Chapter Eleven

The Fortress of Alijaferia

Umar-er-Bakr had ridden his horse at breakneck speed for ten days. Even so, he was more than four weeks late and he knew that his master, the governor of Zaragoza, would be deeply worried by his prolonged absence. Despite this, he loved his horse too much to risk him more. He would report to him immediately on his arrival. At last, he reached the valley of the river Ebro. He made for the south road. After a couple of hours, he could see the city walls ahead of him. When he had reached them, he raced around them and through the gate. The guards jumped to attention as he passed through. As he entered the busy city road leading to the citadel of Alijaferia, he scattered pedestrians and merchants in all directions. People cursed him as he knocked them over in his rush. He crossed the stone bridge over the deep moat of the citadel and alighted from the horse. Sultan was in a sweat all over. Two Moorish guards stepped forward and Umar issued some quick orders in Arabic. The first guard he told to look after Sultan and take him to the stables, where he was to be gently walked around and rubbed down. Later he was to be given an extra helping of oats. The other guard he sent forth to announce him with all haste.

As he stepped through into the citadel, Umar brushed the dust of his clothes. He had no time to bathe and change. His report was too urgent. The sounds of water reached his ears as he came to the inner courtyard. The air was cooler here as he walked round the long rectangular pools, beyond which were the private apartments of the governor. He could hear voices shouting as the announcement of his arrival spread through the fortress. Soon he saw the governor’s private secretary urgently approaching him. As they met he fell in step with Umar.

“Where on earth have you been? The governor has been worried sick,” said Amir-ben-Sur.

“It’s a long story, Amir, and not a very pretty one. Where’s the governor?”

“In his private apartments. Follow me.”

Amir led the way through a long room, along a corridor and up the stairs of the west tower to the second floor. Outside a door, they stopped and waited while the guard announced their arrival. They entered and the guard shut the door behind them. At the far end of a long room, the governor of Zaragoza sat on a cushion by a window. Taking in the view across the city, through the cedar-scented air that passed through the pierced cedar panels of the windows.

He turned. “Salaam and welcome, Umar-er-Bakr.”

Umar fell on one knee and bowed. “Thank you My Lord, may Allah bless you and be with you.”

Abdul-er-Rahman, governor of Zaragoza studied his captain for a while without speaking. He was a cautious and cunning man who thought carefully before he spoke. He had learnt early in his life that he had been born into a world full of uncertainties and dangers. He had lost two brothers in war because they had supported the wrong Emir. He had determined never to make the same mistake and now, through no fault of his own, he was in grave danger and had possibly lost his only son.

Umar had lost weight, he noticed, and had obviously ridden hard. He did not like the look of him. The man had obviously suffered great hardship. His news would not be good. He steeled himself.

“Well Umar, tell me the worst, and let us get it over with.”

“It is not all bad news, My Lord, but you should know that I lost my men in an ambush and was left for dead.”

“In the name of Allah, what are you saying? You delivered my message didn’t you? My son is all right, isn’t he?”

“Yes Lord, the message was delivered, but as for your son. I’m not sure.”

“What are you saying? Explain yourself, Umar.”

Umar went through the events of his ambush, capture and escape from the Basques, how he had delivered his master’s message to the Benedictines, that in exchange for his son, he would allow Charlemagne to take the city. Then he said, “The Basques who took me prisoner were looking for your son.”

*

Abdul sat in thought. The situation was spinning further out of his control and he didn’t like it at all.

“Tell Isaac to attend us, and Sulaman,” he said to Amir, “and be quick.”

While he waited for Isaac and Sulaman, Adbul reviewed the past events in his head. He had to have it clearly in his mind before Sulaman, his chief adviser, arrived. It had all started in the year 777AD, when one of his accursed masters had gone to see Charlemagne at Paderborn. He, Adbul, was a man cursed with two masters. One was Sulaiman Yaqzan, governor of Barcelona and a man of unsuitable ambitions. The other, and more powerful, was the Emir of Cordova, and a blood relative of Adbul. Adbul was not responsible for what had occurred. He had nothing to do with it or the crisis that his family was now in. He had always been a careful man. He had taken the middle road, avoiding conflicts and troubles and yet, through no fault of his own, he now faced death, with all his family. How could Allah be so cruel? Oh, my God you are cruel, he thought.

His two masters had quarrelled. Sulaiman had rebelled against the Emir Abd al Rahman of Cordova. In normal circumstances that was bad enough, but it would have blown over in time and he would have waited for it to pass. Besides he knew that the Emir of Cordova would always be the stronger and given the choice he would be with the Emir. But he had not been given the choice. It had been taken from him. Sulaiman Yaqzan had gone to Charlemagne and in exchange for his support against the Emir had offered him Zaragoza. Sulaiman Yaqzan also offered troops if Charlemagne accepted and marched into Spain. Charlemagne had agreed and to make sure the governor complied, he had arranged, with Sulaiman’s help, for the kidnapping of his only son. His son was to be held in ransom for the city. If he refused Charlemagne the city, his son would die a most horrible death at the hands of the Sisters of the Moon. If he gave the city to Charlemagne, the Emir would kill him and all his family. He had ten daughters but only one son. Why had Allah not blessed him with ten sons and one daughter? It would have made his decision easier.

There was a knock on the door and the guard announced the arrival of Isaac and Sulaman. Adbul bade Isaac, his own personal physician, to examine Umar’s wound. He then began a deep conversation with Sulaman.

“After much thought, I have decided to resist Charlemagne and Sulaiman Yaqzan. You will prepare the city for a long siege. Make sure that the warehouses are full and that the armouries are working at full capacity.”

“My Lord,” interrupted Sulaman, “I honour and obey you, but are you willing to sacrifice your son?”

“Better to lose one son, Sulaman, than the whole family. You know what the Emir would do? Do I have any choice?”

“No, My Lord.” Not to mention your own head, thought Sulaman.

“Well don’t interrupt me again, we have much to do. Next, you will write a full report and when I have signed it, you will send it with our fastest messenger to the Emir of Cordova. We will entreat him to send us troops. Next, all strangers are to be cleared out of the city and all troops recalled. Now Sulaman, give me your opinion on the chances of these Basques finding my son?”

“Practically none, My Lord.”

“Let us, for the sake of argument, suppose that they do. What could we do to ease their problems in the hostile lands of Aragon?”

“One of two things,” Sulaman said thoughtfully. “Sack a town or very quietly send out a few men to find their whereabouts. Then send out a larger force to help them.”

“Why sack a town?” the governor asked.

“It would draw all the Aragonese forces.”

“Yes, but it could also create an impenetrable barrier and give Charlemagne the gift of an ally. No, I will go for your second option. Send out our best spies. Now go and do it.”

Sulaman bowed deeply and left. All this time, Isaac had been examining Umar.

“How is my brave captain, Isaac?”

“He has been treated well, perhaps by an expert, My Lord. I have removed the stitches. The wound has healed well. He owes his life to the young Basque.”

“Umar, when you have rested, washed and changed, come back and tell me more about him. Also, I would like to discuss the defence of the city with you and another matter.”

“Your wish is my command.” Umar bowed and left.

When they had all gone, Adbul resumed his surveillance of the city.

Surely, I must be the most miserable and wretched of all men, he thought and gave a deep, long sigh. I have condemned my own son to death.

Three hours later, Umar was in the presence of the governor again. He was refreshed and rested and keen to discuss the defence of the city.

“Tell me, Umar, what are the chances of these Basques finding my son?”

Umar was about to reply, “none at all,” but thought carefully and replied,

“I would think very small, practically none at all, My Lord.”

“If they did, by luck or chance, what would they do with him?”

“Hold him for ransom, as is the custom.”

“They would not kill him?”

“No, My Lord.”

“Then there is hope?”

“To be honest, not much, My Lord. They are a small bunch of heathens. Lightly armed and ill-disciplined.”

“Sometimes, Umar, a few men can achieve more than 10,000. This brings me on to the next thing that I have in mind. My son may be killed, but his death will be avenged. You will hire assassins to kill Sulaiman Yaqzan.”

“As you wish, My Lord. Where do you plan the assassination to take place?”

“Sulaiman Yaqzan will be hiring mercenaries to keep his promise of troops to Charlemagne. Ours will join his and when there is an opportunity, of which there will be many, kill him.”

“I will choose the men carefully. It is a good plan, My Lord.”

“Now the defences. Will they withstand a long siege?”

“Yes, if we have the means to defend ourselves.”

“What do we need?”

“Well, the armouries are working hard to produce more weapons and arrows, but we could do with more bows and bowmen.”

Adbul-er-Rahman clapped his hands. A scribe entered the room. He dictated a number of letters and when the scribe had finished he handed them to Umar. The first was a note to the treasury. It gave him authority to draw a large amount of gold. The next was an order for more bows, arrows and arms from the armoury. The last was a letter giving him authority to conscript men.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Yes, My Lord. The warehouses and granaries must be filled to capacity and I would suggest that any cattle and sheep that cannot be held in the city be slaughtered or moved away from here.”

“Give the orders and have it done. Good, then we will be ready for Charlemagne.”