I ran towards the temple as quickly as I could. As I did so, Sweyn appeared from behind one of the columns and brought down a horseman with a sweep of his sword across the steed’s fetlocks. He was on top of the rider before he could regain his feet and impaled him through the chest with his lance. Blood spewed out of the wound and the man spat and spluttered in his death throes as Sweyn put his foot on his chest to recover his lance. Just as he did so, looming above on horseback, two more adversaries were on top of him. The first he despatched easily by hurling his lance at him, impaling him through the right shoulder. The second one he brought to the ground by skewering his mount through its throat with his seax, then running him through with his sword as the horse rolled on top of him.
Sweyn then tried to run towards Adela, but he was hit on the back of his helmet by a Saracen’s latt. He collapsed in a heap and did not move. I then saw Edwin and two of our men surrounded by cavalrymen, desperately trying to defend themselves before they disappeared behind a wall of men and horses.
By the time I reached the temple, sword drawn, all was still – the fight was over. I had passed Adela, but she did not move or utter a sound.
As I approached the horsemen, I heard an order issued which was obviously a call to sheathe weapons. I looked around and put my sword in its scabbard. I was surrounded by more than forty black-bearded, swarthy warriors, all clad in lamellar-mail hauberks not unlike Norman armour. Their clothing was black, as were the turbans they wore around their conical helmets. Their shields were smaller than the northern European designs and bore no emblems other than simple geometric patterns. Their horses were small, agile, grey beasts – very different from our heavy bay destriers.
‘You must be lost, Christian.’
Their leader addressed me in good Norman French. I was trying to remain calm, but the speed and ferocity of the attack had left me shaking and very concerned for the welfare of my comrades. I had never encountered Saracens before, but I knew of their formidable reputation as soldiers.
‘I am Edgar, a prince of England. We are travelling to Mazara to meet Roger Guiscard, Count of Sicily.’
‘I am Ibn Hamed, Emir of Calatafimi. Have not the Normans conquered your land?’
‘Yes, my inheritance has been taken from me.’
‘So, why do you travel all the way to my homeland to visit the people who have taken your birthright?’
‘I am no longer heir to a throne, but I am still a prince. Now I am in search of a life beyond England.’
The Saracen lord looked at me curiously.
‘My comrades are in need of help. Will you permit me to see to them?’
‘Of course. I am forgetting my manners; my physician will help you.’
He then barked some orders in Arabic and his men started to move quickly to assess the aftermath of the skirmish.
‘We were driven from Calatafimi by Roger Guiscard three years ago. We now live in the hills, trying to defend our land. Like you, we have been dispossessed.’
Ibn Hamed’s men then began to bring bodies towards us and lay them on the ground. Both sentries had had their throats cut and had been dead for some time, and three more of our men had been killed by the Saracens’ arrows. Edwin, our sergeant-at-arms and our other cavalryman were all bloodied but able to walk. They were bound hand and foot, but did not appear to be badly injured.
‘The two knights are alive. This one will have a sore head for a few days and the one over there will need the arrows removing and the wounds cauterizing. My physician will see to it.’
I checked that Sweyn was still breathing. He was very fortunate that he had managed to get his helmet on – otherwise, the blow would have certainly killed him. I could hear him groaning and beginning to come round as I hurried over to Adela. She was moaning in pain, her eyes closed tightly, fighting against the discomfort. She had not been wearing her armour and an arrow had struck her in the back of her left thigh, just below her buttock, while another arrow, which had come from the same direction, had entered her chest just below her shoulder.
‘Prince Edgar, the one in my leg has only caught flesh, but I think the other has shattered my collarbone.’ She grimaced in agony. ‘That one really hurts. Tell them to be especially careful.’
‘Adela, your clothes will have to be cut from you.’
‘I know. Let’s get on with it.’
I turned to the Emir.
‘This knight is a woman. Please tell your physician.’
‘You have women in English armies!’
‘Not usually, but this woman is an exceptional warrior.’
A debate then began between Ibn Hamed and his physician, which obviously had something to do with him treating a woman. Adela had also worked out what the debate was about.
‘You do it, my Prince. You’ve seen a woman’s body before.’
I managed to get Adela’s leather jerkin off without causing her too much pain, but I had to cut away her smock and leggings with my seax, a process that exacerbated her pain greatly. To the horror of the physician, I also had to cut away her cotton undergarment, fragments of which had been taken into her wound by the arrowhead.
The whole of the left side of her body was now exposed, but Adela was much more concerned about her pain than her nakedness. She beckoned the physician to begin his work by turning her thigh towards him. He took the hint and got on with his work.
The physician summoned three men and, between us, we held her down. He gave her a thick piece of leather to bite on and then began to heave the arrow from its resting place. It had gone in deeply; its three triangular blades, barbed halfway down, caused much tearing of flesh as it came out. To the admiration of those attending her, Adela cried out only at the end, more out of relief than anguish.
The next indignity was that she had to open her legs to allow the physician to bind the wound, which was now gushing blood profusely. Again, she dealt with the embarrassment as something of little consequence and helped him put the bandage in place.
He called for a fire to be lit and two blades to be made hot, poured some kind of lotion on to the wound, covered it with a poultice, and then dressed it with a heavy cotton bandage. He was clearly a man who had dealt with countless battlefield injuries.
Her shoulder was a more complex challenge. The arrow looked like it had broken on impact and its tip was lodged behind her shattered collarbone. The physician gestured to me to turn her head away, and as I did so he immediately plunged his fingers into the long gash in her shoulder and started to retrieve the tip of the arrow and bits of bone. This time Adela spat out the lump of leather in her mouth and screamed in agony, cursing all of us and heaving and kicking to try to get free.
The pain must have been excruciating as the physician spent at least a minute making sure he had collected all the bone fragments with a pair of small bronze tongs before calling for the first hot dagger. Adela asked for the piece of leather as he signalled to me to push both sides of the wound together with my fingers. As I did so, he seared and sealed the gash with the hot blade. There is very little worse than the stench of burning flesh, but when it is someone you care for very much, it is almost unbearable. Adela tried not move this time, knowing that it was important to get the blade in the right place.
When he had finished, she had a huge black and bloodied wound the colour of burned pork running from the top of her shoulder to the beginnings of the mound of her breast. Once again, after the pain of the treatment, she had to face the indignity of the wound being dressed. She leaned forward so that the physician’s bandage could be securely wrapped under and between her breasts and over her left shoulder, leaving her breasts exposed and taut either side of the dressing.
For the first time, she smiled – if only weakly.
‘I chose this calling; I’ve lived with knights for three years… it’s not the first time my tits have been on full view to a group of men.’
Her thigh was then unbandaged so that her leg wound could be cauterized by t
he second blade and re-strapped. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped.
Finally, the ordeal was over. Adela looked deathly pale and was shaking, her teeth chattering. She thanked the physician, who touched her forehead and nodded his head in appreciation of her resolve. One of the Saracens brought her a blanket and placed it over her, smiling warmly as he did so.
The Emir dismounted and knelt down by Adela, placing his hand on her forehead.
‘My physician says you must stay warm and eat and drink. You have lost a lot of blood and the pain will have exhausted you. Your body could react badly to everything that has happened to it. You must rest. We will prepare food, and the physician will make you a potion to help you sleep. It is fortunate that it is your left shoulder; the surgeon says the collarbone will never heal. You will be badly scarred and will carry the pain always. You are very brave, worthy of the brotherhood of knights.’
‘Thank you, my Lord, and please thank your physician and your men.’ Adela grasped my hand and pulled me towards her. ‘Sire, where is Sweyn?’
‘He is over there, coming round from a blow to the head; I think he will be fine.’
‘I need a piss. Will you carry me to somewhere discreet?’
It was not the most polite request anyone had ever made of me but, under the circumstances, Adela’s forthrightness brought a wide grin to my face.
By the time I brought Adela back to her tent, Ibn Hamed had ordered his men to release Edwin and the two survivors of our retinue, who rushed over to us.
The physician was now attending to Sweyn, wafting some foul-smelling substance under his nose to bring him round. After a while, it began to work and he started to ask questions.
‘We are being held by Ibn Hamed, Lord of Calatafimi, who is in conflict with Count Roger,’ I explained.
‘Where is Adela, my Lord?’
‘She is in your tent. She has been well taken care of but has suffered two bad arrow wounds, one to her leg and one to her shoulder.’
‘I must go to her.’
‘Of course, but let her sleep – she needs to rest, and so do you. Try to get some sleep also. Edwin, have the Moor’s physician dress your wounds and those of our men.’
The Emir was talking to his men. He was a tall, dignified-looking man. His armour and weapons were more elaborately decorated than those of his men and he wore fine gold wristlets, gold rings on four of his fingers and a padded, pale-blue silk smock under his armour.
I was calmer now, but my anger was beginning to rise at the senseless violence of the attack.
‘Ibn Hamed, we are visitors to this land. You have attacked us for no reason and killed five of my men. What is your explanation?’
‘We are at war with the Normans. My family has ruled here for many generations, but now our home has been destroyed and many have been killed, including two of my sons. You look like Normans, act like them and speak like them. Even if, as you say, you are English, you are allied to the Normans and so are still our enemy.’
‘We are nobody’s enemy; we are knights in search of a new future away from our homeland. We too have lost many who are close to us. Tens of thousands of our people have died.’
‘I am sorry for your losses, both here and in your homeland. If you will accept, you may now enjoy our hospitality until your knights are healed.’
‘I accept, with gratitude. Adela will need time to recover. She cannot travel easily with those wounds, and there is the danger of infection.’
‘I think infection is probable. My physician is highly trained, but even he doesn’t know how to stop it – although he does know how to treat it. Tell me, why does the girl choose to be a knight?’
‘It is a long story, but there is no doubt she is a warrior.’
‘Has she no shame, living with men, exposing her body? In Islam, our holy book, the Quran, forbids it.’
‘Our Bible certainly doesn’t encourage women to fight, or to be naked! Adela is very unusual – but, I can assure you, she is worthy of your respect.’
‘And the boy, the one who fights so well? He killed three of my finest soldiers, veterans of many years’ service.’
‘Sweyn is an exceptional knight. He is highly disciplined and motivated, with the physique of a hunting dog. In a fight he is quicker and more agile than anyone I’ve ever seen.’
‘I look forward to getting to know them. Come, let us bury your dead; my imam will read over them. When the young woman is rested, we can travel to my camp. There you can meet my family and the survivors of our community.’
13. Mos Militum
The Emir’s camp was high in the heavily wooded Sicilian hills. It was a difficult ride for Adela, who could only manage it side-saddle on a sturdy Moorish saddle cushioned with sacks of straw and with heavy strapping to her shoulder. Ibn Hamed’s men showed enormous respect for her. They treated her like royal princess and helped her on and off her horse as if she were a piece of delicate pottery.
Sweyn watched over her like a hawk, still wary of our Muslim hosts. I now felt more like a guest than a captor, but Sweyn’s warrior instincts led him to be much more cautious. Edwin was also chary and had told our men to be vigilant – not that there was much we could have done, had the Saracens decided to do something untoward.
The camp, well hidden in a clearing in the forest, was home to about 250 people. They had clearly left their homes in a hurry, bringing with them only what they could carry. Although ordered and clean, the settlement was a ramshackle assortment of lean-to shelters, canvas tents and temporary wooden huts with palm roofs.
Children ran around wearing brightly coloured baggy trousers and shirts while their mothers, grandmothers and some older men sat around in groups preparing food, doing their chores or chatting idly.
At the top end of the camp, standing a little apart and surrounded by the neat rows of his soldiers’ bivouacs, was the large tent of the Emir. All men of military age appeared to be soldiers, and all were heavily armed, armoured and resolute. We were invited to make camp close to the Emir, and that night a feast was given to welcome us.
From that day forward, the hospitality shown to us was unprecedented. Sweyn and Adela became increasingly friendly with the young knights, and any anger about the ferocious welcome we had been given to Sicily was mollified by our acceptance of the simple fact that it was an understandable deduction on the Emir’s part that we were a Norman patrol in hostile territory and therefore fair game.
Sweyn became effusive in his praise of our hosts.
‘Most of Ibn Hamed’s knights adhere to the Mos Militum; they put courage, loyalty and honour above all things. They are fine soldiers and good men and accept Adela as an equal. Some of the older men do not accept the code and reject Adela, but they are few in number.’
I also liked and respected the Muslims, but advised caution.
‘We must be careful. We came here to join the campaigns of Count Roger. Now we are camped with his enemy.’
‘I know, my Lord, but it is hard to tell whether we are captives or guests.’
‘We are being well treated, but we must be clear about the fact that we were attacked by Ibn Hamed’s men and we are his prisoners.’
Edwin agreed.
‘Be careful, Sweyn. All seems at ease up here in the mountains, but these people are at war with the Normans – and, sooner or later, Count Roger will hunt them down.’
‘I understand, but I want to carry on training with them and, when she’s fit, so does Adela. Sire, do we have your permission?’
‘Very well – but remember, the same men you are becoming friendly with may one day oppose you in deadly combat.’
I felt increasingly ill at ease with the situation as time passed. The Emir’s hospitality seemed to be limitless, but Edwin and I felt we were abusing it, knowing that soon we must ask for permission to continue our journey to meet Count Roger.
Our honeymoon with Ibn Hamed ended when Adela was strong enough to travel.
She had made a good
recovery and, although she still walked with a limp and moved her shoulder warily, she was able to ride in moderate comfort and mount and dismount from her horse without help. I was not looking forward to my conversation with the Emir, a proud and forthright leader of his people and a generous and sincere host. I had grown to respect and like him.
‘My Lord Emir, I know that in truth we are your prisoners here, but I must ask you for permission to move on. Your hospitality has been overwhelming and we will always be grateful to you.’
‘Prince Edgar, you are free to go whenever you wish. I would just ask for one act of kindness from you.’
‘Of course. It is the least I could do.’
‘I want to hold you to ransom.’
‘At what price?’
‘A parlay with Count Roger.’
‘And your objective in the parlay?’
‘To negotiate safe passage to the south. There are several of my Saracen brothers with much stronger defences in the south – at Enna in the mountains, and at Noto on the coast. If we can get there, we have a much better chance of resisting the Normans.’
‘Have you not considered submitting to Count Roger? I hear he is a man worthy of respect.’
‘I hear that also, but when he first came here with his brother, Robert Guiscard, they were dark days. Many were killed and Robert showed no mercy to anyone. My people are terrified of the Normans, and I am reluctant to trust Count Roger until I am convinced he is not like his brother.’
‘I can understand that. I will stay here as your hostage. I appreciate that you had no need to ask me, but could have just imposed your will. Your gesture is a reflection of your genuine chivalry. When the time comes, if you will permit it, I will happily lend my voice to your request for safe passage.’
‘Thank you. I will make preparations for an escort to take your retinue down the mountain to join the road to Mazara.’
When I told the others about the Emir’s plan, they were reluctant to go and suggested that we send the sergeant-at-arms and the surviving cavalryman.
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