The islamic friend E-Book

Michele Spagnoli

• Herausgeber: Michele Spagnoli
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The protagonist, Humphrey, having lost his parents in a siege against his small village by Saracen pirates, nourishes an unquenchable hatred against these enemies. His uncle, a former engineer in the Byzantine army, takes care of the boy and teaches him the ancient art of building siege machines.
Humphrey spends his adolescence studying at the school of an important cathedral, where a monk, a teacher of dialectics, discovers his skills as a mechanic, considering them useful for a work described secretly in an ancient Roman volume; thanks to that work it would be possible to establish an alliance and perpetual peace between the two shores of the Mediterranean, a project desired by the Duke of Apulia, Roger, son of the king of the same name.
One summer, after a shipwreck, the protagonist is kidnapped by corsairs and, dragged in lootings and raids on the Greek coast, ends up eventually on Italian soil and returns home, escaping the massacre of a Byzantine captain.
Eventually he will manage to become the king's greatest engineer, but far away and hidden.

Leseprobe

THE ISLAMIC FRIEND

MICHELE SPAGNOLI

@Copyright 2025  Michele Spagnoli

All rights reserved

The characters and events depicted in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional on the part of the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

Thirst edition

Dedicated only to that people against the war,

to those who oppose the unjust and injustices.

We were also told that when a terrifying earthquakes on the island this polytheistic [William II, King of Sicily], seized with fear, went here and there looking around the palace and heard nothing but the voices of women and pages invoking God and his Prophet. When they saw the king, they were overcome with confusion, so he calmed them by saying: “Let each invoke the God he worships and in whom and those who have faith shall be comforted”.

Month of the venerated ramaḍān [580] (6 December 1184–4 January 1185) Ibn Jubayr - The Travels

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

GLOSSARY, NOTES AND HISTORICAL REFERENCES

Chapter 1

The monastery mystery

The boy resolutely followed Father Lucius. It had been a while without seeing him, so he set out to look for him throughout the monastery. The doorkeeper told him that the Father had just left, so he soon rushed out.

Peering around, he spotted his figure already far away. He started to run. But much more did Lucius run, it seemed as if each of the master's steps was worth three of his own: it was as if a strange force drew that man swiftly to his goal, unceasingly. The boy saw the monk cross a roadway and, then, plunge into a field of olive trees, where among the rows he could still distinguish him. He shouted, called out to Lucius, who continued undaunted with no sign of having heard any sound, as if  the voice died out to the boy a few steps ahead.

The boy thought of stopping and going to sleep. Besides, he was tired after that day's long journey. If Lucius on his return wanted to tell him something important, he would wake him up. Anyway, he temporized: that chase had become a kind of challenge, so he didn't want to give up and, in addition, the curiosity of what attracted the master so strongly burned inside him and loosened his stride. He had stopped even calling him: by now, he was close to him.

They entered an intricate woods beyond the olive grove. Leafy branches, brambles, bushes, here and there a fallen oak or holm oak slowed both equally.

But outside the woods, surprised, the boy did not see Lucius again. So, fed up, he decided to come back home. He turned around. A thick darkness stood before him like a wall, created by the tall trees at the edge of the woods. He realized that that darkness enveloped him all around: got out at dusk, in fifteen or twenty minutes, while he was distracted in pursuit, it had darkened. Then, had he lost the master in the grove, chasing a vain shadow?

Completely alone he rotated about himself, not knowing what to do. He wondered if Lucius was still in the woods. Suddenly, a path seemed to appear just ahead. That was the answer: the master had taken that path, and swiftly without hindrance had gone away. So he turned right, hoping that it was the right direction, and he would catch up with him quickly. He really did not feel like crossing the woods again alone in the dark.

More endless minutes of running. Gradually the trees on his right began to thin out, and behind them the moon appeared: the road finally became brighter, but he still remained worried and restless. The only thing that heartened him was that path, which had to lead somewhere.

Suddenly he stopped. He thought he heard something moving, perhaps the waves of the sea. He had, in fact, approached the shore, and just ahead on the left it seemed as if the mountain ended, falling down overhanging the shore. In that instant he remembered an ancient legend.

It was told that a cove, not far from the monastery, was haunted by demons. Precisely it was their receptacle, their meeting point. A loud thunder, a crash announced their visit: a lightning cleaved the darkness of the sky and through that fissure appeared their gloomy, sooty ship. At the same moment, the leaden glow of the lightning illuminated two long rows of sharp rocks, which rose seemingly out of the nowhere on the water, and at the bottom of them the infernal gates, black as coal, opened and spit fire. Behind those doors a long tunnel led to Hell.

More than one person, many years before, had seen those devils intent on building that burrow made of fire walls that burned deep in the sea. One monk told that the tunnel penetrated deep under the monastery, and then turning back to the sea, reached the islands,  called Tremiti, not far from the coast, and there precipitated under these right at the point where an abbey was situated. The devils mounted pale lifeless, eyeless, mangled horses with bones sticking out of their skins, which repeated with a long whinny, like an interminable echo, the same roar of thunder. With a leap from the deck of the ship the demons hurled themselves between the rocks all the way into the burrow, dragging an interminable line of groaning men and women in chains, plunged into that terrifying hopeless bottom. After a few moments, barking and yowling, those demons turned back as if Hell were nothing away, and spat out by the sea they leaped back onto the ship and vanished into the night as if they had never appeared, leaving only a strange smell of burning and horrible death.

The fact was, as that monk added, that it was not a legend, but raw and witnessed reality.

Intimidated by such thoughts, the boy suddenly heard voices, strange voices coming from below and following the rhythm of the waves thud on the shoreline, wordless voices that ignited a conflicting curiosity and drove him strangely to watch, while, still undecided and quivering in risk, fear summoned his vibrating limbs to flee.

He spotted a flat, shiny rock reflecting an icy glow. He approached it. The rock jutted into the void beyond the edge of the cliff, hovering in the sky between the shore and the sea. He clung to it, slid slowly to the edge, looked out, and between the darkness and the languid glow of that third quarter moon, veiled by thin clouds, he discovered the suspected ghastly gathering: Saracens, hideous men, companions of the devils, confabulating with two monks.

He penetrated the sight, trying to understand, and finally from crystals of voices and movements, recognized Lucius and his friend, Gregory, among them. He felt his heart stop, his whole body freeze and petrify on that bare rock as if to merge with it. He could not give himself an answer: perhaps his master had come to stop them, to drive them back into Hell. But nothing hostile seemed to flow between them.

He never would have wanted to be there and see that. He had vowed to himself, after hearing that story, to stay away from such a place for the rest of the life. Two days earlier, the boy had accepted Lucius' proposal to accompany him for other reasons, but an unexpected event had diverted their path.

For a while, searching for explanations for what he was seeing, retraced the events after the departure from Troy, the town where he was studying and Father Lucius taught logic at the renowned cathedral school, one of the most important towns in the duchy of Apulia and an episcopal seat. And he thought again about his teacher, and how such a man could become entangled in such matters.

In fact, Lucius, besides being his master of logic, was an justiciar, directly appointed by the king, Roger II Hauteville. Chamberlains for administrative affairs and justiciars for criminal cases were somewhat the eyes of the king pro conservanda pace, that is, for the maintenance of public order.

In truth, Lucius had not willingly accepted that position, as he was already engaged in his studies, by which and thanks to some of his books and various writings, he was gaining more and more academic fame. But the judicial master, the head of the justices in his area, who well knew and esteemed him, had suggested his name to the Secretariat of the Kingdom in Palermo, the diwan. And this was not because he was a grand master of logic and adjudicated cases with rational rigour, but because he was able to instil his profound humanity and humility in the litigants, pushing them down into reason from their high  arrogance that generates quarrels, on which they stood motionless.

This time the judicial master had begged Lucius to travel to Civitate, a town not far from Troy on the Biferno river, to settle a dispute between the bishop and citizens.

It had happened that the bishop had imposed on all the affidatarius, the men who worked his lands under an affidatura contract, to use the cathedral mill for grinding grain, paying him a ninth of what everyone ground. Many, in fact almost all, rebelled and continued to use the mill in the city, and there were a few disgruntled men who went to tamper with and break the bishop's mill, so that the bishop could no longer make claims. But the bishop, after several warnings and several months of transgression, became angry and finally sent his soldiers to destroy their mill in response.

These were the facts. In truth, there was still something to be investigated about that rebellion. So before going to the cathedral, Lucius preferred to have a chat with the peasants.

Arriving in the evening at a small church in a district outside the village, the two asked the priest for hospitality. The priest, Barnabas, told them about a confusing situation with several farmers losing out and others taking advantage. But the next morning, as he continued his investigation among the people, Lucius realised that the problem should not be unsolvable.

Satisfied with the chatter, Lucius and his disciple went to the bishop's palace on the second evening. They were well received, satiated with an abundant meal and invited to rest, postponing the unpleasant matter until tomorrow. During dinner, meanwhile, the bishop announced that, awaiting the justiciar's visit, he had summoned a delegation of representatives of the people to the cathedral for the following day.

The cathedral was brightly lit and a peculiar feature that attracted the boy's curiosity was one of the walls all painted with vividly coloured scenes in successive panels.

Another detail was the floor, which looked as just rebuilt, and the bishop sarcastically explained that he had used the millstones of the village mill for the floor.

“So they will see, whenever they come here to listen to the word of the Lord, the frescoes above, reminding them of what they must always do, and the stones below, as a warning.” Said the bishop, still angry.

Before the arrival of the delegates, the disciple began to scroll through all frescoes, immersing himself in the story of those scenes, real and lived memories for him: it was the story of the year's activity, and even if the bishop saw in them only a reminder of duty, in the artist's intention reigned the peace sense of rural life, the tranquillity marked by the slow rhythm of the seasons and works. Twelve months, twelve scenes of everyday life.

The delegates explained their reasons: the bishop had unjustly increased the canon from a ninth to a seventh, so they refused to use the cathedral mill. They added that the soldiers were meant to protect the people and not to destroy their property, since the army was fed with their produce and taxes. The bishop replied that his behaviour was the consequence of the prolonged fraud since they had been using the mill in the city.

Finally Lucius, having listened to the different opinions, rather than a verdict, put forward the proposal that the people should use the bishop's mill from then on and the bishop should return to the old canon. But the bishop dismissed the delegates with a “maybe”.

When they were alone, Lucius, who had no hesitation in telling the truth, remarked to the prelate: "You see, my dear friend, you are doing very well, and not only that. Yesterday I saw at the palace your family, well fed and content. And you have not the essentials, but abundance: your storehouses are full of flour, cereals, olives, oil, wine, meat, dried fruit and all other good things. All this goodness also pours out on all your servants and soldiers, thanks to the fertile, well watered land and the good Lord. Everyone can be well, but often rebellions arise during abundance because greed makes men want more, when they have already much, because they think that it is pure enjoyment to waste. This is a sin. Do as I advised, to live even happier. It is up to us, the Lord's ministers, to set an example of forgiveness, as you have always done, for the peace of all.”

The bishop thought about it almost convinced. Lucius knew he would succeed in convincing him, because one could lead a good prelate rightly by reminding him of the fear of God.

“Well! One last problem: my mill no longer works. I have had it repaired several times, but the teeth of the wheels keep breaking, and it is not clear why.”

“And that's why I brought the solution with me: him.” And Lucius pointed to the boy.

“And who is that boy? I thought he was just your helper, and I didn't ask you about him yesterday.”

“No. It's Humphrey, my best disciple. And not only but also he is a true expert in mechanics. He will fix your mill, you'll see.”

And the bishop at that clear speech and that beautiful proposal was definitely convinced.Humphrey observed the wheel that was connected to the millstone, took some measurements and immediately realised the trouble. The wheels were mounted slightly out of alignment. And that was normal for many wheels. But, what was really strange, the pegs of the wheel moved by the blades were not arranged according to a circumference, but to a slightly elliptical track. This arrangement combined with the off axis assembly caused discontinuous motion with accelerations and decelerations, so that the pegs collided and eventually broke. Things for mechanics, which Lucius and the bishop pretended to understand. A craftsman, summoned before by the bishop, looked amazed at the little boy and marked on the wheel the points to be adjusted according to his instructions.

“As a reward and as promised, tomorrow, take me to my uncle who lives here in Civitate,” the boy asked, and the master agreed with a smile

The next morning, a messenger arrived from the monastery of Calena requesting Lucius' prompt and urgent presence.

The master apologised to the boy, promising to visit his uncle another time.When he heard Calena, Humphrey winced, knowing the legend; but because he always wanted to show himself logical and courageous in front of his master, he kept his fear silent.

At the monastery, they entered a welcoming inner courtyard. In the centre was a well flanked by an almond tree and a peach tree, whose arching branches cast shade over the walls, making the water at the bottom a cool delight in summer. Next to it they stopped the cart.

Humphrey, remaining petrified on the cart, would have preferred not to get off, but to leave immediately. A monk, all quiet, approached, greeted Lucius and said: “Lucius, I will take the cart and the horse to the stable. Now friar Gregory is coming here completely for you.”

“All right, Barnabas.”

At that exchange of simple and confidential words, Humphrey's heart suddenly calmed down. Everything seemed to him a glimpse of normal life, all around there were other friars going through the courtyard to their business. He also thought that, since Lucius had never told him about that story, it was not to be taken into rational consideration.

So he went down, and followed the master who ran to hug a friar, appeared in a doorway. “There was an advance. I went to Troy myself, where I was told about your mission to Civitate. So I preferred not to risk, staying here at least, and sent a friar to Civitate to call you.’

With that friar Gregory led them through a door into the new church under construction, which was destined to accommodate a greater number of worshippers than the old one. And he showed them the nice architecture.

After the sacristy, they entered a corridor from which a staircase led up to the upper floor.

As they climbed up, Gregory invited them towards the refectory: “Before going to your cell, come and have something to eat. We were waiting for you and were anxious to leave something for a dear friend and his young companion.”

They sat down at the end of a long table, near a small window overlooking the fields. The other friars could be seen in the distance, returning from work with sacks and tools on their shoulders. Gregory accompanied the meal of the guests with a glass of wine, with curious and amusing stories, little tales of poor monks always full of that humility and hope that knows how to look at the tribulations of life with a bit of cheerfulness and detachment.

They enjoyed a soup of peas and broad beans, then roast lamb sprinkled with a white wine sauce with oil, rosemary and oregano. Savouring all contentedly, Lucius declared: “Frederick's unmistakable hand in good cooking.”

Gregory approved with a smile, then took a basket, removed a cloth from the top and discovered some round cakes made of a sweet honey paste and covered with mulberry jam. After tasting one, Humphrey asked permission for another from Gregory, who replied: “Another and another if you like them.”

The boy took the sweet, looked at it, took a bite, tasting it slowly, then licked the jam to savour it alone, more licks and then immediately finished it off. The two friends as they continued their chat took one look at him. He had an innocent, defenceless face that attracted a sense of protection. A smile ran between the two that clearly said: “He's just a boy!” But Lucius did not step aside either and was barely satisfied with three, accompanying them with good spiced wine.

The two friends continued to tell each other memories of childhood and adolescence, the days spent together as students. Father Gregory showed deep respect and admiration for his friend, saying: “I had guessed that you would become an important teacher at a renowned school, such as at the bishop's school of Troy cathedral. You are in demand by many other schools of equal importance and beyond. You are known and appreciated by many philosophers and theologians for your volumes of biblical exegesis, for the high degree of clarity and depth of knowledge that you demonstrate and utilise in them. But the quality I most admire in you is that you illuminate all your sayings with intelligent humility, and for this you are esteemed and well liked.”

“Dear Gregory, my friend, knowledge is joy and reward in itself. Learning, knowing means to live a fuller and more fruitful life. And you know this, there is no need for me to tell you. You are full of my same humility, you are a good friend and I have my best memories of you.” Lucius replied, happy to see and talk to his good friend.

Lucius had a very peculiar character, strong and generous; when speaking on philosophical and literary subjects, he would invite whichever hearer was in front of him, student or other, to the banquet of knowledge and culture, offering his knowledge with generosity and, although, delving into subtle and fine theological lucubrations, he sometimes lost the attention of the audience, the spectators continued to watch him inebriated and attracted by his eloquence.

Humphrey, on the other hand, at that moment only enjoyed their simple and quiet discourse, immersed in that sweet convivial atmosphere at the end of the room, where the ceiling lowered and gave a sense of recollection, enveloped in the pale light of the sun already low on the horizon.

At one point Lucius lifted his head a little and inhaled deeply with arched nostrils: “I notice a very special fragrance, Gregory, that at other times was not there or I never noticed.”

They were led by Father Gregory to a room on the same floor at the end of the corridor: from it came a scent of laurel, which permeated the whole monastery lightly and fragrantly. Upon entering, they immediately noticed, under the double pitched roof, a loft made of wooden slats, supported at the back by a beam embedded in the wall and at the front by another, and from this slowly dripped a thick green essence into jugs below on the floor.

Climbed up a ladder leaning against the beam, they noticed that the loft was a storehouse filled with laurel leaves. Gregory explained that for centuries they had been piled up to be sold at the market in the nearby town, Vieste. They were amazed how leaves could totally soak such a beam, and Father Gregory explained: “Time, friends, time is an incredible craftsman who creates works impossible for man. We realised this recently, so we cleaned and put jugs to collect this essence. Before, this whole warehouse was occupied by old junk that covered this scent with their smell.’

Suddenly friar Frederick appeared, coming to collect the applause he deserved for his cooking, but with the excuse that he wanted to lead the guests to their room, which was the room reserved for guests of honour, the same room they gave to Lucius whenever he turned up.

Lucius assured that he knew the way, thanked for the excellent meal and asked Frederick to take Humphrey to the room in the meantime. He would join the boy as soon as he had finished a certain conversation with Father Gregory.

In the room the beds were two boxes, close together, filled with soft straw, and clean sheets and good blankets above. At the foot, leaning against the wall, was a chest about a metre high with a flat wood lid, which the guests could use as a desk, and close to it a chair. Above the chest, on the wall, the vague and fragile image of a Madonna and Child was painted on a board made of wooden dowels glued together: a faded red means the dress and a light blue the mantle with a white stripe around, perhaps signifying the light of holiness that always accompanies her.

The monk explained that Lucius loved her touching simplicity.

In the middle of the wall, opposite the door, a window with two wooden shutters, wide open, looked out over the fields with an olive grove in the distance. Beyond the olive grove, a woods, then the sea, and between the sea and the land, on a cold rock, was Humphrey, who at that moment cut off his memories and plunged back into the nightmare of that mysterious vision.

Meanwhile, a fine drizzle had begun to fall, making the vision even more hazy and uncertain. Suddenly, the moon revealed itself fully and very bright. Lightning flashed across the sky and made Humphrey jerk. His muscles tensed, ready to flee.  Turning, however, he saw a strange knight further up, just where the path, continuing its ascent for a short distance, peaked. The combined glow of moon and lightning made the steel of knight  armour shine for an instant: the helmet resembled a dolphin.

The knight watched from the top of his horse that same gathering, unconcerned about the boy, and then descended the path passing straight ahead.

Humphrey, feeling as if caught in that succession of mysterious events and apparitions, resolved that it was better to detach himself from it at once and get to safety: he would resolve his doubts later. So he started running in the opposite direction to the knight with all his strength, at times walking to catch his breath and then running again.

Suddenly he saw a bright spot in the distance coming towards him. He had run in fear and  was then, completely disoriented, at a crossroads. He crouched down, suspicious, behind a pile of earth, and staying hidden, he waited for it to approach. It was a cart pulled by a mule, on the top was a figure wrapped in a tabard with a large hat, and in front a lamp, hung high, illuminated the road.

“Good man, stop! Just an indication or a ride if you can.”

“You stop. Who are you? where did you come from?’ The figure asked with a trembling voice and  quickly raised the lamp, holding it between them.

What appeared, and which Humphrey had not previously distinguished in the darkness, was a monstrous head with two long, arched horns. The boy saw himself trapped, lost for ever, and burst into a loud and prolonged “Ah” at breathless length, uttered with all the terror he could.

The other, hearing that chilling scream out of a deformed face, also burst, motionless on the cart, into a mournful cry of fright that equalled Humphrey's in duration. When both have run out of breath and the silence was restored, the boy with a cross in his hand and a feeble voice began to repeat: “Jesus, beautiful and good, don't let him take me.”

The other replied: “It is you who wanted me to take you up.”

They stood thus looking at each other for a while, still puzzled and appalled.

“Listen, you shouting wretch with the cross in your hand, who are you? What are you doing here in the dark?” Said the stranger, taking off that cap and showing a human head of a man in his fifties, with a wrinkled peasant face and a ball nose.

“I came out of the monastery with my master, then I got lost.”

“You are one of the monks, then. You're new, I don't know you. Come on up.”

“I'm just passing through. Tomorrow I hope to return to Troy, where I am a student. And you wretch, rather, why do you go around scaring with that thing there?”

“Then you don't know what this place is. Have you not been told?”

And Humphrey pretended not to know anything, so as not to cause further trouble. So, while the other was telling him the legend, he grasped the strange hat that the guy had laid on the seat, and saw that it was made of many ox horns, strung and glued into each other, to form two long strange horns embedded at the base in an old Roman helmet covered with a black fleece.

“What do you need, then, this hat for?”

“So if they come, realizing that I am one of them, they will not take me.”

Eventually they had arrived at the monastery, Humphrey dismounted, thanked the man and knocked.

Chapter 2

The dream of a king and a carpenter

He walked around the room for a while, then fell asleep and began dreaming of places from a distant past: his farmhouse, his parents, his uncle. Stories he had lived or heard.

Some time ago, one morning, his uncle Matthew had set off swiftly towards the abbey with his donkey laden with tools, an axle and a wheel, intending to arrive before lunchtime, so as to be invited and take advantage of it, for the monks not only had no shortage of good food, but were also very good at cooking.

For those who had looked at it from the small village, and couldn't help but notice it, the monastery, set with blocks of stone and brick on a hillock less high than those around it, erected on a steep escarpment as if to mark the beginning of the valley, had the appearance of an unchallenged ruler of those lands, tempered, however, by the aura of sanctity that the place exuded. At its foot, a luxuriant forest of ferns, pines and beeches was crossed by a path that branched off from the main road coming from the valley, known as the Francigena, the route taken by pilgrims to the cave of Monte Sant'Angelo, who found a moment of refreshment and peace in that monastery. The path, winding cobbled and bordered by a hedge, led up to a bridge over a deep moat reaching a spacious clearing in front of the main entrance barred by a large wooden gate.

Matthew made his way to a second door on the left, tied his donkey and peeped into a room where there were farm implements and other simple tools, which the monks ingeniously made themselves. Seeing no one there, he made his way towards an arched entrance, from which came a rushing speech. In a storeroom that contained sacks of flour and pulses, earthenware jars and bunches of grapes tied together and hung to wither for winter enjoyment, surprised to find the abbot right there, he spotted him complaining to a monk about an overloaded shelf breaking, which falling had in turn broken an earthenware cauldron placed below.

“Fortunately it was empty. Because if I'm not around to keep watch everywhere, everything here goes to hell. It can't be trusted. I wonder how it is possible that no one noticed that it was cracked! Then I want to keep seeing, I also want to go down if everything is OK.”

“Come on, even God knows that nothing serious has happened; in fact only a bit of talk happened today.” Matthew  interrupted, smiling.

“Ah, there you are! You have arrived at last. I feared the worst, that I would have to go down to the village. Then leave God where He is. Follow me, while I do just one more little inspection.”

They descended a ladder and entered a cellar containing wine barrels. A monk was tightening willow branches around a barrel and adding tow in the gaps between the planks to ensure its waterproofing.

“Finally, someone who does maintenance,” resumed the abbot.

“Actually, Father Carmelus,” replied the monk, “to be precise, I also checked in the grain pit, here on the side, that there were no mice and that the clay around it was undamaged, and then I sealed it up again.”

Carmelus nodded and turned quickly so as not to show that he was happy. Meanwhile, the other brother, at a nod, had run into the kitchen to warn them that there was a guest.

Matthew, as they made their way back to the storeroom and from there continued up an internal staircase, informed the abbot that he had found a clever solution for the wagon, and that he would need a helping hand to assemble the axle and the two front wheels if he wanted the work to be complete by evening. The other replied that he had already arranged everything.

They went into a corridor and from there into the refectory, where they sat down at a long table and together with all the monks, who were already present, began the prayers of thanksgiving. One continued to read passages of scripture throughout the meal.

Three brethren, on duty as cooks, brought from the adjoining kitchen a bowl full of vegetables, boiled and then sautéed in chopped ventresca with oil, garlic and red wine. Each diner took a portion and placed it on a flattened rectangular loaf made of wheat and spelt flour. Another brother placed mugs of wine on the table.

Next, the three cooks rose from the table and from the kitchen drew three long cutting boards. On them were large slices of a pork flank: stuffed into guts, salted, spiced with white and black pepper and long seasoned, it had been lightly grilled so that at that moment it released all its aromas, and aroused an interminable appetite. Next, large portions of goat's and sheep's cheese came in. Finally, came a chestnut and honey porridge covered with wild strawberries.

Once the meal was over, the superior took his leave, leading the prior and some monks with him to make arrangements for a certain welcome.Two monks approached Matthew and told him that they were available to help with the work. They left and together went to the stables at the end of the wide clearing in front of the main entrance. Leaning against it was a storeroom containing the cart, saddles and various tools.

One of the brothers asked Matthew what had happened to the wagon that had required so much work. The carpenter then, pointing to the parts that had been repaired, explained that while jumping on a rocky path the hub of the right front wheel had blown off and the wheel, going sideways under the weight of the wagon, had broken and the iron rim that wrapped it all deformed. So, since it was in need of repair, Matthew proposed to Carmelus the addition of a joint to the front axle, a good idea that was greeted with the words: “And this admirable idea comes down from heaven.” And the abbot left contentedly, without explaining why this had cheered him up so much.

The two monks continued to admire that wagon with a rotating front, which was truly unusual. It had a joint, made from a simple iron cylinder and a pin passing through it, which gave the axle of the front wheels the ability to rotate: it was a novelty that made a four-wheeled cart easy to drive even on those winding mountain roads. A solution never seen before on four-wheel carts, which could only be driven on wide flat roads.

The two friars, never still, in the moments in which they were not helping the carpenter, engaged in a certain finishing work: they fixed a canopy to the cart made up of four twisted columns of walnut wood, finely carved and painted with skill. The drape was a damask with marine motifs with fish of various colours, along the edge ran, wrapped like spirals, long ivory white eels on an embroidered background with blue and silver reflections.

The elder of those two monks, Godfrey, revealed some rumours to Matthew, who occasionally glanced astonished at the beautiful canopy: it was believed that the carriage was the main gift the abbot intended to give the duke. A nice gift to make him more malleable to less heavy fiscal arrangements.

In those days, Prince Roger, Duke of Apulia, son of the great King Roger II Hauteville, was at the castle of Monte Sant'Angelo, the most important stronghold in the entire duchy, and was receiving chamberlains and master chamberlains, judges and master judges, notaries and all the notables of the lands of the Capitanata of Longobardia to give them clear instructions about his government, to take note of local customs and to establish agreements where these customs interfered with the laws of the kingdom. Not least, he wanted to establish a new fiscal regime, more suited to a kingdom that was becoming more complex, and he wanted it to be more productive and have a more efficient administration.

Matthew noted: “You monks are good at carving wood with your stonemasons; I think the cart really came out well. Yes, it is indeed a beautiful gift, graceful and sturdy.”

“Thanks above all to the fine embroidery done by Martha, Irene and Rachel, embroiderers of our village, the best in the neighbourhood, our pride and glory, and also thanks to you Matthew, who had this idea of such a well-made cart.” Resumed Godfrey. Matthew did not reply: he did not like being attributed special merits; building was a joy, a thrill for him, as a prize in itself.

In the meantime, a certain hour had arrived, it was getting dark, and the three men, who knew each other well, and who had slipped into the work from time to time a bit of fond memories, some curious and amusing story they had experienced together or heard, began to feel the signs of tiredness. They had always remained bent over and dedicated to their work, but at that moment they got up and stood for a minute happily admiring, all together, side by side, the wagon they were now completing. The abbot had begged them, in every way, to complete the work, so they had the tacit agreement to return to the abbey later, if necessary. They decided, therefore, to take a short break and sat down, on a log or boulder, just outside the warehouse, stretching and sniffing the welcome spring air. The youngest, Charles, took out an herbal liqueur he had prepared.

“Eh! Now we must toast. Just a sip each from this small cruet. It is good and will put us in the cheerful mood we deserve.”

The other two both looked at him in amazement, and Godfrey, even with a sense of reproach, but he was the first to grab the cruet: “Give me that! You must not bring temptation.” And he drank. Matthew approved with a smile of joy the temptation of those two humble men, silently devoted to toil, to prayer, always present to help and console all, according to their motto ‘ora et labora’.

They finished their work by the light of a few torches. Before saying goodbye, they decided to take advantage of a last sip that would make the two friars' sleep deeper and restful and cheer up the carpenter's short walk back.

It was, by now, dead of night, made even darker by a large cloud that had appeared and for a moment had extinguished every voice in the surrounding woods. The confused calls of birds of prey, the crackling and jerking of small rodents among the fallen leaves and twigs, a mysterious pattering on the pebbles of a pool of water, the gurgling of small streams: everything seemed, for a moment, to be plunged into an enveloping silence, but only unconsciously felt by the three friends who were then saying goodbye. Suddenly a song seemed to be heard, or rather became more and more distinct.

They stood there, surprised. They glimpsed a long line of lights in the distance, among the beech and elm trees, on the Francigena road coming from the village. It was a choir of small voices, a flock of children dressed in white and carrying wooden crosses on their chests; in front and to their sides were the elder brothers and sisters, who with torches led the way and made the white colour of their little brothers and sisters' tiny robes reverberate so that they appeared like angels suspended from the ground. At first sight they looked like souls from purgatory who had appeared to provoke compassion. The air resounded with a gentle hymn of praise to the Lord, vibrated all the more intensely the more tired the path of those poor pilgrims became, and in that last stretch, the outline of the monastery distinguished, with the heart now close to the goal, the melody rose loudly into the sky, victorious over all pain.

The doors of the abbey opened, the abbot, the prior, the cantor and a few other monks appeared on the threshold: a beam of light coming from within hit the wayfarers, causing their singing to suddenly cease. The monks saluted, then descended the steps and embraced some pilgrims: they were all pilgrims from the north, from different nations and spoke different languages.

The monks of the monastery admitted that they had expected more. The pilgrims, still in a frenzy of joy at their arrival and welcome, replied that some of them, the most ailing women and men, several old men and children, had stopped at another hospice just before the village.

The porter led them to the dormitory: two large rooms on the ground floor with several rows of beds side by side, each wide enough to accommodate as many as possible but also wide enough for the person to sleep comfortably. The nurse monk examined and treated the most severely ill. Two friars from the refectory distributed a loaf of bread and water to everyone.

In the meantime, Charles and Godfrey had approached the parapet that overlooked the escarpment and followed Matthew's path as far as they could, as if to enjoy his interesting company again, while he advanced in the moonlight, dim but sufficient for the skilled craftsman who knew those paths by heart.

Godfrey said: “I have known Matthew since we were children and playmates. I always preferred a quiet and peaceful life, and never liked to move from these safe places. He had a different character, he said that he did not want to follow his parents into the hard work of the fields, that he would have preferred to learn his trade in an expert craftsman's workshop and do new and useful things; according to him there was a different and more comfortable way of life.”

Charles was all intent on listening, so the other continued the story, having now forgotten about tiredness and the night. 

“Matthew, the work of the fields is everything; then, you see, every peasant makes the useful tools himself: plough, axes, billhooks and more; even the house our parents built themselves, no craftsmen are needed,” little Godfrey pointed out to him.

Matthew listened to those words, but always in doubt.

He was twelve years old when he met a merchant, who sometimes came to the abbey. The boy asked the stranger what his work was like.

“I mainly buy cheese from shepherds, olive oil and almonds from these lands, which I sell to merchants in the coastal towns; I also buy spices in Sipontum and resell them to some rich lord, possessor of fiefs, trying to make a little profit; the work is not extremely hard, but it involves travelling, knowing the roads, and there is a risk of being attacked by brigands; but so far I have never seen any, nor am I afraid of them, and I think they will not frighten even a brave boy like you.”

He lied and said this because he had guessed the boy's intentions, and he would have needed a little help and company.

Seeing the boy still hesitant and uncertain, he added: “You see, I am now opening another business: I am also starting to sell clothes and textiles, such as leather and wool. And I am also getting into the sale of linen and cotton from distant countries and, I assure you, there is a lot of money to be made.”

The boy was convinced and the merchant made the proposal to his parents, saying that they would not go away, however, because he practised the trade nearby. They hesitated and replied that they would take him with them perhaps on the next round, when he would again be in their neighbourhood.

In the meantime, they asked and ascertained the identity of the merchant from the Benedictine monks of the convent. For some time he had been bringing them spices, partly as a gift and partly as a toll, so that they could trade freely in the villages under the abbot's jurisdiction; sometimes he had asked for hospitality for the night: he seemed in all respects a good person.

The parents thought it could be tried, since the boy helped little in the fields and was just one more mouth to feed. In their hearts, they hoped that Matthew would be convinced that all work was hard, so that he would return to the fields again and with other intentions.

As he left, the little boy was torn by a strange feeling, an inner conflict between the desire to leave and the sorrow of being away from his older brother and two younger sisters to whom he was affectionately attached.

The merchant and the little boy thus took their way together, making stops in various villages.

One place in particular remained etched in Matthew's memories. One of the first days, when they arrived near the coast, they walked a few miles along the shoreline; near the lake overlooked by the town of Varanus, they started to climb up a path through the dense forest. They paused on a crag, from which there was a splendid viewpoint. It was sunset and Matthew watched enthusiastically as the orange disc of the sun, already partly in the sea, cast its last rays through the deep blue of the evening, painted the low clouds bright red and, fading among them, projected them onto the green Mediterranean cliffs amidst infinite reflections. The Tremiti islands rose above the flat sea like the humps of an immense giant dozing in the water. Only once had Matthew seen the sea, and not like this at sunset.

Then they continued on to a small village called Devia, a short distance away, where the people spoke a language different from their own: Slavic.

Matthew watched the 'master' carefully; indeed he preferred to call him ‘sir’, out of respect.

As soon as he passed through the gate of Devia, the master, David, was greeted by some shepherds who were returning to the village; one shook his hand and they began to converse in that language. The shepherd took them with him.

They went to rest in a wooden farmhouse: a small storehouse owned by that shepherd, built against the outer wall of his house and that of the stable.

David reminded the boy how to look after the mules: ‘You have to unload the stuff from the back. We will unload the heaviest sacks together; we will lay everything down where we sleep, this so that we can guard it. Then, you alone will lead the mules to the stable, when in our wanderings we find one, and give the mules the fodder.’

The next day, they went to a house that had a large enclosure. There was a man in the middle. They greeted each other and David opened the gate. Dogs barked, but the owner called them back by stepping forward and leading them away.“Come along. Eh! David, I see you found a little help.’ And turning to Matthew frightened by the dogs, ‘Don't worry now they are harmless and won't bite you.”

The man, however, also spoke Italian well. A child approached and shouted a few words to his father, who replied with a nod. Matthew was attracted by some beehives, leaning against the fence's palisade, on the side opposite the one they had entered. David warned him to be careful. The child stood behind Matthew, mute and intrigued, watching him: he had a round face, straight blond hair and blue eyes. He stared at Matthew with the expression of someone who would like to say something and get to know the newcomer, as a new little friend, but was held back by surprise and the fact that this child spoke differently.

As they entered the house, the man offered David some wine.

The child finally took Matthew's hand, led him over to a wicker basket, moved some straw on top and showed him some tiny, blind, newborn kittens. He took one, stroked it and handed it to Matthew.The boy's father, meanwhile, took several wheels of cheese, showed them to David and proposed the price. David complained saying that he could no longer sell them and that he would buy less this time, thus inducing the other to lower the price. When they left the house, the boy turned to Matthew and said some incomprehensible phrases to him; Matthew looked at him curiously, while the man spoke to his son in their language.

As they left, Matthew asked David: “What did he ask me? What a pity we could not talk, we could have become friends.”

“He asked when you were coming back and his father told him ‘soon’.”

“Why did you lie to that good gentleman and say that you would not sell his cheese easily, when a few days ago you revealed to me that it had to be hoarded by great demand?” Continued the boy.