The Kingdom of Navarra, Book one, The Banu Qasi

By Xavier Arista

This book has battles, assassinations, slavery and the political intrigue that were common in the eighth century AD. Many of the background histories for this book, like the ambush of King Charlemagne’s army at Roncesvalles Pass in 778 AD, were true historical events. If you have ever studied the ancient poem “Song of Roland,” perhaps you will find it interesting to hear the story from the other side; the side of the Vascones (Basques), struggling to survive as a distinct people. This is also a story of religious intolerance. Both the Saracens and the Christians of the eight century practiced the severest forms of religious intolerance. Interestingly enough, ISIL has brought this intolerance back into our lives in the twenty-first century. This is a novel, but it is based on true historical events. I hope it provides some historical insight into our ancestral roots.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xavier Arista
• Release date: Nov 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311996176

Xavier Arista

The Author is a former Tank Company Commander, airborne trooper, and commercial diver. He had the record for deepest working dive (Wasp & Jim, armored diving suits) from 1982 to 2000. He was a pilot for Alvin, a manned scientific submersible operated by Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute. And is currently a director at a oceanographic research institute, but will retire in December 2015.The Author is an American of Basque decent.

Book preview

The Kingdom of Navarra

Book 1: The Banu Qasi

Written by: Xavier Arista

Copyright © 2015 Xavier Arista

All rights reserved.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book, and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN 9781311996176

Cover by Adam Wayne

Discover book titles by Xavier Arista

Kingdom of Navarra, Book 1: The Banu Qasi

Kingdom of Navarra, Book 2: Barbary Pirates

Kingdom of Navarra, Book 3: The Witch Trials

The Family of Assassins

Prologue

The setting for the Kingdom of Navarra series is the eighth century A.D., shortly after the Muslim conquest of most of the Iberian Peninsula. The Basque clans of Navarra were surrounded by the Muslim Caliphate of Cordoba in the south, and hostile Christian kingdoms in both the west and the north. The Basques continually faced the threat of destruction and enslavement by their bigger, more powerful, neighbors.

The background history for this book, like the ambush at Orreaga Pass in 778 A.D., was a true event. The Banu Qasi (714-929 A.D.) was a small Muslim emirate made up of ethnic Basques and Visigoths who converted to Islam after the Berber conquest of most of Iberia. The civil war between the Berbers and the Saracens (739 A.D.) was also a true historical event. The Kingdom of Asturias (718-910 A.D.), was the predecessor to the kingdoms of Leon, Castile and Portugal. This book is not a history book, but uses actual historical events to make a good story.

The people we now call the Basques were originally called the Vascones. They have occupied the same area in northwestern Spain and southwestern France for over three thousand years. The Basques predate the Roman invasion of Iberia (74 BC), and still exist as a distinct culture; unlike the Visigoths, Huns, Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Lombards, and many other tribes that were far more numerous in their heyday. In addition, the Basques still have their own distinct language and identity. This is due, in part, to the inhospitable western Pyrenees Mountains, but not entirely.

Finally, there’s the lauburu, or Basque cross as the French call it, which dates back to times before the Romans invaded Iberia. It’s still found engraved on tombstones many thousands of years old. The lauburu unites the Basque culture on both sides of the Spanish-French border and throughout the world, and I wear it proudly.

The names used in this story are often Basque, Arabic or old Jewish names. Places are often identified by their Basque names. The names of the pagan gods and goddess of the ancient Basques are accurate.

I hope you enjoy the story.

Acknowledgement

I encourage readers to access Wikipedia for a more complete description of the history of the Kingdom of Navarra, the Banu Qasi, the Kingdom of the Franks, and other historical events which provided a setting for this novel.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1: the Franks

Chapter 2: Catalin

Chapter 3: Zaragoza

Chapter 4: Pamplona

Chapter 5: the Banu Qasi Emirate

Chapter 6: House of Pleasure

Chapter 7: the Birthday Party

Chapter 8: the Aquitani

Chapter 9: the Upper Marches

Chapter 10: Tariq ibn Ziyad

Chapter 11: Barcelona

Chapter 12: Going Home

Chapter 13: Defending Navarra

Chapter 14: the Peasant Army

Chapter 15: Prince Salazar of the Mountain Basques

Chapter 16: Let the Franks Eat Their Horses

Chapter 17: the Battle for Pamplona

Chapter 18: Orreaga [Roncesvalles] Pass

Chapter 19: Kingdom of Asturias

Chapter 20: A Bride for Inigo

Chapter 21: the Wedding

Chapter 22: Rebuilding Navarra

Chapter 23: Coup d’état

Chapter 24: Aquitaine

Chapter 25: the Caliphate of Cordoba

Chapter 26: Civil War

Chapter 1

The Franks

ToC

Extimendi [Mountain Home] hidden deep in the Pyrenees Mountains

It was just an hour before dawn when Inigo awoke from a troubled sleep. He had never seen his father so upset as earlier that night when a messenger from the Aquitani had told him that the Franks had finally defeated the Saxons. The messenger had told his father that the defeated Saxon soldiers were given the choice of serving in the Frankish army or becoming slaves, but all of the young Saxon wives and daughters had been given no choice, and all of them were taken as slaves. Now the Franks are at the border of Aquitaine. You’ll need to watch out, the messenger said as he sadly shook his head, they’ll be coming for the Basques next.

Father, who are the Franks and who are the Saxons? Inigo had asked.

Inigo, the Franks are a very large and vicious tribe, and they are led by a ruthless king named Charlemagne, and they will try to enslave us, just because we don’t believe in their god.

Can’t we beat them? Inigo had asked.

Defeating them would be extremely difficult, son. The Saxons were defeated, and they had three times the number of warriors as all of our people in the seven Basque tribes combined, even if we added our cousins the Aquitani as well. And the Saxons had armor and knights. But, the Frankish army outnumbered the Saxons by three to one, and they crushed them. The messenger also said that he saw five or six Frankish soldiers heading up the Orreaga [Roncesvalles] Pass road.

As the first rays of the morning light creeped into Inigo’s room, Inigo could hear the soft breathing of his mother, father and siblings which confirmed that they were still sound asleep. Soundlessly, he arose and grabbed his woolen jerkin and boots. Their house had no door, as the mountain clan typically hung several sheepskins at the entrance, to keep out the cold mountain air. As he slipped out of the house and into the night, the gentle glow of a quarter-moon was enough for Inigo to pass noiselessly into the barn.

Two sheep dogs raised their heads, and their ears perked up. Clearly, they were eager for an adventure, as they watched Inigo approach and gather his yew bow, a skin of arrows, and his pack. A pat on the heads of both of the dogs, and a gentle stay, told the dogs that they were not invited to tag along.

Inigo’s family’s farm occupied a valley tucked away in the Pyrenees Mountains. The remoteness of the valley kept them safe from marauders who used the main pass through the mountains to the east to get to the hilly country of Iruna [Pamplona]. Their farm supported twenty more families who worked for Inigo’s mother. As Inigo hiked through the valley, he could smell the smoke of wood fires from the other houses that dotted the valley. As he walked east over the next mountain ridge, Inigo strung his bow, and made sure that his fighting iron was loose enough to be quickly pulled from his belt. Last night his father had mentioned that a roving band of Franks had been seen crossing over the Orreaga Pass road. Inigo knew that they probably intended to raid a farm of one of the Arga Valley Basques. The Agra Valley Basques were not his father’s clan, but for the raiders to return to the kingdom of the Franks in the north, the raiders were bound to pass through their land by the Orreaga Pass.

If I get a chance, the raiders will not get away with this attack for free, Inigo mused to himself.

Throughout history the Pyrenees Mountains have separated Iberia from the rest of Europe. This mountain chain stretches for over two hundred and seventy miles from west to east; and both protects, and isolates, the people that live there. In 775 A.D., there were only three roads though the Pyrenees Mountains. The north coast road from Donostia [San Sebastian] to Biarritz, the Orreaga Pass road from Pamplona to the Nive River, and the road along the Roman Sea thru Barcelona.

The sun was high in the sky when Inigo reached a hill overlooking the Orreaga Pass. Inigo pulled out a tan deerskin cloak with a hood from his backpack. The cloak was covered with small loops, and he started grabbing tufts of grass, slipping them into the loops, until the cloak looked like a pile of grass. He picked a good spot to observe the trail, put on the cloak, and lay down, completely blending into the hill. Like hunting deer or boar, he thought, they’ll never be able to see me. As he waited, he watched a hawk flying circles over the mountain pass. How do they do that; how do birds fly?

A soft moan came from the girl as she stumbled behind the Frankish raider’s horse. Her hands were tied in front of her, and she wore an iron slave collar around her neck. The slave collar was tied by a rope to one of the raider’s horses. Feeling hopeless, and scared, she wept softly as she stumbled up the rocky trail. Following the girl, another raider drove a small wagon with three pigs in the back.

All six of the Franks wore chain mail; and carried swords, spears and round shields. They were stocky blue-eyed men with dirty, blondish beards and long mustaches. The leader was telling his raiders that the three pigs would feed their families for the rest of the winter; and when they sold the slave girl they would have money, money to buy ale, perhaps a woman for the night, and maybe a horse. The raiders were all bragging about how they would spend their shares.

Lying flat on his stomach, Inigo saw the raiders’ slow progress up the mountain pass in the distance. He was calculating how far they would get before nightfall. Would they be stupid enough to stop at the waterfall for the night? They didn’t seem to be worried about pursuit, he thought.

The Franks knew that they were clear of the Arga Valley Basques’ borders; and although they knew there was also a mountain clan, no Frank would risk a fight to help someone from a clan other than his own. They doubted that the various Basque clans would either.

As the raiders passed below him, Inigo saw the girl. Her hands were tied in front, and she was being led behind one of the horse soldiers. Damn, he thought, now this is going to be a problem. I would have been happy to just have put a few arrows into a couple of the raiders and then run for the hills. The girl complicates things.

Inigo carefully watched the raiders while he was hidden on the hill overlooking the trail. They didn’t carry bows, not really a Frankish thing; they were more warriors than hunters. It was time to get ahead of them. Inigo crawled over the crest of the hill to block any possibility of being seen, and then he started moving to the north.

Two hours later, Inigo could hear the waterfall in the distance. He stopped to change his camouflaged by removing the grass from his deerskin cloak, and replacing it with green branches from the surrounding pines. Soon, his hands smelled of pine. He brushed his shoulder length, black hair back out of his eyes. The scent of pine smells good, he thought. Soundlessly, he scouted the area around the waterfall. Except for the noise of the waterfall, which would mask the approach of enemies like me, it was a good place to camp, and the Franks will probably stop here. Looking for a spot with a good field of fire and an easy escape route, Inigo chose a large rock, some fifty feet west of the waterfall, overlooking the best campsite. He picked an escape route through a wooded area that was too steep for horses, and marked it by digging up sod at important turning points. Then he began to build a blind that matched the surrounding vegetation. Inigo reflected on his father’s lessons for hunting. Blend into the surroundings, locate yourself downwind if possible, a place where you could standup quickly, aim your bow, and hit your prey without warning, with the sun at you back. This spot was good, he thought. Now the waiting begins.

Caressing his bow, his treasure, Inigo thought back to the day when he and his father had visited the coastal port of Pasaia. Pasaia was a village of the Gipuzkoa clan. All the Basque clans were friendly, but except for trade and occasional cross-clan marriages, they only cooperated when the threat to all of them was great. The Gipuzkoa clan made their living fishing. Most of their boats were small, and they only fished the bay. But, a few large cod boats sailed as far as Angland [England]. One of their boats had come back from Cymru [Wales] on the western shore of Angland, and the captain had brought back a yew bow. The bow was amazing. Six feet long, it shot an arrow extremely fast; with a flat trajectory like no other bow the Basques had ever seen. The Basque captain said that a strange man from Cymru wanted to buy yew wood, and he was very specific, just the trunks, and just bigger than you could encircle with the fingers of both hands. He showed Inigo’s father the branch of a yew tree with its distinctive red berries. Yew didn’t grow on the coast, but it did grow in our mountains. The captain wanted to trade with my father, the chief of the mountain clan, for yew. Ever the shrewd negotiator, Father agreed to send ten trunks; but wanted specific instructions on how the bow and its arrows were made, before he would send any more. A year later, detailed instructions came back from Cymru. Now our clan now made yew bows, but we never sold any more yew trunks; they were just too valuable. After that, the mountain clan had a weapon that could pierce chain mail. Inigo remembered when he started to make his first yew bow at twelve. It was six feet long, and very powerful in his father’s hands; but it took three years of brutal exercise for Inigo to be able to draw the bow to its full extension. When he reached his later teens, he could hit a running boar in the heart at fifty feet. Father forbade our clan from selling yew. We made bows for the men of the clan, but forbade the sale or trade of yew to outsiders.

The noise of waterfall masked the noise of the Frank’s arrival until they were fairly close. Inigo watched from behind his blind as the Franks tethered their horses in a patch of sweet grass near the trail. He could see that the girl was clearly exhausted, her long black hair was coated with dust, and she was only wearing a night shirt that barely covered half of her thighs. The shirt was belted with a rope, and she wore boots of lambskin; but had little to keep her warm. Inigo could see that she was already shivering as the sun began to set.

The leader barked at his men in the coarse Frankish tongue, and they collected firewood and started a fire. They’re too confident, thought Inigo, but there’s too many of them to try to kill them all. I’ll have to wait until just before dawn to strike.

Inigo watched as one of the Franks tied the girl to a tree. Exhausted, she fell asleep in moments.

The Franks ate cheese and black bread from their packs, and spread animal skins to sleep on. Their leader pointed at each of them in turn, setting up a watch rotation.

One of the Franks walked over to the girl with a water skin and splashed a little water on her face.

She woke up startled. Her dirty face was streaked with the trails of her tears.

The guard held the water skin close to her lips so that she could drink. Then he pulled a piece of bread from his vest, and he held it near her mouth for her to take a bite. As she leaned forward to take a bite, he reached into her shift and grabbed her breast.

Her grey eyes blazed, and she jerked forward and bit his hand.

The Frank jerked back, the bread flying to the ground. He howled and slapped her hard across her face. Then he slapped her again and again, until the Frankish leader grabbed his arm and threw him to the ground, as he angrily roared something in Frankish.

It was clear to Inigo that the leader was angered that soldier might bruise the girl which would lower her selling price.

The Franks went back to their skins and lay down. The night guard walked to the edge of the camp, and leaned back against a large tree to start his watch.

Inigo smiled. The girl has spirit. Perhaps I can rescue her.

It was about an hour before dawn, as the first rays of reddish pink light streaked through the morning sky. Inigo slowly, silently, rose to see where the guard on watch was. The guard was leaning against a tree, his head was nodding, as he resisted the urge to fall asleep. Inigo listened carefully as the sound of the course snoring from the other Franks which told him that they were still soundly asleep. The first shot needs to be perfect, he thought. If I fail to instantly kill the man on watch, he’ll wake the other guards, and then the mounted Franks will eventually run me down, and kill me.

Inigo grabbed three arrows from his arrow skin. He felt the arrowheads making sure that they were bodkin points not the broad heads. The bodkins were slender iron points designed to concentrate all their energy at the sharp tip to break through chain mail if necessary. He hoped that he wouldn’t hit the chain mail, but just in case, the bodkins would be better than the broad heads. He stuck two arrows in the ground before him. The light from the quarter-moon bathed the campsite with a gentle eerie glow. Inigo had enough light to see that the guard had slipped off his chain mail hood. A vee of white skin from his chin to his chest was visible when he jerked his head back from a sleepy nod. Inigo drew back his bow, held his breath, and aimed at the vee. The guard stretched his head back in a yawn, and Inigo gently released the arrow. With a barely audible swish, masked by the noise from the waterfall, the arrow slammed through the guard’s throat, and then stuck into the tree that he was leaning against. The bodkin point, designed to penetrate chain mail, had no problem splitting the guard’s spinal column after running through his throat. The guard slumped to the ground with a mild gurgle, the weight of his body breaking the arrow; and the noise was lost in the sound of the waterfall’s cascade.

After notching another arrow, Inigo watched and waited to see if anyone else stirred. After a couple of minutes when no one stirred, he laid down his longbow, and took his knife in one hand, and his fighting iron in the other, and slowly crept down towards the girl. Indigo noted, with a slight smile, that the dead night guard was the one who had viciously slapped the girl.

Gently, Inigo clamped his hand over the girl’s mouth, and he whispered quiet in the Basque language.

Momentarily startled, she nodded her head as she felt Inigo cutting the ropes off of her hands and legs.

Climb on my back and hold on, Inigo whispered into her ear. Not trusting her to walk quietly, he silently carried her up the hill to where he had laid down his bow.

Be a quiet as you can. We need to get away before they awake.

She nodded again, trusting his brave Basque voice, as she followed him up the trail.

They broke out of the forested area into the grasslands, and walked below the crest of the hill to avoid being silhouetted against the dawn sky. The girl couldn’t walk as fast as Inigo, and he scanned the area for possible places to hide if they were pursued.

As the first rays of dawn broke over the mountain ridge, the Frankish leader awoke and glanced at his guard, who was slumped by the tree. Thinking that the guard had fallen asleep; he got up in a fury and viciously kicked the guard. The guard toppled over, dead.

He yelled, Get up you motherless dogs, Sig is dead, in the coarse Frankish tongue.

The Franks checked the pigs first, and then looked for the slave girl. She was gone. Checking the guard, the Franks found the stub of a broken arrow stuck in the tree, and then after rolling the guard over, they found his bloody neck, and the remainder of an arrow lying under his dead body.

This wasn’t the girl’s doing, she had help, growled the Frank leader. Get your mail on, chain mail hoods as well, and scout the area.

Up here, there’s a blind, and the grass is crushed down, said one of the Franks.

You two follow that path, and we will meet you on the top of that grassy hill with the horses, the leader said, nodding to the west.

Two Franks charged off, searching for the intruder. At the top of the hill, the Franks on horseback met up with the two that had gone through the woods.

Just two sets of tracks, and they have a lead on us, said leader of the Franks.

The other men said nothing; fearing their leader’s anger at losing their slave girl.

You two go back and get the pigs. Take the wagon and head through the pass. We’ll catch up later, after we kill that bastard and get our slave back.

Inigo saw the three horses with riders’ galloping up the hill, miles behind them, as they approached the crest of the hill.

Look, do you see that cliff on the side of the hill. I’m going to ambush the raiders, and you’re going to hide in that clump of trees beyond the cliff face. Can you get there?

The girl's eyes went wide with fear, beautiful grey eyes, in a dirty, blood smeared face. Yes, I’ll get there, she replied in a determined voice.

Inigo pulled out his camouflage cloak, replaced the evergreen with the local grass, and carefully crept to a new hiding place. He made sure that he didn’t trample the grass in an area visible from the crest trail. He knelt down and stabbed four arrows in the ground in front of his hiding spot.

At full gallop, the three Frankish raiders charged up the crest trail. The Frankish leader rode with his shield on his left side, and his spear in his right hand.

Inigo waited until he was close. The shield, and the Frank’s armor, made the shot difficult, but the horse was unprotected.

Inigo’s first arrow flew and pierced the chest of the horse, just left of center. The horse crumbled, rolling over the Frankish leader. The next arrow flew towards the second rider, but its rider had pulled his horse up short, and the arrow buried in the horse's flank.

The rider pulled the horse around, and viscously spurring, charged back the way he had come. Terrified at the loss of his leader, the third rider turned back as well.

Inigo ran to the fallen horse. The Frank was stunned, but not dead. Inigo pulled his fighting iron out of his belt, and rotated it so the hatchet was in the back, and the long slender spike was forward. He reached the Frank, who was desperately struggling to free his leg caught under the dying horse. Adrenalin coursed through Inigo’s body as he drove the spike into the head and then into the body of the fallen Frank. Blow after blow broke through the Frank’s chain mail armor; until Inigo dropped to his knees, exhausted.

Suddenly, the girl was hugging Inigo, they’re gone; the others rode away.

Sitting on the dead horse, Inigo dug through his pack, took a drink of water from his bota, and passed the bota to the girl.

She drank long and deep; and then used a splash of water to wipe the blood and dirt off of her face.

Inigo dug two sausages out of his pack, and handed one to the girl. She took a bite. Then realizing how famished she was she started eating with gusto. Inigo smiled at her and said, You’re beautiful.

The girl blushed.

She really is beautiful, Inigo thought as he watched her. He smiled to himself, as juice from the sausage leaked out from her soft lips and down her chin. She had raven, black hair, running half way down her back, beautiful grey eyes, slim hips, and the outline of her perky young breasts showed through her night shirt. But, I shouldn’t have blurted that out, he thought to himself.

Realizing that she was finally safe, a surge of relief swept over the girl. She blushed again, and her eyes welled over with tears. Then on impulse, she buried her head in Inigo’s chest and cried.

Gently, Inigo put his arm around her.

A short while later when they were sure that the remaining Franks would not return. They continued walking west.

What’s your name? asked Inigo, awkwardly.

Catalin, she replied, shyly. Where’re we going? she asked, finally realizing that the gut-wrenching terror of the last twenty-four hours had passed.

I am taking you to my mother’s house, Extimendi [mountain home].

How old are you and what’s your name? She asked, her grey eyes wide with relief.

I’m Inigo of the mountain Basques, and I was born on the goddess Mari’s feast day, during the year of the big snow. But, you talk too much, and it’s still a long walk. Inigo flushed, embarrassed as he regretted his abruptness, and turned away so that the pretty girl couldn’t see his face.

Catalin sniffed, as her emotions, relief from the feeling of terror, gratefulness towards this boy, and his abrupt answer, had confused her.

Inigo felt hot as the morning sun and the continuous hiking made him sweat profusely. He realized that he was still wearing his camouflaged cloak. He stopped, and laying his bow and fighting iron on the ground, he took off his cloak.

Catalin stared at Inigo’s young muscled torso, flushing again, but fixated on the chiseled, sweaty body. He was a young man, beardless, and stood seventeen and a half hands tall (five-foot ten). Piercing grey eyes, black hair, and he had no fat. His knotted mussels flexed, as he pulled off his shirt. His stomach muscles rippled with definition.

She averted her eyes as he looked up, hoping that he didn’t see her staring. Pausing before standing, she waited for a strange tightening in her lower stomach to subside.

Chapter 2

Catalin

ToC

Extimendi [mountain home]

Shortly after sunset, Inigo and Catalin reached the family farm. Lights from the house cast a soft glow on the path; and the smell of smoke, and cooked food, made their stomachs rumble. Two sheep dogs started trotting towards them from the barn.

Inigo smiled at Catalin and handed her another sausage and said, break off small bites for the dogs, and they’ll love you forever.

Catalin smiled back at Inigo, and Inigo felt a strange tingle in his gut. She’s so beautiful, her grey eyes just light up when she smiles, he thought.

The dogs recognized Inigo, and clearly excited, they yipped and started jumping around, their tails wagging eagerly.

Catalin squatted down, and after breaking off some sausage she held it out to the nearest sheep dog. Carefully, the dog inched forward towards Catalin’s hand, sniffed the sausage, and then gently took it from her fingers. Then both of the dogs