The Kingdom in the Sun (53 page)

But Stephen was better informed than they thought. After eighteen months in Sicily he had developed a keen nose for plots, and his first action on reaching Palermo was to throw Matthew and several of his accomplices into prison. Fears of a Muslim rising dissuaded him from doing the same to Caid Richard, whom he placed instead under close surveillance. The Bishop of Agrigento fled hastily to his diocese but, on the arrival of a royal justiciar to arrest him, his flock handed him over with every appearance of relief. He was taken under guard to the fortress of S. Marco d'Alunzio—the first Norman castle ever built on Sicilian soil which, having once been a Hauteville residence, was probably not too uncomfortable—there to be kept in indefinite detention.

Now at last the Chancellor might have been forgiven for believing that all was well, and that he would henceforth be able to resume the normal tasks of government free from the constant necessity of looking over his shoulder or behind the arras. But cut off as he was, by the barriers of language and his own eminence, from the Sicilian populadon, he seems to have had no idea of the strength of anti-French feeling. Nowhere was this more true than in Messina, where memories of the insults and abuses suffered during the past winter were still fresh and where, after so many encouraging rumours, the news of the failure of Count Henry's plot had been received with gloom and despondency. The Messinans had no need of conspirators or demagogues to rouse them to action; among the Greek majority in particular, the atmosphere was already explosive enough. All it needed was a spark, and that spark was provided, ironically, by the Chancellor-Archbishop's own Master of the Household, a canon of Chartres Cathedral named Odo Quarrel.

Odo had been one of the original party who had arrived in Sicily with Stephen in the autumn of
1166.
Though he never seems to have considered making a permanent home for himself in the island, he had promised to remain for two years while his friend found his feet. He sounds, from Falcandus's description, like one of the worst of the lot:

He was neither cultivated nor even prudent in the ordering of civil affairs; but was of such cupidity and greed that he would seize on to any method by which he might extort money; he measured friendship not by virtue or faithfulness but only by the value of the gifts which he hoped to receive.

By Easter
1168
Odo was in Messina preparing for his departure. His time had in theory another six months to run, but the Regent had asked him to leave rather earlier so that he could escort Henry of Montescaglioso back to Spain—she having decided, rather than keeping her brother indefinitely in prison, to send him home with a bribe of a thousand gold pieces in return for a promise never to return to Sicily. Despite exhortations from Palermo, however, Odo's preparations were extremely slow—chiefly, Falcandus maintains, because he had discovered a splendid new way of augmenting his income and was now making a small fortune by levying his own harbour dues on all ships that passed through the straits on their way to Palestine. This practice, as may be imagined, had not endeared him to the people of Messina; and when, one evening, some of his domestics became involved in a tavern brawl with a party of Greeks, what began as a minor disturbance soon developed into a riot. The news was brought to Odo, who immediately summoned the governor of the city
¹
and ordered him to arrest all the Greeks

¹
In Latin,
stratigotus.
These officials, as their name suggests, were formerly confined to the Greek-speaking areas of the Kingdom; but in later years they crop up elsewhere as well. Their duties are hard to define, since they seem to have varied from place to place. In Messina, a largely Greek city, the
stratigotus
was the highest civil authority.

concerned. The governor protested, then—fearing Odo's influence in high places—reluctantly agreed; but no sooner did he appear on the scene and make his purpose known than he was met by a volley of stones and forced to retire. By nightfall Messina was under mob rule. Old rumours were reborn, new ones sprang up. Stephen du Perche, it was whispered, had already married the Regent; he had killed the young King; he planned to seize the throne; once he had done so, he would dispossess all Greeks, dividing their property among the French and Latins; the true purpose of Odo Quarrel's journey was to fetch the Chancellor's brother from Normandy, so that he could be married to Roger II's posthumous daughter Constance, now a child of fourteen.

But by now Odo can have had little thought of returning to Sicily for any reason whatever—if indeed he ever managed to leave it alive. He barricaded himself into his house and waited, terrified, for developments. Meanwhile a crowd of Messinans hurried to the harbour, commandeered seven galleys and crossed the straits to Reggio where the Count of Montescaglioso was imprisoned. Once there, they had no difficulty in persuading the local population to make common cause with them, march on the citadel and insist on the Count's immediate release. Their arrival took the local garrison by surprise; outnumbered many times over, it soon capitulated and handed over its prisoner.

Henry of Montescaglioso had never been renowned for his intelligence, but he was quick to seize an opportunity. On his return to Messina, his first thought was to assure himself of Odo Quarrel— and in particular of the immense treasure which the canon was known to be taking back with him to France. A notary was called and instructed to make a complete inventory of all the gold and silver, jewels and silks in his house and have them stored in a place of safety; Henry then ordered Odo to be transferred from the royal palace, where he had hoped to find a safe refuge from the mob, to the old fortress overlooking the harbour. At this point, however, the Messinans objected. They still did not altogether trust their chosen leader—he was, after all, well known in certain sections of the town—and they suspected, probably with good reason, that he might at any moment start negotiating with Stephen du Perche, using his quivering captive as a bargaining counter. Their leaders went straight to Henry and demanded that Odo be surrendered to them for punishment; the Count hesitated, but dared not refuse.

Odo Quarrel was an unattractive character; he was also a stupid one, who by his stupidity brought about not just his own downfall but that of all his recently arrived compatriots in Sicily. But he did not deserve the fate that awaited him. Stripped naked and tied backwards on a donkey, he was led through the streets under a hail of stones. When he reached the gates some citizen, whether deputed for the task or acting on a sudden impulse we do not know, stepped forward and plunged a long Pisan knife into his neck, licking the blade afterwards as a final gesture of hatred and contempt. The mob then fell on its victim, stabbing the lifeless body again and again in its fury, cutting off the head, impaling it on a lance and parading it through the city. Finally they flung it into the public sewer, from which it was later recovered and secretly buried.

Odo's end was but a beginning. The following morning, when dawn broke over Messina, there was not a Frenchman left alive.

Away in Palermo, Stephen du Perche began to see that he was faced no longer with a local uprising, but with a rapidly spreading rebellion. Messengers were now arriving daily at the capital, and the news they brought grew daily more ominous. The rebels had taken Rometta, an important vantage-point commanding the Palermo-Messina road; they had swept down the coast to Taormina, attacking the citadel and releasing Richard of Molise; the Bishop of Cefalù had declared openly in their favour, and where the bishop led, other ecclesiastics would be sure to follow. There were no reports as yet of any further incidents on the mainland, but the recent events at Reggio were a clear enough indication that the fire of revolt could jump the straits whenever necessary.

The Chancellor's first reaction was to mobilise an army and march against Messina. Many of the regular detachments, he knew, might be of doubtful loyalty; but the Lombard colonies round Etna— who had no special love for the Greeks—had offered on their own initiative to put twenty thousand men into the field against them, and with such a nucleus it should be possible to build up a reasonably effective striking force. But there were delays. The fifteen-year-old King, in his first recorded political intervention, counselled postponement of the campaign until the stars should be in a more favourable conjunction—a poor augury for his future statecraft. And now Stephen himself, in the gravest crisis of his short career, hesitated. Should he, as his French friends advocated, remain with the King and the Regent in Palermo where, in an atmosphere now more highly charged than ever, his life was once again in peril ? Or should he follow the advice of Ansald, the palace castellan, leave the capital and organise resistance from some distant stronghold, where William and Margaret could later join him ?

Had Stephen known that Matthew of Ajello in his prison cell had already arranged for his assassination, it might have helped him to make up his mind. Using Constantine, Ansald's deputy, as his intermediary, Matthew had had no difficulty in making contact with his friends among the domestics of the palace and persuading them to do the deed. His plan, like its two predecessors, was simple; Stephen was to be struck down on a given morning as he entered the building, at a point between the first and second gates where he would have little room to defend himself.

The Chancellor, alerted in time, remained in his house. His nonappearance, however, was an unmistakable sign that the alarm had been given, and warned his enemies that they must act again quickly if they wished to save their own lives. Fortunately for them, Ansald the castellan was ill; confined to his room on an upper floor of the palace, he had left his deputy Constantine in command. The latter at once" summoned the sergeants-at-arms and ordered them to go through the city, calling on the whole population to unite in preventing the Chancellor from making a getaway with the royal treasure. Whether Constantine really believed in this last possibility is open to doubt; but his appeal had the desired effect. Ever since the first reports from Messina, excitement in Palermo had been growing; Matthew's agents had fanned it yet higher; Christian and Saracen alike were now avid for the chance of avenging themselves on the foreigners they loathed, while in the stews and alleys of the town bands of ruffians were already preparing for the looting that would surely follow. Now, as the sergeants spread their message, men everywhere snatched up their swords and streamed into the streets. Within the hour the Chancellor's house was under siege.

At the first sign of disturbance Stephen had been joined by a number of his followers. They put up a brave defence, but their task was hopeless. Outside, the crowd was growing larger and more menacing every moment; its numbers had now been swelled, as the defenders saw to their horror,
by
the archers of the royal guard. Such troops as had remained faithful, fewer in number than the aggressors and probably no better armed, were unable to force their way through to the beleaguered building—which itself, being the official residence of the Archbishop of Palermo, was ill equipped to withstand a siege. It had, however, one advantage—a narrow corridor linking it directly with the cathedral. To Stephen and his companions, desperate now, this corridor represented their one slender chance of escape. Down it they sped, leaving a few knights behind to cover their retreat, thence through the great church to the bell-tower. Here at last was something they could defend; here, at any rate, they would be safe for a little longer.

In the general tumult that had spread through the city it had been an easy matter for Matthew of Ajello and Caid Richard to escape and to place themselves once more at the head of the rebellion. Now, calling out the royal trumpeters, they had them blow a fanfare outside the archbishop's palace where the mob, unaware of Stephen's flight, was still hammering at the doors. It was a brilliant move. To all who heard it, the sound could mean one thing only—that the King was behind the insurgents. Those who were already in the streets found new enthusiasm and redoubled their efforts; many who had remained in their homes—often through uncertainty as to where their duty lay—hurried out to join them. Meanwhile someone, probably Matthew himself, had remembered the little corridor— seeing it not
so
much as an escape route for the besieged but as a means of infiltrating the palace from the rear. At once there was a rush to the cathedral. Stephen's men had locked and bolted every entrance, but faggots were brought up and soon the great wooden doors themselves were aflame. The crowd burst in, overwhelmed the few brave swordsmen who tried to turn them back, and, without giving a thought to the bell-tower, poured down the corridor into the palace.

Only when the entire building had been ransacked—and, we may imagine, stripped bare by looters—did it dawn on the mob leaders where Stephen must have gone. Back to the bell-tower they ran; but its winding stair was narrow, its defenders fighting for their lives. The few hot-heads who ventured up soon reappeared, streaming with blood. There was a pause. Some were for burning the whole tower down; others held that a stone building would be better attacked by a siege engine; yet others proposed undermining the foundations. They were still arguing when darkness fell. Enough had happened for one day; it was agreed that, however the tower was to be attacked, the operation was better left till the morrow.