In 1131, Roger II had been on a visit to his dominions on the mainland to sort some of the usual issues with his people. One problem town was Amalfi, and Roger had despatched his Levantine Greek admiral, George of Antioch, with a fleet to blockade the town. Simultaneously, another of Roger's Greeks, Emir John approached with an army sweeping up other rebellious towns before them. Amalfi soon fell. Duke Sergius VII of Naples had been watching these developments anxiously and surrendered his city to the Sicilian forces based purely on reports.
Roger now controlled all the territories that Pope Anacletus had bestowed to him the previous September.
We now use John Julius Norwich’s narrative of what happened next:
“Sailing back to Palermo that summer with three Neapolitan ships as his escort, Roger was suddenly overtaken by a violent tempest. After two days, during which it seemed that he and his crew must perish, he made a vow; if they were spared, then at whatever point they should be brought safely to shore he would build a cathedral to Christ the Saviour. The next day – it was the feast of the Transfiguration – the wind dropped, and the vessels glided to a quiet anchorage in the bay of Cefalu, under the huge rock that still dominates much of the sea coast east of Palermo.
At one time this rock had sheltered a prosperous little town, the seat of a Greek bishop in Byzantine days; but it had declined in importance during the Saracen occupation and in 1063 it had been sacked and largely destroyed by the Great Count [Ed, his father Roger.] Now it was for his son to make amends.
Stepping ashore, he ordered a chapel to be built near the landing place in honour of St George, whom he claimed to have seen in a vision during the height of the storm [Ed, maybe in a thunder cloud lit up on the inside by lightning??]; then he called for the measuring rods and set to work at once to survey a site for his cathedral”
I had been looking forward to this stop for a long while. We anchored Missy Bear off the east side of the Rocca in Cefalu this morning (Sunday), and took ‘Ursa Minor’ to the beach. We took off the battery and throttle control and put them in our back-backs then walked around the headland to the old town on the west side of the limestone headland.
We called in a café for a coffee enroute and they kindly let us leave the outboard kit there, so we didn’t have to lug it around all day.
Then we wiggled our way through the mediaeval streets to where we thought the cathedral was, catching tantalising glimpses of one or other of the twin Norman towers. And then, the piazza opened up in front of us with the light flooding in taking over from the shade of the narrow streets. And to our left soared the entrance and Norman towers of the Duomi di Cefalu (the silly spires were added in the 15th century). And behind it soared the magnificent and colossal Rocca, dwarfing the edifice below.
The doorway is classic Sicilian-Romanesque and the doors were open as they were preparing for mass. So, we stepped in. On entering the nave, we recognised the now familiar layout of cross in square plan. The western church cross comprised the central nave, transept and central apse. The cross is squared off by the two ausles - separated from the nave by rows of Corinthium columns - and the two lateral apses.
The immediate sense was surprisingly of both light and plain. We were expecting the slightly gloomy, yet sparkling gold and vivid colours of the mosaics of the other two Norman cathedrals. Yet here the walls were undecorated, plain and light. The roof was timber and exquisitely carved, but there was no gold leaf decoration and certainly no Muqarnas.
But from the central apse gazed the now familiar figure of Christ Pantocrater surveying all around him!
I have no idea why the cathedral at Cefalu is not as gaudy and rich as its sisters. Perhaps it’s simply because Cefalu is not Palermo, where Roger II and his offspring resided. I also got the feeling that later bishops and their artists had been dabbling with some ‘improvements’, as there is a lot of plaster work in the sanctuary that looks suspiciously Baroque? Of the three Norman cathedrals, I would place Cefalu as my favourite edifice and location, but the decoration of the Palatine Chapel in Palermo must be the finest.
We left the nuns to dress the church with flowers ready for the Sunday service, and exited into the square. We wondered through the streets to see the old outdoor wash house (lavatoio) fed by a mountain stream. And then I parked Alix on a park bench with her Kindle, so that I could set off on the next adventure: the Rocca. [Alix: I am reading the final book in the Robert Harris trilogy about Cicero, which includes many references to Sicily. I will be bereft when I have finished it].
We have seen a lot of limestone on our voyage. Basically, Sardinia and Sicily seem to be mostly limestone, and during coastal cruising one sees an endless sequence of dramatic headlands that have resisted the elements valiantly for millions of years. There are lots of different sorts of course, but the locals call this ‘snail’ limestone, because it is full of the fossilised shells of molluscs.
When Roger II landed on the beach here, gratefully, to build his chapel, people had of course been living here for thousands of years already. Being close to the coast is advantageous, there is also a fresh water supply, and when the enemy arrives you can run up the hill to the Rocca and throw rocks down at the invader.
You will know from my blogs that besieging towns was a favourite pastime in history. But what did the townsfolk do for sustenance during sieges that could last months or even longer. I don’t know about food, but for water there are at least 18 cisterns on the Rocca. One has an 800m3 capacity and dates back to the Byzantine era (6th to 9th century). The good thing about limestone is that it is porous and soaks up and stores rainwater, filters it and then lets it seep or wick out lower down. The Byzantines carved out the cisterns from bare rock, lined them with mortar and roofed them with arched brickwork. So, they would have plenty to quench their thirst after repelling another Saracen sortie up the rock.
Judging by the type of stonework of the ‘Temple of Diana’ - about three-quarters to the top - the first civilised inhabitants of this lung-busting mound were probably ancient Greeks. When I saw the building's walls, I was immediately transported back to my college trip to Mycenae back in 1987. The huge, often worked, but seemingly randomly-shaped limestone blocks were all fitted closely together, without mortar, in some giants’ tight 3D jigsaw puzzle. It is called ‘Cyclopean’ masonry, because only a Cyclops would have been able to shift these building blocks.
Fast forward to Roger II’s time and the Rocca was more heavily fortified, with the Normans often improving what the Byzantines had left them. There seem to be three rings of crenelated walls, often 3m thick, surrounding the rock. The walls end at the the places that are impossibly vertical to scale. Then there are heavily fortified gates at the constriction points.
There are few castle building remains left, but the views from the upper defensive walls are breath-taking. I could gaze down on Missy Bear, anchored down in the eastern harbour, and then walk around the walls and gaze like an eagle over the roof of the cathedral far below on the western side.
The site was used by subsequent dynasties and even featured in the War of the Sicilian Vespers: [Alix: is that where the Mods rode past on their mopeds and tried to punch the Roccas?]. In the 13th century, Charles I of Anjou decreed that his Crown Treasury should be kept there. The Aragonese and their Sicilian friends kept Charles I’s son and grandson (Charles II the Lame, and Philip) prisoner here. I don’t know what happened to the treasure!! And, given the place is impregnable, I’m not sure how the Aragonese managed to take the rock. I suspect it was treachery from within. That was normally the case!
It was hot, but thankfully not July or August as I trotted down to the town to find Alix. We discovered a lovely restaurant down one alley and had a lunch of traditional Sicilian seafood and pasta specialities. I will leave Alix to describe the foody things.
And we then headed back to collect the battery and throttle from the lovely and helpful girl in the café. And no-one had kidnapped Ursa Minor! So were able to flubber back to the boat for a lazy afternoon in the warm sunshine, long overdue after a few cloudy and cool days.