Barry Unsworth - The Ruby In Her Navel

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If one had the misfortune to be born in the 12th century, then Sicily was the place to be. The Normans had conquered the island, finding it effectively divided in two, inhabited partly by Arabs, partly by Greeks. From the outset, they had given both these communities major responsibility in the government. As well as Latin and Norman French, Greek and Arabic were official languages of the developing state; and when in 1130 that state became a kingdom under Roger II, it was already an example to all Europe of cultural and religious toleration. The chief minister and head of the all-important navy was always a Greek (our word admiral derives through Norman Sicily from the Arab title of emir), while the treasury was entrusted to Arabs, whose mathematics were better than anyone else's.
Roger himself was as unlike a Norman knight as it is possible to be. Brought up in Palermo by an Italian mother in a world of Greek and Muslim tutors, he was a southerner – indeed, an oriental – through and through; and the chapel that he built in the Royal Palace is one of the wonders of the world. The ground plan is that of a western basilica; but the walls are encrusted with Byzantine mosaics as fine as any in existence, while the wooden roof, in the classical Islamic style, would do credit to Cairo or Damascus. Here as nowhere else the Norman achievement is given visual expression.
But of course it was all too good to last. The independent Norman kingdom of Sicily endured only 64 years, ending soon after the death of the last legitimate king, William the Good. But perhaps that kingdom, swallowed up by the Holy Roman Empire, carried within itself the seeds of its own destruction. It was too heterogeneous, too eclectic, too cosmopolitan. It hardly tried – or perhaps it had no time – to develop any natural traditions of its own. And it paid the price.
Here, then, is the tragedy that forms the backdrop to the Booker-longlisted The Ruby in her Navel. Nowadays the story of Norman Sicily is largely and undeservedly forgotten; knowing it and loving it as I do, I picked the book up with some trepidation (which, I may say, was hardly diminished by its appalling title). But I have long admired its author, so I plunged in – and was instantly, and almost literally, transported. Now, it is not easy to transport a reader 1,000 years into the past, into a country and cultural climate 1,000 miles away from his own; I can only say that Unsworth succeeded triumphantly. His hero, born in England of a Norman father but brought to Sicily as a child, tells his story in the first person. It begins with him working as a civil servant in the office of a high-ranking Arab; he is sent on a mission to Calabria, where he meets a troupe of travelling dancers from eastern Anatolia (one of them the owner of the eponymous navel) and where he is accidentally reunited with a childhood sweetheart, now unhappily married. There follows a somewhat picaresque story of love, betrayals and attempted regicide, all of it set against the constant rivalries of Latin and Greek, Christian and Muslim – the latter further exacerbated by the recent catastrophic second crusade.
It is a good story, which holds the attention from start to finish; but its real strength lies in the power of the author's historical imagination. He made me feel what it was actually like to live, work and travel in Norman Sicily. There is no whitewashing; almost all the characters, including the narrator himself, are to a greater or lesser degree unpleasant. But life, one feels, was never dull, if one had the misfortune to be born in the 12th century.

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I said. "I am Thurstan."

"Nesrin," she said, without returning the smile, and she touched herself at the base of the throat. Then she turned to her companions, who had gathered close behind, and she pointed and named them, one by one. He who played the drum and sang was Ozgur, the dulcimer-player was Temel, the two women were Yildiz and Havva. Then Ozgur, smiling broadly, pointed at the drum and said, "Davul," and Temel named the Dulcimer for me, "Kemanche". All five of them were smiling now, as people do when they are named. But there was an uncertainty in the pause that followed, as often happens when there is this naming, especially when there is some obstacle of language to overcome, and I think the girl felt this – she was quick in her sensing of things, as I was to learn – because she laughed suddenly and made a gesture to include the captive birds, whose cages occupied most of the deck, raising a hand and slackening the wrist and letting the fingers dangle loosely down. I saw after a moment that this was in imitation of the long crest-plumes of the herons, which in the wretchedness of captivity drooped down along their backs.

After rage there comes some feeling of sorrow, at least so it is with me. I looked at the birds, at these limp crests of theirs, grown for their time of mating, useless now that their courtship had been cut short. God had made them this gift in the dawn of creation, He had endowed them with this plume to wear for their marriage. And now they were penned and could only shuffle their wings and wail, and they would never mount or be mounted.

I could not see cause for laughter in this, and I let none show on my face. Nesrin, as I have said, was quick in her sensing of things. She was equally quick in her defiance, and this too I was to learn. She showed it now, deliberately prolonging both gesture and laughter, looking directly at me all the while, as if to say, you do not govern my laughter, and I looked back steadily at her and my look said, you are no more than a savage, why should I laugh at your bidding? So something was exchanged between us without words, and when we looked away from each other it was like a truce, but not of the kind where pledges are made or weapons laid aside. I was glad I had not yielded, for immediate personal reasons, and then because, as is well known, small things lead to great, and when I returned to Palermo, I would be responsible for their appearance before the King, they would need to give heed to my words, from the very beginning they would have to understand that I was not one of them, to laugh at their jokes, but a person in authority, moving on a higher plane, the provider of rewards and the source of benefits: in short, the King's Purveyor.

In spite of this excellent reasoning, I was already beginning to feel some compunction. I know not why it is, but I can never stay self-contented for very long. I see a settled state of self-content on some faces, see how they can bask in the sunshine of it, but with me some shadow always intrudes. The girl had felt grateful for my defence of her. That she was mistaken in her gratitude was not the point at issue. She had tried to show her good will by jesting, and I had rebuffed her. I would have said something, even now, in an attempt to repair matters, but she turned away from me, raising her hands to her head and gathering it at the nape so as to tie it, and the loose sleeves fell back from her arms, which were beautiful – but indeed it is a beautiful movement in women, whether they be young or old.

I saw now that the master had come on deck and I remembered I had intended to speak to him, before the altercation with Sigismond had put it out of my mind. Only then, as I gave him his instructions and informed him that I would not be returning with the ship, did it occur to me to wonder why Mario had made no appearance, why he had left it to the men of the crew to restrain his fellow and lead him away. Sigismond was standing at the prow, well away from the dancers, but there was no sign of Mario. He was not below either, so the master told me. He was nowhere to be seen on the ship or on the quay. I realised now that I had not seen him since the people had come down with the birds. But I would not have noticed him anyway, probably, distracted as I had been by those singing voices and that pretence of bargaining.

It was disagreeable to me to address Sigismond so soon after what had happened between us, but I had little choice. He answered me with his usual gruffness, but readily enough and without truculence. His hair was wet, as if he had thrown water over it and he had tied a rag of cotton round his neck to cover the bruise. Mario had said he was going for a piss and he had not come back, this while I was purchasing the herons.

He, Sigismond, had said nothing about this absence, supposing Mario would return before the ship sailed.

"Your first loyalty should have been to me, not to him," I said. "Two fine guards they gave me, one is away drinking when he should be at my shoulder, the other disappears at the time he is most needed."

Sigismond surprised me now: I had expected no more than a shrug, but he looked me doggedly in the face and said, "Lord, forgive this ignorant man that I am, no better than a beast. I thought the girl gave me a look. Then I felt a fool. I have a wife and children in Palermo. Have pity for them, let me keep my place."

This might have been the longest speech he had ever made in his life.

Some grace had descended on him and I could not do less than share in it. Besides, whether by accident or design, he had given me my title, acknowledged my birth. "You can keep your place," I said. "I will not make mention of this in my report, but you must take better care in the future." At this he ducked his head and made a shuffling bow, and I again noticed the poor scrap of cloth round his neck and felt sorry for what had happened. I smiled at him and said, "The girl belongs to the King now, no matter which way she glances. It is easy to make mistakes about the look in a girl's eyes. And then, it is always our fault, no?"

He returned my smile with one of his own, as broad as any I have seen on a human face, and the first I had ever seen on his. He turned away without more words, but I felt I had healed the hurt to his pride if not that to his neck, and perhaps gained his goodwill, something which I think I had not had before.

Mario was still nowhere to be seen but we could not delay longer. I waited at the quayside while the ship put off. As she pulled away from the wharf and passed beyond the harbour wall, the sun caught the birds in their cages and for some moments the deck of the ship flashed along all its length.

VIII

I had now to make my preparations for the continuing journey. I would have to secure a horse in good enough condition. But first I retraced my steps to the inn. I had changed my mind in the matter of the mules, I had been too tame with that foul innkeeper. Why should I leave three mules as the King's gift to him? I was more at my ease now, not harassed by conflicting claims as I had been the night before.

The innkeeper showed no pleasure at seeing me. "I have decided to sell these mules to you," I said to him in the manner of one conferring favours.

He was inclined to sneer at first, having set me down as a soft fellow.

But when I threatened to lead the beasts away there and then and sell them to the first who made me a fair offer, he saw his advantage slipping away. In the end I recovered four ducats and sixty kharruba from the six I had given. "Life is not always kind," I said to him in parting, "otherwise a man of noble birth would not be haggling about mules with a scoundrel. But I hope at least I will be spared the sight of your ugly face again." I had prepared this insult in advance, but even as I spoke the disagreeable suspicion came to my mind that I was destined to be Filippo's successor, that this annual purchasing of herons for the royal falconry would henceforth be one of my settled duties.

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