In the Shadow of Sin

By Silvia Scibilia

When Herman Autier leaves England to seek his fortune in the county of Sicily, he wants to leave his family’s betrayal behind and start a new life. Herman has many qualities: he is a knight and a knowledgeable jurist, and he has the ability to turn every experience to his advantage without sacrificing his honor. It is thanks to these skills that Ruggero Altavilla entrusts him with a mission. Sent to the home of Baltasar Flores, a wealthy book merchant, he must study the ancient manuscripts in his library. It is there that he discovers the merchant’s greatest treasure – his daughter, Clara. His dreams seem to come true: a brave and educated woman to love and unmatched wealth to use for his purposes. But the shadow of sin that poisoned his life back in his castle finds him and seems to turn him away from Clara and Sicily forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Mar 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781507178706

Book preview

Prologue

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England, 1097

The air seems still as my feet sink into the snow. I have avoided this path since my return; I have avoided you. What could I tell you, my little heath flower? I was happy away from the castle. I was a knight like the others, honored for the might of my arm, the keenness of my mind. I was not simply Colbert’s brother, the commander of these cursed walls, the man who was betrayed by his brother.

I stop in front of a tombstone – it is not as grand as it should. Goodbye, Father. Tomorrow I will leave your land, your pride, your glory. A land that has never been and never will be mine, a land where I left my illusions, my faith, my honor. Colbert will watch over the heir; Amabel will take care of him. They will not allow the treacherous mind of my disloyal bride to taint his soul.

I would like to remember you, Father. I wish I had known the woman who gave me life, the real lady of the castle who never set foot in it. I only remember the noise of the horsemen returning, and your lifeless body, shot dead by an arrow. Amabel told me you died with honor and that I should never be afraid, that she and Colbert would make sure that I grew up healthy and worthy of the name I bear. She hugged me and I went back to my books and my sword, my passions and my duties.

I step on the snow at the foot of your grave, looking up at the gray sky. I should hurry, but time does not flow unless the wind pushes it. I walk along the other graves, those belonging to knights and servants who have contributed to the prosperity of the Autier family. Then I see a recent one. I touch the cross; it is cold.

It was not cold that day. Remember? Indeed, the August sun burned my skin as I dried after bathing in the stream. The cold was inside me, a cold dry anger that burned my soul. I never told you. With your eyes, you asked but I kept silent, keeping my shame hidden inside me.

I always knew that one day Colbert would ask for something in return for taking care of me after my father's death. He gave me more than was conceivable to offer to a brother with Saxon blood in his veins. I had the education of a knight and a courtier. I had the honor to follow him and guide him as sheriff, to conduct the defense of his castle. He always chose the best for me, except for the bride, who instead he wanted for himself.

I never talked about Ròis to you. Why should I have? You could feel my contempt for her and that was enough. I was happy the day she came to the manor. She appeared to me as beautiful as an angel, with golden hair and huge eyes, like lakes. Her smile seemed chaste, her words sweet, our stolen kisses had the taste of the future. She knew from day one that, while she was my wife, she would have to submit to Colbert’s wishes, to his infamous desire for a legitimate heir that Amabel had failed to give him. Colbert informed me that day. He was not my brother at that juncture: he was Lord Colbert and I simply a knight who had sworn allegiance to him. I had to swallow my honor and keep quiet, wait for my wife to get pregnant with his child before I could have one of my own.

I could have screamed, overtaken with violence. Instead, a cold lucidity possessed me. I wanted truth from his words, even though I knew it. A half-breed Saxon could take his place only for a short while after his death, before the manor reverted back to the Normans. I pointed out that Ròis could give birth to a girl and then give a male heir to me, that children are fragile creatures, that the great King William was a bastard, and why could he not settle for one of the many women in the castle instead of dishonoring my name. But you cannot argue with madness. I had to give in, and after a long ride I let the icy water of the stream wash away the filth from my honor.

I saved you that day. Remember, Alyssa? You had left the castle and Walter, the squire, tried to take advantage of you. I took him by the collar and sent him back to the castle with a kick on his ass. Then I offered to bring you back and you kissed me.

I walked away saying that you should not trust men, but while your body was flush against mine, riding together, I could not help but think that you would have deserved more than what life would give you.

Was it fate that threw you in my arms the next day? I was like a beast in a cage. In a few hours I would marry Ròis, in a few hours I would have to start bearing the disgrace of a lifetime. I wanted to run away, but where? Colbert had outlined my future well. I am just a half-Saxon soldier. The island is great, to the north there are still lands to conquer, starting with the Scots. The wars of succession between Malcolm and Donald Edgar Blane for the throne of Scotland make for a precarious stability and the submission of Edgar to King William is as fragile as the virginity of a young lady during a siege. Who can know the future? I am a strong and knowledgeable knight. I could distinguish myself in battle and perhaps avenge the death of my mother and of her noble family. This I was thinking about, as you fled from the kitchens, tears marking crooked lines on your soot-covered face. Your mother was railing against you, and I felt the need to defend you. I told her that from that moment I would keep you with me. Only fear prevented her from answering back. I brought you into my room and ordered you to get cleaned up.

I have vague memories of my wedding – a quick ceremony, a rich banquet and many lies disguised as smiles. I remember the furious beat of my heart thundering in my ears, a feeling of nausea and oppression, the desire to be elsewhere.

It was with relief that I closed the bedroom door behind me. Soon my brother would embrace Ròis in the room that had been decorated for me, would sink his manhood in her virginal body, would drink the warmth of her white skin. It was not jealous fury I felt inside because I did not love Ròis, despite having desired her. But I felt robbed of the only thing that I had gained so far beyond my family name and noble blood – my honor.

I found you there, sitting on a bench as you dried your hair with a towel. You looked grateful, but I sensed the unspoken question in your eyes. Why were you there?

I did not look for excuses, or couch my words. You were there to give me pleasure. You could choose to go away and return to hard work and injustice in the kitchen with your mother or stay with me and share my dishonor.

You chose love, my little heath flower. You helped me to undress. Your hands slid light on the muscles in my back, caressing my chest. I took your lips, opened them with mine. I introduced you to a world of moans, of sighs. A world where words are not necessary. The bed welcomed us, soft. I wanted to feed myself off the young, fresh skin of your immature breasts, of your slender hips.

I felt my desire grow. The desire to sink myself into you hurt my loins, but I imposed myself to wait until you were ready to welcome me. I let Ròis and Colbert out of my thoughts, just as I did every time my body joined yours. You were the thrill that clears the mind; you were the serenity that I never again felt except when I was far from the manor.

You were tights and warm, moist and quivering with desire for me. I felt the delicacy of your virginity breaking, your jolt of pain, your arms that enveloped me. You, who were there with me, for me. I wanted to give you the pleasure that you had offered me so generously. I could not. I met your eyes, veiled by pleasure and curiosity, and let our gazes entwined as I exploded inside you. It was the only way to make you feel how sweet it was to die in your arms.

Dawn caught us embraced under the blanket. I looked at you while you were sleeping. You were was relaxed in my arms. Your pale eyelashes created a shadow that seemed to stretch on your smooth and rosy cheeks, flecked by a few freckles. I pushed back the blanket to look at your body. It was thin, the projections of the ribs emphasized the fact that, despite living in a kitchen, you were undernourished. A spot caught my attention. The blood of your virginity, diluted with my seed, had created a strange shape in the white sheet.

I recognized same spot in the bed sheet that, shortly thereafter, hung like a banner in the great room. I guessed the reason and ran to Colbert, furious and at the same time glad that he had been betrayed. He was unfriendly and nervous. He glared at me with his wolf eyes when I insinuated that he had been offered a wormy apple, and infested with maggots from another parasite. He was just as cruel in reminding me that we were talking about my wife, the mother of my children, the woman that I decided at that moment I would never touch.

I never told you about this. Why should I have? You never knew how she tried in every way to change my mind, approaching me quivering with repressed desire, complaining about her unjust fate, insulting and cursing you. She did not understand, Alyssa, that for me truthfulness and honor came before lust. She did not understand that the mere sight of her disgusted me. Every time I came looking for you, I was trying to drown nausea and bitterness in sweetness. More and more invisible ties linked me to you, and prevented me from seeing that her hatred towards you grew along with her desire for revenge.

The day that Colbert awaited came at last: Ròis was pregnant with his heir. He was not there in those days and it was Amabel who told me. I read suffering and humiliation in her eyes, as well as pride and love for a man who had betrayed her for a principle.

I went to Ròis, congratulated her and told her to stay away from me, threatened her with death if she tried to vent her lust with any man in the manor.

I expressed my contempt and unintentionally signed your death warrant.

I did not want to abandon you to your fate, my little heath flower, when the order came from William the Red to follow him to Wales. Colbert could not refuse without turning into a rebel,  getting tortured and deprived of everything by a greedy and vicious ruler. I asked Amabel to protect you even if it was inappropriate. What dangers could lurk in the castle that my father had conquered so many years before, and made impenetrable with the strength of his arm?

I quickly realized that my destiny was far from the Autier family and their land. I had not been that happy in a long time. I fought for the king and for England; I fought for me. I challenged death in every battle and came out victorious, stronger, more confident. Now I knew who Herman Autier was.

The campaign in Wales ended as it had begun: with no winners or losers. King William chose a few knights to follow him to Normandy. I was the first to be summoned. He had been shocked by my culture and my courage. I met two young knights, both cadets like me, Gilbert and Ethan. They are here now, Alyssa. They are waiting for me to be ready to leave the Autier lands to face a long journey. I learned a lot in Normandy, at the court. I learned that, if I want, I can have the world at my feet. My strength, my intelligence and my knowledge can get me where others can only imagine.

But neither my strength nor my knowledge were of any use when I returned home and learned that you would no longer be in my arms.

Ròis was waiting for me at the door. She oozed sensual joy like those summer flowers to which the insects flock to suck nectar. She pretended to be glad to see me, and it was in front of my irony that she threw her dart. Your stupid mute whore is dead.

I died with you, then. I pushed her away and ran looking for Colbert, Amabel, anyone who could tell me the truth.

I am still groping in the dark today. I sought the truth and instead I found nothing but Amabel’s understanding, Colbert’s sorrow, and Ròis’s insulting lies.

What happened, Alyssa? I cannot believe you cheated on me, and then tried to get rid of the fruit of your sin with a poison that was for your light body. Who took advantage of you? Who gave you the poison? She swears on her child that she knows nothing, but how can I believe an oath coming from dishonor and hatred?

Why did you take that poison? Why did you not have faith in me? I would have accepted the truth and defended you against the world.

I imagined that moment over and over again. I see you in front of the fireplace, that damn bowl in your hands, your eyes on the flames, wondering if you were doing the right thing. You loved the fire, Alyssa. Sometimes I thought you were looking for answers to your silent questions in the play of the flames. Did you ask for advice, then? What pagan god, what demon dragged you away from the divine plan? Guilt weighs on me like a boulder, I should have been with you, torn the poison from your hands and thrown it into the fire. I try to look past myself and I see the guilt in her. I read it in her lying eyes.

God will do you justice, my little heath flower. Ròis gave birth to the heir – a healthy boy – but that is killing her. She is drowning in her own blood, as she let happen to you.

I will not be here to bury her. After saying farewell to you I will reach my friends and leave for a faraway island.

Heaven on Earth is waiting for me. Water, lush greenery, winters that caress the spring and women with velvety eyes and amber skin as well as lands still to be given out to landless knights like myself, young, brave and full of ardor. I will swear allegiance to a Norman Earl, Roger Hauteville, and will fight for him the pagans’ rebellions.

I hear footsteps sinking into the snow. I turn. Colbert looks at me and waits.

He never understood my feelings for you. For everyone else you were just a dumb servant,  but to me, you were mine, only mine.

I join him and we walk in silence. Gilbert, Ethan and the soldiers are already on the waiting deck.

I hug Amabel, who covers my face with kisses like when I was a child. I smile and take her face in my hands, wiping her tears with my thumbs. I try to fix her features in my mind, her naughty nose covered in freckles, the rebel mass of red curls, her smiling violet eyes.

Promise me you will be careful.

Lady Amabel, I am no longer a child.

I know, but I made a promise to your father and I cannot forget that.

You could not have fulfilled it any better. He is proud of you, wherever he is.

Amabel, he must go, Colbert says.

We get closer to my stallion. It is the last tribute that I give to my lord.

Wear our name with honor, Colbert says betraying the emotion with a quivering voice.

I will. Take care of Amabel and of the child.

I will. If she were to live... Ròis ...

I do not care if she rots in hell or if even those damned doors are closed to her wickedness. Send her back to her father, keep her locked up, but beware of her.

She is dying.

She is not worth any of these last moments I spend here. The new commander will be able to defend your lands. Hodgkin is the best among the knights.

I am sure of it. Go, brother: a bright destiny awaits you. And if not, you know how to find your way back, he says, hugging me.

I will follow the north star, I reply with a smile.

A shaft of sunlight illuminates the path. I smile and look confidently at the sky, considering it a sign of a benevolent God.

PART ONE

Chapter One

Mazara Valley, 1100

The glare of the sun, which idly fell among the islands on the horizon, making them look like precious stones lying on a young lady's neck, almost blinded Herman. He narrowed his clear eyes which, despite the time spent there, found it hard to get used to the bright colors of the island’s landscape.

He slowed the horse's pace to allow the wagon that followed him to come closer and looked at the man beside him. The life of my host appears to be shrouded in mystery. Unusual for a man of such importance and wealth, he said.

The garrison commander smiled without looking away from the splendor of the sunset. Who made you believe such nonsense? Maybe they wanted to make fun of you. We know everything about everyone; it is survival in this place where plotting against our power is almost a habit. What do you want to know?

Who is Flores? What and who will I find in his house?

I believe you already know that Flores is not his real name. He is called such for his symbol of two intertwined flowers. You will see it on his ships, on his warehouses and on his palace. For the rest, he is a very private man. Since his wife died several years ago giving birth to their second son he has invited only merchants and relatives to his house. He has a daughter who has passed long ago the marriageable age. A beautiful female, according to the few who remember her – she has never left the palace since the sad event. Many think she became mad from the pain. A few adventurers called upon her father for her hand but without any success. She is the mystery that surrounds the wealthy merchant’s house and you, my dear knight, will be the only one to solve it, he concluded, grinning.

A rich and inconsolable widower and a crazy daughter. I would have preferred a more exciting place to carry out my mission, Herman said with a smile.

He was happy for this opportunity that had been offered to him by the Earl himself. Even fighting had become boring. The long road that, along with Gilbert and Ethan, had brought him there had been a succession of tournaments in order to survive and be known, and battles in which their arms and weapons had been offered only in exchange for a fee.

The only worry Herman had was his stay at the house of Baltasar Flores, a wealthy merchant of books and precious goods. Inside the building, in the library, he kept priceless collection of copies of ancient manuscripts. The merchant had made it available as a tribute to the Earl, perhaps fearing a display of strength by the Norman lord.

They passed through the doors of the city and were soon catapulted into the variety of sounds that characterized the cities of Sicily. An expanse of white houses lit up under the light of sunset.

The city seems well fortified; how was it conquered? I imagine a long and exhausting siege, he asked the knight.

It was long enough because they had nothing to blame Muslims. But never underestimate the cunning and valor of Ruggero and his army. The people here had locked themselves up behind the walls, bringing in the cattle to better withstand the siege. However, they daily brought the animals to graze on a peninsula adjacent to the walls. Giordano, the bastard son of Ruggero, noticed that and at the first opportunity stole the cattle. The city surrendered shortly after asking the same conditions as Palermo. It has not been many years and it seems that the Normans have always lived here.

You mentioned plots, did you not?

You always have those. They are children of words whispered in the shadow of the minarets or in the lapping of the waters in the hammam, as well as in the abode of some ungrateful Baron, he concluded, raising an eyebrow.

I still cannot get used to the customs of this land. Sometimes I think I am in an eternal Babel for the profusion of languages, styles and behaviors.

You are in earthly paradise, but not in heaven, said the man, pointing to a ragged child who was around a beggar.

And what can you tell me about Flores? Is one of the stray voices around the minarets his? asked Herman.

Once again he aroused the warrior’s hilarity. Flores has only one God, money, and only one master, the one in charge that allows him to thrive. No, the merchant is loyal to Ruggero until he keeps the peace and supports his business.

Herman raised an eyebrow. Ruggero was not so sure of his loyalty if he had sent him in the center of his power. Also, if Flores was so clever as they said around, he would not believe that he was only there to study the ancient manuscripts in order to attempt, together with other wise men, to create a code of laws suited to the Sicilian reality. It was common knowledge that Ruggero believed that the era of Muslim power had ended even when it came to the administration of the state. A new generation of Normans, together with the settlers who had come from the peninsula, would create a society in the name of Christianity and dismiss the softness and misrule typical of the East. Nonetheless Herman knew he had to be very careful if he wanted to get out unscathed from that intriguing adventure.

––––––––

They came to the palace with the first evening star. A crescent moon lit up the Muslim-style roof. As they entered the courtyard, their horses were taken into custody by a groom while a servant came up to bring in the guest's luggage. A tall and still-young man awaited them at the door surmounted by the floral symbol, wearing an elegant silk tunic. Only his big brown eyes betrayed his Mediterranean origin and seemed to burn in his pale face, surrounded by short graying hair. Herman remembered he was not Saracen but that his ancestors were from Valencia.

Welcome to my palace, noble knight from Ruggero, Baltasar greeted him with a broad smile.

A warm atmosphere seemed to wrap him as soon as he set foot in the building. Everything about it spoke of opulence, from the precious carpets to the cloth of gold and silk tapestries, from the elegant curtains at the windows to the profusion of objects scattered around. He read in the eyes of his host the confirmation of his thought. Wealth was his strength, and anyone who entered that house had to understand it and respect it.

Your house is worthy of a sovereign. I am honored to be your guest, Herman said with humility.

The man smiled and looked upon him with favor.

Dawn caught Herman awake, contemplating the view outside the window. A layer of colors that varied from silver to peacock blue announced another mild day.

He followed Baltasar around his palace, admired the scented garden, the singularity of his stable of Arabian horses, leaving for last the place in which he was to give proof of his ability, the library.

Baltasar motioned for him to enter first and Herman, crossing the threshold, could not help but express his amazement. It was a large room with fine wooden shelves filled to the brim with rolls and books. Some tables completed the furnishings, placed in position to take advantage of the natural light coming through the windows. A door lead to the hallway and at the bottom of it was the scriptorium, where the books were created.

Flores, of all the wonders of your palace this is the most worthy of admiration, complimented Herman.

A movement at one of the tables, placed at the side of the entrance, attracted Herman’s attention. A young woman lifted her face and turned toward the voices. Their eyes met for what Herman felt was an infinity.

Long brown hair with soft curls framed a face that seemed designed by the most skilled artist. The large, dark eyes dominated the amber-like color of her face, shifting the emphasis from the small nose and mouth with a soft fold, slightly ajar in the study of the men who had entered the room.

Ah, Clara, my star! Come, let me introduce our guest.

Clara looked away from the man and stood upright. She pretended to tidy up the table to keep herself in check. She had expected a scholar, a mild-looking man like the tutors and the scribes who kept coming to her home, and not the tall and powerful man straight out from the De Bello Gallico. She approached slowly, fixing her gaze on her father but by moving it to the source of her inner turmoil. She studied him carefully in those brief moments and fixed into her mind the traits that she wanted to reproduce on a sheet when she was alone again. His eyes were color of the sea in a storm, and he wore his brown hair, interspersed with lighter strands that showed his exposure to the Sicilian sun, at shoulder length. He had broad shoulders that were made even more obvious by the leather bodice. Everything about the man oozed masculinity and warrior spirit.

Clara, I thought you were to help Alessandro’s tutor, her father said.

The tutor is busy in the scriptorium, and I decided to let him be for one day. I hope you do not mind my decision, Clara explained, causing Herman to gasp. Clara's voice was low and husky, totally contrasting with her looks.

Clara is my lovely daughter, my lord. I must warn you that you will have to get used to sharing the library with her. My daughter is the heart and soul of the wisdom of this place. I hope this does not cause you embarrassment.

I am enchanted by your beauty, my lady. I will be honored to share this place with you, whatever you do.

Do not worry, I will leave you space for the study of the codes. They are rather dusty because no one asks for them, she said quickly. She wanted to break off the conversation as soon as possible and return to her papers in the hope that at least for that day he would avoid invading her space. She was quite annoyed by the situation, but her father had been unable to refrain from bending to the will of the rulers.

I will try then to avoid the less dusty manuscripts so as not to waste time. Herman tried to be polite, feeling the hint of coldness on her part.

If the fate of justice in our beloved island is in the hands of scholars who seem to come from a tournament there can never be real peace, she turned to his father in Greek. He scolded her with a stern look. Guests in Baltasar’s house were sacred and excluding them from the conversation was not respectful.

Peace is like a piece of land. We must treat with patience, study and dedication the useful plants and eradicate by force the weeds that proudly seek to circumvent the charitable hand of the good farmer. However, even the most generous fruit hides dangers, said Herman, passing from a perfect Greek to an equally fluent Arab. In this case, the farmer uses his gentle hand, hiding it under a glove to avoid injury.

Clara did not show either surprise nor embarrassment at her conduct. How lucky you have arrived in our home. You are a man of many talents, Sir: a scholar and, from your words, even an expert farmer! she exclaimed with the most amiable of smiles. Then, after a mocking bow, she went away in a rustle that sharpened instead of hiding her feline gait.

Forgive my daughter, she has nothing against you. She is not used to having guests at home and after the death of her mother she spends the days caring for Alessandro. I know that reading made her arrogant but it is her only entertainment. I have not the heart to prevent her the access to the library. However, she does not realize that in the eyes of many men great knowledge is dangerous. I hope I do not have to count you among these.

Your daughter is like this land, that sometimes I cannot understand: a mixture of mystery and genius as well as immense beauty.

Thank you. I will try to keep her away from the library when you are here, though I know she will not annoy you in any way. But tell me, where did you learn Arabic?

I spent the past year with a Saracen garrison. It would have been foolish not to take advantage of it, as well as impossible. Among the qualities that your daughter has not listed is that I am able to take the best from every event of my life.

You are a wise man, despite your young age. I have to agree that, once again, the Earl chose well for the good of our island, complimented Baltasar, hoping to mitigate the impact of the impetuous Clara.

Herman nodded, still distracted by the encounter with the woman. He continued to think of her as Baltasar showed him the legal texts and documents that could be useful to him.

It was while examining in a general way the documents that doubt surfaced. Most of the legal texts were in Greek. Clara, although she had admitted that she was not interested in law, being an assiduous frequenter of the library should have been aware of it. She had done it on purpose to communicate, falsely indirectly, what she thought of him and his mission.

Yes, Clara was a dangerous woman and his mission seemed very interesting.

He met the young Alessandro at dinner. Herman felt an innate sympathy