door was ajar, so, not seeing Roul, he imagined that he had entered.
«I knew you got in here! » Roul said to someone, but Conrad still hadn't seen him.
Silently he approached some boards set aside in a corner and, curled up between the legs of a mule, he began to observe, curious to see how Roul waged war.
A young woman huddled in the opposite corner of the room trembling.
«Where's the gold? » Roul asked.
But she only knew how to hold on to the stones of the drywall of the stable as she was terrified, besides the fact that she did not understand the language of the attackers. Meanwhile, Conrad's eyes got used to the increasing darkness of the sunset, enhancing the light that penetrated the attic.
«Where do you keep the money? » Roul reiterated his request, this time hitting her with a slap of such magnitude that he made her flew on a haystack nearby.
«Do you understand what I'm saying? »
Backing up on that pile of hay, the woman stammered something incomprehensible, certainly words in her language.
So Roul asked nothing more, and as soon as she turned to flee, he grabbed her by the arm and then by the hips. Conrad instinctively closed his eyes when he saw Roul let his strength prevail over that poor woman, whose stature barely reached the stomach of her attacker. He put a hand in front of his face at the sight of the woman's bare thighs and hips. He opened his mouth wide to hear those screams of such a strange nature. And he was happy not to hear her anymore when Roul violently thrust a handful of hay into her mouth to silence her, holding it tightly with his hand so as she couldn’t spit it out.
Once, Conrad, at the age of six, on a meadow near Benevento, had seen a poor crippled mare suffer the mounting of a stallion in heat. He had been troubled by that poor mare unable to counter the harassment of the fittest. Now she felt pain and upset for that woman, from whose grumbling look like the one of strange beast during the torture of the slaughterhouse.
After a few minutes the woman seemed to resign herself to the arrogance of her attacker, then leaned her head on one side, towards Conrad. It was then that the boy saw her face. The woman was beautiful, with arabesque features and beautiful eyes. He saw her sharpen the view from this side; between the mule's legs it seemed to stare at him. He was sure of it, had noticed him. That glance travelled the space that separated her from Conrad ... that glance intersected two destinies between them, two lives in a fatal way.
Meanwhile, Roul finished the matter and put himself back on its feet. Conrad, who previously sought Roul, now feared to be seen, full of shame for having violated with his presence the privacy of such a nefarious act. In addition, the woman was panting in her direction, one more reason to induce him to hide from her sight. And so, while Roul was leaving, Conrad slipped behind some wooden planks leaning against the wall.
«The terraces of Qasr Yanna attack us! » someone yelled out there; it sounded like Tancred's voice.
A great racket enveloped the entire village, voices mixing in an indistinguishable sound. The woman then had to understand something of those voices, since she got up and, running out, shouted:
«Fuad! »
Conrad curled up in a shaky corner. This time the battle out there was real: scrap metal noise, screams and a great beat of running men. Now the voices that came from the other side of the barn walls spoke Arabic, exclusively Arabic.
Imagining that Roul was about to leave, Conrad came out of his refuge, went to the door and peered out. There were many of them, and they were dressed in the wide oriental clothes of the Muslims. Many, weapons in hand, continued towards the valley, certainly in pursuit of the attackers; others remained in the courtyard in front of the large house.
Conrad returned to take refuge in the boards in the hope that the darkness that was advancing would hide him. He feared that woman, since she had seen him, but he was sure that Roul, realizing his absence, would come back to look for him later. However, he did not understand that the intervention of those who had crushed the Norman people from the village made any rescue operation impossible. Besides, Roul should have known where to look for him first. Conrad was a kid, and kids often believe that adults can solve everything ... Conrad would become an adult in one night, having slammed a reality made of limits and disappointments in his face.
More than an hour later, someone entered the stable holding a torch. Conrad heard a conversation; there had to be at least two. He heard one approach, while the other was hanging around in the next compartment. It was clear that they were looking for someone, so the boy pointed his sword towards the opening of his lair, fearing that the woman had spoken. The torch fire was getting closer; Conrad seemed to feel the heat. The face of a man appeared between the boards ... therefore the eyes of the two met for the first time. A few seconds remained motionless, one with an outstretched sword, the other bent over his knees. Conrad was convinced that he would end up killed, or he would be captured to become someone's slave.
Finally, that man put away his scimitar and left. Conrad heaved a sigh of relief; but was it possible that he hadn't seen it?
Now he would try to escape in the middle of the night, when he would no longer hear voices. He then waited several hours in the dark and with only the mule's braying company. Then, when he decided to set foot outside, a force more important than his pushed him back inside. The sword fell from his hands, while the man who had first met his eyes closed his mouth and pushed him against the wall. Conrad wiggled like a madman, bit his hand and scratched him in the face, before the other immobilized him by pulling two well-placed uprights. The guy was a little taller than he was, but he was relying on his physical strength as an adult. So, while Conrad was on the ground, landed by the last punch, the other one threw a burnus at him and indicated that he should wear it including his hood. It was then that Conrad saw in that face the compassion of a man who had become aware of a situation that had become greater than his young enemy. Conrad put on his cloak and, after that put a hand on his shoulder, he came out of the stable. They walked through the streets of the village with their faces down, moving in the darkest corners and without being recognized.
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