Excerpt from Final Testament of Sultan Gianlucca of Sicily, call the “Old”
My last days are approaching - I can tell from the aches in my flesh and bones. My courtiers tell me that of course I am imagining things - they say that the Conqueror of the Roman Emperor is immune to the aches and pains of old age, and that I will live for many years to come.
They are just obsequious courtiers and I am a simple soldier who was fortunate and blessed by God (not the God of the hateful so-called Vicar of Christ, marooned in his fortress in the middle of the Andalusian Arabs, and not that of the foolish Romans in the East, but by a simple, kind, understandable God. Or so I believe.)
In any event, the cannot fool me with their honeyed words - I can feel death approaching, sailing towards me across the seas I’ve traveled so often. He will arrive soon enough. Knowing that he is on his way, and I choose to write down a few things covering this last, eventful period of my life, with perhaps just a few asides to earlier days. My public legacy is set, of this I’m sure. It’s the secrets of my private life that might come to light in future days that I wish to write about. In this way, perhaps I can influence what people say of me, and perhaps lay out my case to God for forgiveness of the things I’ve had to do to gain all that I’ve gained for my house, my people, and Him.
My mind takes me back to the end of the war against Konstantios and the Romans.
Following the defeat of Konstantios in the hills and deserts of Palestine, I returned with my troops and ships to Palermo, expecting, quite honestly, to settle down for a few years of peace and quiet, basking in the adulation of my people. Instead, I returned to what I can only call a complete family and governmental.
Somehow, in my absence, my beloved grandson, Biagio, had managed to convince the entire government that he was the proper heir to the throne of Sicily. Needless to say, I was outraged and the insolence, and despite all my best efforts, I could neither convince him to resign this position or convince the court that this was in error.
Now, of course I loved by grandson. The son of my eldest daughter Butayna, and the grandson of two Caliphs, he was, in fact, the living embodiment of my own father’s efforts to gain a claim to the entire Fatimid Caliphate. In fact, he had a claim fo the Fatimid and the Abbasid Caliphate - more than my father actually dreamed of. While it caught me by surprise that the court would in effect disinherit my own sons from the inheritance of the kingdom, I had to admit that the claims he possessed were compelling and entirely appropriate for the next Sultan of Sicily.
And his wife, with her claim to the vast lands and throne of Cumania as well as her formidable skills and capabilities, seemed to make the choice even more compelling.
But there was one problem - after many many years of marriage, they had no children. Now, I understood some of that - Biagio was my marshall and led my troops into many battles over the years. But many men have been to war and managed to have children; I saw the lack of children as a major set-back to his claims to the Kingdom - how could I let my hard work fall into the hands of an heir who had no heir? I could the ruin of my house lurking on the horizon.
I thought of my first-born son, Musa. He was truly the apple of my eye - a son to beat all other sons. And yet.....15 years ago he began his friendship with the hateful heir to the Roman throne, Konstantios. He married but begat only daughters. I had begun to hear stories about a growing irrationality soon after I gifted him with Algiers and other dukedoms and counties across the country - in effect, the patrimony of the Kings of Sicily. I brushed them off as baseless rumors, spread by the envious, but when I heard that he was leading his troops up and down the Calabrian Coast in a senseless marching up and down the mountainous terrain, I grew worried. I sent my Chaplain in those days to investigate - it was a short boat trip from Palermo. What I heard frankly alarmed me - he was a different person from the bright young man I had sent off full of hope to govern Africa for me.
Although my heir, he spoke nothing but evil of me. He talked of making the throne his, and his daughters the “New Mathildas of the Age”. His men despaired of him, his subjects revolted against him, and even his wife conspired against him. I sent my most loyal household troops, arrested him in his delirium, and had him brought back to Palermo, where he was kept under close observations. He was hopeless, or at least he seemed so to me. He declined rapidly and I will admit in these pages, for the sake of the family and the inheritance, I assisted him on his way to the mansions of death.
Meanwhile, my second son, Gianlucca, governing our growing lands in Andalusia from the rich city of Valencia, was brilliant in all the ways Musa had been. He was the perfect heir, and he loved me. He also had three sons, each of whom were promising young men, perfect examples of the brilliance of the Abu-Bakr di Canossa line.
This is the son I had expected to rule, and to whom I had granted extensive lands and honors to replace those that descended from Musa to his daughters, each in turn.
And this is the son who I found so rudely pushed aside by Biagio when I returned from the campaigns against Konstantios. But I was torn - while Gianlucca was my son, and always the intended heir to the kingdom, Biagio was an intriguing choice with those claims that could make him, and my kingdom, the undisputed master of the Mediterranean. My family had long seen ourselves and our lands as the logical continuation of the Roman, Greek and Punic lines - how much the better if we could add the ancient Greek holding of Alexander to our domains?
But what to do about the lack of an heir to this promising new heir? I waited for many months after we returned victorious, but no news of pregnancy in his wife, a maid, a farm girl, a lover - nothing. Was the lack in Biagio (in which case he would be a most unfit King, or Zahra?) In the name of the family, of the inheritance, the kingdom, I decided to do the logical thing - I had Zahra eliminated. If Zahra was the issue, a new wife would quickly show that. If she wasn’t, well, she was a brilliant woman, but the world would have to do without her.
I quickly arranged for a new wife to arrive for Biagio, knowing that in his sorrow, he might turn all the more readily to a new love, and perhaps bring the heir I desperately wanted to see if he could produce. The people were genuinely delighted, and we welcomed her to Palermo with all the pomp and circumstance that the new consort of the Heir to Sicily should have had. I settled down to wait for the glad tidings of an heir to arrive - I requested daily updates from the guards and body servants of the two fo them. I was worried - I was getting old, and had to make decisions about the family and our inheritance.
Two events now occurred in rapid succession. The first made me stop and consider the steps I’d taken to ensure the continuation of the family and my line. The so-called Pope, Vicar of Christ, Bishop (in name only, of course) or Rome, declared me excommunicate and barred from the fellowship of Christ. This was a shock, but I suppose it shouldn’t have been. My family had always opposed the designs of the Pope to temporal power, believing that he should be a spiritual leader only, like the ancient Apostles and Christ himself. What kingdom did Christ rule, other than the spiritual kingdom of God? And looking at the wide lands of Europe, the Pope had failed miserably in fighting against heretic, schismatic and unholy religions. We really did believe that we were doing him a favor by allowing him to focus on the spiritual welfare of Europe, while we and other temporal rulers focused on the things of Caesar (as Christ himself commanded!)
However, I will admit I was tempted momentarily by my own weakness to wonder if God in fact was sending me a signal. Then, fast on the heels of this, came fast ships bearing the news that the Abbasid Caliph Timurtas (in fact, a holder of the claims that Biagio could easily pursue) had declared Jihad against me. This, then was the sign of the utter failure of the Pope in his machinations against me - how could the Vicar of Christ excommunicate the ruler against whom all of Islam was ranged in an effort to claim back the lands of Africa? Clearly this “pope” alone in his small fortress in the ancient lands of Leon (and surrounded on all sides by the Sultan of Mauretania) was a false and failed prophet.
In fact, as my Court Chaplain pointed out, this pope as not only fallen and false, he was in league with the forces of Islam itself! How else to explain the timing? The letter of excommunication, read against me across all of Europe, arrived from the West as the fast ships bearing news of Jihad reached us from the East. Too tidy by far, clearly an effort to crush our spirit between two hammer blows.
In response to this, and with the blessing of my Chaplain, I began sending bags of gold westward, by the hands of merchants and travelers, welcoming people to the benefits of my gold for the demise of the fallen prophet of Rome.
In the meantime, there was a war to be fought.
The first significant battle took place in the ancient lands of Cyrenaica - at Tobruk. There we faces and defeated the first wave of troops, with Biagio leading the center against the invaders. The results were a rout for the Sultan and his allies, and a glorious victory for ourselves, showing to one and all that God was on the side of Sicily.
For the next four years, we waited, with only a few battles fought in the sands of Cyrenaica. The Caliph and his allies had to march across the mountains of Persia, the plains of Mesopotamia, the sands of Palestine and along the coasts of Egypt to even reach our forces. We were content to wait. After four years, we had won many battles with minimal loss and damage to our lands, forces and treasure.
Finally, I sent two large armies traveling back along the path the armies of Islam took to each us. As our troops crossed out of the lands of the Roman, and entered the foothills of Persia, the Caliph, far away in this mountain fortress beyond Persia, sent words of surrender, peace and amity.
And directly following the end of this foolish Jihad, God Himself sent a message that proved to all who have ears to hear and eyes to see that indeed the false and fallen Pope was behind this failed and pathetic attack. After sending an immense treasure to the West, news arrived the Valentine was dead, choking upon his own bile as he led a procession invoking the wrath of God upon the our royal head. Instead, God turned his displeasure upon the one who presumed to serve God while only serving his own selfish ends. The in perfect harmony, and mirroring the arrival from West and East of warnings of doom, we heard from West and East the dawning of peace and the demise of our enemies by the hand of God.
And still Biagio had no children - after 4 years of waiting.
Just as I had loved Musa, I loved Biagio. His claims to the lands of Egypt and Arabia would have made him a king the likes of which I am sure the world has not seen since Alexander or Caesar. But with no heir to pass such a kingdom to, what would happen? History tells us - the Empire of Alexander fell to rivals as soon as he died. Caesar’s kingdom grew, but only after the entire Mediterranean world was plunged into a bloodbath between his friends and his adopted son. Neither end was acceptable to me, and while I was tempted to let the throne pass to Biagio knowing that in the end, if he proved childless, the throne would pass back to Gianlucca, my son. But could I ensure that? It was a possibility, certainly, but one that I could not confirm while living, and certainly could not enforce once dead.
I made my final decision - one that followed logically after the deaths of Musa, Zahra and the false pope. But this time I enlisted the aristocracy of the kingdom, those of my blood who held no fondness for the man they considered an Egyptian usurper (he was still popular with the masses and certain sections of the nobles - otherwise, how could he have established and maintained his claim to the crown?) The family came flocking to the cause - the plot, I suppose I could call it. Within days all the great nobles sent word they would join the cause for the sake of the family. The Archbishop of Rome, my most loyal vassal, joined last - while not a member of the family, he appreciated that his holdings were dependent on the family maintaining our position against the Pope.
I called a great tournament to be held in Rome to celebrate the victories against the Caliph and the end of the Jihad in Africa. Everyone came, including Biagio. I almost called him back, I thought of telling him to hold the throne safe in his hands while I traveled to Rome. But he was the commander of my troops, the winner of the early battle of Tobruk, and the originator of so many of our victories. I couldn’t think of a reason to leave him behind was was arguably a celebration of his successes. Gianlucca and his family, from Andalusia arrived in Palermo as they traveled to Rome, and seeing this face, listening to his wise words and seeing his own prowess with the sword, greeting his male children and grandchildren against the empty chambers of Biagio made he hold my tongue. Having done so much for the survival of the family, of the House of Abu Bakr di Canossa, and of the kingdom itself, we boarded the flagship and proceeded out of the harbor of Palermo, a riot of color and fanfare and joy, with only myself feeling the blackness at the heart of the trip.
In Rome, everything happened as planned. The tournament was a great success, with all the vassals reveling in the crowds, the entertainment, the excitement of the tournament itself with all its pageantry and pomp, and in the innumerable feasts. And at the end of one of those feasts, Biagio withdrew from the feasts claiming to be unwell. And he never rose from his bed after that.
And now I sit back in Palermo. The Tournament was ending anyway, and the death of Biagio was not even known by some as the boarded their ships or started their long journeys home. Those who conspired with me to bring this episode to an end, and Gianlucca back into the line of inheritance all left happy that the family of Abu Bakr would rule still. Those who were partisans of Biagio accepted that illness, or internal wound from his many battles or the tournament itself were the cause mourned the loss of the claims on Egypt and Mesopotamia, but gladly accepted Gianlucca as heir to the throne. Perhaps they even were glad of the strong sons and grandsons of Gianlucca as insurance against the unknown and unknowable future. And I wait for the ship of death to dock at the harbor below, to carry me on to the next adventure.