El Campeador

by Griff Hosker

  The bandits’ trail was easy to follow for they had left the village by the track which led through the mountains. The villagers offered to come with us, but Rodrigo was insistent that we deal with this ourselves. As he told me later the untrained men would have been more of a hindrance than a help and he may well have been right. Alfonso, my foster father, had told me that when Don Diego’s steward, Luis, had led the men from the manor they caused more problems than they solved.

  Iago led us along the trail as it climbed and twisted through trees which varied from thick and mighty monuments to nature to spindly and thin pine trees. My seven young warriors now had a shield strapped to their left arms and each had a short sword. I realised as we wound our way up towards the bandits’ lair that they were the same age as Rodrigo and Álvar had been when we had been attacked by bandits ourselves. That day had seen Álvar suffer his first injury; the fact that it had not been fatal was down to luck and I hoped that my seven would have his luck.

  From ahead we heard an occasional shout and it encouraged us as it told us they were close. The men in the village did not know where the bandits had a camp but they thought it might be at the abandoned old monastery to which this trail led. The monastery had not been occupied in living memory but its remote location led me to believe that it had been home to a small band of monks who chose a hermit-like existence. I knew that there were many such places in other lands. I rode behind Rodrigo who was behind Iago and like El Campeador I was searching the ground to the side in case any had stepped from the trail. We were high in the mountains where there was still an occasional shower, even in summer, and the ground to the side was damp and would bear a print if any left the trail. None did.

  From the men of the village, we had learned that the abandoned monastery, if that was their home, was at least a two-hour ride up the trail. I guessed that as our horses were better, we would gradually eat into their lead. In a perfect world, we would catch them before they reached their camp. There were just five of us and Abu who were experienced warriors and I would not risk my young warriors needlessly.

  As angry as Iago was, he was a professional warrior and he made a sign to tell us that we were closing in with them. He pointed down and I saw the steaming pile of horse dung with the hoof print in the middle of it. A good tracker was an aficionado of such signs and Iago’s signal told me that it was quite recent. That was confirmed when we heard the sounds of conversations from ahead. We could not make out words, but we could hear them. I slid my father’s sword from my sheath. Juan and Pedro, along with Abu were spread out amongst the seven young warriors and the would-be warriors would emulate the three veterans.

  Then there was a sudden scream and we halted, the better to hear. A girl’s voice cried out, “No!”

  Rodrigo raised his sword and spurred Caesar. He did not shout. The trail was not wide enough for three horses and Rodrigo and Iago galloped together while I tucked Berber close to their hindquarters. I saw why there had been a scream for there was a clearing of sorts ahead where the trees were thinner and the ground flattened. Later I deduced that this was a sort of halfway point to their camp where they could rest their horses. Their mounts gave them the ability to make a living and had to be protected. That was their undoing.

  I was close behind Rodrigo and I saw that the bandits had stopped and dismounted. Their faces registered shock as they saw three mailed warriors riding warhorses galloping at them. These were not trained warriors, they were opportunists. None had a weapon drawn and they froze when they saw us. Even as we galloped into the clearing, I saw the two girls pinned down by the older warriors in the band. I prayed that we had arrived before they had been violated.

  One of the men pinning down a girl leapt to his feet and shouted commands. It showed that he was the leader. “Get your weapons!”

  He picked up a long sword which told me that he had been a warrior at some time. His words had the desired effect and the two girls were forgotten as the bandits grabbed their weapons and turned to face us. For the first few of the bandits it was pointless, for the three of us, mounted on good horses and with more skill, leaned from the saddle to hack into men who had leather for protection. Even as he swung his sword Rodrigo shouted, “Surrender and you shall live!”

  I had only seen the back of the other men who had been straddling one of the girls and as he turned, he shouted, “You lie, Rodrigo de Vivar!” I saw that it was Juan, one of the two servants who had run away from Rodrigo when we had first gone to Pamplona many years earlier. He had been a bad servant and a coward and his words doomed his companions for they fought on when they should have surrendered.

  Rodrigo rode at the leader who held his sword two handed. It was a sign that he knew how to face horsemen. The narrow trail and the short distance we had to travel meant that we were not riding fast and Rodrigo knew how to handle a horse. As the leader swung his sword Rodrigo deftly jinked Caesar to the other side so that the long sword swished through fresh air and as Rodrigo passed him, he swung Tizona and hacked through the back of the man’s neck. I rode at Juan, the former servant. He had had no skill with a sword when I had known him but he must have learned a technique for he swung it at my leg. I blocked it with my father’s sword and pulled Berber back around so that he pirouetted. I shouted, for I was behind him and he was at my mercy, “Surrender!”

  Shouting, “Never!” He turned to attempt to hack Berber in the neck. I pulled back on his reins and my horse’s hooves smashed into his skull and he lay dead.

  The sight of his brains, blood and shattered shards of bone oozing from his head made the surviving five bandits throw down their weapons. I guessed they were pragmatic. So long as they were alive then there was a chance that they could flee. I dismounted and went to the two girls who were sobbing in each other’s arms. “You are safe now.” I took off my cloak and wrapped it around the two of them for they were shaking.

  I looked at the dead men and saw that Raoul, the other servant who had fled with Juan, lay in a widening pool of blood and Christos and Jorge, with bloody swords, stood over him. They had made their first kill and it would change them.

  Iago walked over to the ones who had surrendered, and anger was clearly etched on his face. I saw that two of the bandits were little older than Sebastian, my youngest warrior. Iago pulled his sword back and I shouted, “Hold!”

  Iago had known the two former servants and had not liked them, “If they are like Juan and Raoul then they deserve death.”

  Rodrigo spoke quietly as though to a skittish horse, “Iago, I command, and I said that if they surrendered then they would live. Would you make a liar of me?”

  Iago shook his head.

  The older of the two girls pointed to the two boys, “They were the only ones who were kind to us. Their leader here struck them about the head for their words when they tried to stop the men...” her voice tailed off and she could not form the words.

  I cocked my head at Iago, “And would you not have felt the fool for killing two such as this?”

  He nodded, “Aye, Will, but the blood was in my head.”

  I knew the feeling. I was called the hero of Salamanca for I had gone berserk at that siege and it had almost cost me my life.

  Rodrigo walked up to the two youths, “How many are at the monastery?”

  One of the other bandits shouted, “Do not tell them!” He was silenced by a blow from Pedro who used his helmet to knock him unconscious.

  “Speak.”

  Rodrigo had a commanding voice and one of the youths nodded, “There are just four there.”

  “They have horses?”

  “These are the only mounts.”

  Rodrigo turned to my seven young warriors. “Take the weapons and helmets from the bandits. Juan, Pedro, bind the hands of these five and put them on their horses.” I did not mind that Rodrigo ordered my men to obey him. I was never precious about such things.

  Rodrigo turned to me. “It is late and it will be dark by the time we reach
Estella. The bandits at the monastery will have fled before we can reach them.”

  I nodded for Rodrigo was practical. I nodded towards the five men we had taken, “And these five?”

  “We take them with us for the King’s justice, but I am inclined to ask for clemency for the two youngest.” I was pleased for that was my wish too.

  It was dark when we reached the village but there were brands burning to guide us in and the girls’ parents were gathered anxiously. I could only imagine what was going through their minds but as the girls ran to them and torrents of words poured forth, I guessed that they were relieved. The five prisoners were kept bound even when they were fed. They were closely watched but none attempted to escape for the villagers’ rough justice would be worse than any that the local lord might impose. Before we left, the next day, we gave the weapons and the purses, paltry though they were, to the villagers. We also left them four horses. We took the rest with us and the prisoners.

  We had the bandits watched by my young warriors as this would be good for them. When we were a day from Burgos two of them, Jorge and Raimundo, approached me as we headed for the stables at the inn we had found, “Lord, we have been speaking with the two youths whom the captive girls defended. We do not think that they should hang. The others deserve it but not they.”

  I listened for this showed a change. The two young men would never have questioned me before and I took this as a good sign. “And why not? They were bandits and they abducted two young girls.”

  Jorge continued, “Lord, the two boys were orphans. Their families were driven from their homes by Navarrese soldiers and were attacked by other bandits close to the Navarrese border. Philip and Paulo managed to escape and the bandits we hunted found them. They made them as servants or slaves. They had been with the bandits for two years but we do not think they willingly went along with the bandits.”

  “Then why did they not escape?”

  “There had been three of them for Philip had an older brother, Guy, who was caught trying to escape and they took off his head. They were afraid.”

  “I will consider your words but you have done the right thing by speaking to me.”

  When I told Rodrigo, he saw the opportunity to do a Christian act. “Then I will take these two into my charge and I will make them worthy. I have seen what you do with young warriors and I will see if I can make these two into servants who can also fight. Pablo and my other servants grow old. This is good.”

  And so it was that the two youths were pardoned while the other three were hanged. Such were the margins between life and death in the borderlands of Spain when King Ferdinand died. It was a parlous existence for all. Rodrigo also put them in my charge so that I could train them.

  The other two journeys were less violent but had a greater effect on our future. Count Ramon Berenguer of Barcelona did not like Rodrigo and gave him no respect whatsoever. I never did determine the cause of the dislike for this was the only time I met him. He had twin sons, Ramon and Berenguer; Ramon inherited that dislike. The meeting was like a stone being dropped into a pool. It carried on rippling long into the future.

  The result of our visits was that Rodrigo knew where he had friends and where he had enemies. He knew the roads to the north and east of Castile and he was already working out how to help King Sancho to become the most powerful of the three brothers. My men and I went back to our life at Briviesca. Thanks to our encounter with the bandits we had young warriors who had been blooded and they had not been found wanting. As for me, I went back to my home and I made warriors better and my home stronger. War was coming.

  Chapter 7

  The war did not begin immediately after Queen Sancha’s death for the three brothers were still plotting their best strategy. The three kings all obeyed their mother and respected her wishes but when she died then all of Spain, Moor and Christian, knew that war was inevitable. The civil war was as predictable as a new sun each day, and I had been forewarned many years earlier by an old soldier, Old Pedro. I knew, from Rodrigo, that King Sancho was still unhappy about losing León to his brother Alfonso. It was a larger kingdom and Sancho the Strong wanted it! The two brothers had never got on and Princess Urraca had fostered the rift. So when King Alfonso invaded Badajoz, ostensibly the land belonging to his younger brother, Garcia, King Sancho seized his opportunity. He mustered an army and we were part of that army.

  My seven young warriors were now men grown. Since the rescue of the two captives, they had dedicated themselves to being the best that they could be. The two young men whom Rodrigo had taken on, Philip and Paulo, had become not only servants but passable warriors for they had trained a little with me. The result was that when I led my ten men, Abu and Geoffrey, I had one of the most potent groups of warriors who went to war for King Sancho.

  Rodrigo was now Armiger Regis, Armiger to the King, and as such was, with the exception of the King himself, the most powerful man in the whole kingdom. I did not think that it had changed him nor did those who knew him best but outside of Castile he was not as highly regarded by the two other kings and their sisters. The fact that every Christian and many Muslims regarded him as the hope of Spain was irrelevant. The inner circles of nobles at the courts of Galicia and León were also opposed to him because they feared him. I think that outside of Castile it was Zaragoza which held him in the highest regard for Navarre and Aragon had good reason to fear and dislike him. It did not change the way he was. He still gathered his knights around him each night when on campaign and he still spoke to all men as though they were equals. His respectful words to Iago were the same he used to mighty lords like Diego Fernandez, Count of Oviedo.

  I had not met the count before we headed to the River Pisuerga, the border between León and Castile, with the army of King Sancho. Count Diego was riding with Álvar and Rodrigo and so I rode just behind them for this was always my place in the column. I protected Armiger Regis! I learned much about the count through his conversations with Rodrigo. It became obvious that they were friends but that surprised me for Oviedo was in the north of King Alfonso’s kingdom. It was clear that there was little love lost between the Count and the King who was his liege lord, Alfonso. It seemed that the Count had a beautiful daughter, Jimena, who although young and related to the royal family, had drawn the eye of King Alfonso. The King saw her as something he wished to own and he had made advances, unwelcome advances, towards her. The King had no intention of marrying her as he was betrothed to the ten-year-old daughter of the Duke of Aquitaine. The Count was offended, and he left Oviedo for he was a rich man and had land in Castile. He now supported King Sancho and the rift between the brothers grew.

  I knew that Rodrigo was gathering information about the King of León as that was what he always did; discover an enemy’s strengths and weaknesses. It was as they were speaking about the make-up of King Afonso’s army that I was included directly in the conversation. “Had your father stayed in Normandy, William, then he might have been a powerful landowner for Count Diego tells me that the Duke of Normandy, your namesake William, is now King of England and rules that land and Normandy with an iron fist. All of his followers have been rewarded by vast tracts of land in England!”

  I nodded, “Aye, El Campeador, but that was not my fate. That thread was cut when my father met my mother. You should know that we cannot escape fate.”

  The Count looked at me, “That sounds remarkably like heresy, William Redbeard.” He sounded more amused than outraged.

  I smiled, “My lord, you are a warrior, are you telling me that you have not seen luck intervene on a battlefield?”

  He laughed, “Aye you are correct, but I would not let the priests hear you say that. Rodrigo is right, however. Think how different your life would be in England.”

  “It would be less than I have for I have a large estate where I am called lord and look, I ride with the greatest warrior in Christendom and kings know my name. I am content.”

  The Count chuckled, “You are ri
ght, Rodrigo, he is a stout fellow and those who ride behind him look like they know how to handle themselves.”

  “That they do, and William is the finest trainer of men you will ever meet. He was King Sancho’s Campi Doctor for a while and knights like Don Juan of Burgos and Don Iago of Astorga are a testament to his skill.”

  I was flattered by his words.

  The conversation moved on and I discovered that King Sancho had no intention of invading León. He merely wished to test out his army against that of his brother. He had yet to fight against him. He hoped to win and then demand tribute from the city of Valladolid which lay close to where we would fight. If we succeeded then, so Rodrigo said, this would become the model for the future. Fight battles and win, then demand tribute. It was hardly honourable nor noble but these were squabbling siblings. Men would die and the kings would prosper.

  In winter, the land through which we travelled was extremely wet due to the many streams and rivers. In the summer it meant we had water and grazing for our horses and that was one reason why we only campaigned in the summer months. When we had fought previously, we had often had the men of King Sancho’s brothers with us. Now we had just King Sancho’s and those knights of King Ferdinand who had chosen to fight alongside us. It meant we were a smaller army but one that Rodrigo knew well. We saw the enemy making their camp on the other side of the river. It was strange to call them the enemy as we had fought alongside them during the attack on Zaragoza and Badajoz. This time there would be no Moors fighting alongside us and I had no doubt that the Emirs would be happy at this state of affairs for Christian fought Christian and brother fought brother.

  We camped on our side of the River Pisuerga and then King Sancho sent his herald across the narrow river to discuss the battle with his brother’s herald. The King of León was camped by the tiny village of Lantadilla just upstream from us. To me, this seemed a strange way to go to war. There would be no surprise and we would see the enemy deploy as they would us. Rodrigo explained it to me as we sat around our fire, eating some sheep we had captured.