The Sky Of Nadira

By Giovanni Mongiovì

Sicily, 11th century. Nadira is an innocent girl of Berber origins, who lives with submission the impositions of her brother; for examples when he told her that she will have to become one of the wives of the emir of her city. However, his eyes are something strange and bewitching that they attract the attention of more than one pretender. Soon the fame of a curse spreads: men who meet his gaze cannot help but desire and try to have it. The very eyes of Nadira, and that boundless sky that they remember, will be the cause of the outbreak of the last war that the Muslim Sicily will experience. Meanwhile, the de Hauteville brothers, fearsome Norman warriors, are waiting to take advantage of any pretext, so that they can cross the sea in order to begin a crusade against the Moors.

”Can there really exist something so extraordinarily irresistible and cursed as to irreparably shake the desires of those who watch it?” Nadira's atypical blue eyes seem to prove that this is the case.
Sicily, 11th century. We are in the latest period of Arab domination: the emirs of the main cities of the island are fighting a war between each other and the Christian forces are waiting for an excuse to intervene so as to undertake their holy war against the Muslim enemy. Nadira is an innocent Berber girl who lives with submission the impositions of her brother; like when he told her that she will have to become one of the wives of the emir of her city. However, her eyes are something strange and bewitching that attract the attention of more than one pretender. Soon the fame of a curse spreads: men who meet his gaze cannot help but they desire and try to have it. The very eyes of Nadira, and that boundless sky that they remember, will be the cause of the outbreak of the last war that Muslim Sicily will ever experience. Meanwhile, the de Hauteville brothers, fearsome Norman warriors, are waiting to take advantage of any pretext, so that they can cross the sea in order to begin a crusade against the Moors. Corrado, a Norman too, moves in all of this, but raised among Sicilian Christians. His ambition is boundless and his revenge against Muslim rulers stronger than common sense. Corrado's fate will eventually cross with the ”sky of Nadira” and with the mystery that hides behind the nature of those eyes. But only if he can reveal what binds a man's heart to the desire that subjects him to evil, he will be able to overcome the danger that Nadira's beauty represents. The war is still raging, which has now become a clash of cultures and religions, when the fragile sprout of tolerance begins to emerge from the ground of hatred ... hope cured by those who have been able to put their soul's concerns in order. A multicultural setting, a story told from all perspectives, an objective story with a current flavour, a novel that lovers of adventure historical fiction cannot ignore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tektime
• Release date: Sep 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9788835411826

Book preview

Introduction

No matter how many rivers flow into the sea, they will never have the name of the waters where they throw themselves for the simply motive that the sea cannot be a reason for a river. In the same way, the beginning cannot replace the definition of the end, nor can it exceed its importance. Look at the source of a river, at the high cliffs from which it flows, taste its waters, and give it a name based on this. It is not the action that makes a man, it is not the hand that perform the action, the reason for everything is the heart. The essence of original sin was not to pick the fruit, but all that moved that gesture. The greed can hide everywhere: in the succulent meat, in the redness of wine, in the shapes of a girl... or at least it is so that justifies himself who surrenders. The truth is that it hides exclusively in the eyes and hearts of those who feel that consuming fire, that devouring flame that is lust.

Among the illustrious of these people descendants of ancient Greek, a story was told. It was a story that survived the baptism of Christianity and the sword of Islam. Penthesilea, a powerful Amazon, was called to fight in defence of the Trojans. She was a beautiful woman and, as often happens in Greek myths, the goddesses envied her. For this reason, Aphrodite wanted to punish her with the most terrible sentence: every man who had seen her, would have felt such an unstoppable desire to have her, and for certain he would have tried to rape her. Penthesilea hid under her armour for as long as she could, except that, during a battle, Achilles killed her and stripped her of her weapons. Only then was it evident that Penthesilea's curse overcame the same death: in fact, Achilles could not resist it ...

Beyond the myth, can something so extraordinarily irresistible and cursed really exist to stir the wishes of those who watch it? A beauty of such power to let the malice of hearts emerge, but also ambivalent, as it can bring out the noble virtues in the soul of the deserving.

The following story is the first of many others about men and women, about blood that binds each of them to their own past and the future. It is the story of this land, its peoples, its wars, its vices and its dormant qualities. However, what follows is the first, and being such is therefore the original ...

PART I – THE STRANGER TIED TO THE POLE

Chapter 1

Winter 1060 (452 from the Hegira) Rabaḍ di Qasr Yanna

There for that valley where the wheels¹ never stop their motion ... there where the mountain of Qasr Yanna rests its roots ... there on that flat land where the Rabaḍ² is ...

The valley at the foot of ancient Enna was lost towards the east; the Arab intervention in the centuries had made her more fertile than she would otherwise have been. Looking west, QasrbYanna³, in the centre of Sicily, stood high on the mountain. Looking east, down from the plateau, you could get lost with your eyes in dozens of hills, woods, meadows, pastures and streams ... but also in the high water wheels, able to lift the water from the valley ... and in the canals, dug to transport it to the vegetable gardens. The village did not have many houses, perhaps thirty, and only a small mosque, as if to testify to the little importance of the place.

It was just after midday, and two men were dragging another young man of about thirty years in his armpits through the ground destined for the cultivation of pumpkins from flasks. While they were dragging him, he pointed his naked feet to the ground and he stumbled upon capture, he kicked so much that it seemed that he wanted to make the furrows that the plow generally does. He kept his eyes down, and to those who watched the scene he only showed his head and his short hair. It was winter and now his ankles sank in the cold mud formed with the morning rain.

The young man wore shorts and a torn tunic. Those others wore distinctly different clothes: wide and colourful. One of them had a kind of turban and both wore long beards and hair.

When they arrived with the wretched prisoner through the streets of Rabaḍ, everyone gathered curiously. Everyone knew each other in the village, and everyone knew the inhabitants of the last house at the end of the street before the vegetable gardens, the house of Christians, the only ones in Rabaḍ.

They worked hard throughout the area to make the land always fertile; the whole area was agricultural and families lived in villages all scattered among the hills. There was no nobleman and there was no warrior, but only peasants who worked on their own and on behalf of the collector of the Qā'id⁴ of Qasr Yanna.

The house of the young man was exactly the opposite of the house of Christians, at the highest point. A large courtyard, partly fenced, opened in front of the large house, and it is here that the three arrived after having walked the labyrinthine streets and courtyards typical of the Arab-based centres. Just at the point where the market was mounted, and in the exact centre of this place, they tied this unfortunate young man. They tied him to his hands and these to a pole. Then they pulled the rope upwards, locking it to a natural bifurcation of the wood of the rod located on the head of the condemned man, so that he could not sit or bend.

Now a man entered the scene in Qā'id, a kind of man too young for the role he held, a man whose name was Umar. He was a handsome man: of Berber origin, he was barely olive-skinned, had a beautiful pair of deep black eyes, and a straight and well-proportioned nose. The beard hid his age and made him look more like his father, Fuad, also a collector of the Qā'id, who has been missing for almost two years.

Coming out of the tax office, located on the side of the house, Umar pulled the prisoner's head by the blond-copper hair and forced him to look him in the eye. For as the latter was livid, those two must have been satisfied to beat him.

They were face to face, and nothing divided those proud black eyes from staring at those even more proud but green eyes of the prisoner.

«Therefore, you thought you could insult me and get away with it ...» said Umar. The other one didn't answer; not because he did not understand Arabic, but because any word would have been a useless word.

«Don’t waste your time with him» said the debt collector «It's not worth it»

Then he nodded to one of the two who had brought him back to him, and then, having torn his tunic completely, lashed him with a wet rope.

The villagers were all there, yet no one had the courage to set foot over the fence of the courtyard. The groans aborted in that man's throat no longer made an impression of the blood redness that was forming on his back.

Each commented with the neighbour that such a thing had never happened to Rabaḍ. His family members hid in the crowd instead, having the common sense and modesty not to speak. The only absentees were those from the house of the debt collector: the mother, the wife and the sister, who preferred not to get involved in the affairs of the head of the family.

Then, when the appointee of that torture finished his service and they left the young man to himself tied to the pole, the crowd returned to their duties. They left him there, at the mercy of the cold of the evening and the chill of the night.

Only at about midnight, someone did have enough mercy and the permission to bring him a blanket. Umar's men let him do it, realizing that spending the night in winter in the freezing air of the mountains of Qasr Yanna, would have been too much for anyone.

Many saw that young man tremble and jump to keep moving for most of the night. Then, in the morning, when they mounted the market all around the courtyard, they saw him fall asleep hanging by his wrists; it looked like a saddlebag tied to a tree trunk. Someone even believed him dead, and even wanted to ascertain it by slapping him.

It was again afternoon, the condemned had not eaten and drank for a whole day. A herd of bald goats stood in the courtyard, bleating and biting blades of grass. That song of grazing animals made the man tied to the pillory wake up. He thought that he was about to break his knees and to detach his wrists ... Then, at a certain point, feeling a sort of presence, he opened his eyes; in fact, someone had been watching him for some time. Three steps away a girl was staring at him with wide eyes. She had such beautiful eyes with wonderful cut, that not so many people could have. But the condemned and all the others of Rabaḍ knew those blue eyes of a turquoise so intense as to be lost in them and never find yourself again; a strange colour that faded towards the outside of the iris in a dark blue like the depths of the sea. Eyes capable of causing confusion of minds and damnation of hearts.

The girl wore a beautiful green dress with yellow and blue finishes of a typical shape of the people of North Africa and held a flap of the veil close to her face in order to hide the features of her face. The physical appearance with an exotic character, so different from that of the natives of the island, formed the basis for the immeasurable work of his eyes, which stood out atypically. A rebel curl escaped the constriction of the red veil revealing the brown shade of the hair.

When the prisoner saw her, he returned to lower his gaze, and then, returning to look at her a little later, he recited slowly:

«Do you know, oh my Lord, sky of Nadira, the boundaries of her eyes?»

She looked at him lost and asked: «How do you know these words? »

«Ever since Qā'id visited these places, the verses of this poem have spread throughout the village and beyond. »

Staring at her with troubled eyes, he begs at her:

«Untie me, Nadira, my Lady, please! »

But she seemed impassive, lost in that request that she was unable to accept.

«I don't know the boundaries of your eyes, Nadira ... but I can explain the origins if you wish ... Give me at least a bit of water at least...»

At this request, Nadira returned to the house without turning around and without giving weight to him; the tinkling of the anklets echoed throughout the courtyard as she ran towards the entrance, all cold because of the clothing too light and unsuitable to be outside.

The water never reached the condemned man, but as soon as Nadira set foot inside the house and saw her brother Umar, counting money at a table, she asked: «What did the Christian do to deserve this treatment for him?»

Now she didn’t cover no longer her face and it was clear how her full lips and her perfect nose harmoniously surrounded her eyes.

«Who? »

«The man tied to the pole out there. »

«His family refused to pay the jizya⁵. » replied Umar. Then went back counting the money at his usual table, believing that he had liquidated her with a single sentence.

«It will freeze! He's been tied to that pole for two days! »

«Since when do you care about the fate of the infidels? »

«This morning I saw your children playing around that man. You had to see how the little girl looked at him! »

«I'll untie him, don't worry ... but another night in the cool won't hurt him. »

«Come on, Umar, tonight it will freeze more than yesterday. »

«They'll bring him another blanket. Didn't you see that I didn't stop his sister from helping him? »

« Umar the magnanimous! What do you think of this name??» said her sarcastic.

He snorted and with an angry gesture he hit a stack of silver dirhams⁶ earned between taxes and trade. « But should I be insulted by those people? » he asked, raising his voice slightly.

« You said they refused to pay; what if they couldn't? That family is the poorest in the whole Rabaḍ. I remember how our father often gave up on a tax or tribute in order not to oppress the poor people. »

« The dhimmi’⁷s had always paid, even with our father. »

« Even better! If the protégés have always paid, what will it be once? »

« That Corrado, that red man, when his father presented himself without having the tax for the protection of the unbelieving believers in God, he came forward and, looking at me defiantly, said to me:

We have been working for your family for twenty years ... When we will have the jizya, we will give it to you. Otherwise be satisfied with the simple fact that we work for you..

Then he left for his gardens as if nothing had happened. How was I supposed to treat him? »

« This after that you hit his father on the cheek! » Jala, their mother, intervened, because, having heard the tones from the other room, had worried that the discussion between brother and sister would degenerate.

Nadira looked like Jala, except for her unusual blue eyes and skin of a lighter shade. In addition, Nadira was taller than Jala, who loved to say with pride that her daughter was like a palm, due to her stature and long-limbed physique.

Then Umar got to his feet and, feeling accused, replied:

« You cannot understand these matters, mother! How can you determine if anyone can't or don’t want to pay? The punishment serves to make the liars give up...»

« This has always been a united community, far from intrigues, from jealousies between different races and religions ... and even from wars. The house of Christians at the end of the street, the only one in Rabaḍ, has always been treated with dignity. Your father knew what was right about it. Maybe you will be right ... but not at the Rabad of Qasr Yanna's; here we have always helped each other. People yesterday looked amazed at how you treated that poor boy. Ours is a job that is already hated ... and they should respect you, instead of being afraid of you...»

«The Qā'id will ask his' āmil⁸ for an account if the crates are empty. Sorry, but hitting an infidel, it is not a crime. We have allowed them to sit in the presence of a brother, we have allowed them to saddle the mule, we have allowed their women to use the bathrooms together our women ... elsewhere this does not happen, and they may even complain for it. »

«But that Christian you slapped grasped the sword when Jirjis Maniakis' soldiers assaulted the village, although the dhimmi are exempt from war and cannot carry weapons. »

«Then, let me say that I believe this reality is wrong and it will be my duty to restore the order of things. They too submit to Islam as many of the Christians who lived in these lands did, if they do not want to be treated differently. »

This time answered Nadira: «Since when do you think these things? Since you became Qā'id's brother-in-law? »

«And you, little girl, when did you learn to answer your walī⁹, protector and guarantor? Since has the Qā'id set your eyes on you and been betrothed to him? What if I told him that you talked to a Christian tied to a pole? »

«My lord Ali would have had pity for that man. »

«Well, say to him to come and to blame me... as long as he doesn’t detach your tongue because you give such confidences to strangers. »

Nadira then left disappointed and angry, running to take refuge in her room. As the girl passed, the hangman servant thinned quickly. So, throwing himself on his bed, embracing the numerous cushions that covered it, she started to cry.

«Nadira, my girl. » Jala called her. She raised her head, now with the voluminous large curls uncovered, and began to listen

«Nadira, my child, it can be cruel to realize that you will belong to someone you don't know enough; and you're only nineteen ... maybe are enough, but you're inexperienced in everything! »

«Could he really take my tongue off? »

«Don’t mind what does your brother say. But one thing is clear: never and never again do I want to see you talk to that man! »

«I didn't speak to him! It was him who asked me about the water. »

«And what else did he tell you?»

«Nothing!»

«Great, because he is a dangerous man of the worst kind, Nadira. And your brother is right in wanting to punish him. "« A little while ago you said otherwise…»

«I told Umar how his father would have behaved ... Now I’m telling you what I think. Now go and see if your sister-in-law needs help; it is for this reason that you're not yet the wife of the Qā'id ... to assist her in her pregnancy. »

Thus, passed the hours of the second day of that winter of 1060 – the year 452 according to the Hegira¹⁰ – in which Corrado the Christian had been tied and humiliated like a stubborn beast.

Chapter 2

Autumn 1060 (452 from the Hegira), Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna

It was still early October, precisely a couple of months before Umar took revenge for the insolence of the son of the Christians by tying him to the pole in the courtyard, and that Nadira argued with her brother.

Under the sun of early afternoon, Khalid, a twelve-year-old young man so close to Umar, a shepherd boy to whom the Qā'id debt collector entrusted his personal flocks, came quickly to the village. Soon he arrived in front of Umar's house, running so fast that it seemed like a gust of wind in November. Then, so breathless that he had to stand on his knees and on his stick, he shouted:

«Umar! »

It didn't take long for some of the servants to come out, due to the schedule they were busy in the house. Once warned, the landlord went out into the entrance, completely dishevelled, as he evidently slept lulled by the lukewarm torpor of early autumn.

«What do you want? Why are you yelling at this hour? I was slipping next to my children ... and now you have woken us all up! »

«Umar forgive me! The goats…» and stopped to catch his breath.

«What happened to my goats? Did someone steal them? » asked the other full of apprehension

«No, I put them in the lock. »

«So, they are unattended. »

«I wish I could have sent a fartasa¹¹ goat, however you would not have understood its bleating.»

Khalid laughed; it was clear that he was making fun of his master.

Umar took him by the ear and pushed him to the ground with a tread on his ass.

«Tell me something important or else I'll put you in the lock!»

The boy getting up said: « The Qā'id, Lord ... the Qā'id comes to Rabaḍ and asks for you. »

«Is Ali ibn¹² al-Ḥawwās coming to my house? » asked Umar in amazement, adjusting his hair with one hand as if the lord of Gergent¹³ and Qasr Yanna were already in front of him.

« He is accompanied by his faithful and told me to inform you that he is coming with good intentions. »

Umar sharpened the view and noticed the caravan going down the winding curves of the mountain of Qasr Yanna.

«Go back to your goats! » he commanded the young man before running inside.

The confusion broke out in that house, and everyone participated to make everything worthy of the visit of the Qā'id. Even in the whole village the uproar broke out: the women rushed to the entrance of the Rabaḍ and some of the men, having been warned, returned from the nearest gardens.

Michele and Apollonia, Corrado's brother and sister, observed the scene with curiosity. They would pay homage to the Qā'id like everyone else; no matter who commanded them, he was still their lord. On the other hand, if it had not been for the rags that Michele wore and for his shaved hair, signs imposed for his being Christian, no one would have identified them as unbelievers of the word of the Prophet. There was no difference between Apollonia and the Saracen¹⁴ women of the village, except for the more continental features of her face.

Rabaḍ had been colonized exclusively by Berbers since the early days. However, elsewhere, more European looking Muslims - because of different origins or because they were converted natives - swarmed and the somatic difference with Christians was non-existent. Furthermore, for two hundred years, the Berber, Arab and indigenous lineages had been mixing regularly, tending to conform to one people with more homogeneous characteristics. Therefore, in all this the Rabaḍ was an exception.

There was only one term for identifying the inhabitants of the island ... not Arabs, not Berbers, not indigenous, nor anything else, but Sicilians. Maybe they were Saracen Sicilians and Greek Sicilians, or Christians - just as there were Jewish Sicilians - but still all to be defined Sicilians. The new arrivals were excluded from the concept of Sicilians, those who had passed from Africa to Sicily at the time of the invasion of the zirid dynasty and until Abd-Allah had returned to the other side of the Mediterranean. This people, devout to Islam like the others of Berber ethnicity, were called African, precisely because they came from the region that the Arab world called Ifrīqiya¹⁵. The last Africans had arrived just a couple of years earlier, escaped from the devastation that raged in the land of their origin.

Bring the population of Sicilians and Africans together, although all believers in Allah, was a much more complicated undertaking - and in the past the issue had also led to civil unrest - than being able to integrate Christians and Judean¹⁶ into the Islamic society.

The sharia¹⁷ legislation imposed on the latter, in fact, was clear, and little or nothing could be interpreted; they were the dhimmi, the vassals, forced to pay the jizya, the taxes, but nevertheless having the right to exist in their faith. The Africans instead were the real antagonists, those with whom the Sicilian Saracens had to contend for the primacy of rulers.

Al Rabaḍ, however, where nobody had never seen Africans before, the real problem of the day seemed to be making a good impression in front of the Qā'id ibn al-Ḥawwās, the Emir of Qasr Yanna, who inexplicably came to visit to one of his debt collectors.

«If Corrado were here! » said Apollonia as soon as she saw the caravan enter the entrance of the village.

Apollonia was a woman in her early twenties, beautiful with wavy and brown hair and hazel eyes. The white complexion of her skin made her appear even more attractive, as the Arabs girls with European characteristics were the most attractive. If it hadn't been for her religion, they would certainly have wooed her. And if it hadn't been for the smallness of Rabaḍ and her family atmosphere, for sure someone would have induced her to convert with the promise of obtaining an advantageous marriage.

Michele was younger than Corrado and looked a lot like his father. The boy seemed born to work and, although he was not very tall, he was robust and tireless. He also lacked a couple of teeth, having broken them when, at the age of ten, he tried to pull a large nail off a beam.

«At this hour Corrado will have already heard the news and will be coming from the garden with our father. » answered Michele.

«What kind of man will the Qā'id be? » Apollonia asked, more to herself than to her brother.

Michele looked at her puzzled, then, taken from jealousy, he replied Michele looked at her puzzled, then, taken from jealousy, he replied

«Maybe you should stay home like many Islamic women do. »

«I don't know anyone here in Rabaḍ who keeps his sister locked up»

«Umar's sister hasn't been around for a while, and if she does, she is with her face covered. »

«It means that there is a brother more jealous than you. And then Nadira's eyes are enough to attract men. »

Apollonia's last words were the pivot of many things that would happen from that moment forward ...

The Qā'id advanced through the streets among the general riot of the crowd. Ali ibn Ni'ma, more commonly known as ibn al-Ḥawwās, was much loved by people. Its name meant the Demagogue, the one who attracts the favours of the people. And on the other hand, his own rise could not have taken place without the support of the people and their charismatic gifts; a slave of Berber lineage who had freed himself in the state of freedman and had finally become Qā'id of the entire central Sicily.

Ibn al-Ḥawwās came forward riding a beautiful reddish horse harnessed with yellow and green harness. Apollonia's thoughts were disappointed when she realized that the lord of Qasr Yanna was not as young and handsome as she had imagined, but of middle age, greying and slightly overweight. However, it cannot be said that his appearance was unpleasant; for sure many of those girls who praised him in his passing would do everything to receive his attention.

In addition to the twenty-armed men who escorted the Qā'id, there was a woman in black dress that attracted attention. This, accompanied by a couple of handmaids, rode the steed in amazon-style, immediately following its lord. Also, there was a well-dressed guy, for luxury second only to ibn al-Ḥawwās.

Umar found himself at the entrance, paid his respects and invited his master to enter his unworthy home; how he called his home. And Ali, the Qā'id, was quick to introduce people to his entourage as soon as they got off the horse.

«My sister Maimuna and Bashir, my Vizier¹⁸. »

Then Umar made a signal with his hand to indicate to his relatives, who observe from the door, to approach.

«My mother, Jala ... my wife Ghadda and my children Rashid and Fatima; and this is my sister, Nadira. »

Each of those women nodded with folded hands in front of the Qā'id and the latter replied:

«I will send gifts to reward the beauty of this house. » said the lord stopping more than one glance on Nadira's eyes.

The most beautiful carpets and the finest cushions had been prepared in four and four on the floor of the largest room, so that the men would sit there to converse with each other. In the kitchen, the tannūr¹⁹ was even rekindled to bake buns, while young people ran to the nearest source to bring fresh and running water to the guests. They all sat around the centre of the room, while the housewives invited Maimuna to join them on the other side, on the back, under a sort of canopy delimited by a hedge formed by roses.

A row of servants began to bring food, fruit and honey sweets, bread, freshly picked dates, pomegranate juice. At this point, the Vizier, smoothing his beard with a strange pointed shape, began with his reflections and technical questions on the management of the village:

«The place is pleasant, and people are devoted to his Qā'id. Does the credit go to you?»

«It goes to every inhabitant of Rabaḍ and to the pleasant yoke reserved for them by our beloved Qā'id. »

«What are the numbers of the giund²⁰ conscription? »

«Forty-one men, already armed. »

«Are the dhimmi subject to you? »

«There is only one family of Christians ... among the gentlest farmers. »

«One? Elsewhere, in Mazara's iqlīm²¹, Christians are grouped into communities, although often modest..»

«Marauders ... have you suffered attacks?» Ali ibn al-Ḥawwās asked at this point.

«We haven't suffered attacks since my father was at the command. The latest occurred when Jirjis Maniakis was raging on the east coast twenty years ago. Why do you ask me, my Lord? »

«The subjects of Mohammed ibn al-Thumna, my brother-in-law, are not as gentle as the inhabitants of this village ... and Rabaḍ is a fragile outpost at the foot of Qasr Yanna, where I live. »

«Shall we prepare for something, my Qā'id?»

«I'm just telling you to organize the guard and a prompt signalling fire to sound the alarm to our sentries. »

Under the canopy, outdoors, Jala entertained her illustrious guest with the same treatment as her brother. Sitting on stools they talked about frivolity and banality.

«When's the birth? » asked Maimuna to Ghadda, watching her abdomen.

«In three months ... Inshallah²²! »

«And you ... Nadira ... it's really unusual to find you still in your mother's house. Is the smallness of this village the reason why you don't count suitors? »

«To tell you the truth, my Lady, there have been many suitors ... but Umar thought they were not worthy. »

«Of your beauty? Your brother is right. »

« I have nothing more than you. »

Then Maimuna uncovered her wrists by turning the sleeves; scars appeared, just tightened and still full of redness.

« You don't have these that I have ... »

Nadira and the others looked at her perplexed, immediately thought that the Qā'id's sister had cut her veins. But Maimuna explained:

« Don’t think that I am a sinner; it was someone else who made me cut my wrists. »

« Who, my Lady?» asked Nadira with the tears in her eyes, who on that day wore a small palm-shaped painting on her chin, a meticulous work done with henna.²³

«My husband, Mohammed ibn al-Thumna, Qā'id of Catania and Syracuse.»

«Why, my Lady? What did you do to him? » Nadira asked again, leaning forward and grabbing her hands.

«Is there anything that justify that a wife being treated like this? »

Nadira then let go, feeling the response almost like a rebuke.

«I belonged to ibn Meklāti, former lord of Catania, with whom I was married, but Mohammed took his life and stole the city and his wife. And as if the infamy of being married to the killer of my first husband was not enough, Mohammed wanted to give me this gift by having my wrists cut in order to bleed me. Besides, you know how my brother became a slave to Qā'id with his hands ... and for this reason Mohammed only reminded me of my plebeian state. »

«Do you still belong to the Qā'id of Catania, my Lady?» Asked Ghadda.

«He asked for forgiveness when he disposed of the hangover of the wine of the night before… because Mohammed is part of those who drink and give themselves to excesses and then they feel sorry and regret the next day. However, I asked to be able to go to my brother and he granted it to me ... but if it were not for the young servant who wanted to save me, I would not be here today to talk with you, dear sisters. »

«Aren't you afraid to go back to him»

«I will not return; I won’t see my children again ... but I will not return! »

«You are brave! » exclaimed Ghadda.

«I'm not brave, I'm just Qasr Yanna's Qāid sister. If I had been one of the women in this village, I would certainly have returned as a good wife. »

«And your brother won't send you back? » Jala therefore intervened, amazed that Maimuna hoped that her brother could support her in that behaviour in her opinion indecent.

«No, Ali sworn it to me. »

There was a moment of silence, as if the air was full of concern for the story of the woman.

«Nadira, my dear, your brother is right not to give yourself to anyone. Have you seen my wrists? Have you seen what happen if you meet the wrong man? And then you deserve much ... much more than what could happen to you staying with Rabaḍ. Ordinary men wouldn't deserve you, daughter. »

«Who could be interested in a girl of the people? »

«Even an illustrious Qā'id! » Maimuna said with unusual rapidity, as if she had been waiting to give that answer since the beginning of the story.

Nadira laughed modestly, then said:

«There are not many important Qāid in Sicily, except your husband, your brother and…»

She had not yet finished speaking and was struck by a strange awareness: Maimuna was there for her and on behalf of her brother. She was seized with anxiety, apprehension and such a tension that she could no longer speak.

«Nadira, dear, what does upset you? » Maimuna asked, stroking her cheek.

Jala, on the contrary, having understood the antiphon even before her daughter, was out of her mind.

«Nadira, Maimuna's compliments seem to bother you. » scolded the mother.

«Why are you here? » asked instead the girl seriously, swallowing.

«To find out if what is said about Nadira of Rabaḍ is true. Do you mind? »

«No!» replied the young woman, making a nervous smile.

It had been agreed between Maimuna and his brother that, if the judgment on the girl had been positive, the latter would have had to serve the men in the other room, and especially the Qā'id directly from her hands.

«Do you think Qasr Yanna's Qā'id comes to Rabaḍ for no reason? Nadira, Ali would be immensely happy if you personally served him some food. »

Not a little reluctant within himself, not because she disagreed with the proposal but because of the seriousness of the gesture, Nadira covered her face, took from the hands of a servant some sweets made of mustard mixed with honey and mustard and brought them to the room where the men they discussed.

The Qā'id stopped the speech as soon as he saw Nadira advancing towards him; was the signal, the girl had passed the exam of Maimuna.

Umar was perplexed; however, he immediately understood the reason inherent in his lord's visit.

When Nadira knelt before the Qā'id and pushed the hand with the food towards his mouth, the other gently blocked her wrist, and she even feared she had done something wrong. Then he fixed her intently in the wide eyes and began to recite:

«Do you know those sources of living, pure and sapphire-coloured water?

Where it is possible to mirror oneself, to see one's soul.

Where herons and maidens quench their thirst, and their hair is uncovered.

Do you know, oh my Great, the boundaries of your kingdom?

Do you know that sea of shocking wonder?

So deep and rich in flaky fin fish.

So turquoise and cyan and blue, where nets gather.

Do you know, oh favourite of the Supreme, the borders of Sicily?

Do you know that sky of incomparable beauty and innocence?

From which rains in the season of early figs and melons.

Thanks to which hibiscus, orange blossom and roses are refreshed.

Do you know, oh my Lord, the sky of Nadira , the boundaries of her eyes? »

Two tears fell quickly over Nadira's face, which went to hide behind the veil of the niqab²⁴. She could not explain how it was possible that the fame of her eyes had crossed the boundary of Rabaḍ and even had reached the ears of the Qā'id.

«Have you ever heard these words, my dear? » Asked Ali, although he already knew that the answer was negative.

«No, my Lord. But the Nadira to whom you dedicated these words must be lucky. »

The Qā'id smiled, being positively impressed by the girl's modesty.

« This summer I granted an audience to a traveling poet who was looking for a court, such a Mus'ab, and he delighted me for two months with his poetic skills. One day he praised me for a flower of such beauty that I ended up begging him to tell me who she was. That flower had a name: Nadira; she lived in Rabaḍ and was the sister of'āmil. The verses I have recited, my dear, I have only learned them by heart ... the prize for genius goes only to the poet Mus'ab, but the prize for the beauty of these words goes to you. However, if I had seen your eyes before hearing these words, perhaps I would have punished Mus’ab for his presumption in wanting to describe the indescribable. Allah has made you unparalleled and inexplicable, my dear! I waited a month, the entire duration of Ramadan²⁵, before I knew The sky of Nadira, the border of his eyes, although now I realize that that border does not exist.»

Then Ali looked at Umar and said to him:

« Brother, I ask you for Nadira's hand, at whatever price you impose on me.»

Umar didn’t say a word, and Nadira left the room, realizing that the issue had to be addressed by the men.

Umar in his heart immediately agreed, and he would have granted Nadira even without a price, since he would become the Qā'id's brother-in-law, however he hid his emotions and his assent that the other raised the stakes. Ali assured that he wanted to make Nadira one of his wives and that he would not have treat her as a concubine because of his popular origin. Moreover, he also promised gifts and benefits for the whole family. At that moment Umar looked at Rashid, his only eight-year-old son, and couldn't help thinking about how their life would change for the better thanks to his sister's blue eyes.

Meanwhile Nadira had run to take refuge in the place where she went as a child, under the foliage of a large mulberry tree located on the property of the house. She didn’t understand why something so important was happening to her. She was sure that she wasn’t up to it, as she believed she had done nothing to deserve the attention of the Qā'id and a proposal of this magnitude. She was crying and trembling ... then she leaned her back against the trunk and, with her eyes closed, she remembered the cause of those events.

Chapter 3

Summer 1060 (year 452 from Hegira) Rabaḍ by Qasr Yanna

It was Friday, and in the sun of the afternoon, Nadira was going to the well in the south of Rabaḍ with the intention of drawing a bucket of water with Fatima, the granddaughter, with her. The latter, dressed in red, wore a choker decorated with colourful geometric patterns and many ornaments hanging on the forehead and attached to the headdress, just as the Berbers use to decorate the maidens. There were also other women who went to the well, and they laughed and joked carelessly despite the heat of the hottest hour.

At the end of their works, the other women all grabbed their bucket and set off on the journey home. Only Nadira and Fatima remained there.

«I've heard that this well is miraculous. » a male voice began.

Nadira, startled, let go of the rope, dropping the bucket into the bottom of the well.

That guy, a young man who wore a strange yellow kefiah²⁶ rolled up on his head, came forward waving his hands and begging her to forgive him to have scared her.

«I didn't see you, sir.» answered Nadira, covering her face and pulling little Fatima towards her.

«I was saying that this well is miraculous… and now that I'm closer to you I am even more convinced. »

And smiling he continued:

«Because if you're not an angel, explain me what kind of creature of Heaven I have in front of me.»

«Only the sister of the village chief, a man very close to the Qā'id. » Nadira explained his references to dissuade him from any bad intentions.

«You don't have to fear anything from me. »

Therefore, nodding a bow with his hands gathered behind his back, he presented himself:

«Mus'ab, poet and doctor. »

«Let me talk to my brother and I will give you the hospitality you deserve, Mus'ab. »

«You are kind, but all I need I think I have already found it. »

«Do you need water? My brother won't disagree with giving you a bucket. » Nadira asked innocently, imagining that she was referring to the well.

However, the other one smiled and explained:

«I have travelled a lot despite my young age: from Baghdad to Grenada. I have seen many times turquoise eyes and emerald eyes, worthy of the seventy-two virgins promised by Allah to the martyrs. In Andalus I found girls of visual agitation with eyes similar to yours ... and in the mountains of Kabilia I came across women with almost identical characteristics. However, never ... never ... I found such an intense blue embedded in a face like yours. Your aspect betrays the mixture to which you belong, for sure Berber, as I evoke from the clothes of the little girl ... And also, among the Sicilian natives Maybe your father is an indigenous? Or maybe your mother? From whom did you inherit this fortune? »

«You are wrong ... for sure you have been too long away from this earth and you easily fall into deception. There are no Berbers, indigenous or Arabs in these parts, but only Sicilians observing the word of the Prophet. Yeah, among my grandparents and among their mothers there were indigenous women converted to the dictates of the Koran, as happened in any other family of believers on this island. But this is normal considering that most men passed through Sicily in the early days, and only later did families who escaped the persecutions of the caliphs and emirs of Ifrīqiya pass there. Nevertheless, talking about my eyes, why would anyone investigate an inscrutable gift of Allah? »

At that moment the muezzin²⁷ called the faithful to the noon prayer. Nadira turned to the Rabaḍ and its minaret, then hurried to re-enter.

«My mother is waiting for this water for too long. »

«Just tell me your name. »

«Nadira.»

«Nadira, I will write about your eyes! » exclaimed the stranger.

Nadira returned to her home pulling