‘Nonsense, you are no such thing. What has happened has happened, and now we must deal with it in whichever way is best for our Brotherhood. What do you think we should do?’
‘I am delighted for Sweyn. I hoped it would happen a long time ago. What he did for me in Durham was a wonderful esture, but the situation couldn’t continue – especially when I discovered his true feelings for me. For him, it turned our marriage into a Purgatory, but now it’s over. Mahnoor is very sweet and a perfect match for him. When Sweyn told her about the true nature of our marriage, she asked to meet me at the silk merchant’s. She was in tears and said how relieved she was, because her feelings for Sweyn had made her feel so guilt-ridden. As for me, she could not have been more understanding. I told her my own story, and she just hugged me.’
‘Sweyn has suggested two options. What do you think?’
‘I’d be surprised if he could find happiness for long at St Cirq Lapopie. There is too much of a warrior in him. But, if that’s his choice, my share of the estate is my wedding present to him. On the other hand, if he wants to stay here, then let’s get on with making our plans.’
Adela was, as usual, blunt, keen to resolve issues quickly and move on. I felt we needed another opinion; I did not want our Brotherhood to be broken up, and I was desperate to find a way for Sweyn to stay in Sicily and yet still enjoy the happiness he had found.
‘Sweyn, do you mind if we bring Mahnoor into this? I’d like to hear what she thinks.’
‘Of course. She will soon be part of the family. I will send word to her – it may take a while, as her father watches over her like a hawk.’
Those last words of Sweyn’s were the ones that concerned me most. After Sweyn and Adela had left, I asked Edwin for his thoughts.
‘Mahnoor is a very valuable commodity – very rich and very beautiful. Half of Sicily’s rich young tups, and several of the older ones, strut at her door all the time. Her father has several guards watching over her all the time.’
Edwin knew her father well.
‘Suleiman is not a pleasant man. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit. All sorts of dubious consignments arrive for him at Palermo harbour all the time. It is said he is supplying the Muslim rebels in the south with weapons from the Moors in Spain. He trades on the edge of the law and will do anything to avoid paying his duties and taxes. I think the Count has the measure of him but has not yet been able to pin him down.’
Sweyn had been right. It took a whole week for Mahnoor to appear.
If Sweyn and Adela had been apprehensive about the matter in hand, Mahnoor was visibly shaking.
‘My Lord Prince, please forgive me, I bring you a big problem.’
‘Dearest Mahnoor, my name is Edgar. We are a family of brothers and sisters and I hear you are soon to become one of us, so you must call me Edgar.’
‘Thank you.’
She pulled away her veil to reveal a stunning, dark-skinned face of exceptional symmetry and flawless complexion. Her hair was jet-black and her eyes the colour of burned almonds, while her distinctive Arabic nose lent a hawk-like acuity to an otherwise tender image. She cannot have been more than sixteen but had an enticing sensual aura about her that was quite intoxicating.
‘Does your father suspect anything?’
‘Not about Sweyn, but he knows something is different.’
‘Do you know your father’s plans for you?’
‘Yes, he wants me to marry another Muslim, of course, a man of some stature, an emir or a general.’
‘How will he find such a man here?’
‘He’s going to send me to Alexandria at the end of the year. My uncle is there and is very well connected to everyone in the Caliphate.’
‘What do you think of Sweyn’s plans?’
‘I am very frightened. My father will kill me if he finds out.’
‘I’m sure he will be very angry.’
‘No, I mean what I say. He will kill me.’
The poor girl was clearly not exaggerating.
‘If I elope, he will find me and kill me. For him, it’s a matter of honour. If I stay, he will not permit a marriage to a Christian, regardless of Sweyn’s marriage to Adela. That doesn’t matter – the important thing is, he’s a Christian.’
Sweyn moved closer to her.
‘What if I convert to Islam?’
‘Do you know what that involves?’
‘I’m not sure I’d make a good Muslim, because I’m not much of a Christian, but I’m happy to try.’
‘You would have to learn Arabic and recite the Quran from cover to cover.’
‘I can speak a few languages already; one more can’t be that difficult. As for the Holy Book, I’ll learn it by rote – you can teach me.’
Mahnoor embraced Sweyn and started to sob.
‘Would you do that for me?’
‘Of course I would! I would suffer any ordeal for you.’
I looked at Adela, who also had tears in her eyes. But I still had my doubts.
‘Would your father accept Sweyn as a Muslim?’
‘I don’t know; he is a difficult man.’
I decided it was time for reflection.
‘Mahnoor, when can we meet again?’
‘In a few days my father is travelling to Messina and will be away for several weeks. I can come again during his absence.’
‘Let’s meet again then, when we can make our plans.’
The next day, I sought a private audience with the Count to seek his advice.
He could not have been clearer in his view of Mahnoor’s father.
‘Suleiman is a villain; he’s part of the old Sicily, where Palermo was a crossroads for most of the thieves and cut-throats of the Mediterranean. I know he is smuggling weapons from Spain, but he is the most important Muslim merchant in Palermo and I don’t want to move against him until things are more settled. But rest assured, when the time is right, he will rot in my dungeon.’
I explained Sweyn’s infatuation with Mahnoor, the nature of his marriage to Adela and the options that Sweyn wanted to pursue.
‘You English weave some complicated webs! I would never have guessed; Adela is an accomplished soldier, I just assumed they had grown up together and that marriage was a natural consequence.’
‘All that is true – the difference being Adela’s state of mind following her trauma at Bourne. She will never get over it. I would appreciate your help; the four of us are very close and I would like us to stay together and to add Mahnoor to our family, if at all possible. If not, then Sweyn must go his own way.’
‘Well, I am happy to plead their case with the Bishop of Messina, but I think it’s a lost cause. He will do as he’s told, but Suleiman will not hear of it. He knows what a catch his daughter is and wants her married to someone of high birth in the Egyptian Caliphate. She has more than enough charm, and he has more than enough money to attract an emir of some standing – probably some old dog, tired of an ageing wife. He certainly won’t let a junior knight with only modest means, who is both a Christian and already married, stand in the way of his scheme to live the life of a potentate in Egypt.’
Ibn Hamed reiterated Count Roger’s view when Edwin and I rode out to Calatafimi to get his advice. He was perhaps even more vehement: any kind of legitimate bond between the two of them was out of the question.
And so, when Mahnoor arrived to see us for the second time, I had already warned Sweyn and Adela what my advice would be. Mahnoor seemed a lot brighter than before, but they were forearmed and much older and wiser than a sixteen-year-old girl who had rarely been far from her father’s sight.
I dreaded what I needed to say to Mahnoor, and was distraught at the prospect of what it meant for the future of our Brotherhood.
‘It seems highly unlikely that an annulment, a conversion and a Muslim marriage is going to work. Quite apart from his renowned intransigence, your father’s plan for you is so clear and determined that marriage to Sweyn is out of the question.�
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‘I suspected as much, but I just hoped that there might be a way. Thank you for trying.’
Sweyn put his arm around Mahnoor and looked her in the eyes.
‘This is the closest we’re going to get to a marriage ceremony, and here are our witnesses. Dearest Mahnoor, will you come with me to find a new life together in Aquitaine?’
‘I will, without a second’s hesitation.’
Adela embraced them both. Edwin shook hands with Sweyn and rather tentatively kissed Mahnoor on the cheek. I felt compelled to play Devil’s advocate – partly because it was the right thing to do, but also because I was desperate not to lose Sweyn and the beautiful young Moor.
‘Are you both sure? Sweyn, you go to a simple life tending your estate; no more gallant adventures as a knight.’
‘I know the price, but it is one worth paying for the woman I love.’
‘Mahnoor, you will lose your inheritance, never see your family again and live in a Christian world so very different from here.’
‘My life so far has been like that of a bird in a cage, and my only future is to be slobbered over by a fat emir and then discarded to embroider in a harem with the other unwanted women. I am exchanging that for true love – is there really a choice to be made?’
Mahnoor’s frank and succinct answer made me smile inwardly. There was no doubting her sincerity or her commitment to Sweyn. As for him, we all had our doubts, but he was so obviously smitten with his Princess of Araby that there was no choice but to let events take their course.
Arrangements were made the next day for passage to Narbonne on one of the Count’s ships. Under cover of the dead of the night, the two young elopers were secreted in a cargo of silk and wine and given an escort of our sergeant-at-arms as well as his man and six of the Count’s men, who would travel with them as far as Toulouse.
There was great sadness at the parting. Adela, Edwin and I stood on Palermo’s deserted quayside as the wind of the turning tide caught the ship’s sail and tugged it out to sea. I could not see them – they were out of sight deep amidst the cargo – but I held them in my mind’s eye, huddled together, anxious but excited, like children on a daring adventure.
The ship was soon no more than a distant silhouette against the moonlit sky, the sound of its creaking timbers and straining sail gone; all we could hear was the lapping of the waves against the dock. Adela was the first to turn away, scurrying back into the city to hide her tears.
Our small quartet of brothers-in-arms was now a tiny trio: Edwin was losing a son, if a surrogate one; Adela a husband, if in name only; and I was losing a good friend I had grown to admire enormously.
It was October 1085, a time of year that always reminded me of the autumn days around Senlac Ridge. I was only a boy at the time, but my memories are so clear. I was at Westminster when I heard the news of the catastrophic defeat and of King Harold’s death. I knew the Witan would want to proclaim me King – a terrifying thought, because I knew they would abandon me as soon as William got close to London.
Nineteen years had passed since those tempestuous days, but it seemed like many more.
Mahnoor was about the same age as I had been then. I was excited for her; she had made a brave choice to find her own way in life – something circumstances had compelled me to do – but I was concerned for her too; she was so young and naive, with a cruel and vengeful father to hide from.
16. Vengeance
Throughout the winter of 1085 and well into the spring of the following year, there was little of consequence to reflect on in Count Roger’s Sicily. Two more Muslim enclaves embraced Roger’s offer to join his enlightened domain and negotiations, rather than military campaigns, began with Noto and Enna, the last two emirates to resist.
The only incident of note occurred when Suleiman returned from Messina to find his daughter gone. His rage knew no bounds and both Mahnoor’s bodyguards disappeared – consigned, it was said, to a watery grave in Palermo Bay.
Fortunately, by the time the notorious merchant came to see me about two weeks later, accompanied by three unsavoury characters armed to the teeth, he had regained sufficient composure to be civil – at least, to start with.
‘What do you know about the disappearance of my daughter?’
‘Very little, I’m afraid.’
‘She has been kidnapped by one of your knights. I expect a ransom demand any day now.’
Edwin stepped forward, with Adela close behind.
‘May I remind you that you are addressing a prince of the royal blood?’
‘You may, but it makes no difference to me – let’s put all pretence to one side. One of my daughter’s servant girls finally confessed that she had been talking to an English knight. It didn’t take me long to find out how they had been meeting, and the silk merchant told me what I wanted to know very quickly – I own his premises. So, I require an explanation.’
‘Then you will have it. Sweyn – a Knight of Islam, dubbed by Ibn Hamed, Emir of Calatafimi, and a Knight of Christendom, dubbed by Roger, Count of Normandy – and your daughter Mahnoor are very much in love and have left Sicily to find a life for themselves.’
‘You lie! She would never leave willingly. He must have persuaded her to see him alone, then taken her against her will. Where is she?’
Edwin went for his sword, as did Adela. Suleiman’s three henchmen responded in kind. I raised my hand, signalling Edwin to desist, and tried to keep my poise.
‘What I’ve told you is all I know. The same facts are known to the Count and the Emir. They left with the blessing of both of them.’
‘I know, I have asked them. You lied to them too. You are protecting him. Where has he taken Mahnoor?’
‘I don’t know – and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. If Mahnoor wanted you to know, she would have told you.’
‘I will find her, with or without your help. I hold you responsible, and when I have found them and dealt with them, I will return here and deal with you.’
Edwin drew his sword in an instant and held it under the chin of the nearest of Suleiman’s minders. This allowed Adela to grasp the Saracen merchant around the neck and press her seax to his throat just below his left jawbone.
‘There is no bone between here and your brain. At the right angle, and with almost no pressure, I can make the entire length of this blade disappear into your head. You’ll be dead before you can utter a sound.’
Suleiman was a large man bedecked in gold and precious gems and wearing a fine pale-blue, silk-lined kaftan, tied at the waist with a black sash. His beard was oiled and combed into tight curls. On his head he wore a matching embroidered blue Imamah turban, wound over a skull cap, with its tail hanging under his chin and over his shoulder to finish halfway down his back. He began to sweat but stayed calm.
‘You should be on my side. Isn’t this kidnapper your husband?’
‘Our marriage was over a long time ago, and he goes with my blessing too. He has my loyalty and respect, as does your daughter, and I don’t like you threatening them, or Prince Edgar.’
‘I’ve met your type before, neither man nor woman; they have them as a novelty in the whorehouses in Alexandria. It must be interesting to be able to give pleasure like a man and take it like a woman.’
Adela pressed the tip of her blade hard against Suleiman’s throat, which began to bleed. She then flexed her muscles, as if about to strike, and hissed into his ear.
‘Don’t tempt me, you fat pig. I have also met your type before, and nothing would give me more pleasure than killing you here and now.’
The intensity of Adela’s threat made me shudder and, I am sure, convinced Suleiman that she meant it. She pulled away, drew her sword and joined Edwin in standing sentinel in front of Suleiman’s men.
The Saracen took a couple of deep breaths and got to his feet.
‘This is not over. I will be back.’
Another year passed in the service of the Count, during which – for a while, a
t least – our habits were in stark contrast: Adela continued her relentless regime to achieve martial perfection, whereas Edwin and I both spent too much time cavorting with dusky young maidens who kept us amused during the balmy Sicilian nights.
To counter the ills of too much good wine and food, we sometimes joined Adela in her exacting routines. When it became clear that her skills, strength and health were improving, and ours were in rapid decline, we decided to be more temperate in our approach to life’s pleasures and more diligent in our devotion to duty. Life was still good and we enjoyed ourselves, but we were more disciplined and used Adela’s impressive regime as an inspiration.
However, in the autumn of 1086 matters in Normandy and England loomed prominently in our lives once more. It was October and I had – as always, when the leaves began swirling to the ground – been thinking of Senlac Ridge. It was now a full twenty years since the battle, but it was no distant memory. Like every Englishman, I thought about it constantly; every day brought fresh reminders of how irrevocably things had changed and how so many of our kin were unable to witness them because they lay rotting in the ground.
It was on typically Sicilian autumn day, warm and sunny with a fresh breeze off the sea, that a messenger from Count Robert in Normandy arrived in Palermo. He brought news of dramatic developments to the north. King William was still not at peace with his neighbours, or with himself. He was still tireless in pursuit of his enemies and in his determination to establish a unique legacy in history.
The King held sway over a huge domain that extended from the heartland of France in the south to his lordship of Malcolm Canmore’s Scotland in the far north. I had been wondering whether, like his predecessor on the English throne, Cnut the Great – King of England and most of Scandinavia, who had hankered after the title ‘Emperor of the North’ – a similar accolade should be applied to William. Even now that he was approaching sixty, his warrior spirit still burned as brightly as it had done when, as a boy-duke half a century ago, he first wielded a sword.
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