Crusade (19 page)

I stood, open-mouthed in amazement at what I had just heard. Roger of Sicily was everything that had been said about him and more.

‘Think about my offer, talk to your people. I will return to my escort in the valley and come back tomorrow for your answer.’

‘Very well, you will have my answer tomorrow.’

The Emir immediately called his senior knights, household and imams together to discuss the Count’s offer.

Before they gathered, he asked me for my opinion.

‘There is no doubting his sincerity. Edwin led him to
your camp only because he chose to come alone. That is the act of a man of great resolve. Roger’s reputation for decency and tolerance is well known, and what we saw in Palermo confirms everything he said. The place is alive with the bustle of commerce and its people are a rich medley of colours, creeds and tongues.’

‘That is how it was under Muslim rule.’

‘Then you will be relieved to know that nothing has changed.’

That evening, the four of us had dinner alone, but within earshot of the long and heated debate in the Emir’s tent.

I took the opportunity to talk to Sweyn and Adela about their decision to join the Emir’s order of knights.

‘Before the Count’s remarkable appearance, I had doubted the wisdom of your decision to join the order of knights. I thought it might cause us problems with our Norman hosts. Now, I don’t suppose it matters. In fact, it may stand us in good stead. Edwin, perhaps you and I should join too?’

‘Why not? They have good discipline and fine principles –’

‘As does Count Roger.’ Adela did not offer praise too readily, especially of Normans. ‘That was one of the most audacious things I have ever witnessed. Hereward was right about him, he is remarkable. When he returns tomorrow, I want to meet him.’

‘So do I.’ Sweyn was also fulsome in his praise. ‘Any man who can do what Count Roger did here today is worthy of anyone’s respect. It’s a shame there aren’t more Normans like him.’

The debate lasted late into the night, but eventually those of the Emir’s retinue who wanted to submit to Count Roger and return to their homes in Calatafimi held sway.

Some of the younger knights refused to accept the decision, and Ibn Hamed gave them permission to leave to join their Muslim brothers in the hilltop fortress at Enna.

When Count Roger arrived, far earlier than expected, his demeanour was considerably less calm than it had been the previous day.

‘Ibn Hamed, Emir of Calatafimi, you and your people are welcome in this new Sicily, a land where all can live in peace and share in a new prosperity. When I return to Palermo, I will send masons, carpenters and blacksmiths to help you rebuild Calatafimi. But now you must forgive me, for I must make haste. I have just received news that a large Byzantine fleet is anchored off the coast at Mazara and that several themes have already disembarked.’

‘Go, Count Roger, you must organize your forces.’

Count Roger’s news was alarming, but it offered us an ideal opportunity to make a mark with the Norman lord of Sicily. I did not hesitate in seizing it.

‘My Lord, Emir, with your permission, we would like to join Count Roger in meeting the Byzantines.’

‘Of course. We will join him also. We have no love of Byzantines either, and if we are to accept the Count as our sovereign Lord here in Sicily then we must fight at his side.’

Count Roger was grateful for the support.

‘Thank you. When this is done, you will all be my guests in Palermo, where you can meet the other lords and emirs
of my new Sicily. And now, my Lord Emir, I must hurry.’

As Roger rode off at a gallop, I turned to Ibn Hamed.

‘It will have cost Count Roger several hours to return here this morning. He could have sent one of his knights to get your answer, but he must have wanted to show you how sincere he is.’

‘I know, and I think we have made the right decision. I like the sound of this new Sicily. But we must hurry – Byzantine themes can be formidable, and the Count is going to need our help.’

The Emir gave instructions to his stewards to break camp, and for the community to return to Calatafimi to begin its new life. Within the hour, he was leading us down to the valley and the road to Mazara.

His men were a mixed bunch. The elite Faris were freemen and led small squadrons of Mamluks, who had begun life as slaves but had trained as professional soldiers. Most were Arabs, with their ancestral roots in Egypt, but there were also small numbers of Berbers, Kurds, Turks and Christian Armenians among their ranks.

The Turks and Kurds came from families with military traditions going back many generations, while the Armenians, highly adept cavalrymen, chose to live in a Muslim community because their belief that Christ had only divine form, not a parallel human form, made them heretics to both Roman and Orthodox Christians.

The Emir also had Nubian servants, both male and female – very tall, dark people from beyond the great southern desert – and a Bedouin personal bodyguard, a fierce-looking man who rarely spoke and whose people lived in the deserts of Arabia.

The four of us, English knights many miles from home and about to join forces with a Norman lord against a Byzantine army, added a little northern flavour to the Emir’s exotic blend of warriors. We numbered only a few more than fifty, but all were professional soldiers of the highest calibre – men who would be very welcome among the Count’s army.

And there was Adela, of course, now so easily included as one of the ‘men’. I watched her and Sweyn riding together, both bright-eyed and eager for the battle to come. There seemed to be no obvious way to resolve their respective dilemmas – patience seemed to be the only answer. Perhaps time and future circumstances would heal their wounds or offer a solution.

14. Battle of Mazara

By the time we reached the Bay of Mazara, Count Roger’s army had already launched its attack on the Byzantines. It was a chaotic scene. Although it was late September, it was still hot and dry and great clouds of dust billowed in the wake of horses, men and supply carts moving rapidly across the battlefield.

Not even the air out to sea was clear. The Byzantine triremes were belching volley after volley of burning cauldrons. Only later did I hear that it was called ‘Greek fire’ – a lethal weapon, the ingredients of which were a closely guarded secret, known only to the Emperor and his senior commanders.

Thick smoke made the whole sky above the ships as black as Hades. Where the cauldrons landed, infernos of flaming pitch raged. Men and horses were hurled into the air or knocked down like skittles, covered in burning pitch, destined to meet a grisly fate consumed by fire.

Ibn Hamed directed us to the centre of the action.

‘Quickly, more and more are coming ashore. There are Thracian and Macedonian themes and, over there, Greeks – this is the elite of the Byzantine army.’

We soon reached Count Roger at his command post on a promontory just back from the bay. He lost no time in delivering his battle strategy.

‘It is good to see you and your men. We have a few
problems; if we let too many more get ashore, we’ll be overrun. My archers are trying to stop any more ships from coming in, and my cavalry are driving a wedge into their beachhead, but they must have five hundred men ashore already. I need you to support the cavalry, try to split their force in two, and then aim to cut off their retreat to the sea.’

We rode down into the fray and were soon in the midst of vicious hand-to-hand fighting. The sheer weight of numbers and the mass of bodies, both living and dead, made progress slow. I looked over to check on my comrades – all were flailing and hacking in a sea of carnage, benefitting from their hours of training. With her helmet down, Adela looked no different to anybody else and was holding her own. Edwin and Sweyn were close to her, each watching her flank, while Sweyn was easily distinguished by the speed of his blade and agility in the saddle.

Ibn Hamed called him over.

‘Look, to the left, the two ships making for shore – the Varangian Guard, the Emperor’s personal guard – there must be two hundred of them. Ride to the Count, tell him to direct his archers at them; they mustn’t be allowed to come ashore.’

With Adela and Edwin in his wake, Sweyn rode like the wind to deliver his message, while Ibn Hamed and I protected our position. I was shocked by what I saw as the ships carrying the Varangian Guard drew closer.

‘They look like Englishmen! They’re carrying shields and axes like housecarls!’

‘Many of them are. Norse, Danes, Balts, English; they are highly paid mercenaries, the best infantry you’ll ever
see. The one at the prow of the first ship, giving orders in the scarlet cloak, that’s the Captain of the Guard, the finest soldier in your world and mine.’

He looked English too. I could see long blond hair trailing beneath his helmet, and the distinctive decorated circular shield of a housecarl. Then he fell backwards, struck by an arrow which pierced his hauberk at the top of his shoulder, and then by another which hit him in the chest.

‘That is a piece of very good fortune. The Captain of the Varangians leads the army unless the Emperor is present. We have just killed their general.’

Ibn Hamed was smiling broadly. Arrows were now falling on the Varangians like hailstones and the order was issued for sails to be unfurled and for the oarsmen to row the Byzantine ships away. As soon as the men on the beaches saw their fleet turn seawards, there was panic and a mass retreat towards the ships. Roger immediately ordered his own cavalry squadrons and all his reserves to attack.

The Norman destriers flowed into the bay like a tidal bore. It was a mass slaughter. The Byzantines had no defence and a stark choice: stand and fight in a hopeless final redoubt, or discard their weapons and armour and try to swim to the ships.

Most chose the latter option. Many were drowned, and the rest were killed by the arrows and quarrels from the unremitting onslaught unleashed by the Norman archers and bowmen.

Those who chose to stand their ground fared little better. Initially, the separate themes formed their own redoubts,
the Macedonians distinctive with their black-plumed helmets, the Thracians in their blue tunics and the Greeks wielding small, highly decorated shields. But soon, as numbers diminished rapidly, the three redoubts became one.

After about an hour, with Byzantine numbers reduced to under a hundred, Count Roger ordered his men to cease the attack. He then stood high in his stirrups and spoke to his foes in fluent Greek.

‘I offer you quarter. Lay down your weapons, and you will not be harmed or enslaved. You are brave men, the most noble of a great army; you are free to find passage to your homes or to stay here in Sicily and make new lives. All are welcome here: Muslims, Christians, Jews. Our taxes are fair and our people are happy. You are even free to join my own army – we will gladly have you, if you will swear your allegiance to Sicily. It is your choice.’

In the many battles these men had fought, such generous terms were rare – especially the offer to continue their lives as professional soldiers. There was a little muttering in the Byzantine ranks, but it did not take long for swords and shields to be thrown on to the ground to the sound of widespread cheering from Count Roger’s forces.

The Count ordered that the Byzantines be fed and quartered and rode among them to greet as many as he could. The effect he had on them was charismatic, and many rushed forward to kneel before him and kiss his ring. I reflected that we had been very fortunate so far in Sicily; we had met two remarkable men and found a haven of just and benign rule.

The Count soon made his way over to us.

‘Ibn Hamed, I owe you a great debt. Your eagle eye in
spotting the Varangians and alerting me turned the battle.’

‘My Lord Count, it is your archers you should thank. Hitting their Captain, probably killing the most important warrior in the empire, won the day for you. Their accuracy and speed of shot is a credit to your training and discipline.’

‘Thank you, it is good to have the Emir of Calatafimi at my side; long may it last. Tonight we will celebrate our victory and toast our future together. I will tap a butt of the finest Sicilian wine and, for you, I will prepare a deliciously sweet punch made from my own orchards in Palermo. But first, I want to meet the English knights who carried the vital message. Prince Edgar, will you oblige?’

‘I will be delighted. Edwin of Glastonbury you have already met, one of England’s most senior knights. This is Sweyn of Bourne and his wife, who is also a knight in her own right, Adela of Bourne.’

‘Edwin told me a good deal about you as we rode to Ibn Hamed’s camp together, but I want to hear much more – especially about Hereward Great Axe, as he was known to me.’

Adela responded to the Count’s invitation.

‘Then we can exchange stories, my Lord. We are keen to learn about Hereward’s time with you in Melfi and your early campaigns here in Sicily.’

Roger looked at Adela, almost in awe.

‘Agreed – and you can also tell me more about you and Sweyn. You have my greatest respect to have become a Knight of Islam. Perhaps, one day, the Christian orders of knighthood will accept women into their ranks.’

‘Only if we deserve it, my Lord; we do not crave charity.’

‘Nor should you, Adela. I believe all people should make progress by merit. It has been the story of my family; my father was the modest lord of a small estate in Normandy, now we rule the whole of Italy south of the Tiber.’

Sweyn then spoke to the Count. ‘My Lord, Hereward taught us that if a man or woman has suitable merit, there should be no limit to what they can achieve. That is why Adela and I follow the Mos Militum, a code that stresses talent above privilege and honour beyond self-interest.’

‘I like the new code; I encourage it among my knights and follow it myself. Chivalry is the measure of a man. When we celebrate our victory, we will sing the songs of the troubadours about the love between a knight and his lady … in your case, of course, between a knight and a fellow knight.’