I began with Hisham’s biography, as his is the most personal to me; while writing it, I reflected on my love and frustrations with history. I exercised quite a bit of my feelings, in his descriptive blurb - I love my history, and I hope to, in whatever field I end up in, help reconstruct its narrative. Africa, a beautiful and diverse continent, has a wealth of stories to tell, triumphs and glories to be marvelled over. Hisham’s empire only begins to kiss my country, but my mother’s homeland is always on the forefront of my mind whenever I’m writing him. While he may be fictional, there are countless black kings and rulers of splendour, who lack the recognition they deserve. History isn’t the most inclusive of places, and I am grateful to Crowns, for endeavouring to make it a place welcoming to all. I’m not the best at graphics, but I have a great deal of love to give to my Emir.
ps. it will one day be dr. suki tyvm, and i use longet merely...as tribute to a singer who did it, but i just can’t prove it
pps. thank you to michelle who inspired the layout !
Africa’s narrative is relegated to periods of oppression and strife. Its triumphs and glorious empires, buried beneath a singular narrative. Even the great pyramids of Egypt, are hard fought to be attributed to aliens. Enter Hisham Al-Barracin - whose legacy burns so brightly, that it challenges all those, who wish to believe in anything but, a rich and diverse history. In the examination of Al-Barracin, a need for a reappraisal of African history is found.
Hisham Al-Barracin was a prince of the Songhai Empire, but his legacy would be endowed with the word prophet; not due to religious marinations, but the singular force, drive and will, which led him to foster an empire so expansive, it rarely saw the sunset. Much has been written of his Iberian conquests, the bloodied history between he and the Aragonese, and his appearances at the Eurasian summits. With loving commitment by Dr. Suki Longet, no facet of his legacy goes untouched - the romance of a century, with his beloved Consort Hürrem, his devotion to his religion and his affection for his people.
His legacy remains a series of contradictions, of crime and benevolence; his story unfolds to dizzying heights, and countless strifes. Hisham was a herald of glory, yet no prophet of innocence; he dealt, in blood. Yet it is time, to afford people of colour, as rich and nuanced a history, as their counterparts.
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yes i am aware of the one typo in this part....will fix when i am not sleepi
List of Illustrations xiii
Maps xxi
Note on Dates and Spelling xvvi
Introduction …… 1
PART 1
I PRESENT MY SON, HISHAM - 1416 -1431
1. Origins - 11
2. Amira and the book - 20
3. The Pilgrim - 36
4. The Burning Torch - 60
Part 2
WAR YEARS- 1431-1438
5. To the Throne - 65
6. Hisham’s triumph -82
7. Holy land - 103
8. With Us or With Them - 115
Part 3
HOLY PILGRIM - 1438-1444
9. The Foreign Devil - 130
10. Demons of the Golden Age - 155
11. Aragon’s Fall - 184
12. On the Edge of a Precipice - 216
Part 4
THE AFTERMATH - 1444-1455
13. The Miracle at Zaragoza - 235
14. The sun does shine ….. -253
15. My hour will soon strike - 289
16. Florence, it begins - 304
Part 5
A TIME OF MIRACLES - 1455-148
17. Dinner amongst a menacing cloud - 323
18. A summer of triumph - 359
19. The First Test - 394
20. Lisbon, discovered - 422
Part 6
THE DEAD CANNOT BITE 1458 - 1469
21. Karim, my child - 452
22. Paris, a time for dominoes - 475
23. Here Lies the Dog - 509
24. The Al-Barracin Family Drama - 526
Part 7
THE FINAL YEARS - 1469 - 1486
25. Here lies the dog - 561
26. Hürrem, love, and the secret hand of the English - 586
27. The Last Day -602
28. An Emir is laid to rest - 624
EPILOGUE 640 - live by my own law
Acknowledgments 671
Bibliography 683
Notes 716
Index 789
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Chapter 9 : The Foreign Devil
On the first of November 1439, while at Zaragoza outside the capital, Hisham made the following entry into his diary:
Tuesday, and the nights are uncomfortably cold. I find myself drawn to thoughts of my own bed; of Hürrem’s hair, draped over pillows like spilled wine. She has begun to invade my dreams, as if my waking hours are not enough - but I must keep her as but a beacon of hope, and not a dominating wind; my men require a head as steady and anchored, as the sun rooted in the sky after dawn.
The Emir’s dedication to recording his reflections was not uncommon, yet his rigorous and detailed accounts, even amidst battle, are a curiosity. On the eve of his first battle with the troops of Aragon, Hisham thought of his beloved consort. The evolution of his affections for Hürrem, is best traced through his private writings, preserved by his sister and aforementioned wife, after his death. From this entry, we gleam the Emir at his most honest self - reflective, hopeful, and set upon the conflict, at dawn.
just a tiny goodbye gift for bee - still ehhh at this graphic design thing, but wanted to do a lil something ! stole the book idea from dr. danji, of course
Hamama, meaning dove in Arabic, was bestowed upon Hürrem by her people, as a token of affection for her grace, beauty, and ability to bring forth peace. Her legacy was undervalued for periods of time, but was brought to light by the loving hand of Historian Bee, whose gift for language and endless love, made her an unforgettable figure. Her contributions to the Crowns saga remain as timeless as the woman she loved.
love you bee. the eve to my villanelle, it is an honour to write beside you.
To be at his Emir’s side during this period was an honor and a privilege that Safwan was doing his best not to take for granted, though his actions would often prove otherwise. A dear friend to trouble, Safwan couldn’t help but keep it company, especially when he was lacking things to do with his hands and diplomatic gatherings bored him so. It was because of this that he took to wandering the gardens, preferring them to the streets where the looks he got were far from welcoming. He understood,of course – he looked what the Europeans would consider barbaric and even vagrant, but to him they looked foolish as well. It was best, he figured, not to wander about least their looks make him forget himself. Still, even though he attempted to seek some form of solitude, the gardens and their exotic flowers seemed to attract many others,a few women wandering through the area. While he found European women pale like ghosts and at time prudish, their clothing hugged there bodies and bared their flesh and some of them were rather attractive. Apprising them all as the approached, Safwan let a deep chuckle rumble in his chest. “Ma aljamal wal'anaqa!” He called out with a grin. “ I had come to see exotic flowers, and I was given just that.”
Winter frost did not dull the splendid assemblage of greenery in Florence’s gardens; as it were, the beauty of the foliage mirriored the array of courtiers gathered, each a mark for all eyes in their luxe trappings. The Emir strode among them, his fingers clasped with ease behind his back, whilst his eyes were free to moved as they pleased. His Generals moved with autonomy, each with their unique breed of character - Safwan, in his chaotic glory, had taken to espousing the beauty which enraptured the Emir’s own eye. He knew not whether to chide the theatrics, or take pleasure in Safwan’s shirking of European customs; he displayed emotions as they came to him, a concept as foreign to the French or English, as the Emir himself. “You shall frighten the delicate creatures with your zeal, General.” Bemused in lieu of scolding, Hisham’s face showed only goodness; the warm of his skin, colored by good feeling. A gaggle of ladies, each fitted in a grown of magnificent blue, had taken pause at Safwan’s declaration; they flushed, giggled, and regarded the General with a gaze that could only be marked as primal. “Shall I be forced to allot you a second state, to house the women you have collected in Florence? Hurrem will be glad to see your attentions diverted from her ladies.”
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