by Griff Hosker
Maria held my hand, “Then we may be spared?”
“I pray to God that we shall but let us prepare as though we will not, eh?”
The women were worried, and they did what women do at such times, they cleared the table and went into the kitchen to help the servants clean up. There they would talk about the problem and how they would deal with it; that was their way. My warriors sat around the table and I told them what would happen.
Iago said, “There is more, Will, eh?”
I nodded, “King Sancho will attack first, and that campaign will be before Easter. You, Iago, Juan and Pedro will not come with the army for you will defend our home. You now have a garrison and you can train them as you train new warriors. That they are old dogs matters not. They have skills but we teach them the Briviesca way!” There would have been a time when they would have complained and said they wished to come but the three of them nodded for they were realists and knew that a warrior only had so much luck and they were no longer young men. “If… when we win this war then I will have to follow Rodrigo de Vivar west to fight another war. While we are away then the work on our defences will continue as will our vigilance. I have major plans for our home, and we will make it a fortress that even a king will find hard to swallow! I will do my duty to King Sancho, but my home will be safe!”
The next months saw frenetic work. As it was winter, we were able to use the men from the village to help and I paid them with the grain I had bought in Burgos. We had a low wall to build around the village and that was relatively easy. The harder work was on the tower, gatehouse and my taller wall. I worked, stripped to the waist even though it was winter, and I laboured at the treadmill crane which hoisted the roughly cut stone we had taken from the nearby mountain. A noble would not have approved of our stonework for it was neither done by masons nor was it all of the same stone. My men hewed it with wedges and hammers. It built up the strength of the younger warriors but the cuts were not as clean as would have been made by a mason! Some of the blocks were lighter in colour than others. I cared not how it looked; I wanted strength and the stone from the mountains gave us that. By the standards of Salamanca, the gatehouse was crude, but it would be effective. There was a gap of just four paces between the two gates. We could bolt and bar both inner and outer gates from within and there was a ladder to give access to the fighting platform. The two small towers were big enough for a couple of archers or a single crossbow. When we improved the tower, we were able to add one more floor before the King brought his army north.
All of the mail, helmets and weapons had been distributed amongst the new men and the farmers. We were still short of an adequate supply and Iago, who now acted as the unofficial lieutenant of my men, impressed on all of them the need to scavenge not only for treasure but mail, helmets and weapons when we were on the battlefield. Iago was followed around by Jorge who was learning for Jorge would be the new lieutenant when we went to war. My words at the feast had struck home and to Jorge and my young warriors, Maria and the women were all family, their family.
It was Don Álvar who brought us news, as March ended and April beckoned, that King Sancho and his army were heading north. I mustered my young warriors quickly for I knew how urgent it was that we began this war before our enemies knew we had begun. I had not bothered with a banner nor did I have a design upon our shields, but we all had the same look for all wore the same helmet and had the same blue cloaks. Our red shields were all covered in strips of scrap metal. We did not look like a lord’s retinue, but we looked like warriors. Men came to recognise the red and blue of Redbeard’s men and they came to realise that we were a deadly weapon in King Sancho’s armoury! The horses they rode were good ones and thanks to the efforts of Geoffrey, we now had four foals who were the fruit of Killer’s loins. It would take some time to school them but one day my young warriors would each ride to war on a warhorse! He had already picked one out for me as my replacement for Killer; Hercules would be a good warhorse.
The army was mustering at the main road which my road joined. The advance guard, led by Rodrigo, were already there. I knew, from Álvar’s words as we left my hall, that El Campeador had tried to persuade King Sancho to hire Moorish archers for he had learned from Lantadilla. King Sancho had decided not to use them. Rodrigo examined me closely as I arrived, “Are you well?”
I smiled, “Do you mean am I over my moody moment? Aye, I have made my home stronger and hired stout men to defend it. Events may well conspire to hurt us, but I am prepared.” He could not know that I had fallen asleep each night thinking of his love, Jimena. That was an impossible dream for I was a hired sword and I would put it from my mind. I would not marry. Maria would never know the joy of grandchildren, at least not from within a marriage. There were women enough who would happily lie with me and bear a child for I would not abandon a woman nor my child, but I would not give a woman the illusion that she had my heart. That belonged to another although she knew it not and, if I had my way, would never know it.
To put her from my mind I concentrated on the task at hand. “What is the King’s plan?”
Rodrigo’s look told me that it involved me, “We will ride to Bureba and speak with Don Fernando.”
I had been dreading this and hoped that someone else would be tasked with reducing the town. “You mean that we attack?”
He shook his head, “The King’s command was to take Bureba and we shall do so, but I will use a weapon that the King does not value as much as he should, I will use Will Redbeard. You and I, along with Álvar, will speak with Don Fernando. We will persuade him to open his gates and save bloodshed.”
“He has no defences!”
“Then the opening of the gates should be a simple decision.” Don Rodrigo had a clinical mind and he thought to save casualties, but I saw this as an attempt to use my friendship to further King Sancho’s ends.
The rest of the army was still arriving and so I led my men along with Rodrigo, Álvar, Don Iago and five other knights. We were enough to show that we had the might of Castile but not enough to suggest that we would try to take the small town by storm.
The mountains to one side of the road afforded protection. It was the mountain which divided Bureba from Briviesca. I was well known in the town for I had hunted bandits with Don Fernando’s men who had asked me to help him. It had made us friends. There were no gates and we rode, with swords sheathed and helmets on our saddles to Don Fernando’s hall. We dismounted and the three of us waited for the doors to be opened. The worst thing would be if we heard horses galloping north, to Pamplona, for that would mean Don Fernando was summoning help. The door opened and his steward invited us in, “I pray you enter. Don Fernando will be down to greet you shortly.”
We were taken to a comfortable looking chamber with a large table in the centre. It would be where the family ate. When Don Fernando entered, I could see that he did not look well. I had not even wondered why he should have been in the upper chambers during the day.
“Don Fernando, are you unwell?” The concern in my voice was genuine
He smiled at me as he sat in the cushioned seat before the fire, “It is kind of you to ask, William, but, at my age, when a man rises without an ache and pain it is a good day. Let us say that I look at each dawn as a joy and my people’s happiness is that which makes my life fulfilled.”
It was enigmatic but I could see that he was ill. “We are sorry to have bothered you.”
“And yet knights of Castile, led by the great El Campeador, not to mention the mighty host which follow you, William, are camped on my doorstep. Is this war?”
Rodrigo had asked me to speak and I did so, “Lord, as you know this land is disputed by King Sancho of Castile and he would make it Castilian once more. You have my word that nothing will change for you and your people. There will be no increase in taxes, and you will be protected from your enemies.”
He smiled at me, “William, you are a good man and, I think, a good friend but in this ma
tter your word means little. If El Campeador will give his word, then we will surrender Bureba to King Sancho.”
Rodrigo stepped forward and said, “Don Fernando, you have my word and that word means that I would fight any who tried to hurt the Lord of Bureba or his people.” He emphasised the word any and we all knew that meant King Sancho as well. It was Rodrigo’s way and, in many ways, would prove to be his downfall. Again, I get ahead of myself, that chapter was in the future and when he served a different king.
“Then it is done!” Don Fernando turned to his steward, “Let my people know.”
“Aye lord.” The man scurried off.
“And now, gentlemen, I shall return to my bed.” We stood aside as his two servants helped him to his feet. He looked at me and smiled, “If I do not see you again, William, know that in the short time I have come to know you I have enjoyed your company for you are as true a man as I have ever met and I apologize that I could not accept your word. No insult was intended.”
“And none was taken. When you are well, I will visit with you again.”
“Visit with me in any case for I fear this ailment is here for some time.”
As we left to return to the army I was pensive. The Lord of Bureba was dying and yet he had risen from his bed because he had a duty. He was, quite literally, a dying breed. He was a lord who put his people before all else. His king would have had him resist. Men would have died needlessly, and the outcome would have been the same. Don Fernando had done what he did for Bureba. I knew that I would do the same for Briviesca. My village was inconsequential; we were a pawn and, as such, would be sacrificed without King Sancho missing a heartbeat.
Rodrigo’s voice was quiet as he spoke with me, “That was well done, Will, and today your words saved many men’s lives. That is as great a victory as slaying men in battle, some would say greater.”
“It does not feel that way.”
“It will, in the fullness of time.” Rodrigo had become much wiser. I wondered if it was the influence of Jimena, or perhaps I was ascribing the change because Jimena was on my mind and I was putting myself in his place.
The King had arrived in our absence and was delighted with the news, “Rodrigo, you are the most able warrior in the land, who else could defeat an enemy with words as well as his sword. Now that the road here is in our hands we strike north and east along the Ebro valley where we will head towards Pamplona.” He leaned forward, “My intent, El Campeador, is to draw King Sancho of Navarre and his ally from behind Pamplona’s walls and to fight a battle on ground of my choosing. You know this valley well. Take your knights and the men of William Redbeard. You will be the advance guard. You will keep pushing until there is resistance.”
“You do not wish us to move secretly, King Sancho?”
“No, now that Bureba is in our hands I can put Don Juan of Burgos in the town to help our new ally to defend the road. As it is winter, we have, effectively, cut off the north-west of Navarre. King Sancho of Navarre will have to summon his Aragonese allies and we have a greater chance of victory.”
King Sancho was a clever tactician. As I sit here writing this all down, I wonder which was the chicken and which was the egg. Rodrigo had been there when King Sancho was transforming from a prince to a great king. Who had had the most influence? Even as I ponder the question the answer comes to me, King Sancho had the power but Rodrigo de Vivar had the ability.
The King was correct, we did know this valley well. We had first ridden it when heading to Pamplona to serve the Prince while he was still a young man. We had campaigned here against the Zaragozans and the Aragonese. Finally, Rodrigo and I had ridden this land when there had been peace and we both knew the places to draw the Navarrese to battle. The valley was fertile but had few strongholds and those that there were guarded the more direct route to Pamplona. It was still early spring, but the new grass was coming and the crops had yet to grow. We had grazing for our horses and we took food from the Navarrese. In the van, Rodrigo paid for the food. He was no fool and wanted the people on our side. They would be hungrier as the mailed locusts passed down their valley but at least they had silver to compensate for the lack of food and they had not been robbed. All of this contributed to the creation of the legend that became El Cid. He was a warrior and a great one but he was also a compassionate man who understood the people. I wondered why other lords were not like him.
We found opposition when were just eight miles from Viana, a place of some importance as the title Prince of Viana was accorded to the prince who would succeed the King of Navarre. We had just entered the tiny village of El Campillar. We could have ridden south of the Ebro and had just as easy a journey, but Rodrigo knew the importance of Viana, and he had also identified a number of sites where we could fight a battle with a good chance of victory. We had ridden into the tiny village of no more than eleven houses when a column of mailed men galloped towards the village too. This was an encounter which was planned by neither side. We had been heading to the village, El Campillar, to camp for the night and I guess, the scouts from the Navarrese army were doing the same. The result was a chaotic skirmish as we both galloped into the village at the same time.
Our line of march had meant that Raimundo and Sebastian from my men along with Rodrigo’s two former servants, Philip and Paulo, led our column for the four of them knew this valley well. We had trained them even though they were our servants to act as warriors and given them clear instructions. They reacted quicker than the Navarrese; they turned their horses and galloped back to warn us. Sebastian shouted, “Horsemen ahead. They are mailed!”
At the fore of our column were Rodrigo, Álvar, me and Don Iago of Astorga. There were other knights and then my men. Despite the fact that our helmets hung from our saddles Rodrigo did not hesitate, “Sound the horn! We attack!” He spurred his horse. He was not riding Babieca, but Hidalgo was a good horse and was well trained. As soon as the spurs were applied, he leapt forward and Rodrigo was drawing his sword before his mount had taken two strides. The three of us who rode with him had been doing so for many years and our horses were soon riding next to his. Unlike the knights who rode with King Sancho, because we were the vanguard, we rode with our shields strapped to our arms and were ready for war. As we passed the last house, we saw the Navarrese horsemen. They had seen the four scouts and heard the horn. They were hurrying to catch them and so we clashed on the patch of ground where the villagers grew their salads and vegetables. We had shields and they did not. They had swords and spears but, myself and my men apart, we were knights.
Rodrigo drew first blood and Tizona swept into the chest of the leading rider. He was a light horseman for they had been able to chase our scouts more quickly than the mailed men and the edge of the blade tore through the leather and into his chest. We ripped through their first four men for each of us slew one or unhorsed one. The riders behind the ones we slew had the chance to draw weapons and they were mailed. They had not had time to fit their shields and so we, although outnumbered, each had a shield to block one blow while, with our swords, we found unprotected arms.
The action did not last long for Rodrigo was recognised and the Navarrese feared him. A voice cried out, “It is El Campeador! Let us fall back!”
The brief skirmish was over as the survivors turned tail and ran. The rest of our knights and my men reined in as Rodrigo held up his hand, “Secure the spare horses and see to their wounded. We camp here.”
The thoughtful treatment of the wounded was deliberate for we needed to know who was close and we were told as the wounded were tended to. We waited until King Sancho had arrived before we questioned them, and we discovered that King Sancho of Navarre was just twenty miles away and was coming to rid his land of Castilians. That there were no Aragonese with him was significant.
We pushed on hard and, instead of camping in El Campillar, headed to Viana. Once again it was my men who led the army but when we met the Navarrese, they were ready for us and were arrayed for battle. The m
en we had met had fled and they had warned their king of the arrival of a Castilian army led by King Sancho of Castile and El Campeador. The new men we had brought with us were all warriors, but Christos had done much of his fighting in Italy, amongst the Lombards there.
“Lord, I do not understand this. If this had been Italy the Navarrese would have attacked us as we approached. Why have they not done so?”
“Because the two kings are related. There may well be a battle but first they will talk and the two kings will try to use their words to win the battle that will, ultimately, be decided by our swords.”
I was summoned to accompany the King and El Campeador when they spoke with King Sancho of Navarre. He had with him his champion, Don Jimeno Garcés and the Bishop of Pamplona. Each side had to have parity of numbers and I felt honoured that I had been selected. I guessed that was the decision of Rodrigo.
King Sancho of Navarre spoke first. He was the elder of the two kings and we were on his land, “Well cuz, this is ill met! What brings you here?”
“We are here because there are lands you hold which we dispute. Return them to Castile and we shall be friends again. We wish to have returned to Castile: Álava, the Montes de Oca, and Pancorvo, as well as Bureba and Alta Rioja which we have already taken.”
King Sancho of Navarre laughed, “You do not ask for much do you, cousin? That is half of my kingdom and when you have it will you seek the other half?”
