emblems other than simple geometric patterns. Their horses were small, agile, grey beasts — very different from our heavy bay destriers.
‘You must be lost, Christian.’
Their leader addressed me in good Norman French. I was trying to remain calm, but the speed and ferocity of the attack had left me shaking and very concerned for the welfare of my comrades. I had never encountered Saracens before, but I knew of their formidable reputation as soldiers.
‘I am Edgar, a prince of England. We are travelling to Mazara to meet Roger Guiscard, Count of Sicily.’
‘I am Ibn Hamed, Emir of Calatafimi. Have not the Normans conquered your land?’
‘Yes, my inheritance has been taken from me.’
‘So, why do you travel all the way to my homeland to visit the people who have taken your birthright?’
‘I am no longer heir to a throne, but I am still a prince. Now I am in search of a life beyond England.’
The Saracen lord looked at me curiously.
‘My comrades are in need of help. Will you permit me to see to them?’
‘Of course. I am forgetting my manners; my physician will help you.’
He then barked some orders in Arabic and his men started to move quickly to assess the aftermath of the skirmish.
‘We were driven from Calatafimi by Roger Guiscard three years ago. We now live in the hills, trying to defend our land. Like you, we have been dispossessed.’
Ibn Hamed’s men then began to bring bodies towards us and lay them on the ground. Both sentries had had their throats cut and had been dead for some time, and three more of our men had been killed by the Saracens’ arrows. Edwin, our sergeant-at-arms and our other cavalryman were all bloodied but able to walk. They were bound hand and foot, but did not appear to be badly injured.
‘The two knights are alive. This one will have a sore head for a few days and the one over there will need the arrows removing and the wounds cauterizing. My physician will see to it.’
I checked that Sweyn was still breathing. He was very fortunate that he had managed to get his helmet on — otherwise, the blow would have certainly killed him. I could hear him groaning and beginning to come round as I hurried over to Adela. She was moaning in pain, her eyes closed tightly, fighting against the discomfort. She had not been wearing her armour and an arrow had struck her in the back of her left thigh, just below her buttock, while another arrow, which had come from the same direction, had entered her chest just below her shoulder.
‘Prince Edgar, the one in my leg has only caught flesh, but I think the other has shattered my collarbone.’ She grimaced in agony. ‘That one really hurts. Tell them to be especially careful.’
‘Adela, your clothes will have to be cut from you.’
‘I know. Let’s get on with it.’
I turned to the Emir.
‘This knight is a woman. Please tell your physician.’
‘You have women in English armies!’
‘Not usually, but this woman is an exceptional warrior.’
A debate then began between Ibn Hamed and his physician, which obviously had something to do with him treating a woman. Adela had also worked out what the debate was about.
‘You do it, my Prince. You’ve seen a woman’s body before.’
I managed to get Adela’s leather jerkin off without causing her too much pain, but I had to cut away her smock and leggings with my seax, a process that exacerbated her pain greatly. To the horror of the physician, I also had to cut away her cotton undergarment, fragments of which had been taken into her wound by the arrowhead.
The whole of the left side of her body was now exposed, but Adela was much more concerned about her pain than her nakedness. She beckoned the physician to begin his work by turning her thigh towards him. He took the hint and got on with his work.
The physician summoned three men and, between us, we held her down. He gave her a thick piece of leather to bite on and then began to heave the arrow from its resting place. It had gone in deeply; its three triangular blades, barbed halfway down, caused much tearing of flesh as it came out. To the admiration of those attending her, Adela cried out only at the end, more out of relief than anguish.
The next indignity was that she had to open her legs to allow the physician to bind the wound, which was now gushing blood profusely. Again, she dealt with the embarrassment as something of little consequence and helped him put the bandage in place.
He called for a fire to be lit and two blades to be made hot, poured some kind of lotion on to the wound, covered it with a poultice, and then dressed it with a heavy cotton bandage. He was clearly a man who had dealt with countless battlefield injuries.
Her shoulder was a more complex challenge. The arrow looked like it had broken on impact and its tip was lodged behind her shattered collarbone. The physician gestured to me to turn her head away, and as I did so he immediately plunged his fingers into the long gash in her shoulder and started to retrieve the tip of the arrow and bits of bone. This time Adela spat out the lump of leather in her mouth and screamed in agony, cursing all of us and heaving and kicking to try to get free.
The pain must have been excruciating as the physician spent at least a minute making sure he had collected all the bone fragments with a pair of small bronze tongs before calling for the first hot dagger. Adela asked for the piece of leather as he signalled to me to push both sides of the wound together with my fingers. As I did so, he seared and sealed the gash with the hot blade. There is very little worse than the stench of burning flesh, but when it is someone you care for very much, it is almost unbearable. Adela tried not move this time, knowing that it was important to get the blade in the right place.
When he had finished, she had a huge black and bloodied wound the colour of burned pork running from the top of her shoulder to the beginnings of the mound of her breast. Once again, after the pain of the treatment, she had to face the indignity of the wound being dressed. She leaned forward so that the physician’s bandage could be securely wrapped under and between her breasts and over her left shoulder, leaving her breasts exposed and taut either side of the dressing.
For the first time, she smiled — if only weakly.
‘I chose this calling; I’ve lived with knights for three years… it’s not the first time my tits have been on full view to a group of men.’
Her thigh was then unbandaged so that her leg wound could be cauterized by the second blade and re- strapped. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped.
Finally, the ordeal was over. Adela looked deathly pale and was shaking, her teeth chattering. She thanked the physician, who touched her forehead and nodded his head in appreciation of her resolve. One of the Saracens brought her a blanket and placed it over her, smiling warmly as he did so.
The Emir dismounted and knelt down by Adela, placing his hand on her forehead.
‘My physician says you must stay warm and eat and drink. You have lost a lot of blood and the pain will have exhausted you. Your body could react badly to everything that has happened to it. You must rest. We will prepare food, and the physician will make you a potion to help you sleep. It is fortunate that it is your left shoulder; the surgeon says the collarbone will never heal. You will be badly scarred and will carry the pain always. You are very brave, worthy of the brotherhood of knights.’
‘Thank you, my Lord, and please thank your physician and your men.’ Adela grasped my hand and pulled me towards her. ‘Sire, where is Sweyn?’
‘He is over there, coming round from a blow to the head; I think he will be fine.’
‘I need a piss. Will you carry me to somewhere discreet?’
It was not the most polite request anyone had ever made of me but, under the circumstances, Adela’s forthrightness brought a wide grin to my face.
By the time I brought Adela back to her tent, Ibn Hamed had ordered his men to release Edwin and the two survivors of our retinue, who rushed over to us.
The physician was now attending to Sweyn, wafting some foul-smelling substance under his nose to bring him round. After a while, it began to work and he started to ask questions.
‘We are being held by Ibn Hamed, Lord of Calatafimi, who is in conflict with Count Roger,’ I explained.
‘Where is Adela, my Lord?’
