‘He did not teach you?’
‘He was too elevated by the time I was born, but your grandfather always engaged a priest for his church who undertook the task, so when you pull that face, on being told to attend to your lessons, be aware it is one I know well, it being one I used to employ myself. It never managed to release me from the obligation to learn and it will not do so for you!’
Roger valued highly the time he spent alone with Jordan, teaching him to ride and fight with a lightweight wooden sword, to strike a hanging target as he rode past at a fast canter with his tiny lance, but it was not always mounted education or mock combat with a parent who occasionally allowed himself to be bested: the stable and paddock were just as important and Jordan had drummed into him the many other things he needed to know.
‘The time may come when, like me, affairs take you away from dealing with your own animals, but until then this pony and the horses that will surely follow are yours to see to. Feed them, groom them, care for them when they are ill, for you cannot get to a field of battle without them, nor can you fight without a destrier to carry you to your enemies and stay steady in the face of the noise of fighting men and the clash of weapons.’
It was drummed into Jordan that a horse could not ride all day: to do so would render it useless. Equines needed a lot of water but they must not be allowed to drink before fast work, likewise they should be kept from munching pasture, which they would do naturally wherever they found any. They required oats and hay, were fond of root vegetables, but these should be used as rewards. Their bedding had to be changed daily if they were in stalls, the paddocks to be regularly cleaned of dung if they were out in the fields, though the peasants seeking fertiliser usually saw to that.
In hot weather and on campaign their coats needed to be kept short to reduce sweating, and once stopped for the night hooves had to picked and oiled, nostrils and anus cleaned as well, ears checked, the coat brushed till it gleamed, with a careful eye kept out for any sores, abrasions or skin parasites — things which must be treated quickly. If they showed signs of wishing to fight they must be allowed to do so, for horses had their own hierarchy. Training for war must be continuous, a constant search for equine perfection, work which extended to the harness and brasses of the reins and bridle, to saddlecloths and saddles which would crack if not attended to.
And he also was taught he was a warrior in the making, that the horses he rode would sometimes sicken and die or be so wounded in battle that their throats must be cut, a task that could not be left to another, and when there was no food to eat and he was starving, a hazard on campaign, then the meal of last resort was the animals he rode and led.
‘Care for them before you look to yourself, form a bond so they obey and look to you, but do not love them too much, for one day it may be your task to take their life.’
He was not being raised to toil in the fields, that was a task for others, the less fortunate of God’s children, but the other lesson passed down from Tancred was that no man could have the equipment to fight without the toil of those in mean occupations and that to despise them was foolhardy.
‘And remember, Jordan, God sees everything, every petty act and every noble one, and even if the priest absolves you it is your Maker you will one day face and he will ask you to account for that which you did. It has been my purpose to act so that I can do that with calm, and I expect and hope you will do likewise.’
‘My Lord, you have a visitor.’ The look of distaste on the servant’s face, come to deliver this message, was explained by his next words. ‘He is a Saracen.’
Stinking of the stable and the manege, Roger went to wash before proceeding to meet the man he now knew to be Ibn-al-Tinnah, one of the three warring emirs of Sicily: the followers of the Prophet were noted for their personal cleanliness, part of their firm religious code, so he was disinclined to meet the fellow in any other condition than one which matched it. On the way to his privy chamber, he passed many an eye seeking some indication of what this surprise visitation portended, looks that exactly matched his own curiosity.
Al-Tinnah spoke Greek, the language of his Christian subjects, so, there being no need for anyone to translate, the two conversed alone. The emir was a small man, so Roger’s first act was to invite him to sit, a courtesy he saw as wise for another reason: constantly in conflict with his neighbours, he would not have travelled all the way to Mileto unless he was seeking help of some kind, and, although the information from the island was imprecise, Roger knew he had recently suffered some serious reverses against Ibn-al-Hawas, one of his fellow emirs; it was thus a moment of some promise.
‘Al-Hawas is, of course, a coward who makes war on women.’
That piece of deceit had to be treated with diplomacy: if anyone made war on women it was al-Tinnah — the cause of the present quarrel was over al-Hawas’s sister, whom, to cement a peace treaty, al-Tinnah had first married and then tried to kill by ordering a slave to open her veins. This made her flee back to her brother’s formidable mountain-top fortress of Enna. Enraged at the refusal to hand her back, al-Tinnah had marched to Enna intending to besiege it, only to be soundly trounced when his enemy emerged to do battle. Now he was struggling to hold on to his own lands along the eastern coast. Thus a marriage designed to create peace between rival emirs had achieved the exact opposite.
‘I will not disguise from you, Lord Roger, that the beast threatens me, or that I have come here to seek your aid in throwing him back.’
‘I am not at liberty to act at will, Ibn-al Tinnah, you must know that.’
The Saracen responded to that ploy with the same level of tact as Roger had shown to his previous untruths: Robert de Hauteville might be Roger’s titular overlord but they both knew he could do what he wanted, for if he could not, al-Tinnah would have ridden on to Melfi. Roger was itching to go to Sicily anyway; he was merely prevaricating to see what this emir was prepared to offer for military aid.
‘There cannot be peace on my island with the three most powerful emirs in constant disagreement, nor is there any hope that one will see the wisdom of another being superior in power and prestige. I have the mind to command loyalty but not the means to impose my will.’
An opinion not shared by those who are your equals, Roger thought, but he said nothing, silence in negotiation being a vital tooclass="underline" a man speaking will give away more than one who is mute, yet the knowing smile that Ibn-al-Tinnah produced was slightly disconcerting, implying the ploy was not working.
‘Lord Roger, I think I know how your mind will work, so let me save us both much tilting at shadows when I say that, having conquered Calabria, the next thing you Normans will seek is to take Sicily.’
‘Have you come to warn me against it?’
‘No, I have come to encourage you to act.’
Roger did not react, while aware of how hard he had to struggle to avoid doing so. To invade the island without support, as he had already found out, was hazardous and probably doomed, but with the aid of an emir…
‘I could ask you to ally yourself to my cause, Lord Roger, but I am not a fool. You will not fight just to keep me in my palace.’
‘I might if paid enough.’
‘You would say that, swear on Allah perhaps, but it is not a vow you would keep, whatever the agreed price.’
‘You seem very sure how we Normans will behave and me in particular.’