Ironhand

by Hilary Green

  'Do as he says.'

  Metal rang on metal as the man obeyed and Ranulph scrambled to his feet. 'Now free the rest.'

  'Free them all?' The man stared at him.

  'All of them. I will not take this galley into battle with men chained to their benches, so they have no chance of survival if we sink. Do it! The enemy will be upon us in moments.'

  The man looked at his captain but it was clear that he was too far gone to speak, so he turned and began to carry out the order. Ranulph leapt up onto the aftcastle and heaved the lifeless body of the steersman overboard, then seized the steering oar and brought the ship's head round into the wind.

  'Row, my friends! Now we live or die free men! You!' (To the galley master.) 'Take my oar and pull with all your strength, if you value your life.'

  The drummer took up the beat again and the galley skimmed forward. The gap between the two forces was closing rapidly. The Norman ships came on in a crescent-shaped formation, aiming to outflank the smaller Arab fleet and encircle it. Their galleys were larger and heavier, their rails lined with men in chain mail. Archers in the bows kept up a steady rain of arrows, forcing the Arab marines to crouch beneath the shields they held above their heads. Ranulph could hear the clash of metal as battle was joined on either side. They were heading straight for the enemy ship in the centre of the line and it seemed they must ram it head on; but at the last moment he threw his weight on the steering oar and yelled, 'Starboard rowers, ship your oars!'

  Well-trained, the men on the starboard side pulled in their oars and the Arab galley ran alongside the Norman ship, splintering the opposing oars with the sharp beak on her prow. Now it was hand-to-hand fighting as the men of each ship tried to board the other. Scimitars and swords struck sparks as they clashed together and the air was filled with the clang of metal and the shouts and screams of the men. The Normans were more numerous and better armed, and they fought with a ferocity that forced their opponents back.

  Ranulph let go of the oar and grabbed the sword the captain had let fall. Leaping up onto the gunwale he came face to face with a young knight. All day the sky had been obscured by low cloud but at that instant the sun broke through and a shaft of light caught the knight's shield, which was emblazoned with the cross, and struck fire from his upraised sword. Ranulph had raised his sword to strike a blow that would have sheared off the young man's arm. Suddenly he froze, as if bewitched. Seeing his enemy falter, the knight lunged forward, but as he did so the two galleys freed themselves and began to drift apart. His feet slipped on the wet rail and he lost his balance and fell headlong into the sea between the vessels. Briefly his head broke the surface and his arms thrashed desperately in a struggle to regain his ship but, weighed down by his armour, he sank quickly out of sight.

  For a moment Ranulph remained paralysed. Then he threw aside his weapon and dived in.

  Count Roger de Hauteville, ruler of Sicily, regarded the young man who stood before him curiously. With his long, blonde hair hanging matted on his bare shoulders and his tangled beard he looked every inch a barbarian, yet his French was faultless and there was a look in the blue eyes that said he was used to command. He had been given a pair of drawers to cover his nakedness, but his back bore the marks of the lash and his ribs showed through the skin of his chest. His hands were bound in front of him but his gaze was steady and defiant.

  'You intrigue me,' Roger said. 'Who are you?'

  'I have been given many names. Men call me main-de-fer, ironhand. But some have called me main d'or.'

  'Hand of gold? A curious name for a galley-slave. How did you come by it?'

  'You choose to insult me by calling me slave. But you know as well as I do that the condition in which you found me is a result of misfortune, a fate that can befall any man. I am a merchant. For several years I have traded between Italy and the Levant and my efforts have been blessed with some success. It was said of me that everything I touched turned to gold.'

  Roger bent his head slightly. 'Your rebuke is justified. So how does a prosperous merchant come to be chained to an oar in a Maltese galley?'

  'More than a year ago my ship was boarded by a Barbary corsair. My men were killed, but I was taken captive and sold to the Emir as a slave.'

  'Very well. So far your story makes sense. But now comes the difficulty. Somehow you persuade your captors to free you but then, instead of diving overboard and swimming to a ship that would undoubtedly give you refuge, you take command and ram your galley into mine. In short you take up arms on behalf of the very men who enslaved you. Why?'

  The young man was silent for a moment, frowning. 'There are those who become enemies by chance, by the fate that gives one man power over another. And there are those who become enemies by deliberate act. Given the opportunity, which of these would you attempt to destroy?'

  'You are suggesting that I, or my people, are enemies in the latter class? How so? We have never met.'

  'You are Normans. That is enough...' He hesitated and then added, almost under his breath, 'It was enough.'

  'You hate all Normans? Why?'

  The young man raised his head and Roger saw his jaw tighten. 'I was born in Northumbria, not far from the city of Chester. When William the Bastard, your countryman, usurped the throne of England, Morcar, Earl of Northumbria rebelled. William sent men north to suppress the uprising. They slaughtered hundreds, men and women, burnt villages and laid waste the land, sowing it with salt so that in the time that followed many thousands more died of starvation. My father died defending our village, and my mother …' He stopped and swallowed. 'I have no knowledge of what became of her.'

  Roger frowned. 'I have heard of these events. William may indeed be my countryman, but it was not well done. He is standing now, however, before a higher court than mine, or yours.'

  'And his son reigns in his stead.'

  As he spoke the young man staggered slightly and Roger saw that for all his pride he was almost at the end of his strength. He raised his eyes to the man-at-arms who stood by the door. 'Cut his bonds.' Then, as the man hesitated, 'I believe he poses no threat, and I am well able to defend myself if need be. Free him.' Then, turning to his steward, 'Give him a cup of wine, and bring a stool.'

  The young man hesitated a moment, then dropped his eyes and took the proffered cup. 'I thank you.'

  Roger leaned forward. 'Explain one more thing, and then I will let you go. You rammed my vessel and you were seen with a sword in your hand, preparing to attack one of my knights. Yet a moment later, while the outcome of the conflict was still in the balance, you dropped your weapon and dived into the sea to rescue that same knight. What brought about that sudden change of heart?'

  Ranulph lowered himself stiffly onto the stool the steward had set behind him. When he spoke it was in disjointed phrases. 'I was … I was vouchsafed a vision … a revelation. I saw … I thought I saw, not the man I rescued, not the knight I was about to strike … but the Archangel Michael, with a flaming sword. I saw the cross of our Saviour blazing on his shield and a voice said to me “If you raise your arm against a fellow Christian, you raise it against me.”' He lifted his eyes and looked at the Count, who was regarding him with sudden intensity. 'I knew then that my desire for vengeance had blinded me, and the scales dropped from my eyes, as they did for St. Paul on the road to Damascus.'

  The two men stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Then Roger raised his voice. 'Take this man to somewhere where he can wash himself and find him some suitable garments. Then see that he is given a meal and allowed to rest.'

  The man-at-arms shifted uneasily. 'Is he a prisoner, my lord? '

  Roger looked at the young man, his head tilted. 'You will give me your oath not to attempt to escape?'

  There was a brief hesitation. Then, 'I will, my lord.'

  Roger looked at the soldier. 'You have heard. Take him away.' As Ranulph got up he added, 'I shall send for you again, when I have leisure. There is more of your story I wish to hear. Go no
w, and rest.'

  Outside the room a figure rose from where he had been sitting in the embrasure of a window. It was the knight who had fallen into the sea.

  'Wait! Where are you taking him?'

  'He's to be fed and clothed and rested. The Count's orders.'

  'Praise God! I prayed that the Count would be merciful.' He stepped forward and offered his hand to the Englishman. 'I owe you my life and shall hope one day to repay the debt. My name is Marc d'Ambray. May I know yours?'

  'Ranulph,' he answered huskily. 'Ranulph of Erbistock. And my debt to you is far greater.'

  D'Ambray frowned, puzzled. Then he looked at the soldier. 'You can leave him with me. I will answer for him and see that he has all he needs.' Then, turning to Ranulph, 'Come. I will show you where you can wash and dress.'

  He led Ranulph to a large room which had been taken over as a dormitory for the knights of Roger's train.

  'Rough and ready, I am afraid,' he said with a shrug. 'We only reached M'dina this morning.'

  'Two days to conquer the whole island,' Ranulph said. 'I gather you met little opposition.'

  'No. Once your galleys had been defeated all the men-at-arms on shore melted away as soon as we entered the harbour.'

  'Not my galleys.'

  'No. I'm sorry. I meant the galley you were in. I don't know what misfortune brought you to this pass, but that can wait for another time.'

  He threw open the lid of a travelling chest and pulled out an armful of garments. 'Now, I think I know exactly the place where you can bathe and refresh yourself. The Arabs have these amazing baths …'

  A slight smile touched Ranulph's lips. 'I have travelled much in Arab countries. I am familiar with the practice. I am sure there must be a hamman connected to the Emir's palace.'

  'Ah!' His companion looked slightly deflated. 'You obviously have more experience in these matters than I do. I first encountered these baths when I arrived in Sicily last summer. I must admit at first I thought they were a sign of decadence but now I have come to appreciate their benefits. I sought out the Emir's bath-house as soon as we arrived, to wash off the salt from my unexpected dip in the sea. Amazingly, the men who work in it were still carrying on as if nothing had happened. It's this way.'

  He led Ranulph along a corridor and across a courtyard to a squat building with thick walls and domed roof, where a notice carved on a wooden plaque proclaimed its function. In the cool room they were greeted obsequiously and offered towels. Ranulph took one and exchanged a few words in fluent Arabic with the man, but D'Ambray shook his head. 'One bath in a day is quite enough. I'll wait here for you.'

  He watched as Ranulph stripped off the coarse drawers and winced inwardly at the sight of the scars on his back, some of which looked as though they had been inflicted very recently. The Englishman disappeared into the warm room and was gone for some time. When he reappeared d'Ambray caught his breath in surprise. He had shaved off the ragged beard and his hair, freshly washed and combed, was almost golden. His wounds had been treated with some form of unguent and though he was thin his whole body was tautly muscled. D'Ambray handed him an under shirt and braies of fine linen, then a knee-length tunic embroidered at the wrists and hem with a pattern of interlocking squares in red and blue, woollen hose and finally a mantle woven of fine deep blue wool, with a brooch to clasp it at the shoulder. Stepping back he saw that the filthy savage who had dragged him out of the sea had been transformed into a man of dignified carriage and considerable beauty.

  'These are your own garments,' Ranulph said. 'It is good of you to lend them to me.'

  'It is a small return indeed for what you did for me,' d'Ambray replied. 'Now, let's find the kitchens and see what they can give you to eat.'

  To his surprise Ranulph shook his head. 'There is another matter I need to attend to before I eat. Is there a priest among the company?'

  'Certainly. Brother Anselm is Count Roger's confessor and accompanies him wherever he goes.'

  'Could he spare a few minutes for me, do you think?' Ranulph asked.

  'I am sure of it. But would you not prefer to eat something first?'

  'Thank you, no. There is a hunger greater than the hunger of the body. Where can we find the brother?'

  After a few enquiries they found the priest kneeling beside a wounded man in the improvised hospital. Ranulph approached him.

  'Father, I am in great need of spiritual council. Will you hear my confession?'

  The priest stood up. 'Of course, my son. Come with me. There is no Christian chapel in this place of infidels, but I have found a quiet room where we shall be undisturbed.'

  D'Ambray had another long wait; but when Ranulph finally rejoined him his face had changed. The lines of suffering seemed to have been smoothed away and his his eyes glowed with an expression that d'Ambray could only describe to himself as exaltation.

  Later that evening Ranulph was again summoned by Count Roger. He found him in what had been until that morning the Emir's living quarters, sitting by an open window which received the cooling evening breeze. He invited Ranulph to seat himself opposite him and offered him a cup of wine.

  'When we spoke earlier you did not give me your real name. Will you do so now?'

  Ranulph straightened his shoulders. 'My name is Ranulph. My father was Athelstan, liege man to Edwin, Earl of Chester, and thane of the village of Erbistock.'

  'You told me that your parents were killed when William's men were sent to put down the rebellion. That was twenty years ago, I believe. Looking at you, I would say you cannot be more than twenty-five years old.'

  'Twenty-four.'

  'So you must have been a very small child when the attack occurred. How did you survive?'

  Once again Ranulph narrated the story of his upbringing and his subsequent adventures When he had finished Roger regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments. 'You were brought up and educated by monks. So I assume you can read and write.'

  'Of course.'

  'You speak French and I am told you were heard exhorting your companions in Arabic at the start of the battle. What other languages do you have?'

  'Latin, naturally. Also Greek and Turkish and most dialects of Italian.'

  'And you can read and write in those tongues too?'

  'To a degree. I have more facility in some than others.'

  'And what plans do you have for the future?'

  'Plans?' Ranulph looked at him in surprise. 'How can I have plans? I am your prisoner.'

  'You have the means to ransom yourself, I imagine.'

  'Possibly, if I can contact my banker in Amalfi. I have no way of knowing how things may stand there.'

  Roger was silent for a while, deep in thought. 'Yesterday in the battle, you thought you saw a vision, a messenger from heaven telling you not to raise your sword against your fellow Christians. Why do you think you were so favoured?'

  'I think … I believe God has some special purpose for me – some purpose he has not yet revealed.'

  'And I believe it is that purpose that has brought you to me. You know, of course, that I have now conquered the whole of Sicily. Over the years since I first arrived there I have come to know something of the people and their culture. They are knowledgeable in science and the arts. In many ways, beside them we are the barbarians. I have no wish to destroy all that. Rather I plan to create a society where Muslims and Christians can co-exist in harmony. I need someone near me who can speak their language and who can translate my decrees and ordinances. If I were to offer you a post as my secretary, would you take it?'

  'And if I refuse?'

  'Then you are still my prisoner. You might be able to find a ransom, if your affairs have prospered in your absence – which seems doubtful. And even then, I may decide not to accept the money.' He leaned forward. ' I am asking you to play a part in a great scheme of reconciliation. I believe it is God's work. What do you say?'

  Ranulph was silent for a long time. At length he said, 'Two days ago I would have said I
would rather return to my rower's bench than work for a Norman. It is not a decision I can make lightly. Will you give me until tomorrow to pray for guidance?'

  'Tomorrow I have given orders for a Mass to give thanks for my victory over the infidels here. I will give you until that is completed to make your decision.'

  Ranulph was given a sleeping place beside d'Ambray in the large hall, but he had no intention of sleeping. As soon as he was sure that all the rest were deep in slumber he rose and picked his way quietly over the recumbent bodies to the door. Outside, a winding staircase led up to the battlements. A guard patrolling the ramparts issued a peremptory challenge and Ranulph replied pacifically,

  'It's too hot down below. I came up for some air, and a bit of peace.'

  It was partly true. The night was oppressively hot and he was glad to feel the air on his face. The guard grunted in agreement and continued his patrol and Ranulph turned in the opposite direction. At a corner he came to a tower and steps leading up to a flat roof. Here, at last, he felt he would not be disturbed. There was no moon, but above his head the sky was hung with an infinity of stars. Ranulph gazed up, entranced. He knew that each of those glittering orbs was singing a hymn of praise to its Creator as it revolved around the earth, a paean of celestial music inaudible to corrupt human ears. He stared up until the vastness of the firmament made him dizzy and then he fell to his knees and began to pray.

  He had tried to pray during his time as a slave in the galleys, hunched in his own filth, his ears assailed by the groans and imprecations of his fellow rowers, his nose by the stench of sweat and excrement, his body racked with pain from the marks of the lash and the suppurating sores on his ankles where the shackles had chafed; but it was hard to believe in a merciful God under those conditions. How such a deity could allow his creatures to suffer like this, was the question that interrupted his prayers. As a punishment for sins. That would have been the answer given by the priests. And he had sinned, there was no denying that. All his life he had been pursued by guilt, for Osric's death, for his mistaken belief that he had killed Dirk, for the fate that had befallen Rosa and Hildred. He had run away from the monks who had cared for him and brought him up to serve God as they did. He had killed, though only in the heat of battle; and he had fornicated, though he had never forced a woman against her will. Yes, undoubtedly his sins deserved punishment. But now he had been vouchsafed a vision such as only saints or holy hermits could expect to receive. And he was free. Did this mean his sins were forgiven? Or had the heavenly father seen a more useful way for him to expiate them?