his banner at the age of seventeen. I acquitted myself well and rose in rank. My promotion to captain before I was twenty caused resentment among some knights of nobler birth. I began my campaigning in Spain nine years ago, when I was twenty-one.’
Hero must have betrayed surprise.
‘You thought I was older,’ said Vallon. ‘You’ll soon discover what stamped these lines on my face. Back to the Spanish expedition. The pope had called for a crusade against the Moors. Guillaume was one of several Frankish nobles who answered the summons. After joining our Spanish allies, the army besieged the town of Barbastro in the Muslim kingdom of Lerida. They took the town after forty days and massacred or enslaved its inhabitants. I took no part in the bloodshed — only because I’d been sent to guard against a counter-attack from Zaragoza. The ruler of that state was the King of Lerida’s brother, Emir al-Muqtadir. Remember that name.
‘At Barbastro the crusade ended. Those who’d taken part in the assault went home laden with booty and slaves. I returned no richer than when I’d left Aquitaine. The following year I married a girl I’d known since childhood. She was five years younger than me. It was an advantageous match, bringing with it a useful dowry.’
‘Was she beautiful?’
Vallon drew back to see Hero’s face. ‘Yes, she was.’ He seemed to lose his thread. ‘Anyway, although my first journey into Spain hadn’t enriched me, I’d seen enough to know that the country offered opportunities for a poor knight. The Moorish empire had fragmented into a score of warring states. I sought leave from Guillaume to return to Spain as a knight for hire. At his suggestion, I took service with King Ferdinand of Castile and Leon. My first action under Ferdinand was a punitive expedition against al-Muqtadir of Zaragoza. The Emir had retaken Barbastro and killed the Frankish and Spanish garrison. Until then he’d been a Castilian tributary; in fact Ferdinand and al-Muqtadir had fought as allies against Castile’s rivals. Emboldened by his success at Barbastro, the Emir broke off relations with Castile. Our expedition against him was inconclusive, and within a year Ferdinand was dead. His empire was divided between his three sons. I transferred my allegiance to the eldest, Sancho II of Castile.
‘Two years later we laid Zaragoza under siege for a second time. This campaign was successful and al- Muqtadir sued for peace, paying a large ransom and swearing tribute to Sancho. The alliance was important because by this time Castile was fighting a war on three fronts — against Aragon to the east, and against Leon and Galicia to the west and north.
‘For the next three years I fought against Sancho’s enemies. After each campaigning season, I returned home to Aquitaine. My marriage was happy and bore three children. The youngest was still unborn when I made my final journey into Spain. With me was a nephew of the duke, a youth called Roland. Guillaume had put him under my wing to learn the arts of war. I knew the youth. His estate lay a day’s ride from mine and he was a frequent visitor. Roland was nineteen, uncommonly handsome, a fine singer and dancer, every inch the courtly noble. In short, nature had bestowed on him all the talents that I lack.’
Vallon looked around. ‘He was also treacherous and cowardly. It took me a while to learn his true character. To my face he was charming and respectful; behind my back he sneered at my modest birth and resented serving under me. The action that caused my ruin was trivial. Sancho had received intelligence that Emir al-Muqtadir planned to break the treaty with Castile. I was ordered to lead a small reconnaissance squadron to the Zaragoza border. There were only twelve of us, including Roland and two of his companions. Our task was to seek for signs that the Emir was planning an invasion. On no account were we to mount a provocation.
‘You can probably guess what happened. Towards the end of a tedious day during which we saw nothing but a few shepherds, we rounded a corner and surprised two Moorish scouts. They galloped off down a dry riverbed. Before I could stop him, Roland and his companions sped off in pursuit. I shouted at them to stop. I warned them it was a trap. They paid no attention.
‘We chased after them, but we were too late. Less than a mile down the gully Roland had run into a troop of Moorish cavalry. They’d already killed his companions and Roland was on his knees, begging for mercy. The enemy was too strong for us. The Moors killed every member of the patrol except for me and Roland. Him they saved because he was the nephew of a duke and would bring a good ransom. I was spared only because one of the Moorish officers recognised me.
‘We were taken to Aljaferia, the Emir’s summer palace in Zaragoza. Al-Muqtadir knew me by reputation — knew that I’d been part of the army that had massacred his brother’s subjects in Barbastro, knew me again from my part in the two invasions of Zaragoza. There was no reason for him to show me mercy except the possibility of ransom. The terms were too high for me to meet, and I knew that Sancho wouldn’t look kindly on a soldier of fortune — that’s all I was — who’d jeopardised an important treaty at a critical juncture in his wars against his brothers. Roland assured me that his uncle and my lord, the Duke of Aquitaine, would pay both ransoms. He composed the letter himself and it was duly despatched. For the next month we shared comfortable quarters in the palace. Then one morning, Roland was summoned to the Emir’s throne-room. He returned in a distraught state. His ransom had been received, but for some inexplicable reason mine had been delayed. He swore that he’d arrange my release or return to share my fate.’
Vallon continued in a monotone. ‘A month passed, two months. One morning at dawn, four months into my incarceration, guards came for me. With no word of explanation, they bound me and bundled me into a cart. We left the city travelling south and by noon we’d reached my new prison. The place was called Cadrete — a harsh fortress on top of a rocky hill. When we passed through the gate, my escort blinded me with a hood. As they marched me to my cell, I tried to construct a picture of my surroundings. First they led me deep into the castle on a level stone floor. I walked ninety steps before we halted at a door secured by a lock and three bolts. On the other side we descended a flight of twelve stone steps. We halted again and I heard lamps being lit and a hatch open in the floor. Guards lowered a ladder through the hatch. They guided me onto the ladder and ordered me to descend. I counted twenty-eight rungs before I reached the bottom. My guards removed my hood. Then they climbed the ladder, pulled it up after them and closed the trap, leaving me in absolute darkness.’ Vallon paused. ‘Do you know what an oubliette is?’
Hero shivered. ‘A pit where prisoners are consigned to oblivion.’
‘It was shaped like a beehive with a trapdoor in the roof twenty feet above the floor. No other opening, and my jailer always kept the hatch shut except at my daily mealtime. In the floor was a small hole dropping into a pit that served as a latrine and a graveyard. The skeletons of former prisoners lay scattered in this tomb, as I saw that evening when my jailer came to serve me my rations. This duty consisted of lowering a pail containing food and a lamp. As soon as I’d eaten, the jailer pulled the pail and light up again, condemning me to darkness until the next day. I used to draw out my meals just to savour the luxury of that little orange flame. Once I refused to send the lamp back up and for punishment the guard left me for days with neither food nor light. How many days I can’t say. Except for the routine of my daily meal, I had no means of measuring time.’
‘This is where you befriended the rat,’ said Hero.
‘I used to talk to him. He was a creature of such regular habits that if he was late appearing, I grew anxious. I’d worry that he’d died and I’d be left with no company but my own.’
‘Oh, sir!’
Vallon stared at a place beyond anybody’s sight but his own. ‘I managed to prise a flake of stone from the wall and used it to scratch a calendar. Weeks lengthened into months. My hair hung down my back and my fingernails grew into talons. Lice plagued me.’
Hero shuddered. ‘I would have gone mad. I couldn’t have borne such suffering.’
‘I came close to killing myself several times. I wondered then and wonder now how many of the bodies lying in the pit had taken their own lives.’ Vallon paused and then spoke in a firmer tone. ‘Since it was clear that no help would come from Aquitaine, I implored the Emir to ask for King Sancho’s intervention in consideration of the services I’d rendered him and his father. About seven months into my confinement, a servant of the Emir brought Sancho’s answer. The king no longer loved me or considered me under his protection. He’d received evidence that I was the one who’d invaded the Emir’s lands. Roland had poisoned his mind.’
‘What a viper! But why would they take his word above yours?’
‘Birth. Roland was the nephew of a duke. His claims would always carry more weight than those of a middle- ranking commander from modest stock. Perhaps Roland had convinced himself that his version of events was accurate. I’ve learned that a man who wants to deceive others must first deceive himself. I still don’t know the truth. I had no time to seek it out after I escaped.’
‘But you did escape. Thank God for that!’
