Crusade

His sword was drawn within two paces as he attacked the Saracen with lightning speed. Hassan Taleb was an outstanding swordsman and parried all Sweyn’s blows with great dexterity, but Sweyn was relentless, driven by a burning fury.

I remembered what he had said to me when we first met — that anger in battle is a powerful ally.

Hassan began to look concerned, realizing that he was facing a man who not only had the fortitude to kill him, but also the ability.

Sweyn began to get the upper hand and Hassan Taleb started to tire. He took a gash to his forearm, and only his heavily mailed hauberk prevented Sweyn’s blade from inflicting a deep wound to his chest. Even so, blood began to seep into his cotton tunic.

I tried to put an end to it and shouted at Sweyn to stop, but to no avail.

He was deaf to all pleading. Only when Adela reappeared and walked in between them did they relent. She started to push Sweyn away, repeating over and over again that the incident was a misunderstanding and unimportant.

I rushed to help her.

By now the Emir had appeared, beside himself with anger. When he heard what had happened, he ordered that Hassan Taleb be restrained to await a trail by his fellow knights. However, before any of his men could detain him, Hassan lunged at Sweyn with his sabre. Alert to the attack, Sweyn pushed us away, ducked under the Saracen’s wild swing and plunged his seax into Hassan’s neck. The blade entered his throat on the left and exited next to his spine on the right. Both men were motionless for a second and the onlookers frozen in shock before Sweyn put his left hand on the Saracen’s shoulder and wrenched out his weapon. Blood spurted everywhere and splashed to the ground.

Death came almost instantly for the Saracen but, before it did, he was able to lift his hands to his throat in a futile attempt to stem the cascade and momentarily stare at Sweyn with wide-eyed incredulity. He then toppled to the ground and was dead within moments.

It was an astonishingly quick reaction from Sweyn, the adroitness and accuracy of which had made all who saw it gasp.

After ordering the removal of the body, the Emir spoke to him.

‘I apologize for the behaviour of a man I thought was my most noble knight. He has brought shame to me and my community. You have done me a great service by killing him; he deserved to die.’

‘My Lord, he was but one man. You and your people have been more than generous and courteous.’

‘I am still in your debt, young knight. How may I repay you?’

‘Sire, the debt is easily paid. Allow Adela and me to join your order of knights so that we may follow the Mos Militum, as they do.’

‘It is a small price to pay. We would be honoured to have you. I have not heard of a woman ever being made a knight before, in either Islam or Christianity, but as I answer to no one here, I will permit it, if my knights will agree.’

I did not want to embarrass Sweyn or upset the Emir, but I was tempted to intervene. I felt certain that membership of a Saracen order of knights would create problems if and when we ever made contact with Count Roger.

The next day, with much fanfare and flourish in front of the entire community, Adela and Sweyn were dubbed as knights by Ibn Hamed.

They swore to uphold the principles of the Mos Militum.

Honour

Truthfulness

Courage

Martial prowess

Pride in the face of superiors

Humility in the face of inferiors

Protection of the weak: women, children and the old

A few of the Emir’s knights had been opposed to Adela becoming one of their number, but most had agreed readily. Adela and Sweyn both knelt in front of the Emir as he gave them short, curved jewel-encrusted Arabian daggers. He then placed his hand on their heads in turn and blessed them.

Several sheep and goats were slaughtered, and tables were heaped high with fowl and game. Deep baskets of bread, fruit and vegetables were prepared for a grand feast of celebration, the only disappointing part being the lack of alcohol — an indulgence strictly forbidden by Islam.

There were drums and horns to accompany the knights as they performed the precise choreography of their ritual warriors’ dance. The women wailed encouragement as the children copied the adults, and the entire community shared in the joy of the occasion.

Adela and Sweyn sat with broad smiles on their faces, as did I. We were all charmed by the warmth of our Muslim hosts.

Edwin returned a few days later, not just with an answer from Count Roger, but with the Count in person. In a remarkable gesture of goodwill, and with considerable fortitude, Count Roger of Sicily rode into Ibn Hamed’s camp with only Edwin and our two men for company.

His appearance — he was tall and fair and elegantly dressed, with fine weapons and armour — suggested he was a man of high status. When he announced himself to the Emir, there was a stunned silence.

‘My noble Lord, Ibn Hamed, Emir of Calatafimi, I am Roger, Count of Sicily. I have come to offer myself as a hostage in place of Edgar, Prince of England.’